Gamefic Emojis & Text

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

I	V	X	L	C	D	M
5	10	50	100	500	1000

🔢

Individual decimal places
Thousands	Hundreds	Tens	Units
M	C	X	I
MM	CC	XX	II
MMM	CCC	XXX	III
CD	XL	IV
D	L	V
DC	LX	VI
DCC	LXX	VII
DCCC	LXXX	VIII
CM	XC	IX

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

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ii
(Autistic author)

The drive back 
to the Chum 
Bucket was quiet, 
the only sound the 
hum of the car engine 
and the occasional 
splash of a jellyfish 
passing by. Karen 
gripped the steering 
wheel tightly, her 
knuckles white with 
tension. She glanced 
over at Plankton in the 
passenger seat, his eye 
glazed over and staring 
out the window.

"You ok?" she asked 
tentatively.

Plankton nodded, his gaze 
still fixed outside the car window.

"Everything looks the same, but 
feeling... different."

"You're going to be ok," she said. 
"We'll get through this."

By the time Karen pulls up in the 
driveway, Plankton had fallen asleep, his 
head lolling against the car window. 
She gently lifts him out of the car and 
carries him into their bedroom, laying 
him down with care. As she watches 
him sleep, she whispers, "We'll get through 
this."

The next day dawns with the promise of a 
new challenge. Karen wakes up to the 
sight of Plankton, obsessing with the pattern 
of the floor tiles.

"You ok?" Karen asked, voice soft.

Plankton looked up, his 
gaze slightly unfocused. 
"The floor," he said, his 
voice still quiet.

"What, the floor?" Karen asked.

"The floor," Plankton repeated.

"What about it?" Karen asked.

Plankton's gaze remained fixed 
on the tiles. "Plankton not same, 
Plankton different," he murmured.

Karen sat down beside him. "How 
are you feeling?" 

"Plankton feel... weird," he said, antennae 
drooping slightly. "Things to loud. Things 
to bright." He paused, looking at her with 
a flicker of his old mischief. "But Plankton 
still love Krabby Patty."

Karen couldn't help but chuckle through tears. 
"I know you do, sweetie," she said, her voice 
warm with love. "But maybe it's time we focus 
on something else for a while."

Plankton nodded slowly, gaze still on the floor. 
"Plankton... try," he murmured, fidgeting nervously.

"Do you want for breakfast, Plankton?"

Plankton's eye didn't leave the floor.

Karen tries asking again. "Does Plankton wanna eat?"

Plankton nods, his gaze finally shifting from the floor 
to meet hers. "Hungry," he said, his voice monotone 
and detached.

Karen sighs and heads to the kitchen. She could 
feel the weight of the new reality settling on her 
shoulders, but she was determined to make things 
work.

As she flipped through the recipe book, Plankton's 
voice, distant yet clear, floated through the air. 
"Plankton... Plankton different," he said to himself, 
gaze still locked onto the floor. Karen knew he was 
trying to process his new sense of self.

"Plankton still smart," he murmured, as if reassuring 
himself. "But Plankton... not same." He paused, tiny body 
trembling slightly. "Plankton think to loud. Plankton hear 
to much." The world had become a symphony of 
overwhelming stimuli, each sound and light a crescendo 
that pounded against his newfound sensitivity.

Karen looked up from her cooking with empathy. "It's ok 
Plankton," she said gently. "We'll learn to adapt. Maybe 
we can make some changes around here to help you 
feel more comfortable."

Plankton nodded, but doubt remained. "Plankton... 
not know," he said, his voice filled with uncertainty. 
"What if Plankton mess up?"

Karen set the frying pan aside and knelt down 
beside him, taking his hands in hers. "You won't," 
she said firmly. "We'll face this together. I'll always 
be here to help you, no matter what."

Plankton nodded, his gaze finally shifting from the 
floor to meet hers. "Thank Karen," he said, voice 
a little clearer.

"The chumbalaya is ready." She says, serving him 
his favorite chum dish.

Plankton looks up from the floor, his gaze lingering 
on the plate before him. "Plankton eat now?" he asks, 
his voice still distant.

"Yes, sweetie," Karen says with a smile, pushing the 
plate closer to him. "Eat your breakfast."

"Eat breakfast," Plankton parrots back, his tone flat. 
He picks up a spoon and stares at it, his hand 
shaking slightly. The simple task of bringing it to 
his mouth seems daunting under the weight of his 
new reality.

