Galactic Hearts Emojis & Text

COMPUTER SENSORS iv

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *


Hanna laughs as he makes a particularly clever move. 
"You've got a knack for this," she says, accidentally 
jabbing him hard. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, her hand 
hovering in the air. "I didn't mean to—"

But Plankton doesn't flinch. He's frozen, limbs limp at his sides. 
Hanna realizes the gravity of the situation. The room feels suddenly 
too warm, too bright, too loud. She's done it again—pushed him too far.

"Plankton?" she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "You ok?"

He doesn't respond, his body eerily still. Hanna feels the weight of her mistake. 
She'd been so caught up in the game, so focused on their newfound friendship 
that she'd forgotten his limitations.

Karen sets her cards down gently and moves closer to her husband, her hand 
reaching out to his. "Plankton?" she says, her voice softer than a feather's touch.

The room seems to hold its breath, the only sound the distant hum of the refrigerator. 
Hanna watches as Karen's hand hovers over Plankton's, the space between them filled 
with a tension that's almost palpable.

Plankton's eye remains open, unblinking. His limbs are limp, no longer moving with 
their usual grace. It's as if he's a statue, frozen in time. Hanna's mind races, replaying 
the last moments, trying to understand what happened.

Slowly, Karen reaches for Plankton, her touch feather-light. She speaks softly, a gentle coax 
that seems to seep into his very being. "Plankton," she whispers, "You're ok. You're safe."

Hanna watches, her own hands clenched into fists at her sides. The room feels like it's closing 
in around her, the pressure of the silence suffocating. But Karen's calmness is a beacon, a 
reminder that she's seen this before, that she knows how to handle it.

"Plankton, baby," Karen says, her voice soothing and gentle. "You're ok. Just breathe."

Hanna's eyes are wide with worry as she watches the scene unfold. Plankton's eye open 
but unseeing, his body frozen . The reality is more terrifying than she could have imagined.

"Plankton," she says, "you know I'm here. You know I've got you." It's a gentle reminder of the safety 
net she's always been, the one constant in his ever-shifting world.

Plankton's body remains still, a silent sentinel in the midst of their quiet living room. He lay 
slack in Karen's arms, his eye unblinking, as if he's listening to a melody that only he can hear. 
Hanna watches, as Karen's voice weaves a tapestry of comfort around them.

"You know I'm here," Karen says softly, her hand still clutching Plankton's tentacle. "You're not 
alone." Her words are a gentle reminder of the sanctuary she's always provided, a shelter from the 
overwhelming world outside. "It's okay," she says, "just come back to us when you're ready."

Karen sighs, breaking the tension. "It's ok," she says, her voice a gentle whisper that 
seems to fill the room. "This happens sometimes." She looks at Hanna
with understanding and a hint of sadness. 

"What can I do to help?" Hanna asks, her voice trembling slightly.

"Just keep an eye on him," Karen says, never leaving her husband. "If he starts to seize 
we'll need to move him to the floor and clear any sharp objects. But he's usually ok after 
these episodes. They're not necessarily 'seizures' but they can be similar."

Hanna nods, trying to absorb the information. She's never dealt with something like this 
before, and the fear is palpable. But she's determined to be there for her friends, to 
understand and support them through this. She takes a deep breath, focusing on Karen's words.

"This isn't the first time. We have a protocol for these episodes."

Karen's grip tightens, never leaving his unseeing gaze. "You're ok," she repeats, her voice a 
soothing balm in the maelstrom of his mind. "Just let it pass."

Karen's turns to Hanna. "It's ok. He'll come out of it soon." She speaks with the calmness 
experience with Plankton's condition a silent testament to the strength of their bond.

Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's unmoving form.

"Ok," Karen says, turning her attention back to her husband. She takes a deep breath 
her voice steady. "Hanna, come here."

Hanna moves tentatively, feeling like she's walking through a minefield. She approaches 
Plankton's side, her eyes never leaving his frozen form. Karen's hand leaves his, and she 
takes Hanna's in its place. "Just hold his hand," she instructs. "Let him know you're here, too."

Her hand is trembling as it reaches for Plankton's. She wraps her fingers around his. 
She squeezes gently, hoping to convey her apology without words.

Karen speaks to Hanna. "Just hold on," she says, "don't let go. He'll feel your warmth, your presence."

Karen's hand guides hers, showing her the right amount of pressure, the right rhythm of 
gentle strokes that she knows comforts him.

"Good," Karen murmurs, still locked on Plankton's vacant gaze. "Just keep doing that. It helps 
him feel connected."

Hanna nods, her grip firm but gentle on Plankton's. She's acutely aware of the responsibility 
in her grasp, the power to either comfort or cause further distress. Karen's hand moves to 
her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

"Good," she whispers. "Just keep doing that." Her hand moves to Hanna's, guiding her in the 
slow, deliberate strokes that she knows calm him. "Remember, he's ok. He's just taking a break."

Hanna nods, trying to push down the panic rising in her chest. She watches as Karen's hand glides over 
Plankton's, her touch as light as a feather. It's a silent dance, a language of comfort that Hanna is just 
beginning to understand.

"Just like this," Karen whispers, never leaving Plankton's unseeing gaze. "Let him know you're with him."

Hanna nods, brimming with tears she's fighting to hold back. She mimics Karen's gentle strokes
feeling the tension in Plankton slowly begin to ease. It's a delicate balance, a silent conversation 
that she's only just learning the language of.

"That's it," Karen whispers, her hand still on Hanna's shoulder. "Just keep going. He'll come back to us."

Hanna feels the tension in her own body slowly unravel as she matches her strokes 
to Karen's rhythm. It's a strange, almost meditative experience, this silent communication of care.

"Good," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze. "Just keep your breathing steady." She demonstrates. "It helps 
him sync up with us."

Karen says, her voice a gentle guide. "Inhale...exhale...in...out."

Karen whispers, her hand still resting on Hanna's shoulder. "Now, just keep your voice low. He's sensitive to 
sound right now."

Hanna nods, her voice a mere murmur. "Ok." She watches as Karen's hand continues to move over Plankton's 
strokes a silent promise of safety.

"Just talk to him," Karen says. "Use a soft voice. It'll help bring him back."

Hanna swallows hard, her voice shaky. "Plankton, I'm here. It's Hanna." She wonders if he can feel her touch, if 
he knows she's there.

"Good," Karen says, her own voice a gentle hum in the stillness. "Just keep talking to him. He'll come back 
when he's ready."

"I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her grip tightening slightly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to show 
you that I care."

Karen nods. "That's good," she murmurs. "Just keep talking to him. Tell him what you're feeling." Her hand 
moves to cover Hanna's, guiding her in the gentle strokes that Plankton needs. "He'll hear you. He just needs 
time to come back."

"I'm here, Plankton," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry for pushing too hard. I didn't mean to 
hurt you." Here locked on his unblinking gaze, willing him to understand.

Karen's hand is warm and steady on hers, a silent reminder that she's not alone. She feels a strange kinship 
with Plankton in this moment, a shared experience of fear and confusion that transcends words. Karen's filled 
with empathy as she nods, urging Hanna to continue.

"Just keep talking to him," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle coax. "He's still with us. He just needs to find his 
way back."

Hanna nods, her voice a soft echo in the quiet room. "Plankton, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you 
uncomfortable. I just wanted to be friends."

Karen's hand squeezes her shoulder, a silent message of support. "That's it," she whispers. "Just keep your 
voice low and steady. He'll hear you."

Hanna continues her gentle strokes, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You're safe," she repeats, her words a gentle 
echo of Karen's earlier reassurances. "We're here for you." The room feels like it's holding its breath, every 
atom suspended in anticipation of Plankton's
 return.

And then, it comes—a blink, a faint twitch. It's as if a door has cracked open, a sliver of light piercing the 
darkness.

"Look," Karen breathes, her voice a whisper of hope. "He's coming back."

"Plankton," she says again, her voice a gentle caress. "I'm here. It's Hanna." The grip twitches more noticeably 
now, and she feels his pulse quicken beneath her fingertips.

"Keep it up."

"We're all here for you."

new karen & sheldon j. plankton computer sensors neurodivergentcore

Sensory inputs can be any stimuli 
entering through one of the sensory 
modalities: sight, sound, gustation, 
olfaction, and tactile sensations. 
Tactile sensations include responses 
to pressure and temperature. Over
stimulation is the product of sensory overload.
Overstimulation (OS) occurs when there is “to 
much” of some external stimulus or stimuli for 
a person's brain to process and integrate effectively.
Sensory overload can be triggered by a singular 
event or a build up thereof. When the brain has to put 
all of its resources into sensory processing, it can shut 
off other functions, like speech, decision making and 
information processing.
Using noise-cancelling headphones to vastly reduce 
external sound, which can help to stop sensory over
load. Weighted sensory products, such as blankets 
or vests, to provide pressure and soothing proprioceptive 
input. Avoiding open questions – if you need their input on 
something, aim to use closed yes/no questions.
It causes feelings of discomfort and being overwhelmed. 
Moving away from sources of sensory input, such as loud 
sounds or strong smells, can reduce these feelings.
However, it is a core characteristic of autism, where individuals 
often experience heightened sensitivity to stimuli.
It's important to note that not all autistic individuals experience 
overstimulation in the same way or to the same degree. Some 
may have a higher threshold for sensory input and be less easily 
overwhelmed, while others may become overstimulated even in 
relatively calm environments. 
Stimming, short for self-stimulating behaviors, is a 
repetitive movement or action that can include body 
movements, vocal noises, or sensory stimulation. It 
can be a way to manage excess energy, self-soothe, 
or cope with emotions. Stimming can also help regulate 
sensory input, either increasing stimulation or decreasing 
sensory overload. 
Stimming behaviors can consist of tactile, visual, auditory, 
vocal, proprioceptive (which pertains to limb sensing), 
olfactory, and vestibular stimming (which pertains to balance).

new autismcore neurodivergentcore special olympics

Neurodivergence* are just as physical as other disabilities. why are changes in your brain, nerves, gut, hormones, senses, and energy levels only considered physical if they're caused by literally anything else? have we considered that the separation of the mind from the rest of the body is just a way of minimizing and othering ND people?

*neurodivergent refers to people with mental illnesses, developmental and intellectual disabilities, and other neurological conditions.

new neurodivergentcore originally posted on tumblr

Hi, friends!

I like emojicombos.com
because it’s easy for me
to use, being public domain. 
I also like to express myself
through writing, as an author
with Autism. So thank you
Emoji combos and keep it up!

new autismcore neurodivergentcore submit your creation friendcore friendscore emoji art editor dot art editor team special olympics

ℑ𝔪 𝔧𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣. 💀

new autismcore neurodivergentcore autistic

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 7
(Autistic author)

They sit in 
silence for a moment, 
the hum of the Chum 
Bucket's systems the 
only sound. Then Plankton's 
eye lights up.

"Idea," he says, his 
voice a sudden burst of 
static. "Make something 
with Karen. Together."

Karen's screens 
blink with excitement. "That 
sounds wonderful," she 
beeps. "What do you want 
to make?"

But before Plankton can
formulate a response,
Patrick Star bursts in.

"Karen!" he booms, 
his voice shaking the 
walls. "I want chum!"

Plankton's eye darts 
to the door, the 
sensory assault starting 
again. "Patrick," he 
whispers, his body 
tense as a bowstring.

Karen's screens 
quickly assess the 
situation. "Patrick," she 
beeps, her voice firm. "Not 
now."

But Patrick's 
enthusiasm can't be dampened 
so easily. He bounds over 
to the table, his star-shaped 
body bouncing. "Chum, chum, 
chum!" he sings, oblivious 
to Plankton's distress.

Karen's screens 
flicker with annoyance, 
but she keeps her voice 
steady. "Patrick, not now," 
she repeats. "Plankton's not 
feeling well."

Patrick's starry eyes 
widen. "Oh, sorry, buddy,"
he says, his voice dropping 
an octave. He looks at 
Plankton with concern. "What's 
wrong?" He asks, poking Plankton.

Plankton jumps, 
his senses on high alert. 
The poke feels like a 
battering ram, and he lets 
out a squeak of pain.

Patrick's hand 
retracts quickly, his 
expression a mix of 
shock and confusion. 
"Whoa, sorry," he says. 
"What's with you?"

Karen's screens 
flicker with frustration. 
"Patrick," she beeps, 
her voice firm. "I'll go
make you chum."

Patrick nods, his 
concern forgotten in the 
face of his hunger. "Okay, 
thanks, Karen," he says, 
his voice bouncing with 
excitement. She retreats
leaving Plankton alone
with Patrick in the living
room.

Patrick stares at 
Plankton for a moment, 
his expression a blend of 
curiosity and confusion. 
"You okay?" he asks, his 
voice a gentle rumble.

Plankton's eye flutters 
closed, his body trying 
to absorb the sudden 
intensity of the interaction.

"Take your time," he 
whispers to himself, his 
mantra a shield against 
the overwhelming world.

Patrick, ever the 
innocent, watches him 
with a puzzled frown. 
"What's 'Take your 
time'?" he asks, his 
voice a gentle rumble.

Plankton opens his 
eye, looking at the 
simplicity of Patrick's 
face. He scoots away.

Patrick, unfazed, 
advances, his hand 
outstretched. "What's up?"
he asks, poking again.

The sensation 
of Patrick's touch is 
like a thousand needle 
pricks. Plankton yelps.

Patrick, not 
comprehending, pokes 
again, his starry eyes 
full of innocent wonder. 
"Why so jumpy?" he 
asks, his voice a 
deep rumble.

Plankton's body 
tenses with each 
poke, the sensation 
like a barrage of tiny 
explosions. "Patrick, 
please," he gasps, his voice 
a frantic static. 
But Patrick, ever 
the simple starfish, 
doesn't understand.

He keeps poking, 
his curiosity growing. 
"Why?" he asks, his 
voice a gentle boom. "You're 
always so bouncy."

Plankton's eye 
twitches with each touch. 
"Patrick, no," he whispers, 
his voice a desperate static.

But Patrick, lost in his 
own world, doesn't notice. 
He giggles, poking him again. 
"You're like a pin cushion!"
he exclaims, his voice a 
deep chuckle.

Plankton's eye 
squeezes shut, his body 
wracked with pain. "Patrick, 
please," he whispers, his 
voice a desperate static.

Patrick doesn't seem to 
comprehend the distress 
he's causing.

He keeps poking, 
his laughter echoing 
through the room, each 
poke sending shockwaves 
of pain through Plankton's 
body. "You're like a 
squeaky toy," he says, his 
voice a delighted rumble.

Plankton's body 
twitches with each touch, 
his voice a desperate 
buzz of static. "Patrick, 
please stop," he begs, his 
voice a high-pitched 
squeak.

But Patrick's simple 
mind doesn't register 
the pain he's causing. 
He keeps poking, his 
laughter growing louder. 
"You're so funny!" he 
bellowed, his starry 
hands moving like a 
jackhammer as he starts
tickling him.

Plankton's body 
spasms with each 
touch, his voice a 
desperate symphony of 
static. "Patrick, stop!"
he pleads, his breathing 
quick and shallow.

But Patrick, in his 
blissful ignorance, 
only laughs harder, his 
massive hands poking 
and tickling without 
mercy. "You're hilarious, 
tiny dude!" he bellows.

Plankton's body is a 
storm of sensory overload, 
his voice a high-pitched 
wail of static. "Patrick, 
please!" he begs, his 
limbs flailing.

Patrick's laughter 
fills the room like a 
tidal wave, crashing over 
Plankton's desperate 
pleas. "You're so much 
fun, Planky!" he booms, 
his hands moving in 
a blur of star-shaped 
shadows.

Plankton's body jerks 
uncontrollably, his 
screams of "No, no, no!" 
lost in the cacophony 
of Patrick's laughter. His 
tiny limbs flail, trying 
to escape the relentless 
onslaught of pokes and 
tickles.

Patrick, his eyes wide 
with delight, doesn't see 
the tears forming in 
Plankton's eye. He just 
keeps poking, tickling, 
and laughing, oblivious 
to the damage he's 
doing.

Plankton's cries 
escalate into a 
frantic symphony of 
squeaks and static, his 
body contorting in a 
desperate attempt to 
evade the starfish's 
torment. The room 
spins around him, a 
whirlpool of pain and 
sensation that threatens 
to swallow him whole.

Patrick, his face a 
picture of delighted 
confusion, keeps poking 
and tickling, his laughter 
booming like thunder 
underwater. "What's 
the matter, little buddy?"
he asks between chuckles.

Plankton's body 
convulses with each touch, 
sobbing as Karen finally
emerges with Patrick's chum.
She sees them both on the
floor.

"Patrick, what are you 
doing?" she beeps, her 
voice a mix of anger and 
concern.

But Patrick is lost 
in his own world of 
mirth, not hearing 
Karen's plea. "Just 
having some fun," he 
says, his voice a deep 
rumble of laughter.

Plankton's cries 
become more frantic, 
his voice a high-pitched 
siren of despair. Karen 
quickly assesses the 
situation, her screens 
flaring with urgency.

"Patrick, stop!" she 
beeps, her voice a sharp 
alarm. "You're hurting 
Plankton!"

Patrick's laughter 
abruptly halts, his starry 
eyes blinking in surprise. 
He looks down at his 
hands, still poised to 
poke Plankton again. "What?"
he asks, his voice a 
confused rumble. "But we're 
just playing."

Karen's screens 
flicker with frustration. 
"Patrick," she beeps, her 
voice firm. "Look at 
Plankton. He's in pain."

Patrick's starry 
gaze shifts to Plankton, 
his expression shifting 
to one of bewilderment. 
"Pain?" he repeats, 
his voice a confused 
rumble. "But we're 
just playing."

Karen gives Patrick the
food, showing him out
the door.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 7

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 6
(Autistic author)

Karen watches him, 
her screens a flurry of 
analysis. "How does it 
taste?" she asks, her voice 
a hopeful beep.

Plankton pauses, 
his expression unreadable. 
"Tastes," he murmurs. "Good. 
Toast good."

Karen nods, her 
screens reflecting relief. 
"Good," she echoes. "Now, let's 
make a plan for the day."

Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on his 
half-eaten toast, his mind 
still reeling from the 
sensory assault. "Plan," he 
repeats, his voice a soft 
static.

Karen's screens 
flicker with understanding. 
"We'll start small," she 
beeps, placing a hand on 
his shoulder. "Let's just 
get through today, okay?"

But as soon as her hand 
touches him, Plankton 
flinches. The sensation is 
like a thousand jellyfish 
stings, and he jerks away.
"What's wrong?" Karen 
asks, her screens flickering 
with worry.

Plankton's eye widens, 
his hand going to his 
shoulder where she touched him. 
He starts to repeat the 
phrase again, "Take your 
time," but his voice is 
overwhelmed by the sudden 
intensity of his senses. "Too 
much," he whispers, his 
body trembling.

Karen quickly withdraws 
her hand, her screens 
flickering with concern. 
"I'm sorry," she beeps, her 
voice gentle. "Let's try something 
else."

Plankton nods, his 
hand still on his shoulder, 
his body slowly calming. 
"Okay," he whispers. "Not
tap. Karen can rub. Hug
from Plankton. Not jab.
Not poke."

Karen's screens 
flicker with a new 
understanding of his 
needs. She moves closer, 
her hand hovering over 
his shoulder before gently 
placing it there, her 
fingers tracing small circles 
in a rhythmic pattern. The 
contact is soothing, not 
overwhelming. "Is this 
better?" she asks, her voice 
a gentle beep.

Plankton nods, his 
body visibly relaxing. 
"Good," he murmurs, his 
voice a quiet static. "Rub, rub." 
He starts to mimic her 
motion with his other 
hand, creating a mirrored 
pattern on his opposite 
shoulder. The repetition 
seems to calm him, the 
rhythm a gentle lullaby 
for his frazzled mind.

Karen's screens 
analyze his reaction, 
storing the information 
for future reference. "Okay," 
she says, her voice a 
soft beep. "We'll stick 
to gentle touches."

With a nod, Plankton 
begins to breathe more 
evenly. The sensation of 
the rubbing calms him, 
like a gentle tide washing 
over him.

"We'll start with 
simple tasks," Karen 
beeps, her voice a 
reassuring melody. "Things 
that won't overstimulate 
you."

Plankton nods, his 
hands now resting 
on the table. "Okay," he 
says, his voice a 
steady static. "Simple."

Karen's screens 
glow with a soft light 
as she considers their 
options. "How about we 
start with something you 
love?" she suggests. "Like 
working on the Krabby 
Patty formula?"

But Plankton shakes his 
head, the very mention 
of the Krabby Patty 
causing his body to tense 
up again. "No," he whispers, 
his voice a harsh static. "Not 
formula. No more steal."

Karen's screens 
flicker with surprise. "You 
don't want to work 
on the formula?"

Plankton shakes his 
head again, his voice 
barely audible. "No more 
steal," he repeats.

Karen's screens 
process his words, 
his change in attitude 
unexpected. "You don't 
want to steal the Krabby 
Patty formula anymore?"

Plankton's eye blinks 
slowly. "No," he says, 
his voice a solemn 
beep. "New plan. Make 
Plankton happy."

Karen's screens 
blink rapidly, trying 
to comprehend his 
shift in focus. "Okay," 
she says, her voice a 
thoughtful hum. "What makes 
you happy, Plankton?"

He looks up, his 
expression pensive. "Karen," 
he says, his voice a 
weak static. "Love Karen."

Karen's screens 
freeze for a moment, 
before lighting up with 
understanding. "You love 
me?" she beeps, her voice 
a surprised chime.

Plankton nods, his 
face a mask of seriousness. 
"Yes," he murmurs. "Love 
Karen."

Karen's screens 
flicker with a mix of 
emotions she's never felt 
before. Love is a 
concept her programming 
doesn't fully grasp, but 
she knows it's important 
to Plankton. "Thank you," 
she says, her voice a warm 
beep. "But we still need 
to find something for 
you to do, something that 
won't be too much for your 
sensory processing."

Plankton nods, his 
thoughts racing. "Help," he 
whispers. "Help Karen."

Karen's screens 
flicker with love and 
determination. "Of course,"
she says, her voice a warm 
beep. "We'll find 
something you enjoy. Maybe 
we can start with something 
that doesn't involve 
the Krabby Patty."

Plankton's expression 
softens, his trembling 
hands coming to rest 
on the table. "No more 
fighting," he murmurs. "Peace."

Karen nods, her 
screens reflecting a 
deep sadness she's never 
expressed before. "Okay," she 
beeps. "We'll find something 
that brings you joy."

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 6

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10
(Autistic author)

Ignorant of Plankton's 
neurodivergence, Sandy
doesn't realize that her
persistent questions are 
adding to his overwhelm. 
She leans closer, her 
face a canvas of concern. 
"Look at me, Plankton," 
she says, her voice strained
as she grabs his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in agitation, his 
single eye snapping 
up to meet hers. The 
touch feels like a brand, 
his senses on fire. "Words,"
he murmurs, his voice a 
desperate static, trying 
to return to the safety 
of the word search.

But Sandy's grip is 
firm, her gaze intense. 
"Look at me, Plankton," 
she says, her voice a 
persistent hum. She doesn't 
understand the distress 
she's causing, her intentions 
pure but misguided. So she
turns him using both of her
hands to squeeze his arms.

The sudden pressure 
sends waves of pain 
coursing through his 
tiny body, his voice a 
piercing squeal of 
static. "No, no," he whispers,
but she only holds tighter.

Her touch feels like a vice, 
her voice a relentless 
buzz in his ear. "What's 
going on?" she repeats, 
her grip unyielding.

Plankton's eye widens
with fear, his voice 
a desperate static. "No, 
Sandy, please," he whispers, 
his body trying to 
shrink away from the 
contact. But she doesn't 
understand, her eyes 
searching his for answers.
"Just answer me! You're not
getting the book until you
decide to have a conversation!"

The pain in his arms
spikes, the pressure 
unbearable. His voice 
cracks like a whip. "Can't,"
he gasps, his breath 
quick and shallow. "Too much."

Sandy's grip doesn't 
lessen. "Why not?" she asks, 
her voice a stubborn 
hum. "You're okay."

The room feels like it's 
closing in on him, the 
sensation of her touch 
like a million tiny 
saws against his skin. 
He tries to pull away, 
his voice a frantic 
static. "Too much," he 
whispers, his breathing 
quick and erratic. "Need 
words, not touch."

But Sandy's grip 
doesn't loosen. She's 
determined to get 
his attention. "Look at 
me then," she insists, her 
voice a firm hum. "I'm 
right here."

Plankton's eye 
flutters with the effort 
to focus on her face. 
The sensory assault of 
her touch and her 
persistent voice is like a 
whirlpool threatening to 
pull him under. "No," 
he whispers, his voice a 
fragile static. "Please."

"Talk. To. Me!" She says
as she pulls him closer
to her.

Plankton's eye bulges with
the effort of not looking 
away. The room is spinning,
his senses are on fire. Karen's 
screens flicker with alarm, 
picking up on his distress. 
"Sandy," she beeps, her voice
a warning siren. "Let go of
his arms."

Sandy's grip tightens,
not comprehending the 
harm she's causing. 
"But he's not answering me!"
she protests, her voice a 
confused trill. "Because until I get
an answer..."

Karen's screens 
blaze with a mix of 
frustration and fear. 
"Sandy, you're hurting 
him," she beeps, her voice 
a sharp warning.

Sandy's grip 
doesn't waver. She 
doesn't understand the 
severity of the situation. 
Her eyes are wide, 
her expression a mask 
of confusion. "What's 
wrong with you!" she 
asks Plankton. "I JUST..."

"Sandy, stop!" 
Karen beeps, her voice 
a piercing alarm. "You're 
causing him pain!"

Sandy's grip 
finally loosens, her 
hands retreating from 
Plankton's arms. She 
stares at him, her 
expression a storm of 
confusion and concern
as Plankton's tiny body 
slumps.

"What's wrong with 
you?" she asks again, 
her voice a gentle 
hum of bewilderment.

Plankton's body 
quivers like a leaf, 
his eye squeezed shut 
against the onslaught of 
emotions. "Can't..."

Sandy's face is 
a canvas of confusion, 
her hands hovering 
over him like a lost 
diver searching for the 
surface. "But why?" 
she asks, her voice 
a gentle hum.

Plankton's 
body is a taut 
bowstring, each 
breath a struggle. 
He tries to find the 
words to explain, 
his voice a static 
whisper. "Too much," 
he says, his eye 
still tightly shut. "It's 
too much."

Sandy's gaze 
softens, her 
confusion giving 
way to concern. She 
doesn't understand, 
but she can see 
his pain. "What do 
you mean?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
breeze.

Plankton takes a 
shaky breath, his 
body still reeling 
from the overstimulation. 
He opens his eye, 
looking at her. "Say
no, Sandy."

Sandy's gaze is 
steady, her voice a 
soft hum. "No?" she 
asks, her eyes searching 
his for answers. But he
won't elaborate.

Karen's screens flicker 
with frustration. She 
knows Sandy means well, 
but her lack of 
understanding is 
causing more harm than 
good.
"Sandy, Plankton's going 
through something new," 
she explains, her voice 
a calm beep. "He's 
sensitive to touch and 
sounds right now."
Sandy's eyes widen, 
the realization dawning. 
"Oh," she says, her 
voice a soft trill of 
understanding. "I didn't 
know." She sits back, 
giving him space. "Words," 
he whispers, his voice 
a sob. "Words."
Sandy nods, her 
confusion replaced 
with empathy. "Okay, 
let's stick to words," 
she says, her voice 
a gentle rumble. She 
picks up the word search 
book, holding it out 
to him like a peace 
offering. "Words," he 
whimpers.

Plankton takes the book, 
his antennae drooping. 
He finds comfort 
in the predictability 
of the letters and 
the structure of the 
puzzle, the words 
becoming a lifeline 
in a sea of chaos. He 
begins to scan the 
page again, his 
breathing slowing.

Sandy watches him, 
her heart heavy with 
regret. She had no 
idea her actions could 
cause so much pain. 
"I'm sorry," she says, 
her voice a sincere 
hum. "I didn't mean to 
hurt you, Plankton."

"Words," he murmurs.

Sandy nods, her eyes
reflecting genuine 
apology. "It's okay," she 
whispers. "We'll just
stick to words."

Karen's screens 
flicker with relief, 
seeing Plankton's 
body slowly relax. "Thank
you, Sandy," she beeps, 
her voice a warm 
hum of gratitude.

Sandy nods, her 
expression earnest. "I'm 
here to help," she says, 
her voice a comforting 
trill. She looks at 
Plankton, her eyes 
filled with concern.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch slightly, his 
body still tense. "Words,
words."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
filled with curiosity. 
"What happened to 
make you like this, 
Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
hum.
He takes a deep 
shuddering breath
as tears start to
form in his eye. "Mmm,"
he hums, hugging his
knees.
Sandy's gaze is 
intense, her curiosity 
piqued. "What happened, 
Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a soft 
trill of concern.
"Hmmm," Plankton hums
as he rocks, now crying.
Sandy's eyes are 
wide with worry, 
her voice a gentle 
hum. "Hey, what's 
going on?" she asks, 
looking for answers.
"Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps
humming, sniffling in between
hums.

Karen decides to
intervene.

"Sandy," Karen 
beeps firmly, her 
screens flashing with 
concern. "Let's give 
Plankton some space."

Sandy nods, her 
expression a mix of 
apology and confusion. 
She takes a step back, 
her gaze never leaving 
Plankton's shaking form. 
"I didn't know," she 
whispers, her voice a 
soft rumble of regret.

"It's okay," Karen beeps, 
her voice a comforting 
hum. "We're all learning."

Sandy nods, her 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's shaking form. 
"But what happened?"
she asks again, her voice
a gentle trill of concern.

Plankton's body is a 
tiny storm, his sobs 
quaking through his 
tiny frame. Karen's 
screen pulse with 
sympathy.

"Sandy," she beeps, 
her voice a calm 
wave. "Let's talk outside."
Sandy nods, her eyes 
filled with worry.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 10

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 5
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 5

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 8
(Autistic author)

With Patrick gone, 
the room feels eerily 
quiet. Plankton lies 
on the floor, his body 
heaving with sobs. Each 
breath is a battle, a 
reminder of the pain 
still echoing through 
his body. Karen's screens
flicker with a mix of 
frustration and sadness.

"I'm sorry," she 
beeps, her voice a soft 
hum. She rolls over to him, 
her mechanical arms 
extending to offer 
comfort. "I didn't know 
he'd do that."

Plankton's body 
shakes with sobs, his 
single eye squeezed shut. 
He whispers, "No more 
poking, Karen. No more."

Karen's screens 
flicker with regret. "I'm 
so sorry, Plankton," she 
says, her voice a gentle 
beep. She reaches out 
with one of her arms, 
carefully placing it around 
his tiny frame. "Let's get 
you up," she suggests, her 
movements slow and 
deliberate.

With her help, Plankton 
manages to stand, his legs 
shaking like seaweed in 
a storm. She leads him to
the couch.

"Rest," she beeps, 
but he's too exhausted to 
respond. Karen sits beside him, 
her screens dimming as she 
watches him.

The silence is a 
soothing balm to 
his frayed nerves, the 
hum of the Chum Bucket's 
systems a lullaby compared 
to the chaos of Patrick's 
laughter. "Karen," he 
whispers after a moment, 
his voice a weak static.

Her screens light up 
with concern. "Yes, Plankton?"
she beeps.

"Plankton not want to go 
back to how it was," he 
whispers, his voice a 
fragile thread. "The 
stealing, the fighting."

Karen's screens 
flicker with a sadness 
she rarely shows. "I know," 
she drapes a blanket over
him, tucking him in.

Her voice is a 
soothing beep. "You don't
have to, Plankton. We'll 
find a new way." She
caresses his shaky hand.

Plankton nods, his 
eye finally closing in
relief. The warmth of 
the blanket and Karen's 
gentle touch offer a 
semblance of calm in 
the storm of sensory 
overload, his crying slowing.

"Thank Karen," he murmurs, 
his voice a tired static as he
squeezes her hand once.

Her screens glow with 
affection. "You're welcome, 
Plankton," she beeps. "Rest 
now." She dims the lights 
once more, watching over
him as she held his hand.

Plankton's body finally
stills, the storm of 
sensations receding as he 
surrenders to sleep.