Karen's smile falters a little 
but she keeps the conversation 
going. "It's a beautiful day out
side, Plankton. Would 
you like to go for a walk?"

"Walk outside," Plankton repeats
echoing the monotone rhythm 
of hers. He stands up, his 
movements stiff and deliberate 
as if he's not quite sure of his 
body's new limitations.

"Oh I meant after finishing breakfast," 
Karen says.

"Walk after breakfast," Plankton echoes.

Karen nods encouragingly. "Yes, after 
you eat." She watches as he carefully 
brings the spoon to his mouth, his 
movements tentative and slow. Each 
bite is a victory, a declaration of normalcy 
in a world that had suddenly become any
thing but.

"Good boy," she says, voice filled with pride. 
Plankton looks up, his eye searching hers. 
"Good boy," he repeats, his voice a mirror of 
hers, but the words don't quite fit. Karen 
noticed how he just repeated the phrase she's 
said. It's called echolalia, a trait often seen in 
those with autism, and it's something they're 
going to have to navigate together. She 
decides to keep her words positive and 
encouraging, hoping it'll help him feel more 
at ease. "Yes, let's go for a walk," she confirms.

They step outside into the vibrant world of Bikini 
Bottom, and they start their slow stroll down the 
boardwalk.

The sun was shining, casting a warm glow over the 
coral reefs and the colorful fish swimming by. The 
smell of the ocean was a soothing balm to Karen's 
frayed nerves, and she hoped it would have the same 
effect on Plankton. He walked beside her, his steps 
halting and unsure, his antennae twitching at every 
new sound.

As they approached the boardwalk, they saw a familiar 
figure in the distance. "Look, Plankton," Karen said, her 
voice a mix of excitement and trepidation, "it's SpongeBob."

Plankton's antennae shot up, and his eye widened. "Sponge... 
Bob," he murmured, recognizing him.

Karen took a deep breath and tightened her grip 
on Plankton's hand. She knew SpongeBob had 
a heart of gold, but she also knew he could be 
potentially overwhelming.

As they approached, Sponge Bob spotted them 
and waved enthusiastically. "Hi, Karen! Hi, Plankton!" 
His voice was a welcome sound in the quiet morning 
and Karen braced herself for whatever would come next.

"Hi, Sponge Bob," she says.

Sponge Bob's face lit up. "Oh boy, Plankton! What's shakin'?"

Plankton stiffened, antennae quivering as he tried to process 
the sudden influx of sensory input. "Sponge Bob," he said 
slowly, his voice measured and careful. "Plankton... walk."

Sponge Bob looked from Karen to Plankton, his expression 
growing concerned. "Is everything ok, Plankton?" he asked, 
eyes full of genuine care. "You seem a bit... off your game to
day."

Plankton stared at him, composing response.

"Walk," Plankton repeated. "Plankton walk."

Sponge Bob looked confused but nodded, his eyes filled with 
concern. "Ok Plankton," he said gently. "Would you like to walk 
with me?"

Plankton's antennae twitched 
and he nodded. "Walk with Sponge 
Bob," he agreed, his 
voice still monotone.

Sponge Bob took Plankton's 
other hand, and together, the 
three of them began their 
leisurely stroll 
along the boardwalk. 

new POV Karen a life of diversity plankarenbob ii

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY v
(Autistic author)

The door to the Chum Bucket creaked 
open, and Patrick Star 
waddled in, a quizzical expression 
on his face as he took in 
the scene before him. "What's with 
the library vibe?" he asked
looking from the book-laden table to 
Plankton's intense gaze.

Plankton looked up from the book, antennae stilling 
for a brief moment before he resumed his recitation 
of pi. "Pi, 3.14159265358979323846..."

Patrick's eyes grew wide as he took in Plankton's intense 
focus and the unwavering rhythm of his voice. "Plankton, 
buddy, what's got you in such a tizzy?" he asked, his usual 
lazy drawl replaced with curiosity.

Plankton's antennae twitched as he broke from recitation.

Patrick looked at Plankton with genuine curiosity.

"Patrick," Plankton said, his voice flat but his antennae 
twitching slightly. "Jellyfish club."

Patrick blinked, his star-shaped pupils dilating in surprise. 
"Jellyfish club?" he echoed, his voice rising an octave.

Karen nodded. "Yes, we were just talking about starting a 
jellyfish club," she explained, gesturing to the book. "Since 
Plankton's really interested in them now."

Patrick looked from Karen to Plankton, then back again. 
"But Plankton, jellyfish sting," he said, his brow 
furrowed in confusion.

"Jellyfish sting," Plankton agreed, his voice still monotone. "But 
Plankton have plan. Jellyfish in jar."

Patrick's eyebrows shot up. "Jellyfish in a jar? What's the point 
of that, buddy?"

"Safe jellyfish," he murmured, his voice tight.

"What's that supposed to mean, Plankton?" Patrick asked.

"Mean jellyfish safe," he said, his voice a little less monotone. 
"In jar."

Patrick chuckled, mistaking Plankton's seriousness for a joke. 
"Yeah, right, Plankton. You're not seriously gonna start a jellyfish 
club, are you?"

The room's atmosphere shifted, and Plankton's antennae 
drooped slightly. "Why not?" he asked, his voice 
devoid of its earlier excitement.

Patrick's chuckles died in his throat as he realized Plankton wasn't 
joking. "Well, I didn't mean to laugh," he said, his voice tinged with
awkwardness. "It's just, jellyfish are kind of... boring, don't you think?"

Plankton's antennae stiffened, and he closed the book with a thud. 
"Boring?" he echoed, his voice devoid of its previous enthusiasm.

"It's just... jellyfish aren't exactly the most exciting creatures," Patrick 
said, trying to recover from his faux pas. 
"They just float around, right?"

The room went quiet as Plankton's antennae drooped further, and 
he stared at Patrick, his eye unblinking. "Boring," he murmured, his 
voice a mix of hurt and disappointment.

Patrick, not realizing the depth of Plankton's newfound interest
continued, "I mean, come on, Plankton. 
There's more to life than jellyfish."

Plankton's antennae stiffened, and he looked at Patrick with 
a mix of confusion and hurt. "Boring?" he echoed, his voice 
monotone yet filled with a hint of challenge.

"Well, yeah," Patrick said, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean
jellyfish are for tourists and little kids, right?"

The words hung in the air like a thick fog, and the room grew 
tense as Plankton's antennae quivered with a mix of anger 
and hurt.

"Patrick, maybe that wasn't the best thing to say," Karen said, 
her voice a gentle warning.

But Patrick, oblivious to the tension building in the room, shrugged 
again. "I'm just saying, jellyfish aren't exactly the coolest things in 
the ocean, Plankton," he said, his voice still filled with cheerfulness. 
"Why don't you jus-"

Plankton's antennae shot up, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Jellyfish 
cool," he said, his voice a monotone, but with a hint of steel.

"Oh, come on, Plankton," Patrick said, waving a dismissive hand. 
"You're smarter than this. Why waste your time with jellyfish?"

"Jellyfish interesting. Plankton like jellyfish."

Karen stepped in, trying to smooth things over. "Patrick, Plankton's 
just found something that he really enjoys," she said. "We should 
support him in his new interest."

But Patrick, still not grasping the gravity of the situation, chuckled.

"Oh, Plankton, always so dramatic. It's just a phase. And you can't 
talk like that forever, right?" He then mimicked Plankton's flat tone 
saying, "Plankton wike jellyfish," which sent him into a fit of giggles.

The room grew quiet as Plankton's antennae drooped, and a single 
tear formed at the corner of his eye, sliding down his face.

"B-but, Plankton thought..." Plankton's voice broke as Patrick 
interrupts him again mimicking him.

"B-but, Plankton thought," Patrick said, his voice a high-pitched 
parody of Plankton's monotone. "Jellyfish cool," he continued, his 
giggles echoing in the room.

Plankton's antennae shot up. "Jellyfish cool," he repeated, his 
voice firm and unwavering.

Patrick's giggles didn't stop, and he leaned closer 
to Sponge Bob, whispering, "Is he for real?"

But Plankton's tears didn't fall in vain. The moment his sobs 
filled the room, the atmosphere shifted. Karen's with horror 
at the sight of her husband's pain, and she rushed over to 
him, wrapping around his tiny frame. "Plankton, no," she 
whispered, her voice filled with a motherly concern that was 
more powerful than any Krabby Patty recipe.

Sponge Bob's expression grew solemn as he watched the scene 
unfold. He had never seen Plankton so vulnerable, so raw. The 
villain he knew was now a creature in pain, and his heart swelled 
with emotion.

"Patrick, that's enough," she said, his voice firm.

But the damage was done. Plankton's sobs grew 
louder, and he buried his face in Karen, his body 
trembling with the weight of his emotions. Karen 
glared at Patrick, her screen flashing with a fiery 
protectiveness that was uncharacteristic of her 
usual calm demeanor.