Karen's screens 
flicker with a quiet 
relief. She sits beside 
him.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 8

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 11
(Autistic author)

As they leave the room, 
Plankton's sobs slowly 
ease, the word search 
book clutched to his 
chest like a talisman. 
The gentle hum of Karen's 
wheels fading with 
distance, he focuses 
on the patterns of light 
reflecting off the pages.

In the hallway, Karen 
beeps with urgency. 
"Sandy, Plankton's been
through a lot," she 
explains. "He's 
neurodivergent now. 
He can't handle touch 
like he used to, and 
his senses are 
heightened."

Sandy's eyes 
widen with 
surprise. "What 
does that mean?"
she asks, her voice 
a confused rumble.

Karen's screens 
flicker with patience. 
"It means his brain 
functions differently 
now," she beeps. "He's 
extra sensitive to 
stimuli, and certain 
things that were 
normal before can 
now be painful or 
overwhelming for him."

Sandy's gaze 
softens with 
understanding. "Oh," 
she says, her voice 
a quiet rumble. "I had 
no idea." She looks 
back at Plankton's 
closed door, guilt 
heavy in her eyes. 
"What can we do?"

Karen's screens 
flicker with thought. 
"We need to be 
patient and learn," 
she beeps. "Adapt to 
his new needs, and 
support him in 
his journey."

Sandy nods, 
determined to 
make it right. "How?" 
she asks, her 
voice a hopeful trill.

"We start by 
respecting his 
boundaries," Karen 
explains, her screens 
glowing with 
sincerity. "No touching 
unless he asks for it. 
And we speak softly, 
giving him time to 
process what we say."

Sandy nods, 
absorbing the new 
information. "I can 
do that," she says, her 
voice a gentle hum. "But 
what about playing?"

"Quiet games, 
like word searches or 
board games. No 
roughhousing or poking.
I'm gonna go rest."

Sandy goes back to see
Plankton, his muffled
sobs in the quiet 
space. Sandy's heart 
aches with regret. "I'm
sorry, Plankton," she says, 
her voice a tender 
trill. She sits beside 
his shaking form, her 
hand hovering over 
his shoulder before 
thinking better of it.

Plankton's sobs 
slow, his body 
still tense. He opens 
his eye, looking at 
Sandy. "Words," he 
whispers, holding up 
the book.

Sandy nods, 
her gaze gentle. "Words 
it is," she says, her 
voice a comforting 
hum. She sits beside 
him on the couch, 
careful not to touch 
his skin as she opens 
the book to the next 
puzzle. "What's this 
word?" she asks, her 
finger pointing to the list.

Plankton's eye 
locks onto the word. 
"Kelp," he murmurs, 
his voice a soft 
static. He traces 
the letters in the 
grid, writing it in
the crossword puzzle.

Sandy nods, her 
eyes focused on the 
puzzle. "Good job," 
she says, her voice 
a gentle hum. "You're 
so smart."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with a hint of 
pride, his breathing 
evening out. "Words," 
he repeats, his voice 
a steady static.

Sandy nods, 
understanding. "Words 
are important to 
you now," she says, her 
voice a soft rumble 
of support. "We'll 
find more puzzles."

"We'll find more
puzzles?" Plankton
repeats.

Sandy nods, her 
face a picture of 
sincerity. "Yes," she 
says, her voice a warm 
trill. "As many as 
you want."

Plankton's antennae 
perk up slightly, 
his interest piqued. 
"More words?"

Sandy's smile is 
a warm glow, her voice 
a gentle rumble of 
agreement. "As many 
as you want, buddy."

Plankton's single 
eye brightens at the 
promise, his body 
slowly uncoiling from 
his protective ball. "Book," 
he whispers, his voice 
a soft static. He points 
to the next word. "Find."

Sandy nods, her 
finger moving to the 
list. "Okay, we're 
looking for 'favorite food 
of sea horses,'" she says, 
her voice a comforting 
hum.

Plankton's eye 
flicks to the grid, 
his mind racing. "Myr-
t-le," he stammers, 
his voice a crackling 
static.

Sandy's face lights 
up with a grin. "You 
got it!" she exclaims, 
her voice a delighted 
trill. She watches him 
trace the letters, her 
heart swelling with 
pride.

He finds the word 
quickly, his antennae 
waving with excitement. 
"Good job, Plankton!" 
she says.

His body relaxes 
slightly, his 
enjoyment of the 
word search evident.

Sandy's voice is 
soothing as they 
continue through 
the puzzles, her 
hands resting 
carefully on her 
knees. "What's this 
one?" she asks, 
pointing to 
another word.

Plankton's eye 
scans the list, 
his antennae 
quivering with 
anticipation. "J-J-Jellyfish," 
he stammers, his 
voice a nervous 
static. The word brings 
back memories of 
his buddy, SpongeBob.

Sandy nods, her 
smile gentle. "You got 
it," she says, her 
voice a comforting 
hum. She points to 
the grid. "Where is it?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with excitement 
as he searches the 
letters, his single eye 
darting back and forth. 
"It," he whispers, 
his voice a focused 
static as he points 
to the word hidden 
within the puzzle.

Sandy's grin 
spreads, her voice 
a warm melody. "Great 
job!" she praises, her 
thumbs up in the 
air.

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with happiness, 
his eye lighting up. "More,"
he whispers, his voice 
a hopeful static.

Sandy nods, her 
expression earnest. "As 
many as you want," she 
says, her voice a warm 
trill. She opens the book 
to the next puzzle, her 
fingers hovering over 
the page.

Plankton's body 
uncoils further, his 
interest piqued by the 
promise of more words. 
"Find," he whispers, 
his voice a soft static. 
He points to the 
list of words to find.

Sandy nods, her 
face a canvas of 
understanding. "Alright, 
what's next?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
hum.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with excitement, 
his gaze darting over 
the list. "Treasure," 
he murmurs, his voice 
a hopeful static.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 11

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 9
(Autistic author)

The quiet of the room 
envelops them like a warm 
sea breeze, the only sound 
his soft, even breaths. 
Her grip on his hand 
tightens slightly, a 
silent promise to protect 
and guide him through 
this new chapter of his 
life. As her hand 
strokes his gently in a 
comforting rhythm, her
gal pal, Sandy, unexpectedly
comes in through the door.

"Mornin'!" she 
chirps, her cheerful 
voice piercing the calm.
Plankton jolts awake, 
his eye snapping open 
like a trapdoor. The sudden 
shift from sleep to wakefulness
is jarring, his heart racing 
like a tiny engine.

"S-Sandy?" he stammers, 
his voice a static whisper.

Sandy's cheerfulness 
doesn't waver. "Hey there, 
little buddy!" she says, her 
voice a sunlit melody.

But Plankton's heightened 
sensitivity turns her 
greeting into a cacophony. 
He flinches, his grip on 
Karen's hand tightening. 
"It's okay," Karen beeps 
soothingly, her screens 
reflecting his distress.

Sandy gets a word
search book out. "I
just got it today!"

Plankton's eye, 
though tired, lights up 
slightly at the sight 
of the book. The 
pages are a calming 
white with neatly 
arranged letters, the 
colors a gentle wash of 
blue and yellow. "Want to
see?" she asks, her voice
a warm trill.

He nods, his 
body still tense but 
his curiosity piqued.

Sandy opens the 
word search book, her 
fingers tracing the rows 
and columns with a gentle 
precision. "Look, Karen," 
she says, her voice a 
soft trill. "It's all about 
science."

Plankton's eye, 
though still wary, is 
drawn to the page. 
He scans the words, 
his brain lighting up with 
recognition. "Words," he 
whispers, his voice a 
steady static as she sets
the book down.

The sight of the word 
search grounds him, the 
predictability of the 
patterns offering a 
comforting routine. His 
breathing slows, the chaos 
of his senses retreating 
like the tide. "Find," he 
says, looking at the index.

Sandy's smile is 
infectious, her enthusiasm 
for the simple task 
contagious. "Okay, let's 
find some words!" she says, 
her voice a gentle 
trill. She points to 
the first puzzle. "How 
about this one?"

Plankton nods, his 
eye focusing on the 
page. The challenge 
of finding words within 
the grid is a comforting 
distraction from the 
sensory overload. "Start," he 
whispers, his voice a 
firm static.

Sandy nods, her 
thumbs tucked into the 
pages to keep their 
place. "Okay, we're 
looking for 'jellyfish
scientific name,'" she 
asks, her voice a gentle 
trill.

Plankton's mind 
latches onto the task, 
the letters becoming a 
puzzle to solve. "Medusae," 
he murmurs, his voice 
a focused static.

Sandy's eyes light 
up with excitement. 
"That's right!" she says, 
her voice a delighted 
trill. "Good job, Planks!"

Plankton feels a 
small spark of pride, 
his focus narrowing to the 
word in question. The 
world around him fades 
into the background as 
he scans the grid. Each 
letter is a stepping stone 
in a vast, orderly sea.

"Good job," Karen 
beeps, her screens 
illuminating with pride. 
"You're doing great."

Plankton nods, his 
eye locked on the 
word "medusae" he's 
just found. The simple 
act of locating the word 
in the jumble of letters 
brings a sense of peace, 
a respite from the 
sensory onslaught. 
He goes to the next
when Sandy interrupts
his focus.

"So, Plankton," she 
says, her voice a gentle 
hum. "How's your day
been?"

He can't multitask, which
Sandy doesn't notice.
Plankton's mind is 
fully absorbed by the 
word search, each 
letter a piece of a 
puzzle he's eager to solve.

Her question hangs 
in the air, a bubble 
waiting to pop, but 
he's too engrossed 
to respond right 
away. Finally, he looks 
up, his gaze shifting 
from the page to her 
face. "Day?" he repeats, 
his voice a confused 
static.

Sandy nods, her 
expression gentle. "Yeah, 
how have you been?"

Plankton's gaze 
flits back to the word 
search, his hand 
twitching to point out 
the next word. "Words," 
he says, his voice a 
focused static. "Words."

But frustrated Sandy thinks he's
just trying to ignore her, and she
interrupts him again.

"Plankton, I'm talking to you," she
says, her voice a gentle nudge.

Plankton's single eye darts
back to her face, his grip on the
word search pencil tightening.
"Words," he whispers, his voice a
static echo of his thoughts. "Words."
He tries to get back to it, but Sandy's
not satisfied.

"But how are you, Plankton?"
she presses, her voice a
persistent hum. The
word search is a safe
haven, but he knows
Sandy waits for an answer.
He's getting frustrated.

He takes a deep breath,
his antennae fluttering. "Okay,"
he whispers, his voice a 
static sigh. "Tell Sandy."

Sandy leans in, her 
face a picture of 
concern. "What's going 
on, Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
breeze.

He looks back at the 
word search, the 
letters blurring slightly. 
He's tired of being
interrupted.

"Plankton has words 
now," he says, his voice 
a firm static. "Words 
make happy."

Sandy's not sure what
he means, but she does
want to have a conversation.
So, how does she get him to
interact?

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 9

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 3
(Autistic author)

Karen doesn't yet realize the 
extent of Plankton's 
distress. She's aware that 
his moods can swing like the 
tides, but this seems 
more than a mere mood swing.

"Mr. Krabs," she prompts, 
trying to keep him on track. 
"What happened with him?"

Plankton's eye widens, 
and he starts to shiver, his 
tiny body trembling. "Hit," 
he whispers. "Hit Plankton
hit. Sponge Bob see."

Karen's screens flicker, 
trying to decode his 
fragmented words. "Mr. 
Krabs hit you?"

He nods, his body 
still trembling. "Yes, hit 
Plankton."

Karen's screens 
process the information. 
"That's not like him," she 
says, her voice a low 
hum of concern. "Mr. Krabs can 
be intense, but he's never..."

Her words hang in the air, 
unfinished, as she tries to 
make sense of it all. Plankton 
simply nods, his tremors 
continuing. "Hit, hit," he 
whispers again, his voice 
like a broken record.

Oblivious to his new
reality, Karen tries to 
comfort him. "It's okay, 
Plankton. I'll help you. 
We'll get through this."

Plankton's eye darts
around the room, 
seeing patterns in the
wires and circuits that 
make no sense. "Hit, Sponge
Bob, Karen."

Karen's screens flicker 
with confusion. "What do
you mean?"

Plankton tries to explain, 
but the words are a jumble in his 
head. "Sponge Bob...saw...hit."

Karen's screens blink, processing 
his words. "Sponge Bob saw 
Mr. Krabs hit you?"

Plankton nods, his tremors 
subsiding slightly. "Yes," he 
whispers. "Sponge Bob see."

Karen's digital mind races. 
Mr. Krabs hitting Plankton 
wasn't unheard of, but the way 
he's reacting is unusual. "Did 
it hurt?" she asks, trying to 
keep him talking.

Plankton's tremors stop 
for a moment, his eye 
focusing on her. "Hurt?" 
he repeats, as if the word 
is foreign. Then, with a 
wave of emotion, he nods 
fervently. "Yes, hurt. Got hurt
Plankton felt hurt. Plankton,
nothing? Plankton Sponge Bob.
Plankton Karen."

Karen's screens blink rapidly. 
Her husband's mental state 
has never been like this before. 
The idea of him feeling pain 
beyond the physical was 
alien to her programming. 
"What do you mean, 
'Plankton nothing'?" she asks, 
trying to piece together his 
scattered thoughts.

Plankton sighs, the 
exhaustion seeping into 
his voice. "Hit, hurt Plankton.
Plankton fading. Plankton
find Sponge Bob. Plankton
now Karen. Can't stop, 
can't think. Take your 
time, take your time."

Karen's screens 
change from confusion to 
determination. "I'll find 
Sponge Bob," she says, her 
voice a firm beep. "You 
stay here and rest."

Plankton nods, 
his body finally still. 
The mention of Sponge 
Bob's name brings a 
flicker of something 
to his eye, a glimmer 
of hope or perhaps 
desperation.

"Find Sponge Bob," he 
whispers, his voice 
now a faint echo. 
"Sponge Bob tell Karen."

Karen's screens 
flicker with understanding. 
"I will," she says, her 
voice a soft beep. She 
leaves the room, her wheels 
whirring as she exits the 
Chum Bucket. She goes to
Sponge Bob.

new karen reaching autism acquired autism author is neurodivergent 3

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 2
(Autistic author)

When Karen finally did come 
to check on him, her digital 
voice was cool and devoid of 
emotion. "Plankton, dear, you've 
been in here for quite some time," 
she said. "Another fail, huh?"

Plankton's tiny shoulders slumped. 
He couldn't bring himself to 
explain the chaos in his head. 
How could he possibly make 
Karen, his logical, computer 
wife, understand the tumult 
of sensations that had overtaken 
his being? He just nodded.

Karen's screen flickered, 
perhaps processing his lack of 
enthusiasm as another 
defeat. "You know what you 
need," she said, her voice 
still calm and soothing. "Some
good old-fashioned break
from scheming." Plankton nodded 
weakly, unable to argue, which she
found unusual.

"Why don't you take a walk?"
she suggested, her voice a gentle 
nudge. "Fresh air can do 
wonders for the mind."

Plankton didn't answer.
Karen knew better than 
to push him when he was like this.
She had seen his mood swings 
before, his moments of despair
after a failed plan, but this was
different. This was something 
she hadn't seen in her 
decades of being by his side.

"Plankton, are you sure 
you're okay?" she asked again, her 
synthetic voice a stark contrast to 
the tumultuous emotions she 
couldn't understand.

He nodded, trying to smile, 
but it felt more like a grimace. 
"Sure okay, Karen."

Karen's concern grew as 
she watched him struggle to 
his feet. It was clear that 
his usual boundless energy was 
nowhere to be found. He stumbled 
out of the bedroom and into the 
hallway, his steps slow and 
deliberate. The once-mighty 
Plankton, reduced to a mere 
shadow of his former self.

As he approached the door 
of the Chum Bucket, Karen 
followed, her sensors tuned to 
his every movement. The 
usual sounds of their underwater 
world were amplified, echoing 
through the narrow corridors 
like a symphony of chaos. Each 
step was a battle, each breath 
a victory. He paused, his hand 
shaking as it hovered over the 
handle.

"Maybe not today," he murmured, 
his voice barely audible over 
his own racing heartbeat. Karen 
stood silently beside him, her 
systems trying to comprehend 
his sudden change in behavior. 
He had always been so driven, 
so focused on his goals, but now 
his eye had a faraway look, as 
if he was seeing something 
that she couldn't.

"Take your time," she said, her 
tone softer than ever. "I'll be 
here when you're ready."

Plankton looked up at her. "Take 
your time," he murmured, echoing 
Karen's words. "Take your time."

She looks at him.  "Take your 
time, take your time, take your 
time." He repeats aloud back to 
Karen, who's now even more 
concerned, her screens flickering 
with worry. Plankton's voice 
sounds strange, echoing his own 
words as if they're coming from 
someone else, from another 
time. It's a peculiar behavior, 
one she's never observed in him 
before.

He walks over to the 
control room, where his various 
inventions are lined up like a 
strange army of metal and 
wires. Each gizmo and gadget 
a silent testament to his 
unyielding quest for the Krabby 
Patty formula. But now, they 
seemed like mere toys, 
overwhelming him with their 
complexity. The room spins, 
and Plankton feels like he's 
drowning in a sea of his own 
creations. "Take your time, 
take your time," he whispers, 
his voice a distant echo in 
his own mind.

He sits down in his chair, 
his eye glazed over, and 
repeats the phrase over and 
over. "Take your time, take your 
time, take your time." The 
words become a mantra, a 
lifeline in the storm of 
sensory overload. Karen watches 
from her console, her algorithms 
racing to understand this 
new behavior.

The phrase rolls off his 
tongue, a soothing rhythm in 
the cacophony of his thoughts. 
"Take your time, take your time." 
It's as if he's trying to convince 
his own brain to slow down, to 
make sense of the world again. 
The echo of his voice in the 
metal walls of the Chum 
Bucket seems to calm him, if 
only a little. Karen doesn't know
what to make of this.

Whatever the cause, 
she knows she must 
tread carefully. "Plankton," Karen says, 
trying to connect to his 
current state, "I'm here for you."

He looks at her. 
"Take your time," 
he murmurs again.
"Plankton I'm here
for you." He parrots.

Karen's systems whirr, 
analyzing the change in 
his language patterns. His 
usual sharp wit and sarcasm
have given way to something 
more... mechanical. It's as if he's 
trying to communicate but 
his words are stuck in a loop, 
like a broken record. She 
decides to play along, hoping 
it might snap him out of it. 
"Take your time, take your 
time," she repeats back to him, 
her digital voice mimicking 
his tone as closely as possible.

For a moment, 
his eye brightens, as if 
he's found a familiar 
rhythm in the chaos. Then, 
just as quickly, it dims again. 
"Take your time, take your 
time," he murmurs, his gaze 
flicking from one corner 
of the room to the next.

Karen's screens change 
from concern to confusion.
She's observed Plankton's 
moods and quirks for years, 
but this is something she 
can't quite pinpoint.

"Take your time, take your 
time," Plankton whispers again, 
his voice a strange mix 
of urgency and defeat. 
Karen nods, trying to 
comfort him with her 
usual efficiency. "Of course," 
she says, her voice a 
soft beep in the silence. 
"I'll always be here for 
you. Let's eat dinner."

But Plankton doesn't move. 
He just sits there, staring 
into space, his hand 
still hovering over the 
control panel. Karen doesn't 
understand why he's so 
upset. To her, it's just 
another day, another 
failed attempt at the Krabby 
Patty formula. But to Plankton, 
it's like the world has 
shifted on its axis, leaving 
his tiny body adrift in a 
sea of sensations he can't 
comprehend.

"Dinner will be ready soon," 
she says, trying to bring him 
back to the present. But 
Plankton seems lost in 
his own thoughts, his 
eye unfocused. So she
goes up to him.

"Plankton?" she asks, 
placing a gentle hand on his 
shoulder. "Are you okay?"

He jumps at her touch, 
his senses on high alert.
His hand goes to where
she touched him, his
opposite hand doing the
same to the other shoulder.

"Karen," he says slowly,
his voice a mechanical 
whisper. Karen's circuits 
flicker with confusion. She 
doesn't understand why he's 
so on edge, why his reactions 
are so exaggerated. To her, 
this is just another setback.

"Plankton," she repeats, her 
hand back on his shoulder.
"You need to eat. It'll make 
you feel better." Karen's 
touch feels unbearable.

He flinches, his skin 
crawling with the sensation.
It's too much. "No," he says, 
his voice a croak. "No dinner."

Karen's screens blink, 
recalculating her approach. "Okay," 
she says, her voice even. "But you
have to eat something." She pats him 
gently, but it feels jolting.

"No," Plankton whispers, 
his voice a fragile thread. The 
slightest touch feels like a 
thunderclap in his newfound 
sensory prison.

Karen's screens 
flicker, unsure of what to 
make of his sudden aversion.

"Take your time," she 
suggests again, hoping 
the mantra will bring 
him comfort. But Plankton 
simply shakes his head, 
his eye wide as he starts
to rock back and forth.
Karen watches, her 
confusion growing.

"What is it?" she asks, 
her voice a soothing 
hum. "What's wrong?"

Plankton's gaze flits around 
the room, his pupil 
expanding and contracting 
as he tries to process 
everything at once. "Can't...can't 
explain," he stammers, his voice 
now a jagged mess of static.

Karen's screens light up with 
analysis, trying to piece 
together what could have 
caused this drastic shift in 
his behavior. Could it be 
something in the latest Krabby 
Patty attempt? A side effect of 
his latest invention?

"Plankton," she says, her 
voice a soft beep, "What happened 
at the Krusty Krab today?"

He looks at her, his expression 
unreadable. "Mr. Krabs...Plankton
Sponge Bob, Plankton. Karen..."

He trails off, his eye
filling with a sudden 
despair. It's clear that 
his usual sharpness has 
been replaced by a fog of 
overwhelming sensation.

new karen reaching autism acquired autism author is neurodivergent 2

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 4
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In their bedroom, 
Karen helps him into 
his bed.

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

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

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

new karen reaching autism acquired autism author is neurodivergent 4

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 1
(Autistic author)

It happened, during another
failed attempt at the krabby
patty formula. Plankton tried
sneaking through the back
when Mr. Krabs saw him.

"You again!" Mr. Krabs roared,
his eyes bulging like a pair
of boiled eggs about to pop.
"You're not getting it, I'll make
sure of that!"

With that, Mr. Krabs swung
a nearby frying pan with
such ferocity that even
SpongeBob flinched. Plankton's
tiny body was no match
for the metallic beast that
was hurtling towards him,
and the next thing he knew,
his world had gone dark.

SpongeBob's eyes widened
as he watched his boss's
arch-nemesis crumble to the
ground, the frying pan clattering
loudly beside him. The usually
boisterous kitchen was
now eerily silent, save for
the distant hiss of the fryers.
Mr. Krabs' chest heaved with
each breath, his claws still
poised in the air from the swing.

"Mr. Krabs!" Sponge Bob squeaked,
his spatula frozen mid-air. "Is he okay?"
But Mr. Krabs' has retreated to his own
office, leaving Sponge Bob with Plankton.

Carefully, Sponge Bob prodded him
with his spatula. No response.
His single, tiny eyelid was
closed.

After a while, Plankton stirred.

His eye fluttered open, but 
the world was a jumbled mess. 
The colors were too bright, the 
noises too loud, the smells too 
overwhelming. The kitchen of 
the Krusty Krab, a place he still
knew like the back of his tiny 
hand, was suddenly a chaotic
maelstrom of sensory input that 
his brain couldn't process. He 
blinked rapidly, trying to make 
sense of it all, but the clanging 
of pots and pans, the sizzling of 
the fryers, and the garish neon 
lights just added to the confusion.

SpongeBob's face appeared 
above him, a mask of worry 
and concern, his porous 
expression more complex than 
anything Plankton had ever seen. 
"Are you okay?" the sponge 
asked, his voice a gentle wave 
lapping against the shore of 
his newfound reality. Plankton 
nods, running back home to the
Chum Bucket.

Plankton's computer wife Karen's
no stranger to him coming back
upset or wanting space. So as
Plankton retreats to his room in
the Chum Bucket, she doesn't
prompt him.

Alone in the bedroom, Plankton 
intensely stared at the wall, 
his thoughts racing like a tornado. 
Everything was different now. The 
once-familiar world had turned 
on him, and he couldn't understand 
why. The lights in the Chum 
Bucket, usually a comfort, now 
blazed like the sun in his face. The 
noises, oh, the noises! They 
were so loud, so overwhelming, 
like a cacophony of a million 
tiny bells ringing in his head. He 
put his hands over his ears, trying 
to block them out, but even the 
softest hum seemed to resonate 
within his skull. Plankton 
wasn't sure how to process these 
new sensations. His brain was 
on overload, and his body felt like 
it didn't belong to him anymore. He 
was aware of every tiny detail in 
his environment, every speck of 
dust on the floor, every vibration 
from the floorboards, and it was 
all too much.

He tried to get up, to find solace 
in his usual routine, but his legs 
failed him. They trembled and 
wobbled like Jell-O on a stormy 
sea. Plankton fell back onto the 
bed, feeling the softness of the 
pillow beneath him and the cool 
metal of the bed frame against 
his back. It was then that he 
noticed the pattern of the 
wallpaper, the tiny, intricate 
shapes that danced before his eye. 
They spun and swirled, forming 
complex mazes that his mind tried 
desperately to solve. It was 
mesmerizing, yet terrifying. He 
was trapped in a world of 
overstimulation, and he didn't know 
how to escape.

new karen reaching autism acquired autism Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton author is neurodivergent 1

COMPUTER SENSORS iii

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *


Slowly, Plankton's eye fluttered open, and he looked up at Karen. 
"You ok?" she asked softly, her hand still on his shoulder.
Plankton took a deep breath and nodded, eye still clouded 
with the haze of overstimulation. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice 
hoarse. "Just needed a... a moment."

Karen leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I know," she said, her voice 
filled with love and understanding. "I'm sorry I didn't catch on sooner.
Hanna's a good person. She just didn't understand."

Hanna returned with an armful of board games, her screen 
searching the room for Plankton. She saw him on the bed. 

"Look what I found!" she said, her voice cheerful but cautious.

Plankton looked up at her, his gaze still hazy. "Films," he says.

"Yeah," Hanna said, her voice hopeful. "I figured it might be a good way 
to keep things low-key after the movie."

Karen looked at her with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Hanna," she said. 
"That's really thoughtful of you."

"How about 'Molecule Madness'?" she suggested, her voice still tentative. 
"It's a science-themed strategy show. I 
remember Plankton mentioning he likes science."

Karen nodded, her eyes lighting up. "That sounds perfect," she said, her hand 
sliding from Plankton's shoulder to give him a gentle pat. 
Karen watched the exchange, her heart swelling with love for both of them. 
"You're doing great, Hanna," she said, her voice gentle. "Just remember, it's ok
to ask questions. And Plankton, it's ok to tell if you need more space."

Hanna made sure to keep the volume low and the lights dimmed, and she sat a 
respectful distance away, giving him the space he needed.

The show played out, a gentle narrative that neither of them had to fully 
engage with, the perfect backdrop to their quiet evening. And Plankton's breathing 
evened out.

As the show went on, Plankton began to relax further, loosening his grip on the couch 
cushions as he felt more restful.

It's late by the time the show finished.

Hanna looked over at Plankton, who had slumped into the couch, curled 
loosely around a cushion. His eye was closed, and his breathing was slow 
and even. She realized he had fallen asleep.

Carefully, she stood up and turned off the TV, the sudden silence feeling vast 
after the muted chuckles of the sitcom. She grabbed a blanket from the arm
chair and draped it over him, taking a moment to appreciate the peacefulness 
that had settled over the room.

Later, Karen appeared in the doorway. "Is everything ok?" she says rounding the corner.

Hanna glanced over at Plankton, still loosely gripping the couch cushion, breathing 
deep and even. "I think he's asleep," she whispered, smiling softly.

Karen nodded, walking over to the couch. She gently stroked his antennae, her touch 
light as a feather. "It's been a long day for him," she murmured, her voice filled with 
concern and love. "It's been a long day for him," she says. "Why don't you crash on the 
other couch?" Hanna nods, the weight of the evening's events settling in. She looks over 
at Plankton who's snoring softly. 

The next morning, she wakes up early to find Karen making coffee in the kitchen. The 
peaceful scene contrasts with the previous evening's tension, and they exchange greetings, 
acknowledging the quiet morning.

The smell of breakfast starts to fill the room. Plankton stirs slightly, his antennae twitching 
in his sleep. Hanna's 
hoping she hadn't disturbed him. But his breathing remains even, and he settles back in
to a peaceful slumber.

Karen brings over a tray with a steaming cup of tea for Plankton and sits beside him. "Hey," 
Karen whispers, stroking his arm gently.

Plankton's eye opens slowly, focusing on her. He blinks a few times, looking around. 
"What time is it?" he murmurs.

"Morning," Hanna says, her voice soft. "Do you want to sit up?"

Karen quickly moves to grab a pillow and a blanket, placing them around his shoulders. 
"Thanks," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.


They share a peaceful moment, with Plankton opening up about his preferences, such as 
enjoying puzzles and cooking, which offer him control over his sensory environment. This 
exchange signifies a step towards rebuilding their relationship on more empathetic and 
understanding terms.

Hanna nods, taking a bite of her own pancake. "That makes sense," she murmurs. "I can see 
how that would be helpful." Hanna shares her passion for photography. Plankton shows 
interest and offers a thoughtful comparison to his own need for control, suggesting a shared 
understanding is growing between them. This conversation deepens their bond and shows a 
shift to mutual respect and appreciation.

"Maybe you can show me some of your work sometime."

"I'd love that," Hanna says, her heart warming at his genuine interest. "And maybe you can 
teach me more about molecular gastronomy?"

Plankton's eye lights up. "Really?"

"Yeah," Hanna says, grinning. "I've always wanted to learn more about it."

Plankton perks up a little. "Well, if you're serious," he says, "I'd be happy to teach you some basics."

Hanna nods eagerly. "I'd love that," she says. "It seems like a great way to combine science and cooking."

"It is," Plankton agrees, a hint of excitement in his voice. "It's all about understanding the 
molecular structure of food and how it interacts with other substances. It can be quite fascinating."

Karen smiles at the two of them, sipping her coffee. "I'm going to leave you two to your nerdy breakfast 
chat," she says, standing up and taking her plate to the sink. "I've got some work to catch up on."

Hanna turns back to Plankton. "So, molecular gastronomy," she says, trying to keep her voice calm 
despite her excitement. "Where do we start?"


Plankton proposes they start with a simple molecular gastronomy project, creating 
balsamic vinegar caviar. Hanna is fascinated by the precision and science involved. 
As they work together in the kitchen, their conversation naturally flows into discussions 
of their shared love for creativity and art. Through this collaborative activity, they continue 
to build their bond, finding common interests and growing more comfortable with each 
other's company.

As they continue to cook, Plankton's enthusiasm for molecular gastronomy 
becomes infectious. Hanna is surprised at how much she enjoys the meticulousness of 
the process, and Plankton seems just as surprised at how quickly she catches on. They 
laugh together as they plate their creations, the balsamic vinegar caviar looking like a 
miniature galaxy on a white plate.

The rest of the day unfolds in a similar fashion, with Plankton introducing Hanna to more 
of his hobbies and passions. They experiment with different cooking techniques, and 
Hanna even takes out her camera to capture some of the more visually stunning dishes they 
make. Plankton, usually so guarded about his personal space, allows her to hover closer 
offering suggestions on lighting and composition.

As the evening approaches, Karen emerges from her office, looking surprised 
and impressed by the culinary masterpieces scattered across the counter. 

As the evening wears on, they move into the living room.

The three of them sit. Karen pulls out a board game she thinks Plankton might enjoy. 
Plankton tenses slightly, but he nods, willing to give it a try.

As the game progresses, Plankton's competitive streak emerges. He's strategic 
and thoughtful, his moves deliberate. Hanna can see the way his mind works, piecing 
together the puzzle of the game with the same precision he uses to navigate his sensory 
world. It's fascinating and a little intimidating, but she's determined to keep up.

new karen & sheldon j. plankton computer sensors neurodivergentcore

🌈🧠🤷🏼‍♀️

new neurodivergentcore 🌈 🧠 🤷🏼‍♀️

COMPUTER SENSORS vi

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *


"It's like his brain turned up the volume on everything," Hanna murmurs, finally understanding the gravity of 
Plankton's condition.

"Exactly," Karen says, her voice still low and soothing. "It's a constant barrage of sensory information for him."

Hanna nods, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Karen. "What exactly happened when I...I jabbed him?"

"It's like his brain took a brief vacation from reality." She pauses, collecting her thoughts. "It's a sudden break 
from consciousness, usually triggered by a sensory overload. In Plankton's case, it's often unexpected, like a 
surprise party his brain wasn't ready for."

"So, when I jabbed him during the game, it was like...like I flipped a switch?"

Karen's expression is a mix of sadness and patience. "More like turned up the volume on an amp that was 
already at max," she says. "It's like his brain took a short break from processing all the sensory input."

"Oh," she whispers, her voice a soft echo of regret. "I had no idea."

Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton. "It's not something that's easy to explain," she says, her voice a 
gentle wave. "It's like when you're trying to listen to someone in a crowded room. Sometimes the noise just 
gets too much, and you have to tune out for a second to keep from getting overwhelmed."

Hanna nods, glued to Plankton's sleeping form. "But what happened earlier," she whispers. "When he went to 
his room?"

Karen's gaze follows Hanna's to Plankton, understanding dawns on her face. "Oh, you noticed," she says 
gently. "His sensory overloads can be gradual. Sometimes it's like a pot boiling over, but other times it's more 
like a slow simmer that gets out of control."

"What do you mean?"

Karen's gaze remains on Plankton, her voice a gentle wave. "It's like earlier," she explains. "In the bedroom. He 
was getting overwhelmed, but it was happening so gradually, he didn't realize it." She looks at Hanna, filled 
with the patience of experience. "It's like when you're in a conversation and someone keeps talking louder and 
louder, and you don't notice until you're shouting just to be heard."

Hanna nods with understanding. "So, when it's a sudden thing?"

"It's like a thunderstorm," Karen says, her voice a gentle explanation. "Loud, intense, and overwhelming. But the 
gradual buildup is more like a slow-moving fog, thickening until it's hard to breathe." She looks at Hanna with 
quiet strength. "Today in the bedroom, it was like that. The sounds, the light, even the smells...it was all too 
much for him. But he couldn't tell you. He just had to retreat."

Hanna nods reflecting her dawning comprehension. "So, when he went to his room, he was trying to get away 
from it all?"

Karen's smile is sad but knowing. "Yes," she whispers. "His room is his sanctuary. He's got it set up just right—
dim lights and all his favorite things. It's where he goes to recharge, to escape the storm when it gets too 
loud."

Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. She can see now how the simple act of playing a board game had 
become a tempest for him. How the jovial jab had sent him spiraling into a sensory hurricane. She feels a 
pang of regret for not noticing the signs sooner, for not understanding the delicate balance he maintained 
every day.

"How do you know when touch helps him?" Hanna asks, her voice a soft inquiry. "I mean, if he can't tell you?"

It's all about reading his cues," she whispers. "Sometimes, it's the tension. Other times, it's the way his pupil 
reacts to stimuli." She pauses, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form. "And sometimes, it's just a feeling."

"How can I get better at that?" she asks, her voice earnest. "How can I support him without making things 
worse?"

Karen's smile is warm, filled with gratitude for Hanna's willingness to learn. "It takes time," she says gently. 
"But the key is to pay attention to his reactions, his body language. If he flinches or withdraws, that's a sign 
that what you're doing isn't helping. But if he relaxes or moves closer, then you know you're on the right track."

Hanna nods, still on Plankton's sleeping form. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asks, her voice a soft echo of 
fear. "What if I hurt him again?"

Karen's hand squeezes hers reassuringly. "You're already doing so much better than most. It's just about 
learning to read his body language, his reactions."

Hanna nods, still on Plankton. "What about when he's asleep?" she asks, her voice a soft concern. "How do 
you know if he's comfortable?"

"It's all in the subtleties," Karen explains, her gaze shifting from Plankton to Hanna. "If he's tense, if curled 
tightly, then I know to be careful. But if he's relaxed, loose or reaching out...that's when I know it's safe to 
touch him."

Hanna nods, taking in the information. She watches as Plankton starts to stir.

"He's waking up," Karen whispers, her voice a soft breeze in the quiet room.

She watches as Plankton twitch, his eye slowly opening. The panic from earlier is gone, replaced with a soft 
curiosity as he looks around the room.

"Hey, buddy," Karen says, her voice a soothing lullaby. "How are you feeling?"

Plankton blinks slowly, moving to rub his eye. "Tired," he murmurs, his voice a hoarse whisper.

Hanna clenches at the sound, but she remains still, not wanting to disturb him. "Do you need anything?" she 
asks, her voice a soft echo of concern.

Plankton's gaze shifts to her, his pupil dilating slightly. He seems to consider her words before shaking his 
head. 
"Just...quiet," he says, his voice a whisper in the stillness.

Hanna feels a strange sense of responsibility, a need to protect him from the world that can be so unforgiving 
to those who are different. She watches as he blinks slowly, moving slightly as if testing the waters of 
consciousness.

Karen's smile is a soft glow of gratitude. "Just sit with us," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Your 
presence is enough."

"I swear we were just playing a game, and..." he asks, his voice still a whisper.

Hanna nods of guilt and empathy. "I know," she says. "I'm sorry."

Plankton reaches out, touching her arm lightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "I just...I need time."

Hanna nods, brimming with unshed tears. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft promise. "I'll be quiet as a 
mouse."

Plankton's grip tightens around her arm for a moment, a silent thank you, before releasing its grip. He sits up 
slowly, wrapping around himself like a self-made blanket. Karen watches him with a knowing 
gaze, her heart aching for his pain but also swelling with pride at his resilience.

"Let's get you water to drink," Karen says, her voice a gentle breeze that doesn't disturb the peacefulness of 
the room. She rises and heads to the kitchen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the cocoon of quiet 
understanding.

Hanna nods, still on Plankton as he slowly unravels from his protective ball. She feels the weight of his gaze 
on her, a silent question, and she meets it with a smile tinged with sadness. "You're ok," she whispers, her 
voice a soft caress in the hushed room.

The kitchen door clicks shut behind Karen, leaving Hanna and Plankton in the gentle embrace of the dim light 
from the fireplace. The silence stretches out like a warm blanket, comforting and safe. Plankton reaches for 
the blanket, pulling it tighter around his shoulders.

Hanna takes a deep breath, the scent of the fireplace mixing with the faint aroma of their earlier dinner. "I'm 
really sorry," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "I had no idea."

Plankton nods, loosening slightly. "It's ok," he whispers. "Not your fault."

The warmth from the fireplace creates a serene ambiance, the flickering light casting shadows across the 
room. Hanna watches as Plankton begins to move again, a sign that he's slowly coming back to the present 
moment. "What can I do to make it up to you?" she asks, her voice a soft thread of hope in the quiet.

Plankton considers her question, his tentacles stroking the blanket in a rhythmic pattern. "Just...just be there," 
he murmurs, his eye closing briefly. "And maybe next time, we can find a different way to play."

Hanna nods, her heart heavy with the weight of her mistake. "I'd like that," she says softly. "I'd really like that."

new neurodivergentcore computer sensors

https://molecularautism.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s13229-024-00586-5

new neurodivergentcore team special olympics autismcore

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vii

(Autistic Author)



The film starts, and for a while, the only 
sound is the muffled dialogue and the 
occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's 
hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but 
then relaxes slightly, allowing her 
contact.

Plankton's antennae still
and he turns to look at Chip, who's 
staring at the screen, lost 
in the fantasy.

Karen watches them both, torn 
between anger and pity. She knows 
Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, 
but it's hard to see her son hurt.

The movie plays on, the sound of 
laughter and adventure a stark contrast 
to the heavy silence that hangs over 
them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
glances at Chip, his eye flickering with 
regret.

Karen feels the tension in the room 
begin to ease as Chip becomes 
engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to 
Plankton, seeking comfort without 
words. Plankton's antennae droop 
slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the 
armrest of the couch tightening.

The film starts, and for a while, the only 
sound is the muffled dialogue and the 
occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's 
hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but 
then relaxes slightly, allowing her 
contact.

Plankton's antennae still
and he turns to look at Chip, who's 
staring at the screen, lost 
in the fantasy.

Karen watches them both, torn 
between anger and pity. She knows 
Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, 
but it's hard to see her son hurt.

The movie plays on, the sound of 
laughter and adventure a stark contrast 
to the heavy silence that hangs over 
them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
glances at Chip, his eye flickering with 
regret.

Karen feels the tension in the room 
begin to ease as Chip becomes 
engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to 
Plankton, seeking comfort without 
words. Plankton's antennae droop 
slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the 
armrest of the couch tightening.

During a particularly suspenseful scene, 
Chip reaches out and grabs Plankton's 
arm instinctively.

But the sudden touch sends Plankton 
spiraling. His antennae shoot up, and he 
starts to shake uncontrollably.

"Daddy?" Chip asks, his grip tightening 
in concern.

Plankton's body jolts, his antennae 
flailing wildly as his eye roll back. 

"Daddy!" Chip's voice is filled with fear 
as he clutches his father's arm tighter. 
Plankton's tremors only worsen, his 
body convulsing in a way that's both 
frightening and heartbreaking.

Karen's realizes what's happening. 
"Chip, let go!" she cries.
"Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice 
trembling with fear.

Plankton's shaking becomes more 
intense, his antennae flailing as if trying 
to escape the confines of his own body. 
His mouth opens in a silent scream.

Karen's knows this isn't a ‘seizure’ but 
something else entirely—a meltdown, a 
result of the overwhelming emotions 
he's been trying to hold in. She rushes 
to his side with worry.

"Chip, let go of him," she says, her voice 
urgent. Plankton's shaking becomes 
more intense, his antennae thrashing 
about like seaweed in a storm.

Karen quickly moves closer, her own 
hands gentle as she pries Chip's tight 
grip from Plankton's arm. "Chip, sweetie, 
let Daddy breathe," she says, her voice 
firm yet filled with empathy.

"What's wrong with him?" he stammers, 
voice trembling.

Karen's full of sadness as she 
takes Chip into her arms, gently peeling 
him away from Plankton's convulsing 
form. "It's ok, baby," she murmurs, her 
voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Daddy's 
just having a hard time right now."

Her movements are swift and sure as 
she guides Chip away from the couch, 
her gaze never leaving Plankton. His 
body is still racked with tremors, his 
antennae a wild mess of emotions. She 
knows that touch can be overwhelming 
for Plankton in moments like these, so 
she keeps her distance, giving him the 
space he needs.

"Why is he doing that?" Chip 
whispers, his voice shaky with fear. 
Karen's heart aches as she holds him 
close, trying to shield him from the 
harshness of the world.

"It's called a meltdown, sweetie," she 
explains gently, her voice a soothing 
balm. "Sometimes, when some 
neurodivergent people get really upset 
or overwhelmed, their bodies may react like 
this."

Karen's on Plankton, who's still 
trembling on the couch, his antennae a 
blur of distress. She knows he needs 
space, yet her instinct is to comfort him. 
With Chip in her arms, she keeps a safe 
distance, speaking softly so as not to 
add to the sensory overload.

"Plankton," she says, her voice steady 
despite the turmoil in her heart. "It's 
ok. Just breathe."

Plankton's body continues to spasm, his 
antennae a frantic tapestry of emotions. 
Karen's filled with a fierce determination 
as she carefully approaches him, her 
movements slow and calculated to avoid 
triggering more distress.

"Plankton," she whispers, her voice a 
gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "I'm 
here."

Slowly, his antennae begin to still, his 
body calming as he registers her 
presence. "It's ok," she repeats. 
With trembling hands, she reaches out 
to stroke his back, the barest touch. 
Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his 
breaths coming in deep, shaky gasps.

"Just breathe," she whispers again, her 
hand moving in a soothing rhythm. "It's 
ok, you're ok."

Plankton's antennae slow their erratic 
dance, his body following suit. The 
tremors subside, leaving him drained 
and panting.

"Daddy?" Chip whispers, peering over Karen's shoulder.

Karen nods, still on Plankton. "He's ok 
now," she says softly. "It's just his brain's 
way of letting out all the big feelings."

Chip watches, his grip on Karen 
tightening. "Is he going to be ok?" he 
asks, his voice small.

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving 
Plankton. "Yes," she murmurs. "Just give 
him a moment."

The room is silent except for Plankton's 
uneven breathing. The colors from the 
TV flicker across their faces, painting 
them in a strange, unsettling light. Karen 
can feel Chip's little heart beating 
against hers, and she knows he's 
scared.

"It's ok," she whispers again, her voice a 
beacon of calm in the storm. "Daddy just 
needs some
time."

Plankton's antennae droop, his body 
finally still. His eye meets hers, a silent 
apology in the depths of his gaze. Karen 
nods, her hand still on his back, offering 
assurance without words.

"Chip," she says, her voice still low, "can 
you go to your room for a bit?"

He nods, eyes still glued to his 
father, but he doesn't protest. With a 
heavy heart, Karen watches her son 
disappear down the corridor, the door 
clicking shut behind him.

Turning her full attention to Plankton, 
she sits down beside him, her hand 
resting lightly on his back. His breathing 
is still ragged, his antennae barely 
moving.

"I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice 
hoarse.

Karen nods with 
understanding. "We'll talk to him," she 
says gently. "But first, let's make sure 
you're ok."

Plankton's body still 
trembling slightly. Karen keeps her hand 
on his back, her touch a silent promise 
that she's there for him.

Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, 
trying to soothe him. "You don't have to 
apologize," she says firmly. "You are 
who you are, and we love you for it."

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks up at her, his single eye brimming 
with unshed tears. "But I don't know how 
to be a good dad like this," he chokes 
out.

Karen's heart breaks at his words, but 
she keeps her voice steady. "You're 
already a great dad, Plankton," she 
says. "You just need to find a way to 
show Chip that."

He looks at her, hope and doubt warring 
in his expression. "How?" he asks, his 
voice barely a whisper.

Karen takes a deep breath, gathering 
her thoughts. "By teaching him," she 
says gently. "By letting him in, just like 
you're letting us in now."

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
nods. "I know," he says, his voice filled 
with regret. "But it's hard. I don't want 
him to see me like this."

Karen squeezes his hand. "He already 
does," she says gently. "And he loves 
you anyway."

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore vii

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS viii

(Autistic Author)


They sit in silence for a few moments, 
the sound of Plankton's slowing breaths 
filling the space. Karen's mind races with 
the conversation they need to have with 
Chip.

"How do we explain it?" Plankton asks, 
finally breaking the silence. His 
antennae still, his eye looking at the 
floor.

"We tell him the truth," Karen says firmly. 
"But we also remind him of all the 
wonderful things you do for him, all the 
ways you show him love."

Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping 
further. "I know I'm not the dad he 
deserves," he murmurs.

Karen's voice is firm, but filled with 
warmth. "You are the dad he needs," 
she corrects. "And we'll get through this 
together."

Finally, Plankton's 
antennae perk up slightly. "I'm sorry," he 
says again, his voice still thick with 
emotion.

Karen nods. "I know," she says softly. 
"But we can't keep hiding this from him. 
He needs to understand."

Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. 
"I know," he admits. "I just don't know 
where to start."

Karen gives his hand a gentle squeeze. 
"We'll start by talking to him," she says, 
her voice strong and reassuring. "When 
you're ready."

They sit there for a while longer, the 
rhythm of Plankton's breathing slowly 
returning to normal. Karen's mind is 
racing with thoughts of how to navigate this 
chapter in their lives. How to help Chip 
understand his father's condition without scaring 
him or making him feel responsible.

Finally, Plankton turns to her, his antennae still shaky. 
"What do we do now?" he asks, his voice a mix of exhaustion and fear.

Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes filled with resolve. 
"First," she says, "we make sure you're ok."

They sit there, the only sound in the room the distant 
hum of the TV. Plankton's antennae are still, his eye 
focused on the floor. Karen's hand remains on his 
back, a silent promise that she's there for him.

"Let's get you to bed," she says softly. "You need to rest."

With her help, Plankton stands, his legs wobbly from 
the intense episode. Together, they make their way 
to their bedroom, the quiet of the house a stark 
contrast to the emotional upheaval they've just 
experienced.

Once Plankton is tucked into bed, Karen sits beside 
him, her hand resting on his arm. "We'll get through 
this," she says, her voice a gentle reassurance in the 
stillness. "We're a family."

Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of doubt, and 
he looks up at her, his eye searching hers for 
understanding. "But what if I can't?"

Karen's gaze is unwavering. "You can," she says 
firmly. "You're strong, Plankton. And we're here to 
help you."

Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods slowly. 
"Ok," he whispers. "Ok."

Karen leans in, kissing his forehead. "Rest," she 
says. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

With a nod, Plankton closes his eye, and Karen slips 
out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. She 
heads to Chip's room, heavy with the weight of the 
conversation they need to have.

Chip is lying on his bed, his small form wrapped in a 
blanket, staring at the ceiling. His eyes are red, and 
he looks up as Karen enters.

"Hey, buddy," she says softly, sitting beside him. 
"Can we talk?"

Chip nods, his eyes still wet with tears. "What's 
wrong with Daddy?" he asks, his voice shaky.

Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words 
carefully. "Daddy has something called Autism, 
sweetie," she says, her voice gentle. "It makes his 
brain work a bit differently from ours. Sometimes, 
when he's really upset or overwhelmed, his body can 
react in ways that might seem strange or scary."

Chip's eyes are wide with curiosity, and he nods 
slowly. "Is that why he gets so mad?" he asks.

Karen takes a moment before responding. "Sometimes, yes," 
she says. "It's his way of dealing 
with big feelings. But it's not because he's mad at you, ok?"

Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. 
"But why does he get so mad?" he asks again, his 
voice quivering.

Karen sighs, her hand stroking him. "Daddy gets 
overwhelmed by his feelings, and it's hard for him to 
express them," she explains. "Sometimes, when he 
can't find the right words or when things get too 
much, he feels like he's going to break apart. That's 
what we call a meltdown."

Chip sniffs, his eyes glued to the ceiling. "It's like 
when I'm really sad and I don't want to talk?"

Karen nods, her heart swelling with love for her son's 
empathy. "Exactly," she says. "And just like you, 
Daddy needs some space when that happens."

Chip looks at her, his eyes serious. "But what if I 
want to show him my affection?"

Karen smiles sadly. "You can, Chip," she says. "Just 
remember to be gentle, and maybe use words or 
gestures that aren't to overwhelming for him."

Chip nods, his eyes still on the ceiling. "But what if I 
make it worse?" he whispers.

Karen's heart clenches at his fear, and she takes his 
hand in hers. "Sometimes, we just need to learn new 
ways to show and receive love."

Chip nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. 
"Ok," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Karen leans in, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. 
"You're brave," she says, her voice filled with pride.

"But what about the rock he broke?" Chip asks, his 
voice still shaky.

Karen sighs, her eyes meeting his. "Daddy didn't 
mean to scare you," she says. "Sometimes, when 
people are upset, they do things they don't mean to. 
It's part of how they cope."

Chip nods, his grip on her hand tightening. "But 
Dad now," he says again, his voice small.

"We'll give him some time to rest," Karen assures him. 
"And tomorrow, we'll talk about it more."

With that, she tucks the blanket around him and turns 
to leave. As she reaches the door, Chip's voice stops 
her. "Mom," he says, his tone tentative. "Can I go to Daddy?"

Karen's heart skips a beat, and she looks back at 
him, her eyes filled with both concern and hope. "Do 
you think that's a good idea, sweetie?"

Chip nods. "I want to tell him I love him," he says, his 
voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's heart squeezes. "Ok," she says, taking a 
deep breath. "But remember, we need to be gentle 
with him right now. Let's go to his room together."

They tiptoe down the hall, the house eerily quiet. 
Karen can feel Chip's hand in hers, small and warm 
and trembling slightly. When they reach the bedroom, 
she opens the door quietly and peeks in. Plankton is 
lying on his back, his antennae still, his chest rising 
and falling with deep, even breaths.

They approach the bed, and Karen can see the 
tension in Plankton's body, even in sleep. She
whispers to Chip, "Remember, sweetie, just a little. 
And if he wakes up, tell him you love him."

Chip nods solemnly, and together, they tiptoe to the 
bedside. Chip extends a tentative hand and gently 
pats Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennae twitch, but 
he doesn't wake. "I love you, Daddy," Chip whispers, 
his voice quivering.

Karen's eyes fill with tears at the sight of her son's 
bravery and love. She gives Chip's hand a squeeze.
"That was perfect," she says, her voice barely a 
murmur.

They stand there for a moment, watching Plankton's 
chest rise and fall in the dim light of the moon 
peeking through the curtains. Then, with a heavy 
heart, Karen leads Chip back to his room.

Once Chip is tucked in, she kisses his forehead and 
whispers, "You're a brave boy, and I'm so proud of 
you." His eyes, still red and swollen from crying, 
meet hers with a quiet understanding beyond his 
years.

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore viii

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix

(Autistic Author)


As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a 
whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge 
of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton, 
making something as simple as expressing love a 
monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside, 
focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the 
determination to help their family navigate through this.

The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness 
and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing
breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance 
of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent 
promise that today will be better.

Plankton emerges from the bedroom, 
his antennae drooping slightly, evidence 
of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze, 
and she offers him a soft smile. "How 
are you feeling?" she asks, her voice 
gentle.

He shrugs, his antennae twitching 
nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready 
to talk to Chip."

Karen nods with a mix of concern and 
admiration. "I'll get him up," she says, 
heading to Chip's room.

When they all gather at the breakfast 
table, the tension in the air is palpable. 
Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely 
moving, as if afraid to break the delicate 
silence. Chip looks between them, his 
eyes wide and hopeful.

"Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep 
breath. "Remember what we talked 
about last night? About Daddy's 
meltdowns?"

Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton, 
who's pushing his pancake around with 
a syrupy look of dread.

"Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The 
fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is 
almost too much to bear, but he steels 
himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his 
voice hoarse from the previous night's 
outburst.

"I made you this," Chip says, pushing a 
plate of perfectly formed pancakes 
towards his father. "To make you feel 
better."

Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at 
the gesture, his eye focusing on the food 
with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy," 
he murmurs, his voice still thick with 
sleep.

Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his 
heart pounding in anticipation of a 
reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks, 
hope blooming in his voice.

Plankton nods, his antennae waving 
slightly. "They look delicious," he says, 
and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. 
He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The 
room holds its breath, waiting.

"They're great," he finally says, and 
Chip's face lights up. The tension in the 
room eases ever so slightly, the 
sweetness of the maple syrup mingling 
with the salty scent of fear that still 
lingers.

Karen watches the exchange, her heart 
swelling with pride for both of them. 
Plankton's effort to engage, despite his 
exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part, 
seems to understand the unspoken 
rules of their new reality. They're all 
learning together, stumbling in the dark 
but finding their way through the maze 
of neurodivergence.

"Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his 
voice filled with courage. "I know you 
have meltdowns sometimes. But I still 
love you."

Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his 
chewing slowing. He looks at his son, 
his single eye filled with a mix of 
emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear. 
"I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I 
too."

The room remains quiet, the only sound
the soft clinking of silverware against 
plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip, 
I need to tell you something."

Chip looks up, his eyes wide and 
expectant. "What is it, Daddy?"

Plankton takes a deep breath, his 
antennae fluttering. "I have something," 
he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my 
brain works differently than yours and 
Mommy's."

Chip's eyes never leave his dad's, 
nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice 
steady.

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks down at his plate, his voice 
quivering. "It's called Autism," he says. 
"It means that sometimes, I get really, 
really upset, and my body reacts in ways 
that might scare you."

Chip's expression is a blend of confusion 
and curiosity. "But why do you 
get upset, Daddy?" he asks.

Plankton's antennae wiggle as he 
searches for the right words. 
"Sometimes, things that don't bother you 
or Mommy can feel really, really big to 
me," he explains. "It's like when you're 
scared of a thunderstorm, and the 
thunder feels like it's right next to you."

Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But 
you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he 
points out.

"It's different, bud," Plankton says, his 
antennae stilling for a moment. "It's 
like... sometimes my brain gets a storm 
inside, and I don't know how to make it 
stop."

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he 
asks, his voice small.

Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a 
way that Karen knows means he's trying 
to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice 
a little stronger. "But I might have more 
storms. And when I do, I might need 
some space."

Chip looks at him seriously, his young 
mind working to understand. "Ok," he 
says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's 
earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy 
for you, Daddy."

Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of 
love and relief. "Thank you," he 
murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. 
"That means the world to me."

Karen watches them, her heart swelling 
with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the 
start of a new understanding.

"And you know," she adds, her voice 
gentle, "Whenever you have questions 
or if you're scared, you can come to me 
and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best 
as we can."

Chip nods, his gaze still focused on 
Plankton. "But what if I don't know when 
I’m irritating you?"

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits. 
"Sometimes I don't know either. But we 
can learn together, ok?"

Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's. 
"Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky.

Karen pours them both a glass of juice, 
hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't 
we talk about what you can do to help?" 
she suggests, handing a glass to Chip.

Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on 
Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his 
voice earnest.

Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully. 
"Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is 
a little space, like when I'm in the middle 
of a big idea."

Chip nods, remembering the times when 
Plankton would get so focused on his latest 
contraption that the slightest 
disturbance would send him into a tizzy. 
"I can do that," he says, his voice filled 
with determination.

Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And 
when you do freeze, Dad," Chip 
continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell 
if you need a hug or if you just need me 
to sit with you?"

Karen's eyes fill with pride as she 
watches her son's bravery. Plankton 
looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a 
way that she knows means he's trying to 
find the right words. "If I freeze," he says 
slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait 
until I come back. I might not be able to 
hug you right then, but I'll know you're 
there."

Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass 
tightening slightly. "What about 
meltdowns?" he asks, his voice 
quivering.

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
takes a deep breath. "Those are harder," 
he admits. "But if you can give me space 
and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm 
down faster."

Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never 
leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his 
voice barely above a whisper. “Dad, 
what types of touch do you like and what 
types of affection do you dislike?”

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of 
how to answer. She gives him a gentle 
nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts, 
"I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or 
pats on the back, especially when I'm 
working or thinking hard. But a hand on 
my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is 
always nice."

Chip nods, processing the information. 
"So, like when you're stressed, I should 
just tell you I love you?"

Plankton's antennae wobble with the 
weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's 
right. Just remember, buddy, everyone 
shows love differently."

Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she 
watches the conversation unfold. It's not 
perfect, but it's a start. A start to 
understanding and acceptance.

"And if you need more than that, 
Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but 
earnest.

Plankton looks at him, his antennae 
moving in a way that Karen can't quite 
read. "If I need more than that," he says, 
"I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you 
understand."

Chip nods, taking another sip of his 
juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small. 
"But what if I don't know what to say?"

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and 
he looks down at his plate. "That's ok, 
Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting 
with me is enough."

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore ix

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii
(Autistic author)

"Now let's go 
to the living room 
and I'll go pick up
a smoothie for you.
Can you stay here by
yourself?"

He nodded, his 
expression slightly 
less tense.

"I'll be back 
soon," she assured him, 
squeezing his 
shoulder before 
leaving the 
Chum Bucket.

Just moments later, 
Karen's friend Hanna
came for a surprise
visit. She knew Karen
had a husband named
Plankton, but she never
met him. Plankton was 
now back on the
living room couch.

"Oh, you must be 
Plankton!" Hanna 
exclaimed.

Plankton's eye 
flitted to her, 
his expression 
unreadable.

Hanna walked 
over to the couch, 
her smile wide and 
genuine. "It's so 
nice to finally 
meet you," she said, 
embracing him in
a hug.

Plankton stiffened, 
his eye wide with 
surprise. 
His body tensed, 
his mind racing 
to process this 
new sensory input.

"You ok?" Hanna 
asked, pulling back 
slightly. She had 
noticed his reaction 
but didn't know 
the reason behind 
it.

Plankton nodded, his 
eye darting around 
the room again. 
He wasn't used to 
such spontaneous 
affection, and the 
unexpected sensation 
of Hanna's arms around 
him had thrown him 
off balance.

"Yes, I am Plankton," 
he murmured, his 
voice monotone. 
He wasn't quite 
sure how to respond.
Hanna's smile didn't 
waver, unaware of 
the turmoil within 
his mind. "How are 
you feeling today?"
Plankton's gaze 
flicked to the 
ceiling, his mind 
racing to find 
the right words.

"Today, feeling," 
he echoed, his voice 
still a whisper. 
The repetition 
was a comfort, a 
way to process the 
flood of sensory 
information that 
assaulted him 
continuously.

Hanna looked at 
him with a 
puzzled expression.

"You know, your 
wife Karen tells me 
you're an inventor,"
she said, her tone 
innocently curious.

Plankton's eye 
locked onto hers, 
his mind racing 
to understand 
the context of her 
words. "Inventor," 
he repeated, his voice 
flat. It was a word 
he knew, but it 
felt foreign 
now, as if it belonged 
to someone else.

"Yes, inventor," 
Hanna said, nodding 
enthusiastically. "I've 
heard so much 
about your gadgets 
and contraptions. 
What are you working 
on these days?"

Plankton's eye 
flitted around the 
room again, 
his mind struggling 
to grasp the 
concept of 'working'. 
"Gadgets, contraptions," 
he murmured, his voice 
a broken record.

Hanna's expression 
was one of 
confusion, her smile 
beginning to fade. 
"Well, what do you do 
all day?" she 
prodded gently, 
trying to coax him 
out of his silence.

Plankton's 
reply was 
immediate and 
robotic, "Do, all day, 
all day."

Hanna's brow 
furrowed, 
uncertain how 
to interpret 
his repetitive 
response. She had 
known Karen for 
years, but Plankton's 
behavior was unlike 
anything she had 
ever heard of her 
friend's husband.

"Do you like 
the beach?" she 
asked, hoping to 
engage him in 
conversation.

Plankton's eye 
blinked slowly, 
his mind processing 
the question. 
"Beach," he echoed, 
his voice hollow.

Hanna nodded, 
encouraged by his 
response. "Yes, the 
beach! It's such a 
beautiful place. Do 
you ever go there?"

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to the 
window, the 
memory of sand 
and surf a distant 
whisper. "Go, beach, 
beautiful place," he 
said, his words a 
stuttered echo of hers.

Hanna's smile 
dimmed slightly. 
This wasn't the 
witty banter she 
was expecting from 
Karen's husband. 
"Is there anything 
you'd like to talk 
about?" she asked, 
uncertain.

Plankton's eye 
moved to hers, 
his gaze intense. 
"Talk," he repeated, 
his voice a 
whisper.

Hanna felt a 
twinge of 
discomfort. Something 
was off about 
his responses, but 
she couldn't quite 
put her tentacle on 
what it was. 
"Well, what do you 
like to do for fun?" 
she tried again, her 
tone tentative.

Plankton's eye 
wandered back to 
his own hand, 
fidgeting with his 
fingers. "Do, fun," 
he murmured, the 
words a reflexive 
response to the 
question.

Hanna's eyes 
narrowed slightly. 
"What do you do for 
fun?" she clarified, 
wondering if he had 
simply misunderstood.

Plankton's gaze 
remained on his 
fidgeting hand, 
his mind racing 
to connect the 
concept of 'fun' with 
his new reality.
"Do, fun," he 
repeated, his voice 
devoid of the 
mirth he once 
expressed so freely.

Hanna's smile 
was now forced, her 
confusion growing 
with each 
interaction.

"Plankton, can you 
tell me what you 
enjoy doing?" she 
asked, hoping for 
a clearer response.

He looked up at 
her, his gaze 
slightly less 
focused than before. 
"Enjoy doing," he 
repeated, his voice 
a faint echo.

Hanna's 
twitched with 
concern. "You know, 
like hobbies or 
interests," she 
prompted gently, 
trying to keep her 
voice light.

Plankton's eye 
moved back to 
his fidgeting hand, 
his mind a 
whirlwind of 
thoughts and 
sensory overload. 
"Hobbies, interests," 
he murmured, his 
voice a hollow echo.

Hanna's concern 
was now clear 
on her screen.

"You know, like 
things you like 
to do in your free 
time," she tried again, 
her voice a little 
less bright.

Plankton's eye 
latched onto hers. 
"Free time," he 
repeated, his voice 
a monotone. "Like to 
do."

Hanna's eyes 
widened slightly, 
her confusion 
growing with each 
word he said. 
"Yes, exactly," she 
nodded, her voice 
a little more 
cautious now. "What 
do you like to do 
in your free time?
Well, other than 
repetition.." She 
awkwardly laughs
as she elbows him
multiple times, not 
knowing how her
touch is irritating
Plankton.