"Patrick, you need to leave," she said, her voice a 
low hiss. "Now."

Patrick, taken aback by the sudden shift in mood, backpedaled 
awkwardly. "But, I didn't mean to-"

"Just go," Karen interrupted, her voice firm. "Outside. I'll talk 
to you in a moment."

Patrick, still chuckling nervously, shuffled to the door. "But, I 
didn't mean to make him-"

"Out!" Karen's voice was sharp, cutting 
through the air like a knife. 
The urgency in her tone was clear, leaving 
no room for argument.

Patrick, still looking confused, shrugged and waited outside. 

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore v

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iv
(Autistic author)

Without missing a beat, Plankton starts 
rattling off a stream of facts. "Jellyfish are 
invertebrates," he says, his voice gaining 
speed and confidence. "They have no bones, 
no brains, but they have stinging cells 
called nematocysts."

"Wow, Plankton, that's amazing," Sponge 
Bob says, eyes wide with wonder. "I didn't 
know that!"

"Neither did I," Karen admits, a small 
smile playing. "You've always had a knack 
for science, but this is something else."

Plankton nods, his excitement palpable. 
"Jellyfish have life cycle," he continues, 
his voice taking on the rhythm of a lecturer. 
"Start as polyps, then grow into medusae."

Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
recites facts rapidly.

"Jellyfish can have hundreds of stinging 
tentacles," he says, his voice gaining 
momentum. "And some species can even 
clone themselves. It's called strobilation!" he 
says, his eye glued to the book. His voice is 
monotone, but the enthusiasm is clear as he 
shares his newfound knowledge.

"That's so cool, Plankton!" Sponge Bob exclaims. 
"I had no idea!"

Plankton nods. "Jellyfish book," he says 
again, his voice still a monotone, but his 
tone is less flat.

Karen and Sponge Bob share a hopeful look. 
Plankton's intense focus on jellyfish seems 
to be providing a small sense of comfort 
amidst the chaos of his new reality.

"I think Plankton might just become the smartest 
jellyfish expert in Bikini Bottom," Karen says 
trying to lighten the mood.

"Maybe one day we can go jellyfishing together," Sponge 
Bob says, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods, his gaze flicking 
to Sponge Bob before returning to the book. 
"Jellyfishing," he repeats.

"But Plankton, remember jellyfishing can be dangerous
if they sting" Karen says gently with concern.

Plankton's antennae twitch. "Dangerous," he repeats, his 
eye still on the book. "Jellyfish sting, but Plankton have 
plan." He flips through the pages, stopping at an image 
of a jellyfish in a jar. "Jellyfish in jar," he says, 
tapping the picture. "Safe jellyfish."

Karen and Sponge Bob exchange a look. "You wanna keep 
jellyfish in a jar, Plankton?" Sponge Bob asks, voice tentative.

Plankton nods vigorously. "Jellyfish in jar, safe jellyfish," he 
says, his excitement palpable.

Sponge Bob leans closer to the book, his curiosity piqued. 
"What else does the book say, Plankton?"

Plankton starts reading off the index and page numbers, his 
voice a monotone yet steady stream of information. "Jellyfish 
page 12. Nematocysts, page 34. Jellyfish reproduction, page 67," 
he recites, his antennae twitching with each number.

Sponge Bob leans in closer, fascinated by Plankton's sudden 
wealth of knowledge. "How do you remember all of that?"

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly.
"Good memory," he says, his 
voice still flat but with a hint of pride. 
"Plankton read book."

Karen nods, her gaze soft. "Yes, you read the book," she says, her 
voice a gentle reminder. "You've learned so much about jellyfish."

Plankton's antennae quiver with excitement as he flips through 
the pages. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his gaze alight with a 
passion that Karen hadn't seen in him since before the accident.

"You know, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, leaning closer to the book. 
"Maybe we could start a jellyfish club. Just you, me, and Karen. We 
could learn all about them together."

Plankton's antennae stand at attention at the idea. "Jellyfish club," 
he repeats, his voice a mix of excitement and skepticism. "With 
Karen and Sponge Bob?"

"Yes," Karen says with a smile, her voice filled with hope.

Plankton nods, his antennae moving with the rhythm of his thoughts. 
"Jellyfish club," he murmurs, the words rolling around in his head like 
a treasure found at the bottom of the sea.