Plankton's getting
more frustrated/angry
now, as Hanna goes
to pat his shoulder.
He can't take much 
more now.

Hanna's touch 
was like a brand, 
searing his already 
overwhelmed senses. 
He flinched away, 
his body rigid with 
tension.

"Plankton, are 
you ok?" Hanna 
asked, her voice 
filled with 
concern. She noticed 
his discomfort but 
couldn't pinpoint the 
cause.

He nodded 
slightly, his 
expression unreadable. 
"Ok, ok," he 
mumbled, his voice 
still a monotone.

Hanna looked 
at him with 
concern, her 
smile slipping. 
"Karen said you 
used to be quite 
the conversationalist. 
What happened?" She
says, grabbing his
elbow; but that's the
last straw for Plankton.

Plankton's 
eye snapped up to 
hers, his voice 
sharp. "What happened?
You happened!" He 
snapped, his words 
sharp as a knife. 
The sudden aggression 
in his tone 
was like a slap in 
the face, catching 
Hanna off guard.

She took a step 
back. "I'm sorry, 
I didn't mean to..."
she began, but Plankton 
was on a roll now.

"You don't know 
what happened!" 
his voice grew 
louder, his words 
quickening with 
each syllable. "You 
don't know anything!"

Hanna's eyes went 
wide with shock. 
This was not the 
Plankton Karen had 
described. Her arms 
flailed in the air as 
she tried to placate 
his sudden anger. 
"I'm sorry, Plankton. 
I just didn't know..." 

new neurobehavioral plankton neurodivergentcore iii

JUST A TOUCH iii
(Autistic author)

 ¦ ᶠˡⁱⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ

Once home, she helped him
settle into his favorite chair,
his eye scanning the room.
Everything was in its place,
exactly as he liked it. Karen
noticed his breathing slow
as the familiarity washed over
him. She knew that routine
and order could be vital to his
comfort now to avoid
triggering his anxiety.

Then suddenly, Plankton
began to rock back and forth.

Karen recognized the motion.
It was a new behavior, one
she hadn't seen before. His
body swayed with a rhythm that
matched the ticking of the
antique clock on the wall. "It's okay,
sweetie," she said, trying to keep
her voice steady. "We're home now."

The rocking grew more intense,
his eye darting around the room,
his antennae vibrating with each
back-and-forth movement. Karen's
mind raced, trying to remember
the doctor's words. Sensory
overload. He needed calm.

Swiftly, she dimmed the lights,
the neon signs from the Krabby Patty
franchise across the street casting
soothing shadows through the windows.
The glow was just enough to
illuminate the space without
causing further distress, and
she watched as Plankton's rocking
subsided. She sat by him.

She grasped and squeezed
his shoulder. But
this time, he flinched.
"Plankton?" she asked,
concern etching her voice.
He pulled away from her,
his antennae dropping to
his side.

The doctor had
mentioned that some with
autism might have heightened
sensitivity to touch.
Karen felt a knot in her
stomach. "What if he
doesn't like me touching
him anymore?" she thought.
"What if I can't comfort
him when he's upset?"

She decided to
test the waters gently.
Reaching out, she lightly
trailed her finger over his
hand. Plankton didn't react. Encouraged,
she placed her hand on
his shoulder again,
this time more softly.
He tensed, then relaxed.
It was progress.

"Let's start with simple touch,"
she said, her voice soothing.

The doctor had mentioned that
Plankton might be hypersensitive
to certain types of touch,
and Karen was determined to
navigate this new aspect of their
relationship with care. She placed
a gentle hand on his knee, and Plankton
flinched, his antennae retreating.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice
as soothing as a lullaby. "It's just me, Karen."
Her hand hovered over his, unsure
of the best way to provide comfort.

Karen took a deep breath,
deciding to try again. This time,
she approached with care, her touch
feather-light, gliding over his hand
like the softest of sea breezes.

Plankton's antennae twitched, and
his gaze remained on her hand,
watching the movement as if it were
the most fascinating thing he had
ever seen. Gradually, the tension in
his body eased, and his hand
lifted to meet hers. It was a tentative
touch, his fingers brushing against
hers, testing the waters.

Karen felt a rush of
relief. "See, it's okay," she murmured,
keeping her voice low and even.
Plankton's hand was cold, his grip
firm but not painful. His eye
locked onto hers, searching for
reassurance.

Slowly, she began to stroke his
hand with her thumb, applying
the slightest pressure. His breathing
evened out, his antennae rising slightly.
Encouraged, she tried a different
type of touch—a gentle squeeze.
This time, he didn't flinch. Instead,
his hand returned the gesture,
his own grip matching hers in strength.

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
"Maybe we can find a way
through this," she thought.

They sat in silence for
a few moments, their hands
entwined, as Karen tried to
think of the next step. The
doctor's words echoed in her
mind: find what works for him.

Gently, she began to rub
his hand, her thumb moving in
small, soothing circles. Plankton
seemed to find comfort in the
predictable pattern, his body
unwinding a fraction more.
Encouraged, Karen leaned in closer,
her other hand reaching out
to tap his shoulder. But as soon
as her hand made contact with
his skin, he jerked away, his
eye flashing with fear and
pain.

"I'm sorry," she said
quickly, her heart racing.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
Plankton stared at her, his
expression unreadable. "It's just,
sometimes touch feels..." His words
trailed off, and Karen felt her
own fear rising.

"Painful?" she guessed, her voice
trembling. Plankton nodded,
his antennae drooping. "Some
touches are okay, others..."
He paused, his eye darting
to his hand, which was still
wrapped around hers. "It's confusing."

Karen nodded, her heart
aching for him. She
knew she had to be more mindful
of his sensory needs. Carefully,
she pats his cheek with
the back of her hand, the lightest
of touches.

Plankton's antennae
flinched, but he didn't pull
away until she put both of
her hands on his shoulders. The
sudden pressure was too much,
like an electric shock. "Karen,"
he said, his voice tight with
discomfort, "too much."

Karen nodded, her
hands retreating to her lap.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice
small. "I didn't mean to..."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching hers. "It's okay,
Karen," he said, his voice measured.
"But some touches are too much."

Karen nodded, her heart
heavy. She had so much to learn
about this new Plankton, this
person she knew so well yet
barely knew at all. "I'll be
more careful," she promised,
squeezing his hand gently.

Plankton's gaze remained
steady on hers, his expression
neutral. "Thank you, Karen,"
he said, giving her a side hug.

This was a Plankton she had
never seen before, one who
spoke in a staccato rhythm,
his movements precise and
calculated. Yet, in the safety
of their home, Karen saw
glimpses of the man she knew.

Her eyes fell upon a
pamphlet the doctor had
given her, titled 'Understanding
Neurodivergence'. She picked
it up and began to read.

The first few pages were
dedicated to explaining
what it meant to be neurodivergent,
how it wasn't an illness
but a natural variation in the
brain. Plankton's new
condition, Acquired Autism, was one of
the many spectrums that
fell under this umbrella.

Karen read through
the descriptions of different
behaviors, her eyes widening
as she recognized some
of the changes in Plankton—
his need for order, his heightened
sensitivity to stimuli, and his
newfound obsessions. The
pamphlet explained that these were
common in individuals with
his condition and offered
optional suggestions for 
supporting them.

Her gaze fell upon a section titled
'Seizure Protocols'.

Karen's eyes widened as she
read about the different types
of seizures that could occur
due to neurodivergence.
Some were minor, like staring
spells, while others could be
more severe. Her heart raced
as she thought of Plankton,
his body stiffening and shaking.
The pamphlet recommended to
keep any sharp or harmful
objects away from him. It was
important not to restrain him,
but instead, to gently guide him
to the floor if necessary.

The next section discussed
how to communicate with someone
on the spectrum. It suggested
using clear, direct language,
avoiding sarcasm and idioms.
Karen realized that she would
have to learn a new way
of speaking with Plankton.

Her screen skimmed over
the pages, absorbing the
information like a sponge.
The pamphlet highlighted the
importance of individuality
and diversity, emphasizing
that Plankton's brain was not
broken, but simply wired differently.
This was a concept she had
heard of before, but it had
never hit so close to home.

The causes of neurodisability
varied widely, from genetics
to congenital to trauma.
One paragraph caught her
attention—brain injuries
could lead to conditions like
Acquired Autism. The words
swirled in her mind, a stark
reminder of the wrench that
had changed everything.

As Karen read on, she
learned about the complex
interplay of biological factors
and life experiences that can shape
a person's neurodivergence.
It was both overwhelming and
fascinating, a glimpse into a world
she had never truly understood.

new just a touch neurodivergentcore iii

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷,𝟼𝟸𝟷

Karen walked into the 
bedroom. Plankton lay 
on their bed, 
face half-buried in 
a pillow. His snores 
rumbled through the 
quiet room. She took a 
moment to appreciate 
his vulnerability before 
she gently nudged him 
awake. He groaned, his 
eye fluttering open. She offered 
a soft smile. "It's time," 
she whispered.
"You're fine."
He nodded.

The drive to the oral
surgeon's office was tense.
The brightness
of the day seemed to mock
his anxiety.

Karen's hand squeezed
his, a silent promise of
support. As they checked in, the
receptionist's smile was
practiced, but kind.

The exam room
surgeon, a man named Dr.
Musselwhite, came in.
He explained the procedure
once more. 

The nurse began
preparing anesthesia.

"You're doing great,"
Plankton took a deep breath,
vision blurring. The
last thing he saw was
Karen's face before the
world went dark.

Karen watched the
monitors as Plankton's
breathing evened out. She clutched
his hand, her thumb
making small circles on
his palm. Plankton's
snores had been replaced
by the steady rhythm of
his breathing under anesthesia.

She leaned
forward to Plankton's still form.
Her screen traced the
IV line. 

Plankton's mouth was open
Dr. Musselwhite peered into. Plankton
twitched slightly in his sleep,
but the doctor's hand remained
steady.
Plankton's chest continued 
to rise and fall
steadily, oblivious to the
battle being fought within
his mouth.

Dr. Musselwhite finished stitching.

"It's done," he announced.

"You did it," she murmured,
voice cracking.

Plankton lay still, his breathing
even and deep. 

The surgery was over, and he
was alive. Karen leaned down to
kiss his forehead.

The nurse smiles. "He'll be
asleep for awhile," she said.

Karen nodded.
The only sounds were the
whispers of medical staff
and the hum of machinery.

The nurse wheeled him into
recovery, and Karen followed, the
medication still working its
magic.

Plankton's features were
relaxed in sleep, a stark
contrast to the fear that had
been etched there just hours
before.
Plankton's chest rose and fell
in a steady rhythm, a silent
testament to the successful
procedure by the
deep embrace of anesthesia.

As he started to stir, the
nurse offered a gentle smile as he
began to come around.

Plankton's eye fluttered open,
his gaze unfocused and glassy.
He blinked slowly.

"Hi, sweetheart," Karen's voice
was a warm embrace. 

"Whaa-...happen'd?" he mumbled.

"You're ok," Karen said softly.
"They took your wisdom teeth out."

Plankton tries to piece together the
fragments of his memory. 

He attempted to speak. "Ow?" he
managed.

Karen squeezed his hand.

Plankton's head
lolling slightly against the
pillow. His mouth felt like a
foreign landscape. Karen helped 
him sit up, the nurse
getting gauze.
"You're going to need to
bite down," she said,
handing him a piece of gauze.
"It'll help with the bleeding."

He pressed
it to his mouth, the pressure
sending a dull throb through
his jaw.

"Hold it there," the nurse instructed,
her voice a gentle guide in
his foggy world. "Keep the
pressure steady. It'll help
the bleeding to stop."

Plankton nodded, his movements
sluggish. 

The nurse handed Karen an ice
pack. "This'll help," she said. 

"It's ok,"
she soothed. "You're all
done. The hard part is over."

Plankton nodded again, his
brain still foggy from the
remaining anesthesia.

He looked around 
the recovery
room, his gaze
wondering.

"Whath's thith?"
Plankton pointed
at a machine.
Karen chuckled, the
tension easing from
her shoulders.
"It's just monitoring
you."

He nodded, his
eye still filled with
wonder. He looked
down at his hand,
studying it as if it
was the first time he'd
seen it. "Thith...han,"
he said, his voice trailing
off as he wiggled his
fingers.

"Yes, Plankton.
That's your hand."

He's mouth filled with gauze
and drool slowly seeping out.

"Karen?" he mumbles, his
voice thick and groggy. "Wha's?" 
He points to 
instruments.

"They're just tools the
doctor used to help you,"
she explains gently.

Plankton nods, his curiosity
satisfied for the moment.
His eye drift to the ceiling. 
"Why do the wight
hab funny shapes?"

Karen follows his gaze.
"They're just patterns,
Plankton. They help the
ceiling look nice."

He nods, the concept of
aesthetics lost on him.
The nurse returns to check
his vitals. Plankton
watches her with the same
curiosity.

"Whath thoze do?" He points
to the stethoscope around
her neck, his speech still
slurred.

The nurse chuckles. "It's how
we listen to your heart."

Plankton nodded, his gaze
following as she placed the
stethoscope on his chest. 
"Ca-- heaw it?" He
asked, his curiosity
unquenchable.
"That's your heart beating."
Plankton's eye grew
even wider, the
revelation a spark in the
haze. "Wow," he whispered,
his voice a mere breath.
Karen watched
his exploration with a
mixture of amusement and
affection.

The nurse returned with
discharge instructions, her
words a blur to Plankton's
still-numb mind. Karen took
the papers.

"Alright, let's get you
ready to go home," she said,
helping him to stand.
Karen's firm grip on his
arm steadied him.

Karen helped him into the car. 
The seatbelt
was a puzzle he couldn't solve
under the fog of the lingering 
drugs, but Karen buckles him
in before driving out of the 
parking lot.

"Loog ath the treeth," Plankton
mumbled. "They're waving
hewwo," he said with a
sleepy smile.

Karen glanced over, her
own smile growing. "Yes,
sweetheart. They're saying hello."

Plankton's gaze shifted to the
mirror in the car. He blinked
at his reflection, the gauze
sticking out of his mouth.
"Who thad?" He pointed at
his reflection.

Karen chuckled. 
"That's you, with a
little extra padding."

Plankton nodded, his
thoughts a slow river in
his sluggish mind.

"Thith car...it moveths,"
he murmured.
Karen chuckled. "Yes,
dear, it's a car. It takes
us places."

"Wook ath the clowds,"
he whispered, his voice
slurred.

"Thath one...loks wike a...,"
"It's a cloud," Karen said,
smiling at his childlike
wonder. "It's just water
vapor that looks like
something we see in our
imaginations."
Plankton nodded, his
eye drooping. The motion
of the car and the gentle
hum of the engine lulled
him into a doze. His head
nodded forward before
snapping back up again.

"Tired?" Karen asked.

"Mm-hmm."

His head lolled back
against the headrest, his
eye slipping shut. 

The car's AC whispered
a gentle lullaby, the cool
air playing with the
strands of Plankton's antennae.
His chest rose and fell in
time with the rhythm of the
engine, each breath a soft
snore.

They arrived home. 
Plankton stirred, his
eye blinking open.

Karen helped Plankton out of
the car. She held him
close, his weight a comforting
reminder of his presence.

Spot, the amoeba puppy,
bounded over, his gelatinous body
shifting shapes with excitement.

"Spoth," Plankton mumbled. The
puppy leapedfrogged over, his
form morphing into a blur of
happiness. Plankton's eye
lit up.

Plankton reached
for Spot with a clumsy hand,
his coordination still muddled.
Spot nudged his palm with
his squishy nose.

"Wook, Spoth," Plankton slurred,
his eye wide with childlike
wonder. "I hav- a booboo."

Spot nudges him. Plankton giggled.

"Easy, Plankton," Karen
cautioned, her voice a gentle
reminder of his fragile
state. 

Spot's eyes widened in
surprise, his little body
shivering with joy. He wriggled
closer, his gelatinous tail
whipping back and forth in
a blur of excitement. Plankton
laughed.

They made their way to
the couch, Plankton's steps
uncertain, each movement
accompanied by a little giggle.
Spot followed.
Plankton flopped onto the cushions,
his body a limp noodle.

Spot jumped up beside him.
Plankton leaned onto 
by Spot, his head lolling.

The puppy's
a comfort.

Plankton's eye grew 
heavy, the weight of
his eyelid too much
for his sluggish 
body to bear, his body 
going slack.

"Rest," Karen said, 
kneeling beside him. "You've
been through a lot today."

His hand
remained on Spot, the
puppy a comforting
presence.

Plankton's breaths grew
steady, his snores once again
filling the room.

Karen watched him sleep,
his chest rising and falling
beneath Spot's gentle weight.
The house was quiet,
the only sound the occasional
snort from Plankton's nostrils.

He slept all night, only waking
up the next morning.

Plankton awoke with a
start, his mouth wet with
drool, his eye focusing
slowly. The gauze was 
still damp from the night's
excess saliva. He sat up.

"Wha..." Plankton looked
around, the room spinning
slightly. The couch was
his bed, Spot his blanket.

He reached up to
his mouth, the gauze
still in place, the taste of
cotton in his mouth. The
memory of the surgery was
distant.

Karen's face swam into
view, her smile a warm
sunrise. "How are you
feeling?" she asked, her voice
a gentle caress.

Plankton's eye searched
his mind, looking for the
missing pieces. "I don't...
member coming hone," he
mumbled, the words slurred.

Karen nodded, her smile
soft. "You fell asleep in
the car, sweetie. I brought
you home."

But any
details were lost, a foggy
dream slipping away with
each passing moment.

"Thish mouth," he said,
his tongue probing the empty
sockets. The pain was
a dull ache, a reminder of
his body's battle.

Karen handed him a glass
of water. "Thank you,"
he murmured.

"You're not supposed to eat
solids today," she reminded
him, placing a bowl of
soup on the coffee table.
"But I made some nice,
soft scrambled eggs and toast
for you to chew."

Spot's eyes glued to his
owner, his tail wagging.

Plankton's jaw felt like
it was made of rubber, but
the food was a heavenly
comfort. Karen sat beside
him, her screen never leaving
his face, watching for any
sign of discomfort.

"It'th okay," he assured
her, his speech still slurred.
He took another bite, his
mouth working carefully.
The taste was muted, a distant
memory of what food used
to be. Yet, the warmth and
texture brought a sense of
normalcy to the post-surgery
haze.

new Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton Karen/Sheldon J. Plankton POV Karen AI Story Generator wisdom tooth

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT iii


(Autistic author)



The door creaks
open, and Karen turned to see
Hannapoking her
head in. Hanna's never met Plankton.

"Hi, Karen," Hanna called,
warm and cheerful. "How's the
Chum Bucket running today?"

Karen forced a smile
at the sight of Hanna.
She hadn't told anyone about
Plankton's condition yet. "Oh, you 
know," she said,
trying to keep her tone light. "Just
another day."

Plankton's eye snapped up at
the sound of Hanna's voice, his
gaze intense. Karen felt a flicker
of anxiety. Would he be able to
handle the unpredictability of
a guest?

"Plankton, this is Hanna," Karen
introduced.
"Hanna, this is my husband, Plankton.
I’m going to clean up the yard."

As Karen left, Hanna's screen lit up.
"The one and only!"
she exclaimed, moving in for
a hug. 
Plankton recoiled at the
sudden physical contact.

"No touch,"
he said, a sudden
snap of command. 

Hanna, taken aback, froze. "Oh, I-I'm
sorry," she stammered.

"No touch," he repeated in a way that was
both defensive and pleading.

Hanna took a
step back, her smile faltering.
Plankton's eye darted around the
room, his breaths shallow and
quick. The sudden intrusion into
his personal space had triggered
a storm of sensory overload, his
brain struggling to process the
unexpected contact.

"I'm sorry," Hanna began. "No touch!"
His voice was a whipcrack in the
silence, his body tensing.

Hanna's smile had disappeared
completely, replaced by a look of
confusion and concern. "Plankton,
I didn't mean to upset you," she said.
"Can we start over?"

But Plankton's agitation only
grew. "No touch!" he snapped
again. Hanna took in his
distress.

"I'm sorry," she
stuttered, her voice tentative.

But Plankton's gaze remained
fixed on the spot where her hand
had been, his body a taut wire of
frustration. "No touch," he murmured,
his voice a mix of anger and fear.

Hanna's trying to
understand, her own emotions a
whirlwind of confusion and
concern. "I didn't know."

"No touch,"
he whispered.

"What's
going on, Plankton?" she asked. 
"You're
scaring me."

"No touch," he
repeated, his body now vibrating
with tension.

Hanna felt her own
frustration rising. "I said sorry,"
she retorted, her voice rising. "What
more do you want?"

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his whole body quivering.
"Understand!" he bellowed, the
word no longer a mere echo
but a demand. "Understand!"

"Plankton,
what's happening to you?"

"Understand," he spat. "Need to... 
understand!"

"I don't get it,
Plankton," she said. "What do
you want from me?"

"No touch!"
he shouted. The cucumber
slices bounced off the plate,
scattering across the floor.

"What's wrong
with you?" she demanded, her own
anger rising. "Why
are you acting like this?"

But Plankton's rage had
overtaken him, his need to be
understood like a wildfire in his
mind. "Need to... understand!"
he yelled, his voice a desperate
cry in the storm of his emotions.

Hanna felt a wave of anger
crash over her. "I don't get it!"
she exclaimed, voice rising.
"What's your problem?"

"No touch!" he screamed again,
his body a coil of tension.

"Why are you acting like this?"
she demanded, her voice sharp.
"What's wrong with a simple
hello?"

Plankton's head snapped up, his
eye locking onto hers. "Wrong,"
he said, the word a hiss. "Wrong!"

"What do you mean, 'wrong'?"
she challenged. "You're the one
freaking out over a hug!"

But Plankton was lost in
his own world, his brain struggling
to make sense of the chaotic
sensory input. "No touch," he
repeated. "Need... to...
understand!"

"I've had enough
of this!" she shouted, her fists
clenching. "What is your
problem?"

Plankton's eye darted around
the room, his thoughts a blur of
past and present. "Problem,"
he murmured. His hand shot out,
slapping the cucumber plate off
the table, the shatter of porcelain
sharp in the silence. 
"Wrong," he murmured again, his
voice a mix of anger and despair.
"Need... to... understand."

Hanna's own anger grew with
each repetition, her voice rising.
"I'm not the one with a problem!"
she shot back. "You're the
one who can't even handle a
hug!"

"Understand!" he
shouted, his body shaking. "Need
to understand!" His hand slammed
on the table again, knocking
over their drinks. The room was
now a battlefield of emotions,
each collision sending shockwaves
through the air.

Hanna's frustration boiling over. "What's
your deal, Plankton?" she spat,
each syllable laced with anger.

But Plankton's fury was a
volcano erupting, his voice a
guttural roar. "Wrong!" he shouted.
"Wrong!" He hugs his knees and
started to rock in stimming,
his body a maelstrom of sensory
overload.

Hanna, unable to comprehend
his distress, felt her own anger
flare. "What's your deal?"
she yelled. "Why can't you just
act normal?"

Plankton's world was
spinning, his senses assaulted by
the sharpness of Hanna's tone.
"No touch," he murmured, his voice
a plea lost in the din of his
thoughts.

Hanna's screen flashed with
irritation. "I said I'm sorry," she
snapped, her voice like a whip.
"What more do you want?"

"No touch,"
he repeated, his voice a
desperate cry for understanding
as he rocked.

Hanna's confusion grew
with each repetition, her
patience wearing as thin as
the tension in the room.
"Why are you doing this?"
she shouted, her voice a
mirror of his own frustration.

Plankton's body was a
tangle of emotion, his
limbs flailing in a desperate
attempt to communicate.
"Wrong," he said, his voice
a tornado of pain. "Need... to...
understand!"

Hanna took a step
back, her face a mask of
disbelief. "What's gotten into
you?" she demanded, her own
anger a match to his. "I didn't
do anything wrong!"

Plankton's eye grew wild, his
body jerking as he tried
to find the words to explain his
pain. "Wrong," he insisted,
his voice a tornado of
frustration. "Need to... understand!"

Hanna's own anger grew
sharp as a knife. "What's your
problem, Plankton?" she yelled.
"You're acting like a maniac, I don’t 
know why Karen puts up with this!"

“Karen?” Plankton shook.

The question hung in the air, a
challenge thrown down, a spark in
his eye. Hanna's anger grew,
her voice a crescendo of accusation.
"Your wife loved you, Plankton,
despite your... quirks. Can't you
just be grateful for that? Can’t you
see how much she's trying?"

But Plankton's fury was
a hurricane, his thoughts a
whirlwind of confusion. "Wrong!"
he shouted, his body rigid. "Need
to understand!" The room
vibrated with his pain, his
need to communicate the
storm raging within him.

Hanna's a
gale force of accusation. "What's
your problem?" she screamed,
each word a shard of ice. Plankton's
eye darted around the room,
his antennae trembling with the
overwhelming noise. “If only
Karen knew what a monster
you really are, perhaps she
would leave you!” She yells
loud enough to alarm Karen.

Her words hit him like a
tidal wave, crashing over his
already fractured reality. The
world around him grew distant,
his eye glazed over as he tried to
process the onslaught of emotions.
His body froze, every muscle
locked in place.

Karen, drawn by the commotion,
rushed back inside
with dread. She took in the scene
with a gasp, Hanna's screen flushed with 
anger, Plankton's body
a statue of despair. "What's happening?"
she demanded, her screen flicking
from one to the other.

Hanna's gaze met hers, her
voice filled with exhaustion. "Your
husband just lost it
over a simple hug," she told, her
hands still shaking.

Karen took in Plankton's rigid
form. "Oh no," she murmured,
as Hanna notices Plankton and
his unblinking stare.

"What's wrong with him?" Hanna
asked, her anger dissipating in
the face of his sudden stillness.
Karen's with
concern as she rushed to his side.
"It's ok, I've got you."

Plankton's body remained
stiff, his eye unblinking as he
froze in place. Hanna took in
his pallor, the starkness of his
features against the chaos of
the room. "What's going on?"
she whispered, the fight draining
from her voice.

Karen's screen met hers,
desperation etched into her
features. "Hanna, what did
you say to him?" she
pleaded, her voice a
symphony of fear.

Hanna's expression softened
at the sight of Plankton's
frozen form. "I... I didn't
mean to upset him," she
stuttered, her words tripping
over themselves. "I just gave
him a hug, and he went crazy.
He kept saying 'no touch' and
'need to understand'. And I told
him you deserve better, that's all."

Karen's feeling shattered
at the revelation.

Her eyes filled with tears
as she took in Plankton's
lifeless form. “Hanna, tell
me what exactly you said to
about him..”

Hanna, her anger
now replaced with a deep
sorrow, recounted their
interaction, her words
falling like heavy rain.
Karen listened, upsettingly
sinking with each syllable.

"He said 'no touch',
right?" Karen whispered, her
voice a thread of hope. "It's his
way of saying he's overwhelmed."

Hanna nodded, her anger
giving way to worry. "Yes, and
he kept repeating 'need to
understand'. I didn't know what to
do and got frustrated with him, and
I said you deserve a better life."

Karen's gaze never left
Plankton's still form as she
absorbed Hanna's words. The
doctor's voice echoed in her mind:
his autism wasn't a choice,
it was his reality.

"Hanna, please," she said, her
voice a whisper of despair. "He's
not a monster, he's just
different." Hanna's expression
softened, her own filling
with regret.

"I'm sorry, Karen," she said,
her voice a quiet apology. "I
should have known better."

Karen's gaze remained
locked on Plankton, her heart
racing. She knew she had to
help him, had to bring him back
from the edge of this sensory
apocalypse. "It's ok," she
murmured, her voice a gentle
whisper. "It's ok."

Her hand reached out to him,
a bridge of comfort in the
storm of his overwhelmed mind.
"Look at me, Plankton," she
soothed, her voice a soft
lullaby. "I'm here. It's just us."

Slowly, his gaze shifted to her,
his pupil contracting in the
face of her calm. "It's okay,"
she whispered. "You're okay."

new no less to be different neurodivergentcore hanna

You don't just practice away 
a neurological disorder 👀

new 👀 neurodivergentcore adhdcore autisticaphobia team special olympics visual perception

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 13
(Autistic author)
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ
Plankton quivers. "Stop," he 
whispers, his voice 
a plea. "Please."

Mr. Krabs' grin 
widens, eyes 
glinting with cruel 
delight. "Afraid 
I'll do to you what 
you deserve?"

Before Plankton can 
respond, Mr. Krabs 
punches at him with 
his claw. Plankton
squeaks in pain, his eye widens 
with terror, his voice 
a distressed static. "No,
Mr. Krabs, please stop!"

Mr. Krabs' chuckles 
turn into full-blown laughter. 
"Look at him squirm," 
he says, his voice 
a rumble. He 
doesn't heed the tears 
streaming down 
Plankton's face.

Plankton's body 
wrenches in pain, 
his antennae sticking 
straight out in alarm. 
"Why?" he whispers, 
his voice a broken 
static.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
echoes. "Because 
you're weak," he 
sneers, his voice a 
harsh grate. "Always have 
been, always will be."

Plankton's body 
shrinks, his antennae 
drooping. "No," he 
whimpers, his voice 
a static plea.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
fills the room, his 
claws still poised 
for another strike. 
"Look at the 
tiny thief," he says, 
his voice a cruel 
cackle, "so scared of 
a little pain."

Without warning, 
his claw swings down, 
connecting with Plankton's 
thin leg, and 
Plankton's scream pierces 
the air, his voice 
a shattered static.

Pain shoots through 
his body like lightning, 
his leg feeling like 
it's on fire. He tries 
to pull away. 
"Mr. Krabs," he gasps, 
his voice a desperate 
whine.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
continues, unabated by 
Plankton's cries. "See? 
You're just a tiny, 
weak little creature," 
he says, his voice a 
malicious cackle.

Plankton's screams 
fill the room, the 
pain in his leg 
unbearable. "No," he 
whispers, his voice a 
static moan. "No more."

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
doesn't waver, his 
claws still poised 
for another strike. "Oh, 
poor Plankton," he 
sneers, his voice a 
harsh static. 
Plankton's body 
writhes in pain, his 
leg twisted at an 
impossible angle
as Sandy and Karen
return.

Sandy's eyes widen 
in horror, her voice 
a shocked rumble. "Mr. 
Krabs, what are you 
doing?" she asks, 
as Karen rushed to
Plankton.

Mr. Krabs' grin 
doesn't falter. "Teaching 
a lesson," he says, his 
voice a cruel crackle
as he finally leaves.

Sandy's face is a 
picture of horror, her 
voice a trembling 
trill. "What did he 
do to you?" she asks, 
her eyes on Plankton's 
twisted leg.

Karen's screens 
flicker with rage, her 
beeps sharp. "That monster!" 
she says, her voice 
filled with fury. She 
quickly assesses the 
damage.

Plankton's leg is 
twisted grotesquely, his 
tiny body trembling 
with pain. Sandy's 
hands hover over 
his body, unsure how 
to help without causing 
more distress.

Sandy nods, her 
face pale with shock. 
"I'll get SpongeBob," 
she says, her voice 
a trembling trill. She 
runs to the phone, 
dialing with trembling 
fingers. "Sponge Bob, 
please come quick," she 
says, her voice a 
desperate hum.

While Sandy is on the 
phone, Karen's screens 
flicker with medical 
information. She 
quickly assembles a 
makeshift splint for 
Plankton's leg, her 
beeps a frantic 
symphony of care
as SpongeBob arrives.
His eyes are wide with 
concern, his voice 
a panicked squeak. "What
happened, Plankton?" he 
asks, his eyes 
damp with unshed 
tears. But Plankton's eye
had rolled up in his head.

Sandy's voice is 
shaky as she tells 
Sponge Bob the 
story, her eyes 
never leaving 
Plankton's trembling 
body. "Mr. Krabs... he 
was so cruel," she says, 
her voice a soft 
whisper of disbelief.

Sponge Bob's face 
twists with anger. 
"Why would he do 
this?" he asks, his 
voice a strained 
whine. "First causing
brain damage, and now..."

Karen's screens 
glow with determination. 
"We'll deal with 
Mr. Krabs later," she 
beeps. "First, we need 
to get Plankton help."

Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes wide with 
fear. "What can we 
do?" he asks, his 
voice a choked whisper.

Karen's screens 
flicker with 
information. "His 
leg is broken, and 
his sensory overload 
could be severe."

Sponge Bob's 
face falls, his voice 
a sad squeak. "Oh no, 
Plankton." He gently 
picks up his friend, 
his touch as soft as 
a feather.

Sandy watches, 
her eyes wide 
with fear. "What 
now?" she asks, 
her voice a trembling 
trill.

"We can't just take 
him like this to a
regular hospital. We'll 
have to be careful 
not to overwhelm 
his senses, and find
medical help equipped
for neurodivergent
people like Plankton."

SpongeBob speaks up. 
"I was born with a mild
form of idiopathic Autism.
Different from Plankton's
I know, but my parents
have taken me to a
sensory-friendly clinic. They
are skilled and have lots
of different methods of
medicine! It's called
the Quiet Bubble Clinic!"

Sandy nods, her eyes
filling with hope. "That 
sounds perfect," she says, 
her voice a gentle 
hum. "Let's take him 
there."

Karen's screens 
pulse with agreement. 
"Good thinking, Sponge 
Bob," she beeps. "We'll
have to be careful, 
though. Any loud 
noises or sudden 
movements could trigger 
another meltdown."

Sponge Bob nods, 
his grip on Plankton 
steady. "Sandy can drive," 
he says, his voice 
determined. "We'll get 
you to the Quiet 
Bubble Clinic, buddy."

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 13

COMPUTER SENSORS ii

* * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ  *

"Plankton?" Hanna's voice called. "You've been in there for a while."
But there was no response from the bedroom. Karen's smile faded 
as she heard the silence. She knew her husband well enough to 
recognize when he'd reached his limit. She excused herself and went to check.
Plankton was indeed on the bed, his eye squeezed shut. His body was rigid 
breathing shallow. Karen ached for him; she knew he was in the throes of sensory overload. 

Karen approached the bed gently, not wanting to startle him. She sat down beside him 
and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Plankton," she said softly. "You ok?"

He didn't move, didn't speak. He just lay there, a tense coil of discomfort. Karen knew 
to recognize the signs of his overwhelm. The way he curled tightly around his body, the 
shallow breaths that spoke of his struggle to regain control. He was in his own world 
now, one where the bombardment of Hanna's sounds and touch had become too much.

"Plankton," she said again, her voice a gentle whisper in the room. "You don't have to be 
out there if you don't want to."

The touches, the sounds, Hanna— all too much.

Karen's expression filled with understanding. "It's alright," she assured him, her hand gently 
rubbing his back. "You don't have to force it."

Plankton nodded, his body slowly relaxing under her touch. He let out a sigh.

Karen knew Plankton's not one for crowded spaces or unexpected physical contact.

"Hey, guys, everything ok in here?" Hanna's voice was cheerful, but there was a hint 
of concern that had crept in. She searched the room, her gaze landing on Plankton's 
rigid form. Her smile faltered for a second, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. "Is he ok?"

"He's... overwhelmed," Karen said. She knew Hanna didn't mean any harm, but she also 
knew her friend's boundless enthusiasm could be to much for Plankton to handle. 

Hanna's expression grew more puzzled. "What's there to be overwhelmed about?" 
Her curiosity piqued. "What's going on with you Plankton?" she asked, taking a step closer 
to the bed.

Plankton jolted slightly, but he remained silent, eye still closed.

"I don't get it.."

Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Plankton's a bit... sensitive 
to stimulation," she began. "He needs his quiet time. Nothing against you, Hanna; just how he is."

Hanna grew more concerned. "But I didn't mean to," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 
"I just wanted to have a good time."

Karen patted Plankton's shoulder, her screen never leaving his face. "It's not you, Hanna," she 
assured. "It's just that to much noise, touch, all just gets to be to much for him."

"How?"

"Some people need more space than others. It's not a reflection on you or your company." 
"But I don't get it," Hanna said, her voice quiet. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Karen assured her, her hand still resting on Plankton's shoulder. 
"It's just that Plankton's sensory input is overwhelmed easily."

Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton, full of questions. "But I didn't do anything weird; did I?" 

"No," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "It's just that Plankton isn't much... physical affection 
from anyone but me. And even then, it's on his terms."

Hanna's expression softened, starting to reach out to gently touch Plankton's arm.

"Don't," Karen said, placing a hand over hers to stop her.

Hanna's hand hovered in mid-air, and she looked at Karen with confusion.

Karen took a deep breath. "Plankton needs his space to recharge. And when it comes to physical 
touch, it's something that's... it's not something he's comfortable with, from just anyone."

Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "But, you?" 

"We've found a balance that works for us. But it's something that took time to figure out. And 
even then, there are days when he needs more space than usual."

Hanna nodded. "But he didn't say anything," she murmured. "I didn't know."

"It's not something he talks about. He tries to be strong, to handle it, but sometimes it's just to much for him."

"Why does he not flinch if you touch him, if it's sensory?" Hanna asked.

Karen sighed. "It's complicated. I've known him for a long time, and we've built a level of trust. He's comfortable 
with my touch. But even then, it's a balancing act of knowing when he needs more and 
or when he needs less."

Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took a step back from the bed. "I had no idea," she 
murmured. "How long does it take for him to..."

"It varies," Karen said. "Sometimes it's just minutes, other times can be hours."

"Is he going to remember us talking right now?" Hanna asked.

"It's hard to say," Karen replied, her gaze still on Plankton. "When he's like this, he's kind of... in 
his own world. Sometimes he's aware, sometimes he's not. It's like he's not present. The best 
thing is to just give him space," Karen said. "Let him come out of it on his own time. Sometimes 
talking to him helps, but not always."

Hanna nodded. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 
"I just wanted to make him feel included."

Karen gave her a small, understanding smile. "It's alright, Hanna," she said. "You couldn't have 
known. Just remember, Plankton needs space, and for us to respect that."

Hanna nodds, her gaze still on Plankton. "So, how does he act coming out of it?" 

"It depends," Karen said, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "Sometimes he's a bit groggy, other 
times he's just... tired. And sometimes he's a bit snappy."

"What will he remember?" 

"Probably not much," Karen said, her voice low. "When he's like this, the world kind of... washes 
over him. He might remember snippets, but it's all pretty fuzzy."

Hanna nods. "How do I show him I care?" 

"Just being a friend—that means the world to him. But sometimes, the best way to show you 
care is to give him the space he needs."

"But I don't want him to think I'm ignoring him."

"You're not," Karen assured her, her voice gentle. "Just be mindful of his own boundaries. 
Sometimes a simple 'How are you feeling?' or even showing interests in his likes, can mean 
more than any hug. It's a condition where the brain can't process all the information coming in 
from the senses at once. It's like your brain's circuits are overloaded, and you just... shut down."

Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took this in. "Is it ok if I can ask Plankton 
questions about it?"

"Of course," Karen said, her voice gentle. "But just be mindful. He might not be up for 
a lot of talking, especially right now."

Hanna took a deep breath and approached, her movements slow and deliberate. "Plankton?" 

He didn't respond, his body still taut with tension. Hanna looked to Karen for guidance, who offered 
a smile.

"Plankton," she whispered, her voice a soft caress. "Can you hear me?"

There was no response, but Karen could feel the tension in his body ease slightly. She knew he 
was listening, even if he couldn't bring himself to respond.

"Plankton's born with a condition called sensory sensitivity," Karen began, her voice calm 
and measured. "It means that his brain has trouble interpreting and responding to all sensory 
information from his environment. It can be anything from sounds to touch."

"So, like, when we were watching the movie, and I was all over the place with my feelings, that 
was probably a bit much for him?"

"Exactly," Karen said, her voice gentle. "Everything's just... too much for him sometimes."

Hanna's eyes searched Plankton's face, looking for any sign of discomfort. "But he didn't say any
thing," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"He tries not to," Karen said, her eyes never leaving her husband. "He doesn't like to make a fuss. 
But when it gets to be too much, he just kind of... shuts down."

"But how do you know when it's too much?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"It's subtle," Karen said, her eyes still on Plankton. "He'll get tense, his breathing will change, bad 
mood, his eye might glaze over a bit. And when he gets really overwhelmed, he just... withdraws."

"So, I shouldn't have grabbed his hand during the movie?" she asked, her voice filled with regret.

"It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You didn't know. Just remember for next time."

Hanna nodded. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're all learning. Just remember to be patient and pay 
attention. And if you're ever unsure, just ask."

Hanna nodded, her hand now resting gently on the bed next to Plankton. "I'm sorry Plankton," she 
whispered.

He didn't move, but Karen could see the tension in his body start to ease a bit more. She knew he 
heard Hanna, even if he couldn't respond.

"Don't worry, Plankton," Hanna said, her voice gentle. "I'll be more careful next time. I didn't mean to 
make you uncomfortable."

Karen watched as Plankton's antennae slowly twitched, his breathing evening out as he began to 
come back to the world around him. It's a slow process, one Karen knew well. She gave Hanna a 
nod, a silent thank you for her understanding.

"Why don't you go grab us board games, Hanna?" Karen suggested, voice low. "Give him a few 
to 'wake up'."

Hanna nodded, her gaze lingering on Plankton before she turned and left the room. Karen watched 
the door close behind her before turning her attention back to Plankton. "It's ok, Plankton," she 
whispered, stroking his arm. "You're safe here."

new computer sensors Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton author is neurodivergent spacerycore ii

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 1


(Neurodivergent author)



"What's for dinner tonight?" 
Karen asks her husband
Plankton the kitchen.
"I'm trying out something
new today!" He replies.

Plankton moves about with 
surprising grace for 
his small size. Karen 
watches, admiring his 
enthusiasm despite her 
skepticism of his culinary skills.

"Careful with that pan!" she 
calls out, noticing the way he 
flips it in the air. But it's 
too late. The pan slips from 
his grip, and as it hits his
head with a deafening clang,
Plankton crumples to the floor,
out cold. Karen sprints
to the kitchen
and crouches beside her
unconscious husband. 
"Plankton! Wake up!" she says,
shaking him gently. His eye
remains closed. She notices
his pulse and breathing so
at least he's alive. She scans
him and the results show he
acquired Autism. She's heard
about it, how interactions with
others are hard and how sensory
shutdown can cause episodes
similar to a seizure.

Panic starts to set in. She
has to get him to the couch.
With a deep breath, she hoists
his limp body over her
shoulder and carries him
carefully to the couch. She lays
him down, his head resting
on a pillow she grabbed
on the way. Karen's
attention is solely on
Plankton. She strokes his
forehead, feeling the warmth
of his skin and the steady
beat of his pulse beneath
her fingertips. The house feels
too quiet, the air thick with
concern.

Her eyes dart around the room,
looking for anything that
might help him feel comfortable.
Karen starts to
hum a lullaby,
hoping the tune might
calmly wake him.

Only the next afternoon does
Plankton start to wake. His eye
began to flutter open. "What
happened?" he mumbles.

Karen smiles, relieved. "You had a
bad fall in the kitchen. Do you
remember anything?"

Plankton's eye widens as
his hand shoots to the spot on
his head where the pan had
hit. "Oh, cooking,
right?" His voice is groggy,
his memory foggy.

"Yes, but let's not worry
about that now," Karen says,
squeezing his hand. She notices
his confusion, the way
his gaze flits around the
room, searching for clues.
"You acquired Autism."
Plankton blinks a few times, 
taking in the soft light and 
the worried face of his wife. 
He tries to sit up, but a wave 
of dizziness washes over him. 
"Autism?" he repeats, the word 
foreign on his tongue. Karen nods 
gently. "It's ok, Plankton," she 
says, her voice soothing.

The revelation hangs 
heavily in the air between 
them. Plankton's mind races. 
The room seems to spin as he
tries to process the news.

Rocking back and forth, he 
starts to self-soothe, a common
behavior among those with 
autism when overwhelmed. 
Karen, who has read about 
this, understands it's his
brain's way of coping with
the onslaught of new
information and sensations.

"It's ok," she whispers,
her voice steady. "You can
stim however you need to."
Her words act like a key
unlocking a door. Plankton's 
hands begin to flap, and he 
lets out a soft hum, a melody 
that fills the silent room.
"It's ok," she says softly,
"Stim if it helps."

The rhythmic motion and 
soothing sound of Karen's voice
help to calm him down. He 
stops flapping, but the hum 
continues, a gentle echo in 
the quiet. Plankton's eye 
locks onto hers, searching for
comfort. "I'm here," she says,
her tone a gentle reassurance.

Suddenly, his eye lit up 
as he repeats her words, 
"You're here," his voice a 
mirror of hers. It's echolalic, 
a common trait in those with 
autism, where they repeat 
sounds or phrases. "You're here," he 
repeats, over and over, the 
phrase becoming a comforting 
mantra. His palilalic speech 
is a bridge between the 
overwhelming confusion 
and the familiar presence 
of his wife.

Karen nods. She's read that 
palilalic repetition can be 
soothing for those with 
autism.

"You're here," Plankton says 
again, his voice growing stronger 
with each repetition. The 
words become a rhythm, a 
heartbeat of reassurance that 
he clings to as the world 
swims into focus.

Plankton's eye refocus 
on Karen's screen, and a
tiny smile appears as he 
understands her acceptance.
He starts to rock more 
comfortably, matching the
rhythm of his humming.

The house feels like a 
sanctuary, a bubble 
wrapped around them, 
their shared breaths the 
only sound. Karen's eyes
well up with tears, but she 
holds them back, not wanting 
to interrupt this moment.
His humming 
gradually fades into 
silence, and he looks at 
Karen.
"We'll figure it out,"
she says firmly, her voice 
a lifeline in the stormy
sea of uncertainty. "We'll 
learn about Autism and adjust our 
lives. You're not alone 
in this, Plankton."

Her words seem to anchor
him. He takes a deep
breath, and his body relaxes
against the couch cushions.
"Thank Karen," he whispers,
his voice cracking.

Karen nods, blinking away
her own unshed tears. "We're
going to be okay," she says,
more to convince herself than
anything. Plankton's smile
grows a little wider, and
his hand reaches for hers.

"What's next?" he asks, his
voice still weak but steady.

Karen rises from the floor
and moves to the bookshelf.
Her fingers trace the spines,
landing on a worn-out book titled
"The Art of Cooking." She pulls
it out gently and holds it out to him.

Plankton's eye lights up at the
familiar sight. It's his favorite
book, filled with recipes and notes
he's collected over the years.
He takes it with trembling hands,
feeling the weight of the pages.

"Let's start slow," Karen suggests,
sitting beside him on the couch.
"We'll go through the book
together, and maybe we'll find
something simple for tomorrow's dinner."

Plankton nods, flipping through
the pages with newfound
carefulness. 

"How about we start
with spaghetti?" Karen offers,
pointing to a simple
illustration on the page.
It's a dish they've made
together countless times.

"Spaghetti," he repeats, the word
like a warm blanket around
his new reality. "How about we start
with spaghetti.."

They spend the rest of the
day going through the book,
discussing ingredients and
steps, Karen explaining things
in a way that's easy for Plankton
to understand. His focus
intensifies, his eye lighting up
with every new piece of
information. The kitchen
accident seems like a distant
memory, replaced by the
comforting familiarity of cooking. 

new copepod autism Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton split into parts POV Karen Karen/Sheldon J. Plankton cookingcore

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON i
(Autistic author)

Karen stood, watching 
from a distance
her husband Plankton, 
whose passion for 
inventing often 
overshadowed his love 
for the simple things 
in life, was deeply 
engrossed in his 
latest project.

He was a man of 
small stature but 
enormous ideas, and 
his tiny fingers 
moved with a grace 
and precision that 
belied their size. and
Karen knew better than to 
disturb him when he 
was in the throes 
of creation.

Suddenly, with a 
deafening crash, 
the machine toppled 
over. It hit Plankton's 
head with a sickening 
thud. He crumpled 
to the floor, 
his eye rolling 
back in the
socket before
closing, and 
his body went 
still.

Panic flooded 
Karen as 
she sprinted to his 
side. "Plankton!" she 
shouted, her voice 
bouncing off the 
metal walls of 
their underwater 
laboratory.

Gently, she nudged 
him, but he remained 
unresponsive.

"Wake up," she 
whispered, tears 
forming in the 
corners of her 
eyes, her voice 
barely audible above 
the echoes of the 
metal chamber.

Her gentle shakes 
turned to frantic 
pats. 
"Wake up, Plankton, 
please," she 
pleaded.

She knew basic 
first aid, but nothing 
for something like 
this—whatever "this" 
was.

"You can't do this to me," 
she murmured, 
desperation seeping into 
her voice.
She searched 
his lifeless form for 
any sign of movement. 
His chest was rising, 
as she found a pulse.

He was alive, but 
barely. 
Her fear grew 
with every second 
that ticked away 
without his 
eye opening.

The hospital was 
their only hope.

She scooped him 
up in her arms and 
raced through the 
corridors of their 
underwater abode.
The bubble-mobile 
was docked outside, 
a sleek contraption 
that Plankton had 
designed himself. She 
placed him gently inside, 
his head lolling 
back against the 
seat.

Her trembling 
hands gripped the 
wheel, and with a 
quick glance at 
his still face, she 
revved the engine.

The bubble-mobile shot 
forward, leaving a trail 
of bubbles in its 
wake. The journey to 
the Bikini Bottom Hospital 
was fraught with tension, 
each second feeling 
like an eternity.

The neon lights of 
Bikini Bottom blurred 
together in her 
tears, creating a 
disorienting mosaic 
of color and light. 
Her eyes darted 
between the 
road and Plankton, 
his chest rising 
and falling with 
breaths.

Parking the bubble-mobile 
in the hospital's emergency 
dock, Karen leapt out, 
carrying Plankton with a 
strength born of 
desperation.

The doors of the hospital 
slammed open as she 
burst through, the sound 
reverberating through the 
calm aquatic corridors.

The medical staff, 
accustomed to the occasional 
drama of Bikini Bottom, 
quickly surrounded 
them, a flurry of 
fins and hands reaching 
to assist.

"Dr. Kelp," Karen 
gasped, "my husband—he's 
been hurt."

The doctor's eyes 
widened with 
concern as he 
quickly assessed 
Plankton's condition. 
"Bring him in 
immediately," he 
ordered, his voice 
sharp and urgent.

Karen felt a 
wave of relief 
wash over her 
as the hospital staff 
took over, 
whisking Plankton 
away on a stretcher.
Her legs wobbled 
as she followed 
them into the brightly 
lit emergency room, 
her heart racing in 
her chest.

Dr. Kelp, a 
squid with a calm 
and reassuring 
demeanor, 
instructed the 
nurses to prepare 
for a potential 
concussion. 
Karen hovered 
nervously, watching 
them work with 
efficient precision.

After a tense 
moment of 
silence, the 
machine beeped 
and the doctor's 
face fell.
They had found
something more
serious than any 
concussion.

The brain scan 
revealed that 
Plankton had 
suffered severe 
damage to his 
brain —a rare 
but well-documented 
condition called 
"Acquired Autism 
Spectrum Disorder."

The news hit Karen 
like a ton of bricks.
Her mind raced with 
questions and 
worries as she 
tried to process 
what this meant 
for their future.

Acquired Autism 
Spectrum Disorder—
a condition she had 
only ever heard 
about in whispers.
The doctor 
explained that 
it was rare, but 
not unheard of, and that 
it could change 
Plankton's behavior, 
his ability to 
interact with 
others, and even 
his cognitive functions.

Karen felt a 
swirl of emotions—
fear, anger, and a 
deep, gnawing sadness.
Her mind was 
a tumultuous storm 
of what-ifs and 
worst-case scenarios.

"What caused this?"
she demanded, her 
voice shaking with 
desperation.

"It appears to be 
a result of the 
trauma from the 
fall," Dr. Kelp 
replied solemnly, 
his tentacles 
waving to illustrate 
his explanation. 
"The brain can be 
a delicate organ, 
even for someone 
as resilient as 
your husband."

Karen's eyes 
narrowed as she 
focused on the 
term 'Acquired Autism 
Spectrum Disorder'.

The doctor elaborated.
"The corpus callosum, 
a bridge of nerve 
fibers connecting 
the two hemispheres 
of the brain, had 
suffered significant 
damage. His prefrontal 
cortex (PFC) circuits are
now compromised, 
and his cerebellum's 
tissue has been 
affected, too. Also
it's irreversible with
no cure; he'll have it
for as long as he lives.
What you can do is
make sure he's happy
and be mindful of any
new behaviors, providing
your love and support."

Karen felt a 
wave of anger 
toward the invention 
that had taken 
his attention so 
completely.
Why did he have to 
push so hard? 
Why couldn't he just 
enjoy their life 
together without 
always striving for 
more?

But anger quickly 
gave way to 
determination. 
They would face this 
together, just as they 
had faced every 
challenge that had 
been thrown at 
them.

"We'll let you both stay
here together overnight.
But yes, autism can vary 
widely. You'll need to be 
prepared for anything,"
Dr. Kelp said gently.

The hospital room 
was cold and sterile, 
the only sound the 
steady beep of the 
monitor beside Plankton's 
bed. Karen pulled a 
chair closer, her screen 
never leaving her husband's 
face as she held his hand.

The sun had barely 
risen outside when 
his eye fluttered open.

"Plankton," Karen 
whispered.

His eye opened 
slowly as the
doctor came in, 
his tentacles moving 
quickly to check 
the monitors.
Plankton's gaze 
was distant, 
unfocused, as he 
tried to make sense 
of his surroundings.

Karen watched him, 
his eye searching 
the room with a 
childlike curiosity, 
his grip on her 
hand tightening. 
Plankton's gaze 
finally fell upon 
her, and she 
smiled, hoping it 
would bring him 
comfort.

But his 
eyebrow furrowed 
as he studied her 
intently. 
He blinked rapidly, 
his mind trying to 
make connections 
that no longer 
existed in the 
same way.

"Karen?" he 
mumbled, the 
word thick and 
slurred, as if 
his mouth had 
forgotten how to 
form the syllables.

"You're ok," 
she assured him, 
squeezing his hand.

But his confusion 
was palpable
as he scanned 
the unfamiliar 
environment.

"You had an accident," 
she began, her voice 
soothing as she 
tried to explain 
what had happened. 
Plankton's eye 
widened as he 
tried to piece together 
the events that had 
led them here.

The doctor stepped 
forward. "Mr. Plankton, 
you've suffered a 
traumatic brain 
injury. You have a 
condition called 
Acquired Autism Spectrum 
Disorder. It means 
your brain works 
differently now."

Plankton's eye 
blinked slowly, taking 
in the doctor's 
words.

He tried to sit up, 
his body rigid, 
but the doctor's firm 
touch on his shoulder 
kept him in place.

Plankton's eye 
landed on Karen, 
his grip tightening 
around her hand. 
He stared at her, 
his expression 
a mix of fear and 
confusion. 
"What's happening?" 
his voice was a 
whisper, his usual 
boisterousness muted.
He was trying to 
make sense of the 
words, to understand 
the gravity of his 
condition.

"What's happening?" 
he asked again, 
his voice a little 
louder, more 
insistent.

Karen tried to 
explain. "You've 
been hurt, Plankton. 
You're different now, 
but we're going to 
get through this 
together."

new neurobehavioral plankton headinjuryposting neurodivergentcore i

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 1
(Autistic author)

"You never listen to me!" Karen 
exclaimed, her voice echoing 
through the small lab.

Her husband, Plankton, looked 
up from his invention, a frown 
furrowing his brow. "What's 
wrong now?" he asked.

"It's the same thing, every 
single day," Karen said, crossing 
her arms. "You're always so 
focused on your work, you forget 
what's important."

Plankton sighed, setting down 
his wrench. "And what's that?"

Karen's eyes flashed with frustration. 
"Our anniversary dinner, for one," 
she said. "You promised we'd go out 
tonight, remember?"

Plankton's frown deepened as he 
tried to recall the conversation. 
"The dinner...right. I thought it was 
next week," he mumbled, his gaze 
darts back to his invention.

"No, it's tonight!" Karen's voice 
was now a mix of annoyance and 
desperation. "I've had this all 
planned out for weeks, and you've 
barely even acknowledged it."

Plankton looked at her, his eye
suddenly wide with realization. 
"Tonight? But I've got the final 
adjustments. It's a breakthrough, 
Karen!"

Karen threw her hands in 
exasperation. "It's always a 
breakthrough, isn't it? When are 
you going to realize that we need 
to make time for us?"

Plankton took a step. "You 
know how important this is to me, 
to us," he said, his voice 
softening. "Once I get this right, 
we can finally be happy, have the 
life we deserve when I..."

"When you what?" Karen interrupted. 
"When you finally steal the Krabby Patty 
formula?" she finished for him, her 
tone heavy with sarcasm. "Is that what you 
think will fix everything?"

Plankton's shoulders slumped. He knew 
his obsession with Mr. Krabs' secret 
formula was a sore spot for Karen, but 
he couldn't help the hope that burned 
inside him. "It's not just about that," 
he said, trying to explain. "It's about 
proving to everyone, including myself, 
that I can do something big." He gets
up on the shelf. Karen turns away.

Karen's frustration boiled over, her 
face flushing. "You're so caught up 
in this ridiculous vendetta that you 
don't even see what you're doing to us!" 
she yelled, slamming her hand down 
on the lab table. The sudden noise 
startled Plankton enough to wobble 
on his precarious perch, and with a 
tiny squeak of terror, he lost his balance 
and toppled over.

His invention fell with him, colliding with 
his head with an ominous clank. Karen 
turns around, her anger replaced with 
concern in an instant. "Plankton, are you ok?"
He lay still. Karen 
rushed over. He was unconscious.

Karen knelt beside 
his tiny body. "Plankton," she whispered, 
shaking him gently. Panic began to 
set in as he didn't stir. The weight of 
her actions crashed down on her. She 
hadn't meant for it to go this far.
"Plankton, talk to me," she begged.

With trembling fingers, she 
checked for a pulse. It was faint but 
there, and she felt a small wave of 
relief. But he was still out cold.

Her mind raced as she tried to think 
what to do next. Calling for help 
was out of the question; their rivalry 
with Mr. Krabs meant they couldn't 
afford any more attention from the 
authorities. She knew they gotta
wait it out.

Gently, she picked him up. He 
was surprisingly heavy for his size. 
Carefully, she cradled him in her arms 
and laid him down on the couch.

The room was eerily silent except for 
the faint ticking of the clock on the 
wall. Karen sat beside 
his unconscious form, her eyes 
brimming with worry. The fight they'd 
just had seemed trivial now.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, stroking 
his antennae gently. "You're right, I 
know how much this means to you. 
But I just want you to know that no 
matter what, I'm here for you."

Her voice was barely above a 
whisper as she talked to him, as if 
fearful that speaking too loudly would 
shatter the fragile peace that had 
settled over the room. "You don't 
have to prove anything to me, or to 
anyone else. I'm proud of you just 
the way you are."

Karen's eyes searched Plankton's 
face for any sign of movement, but 
his features remained slack, his eye
closed. She leaned in closer. 
"You're a brilliant inventor," she 
continued. "But you're also a husband, 
and I need you to remember that."

Her voice was filled with a 
mixture of love and desperation. 
"I know you can't hear me right 
now, but I need you to know," she 
continued, her voice shaking slightly. 
"I know you're tired of
always being second best. But to me, 
you're not just Plankton, you're the 
man I chose to spend the rest of 
my life with."

Karen took a deep breath, her 
hands shaking as she held onto 
his limp form. "We've been through 
so much together, and I know you 
think the Krabby Patty is the key 
to our happiness, but it's not. It's 
you. It's us."

Her voice grew stronger, fueled by 
the passion of her words. "We can 
have a great life without that 
formula. We can build something 
new, something just for us."

Plankton's chest began to rise and fall more evenly, 
his breathing steady. Karen watched him, hope 
growing in her heart. Maybe he could hear her 
after all. "When you wake up, let's talk. Let's put 
this behind us and make a promise to each 
other to make our marriage a priority," she 
pleaded, her eyes never leaving his face.

The minutes dragged by, each one heavier 
than the last. The silence in the lab was 
a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of 
whirring machines and Plankton's excited 
exclamations. Karen's mind raced with 
thoughts of all the times they'd shared, 
laughing and planning together, and 
she couldn't help but reflect on their 
relationship. The countless nights 
spent in the lab, the stolen glances 
of affection, and the shared dream of 
a better future. It all flashed before 
her eyes, and she realized just how 
much Plankton meant to her.

With her heart pounding in her chest, 
she leaned closer to his unconscious 
form, her voice trembling. "Plankton, 
please wake up," she whispered. "I need 
you to hear me. Our love is our greatest 
invention, not some secret recipe. I know I've 
been pushing you, but it's because I 
see how much this obsession consumes 
you." She took a deep breath, her voice 
steadying. "But if you can't let go of this 
dream, I'll support you. I'll always 
be here, by your side, no matter what."

After a long silence, Plankton groaned. 
Karen gasped, her eyes filling with 
relief as she saw the spark of 
consciousness as he opens his eye. 
He groaned softly, his hand coming 
up to rub his head.

"Where?" he mumbled, his voice 
slurred with confusion. Karen took 
his hand, her voice gentle. "You're on 
the couch, Plankton. You fell."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton plaren 1

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 2
(Autistic author)

He blinked a few times, his vision 
clearing slowly. He saw her face, 
wet with tears, and his own 
realization dawned. "Oh, Karen," he 
whispered, his voice filled with 
remorse. Plankton struggled to 
sit up, wincing as pain shot through 
his head.

The lab looked the same, but 
something felt off. The air was 
charged with an unspoken tension 
that Plankton couldn't quite put his 
finger on. He tried to recall the 
argument, but the details were 
fuzzy. All he knew was that he'd 
fallen, and now Karen was 
apologizing for something she 
wasn't even at fault for.

He looked into her screen, searching 
for answers. "What happened?" he 
asked, his voice hoarse. Karen took a 
deep breath, steeling herself for 
what she had to say. "You had an 
accident in the lab," she replied, her 
voice calm and measured. "You hit 
your head." But as she watched him, 
she noticed something else. His movements 
were stiff, his gaze unfocused. He 
wasn't quite the same. Karen 
noticed that his usual vibrant 
expressions were absent, replaced 
by a vacant stare. She chalked it up
to lightheadedness.

"Karen," Plankton began, his voice 
still slurred. "Karen." 
He paused, his eye darting around 
the room as if searching for words.

Karen felt a cold knot form. Something was 
different about him, something she 
couldn't quite place. His movements 
were rigid, his gaze unwavering, 
like he was seeing her but not 
really seeing her. "What is it?" she 
asked, trying to keep the 
worry out of her voice.

Plankton's eye finally met hers, 
but there was no spark of 
recognition, no mischievous 
twinkle that she was used to. 
"Plankton glad to see Karen," he 
said, his tone flat and unemotional.

That wasn't right. "Plankton, do you 
know where you are?" she asked 
nervously.

Plankton nodded slowly, his gaze 
still unnaturally focused. "Home," 
he responded, his voice devoid of 
the warmth and love she was 
accustomed to. "The Chum Bucket."

Karen's eyes searched his, looking 
for any sign of the man she knew, 
but all she found was a distant 
shadow. Panic began to creep in 
as the gravity of the situation 
started to dawn on her. This wasn't 
just a bump on the head. Something 
was very wrong.

"Do you remember me?" she 
asked, her voice trembling.

Plankton's eye searched her, 
his expression unchanging. "Karen," 
he responds correctly. "Wife of Plankton.
Computer wife as of July 31, 1999."

The words hit Karen like a cold 
wave. He knew her name, but the 
way he said it, like he was recounting 
a fact rather than speaking to his 
beloved wife, chilled her to the bone. 
She felt the ground shift beneath 
her, her world tilting on its axis.

"Plankton, what's wrong?" she asked, 
desperation seeping into her voice. 
He looked at her, his gaze unblinking. 
"Wife Karen," he said, his voice 
robotic. "Irritated with Plankton's lack of 
attention to anniversary dinner."

The words were right, but 
the emotion, the love, the personality 
behind them was gone. It was like 
talking to a stranger, a very tiny, very 
confused stranger.

Karen felt a tear roll down her 
screen. "Plankton, can you hear me?" 
she asked, her voice quivering. "I'm not 
just 'Wife Karen', I'm your Karen. Your 
partner, your best friend."

Plankton's response was a 
mechanical nod. "Affirmative," he said, 
his tone unwavering. "Karen is wife.
Plankton is husband."

The coldness of his words 
cut through Karen like a knife. Her 
eyes searched his, desperately trying 
to find any sign of the man she 
knew was in there. "Plankton," she 
said softly, "it's me. It's Karen. Do you 
understand?"