"Yea Plankton who knew, easy as pie!"

"Pie?" he repeated, the word echoing in the room. 
"Pi, 3.14159265358979323846..." His voice grew in confidence 
as he recited the digits, his eye glazing over as he fell into a 
rhythm that seemed almost meditative. Karen and Sponge Bob 
stared at him in amazement as he rattled off the numbers, his 
monotone delivery a stark contrast to the awe in their expressions.

"Plankton, that's incredible!" Karen exclaimed with astonishment.

"Pi, yes," Plankton said unwavering. "Circle's ratio."

Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "How?"

"Pi," Plankton began, his antennae quivering slightly as he found 
his rhythm. "The ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. 
3.14159265358979323846..." He recited the digits as if they were 
the most natural thing in the world, his voice steady and unwavering. 
Karen and Sponge Bob watched in amazement as Plankton's eye took 
on a faraway look, his focus solely on the mathematical constant that 
held the secrets of 
the universe's geometry.

Karen couldn't help but smile at the sight of Plankton's newfound 
passion. "It's incredible how you can remember all of that," she said, 
her voice filled with wonder.

"Remember pi," Plankton said, his antennae still quivering 
with excitement. "Easy for Plankton."

"Wow, Plankton," Sponge Bob said, his eyes sparkling with 
amazement. "You're a math genius!"

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly at the compliment.

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore iv

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iii
(Autistic author)

"It's okay, Plankton," Sponge 
Bob said, his voice soothing. 
"We're just going for a walk. 
Nothing to worry about."

The three of them walked in 
silence for a while, the only 
sounds the lapping of the 
waves and the occasional 
squawk of a seagull. Karen 
could feel the tension, and 
she wondered what was going 
on inside his head.

As they neared the jellyfish fields 
Sponge Bob perked up. "Hey, 
Plankton, you remember jellyfishing
right?" He asked, his tone hopeful.

Plankton's antennae stopped the 
nervous twitching for a moment. 
"Jellyfishing," he murmured, the 
memory sparking a glimmer of 
interest. "Jellyfish sting."

Sponge Bob's smile grew wider. 
"Yeah, but it's fun, right?" He said
trying to keep the conversation 
light. Karen could see the effort 
in his eyes and felt a pang of guilt 
for ever thinking poorly of him.

"Jellyfish... fun," Plankton repeated, his 
voice still flat.

Sponge Bob looked at him, his smile fading 
slightly. "Yeah, jellyfishing's the best!" he said 
trying to keep the energy up. "Remember all 
the good times we had?"

Plankton nodded, his gaze distant. "Good 
times," he echoed.

Sponge Bob's smile faltered, and he shot a 
questioning glance at Karen. "Is everything ok 
with Plankton?" he asked, his voice tinged 
with concern.

Karen took and squeezed Plankton's 
hand. "Hold on, Sponge Bob," she said gently. 
"Plankton, can you find us a rock? A pretty 
sparkly rock."

Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, and she could 
see the gears turning in his head. He nodded, his 
antennae tilting slightly. "Find rock," he said, before 
going in the familiar jellyfish fields.

Sponge Bob watched him go, his expression a 
mix of confusion and concern. "Is Plankton ok
Karen?" he asked.

"He's just... different now," Karen said, voice 
tight with emotion. "He had an accident, and 
the doctor says 
he has acquired autism."

Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "Hey I think 
I have that, too! But what does that mean 
for Plankton?" he asked, his voice filled with 
genuine concern.

"It means he's going to need some help," Karen 
said, her voice calm and measured. "He'll still be 
the same Plankton we know, but his brain works 
differently now."

Sponge Bob's eyes searched hers, trying 
to understand. "Different like how?"

Karen took a deep breath. "Well, he might repeat 
what we say," she began, watching Plankton as 
he picked up rocks and examined them. "It's 
called echolalia. It's a way for him to process 
language now."

Sponge Bob's eyes widened with understanding. 
"Oh, like a parrot!" he exclaimed, nodding.

Karen chuckled, despite the heaviness of the situation. 
"Sort of," she said, "but it's more than just repeating 
words. It's how he processes information now."

Sponge Bob watched Plankton, who had found a 
particularly shiny rock and was now examining it 
with intense focus. "What else, Karen?" he asked.

Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain as best 
she could. "Sometimes, Plankton might need more 
time to understand what people are saying to him."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton. "How might he act?"