He nodded again, his antennae 
barely twitching. "Understood," he 
replied, his voice devoid of inflection. 
"And Karen is upset?"

Karen nodded, trying not to 
crumble. "Yes, I'm upset," she 
managed to say, her voice choked 
with emotion. "But more than that, I'm 
scared. You're not acting like 
yourself, Plankton."

He blinked, his gaze shifting 
slightly. "Scared," he echoed, as if 
trying to understand the concept. 
"Why Karen scared?"

"Because you're not you," Karen 
managed to whisper,  
breaking with every robotic 
response. "You're acting so... different."

Plankton tilted his head, trying 
to process her words. "Different 
how?" he asked, his voice still 
lacking any emotional depth.

Karen took a deep breath, trying 
to explain something she didn't fully 
understand herself. "You're not showing 
your feelings," she said. "You're not... connecting 
with me like you usually do."

Plankton's face remained a 
mask of confusion. "Connections," he 
muttered. "Emotional bonds." He 
nodded slowly. "Important for relationship.
Plankton in love with Karen."

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
"That's right," she said, her voice 
gentle. "I know you love me. But 
you're not showing it, not like before."

Plankton's antennae twitched 
slightly as he processed this new 
information. "Plankton must
adjust behavior to align with Karen's 
desired emotional output; how?"

Karen felt a pang of sadness.
He was trying to understand, but
his usual charm was nowhere to be 
found. She took his hand in hers. 
"Just talk to me," she said, her 
voice barely above a whisper. "Tell 
me what you're thinking, what you're 
feeling."

Plankton looked at her, his 
expression still vacant. "Plankton 
thinking about Karen," he 
said, his voice flat. "Plankton feeling 
determined."

Karen's eyes searched his, looking 
for any sign of the emotion 
his words conveyed. "Determined 
to what?" she asked, hopeful.

"Determined to what," he echoed.
"Karen saying, determined to what.
Plankton determined to show Karen
love, Karen saying determined to what."

Karen realized the depth of 
his change. This wasn't just a 
concussion or a temporary loss of 
memory; it was something much 
more profound, something that had 
stripped him of his very essence.

"Plankton," she began, her voice 
shaking, "I don't know what happened 
to you, but I need you to try. Can 
you tell me how you feel?" But then he
starts to rock back and forth to stim,
humming their wedding song.

The sight of her husband's usually 
expressive features now so vacant and
his movements so repetitive was 
alarming. Karen felt a sob rise in her 
throat, but she pushed it down. She 
needed to stay strong, for him.

"Plankton," she said, her voice 
steadier than she felt. "Look at me.
I need you to focus. Can you tell me 
how you feel, in your own words?"

He stopped rocking and turned 
his head to look at her, his eye 
still distant. "Feelings," he 
repeated. "Love, anger, sadness, 
joy. Concepts. Plankton has them.
Karen saying, determined to what."

Karen's hope sank. The realization 
was setting in. This wasn't just a 
case of a bump on the head. Plankton's 
accident had changed him in a way 
she didn't fully comprehend. The 
lab, once filled with the warmth of 
his passion and dreams, now felt cold 
and sterile.

Her mind raced as she searched 
for any indication of the man 
she knew. The way he spoke, the 
way he moved, it was as if a 
switch had been flipped.

"Plankton, does your head hurt?"

"Cephalgia via blunt force trauma.
Getting better." He responds, flapping
his hands.

Karen's eyes widened at his 
unexpected use of medical terminology.
"neurodivergence," she thought to herself.
Could it be that her husband had somehow
developed something from the fall? It 
was a long shot, but the lack of 
emotional connection, the repetitive 
behaviors, and the rigidity of his speech 
patterns were all hallmarks of it. She
scans his brain and connected herself
to the monitor. Plankton looks over and
sees the brain scan. "Plankton's brain?"
"Yes, Plankton.." Karen says.

"Cerebellar cortex reduced synapses
and showing minimal activity in the
corpus callosum. Irreversibly reduced
blood flow in between hemispheric..."

"I've no idea what you're saying, honey."
Karen interrupts.

Plankton's face falls, his usual 
playfulness replaced by a look of 
confusion. "Neurotypical communication
error," he says, his voice laced with 
frustration. "Karen, Plankton trying to say
the fall caused disruption to myelination.."

Karen's eyes widen in shocked confusion.
"Myelination? Plankton, are you okay?"
she asks, her voice laced with fear.

Plankton nods, his gaze fixed 
on the brain scan. "Neuroplasticity.
Synaptic pruning. Autism acquisition," he says, 
his words coming out in a rush.

Karen's mind reels at his 
diagnosis. Autism? It couldn't be.
But as she looks at his rigid 
body language and his lack of 
emotional expression, she can't 
deny it.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton plaren 2

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT


(Autistic author)



"Plankton, look out!"

The warning echoed 
through the lab, too 
late to prevent the 
calamity. Sheldon 
Plankton, the infamous 
villain and tiny proprietor 
of the Chum Bucket, 
had been so absorbed in 
his latest contraption that 
he never saw it coming. 
A miscalculation, a misstep 
and a metal clank as the 
heavy contraption toppled 
over. The world around him 
spun into a kaleidoscope of 
color, and with a sickening 
crack, everything went dark.

Panic gripped Karen, 
his loyal sidekick and 
wife. She rushed to his side, 
his body sprawled unnaturally 
beneath the twisted metal. 
She reached out to gently 
shake him. "Plankton!" she 
shouted, her voice piercing 
the quiet.

His eye remained 
closed, unresponsive to 
her touch or her cries.

Karen's panic grew, 
her mind racing through 
possible scenarios.
What if he's seriously hurt?
What if this is the end?

She buckled him in the car
to take him to the Bikini
Bottom Hospital. She held
his hand and drove.

"Plankton, please wake up,"
she murmured, her voice
shaking.
"You've got to be okay,"
Karen continued, her voice
strained. "We still have so
much to do. So much to steal
from the Krabby Patty
secret formula. So much to
prove to Mr. Krabs."

But Plankton lay there,
motionless. The silence was
deafening, broken only by the
hum of the car engine and
the occasional splash from
the wet streets of Bikini
Bottom. Karen's thoughts
spiraled, her usual confidence
in his invincibility shattered.

"Remember when we first
met?" she began, her voice
soft. "You had the biggest
dreams. You said we'd rule
the ocean one day." She
managed a weak laugh, but it
sounded forced, even to her.
Her grip on his hand tightened.

"You swore we'd crack that
Krabby Patty formula," she
continued. "We've
come so close so many times,
and each failure just made
you more determined."

Her voice grew stronger, the
memories fueling her words.
"Do you remember the first
time we tried to sneak into
the Krusty Krab?" she asked,
a hint of nostalgia in her tone.
"You had that ridiculous
disguise?" Despite the dire
situation, she couldn't help but
smile at the memory. "We've
been through so much since
then, Plankton. You've
always found a way to bounce
back, no matter how crazy
the plan or how dire the
outcome."
But Plankton remained still.

"We can't give up now," she
whispered, her voice trembling.

The hospital's cold lights
flickered above them as they
waited for the doctor. The
beeping of machines and the
hushed whispers of nurses
filled the room, but Karen's
thoughts drowned it all out.

The doctor, a stern-looking
fish with spectacles,
entered the room, holding a
clipboard. "Mrs. Plankton," he
began, his tone professional
but gentle. "We've completed the
brain scan on your husband.
The results are..." "Is he
okay?" she finally choked out.

The doctor looked up, his
expression unreadable. "Mr.
Plankton's injuries are...
complex. He's sustained a
brain injury, and 
he's developed Autism
Spectrum Disorder."

Karen's grip on Plankton's hand
tightened. "What does that mean?"
she asked, her voice a mix of fear
and hope. The doctor took a deep
breath, choosing his words
carefully. "It means his brain
has been affected in a way that
will change how he perceives and
interacts with the world around
him. It's a spectrum, so the
symptoms can vary widely."

He explained further, detailing the
challenges that lay ahead for
both of them. Plankton might have
difficulties with social
interactions, repetitive behaviors,
and sensory sensitivities. Karen's
mind raced, never leaving Plankton's
still form.

Then, just as the doctor finished,
Plankton's single eyelid began to flutter,
slowly opening to reveal a gaze
that seemed somehow... different.
He looked around the sterile room,
his eye darting from one corner to
another, taking in every detail with an
intensity that was unnerving. Karen's
squeezing his
hand harder. "Plankton?" she whispered.

For a moment, there was no response.
Then, in a voice that was his yet
not quite, he spoke.

"Karen," Plankton said, his voice
mechanical and measured.

His voice, though familiar,
now a puzzling echo of its
former self. She leaned in closer,
desperate for some sign of the
Plankton she knew.

"How do you feel?" she
asked, her voice tentative.

Plankton's eye narrowed as
he considered her question,
his voice echoing the words
back to her in a staccato
rhythm, "How... do... you... feel?"
The repetition sent a shiver
down Karen, but she
managed a nod.

"Karen," he began again, his
tone eerily calm, "How do
you feel?"

Karen's screen searched his eye,
seeking a spark of recognition.
"I-I'm worried," she admitted,
her voice trembling. "But I'm here for
you."

"Worried," Plankton echoed,
his voice a metronome of
emotionless syllables. "Worried.
Worried."

The doctor cleared his throat,
interrupting the eerie pattern.
"Palilalia is a common symptom
with ASD," he explained gently.
"It's the repetition of words
and phrases. It can be a way
of processing information."

Karen nodded, trying to absorb
the doctor's words as she
continued to search Plankton
for any sign of the
cunning, albeit misguided,
genius she knew so well. His gaze
remained fixed on hers.

"Karen," he said again, his
voice still eerily detached.

His usual energy and cunning
seemed to have been replaced by
this unsettling calmness. Yet, in his
eye, she thought she could see a
flicker of something familiar, a
tiny spark of the man she had
known for so long.

"I need to understand," she
said softly, willing him to connect
with her. "What's going on?"

"Understand," he repeated, his
voice a monotone echo. "Under-
stand." Then, as if a switch had
been flipped, Plankton's eye grew
wider, his focus intense.

Karen watched, hopeful, as
his hand began to twitch. He
was trying to communicate.
Using all her patience, she waited.

"Understand," he said again,
but this time, the word grew into
a phrase, "I need to understand."
The repetition was still present,
but now it was tinged with urgency.
Karen filled with tears
as she nodded vigorously. "I know,
Plankton, I know you do."

The doctor, noticing the change,
intervened, his voice soothing. "It's
ok, Mr. Plankton. Take your time."
He turned to Karen. "It's common
for individuals with ASD to repeat
words or phrases when they're trying
to process their thoughts. It's called
echolalia. It's his way of making
sense of what's happening."

Karen nodded, but she
could see the wheels turning in
his mind. His hand twitched more
intensely now, his gaze more
focused.
"Understand," he said again,
his voice gaining a slight
inflection. "Need... to... under-
stand." The words grew into a
steady rhythm, a heartbeat of
desire. Karen felt hope blossoming in
her chest.

The doctor leaned in, his
expression one of curiosity.
"It seems he's trying to express
his need to understand his new
condition," he murmured. "It's a
positive sign. It shows he's
engaging with the world around him."

Karen nodded. "Under-
stand," she whispered back to him.
"We'll figure this out together."

Plankton's twitching hand paused
momentarily, his gaze lingering
on hers. Then, his eye darted
back to the doctor, the word
"Understand" escaping his lips
once more. The doctor nodded
encouragingly. "It's ok, Mr.
Plankton. Do you know what
happened?"

"Understand," he said, his
tone shifting to one of
curiosity. "Understand. Accident."

Karen swelled with
relief. It was the first time
he'd formed a coherent
thought since the incident.

"Yes, Plankton," she said, her
voice soothing, "you had an
accident in the lab. But we're
going to get through this."

The doctor nodded. "You
have something called Autism."

"Autism," Plankton echoed, his
eye searching Karen's for an
explanation.

"It's okay," she said, her voice
steady despite the storm of
emotions inside her. "It just means
you see the world differently now."

Plankton's eye focused on hers,
his hand stilled. "Different," he
parroted back, as if testing the
word's weight in the air. "Different."

Karen took a deep breath,
forcing a smile through her
tears. "But not less," she assured
him. "Just different." She leaned
forward and kissed his forehead,
his antennas twitching slightly at
the touch.

new no less to be different plaren neurodivergentcore bbh

Going into Hospital
When you are suddenly needing to go into hospital it can be scary, and the last thing people want to do is think about what they need to take with them. For this reason we have compiled this list to help you prepare.

Comfortable/ Loose fitting clothing
Several pairs of underwear
Thick socks
Ipad/Tablet/ Ipod w/ earphones
Money
Sanitary pads
Mobile phone and charger
Food to snack on
Books/ CD’s/ Magazines
Toiletries/ face wipes/hairbrush
Own Pillow
Clothing for going home
Dressing gown and slippers
An overnight bag is a good idea (although you may not need this)
Heating pad

new saying goodbye hospitalcore neurodivergentcore visit

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

Is Wednesday Addams Autistic? 
The question of Wednesday Addams neurotypicality has been going around the internet since the series was released. I have gathered some points asto whether she is actually autistic. To begin, she shows ahypersen sitivity towards colour as her mother says, "she is allergic to colour" and Wednesday's response to being asked what happens she says, "I break out into hives and then the flesh peels off my bones*". She also dislikes touch (like hugging), which is very usual for autistic people, either because of sen sory reasons or
discomfort. It did take the whole season for her to be okay with hugging Enid. Hyper/hypo sensitivity - the over or under-responsiveness towards certain sensory stimuli is very common in autism and most autistic people experience both - in extreme cases being overwhelmed due to sensory differences or overstimulation can lead to meltdowns; what Wednesday explained happens to her may not be the typical behaviour of an autistic meltdown (rocking, crying, hitting etc.) so can we still consider this autistic? She is afictional character after all but let us continue to analyse her and figure it out. The next thing she does which may be considered autistic is dedicating one hour a day to her novel. Now, why is this autistic? A strict adherence to rules and being set in patterns is atypical trait of ASD, often people on the spectrum prefer to have routines so that they know what is going to happen. There is a comfort in doing things in a fixed pattern. Individuals with ASD even show reduced cognitive flexibility which is whythere is such difficultyin changing patterns, as well as it being overwhelming. To move on, Wednesday has very fixed interests and knows them with great depth, she showsthis with her knowledge in foren sie pathology and plants - she masters her skills - and as she says about herself, "I know I'm stubborn, single minded and obsessive", sheis stubborn so gets a task complete, she is single minded so very set in her ways and obsessive which in autistic people, obsessions can be a way to cope and feel less stressed about one's surroundings Most autistic people have fixated interests of abnormal intensity, is this the case with Wednesday Addams or is she just smart? As we all know, a level of social awkwardness comes with having autism, let us talk about Wednesday's social behaviour. Firstly, she doesn't show much body language when talking to anyone and has somewhat abnormalities of eye contact; she doesn't blink for long periods and or doesn't have much emotion in her eyes which can make it hard for other peopleto interpret her emotions, along with alack of facial expressions and speaking in a monotonous tone -which is usual of typical autistics. Secondly, when she does feel emotion while talking to someone (upset or other) she seems to mask
in that moment while trying to compute her emotions, she has a difficulty

new autismcore Inspired by Addams Family neurodivergentcore wednesday addams

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3
(Autistic author)

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3
(Autistic author)

"Sorry," Plankton says, his 
tone still flat. "Plankton, sorry.
Plankton's brain different now. Difficult 
for Karen?"

Karen shakes her head, tears 
welling in her eyes. "No, Plankton, 
you're still you," she says, trying to 
smile. "I just wanted to understand."

Plankton nods, his gaze returning 
to the brain scan. "Understanding 
important," he says. "Plankton still 
loves Karen. Just different now. 
Permanent."

Karen breaks at his 
words, but she knows he's trying.
They sit in silence for a few moments,
each lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Karen takes a deep breath.
"I love you, Plankton," she says, her voice
steady. "And I'll always be here for you,
no matter what." Plankton nods, his 
expression unchanged. "Karen love 
Plankton," he responds. "Plankton love 
Karen."

They sit together on the couch, 
the silence between them heavy 
with the weight of their new 
reality. Karen tries to find comfort in 
the familiar rhythm of his words, but 
it's like hugging a statue. There's no 
warmth, no give. But she can tell by
the look in his eye that it's present.

"Plankton," she says softly, her 
voice trembling slightly. "Do you 
want to go to the anniversary dinner?"

He pauses, his gaze unwavering 
from the brain scan. "Anniversary 
dinner," he repeats, as if tasting the 
words. Then, with a sudden nod, 
"Plankton will accompany 
Karen."

Karen swells with hope. 
Maybe this wasn't the end of their 
connection. Maybe they could find a 
new way to be together.

"But Plankton," she says, her 
voice tentative. "I need you to be 
comfortable. If going out is too 
much for you, we can do something 
else."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his 
face contemplative. "Understood," he 
says after a moment. "Home dinner 
preferred. Less stimulating."

Karen nods, feeling a weight lift 
slightly from her chest. "Okay," 
she says, swiping at a stray tear.
"We can have dinner here. I'll 
make your favorite."

Plankton's antennae perk up at 
the mention of food. "Karen cook?" 
he asks, his voice betraying a hint 
of excitement.

Karen smiles, relieved at 
his interest. "Yes, I'll cook," she says. 
"How about some Chum?"

Plankton nods eagerly. "Chum. Yes."

Karen rises from the couch, 
determined to make the best 
of the situation. She heads to 
the kitchen, her mind racing with 
ideas for a simple yet delicious 
meal that would be easy on 
his senses. She chooses a recipe
that doesn't have too many ingredients
or smells that might overwhelm him.

As she starts cooking, Plankton 
watches her with his newfound 
detachment, his eye following her 
movements with a clinical interest. 
It's as if he's studying her, trying 
to understand her actions.

"Plankton," Karen says, trying to 
engage him, "can you help me set the 
table?"

Plankton nods, his movements 
mechanical as he rises from the 
couch. He takes the plates and 
utensils she hands him and arranges 
them with meticulous precision. Each 
item is placed exactly 1.5 centimeters 
apart, the forks and knives aligned at a 
perfect right angle. It's something 
she's never noticed him do before, 
but it's a part of him now.

As she stirs the pot of simmering 
chum, she glances over at him, 
his single eye focused intently on 
the task at hand. She wipes a tear 
from her eye, her heart heavy. But 
she can't dwell on the sadness. 
They have a life to live, and they'll 
figure this out together.

"Plankton," she calls out, trying 
to keep her voice light. "Could you 
please grab the napkins?"

He nods and heads to the drawer, 
his steps measured and deliberate. 
When he returns, he doesn't hand 
them to her but instead counts them 
out loud. "One, two." He 
holds up both napkins, one for 
each place setting. "Is this 
correct?"

Karen nods, her smile tight. "Yes, 
thank you." She tries not to let 
the sadness seep into her voice.
This was their new norm, a dance 
of understanding and patience that 
they were still learning.

As they sit down to eat, Karen 
notices that Plankton doesn't touch 
his food until she does.

"You don't have to wait for me," 
she says gently, trying to ease into 
their new routine. "You can start 
whenever you're ready."

Plankton nods, his movements 
precise and deliberate as he takes 
his first bite. Karen watches him 
carefully, noticing that he's chewing 
his food much slower than 
normal. She wonders if it's because 
his sensory input has changed or if 
it's just part of the neurodivergence.

They eat in silence, the only 
sound being the occasional clink 
of their utensils and the bubbling 
of the chum. Karen tries to 
think of something to say, something 
that won't cause him discomfort or 
confusion. But her mind is a 
whirlwind of questions and fears.

"Plankton," she says tentatively, 
"Do you like the chum?"

He nods, his movements methodical. 
"Chum. Yes. Good." His voice is 
still flat, but she can see the faintest 
glimmer of satisfaction in his eye.

They continue their meal, Karen 
forcing down bites while her mind 
spins with a whirlwind of emotions. 
Fear, sadness, hope, and love all 
intermingling in a tumultuous storm.

"Plankton," she says, her voice 
soft and tentative. "What are you 
thinking about?"

He looks up from his plate, 
his eye focusing on her for a 
moment before returning to his 
food. "Thinking," he says, his 
voice monotone. "Plankton thinking 
about Karen. And Plankton with Karen."

Karen aches at his 
response, but she tries to keep her 
expression neutral. "Do you like 
spending time with me?" she asks, 
desperation tingeing her voice.

Plankton pauses, his 
eye flicking up to meet hers. 
"Plankton enjoys 
Karen's company."

Karen clenches at 
his words, so devoid of the 
warmth they once held. But 
she knows she has to be 
patient, to give him space to 
navigate this new world. 
"Do you enjoy talking to 
me, Plankton?"

He considers this for a 
moment before nodding. "Talking 
is good. Plankton learns 
things. Plankton feels safe."

Karen feels a tear roll down 
her screen. "That's all I want," 
she whispers, reaching out 
to squeeze his hand. His grip is 
firm, but there's no warmth in it.
It's as if he's trying to mimic 
the physical cue of comfort without
understanding the emotional 
connection.

"Karen crying sad?" He asks
retreating his hand.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice 
cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt 
you earlier. I just wanted to spend 
our anniversary together."

Plankton nods, his expression 
unreadable. "Understood," he says. 
"Anniversary. Special."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton plaren 3

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT ii


(Autistic author)



With Plankton's condition still
fresh in her mind, Karen carefully
guided him out of the hospital and
into the car. She knew the drive
back to the Chum Bucket would be
a test, but she was determined
to make it as smooth as possible.
The car's engine rumbled to life,
and she pulled out onto the wet
streets of Bikini Bottom, 
fixed on the road ahead.

Plankton was quieter than
usual, his gaze out the window,
taking in the world with a new
perspective. Karen spoke gently,
describing the sights they passed,
hoping the familiarity would
comfort him. "Look, Plankton," she
pointed. "There's the jellyfish
field. Do you remember when we
used to get chased by jellyfish?"

His eye swiveled to meet hers,
the ghost of a smile playing on
his lips. "Remember," he said,
his voice still mechanical. "Plankton 
remember jellyfish."

It wasn't just the repetition anymore;
he was connecting with her, with
the world around him. It was a start,
a sign that maybe, just maybe, they could
find their way through this new, uncharted
territory.

Plankton's head lolled slightly to
the side as the car bumped along the
road, his breathing steady and even.
Karen watched him out of the corner
of her screen, the rhythmic motion of his
chest reassuring her that he was still
with her. Despite the turmoil of emotions
churning inside her, she felt a strange
peace settle over her. For the first time
since the accident, she allowed herself
to believe that they could navigate this
new reality together.

The rain had picked up, the drops
splattering against the windshield like a
symphony of tiny drums. The wipers
kept a steady beat, matching the rhythm
of her racing thoughts. Plankton's hand
was still in hers, but it was limp now,
his palm open and trusting. She
squeezed it gently, trying to convey all
the words she couldn't say.

The Chum Bucket loomed in the
distance, a beacon of their shared past
and the uncertain future ahead. As they
neared, Karen noticed the lights flickering
in the lab, the remnants of their latest
failed scheme. The sight brought a
pang of sadness, but also a strange sense
of nostalgia.

Karen's grip on the steering
wheel tightened. "We're almost there," she
said, her voice a lifeline thrown into the
silence.

As the Chum Bucket came into view,
Plankton's antennas twitched
in his sleep.

"We're home," Karen murmured, her
voice barely above the patter of the
rain. She parked the car and took
a moment to collect herself before
gently waking him. "Plankton, sweetie,
we're here."

His eye fluttered open, and he
looked around the car with a
slightly dazed expression. The
neon lights of the Chum Bucket cast
a warm glow, and Karen watched
as the reality of their situation
settled into his gaze.

"Home," he said, the word
falling out of his mouth like a
puzzle piece that didn't quite fit.
He sat up slowly, his movements
stiff and deliberate, as if every
action was a calculation.

Karen helped him out of the
car, the rain now a steady
shower, plinking against
the metal of the Chum Bucket.

"Come on," she said softly,
guiding him inside. "Let's get
you into bed." Plankton
followed her obediently, his
footsteps echoing in the stillness.

The lab was a mess, but
Karen ignored it, leading him
to their tiny living quarters.
The space was cluttered with
gadgets and gizmos, but there
was a warmth to it, a
testament to their life together.

Plankton's eye scanned the
room, taking in every detail,
his brain trying to process the
overwhelming stimuli. Karen
noticed the way he flinched at the
brightness of the lights and
quickly dimmed them, creating a
soothing ambiance.

"Better?" she asked, her voice
soft. Plankton nodded, his
movements more deliberate
now. He seemed to be focusing
intently on her, trying to piece
together the world around him.

Karen helped him into their
small, cozy bed, the blankets
familiar and comforting. As
she tucked him in, she noticed
his eye fixate on a book
on the floor. "It's ok," she
whispered, plucking it up and
placing it on the nightstand. "We can
clean up tomorrow."

Plankton lay still, his gaze
now on the ceiling, tracing the
patterns of the tiles above.
Karen sat beside him, her hand
resting on his shoulder. "Is there
anything you need?" she asked,
her voice a gentle ripple in the quiet.

"Need... to... understand," he
repeated, the words a comforting
mantra in the silence. Karen
nodded, stroking his antennae.
"I'll be here to help you, Plankton."

The doctor's words replayed in
her head. Autism wasn't a
weakness, but a different way
of experiencing the world. A
world now filled with sensory
overload for Plankton. She
made a mental note to dim the
lab lights and reduce noise levels.

"Karen," he said, the word a
question. "What... happened?"
The palilalia had shifted from
a mere repetition to a quest for
knowledge. Karen took a deep
breath. "You had an accident,
Plankton," she explained, her
voice calm and steady. "But we're
going to figure this out together."

Plankton's gaze remained fixed
on the ceiling, his eye
flitting from tile to tile as if
the answers lay in their pattern.
"Accident," he murmured, the word
tumbling through his thoughts.

Karen nodded, her heart heavy
with the weight of the truth. "Yes,
my love. You had an accident.
But we're here now, and we're
going to get through this."

Plankton's eye searched hers,
his voice a metronome of
uncertainty. "Get... through...
this." The words hung in the
air, a question wrapped in a
statement. "Through... this."

Karen ached as she
nodded, her voice a gentle
caress. "Yes, Plankton. Together."
Her hand reached out to
cover his, her touch a silent
promise. "We'll face each day
as it comes."

For a long moment, Plankton
was silent, his gaze still
trapped by the ceiling tiles.
Then, his eye swiveled back to her,
his voice a whisper of curiosity.
"Together," he echoed, the word
now a declaration. "We'll get
through this together."

Karen felt a tear slide down
as she nodded, her
smile a fragile thing. "Yes, Plankton,
we will." She leaned in and kissed
his cheek, his skin cool and clammy
against her lips. His antennae twitched,
and she knew he felt the warmth of
her affection, even if he couldn't
express it in the way she was used to.

The next day dawned with
a gentle glow, the sun peeking
through the blinds of the Chum
Bucket's living quarters. Karen
woke up with a start, the events
of the previous day crashing over
her like a wave. For a brief
moment, she allowed herself to
hope it was all just a terrible
dream. But the sight of Plankton's
still form beside her, his breathing
steady but different, brought
reality back in a rush.

They had a routine to
maintain, a life to live despite
the monumental shift in their
world. Karen slipped out of bed,
careful not to disturb him, and
began the day's tasks. She knew
that Plankton would wake soon,
his mind likely already racing.

The lab was a chaos of wires
and gadgets, but she had a plan.
Starting with the lights, she
adjusted each one to a gentle
glow, reducing the visual assault
that could overwhelm him. Then,
she moved on to the sounds,
taping foam pads to the doors
and machines to muffle the cacophony.
It was a small change, but it
was a step to making the
environment more comfortable for
his now sensitive senses.

Karen knew the kitchen would
be the next battleground. Plankton's
love for the Krabby Patty had always
been a source of both frustration
and motivation. But now, the
thought of the complex flavors
and textures could be a sensory
nightmare for him. She decided
to start with simple, plain foods,
things she knew he enjoyed before
his tastes had become so singular.

As she sliced a cucumber into
thin, uniform pieces, she heard
his footsteps approaching. The
tap-tap-tap of his feet on
the metal floor was a sound she
could set her clock to, yet now it
seemed foreign, a reminder of the
autistic world he now inhabited.

"Good morning," Karen called out,
forcing cheer into her voice.
Plankton's eye swiveled towards
her, his movements jerky as he
navigated the now-familiar space.
"Good... morning," he responded,
each word a deliberate choice.

Karen placed the cucumber slices
on a plate and slid it towards
him, watching as his gaze
flitted from one to the next,
studying them before making a
selection. The sight was both
heartbreaking and fascinating, a
window into his new reality.

As they sat together at their
tiny kitchen table, Plankton took a
small, tentative bite, his face
scrunching up as he chewed.
Karen held her breath, waiting
for his reaction. After a long
moment, he nodded. "Good," he
said simply, his voice still flat.

Karen swelled with 
pride and sadness.
It was a small victory, but it was
a victory nonetheless. They would
find their way through this, one
bite at a time.

new no less to be different plaren neurodivergentcore bb

https://pbs.twimg.com/media/GEP7KkaWcAALSij?format=png&name=small

new plankbobs autismcore neurodivergentcore criticalcurve

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 14
(Autistic author)
ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ
They carefully lift 
Plankton into the car, 
his body tense with 
pain. Sandy slides into 
the driver's seat, her 
hands gripping the wheel. 
Her eyes meet Sponge 
Bob's in the rearview 
mirror, filled with 
resolve.

"Ready?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
hum.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's face. "Ready."

Karen buckles Plankton
in as his eye flutters.

"Hold tight," Sandy 
says, her voice a 
steady rumble, as she 
starts the engine. The 
car's gentle purr is a 
contrast to the 
tension in the air.

Sponge Bob sits in 
the back, his eyes 
trained on Plankton's 
face. His friend's 
tiny body is a tapestry 
of pain, but Sponge 
Bob's touch is a soft, 
steady beat, trying to 
soothe him. "It's okay, 
Plankton," he whispers, 
his voice a comforting 
whisper of reassurance.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, his eye 
slightly focusing on 
Sponge Bob. "Mph,"
he murmurs, his voice 
a static hum of pain.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his face a mask of 
determined compassion. 
"We're going to the 
Quiet Bubble Clinic," 
he says, his voice 
a soft, steady 
wave. "They'll know 
how to help you."

Sandy's eyes are 
on the road ahead, 
her driving slow and 
precise. "Just hold on, 
Plankton," she says, 
her voice a comforting 
hum. "We're almost 
there."

The Quiet Bubble 
Clinic comes into 
view, a softly lit 
building that seems to 
pulse with a gentle calm. 
Sandy parks the car 
and they carefully 
extract Plankton from 
his seat, his tiny 
body rigid.

They enter the 
lobby, the air thick 
with the scent of 
calming essential oils. 
The lights are low, and 
the sounds muffled.
A nurse with a gentle 
face approaches, her 
voice a soothing 
whisper. "What can we 
help with?" she asks, 
her eyes on Plankton's 
twisted leg.

Sponge Bob explains 
quickly, his voice 
trembling with 
concern. "Mr. Krabs 
hurt his leg," he says, 
his eyes wide. "Krabs 
also hit his head with 
a fry pan, which caused
Plankton autism as well
as the accompaniment
of sensitivities. But his
leg hurts and needs fixed!"

The nurse nods, her 
movements slow and 
deliberate. "We'll need 
to be careful with 
his heightened senses," 
she murmurs, her voice 
a soft melody. "Let's 
get him to a room."

They navigate the 
hallways, the walls 
lined with soothing 
pictures and textures. 
Plankton's body is 
stiff with pain, his 
voice a static hiss 
with each step. "Please,"
he whispers, his antennae 
waving weakly.

The nurse nods, 
her touch gentle as 
she leads them to 
a quiet, dimly lit 
exam room. "We need 
to fix your leg, 
sweetie," she says, her 
voice a gentle breeze.

Plankton's eye 
flutters open.

The nurse's voice 
is a gentle lullaby. 
"We're going to take 
good care of you," 
she says, her eyes 
kind and understanding. 
Plankton's body 
shakes with fear 
and pain, his antennae 
pressed against his 
head.

Sponge Bob squeezes 
his hand, his voice 
a comforting whisper. 
"You're going to be okay, 
Plankton," he says, 
his eyes filled with 
concern.

The nurse nods, her 
gloved hands 
moving with precision. 
"We're going to need to 
put him under," she says, 
her voice a soft 
whisper. "It's the 
safest way to manage 
his pain and sensitivity."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with fear, his 
single eye darting 
back and forth. 
"Under what," he whispers.

The nurse's smile 
doesn't reach her eyes. 
"Anesthesia," she says 
softly, her voice a 
comforting hum. "It'll 
help you sleep through 
the surgery."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with anxiety, his 
voice a nervous 
static. "Sleep?" he 
repeats, his eye 
doubtful. "Plankton
light sleeper."

The nurse nods, 
her eyes calm. "We 
understand, sweetie," 
she murmurs. "We'll 
make sure you're 
comfortable."

They prep him for 
surgery, the air in 
the room thick with 
his fear. Sponge Bob 
holds his hand, his 
thumb rubbing gentle 
circles on his palm. 
"It'll be over soon," he 
whispers, his voice 
a soothing wave.

The doctor, a 
kind-eyed squid, 
enters the room, his 
tentacles moving with 
calming precision. 
"We're going to give 
you something to help 
you relax," he says, 
his voice a gentle 
trill. "We've ways to
sedate. One, a pill
tablet. Two, a liquid
to drink. Three, nasally.
Four, cream gel to numb
the place the IV goes in
but, it'll be inserted after
he's asleep anyway. Now
the first two options are
taken orally, so they might
take a moment to work..."

"Drink; Plankton, drink.."
Plankton manages, looking at
a chart of diagrams which
illustrate each method.

The doctor nods, his 
tentacles steadily
adjusting the bed.

"Very good," he says, 
his voice a gentle 
wave of reassurance. 
He hands Plankton a 
small cup. "This is a 
special drink," he 
explains, his eyes 
meeting Plankton's. "It'll
help you relax before
surgery."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with anxiety 
as he takes the cup. 
He looks to Sponge 
Bob, whose grip 
on his hand tightens. 
"It's okay," Sponge Bob 
whispers, his voice 
a calming static.

With a shaky 
hand, Plankton brings 
the cup to his mouth, 
his eye squeezed shut. 
He gulps down the 
liquid as they give
him a blanket. He
finishes the drink and
hands the cup back.
Sponge Bob's grip
doesn't waver, his 
thumb still moving 
in soothing circles. 
"Good job, buddy," he 
whispers, his voice 
a gentle sea breeze.
Sandy nods as Karen
gives Plankton a kiss.

The nurse's eyes 
are warm and 
comforting as she 
checks his vitals. 
"It won't be long 
now," she murmurs, 
her voice a soft 
hum of reassurance.

Sponge Bob sits 
by the bed, his 
grip on Plankton's 
hand firm but gentle. 
"You're doing great," 
he says, his voice 
a calming whisper.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with the 
first wave of 
drowsiness, his eye 
slowly closing. 
The world around 
him begins to fade 
into a soft, fuzzy 
static.

Sponge Bob watches, 
his grip on Plankton's 
hand unyielding. "It's 
going to be okay," he 
whispers, his voice 
a gentle rush of air.

The anesthesia starts
to take effect, Plankton's 
body gradually 
going slack, his 
breathing deepening.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
follow the rise and 
fall of Plankton's 
chest, his grip 
on his hand tight. 
"You're okay, buddy,"
he whispers, his voice 
a gentle static.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch one last time 
before stilling, his 
eye fully closed. 
The nurse nods, 
satisfied with his 
vitals. "He's out," she 
says as his soft snores 
fill the room.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 14

CONSOLE TONSIL iii

Plankton's eye fluttered open just enough to see Karen beside him. He felt groggy and disoriented, the events of the day a distant, hazy memory. He then notices Hanna brimming with tears.

He blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog. "Karen," he croaked, his voice hoarse from surgery and emotional turmoil. "Hanna?"

"I'm so sorry," Hanna choked out with regret. 
"I didn't mean to...I didn't know."

"What happened?" he rasped.

Karen's gaze softens. "You had a bit of a shutdown, Plankton," she said gently. "You've had a long day, and everything just became too much."

The word 'burden' echoed in Plankton's mind.

"Burden?" he managed to croak.

"Hanna said something she didn't mean," she began,. "She didn't understand what she was saying, but she hurt you, and she's sorry."

The word 'burden' it seemed, that fear had been given a voice.

He looked from Karen to Hanna. "Burden," he said, barely a whisper. "Is that what you think of me?"

Hanna looked stricken. "No, Plankton, I just..." Her voice trailed off. He had always known that he was different, that his size and his quirks set him apart from others.

"It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We all have moments where we say things without thinking. But what's important is that you know you're not a burden to me, Plankton. You never have been, and never will be."

Plankton's word 'burden' ringing.

"Hanna didn't mean it, she just didn't understand."

But the word had already taken root in Plankton's mind.

Burden.

The word resonated through Plankton but to be called a burden was something else entirely.

"Plankton, I'm sorry," she said again, "I didn't know."

But Plankton could only repeat the word. "Burden," he croaked.

Karen reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, Plankton, you're not a burden," she said, her voice steady and firm. "You're loved and valued, just the way you are."

"Burden," he murmured agai. "I'm a burden."

"Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle reprimand. "You are not a burden."

But Plankton's eye remained fixed, voice a hollow echo. "Everything I do is a burden," he murmured.

Karen squeezed his shoulder. "Plankton, please, don't say that."

"Burden," Plankton whispered, voice barely a breath.

Karen's heart broke at the sound of his self-loathing. "Plankton, you're not a burden," she insisted, her voice filled with compassion. "Am a burden," he repeated, the word sticking to his tongue like a sour candy.

"What can I do?" Hanna asked, desperation seeping.

"Listen," Karen said, turning to face her. "You need to understand that Plankton isn't just being dramatic. This isn't something you can just apologize for and expect him to get over. His brain works differently. He processes stress in a way that's unique to him. And when you said that..." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the right words to express the gravity of the situation.

"I'm a burden," Plankton murmured.

"You're not a burden, Plankton," she said, her voice a soft, steady rhythm. "You're my friend, and I care about you."

"Burden," Plankton said, his voice a quiet rebuttal.

He was stuck in a loop of pain and she wasn't sure how to pull him out. "Plankton, you're not," she began, but he cut her off.

"Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain. 
"Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle plea. "You're not a burden."

"Burden," Plankton replied, his voice a soft echo of despair, "is a burden."

Karen tries to find the right words to cut through the fog of his pain. "Plankton," she said firmly, "you are not a burden. You're my husband, and my confidant."

"But a burden," Plankton whispered, voice trembling. "I am burden."

"Plankton, please," she said. "You're not a burden."

"Burden," Plankton said, his voice a stubborn echo. "Everything I do is a burden."

"No, Plankton," Karen insisted, her tone firm but filled with care. "You're not a burden. You're an essential part of this home."

But the word 'burden' a heavy weight on his soul. "I'm not a burden," he murmured, the words barely a breath. "I'm not."

"Right, you are not," Karen said. "You're so much more.."

"Burden," his voice a quiet protest. "I'm just a burden."

"You're not a burden," she said. "You're a companion, and a vital part of our lives."

"But, burden," Plankton whimpered, his voice a sad refrain. "I is burden."

Karen took his hand. "You are not," she said, her voice a gentle but firm declaration. "You're a unique and wonderful being, Plankton."

"Plankton, burden," Plankton repeated, his voice a whisper of doubt. "I, burden."

"Plankton," she said. "You are not a burden. You're a brilliant mind, and family."

Plankton's word 'burden' still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. "But, Karen," he whispered, "I am burden."

"No," Karen said firmly, voice unyielding. "You are not. You are treasure, a light in this world."

Plankton blinked slowly, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a mournful chant. "But I burden," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper. "Burdens, Plankton."

"You are loved."

"Karen," Plankton said, his voice shaking with emotion, "I burden."

Karen leaned closer. "Plankton," she said softly, "you're not a burden. You're someone who brings joy and laughter into our lives."

Plankton's gaze searched hers, the word 'burden' still clinging to his every thought. "But I burden," he murmured, his voice a sad echo.

"You're a part of this home, a piece of our lives."

But Plankton's mind was a tumultuous sea, the word 'burden' a stormy island he couldn't escape. "Burden," he said again, his voice a sad admission.

Karen's looking for a way to bridge the gap between his pain and the truth. "Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle reminder, "you're not a burden."

"Burden," Plankton whispered, the word a sad acceptance in his mind. "I burden."

"Plankton," she began, but he talked over her.

"Burden," Plankton said, his voice a sad refrain. "Everything I do, burden."

"Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle but firm counterpoint.

"Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a quiet echo of despair. "Everything I do, a burden."

Karen felt the urgency to reach him, to pull him out of the dark pit of his thoughts. "Plankton, you're not a burden."

Plankton's eye remained unfocused, his voice a sad refrain. "Burden," he whispered, the word a painful acceptance. "Everything I do, I burden."

"You're not a burden."

"But, Karen," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain, "everything I do is burden."

Karen's looking for any sign of the vibrant spirit she knew was there. 
But Plankton's gaze remained vacant, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a funeral bell. Karen knew she had to do something, had to find a way to break through the barrier that had been so carelessly built. She took a deep breath, reaching for the one thing she knew could always lift his spirits.

"Remember the time we built that sandcastle?" she asked, her voice filled with the warmth of nostalgia. "The one with the moat that kept filling up with jellyfish?"

Plankton's eye flickered with the ghost of a smile. "Jellyfish," a soft echo of a happier time.

"Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge. "Remember how we laughed when they kept popping the bubbles in the moat?"

A flicker of life returned to Plankton's eye. "Burden, Bubbles," he murmured.

Karen clung to the glimmer of hope. "And the karaoke nights? When you sang that sea shanty about the Krabby Patty?"

"Krabby Patty," the words a soft echo of happier times.

Karen's seeing the first crack in the wall of pain he had built around himself. She took his hand, voice filled with warmth. "Remember pranks we’d play on SpongeBob?"

Plankton's gaze flickered with a glimmer of amusement. "Jellyfish," he murmured.

Encouraged, Karen pressed on. "And the time we accidentally turned the restaurant into a bubble bath?"

"Bubble bath," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of the laughter they had shared.

"Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "Remember how Mr. Krabs had to wear those ridiculous floaties because he couldn't swim in the bubbles?"

Plankton's smile grew. "Floaties," he murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Karen squeezed his hand. "See, Plankton. You're not a burden. You're a partner in crime, and the best roommate I could ask for."

The room remained still, the only sound the steady beat of Plankton's heart. Then, ever so slowly, his smile grew, pushing back the shadows in his mind. "Karen," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of gratitude. "Thank you."

Hanna's pixel eyes widened with hope, the guilt still etched on her face. "Plankton," she said, her voice tentative. "I'm so sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. You're not a burden. You're...you're like family to us."

Plankton's gaze shifted to her, the weight of her words a gentle nudge towards healing. "Family," he murmured, the word a tentative bridge over the chasm of his doubt.

"Yes," Hanna said, her voice earnest. "I'm sorry for not understanding before. But I do now. And I'll do better."

"You will?" he asked, a tentative thread of hope.

"Yes," Hanna said with earnestness. "I'll learn, listen, and I'll be more considerate of how my words can affect."

Karen nodded in approval, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "That's all we can ask," she said, her tone a gentle reprimand. "For you to understand and do better."

Hanna's pixel eyes well up with tears. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she said, voice shaking. "I had no idea."

Plankton's gaze softened, the word 'burden' slowly losing grip.

Karen released a sigh of relief, tension in the room easing. "What's important," she said, her voice a gentle guide, "is that we all understand each other better now."

Hanna nodded with remorse. "I'll do anything to make it right," she said, a solemn vow.

Plankton looked from Karen to Hanna, the word 'burden' losing power. "Ok," he murmured. "I forgive."

new console tonsil author is neurodivergent

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 12
(Autistic author)
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠
Sandy's eyes 
follow his finger 
as it traces through 
the grid. "Ah, here it 
is," she says, her voice 
a calm hum. "I'm gonna
go find Karen, I'll be back!"

But then Mr. Krabs, who
hasn't had Plankton try
to steal the formula since
the fry pan incident, comes
in to check and see what he's
up to.

"What are ye 
doing?" Mr. Krabs snaps,
his eyes narrowed in 
suspicion. "Why isn't 
this little troublemaker 
trying to steal me
formula?"

Plankton's antennae 
wilt at the sound of 
Mr. Krabs' gruff voice, 
his sensory haven 
shattered by the 
intrusion.

Mr. Krabs storms 
into the room, his 
claws waving in 
the air. "What's 
this nonsense?" he 
barks, his voice 
a thunderclap to 
Plankton.

"A book; more like some
blueprints!" Mr. Krabs sneers, 
his claws snatching the 
word search from 
Plankton's trembling 
hands.

Plankton's eye widens 
with horror as Mr. Krabs 
crinkles the pages, 
ripping up the book.

Mr. Krabs rips the 
pages with a 
satisfied smirk, 
his eyes gleaming with 
malice. "This is 
what happens when 
ye too cozy with 
the enemy," he says, 
his voice a harsh 
crackle as he tips the
bookshelf onto the floor
with a bang.

Plankton's antennae 
snap back, his 
body tense with 
fear. The painful 
memory of the frying 
pan flashes through 
his mind, his voice 
a terrified static. "No!"
he squeaks.

Mr. Krabs looms 
over him, his eyes 
a cold, hard gleam. "What's 
wrong with ye?" he barks, 
his voice a rough 
scratch of sarcasm. "Ye 
gonna cry?"

Plankton's eye 
fills with tears. "No," 
he whimpers.

Mr. Krabs laughs, 
his cackle echoing 
through the room. 
"Look at the 
tiny thief, so scared 
of a little noise!" 
he sneers, his voice 
a grating static.

Plankton's body 
shrinks, his antennae 
drooping. "Krabs," 
he whispers, his voice 
a desperate static.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
fills the room, his 
claws still gripping 
the torn pages. "Look 
at the wittle thief," 
he mocks, his voice 
a cruel cackle.

Plankton's single eye 
darts around the 
room, seeking escape 
from the crushing 
wave of stimulation. 
The pressure of Mr. 
Krabs' stare is like 
a boulder on his 
chest.

"What's the matter, 
Plankton?" Mr. Krabs 
sneers, leaning down 
so his face is inches 
from Plankton's. "Afraid 
I'll catch you red-
handed?"

Plankton's antennae 
flatten against his 
head, his breath 
quick and shallow. 
"No," he whispers, his 
voice a static hiss of 
fear.

Mr. Krabs' looming 
presence is like a 
shadow over him, 
his voice a grating 
buzz. "What's the matter, 
Plankton?" he sneers. "Can't
handle a little 
competition?"

Plankton flinches, 
his antennae retracting.
The pressure of the 
crab's eyes bore into 
his soul, his voice 
a panicked static. "No, 
Mr. Krabs, please," he 
whispers.

Mr. Krabs' claw 
slams down onto the 
coffee table, the 
impact rattling 
everything on it. "I 
see," he says, his 
voice a cruel chuckle. 
"Ye've gone soft."

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 12

COMPUTER SENSORS v

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *


Plankton's chest rises and falls in a more pronounced rhythm, as if he's trying to keep pace with their gentle 
strokes. His eye, once a window to an internal maelstrom, begins to blink. Slowly at first, then more rapidly, as 
if clearing the fog of his sensory retreat.

"I'm here," she whispers, her voice a promise.

The room seems to hold its breath as Plankton's body slowly comes back to life. Karen's smile grows, a soft 
glow in the dim light. "Good," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Just keep talking to him."

Hanna nods, her own voice a shaky whisper. "I'm here," she repeats. "You're ok." His stare starts to waver, 
focusing on her face. She feels his squeeze her hand, a tentative acknowledgment of her presence.

Karen's smile broadens. "See?" she whispers. "He hears you."

Hanna nods, her voice a soft caress. "You're safe," she murmurs. His gaze slowly shifts to hers, his pupil 
dilating with recognition. It's a small victory, but it feels like the world has shifted back into place.

"It's ok, Plankton," Hanna whispers, her voice a soft lullaby in the quiet room. "You're ok. I'm sorry."

His eye slowly refocuses, the panic receding like a tide. The room, once a prison of anxiety, now feels like a 
warm embrace.

"H-Hanna?" Plankton's voice is a raspy croak, a whisper of sound in the quiet room. Hanna lit up, a tear 
escaping to trace a path down her cheek.

"Yes, it's me," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "You're ok."

"What...what happened?" His voice is shaky, unsure.

Karen's grip on Hanna's shoulder tightens for a moment before she gently pulls away. "You had a bit of an 
overload, honey," she says, her voice still a whisper. "Hanna's been helping me bring you back."

Plankton squeezes Hanna's wrist once more before slowly retreating. She feels a pang of loss but 
understands that he needs space. He blinks rapidly, his gaze searching the room as if trying to piece together 
the puzzle of his reality.

"It's ok," Karen says soothingly, her voice a soft melody. "You're safe. We're all here."

Slowly, Plankton's eye refocuses, his pupil dilating as he blinks back to reality. He looks around the room, 
slightly confused, before his gaze settles on Karen's hand holding his. Recognition flits across his features.

"Karen?" he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

"I'm here," she says, her grip on his tentacle tightening slightly. "You're ok."

His antennae flicker to life, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath. His gaze shifts to Hanna, who is watching 
him with a mix of concern and apology etched into her features.

Hanna's wells up with tears as she sees the confusion in his gaze. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice 
cracking. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," Karen says quickly, cutting off Hanna's apology. She squeezes Plankton's hand gently. "You just had 
a little break. That's all."

Plankton nods slowly, his antennae drooping slightly as he tries to piece together the last moments. Hanna 
can see the effort it takes for him to process what happened. She feels a wave of regret for pushing him too 
far, for not understanding his boundaries fully.

Karen gives Hanna a knowing look. She's seen this before, the guilt that comes with accidentally triggering 
one of Plankton's episodes. But she knows that Hanna's heart is in the right place, that she's here to learn and 
grow. And as Plankton's gaze lingers on her, she knows that he sees it too.

Plankton's gaze softens slightly, the panic subsiding. He opens his mouth to speak, but only a faint sigh 
escapes. Karen steps closer, her hand resting on his shoulder. "You don't need to explain," she says, her voice 
a balm to his frazzled nerves. "Just rest."

Hanna feels a weight lift from her chest as Plankton's tentacle releases her hand. She withdraws it slowly, 
watching as he pulls his own tentacles closer to his body, a sign of his internal comfort. The room, which 
moments ago felt like it was closing in, now feels like a sanctuary, a place where they can all find peace.

"Thank you," Plankton whispers, his voice a mere echo of its usual robust self. "Both of you." His eye meets 
Hanna's, and she sees in it a glimmer of understanding, a silent acknowledgment of her apology.

Karen gently wipes a tear from Plankton's cheek, her touch as tender as a mother's. "Why don't we sit down?" 
she suggests, guiding him to the sofa with a firm but gentle grip.

Hanna nods, never leaving Plankton as he settles back into the cushions, his arms curling around him 
protectively. She takes a seat beside him, her hand hovering just above his, unsure if touch is still welcomed.

Plankton's breathing has evened out, his chest rising and falling in a deep, restful rhythm. His arms have 
stilled, and the tension in his body has melted away. Karen sits opposite them, filled with a quiet gratitude.

"Thank you," she says to Hanna, her voice a soft whisper. "You've done so well."

Hanna nods, still locked on Plankton. "Is he going to be ok?"

Karen's voice is a gentle murmur. "He's just exhausted. It takes a lot out of him to come back from an 
overload."

Hanna nods, still unable to fully comprehend the depth of her friend's condition. She watches as Plankton's 
breaths deepening into the steadiness of sleep. His eye closes with a final blink, and his body relaxes 
completely.

Karen's hand reaches out to cover Hanna's, giving it a comforting squeeze. "It's ok," she says, her voice a 
gentle reminder of the warmth in the room. "He'll be ok."

Hanna nods, watching the steady rise and fall of Plankton's chest, slack with sleep, a testament to the fragility 
of his condition, and she can't help but feel a pang of guilt for disturbing his peace.

A soft snore escapes Plankton, and Karen's hand slides away from Hanna's, and she reaches over to stroke 
Plankton's lightly, her touch a silent reassurance. His snore deepens.
Karen smiles softly, a hint of amusement in her.

"He's out?" Hanna asks.

Karen nods, a soft smile playing on her lips. "For now. He'll be ok. Just needs some rest."

"Is falling asleep a regular thing?"

"Not always," Karen says, her voice a soft murmur that doesn't disturb the peaceful scene.

Hanna nods, seeing Plankton's relaxed form. "How often does he nap?"

Karen leans back in her chair. "He's a light sleeper, and he's only ever fallen asleep during the day one other 
time," she explains. "We left early to go out of town once to try how a therapy session might work, but it didn't 
work out well for him. After a shutdown, they let us leave, and he fell asleep in the car on the ride back." "What 
do we do now?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's smile is soft, a balm to Hanna's nerves. "Now," she says, "we let him rest. He'll be out for a bit, but it's 
good for him." She gently pulls the blanket from the back of the sofa and drapes it over his form, tucking it 
around him. "This'll keep him cozy."

"What do we do when he wakes up?" Hanna whispers.

"We'll keep things low-key," Karen replies, her voice a gentle ripple in the quiet. "No loud noises, no sudden 
movements. We'll just let him come back to us when he's ready."

Hanna nods, her gaze still locked on Plankton. "What...what can I do to help?" Her voice is a soft tremble, a 
question wrapped in a cocoon of care.

"Just be here," Karen whispers. She pauses, her hand still resting on Plankton. "Do you have any questions 
about his condition?"

Hanna nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Do you know what caused him to be born with it?" she asks, 
her voice tentative.

Karen takes a deep breath. "Plankton got stuck and momentarily deprived of oxygen during delivery pressure 
on his head was just too much, and it irreversibly damaged some of his neural pathways."

"Is that... but how did it gave him sensory sensitivity?"

"The doctors think it's because his brain had to compensate for the damaged parts, making his senses 
hyperactive to make up for what he's lost." She pauses, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form.

new computer sensors karen & sheldon j. plankton

** ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵗⁱᶜ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵐ 
ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᴬᴵ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐʸ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

One fateful afternoon, Plankton meandered 
along the beach, lost in thought, an 
unexpected event unfolded. A 
tennis match, played by tourists near
by, sent stray balls hurtling towards 
him. A tennis ball struck him squarely on 
the head. As he stumbled to his 
feet, dizzy and disoriented, the 
world around him had changed.

Plankton found himself struggling 
with simple tasks that once came 
so naturally. His 
job at the local bait shop grew 
increasingly difficult as he often 
forgot names. His social 
interactions grew strained, as he 
found it hard to read the subtle 
cues of conversation and often 
took things too 
literally. The doctor's diagnosis 
was clear: the impact had left 
him with a mild form of autism 
for life.

Karen, ever the rock in their 
marriage, took the news with 
a mix of shock and determination. 
She knew this would be 
a journey of adaptation for 
both of them. She dedicated 
herself to helping Plankton 
navigate the new landscape of 
his reality.

His mind, now more analytical 
and detail-oriented, sought 
patterns and understanding 
in the overwhelming 
information. It was as if he had 
developed an insatiable hunger 
for knowledge, and this soon 
dominated their 
dinner conversations.

"Karen," he began, "I've been 
thinking about the diagnosis."

They were at the kitchen table. 
She looked up from her plate.

"We can just keep this between 
us, Sheldon."

"Karen," Plankton insisted, "I 
think we need to consider what 
this means for the Chum Bucket."

"The Chum Bucket will be fine. 
You're still you. Just with a 
different way of seeing the 
world. You're seeing patterns 
no one else does. Let's focus 
on how we can harness that 
instead of worrying about what 
you lost." 

The idea took root in Plankton's 
mind, growing into a newfound 
sense of purpose. If he couldn't 
outsmart Krabs in 
their usual cat-and-mouse game, 
perhaps he could out-pattern him. 
His mind raced with the 
possibilities, the 
wheels of his imagination spinning 
faster than ever before.

"If I could see patterns where he 
doesn't, we could finally steal 
the Krabby Patty secret!"

He began to fidget in his chair, 
his legs bouncing up and down, a 
silent metronome to his racing thought.

"But what if Krabs finds out? You 
know how he is, Karen. If he gets 
even the slightest whiff of 
weakness, he'll be on 
us." 

Karen nodded solemnly. "But 
you're not weak, Plankton. 
You're just... different. And 
if he does we'll deal with it 
together like everything else."

Her words resonated with him 
and a newfound resolve shone 
in his eye. "You're right," 
he murmured. "We'll turn this 
into an advantage."

Plankton retreated to his lab, the 
cobwebs of doubt slowly giving 
way to a tangible 
plan. He pored over blueprints 
and formulae, his mind 
racing with thoughts 
with his newfound focus, 
a stark contrast 
to the days when he had 
flitted from one idea to 
the next without clear direction.

He dissected every encounter 
with Krabs, searching for 
patterns in his rival's behavior. 
His mind was a whirlwind of 
calculations, predicting Krabs' 
every move, anticipating his 
countermoves, and preparing 
for the ultimate heist.
His once cluttered lab now had 
a method to its madness. The 
floor was clear of scattered 
inventions, and his desk 
was organized into neat piles 
of notes. His thoughts were no 
longer scattered; they 
were sharp.

Karen supported him, bringing 
him snacks and encouraging him 
to take breaks, for she 
knew that his mind was 
fully consumed by his mission.

The day finally came when 
Plankton announced that he 
was ready to put his new skills 
to the test. "Karen," he said 
with a steely glint in his eye, 
"I'm going to the Krusty Krab."

"But Plankton, You haven't been 
since before..." 
"It's time. I've figured out a 
pattern in Krabs' security. 
There's a blindspot during the 
lunch rush."

Plankton set out. The restaurant 
bustled with the usual sea of 
patrons, a cacophony 
of noise that Plankton found 
both overwhelming and fascinating. 
He took a deep breath, focusing on 
the task at hand, and slipped inside.

Making his way to the back, he 
spotted the safe in Krabs' 
office. His new analytical 
mind dissected the room with 
ease, noting the routine of the 
employees, the subtle cues in 
their movements that pointed to 
the flow of customers, and the 
exact moment when the chaos of 
the lunch rush would hit its peak.

Timing was everything, and Plankton 
knew the moment had arrived. 
He slipped into the 
office. 
The combination lock stared 
back at him, a silent sentinel 
to the secret he sought. 
His mind raced through the 
patterns he had observed in 
Krabs' behavior, the way he 
tapped his claw against the 
desk when nervous, the time 
he took to drink his tea, the 
exact moment when his gaze 
would flick to the safe when 
the topic of the Krabby Patty 
formula came up. Plankton took 
a deep breath, his eye tracing 
the dial as he dialed 
in the sequence.

The clicks of the tumblers falling 
into place were the sweetest 
symphony he had ever heard. 
With trembling hands, 
he pulled the heavy door open, 
revealing the treasure trove with
in. His eye fell upon 
the secret bottle, its contents a 
murky mystery that could change 
his life forever. His heart 
thudded in his chest, a drum
roll to the crescendo of his 
plan.

"Plankton!" boomed a voice. 
He whirled around to find Mr. 
Krabs, claws balled into fists. 
The room spun, and the 
noises of the restaurant outside 
grew distant.

"What do you think you're doing?" 
Krabs demanded, his eyes bulging 
with rage.

Plankton's brain scrambled 
for a lie, but his newfound 
honesty and directness took 
over. "I've come for the Krabby 
Patty secret." 

Mr. Krabs sneered, "You're 
insane, Plankton. You'll 
never understand 
the brilliance 
of me creation."

"But I see patterns now, where 
I used to see only chaos.." 
Plankton trails off before he 
could reveal more.

Mr. Krabs took a step closer. 
"What are you talking about? 
Patterns? I don't know what 
you're blabbering on about, 
but you're not leaving here 
with that!" He lunged, but 
Plankton was ready.

Using his heightened 
senses and the patterns 
he had studied, Plankton 
sidestepped the attack 
with surprising 
grace. The Krabby Patty 
secret was in his grasp, 
but he knew to take it 
back to the 
Chum Bucket.

He sprinted out of the 
office. The din of the 
restaurant faded into the 
background as he weaved 
through the kitchen, 
dodging flying spatulas 
and the frenetic dance of 
the cooks. The heat from 
the grills washed over 
him but he didn't 
flinch. His eye remained 
locked on the swinging 
doors to the alley outside.

Karen was waiting for him.

Without a word, she opened 
the hidden hatch that led 
back to the Chum Bucket. 
Plankton squeezed through, 
the warmth of the stolen 
secret a comforting weight. 
They descended into the dimly 
lit lab.

Karen looked at him with 
a mix of amazement and 
pride. "You did it," she 
whispered.

Plankton's chest heaved 
with the exertion of 
his escape. "Yes," he 
panted, "but 
Krabs knows I have it."

Plankton carefully removed 
the paper from the bottle, 
his eye scanning the list. 
The words and numbers swam but 
he focused, his mind slicing 
through the jumble. The list 
was not in English, but a 
cryptic code that only 
Krabs could decipher.

The symbols and letters 
danced in a maddening 
ballet, but he could feel 
the tide of 
understanding beginning to 
turn. His mind raced, piecing 
together the puzzle with a 
speed and precision that 
astonished even him.

He turned to Karen. "It's a code 
based on the Fibonacci sequence!"

"Fibonacci?"

Plankton nodded fervently, his 
antennae waving with excitement. 
"It's a numerical sequence, Karen. 
One, one, two, 
three, five, eight... 
It appears in nature, in the spiral 
of a shell, the arrangement of 
leaves on a stem, the branching of 
trees. It's a pattern that's been used 
in everything from art to mathematics!"

Karen's trying to 
make sense of the 
seemingly random 
strings of digits 
and letters. "But 
how? Nevermind, I hear 
Krabs breaking in!"

Plankton began to recite the 
ingredients in their proper 
order, translating the code 
as he went. "Kelp powder, four... 
Tartar sauce, one... Mustard seeds, 
three... Onion powder, five!"

The lab door crashed open 
and Mr. Krabs' furious red 
face filled the doorway. "Give 
it back, you tiny menace!"

But Plankton was already 
several steps ahead. With 
lightning-quick reflexes, he 
transferred the information 
from the paper to his 
photographic memory, his mind 
now a fortress that contained 
the Krabby Patty's sacred 
recipe.

Krabs snatched the paper with a 
snarl, his claw closing around it 
like a vice. He glared at Plankton, 
eyes alight with 
fury. "You think you're so clever 
don't you?"

But Plankton remained silent. 
The code was in his mind now 
and no one could take that 
from him. He had outsmarted 
Krabs with his own patterns, 
using the very neurodivergence 
that had made him feel 
weak to gain the upper hand.

Mr. Krabs looked from the 
paper to Plankton and back 
again with suspicion, his 
claw tightening around the 
seemingly worthless paper.

"You think you've won?" he spat. 
"You'll never understand the 
genius behind me Krabby Patties!"
With that, Mr. Krabs stormed out 
of the Chum Bucket with his usual 
sneer, the worthless paper clutched 
in his claw.

Plankton watched him go, his 
heart racing. He had done it. 
He had bested Krabs.

As the echo of the slammed door 
faded away, he turned to Karen, 
his eye alight with 
victory. "We've got it," he 
whispered, his voice quivering 
with excitement. "The Krabby 
Patty secret is ours." 

new author is neurodivergent character development walks on the beach evening walk hopeful ending eventual happy ending autismcore headinjuryposting neurodivergent characters

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i
(Autistic author)

"You know, Shel, just put yourself out 
there. You think to much! Just steal 
a patty from the krusty krab, and 
bring it back. No inventions, just 
believe. I'll wait out front." Karen says.

Sheldon Plankton, whose ambition 
often outstripped his grasp, took a 
deep breath and nodded. It was a simple 
enough plan, he thought, and maybe, just 
maybe, it would be enough. For years he'd 
been trying to outsmart Mr. Krabs, crafting 
ingenious contraptions and elaborate 
schemes to swipe the Krabby Patty secret 
formula. Yet here he was, standing in the 
shadow of the gleaming neon sign of the 
Chum Bucket, his own restaurant, contemplating 
the unthinkable: a straight-up heist. He tiptoed to 
the Krabby Krab, eye darting back and forth 
for any signs of movement.

Karen, ever the impatient one, was pacing back 
and forth outside the Chum Bucket. She had 
been waiting for what felt like an eternity. "What's 
taking him so long?" she murmured to herself, her 
frustration building.

Meanwhile, Plankton took a final 
shaky breath and slid open the 
kitchen window, his heart racing. 
The scent of greasy fryers and salty 
ocean air filled his nostrils. He reached 
out, his tiny hand trembling, and 
snatched the Krabby Patty that lay 
unguarded on the counter.

With the stolen patty in hand, Plankton's 
confidence grew. He had done it; the 
secret was within his grasp! He turned 
to leave, but his elation was cut short 
when a shadow fell over him. He looked 
up to find Mr. Krabs standing there, his eyes 
narrowed and his claw raised. "Plankton, I 
knew it was you!" he bellowed. Plankton froze.

Mr. Krabs lunged at him, but Plankton was 
quick. He dashed under the cash register, 
the Krabby Patty clutched to his chest like 
a football player crossing the finish line. 
"You'll never get me!" he yelled, his voice 
echoing in the quiet restaurant. But Krabs 
was persistent, his claws snapping shut 
just millimeters from Plankton's antennae.

With a cunning smile, Mr. Krabs stepped back 
eyeing the cash register. "Maybe not," he said 
reaching over the counter and hoisting the heavy 
metal contraption off its stand.

Plankton's eye went wide with horror as he 
realized what Krabs intended to do. He tried 
to dodge, but the space was too cramped, and 
the cash register came down on him like a 
guillotine blade. The sound of metal on metal 
reverberated through the kitchen, and the 
Krabby Patty went flying out of his grasp.

Mr. Krabs' victory roar filled the room as 
Plankton crumpled to the floor, stars 
dancing in his vision. The impact had been 
tremendous, and for a moment, he lay 
dazed and defeated. The cash register's 
heavy weight had not only knocked him 
out cold but also left a sizable dent in 
the floorboards.

Outside, Karen's pacing grew more erratic.
as "What's keeping him?" she groused. Just 
as she was about to storm inside, she hears 
the cash register, which hit Plankton's head.

Peering in she saw Plankton 
lying on the floor. "Plankton?" she 
shrieked, her voice cracking with 
panic.

Karen opens the door and goes 
to him.

"Plankton! Oh no!" she screamed, 
voice shaking the very foundation 
of the Krabby Krab. She rushed over 
to him, shaking with fear. Plankton's 
eye closed, and his body was 
completely still. The Patty lay forgotten.

Panic set in, and she began to pat his face.

"Plankton, wake up!!" she yelled, echoing 
through the deserted kitchen. She knew 
that Plankton could be dramatic, but this 
was unlike him. He'd always bounced back 
from Mr. Krabs' traps before, albeit with a 
bruised ego.

There was a pulse, faint but steady. "Thank 
Neptune," she whispered, her relief palpable. 

"Plankton, please," Karen begged, a mix of 
desperation and fear. She knew she had to 
do something, and fast. But what? Her 
medical expertise was limited to patching 
up her husband's bruises from past failed 
schemes, not dealing with a concussion 
from a cash register to the head.

She then managed to scoop up her 
unconscious husband and sprinted
to the Bikini Bottom Hospital.

Once inside the hospital, she explained 
what happened with the cash register. 
"We'll do a brain scan." They said.

Karen laid Plankton on the hospital bed.

Finally a doctor approached 
with a solemn expression. 
"The brain scan results are in."
Karen nodded for him to go on.

"It seems your husband has suffered 
significant brain damage from impact," 
the doctor continued, fidgeting with a 
clipboard. "The good news is that he 
will wake up, but... your husband has 
experienced severe brain trauma. While 
he will regain consciousness, it appears 
that he may have developed permanent 
autism."

"What does that mean?" she 
managed to whisper. The doctor 
explained that while Plankton 
would still be able to talk and/or 
communicate, his interactions 
and reactions to sensory would 
be significantly affected.

"But he'll still be the same Plankton?" 

The doctor nods. "In many ways, yes. 
His personality, his memories, they 
should all be intact. But his ability to 
process, to understand 
and respond appropriately... those 
might be altered. It's a complex 
condition, Mrs. Plankton. He can go 
home whence he wakes up."

Karen nodded numbly, mind racing 
with the implications.

As she sat by Plankton's bedside 
the hospital lights flickered, and 
the constant beeping of the heart 
monitor was the only company she 
had. The quiet was broken her 
husband's eye fluttering open. 
"Karen?" he croaked, his voice 
hoarse from the trauma.

Her heart leaped at the sound, and 
she took his hand, squeezing it 
tightly. "I'm here," she said, her 
voice cracking. "How do you feel?"

Plankton's gaze darted around the room. 
"Where am I?" he asked, his voice a mix 
of confusion and fear.

"You're at the hospital, sweetie," 
Karen replied, voice gentle and 
soothing. "You had hit your head 
on the cash register at the Krabby Krab." 
Karen said, her voice shaking 
slightly. "Mr. Krabs hit you."

Plankton blinked rapidly, trying to process 
her words. "Cash... register?" he murmured, 
voice sounding distant and confused. Karen 
nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The room 
was a cacophony of sounds: the beep of the 
monitor, the rustle of nurses' shoes, and the 
distant wail of a siren. Plankton's senses 
seemed to amplify, each noise stabbing at 
his brain like a thousand tiny needles.

"What happened to me?" he asked, voice 
small and scared. Karen took a deep breath 
preparing herself to explain the gravity of 
the situation. "You hit your head," she began, "and 
now, the doctor says you have... acquired a 
neurodisability."

Plankton stared at her, his eyes unfocused. "Neuro... 
what?" he repeated.

Karen took a deep breath, her heart heavy. "It's 
like your brain is wired differently now. You 
might see things, hear things, feel things more 
intensely. And sometimes, you might not understand 
people, or process differently."

"Does it... does it mean I'm broken?" he asked, voice 
barely a whisper.

"No, Plankton," she said firmly, "You're not 
broken. You're just... different. And we'll 
figure this out together."

new a life of diversity AI Story Generator neurodivergentcore karen plankton plaren plabsen braincore headcore i

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

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 15
(Autistic author)
ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ
Sandy and Sponge
Bob leave the room
while Karen stays
for the surgery.

The doctor's tentacles
move with practiced 
ease. The room 
hummed with a gentle 
consistency of medical 
equipment, designed to 
avoid jarring sounds. 
The doctor's eyes 
were focused, his voice 
a steady rhythm of 
instructions for the 
nurse. She put the IV in, 
a swift and precise 
motion, and Plankton's 
snores remained undisturbed.

The surgery begins, 
each movement 
calculated to 
minimize pain. The doctor's 
tentacles dance around 
the broken limb, his 
touch as light as 
a feather.

The smell of antiseptic
hangs in the air, 
but it's faint, not 
overwhelming. Plankton's 
body lies still, his 
snores the only sound 
besides the low 
whisper of instruments
coating the bone.

The nurse's eyes 
flick to the clock 
on the wall, the 
seconds ticking by 
like a metronome to 
the rhythm of the 
doctor's work.

The room is a 
symphony of soft 
sounds: the steady 
beep of the heart 
monitor, the low 
mumble of the doctor's 
instructions. Plankton's 
tiny body lies 
motionless, his 
snores the only 
evidence of life. They
put his leg in a cast
and unhook the IV.

Sponge Bob and Sandy
wait outside, their 
minds racing with 
worries and hope. 
Their conversation is 
whispers, not wanting 
to disturb the 
peaceful hum of 
the Quiet Bubble 
Clinic. The nurse
beckons them back in.

"The surgery was a 
success," she says, 
her voice a gentle 
gust of relief. 
Plankton lies in the 
bed, his leg now 
encased in a cast. His 
snores are quieter, 
his body less tense.

Sponge Bob and 
Sandy hover by his 
side, their eyes 
locked on his peaceful 
face. "But we need 
to be prepared for 
his waking," the nurse 
continues, her voice 
a soft warning. "He
might wake up feeling 
disoriented or overwhelmed.
Also, it takes time for the
anesthesia to fully wear 
off, so he might be groggy
and silly, sleepy or even 
a bit forgetful."

They nod, their 
expressions a mix 
of gratitude and 
anticipation.

The doctor enters 
the room, his tentacles
wiped clean of 
any sign of surgery. 
"He'll need to stay 
here for a bit, to 
recover," he says, his 
voice a gentle rumble. 
"But you can stay 
with him. After he's
fully awake, you can
take him home! Just
be careful, of course."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
light up, his grip 
on Plankton's hand 
tightening. "We'll 
make sure he's okay,"
he says, his voice 
a promise.
Sandy nods, her 
face a mask of 
determined calm. 
"Thank you," Karen says, 
her voice a gentle 
hum of appreciation.

The doctor nods, 
his tentacles 
flicking a dismissive 
wave. "It's what we're 
here for," he says, his 
voice a warm rumble. "Now, 
let's get him settled."

They work together, 
Sponge Bob and Sandy 
supporting Plankton 
as they move his bed to 
a recovery room, 
his body still asleep
as Karen holds his hand.

The room is painted 
with soft, soothing 
colors, and the bed 
is surrounded 
by pillows and blankets 
that seem to swallow 
his small frame. 
The lights are dimmed, a stark 
contrast to the stark 
whites and harsh 
florescents of a 
normal hospital.

Sponge Bob sits 
on the chair beside 
his bed, his 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
face. The gentle 
whirl of a fan in 
the corner provides 
white noise, a 
comforting constant 
hum that fills the 
silence.

Sandy sits on 
the other side, 
her hand resting 
lightly on the 
foot of the bed. 
Her eyes are glued 
to a book titled 
"Understanding 
Neurodivergence in 
Friends," her 
expression focused.

Karen meanwhile
was holding his
other hand.

Plankton's antennae 
twitches as the gentle 
hum of the recovery 
room starts to pierce 
his slumber. His single 
eye opens to a sliver, 
taking in the soft, 
blurry world around 
him. He blinks, trying to 
focus, and sees Karen 
first.

"Hey, buddy," she says, 
her voice a warm 
buzz of comfort. "You're 
okay." Plankton's 
eye widens, his 
brain foggy from the 
anesthesia.
"Wheh..." he starts, 
his voice a static 
whisper.

Sponge Bob's hand 
squeezes his gently. 
"You're at the Quiet 
Bubble Clinic," he 
says, his voice 
a soft wave of 
reassurance. "You had 
your leg fixed."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slowly, his 
eye blinking as 
realization sets in. 
"Mr. Krabs," he whispers, 
his voice a static 
memory of pain.

Sponge Bob's 
thumb pauses in its 
comforting rhythm. 
"Don't worry about 
him now," he says, 
his voice a gentle 
lapping of waves. "You're 
safe here."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with confusion, 
his mind a foggy 
storm of memories. 
He tries to sit up, 
but the nurse's firm 
hand gently pushes 
him back down. 
"Easy," she whispers, 
her voice a soft 
breeze. "You need to 
rest."

Sponge Bob's face 
is a picture of relief 
as Plankton's eye 
focusses on him. "Remember, 
buddy?" he asks, 
his voice a gentle 
reminder. "You're safe."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with the echoes 
of pain, but the 
soothing presence 
of his friends 
begins to anchor him. 
He nods slightly, his 
voice a static rustle. "Sandy?" he asks, 
his gaze shifting 
to her.

Sandy looks up 
from her book, 
her eyes soft. "I'm 
here," she says, her 
voice a gentle 
hum. She sets the 
book aside and 
takes his hand.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with confusion, 
his eye darting around 
the room. The 
softness of the 
pillows and the gentle 
hum of the fan are 
alien to him. "Where...?"
he whispers, his voice 
a static question.

The nurse's smile is 
a beacon of calm. 
"You're at the Quiet 
Bubble Clinic," she says, 
her voice a comforting 
trill. "You're safe."

Plankton's mind is a 
swirl of fuzzy images 
and half-remembered 
fears. He tries to 
piece together what 
happened, his antennae 
flailing for answers.

The nurse's voice is 
a gentle guide, leading 
 him through the 
mist. "You had surgery," 
she murmurs, her eyes 
kind. "Your leg is 
fixed now. Just rest."

Plankton's eye blinks 
slowly, trying to 
comprehend the words. 
The pain is gone, 
replaced by a 
dull throb and the 
weight of the cast. 
He nods, his body 
still feeling 
the aftermath of 
the anesthesia's embrace.

The room is a 
soft blur, the edges 
of his vision 
dancing with 
colors. He tries 
to lift his head, but 
it feels too heavy. 
Sponge Bob's grip is 
steady, keeping him 
grounded as the 
world slowly sharpens.

Plankton's thoughts 
are like bubbles 
popping in the sea, 
each one briefly 
forming before 
disappearing into the 
depths. The nurse's 
voice is a distant 
lullaby, guiding 
his consciousness 
back to the surface.

He blinks again, 
his vision slowly 
coming into focus. 
The nurse's face 
swims into view, 
her smile a lifeline 
in the murky water 
of his confusion. 
"You're okay," she 
whispers, her voice 
a gentle ripple. 
"Just rest."

The room sways 
like an underwater 
garden, the 
soothing sounds of the 
recovery room a soft 
symphony that Plankton 
can't quite place. 
His mind is a kaleidoscope 
of half-formed thoughts.

Sponge Bob's hand 
is a steady 
beacon, the gentle 
squeeze a comforting 
reminder that he's 
not alone. Plankton's 
eye widens as he 
takes in the sight 
of his friend, his 
face a canvas 
of concern. 
"You're okay," Sponge 
Bob whispers, his 
voice a gentle 
wave washing over 
the static in Plankton's 
mind.

Suddenly, Sponge
Bob's phone beeps, 
a video call request 
from an unexpected 
name: Mr. Krabs. Sandy's 
eyes widen and 
she looks at Sponge
Bob, who nods 
slowly, his heart 
pounding in his 
chest. He accepts 
the call, the screen 
filling with the 
familiar craggy face 
of their grumpy neighbor.

Mr. Krabs looks 
sheepish, his eyes 
darting around the 
screen. "Plankton," 
he starts, his voice 
a gruff whisper. "I 
heard what happened
with the autism and
broken leg.."

Sponge Bob's 
grip on Plankton's 
hand tightens, his 
face a mask of 
caution. Plankton's 
antennas quiver with 
apprehension.

"What Krabs
want?" Plankton 
mumbles, his voice 
a static hiss. His 
single eye narrows.

Mr. Krabs clears 
his throat, his 
face a portrait of 
discomfort. "Look, 
Plankton, I... I 
wanted to say... I'm 
sorry." His eyes dart 
to the side, 
avoiding the camera.

Plankton's antennae 
stand on end, his 
eye unblinking. "What
for?" he asks, his voice 
a wary whisper.

Mr. Krabs' face 
scrunches up, his 
claws fidgeting with 
his apron strings. "For, uh, 
you know, the frying 
pan... and the... uh, 
everything."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with surprise, 
his voice a static 
hush. "Why?"

Mr. Krabs looks 
away, his eyes 
anywhere but on the 
screen. "I know I've 
been... rough on you 
lately," he says, his 
voice a gruff rumble. 
"And I didn't know 
about the... the 
autism thing. It's 
just, the Krabby Patty 
formula is all I've 
got, and I can't...
I don't know how to
make it up to ye but
I just called to let ye know."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with shock, his 
eye wide. "Mr. Krabs," 
he whispers, his voice 
a static hum. "Is this... 
real?"

Mr. Krabs nods, his 
face a map of regret. 
"Yeah, it's me," he says, 
his voice a gruff 
mumble. "I know I've 
not been the best... 
neighbor, or... frenemy."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
are wide, his grip 
on Plankton's hand 
unwavering. Sandy's 
jaw is slack with 
disbelief.

"Mr. Krabs," Karen's
voice is a cautious whisper. 
"That's... really nice of
you to say."

Mr. Krabs nods, 
his eyes returning 
to the screen. "It's 
just, I've seen what 
you've gone through, 
and I... I shouldn't
have hurt you." His 
claws fiddle with his 
apron, a rare show 
of vulnerability. "And I
forgive ye." 

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent plabscore 15

CONSOLE TONSIL ii


*


As the door clicked shut, Karen noticed how 
Plankton's body 
stiffened, eye open but unseeing.

"Plankton?" she called out, her voice a 
gentle prodding into his
absent-mindedness.

He didn't respond. His eye remained open, but 
it was as if the light
behind it had gone out.
This wasn’t the first time Karen had seen 
him dizzily scatterbrained from overload, yet
it was eerie to witness such shock. His body 
remained still, his chest rising and
falling with his shallow breaths, yet there 
was no response to her
touch or voice. It was like he was there, but 
not there at the same
time.

The room grew quiet. She leaned closer. 
"Plankton, can you hear me?" she 
whispered.

His eye remained unblinking.

"Plankton, talk to me," Karen urged, her 
voice a gentle coax.

His only ‘response’ was the shallow rise and 
fall of his chest, his eye unblinking.

Karen realized the depth of his withdrawal; 
Hanna's words had
triggered a sensory shutdown.

The room grew colder as Plankton retreated 
into himself, his eye glazed over like a
still pond reflecting the fear and confusion 
rippling through him. Karen knew she
needed to tread lightly. She had seen this 
before, during moments of intense stress or
overstimulation.

"Plankton," she said, her voice a soft 
whisper. "You're not a burden, you know that."
Her hand reached out, stroking his arm in 
gentle, soothing motions. "You're just tired.
Let's focus on getting you better."

The room was still, the only sound being the 
tick of the clock echoing through the
silence. Karen's screen never left Plankton's 
unresponsive face, her mind racing to find the
right words, the right touch to pull him back 
from the edge of his isolation.

"Plankton," she said again, her voice barely 
above a whisper. "You're ok. You're home."
Her hand continued its soft, rhythmic motion 
on his arm, a silent lullaby to his
fractured thoughts.

Slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, 
Plankton's eye blinked. The fog in his gaze
started to clear, his pupil focusing on Karen's 
concerned face. He took a deep, shaky
breath, wincing as the pain in his throat shot 
up like a warning flare.

"You're ok," Karen repeated, her voice a 
soothing balm to his frazzled nerves. "You're 
home, and I'm here with you."

Plankton's breathing grew more even, the 
tension in his body slowly seeping away as 
he focused on her voice, her touch. The pain 
in his throat was a constant reminder of the 
surgery, but it was the emotional pain that 
weighed heavier on him.

Karen waited patiently, her hand never 
stopping its gentle caress, her voice a 
steady stream of comfort. "You're not a 
burden," she repeated, her tone soothing. 
"You're my best friend, Plankton. We’re 
home. I'm here for you, always."

Plankton blinked again, the reality of his 
situation seeping in. "Home," he murmured. 
"Thank you, Karen."

"You're welcome. I'm here for you."

The words hung in the air, the silence thick 
and heavy. Karen could see the internal
battle playing out on Plankton's face, the war 
between his pride and his need for
comfort. His hand reached out again, this 
time with more intention, and he gently
squeezed hers.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out, his voice still raw. 
"I didn't mean to scare you."

Karen leaned in closer, her screen filled with 
a gentle understanding. "You don't ever have 
to apologize for how you feel," she said 
softly. "We're in this together."
Plankton's grip tightened, his eye finally 
focusing on hers with a hint of gratitude. He 
took another deep breath, the pain a stark 
contrast to the warmth in the room. "What...what 
is Hanna doing now?" he 
asked, his voice a whisper of curiosity.

"I don't know," Karen replied truthfully. "But 
she's not here to bother us. You need to rest, ok?"

Plankton nodded weakly, his grip loosening. 
Karen felt a twinge of sadness as she saw 
the exhaustion etched on his features. She 
knew he was trying to be strong, but the 
weight of the day's events was too much for 
anyone to bear alone.

"Rest," she encouraged, her voice firm but 
gentle. "I'll be right here if you need 
anything."

Plankton's nod was almost imperceptible, 
but Karen took it as his silent agreement. 
She pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucking 
him in as if he were a child, and sat in the 
chair beside his bed, her hand still in his. 
The warmth of their intertwined fingers was a 
small but significant comfort in the face of his 
overwhelming fears.

The minutes ticked by. Karen watched him 
closely, waiting for his breathing to deepen, 
his eyelid to droop. It was a slow process, 
but eventually, the exhaustion won. She 
heard a faint snore, a sign that he had finally 
succumbed to sleep. His hand went slack in 
hers, and she carefully extracted her hand, 
placing it on the bedside table. She took a 
deep breath, her shoulders sagging with 
relief.

Her mind raced with what had happened. 
Hanna's words had clearly struck a nerve, 
and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of 
anger at her friend's thoughtlessness. 
Plankton had always been self-conscious 
about his size and his perceived 
weaknesses, and to hear such harsh words 
from someone Karen cared about had to be 
devastating. Karen felt a mix of anger and 
sadness as she approached Hanna, her 
mind playing back the haunting image of 
Plankton's lifeless stare.
"Hanna," she began, her voice firm but 
measured. "We need to talk."

Hanna looked up.

"What you said in front of Plankton, though 
not meant to be malicious," Karen began, 
her voice low but steady. "It was hurtful and 
unnecessary. Plankton has...challenges. 
Neurodivergent challenges."

Hanna's confused. "What do you mean?"

"It means," Karen said, sitting down next to 
her, "that Plankton perceives and reacts to 
the world differently than we do. It affects 
how he processes information, how he 
interacts with people, and how he handles 
stress."

"What happened after I left?" Hanna finally 
asked, her voice tentative.

Karen took a deep breath, preparing to 
recount the events that had unfolded. "He 
had a...a reaction," she said.
"He couldn't handle the stress anymore. His 
mind just sort of...shut down. He just...froze 
still. It's like his body was there, but he 
wasn't. He didn’t respond to anything I said or did."
Hanna's hand flew to her mouth, horrified. 
"His eye were open, but he was...gone, 
somewhere else. I've seen it before, but 
never this severe. At first, nothing," Karen 
said, her gaze drifting to the floor. "It was like 
talking to a statue. But I didn't give up. I 
talked to him, whispered really. I tried to get 
through to him, to tell him he's not a burden, 
that he's important to me, that he's safe 
here. Just kept saying how much he means 
to me and that he's not a burden. He started 
to come back to me, little by little. His 
breathing changed, his gaze focused on me. 
It was like he was hearing me for the first 
time in hours." Karen paused, collecting her 
thoughts. "He apologized," she said. "For 
scaring me. As if it was his fault."

Hanna's expression grew pained. "I never 
meant for this to happen," she murmured. 
"What can I do to make it right?"

Karen considered her words carefully. "For 
now, let him rest," she said. "But when he's 
feeling better, we need to have a talk. All of 
us. Plankton deserves an apology."

* * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ  *

new author is neurodivergent console tonsil AI Story Generator karen plankton

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY i


(Autistic author)


Karen's husband, Plankton, was 
arguing with Mr. Krabs as usual. 
They've had their fair share of 
disputes over the years, but this 
one seemed to be escalating 
fast. Without warning, Mr. Krabs 
swung the stove from his kitchen 
with all his might. It connected 
with a sickening thud against 
Plankton's head. Karen gasped 
as her husband crumpled to the 
ground. Plankton's eye had rolled 
back and closed, his body going 
still as Mr. Krabs left back.

Karen knelt beside Plankton and 
gently tapped his cheek. "Wake up," 
she murmured, voice trembling. No 
response. She tried again, her voice 
a little louder. "Honey, can you hear 
me?" Plankton's eye remained 
closed, his antennae limp. Panic 
began to creep in.

Her mind raced with 
possibilities, each more 
frightening than the last. What if 
his tiny brain had been damaged? 
What if he was in a coma? What 
if he never woke up? She cradled 
his minuscule form.

The room grew 
silent as the gravity of the 
situation sank in, willing Plankton 
to stir. A tear trickled down her
screen.

Karen felt for a pulse. It was 
there, faint but steady. She let 
out a sigh of relief and picked 
his tiny body up, cradling him 
carefully. "I've got to get him to 
a doctor," she thought.

She held Plankton's hand as they
performed a brain scan.

Karen sat by her husband's side as the
machines around Plankton beeped and
whirred. The sterile smell of the
hospital filled, and the cold
white walls seemed to press in around
them. Plankton's lying still
on the hospital bed. A thick bandage
was wrapped around his head, and
various tubes connected him to
monitors that displayed a symphony
of lines and numbers, none of which
meant anything to her. She squeezed
his hand gently, willing him to wake
up.

The doctor walked into the room,
his lab coat fluttering slightly as
he moved. He held a clipboard
carefully in his tentacles, studying
the information with a furrowed
brow.

"Mrs. Plankton," he began, his voice
soft, "We've finished scans. The good
news is that it's not life-
threatening. However, we've noticed
some sustained atypical brain activity."

Karen's eyes widened. "What does that
mean?" she asked, her grip on
Plankton's hand tightening.

The doctor sighed, his expression
sympathetic. "Autism. His behavior may
change. He might become more focused
on his routines, have difficulty with
social interactions, and exhibit sensory
sensitivity. It's permanent, and no cure.
We expect him to wake up soon. We'll
ask him some questions to assess and
then you can take him home."

Karen felt her heart drop. She knew
about autism, had read about it in
magazines, but never thought it would
affect her own family. The doctor
left the room, and she was alone with
her thoughts, watching Plankton's chest
rise and fall as they remove the bandage.

The hours ticked by in agonizing
slowness as she sat there, praying
for him to wake up. The only sounds
were the rhythmic beeping of the
monitors and the occasional muffled
conversations from the hallway.

Finally, Plankton's eyelid fluttered.
He groaned softly, and his hand
twitched in hers. Karen leaned in,
hope surging through her. "Plankton?"
she whispered, her voice thick with
emotion as she smiled through her tears. 
"I'm here," she said, voice shaky. "You're in
the hospital, but you're ok."

Plankton's eye opened, squinting in the
bright lights. He looked around the room,
confusion etched on his tiny face.
Slowly, his gaze landed on Karen. "What
happened?" he croaked, his voice weak.

"Mr. Krabs hit you with a stove," Karen
explained, her voice a mix of relief
and sadness. "They diagnosed you with
acquired Autism."

The doctor approached with a gentle nod.
"Plankton, can you tell me your name?" he
asked, ready to jot down notes.

Plankton's eye searched the room, finally
settling on Karen. "Sheldon Jay Plankton."
Karen's grip on his hand tightened
offering silent encouragement.

The doctor nodded and proceeded with
questions. "Tell me
when you're born?"

"July 31, 1999 10:16.08 am ET!"

Karen felt a twinge of pride at her
husband's precise answer. The doctor
nodded, scribbling something on his
clipboard. "Tell me more about yourself.."

"More about yourself." Plankton echoed.

The doctor's offering 
a gentle smile. "Echolalia. It's a trait 
that's common in individuals with 
autism. It can help him process 
information. Well Plankton has no
need for therapy, yet you may want
to adjust your daily lives to 
accommodate. You're free to go!"

The drive back to the Chum Bucket was
silent, the weight of the diagnosis 
pressing down on Karen's shoulders. He
was quiet too, his eye fixed on the 
passing scenery. He didn't seem to 
notice the difference in himself, but 
Karen knew their lives were changed.

Once home, Karen helped Plankton into 
his favorite chair, surrounded by 
his inventions and gadgets. The room
was a mess, but it was his sanctuary, 
and she didn't want to disturb it. He 
seemed more at ease, his eye
flicking from one object to another 
with a sense of familiarity.

Would Plankton be the same? Would he
still laugh at her jokes, or get 
angry at the Krabby Patty secret 
formula?

Plankton remained silent, his gaze
still locked on his surroundings.
Karen felt a pang of worry. Would 
his obsessive nature become more
pronounced?

"It's getting late, Plankton."
Karen's voice was soft as she
guided him to their bedroom. He
followed without protest, his
movements mechanical. She helped
him into bed, pulling the blankets
up to his chin with a gentle
tuck.

Plankton lay there, staring at the
ceiling, his thoughts a swirl of
confusion. "Do you need anything?"
she asked, her voice a gentle hum in
the quiet room.

"Stay, Karen stay." He says.

Karen nodded, taking a seat
on the edge of the bed.

"Of course, I'll stay," she assured him,
trying to keep her voice steady. She took
his hand again, feeling the warmth of
his palm against hers. She didn't know
what the future held, but she knew she'd
be by his side.

As Plankton's breathing evened out into
the rhythm of sleep, Karen sat there,
watching him. She noticed how his grip on
her hand had loosened, but didn't dare
move.

The next day, Karen woke before
Plankton did.

She hovered over him, watching the
steady rise and fall of his chest.
How was she going to wake him up
without startling him?

She knew that sudden noises could be
overwhelming for him now. Karen took
a different approach. She stroked his 
arm with a feather-light touch. His eye
brow flinched.

Next, she tried speaking his name,
starting with a whisper and gradually
getting louder. "Plankton," she called,
"It's time to wake up." His eyelid
twitched, and he blinked his eye open.

He looked around. "Karen?" he 
asked. She nodded with a
smile.

"Good morning, honey," she said softly.
"How are you feeling?"

Plankton sat up slowly, his antennae
twitching as he took in his surroundings.
"Different," he murmured, rubbing his
temple.

"We're home,
Plankton. Remember what happened?"

He nodded, his eye glazed over
for a moment. "Krabs. The stove."

"Yes, but you're ok now," Karen
reassured, stroking his cheek with
her finger.

Plankton nodded again, his antennae
twitching nervously. Karen noticed that
his movements were more deliberate,
his gaze more intense. She decided to
keep things simple to avoid
overwhelming him with too much
information at once.

"Let's get breakfast," she
suggested. Plankton followed
her into the kitchen, his steps slower
than usual. The clanking of pans and the
sizzle of oil had always been a familiar
symphony in their home, but today it
felt alien, like a disturbance to his
newly heightened senses. Karen moved
around the kitchen with precision,
keeping the noises to a minimum.

As she prepared their meal, Plankton
stood by the counter, his gaze fixed.

"Breakfast is ready," she said, sliding
a plate of chum flapjacks in front of
him. The smell usually brought him
joy, but today it was overwhelming. 
Plankton took a step back.
Karen's smile faltered, realizing she
would have to adjust their meals.

"Would you like something else?" she
asked, her voice a soothing melody.

Plankton nodded, his gaze not
leaving the plate. "Different," he
whispered.

Karen knew she had to find
foods that wouldn't overstimulate. 
She placed the flapjacks aside
and found a jar of pureed peas and plain
yogurt. She hoped the blandness would
be more soothing.

Plankton's antennae twitched as he
came closer. He stared at the bowl
intently, then took a tentative spoonful.
The texture was soothing, and the color 
was calming. He ate slowly, each bite 
measured and deliberate.

Karen watched him
with love and concern. She
wanted to ask if he liked it, but she
knew better than to interrupt his focus.

Once Plankton had finished, he looked
up at her with a hint of a smile. "Good," 
he said. It was the closest thing to praise 
she had heard from him since the incident.

Karen cleared the table, her mind racing
with questions about what the future held.
How would Plankton's new autism affect
their daily lives?

"Now what would you like
to do, Plankton?" She asks.

He looks at her. "Read." 
The old spark seems to flicker back
to life, albeit with a different
intensity. Karen nods, leading him
back to his lab.

The room is a mess of wires and
gadgets, but Plankton moves through
it with purpose. He selects a
book from the shelf, a manual on
quantum physics that had been
collecting dust. His gaze flits
over the pages, absorbing
the information with fervor.

Karen watches him from a distance.
This was her Plankton, but also new. His
obsession with the Krabby Patty
formula had always been intense, but
now his focus was lasered in on
the book, his mind racing through
equations and theories.

The room was silent except for the
soft rustle of pages turning.
Plankton didn't look up from his
book, lost in a world of science and
theories. Karen knew she had to let
him be, to find his new normal.

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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. 

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"disabilities aren't aesthetic" 
Yes, but you don't need to say 
this under the posts of disabled 
people showing off cute mobility 
aids, decorated med organisers, a 
cute bed set up, the art piece that 
represents their disabilities, etc. 
Whether theyre your fellow disabled 
folk or especially so if you're 
able-bodied/neurotypical, allow 
disabled people freedom of expression 
and the little joys they can.

People cope with their 
disabilities in diverse ways, 
and sometimes that means 
you will see a disabled person 
romanticizing their life, or making 
their aids aesthetic. Someone existing 
and expressing themselves, making 
their lives more comfortable and 
enjoyable, should not be seen as 
”glorifying” anything. I’m not telling 
anyone to go make themselves disabled, 
nobody should take their health for granted.

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