Karen sighed, looking at the ocean. "Well, sometimes 
he might get overwhelmed by sounds, lights, or even 
textures," she said. "It's like his senses are on overload. 
Although he'll have it for the rest of his life, he can 
potentially improve his skills. It happened yesterday, 
I don't think you were working but Krabs hit Plankton's head.."

Sponge Bob's expression grew serious, and he nodded 
solemnly. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Karen," he said, 
his eyes filled with genuine empathy. "Plankton's always 
been pretty tough, but I won't let Mr. Krabs know."

Plankton returned with the sparkly rock, his gaze still a bit 
unfocused. "Pretty rock," he said, holding it out to Karen.

Karen took the rock. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, her 
voice filled with warmth.

"Good find," Sponge Bob added, giving him an 
encouraging thumbs-up.

The walk continued, yet a distant wail of a boat's horn 
created a symphony that seemed to overwhelm him. 
He stopped, his antennae flattening against his head, 
his eye wide with distress.

"Too loud," he murmured, his voice strained.


Karen noticed Plankton's agitation. They guided him 
to a nearby bench, and he sat, his arms wrapped 
tightly around himself, rocking back and forth.

"It's okay, Plankton," she soothed, her voice calm. 
"Just breathe, darling."

Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his 
antennae quivering.

"What's wrong, Plankton?" SpongeBob asked, voice 
filled with concern.

Plankton didn't respond, his eye squeezed shut as 
he hummed a tune to himself.

Karen and Sponge Bob sat beside him, giving him 
space and waiting for the overwhelming sound to 
pass. After a few moments, the boat's horn ceased 
and Plankton's breathing began to even out. He looks up,  
gaze still slightly unfocused.

"Plankton ok now?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice gentle.

Karen nodded. "I think so," she said, watching Plankton's 
antennae slowly untangle from their protective pose. 

"Sounds can be really intense for him now."

Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. "We'll keep it down 
then," he said, his voice a whisper.

Karen smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Sponge 
Bob," she said. "It means a lot."

They sat for a few more moments, the sound of the 
waves crashing against the shore acting as a soothing 
lullaby for Plankton. Finally, he spoke up, his voice still 
flat. "Home now," he said, his eye still on the horizon.

Karen nodded. "Alright, let's go home," she said, her voice 
gentle.

"SpongeBob?" Plankton asks, wanting him to come with.

Sponge Bob looks to Karen, who nods with a grateful smile. 
"We'd love for you to come, Sponge Bob," she says. "We can 
all help each other understand."

Plankton's gaze immediately falls on a biology 
book that's been lying on the coffee table, half 
open to a page about jellyfish. His antennae start 
twitching rapidly, and he picks it up with a new
found interest.

"Look, Karen," he says, his voice filled with excitement 
as he points to a picture of a jellyfish. "Jellyfish."

Karen nods. "Yes, Plankton," she says gently. "That's a 
jellyfish."

Plankton opens the book wider, eye scanning the pages 
with a fervor that was almost palpable. His antennae 
quivered with excitement as he absorbed every piece of 
information he could find about jellyfish. It was as if he 
had found a new obsession, a puzzle to solve that could 
potentially drown out the cacophony of the world around 
him. "Jellyfish," he murmurs to himself, his eye scanning 
the text. "Jellyfish sting. Jellyfish pretty."

Sponge Bob's curiosity peaks, and he leans over to look 
at the page Plankton is fixated on. "Jellyfish, huh?" He 
says, his voice soft so as not to disturb Plankton's focus.

Karen nods. "It's like he's trying to make sense of everything 
again," she explains. "It's one of his special interests now."

Sponge Bob nods. 

Karen watches as Plankton traces the outline 
of a jellyfish with his hand. "It's called hyper
fixation," she explains. "It's when extremely 
focused on something to the point where it's 
almost all he can think about."

Sponge Bob nods thoughtfully. "Well, Plankton 
I see you like the book of jellyfish?"

Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering with 
excitement. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his eye 
never leaving the page.

Sponge Bob nods, a smile spreading 
across his face. "I can see you really 
love jellyfish, Plankton," he says, 
trying to keep the conversation flowing.

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore iii

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vi
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a life of diversity jellycore vi

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY x
(Autistic author)

"Jellyfish... help Plankton think."

Mr. Krabs's eyes narrowed as he studied Plankton. "So, you're telling 
me that jellyfish... they help you?"

Plankton nodded, his antennae waving slightly. "Yes, Mr. Krabs," he 
murmured. "They're... comforting."

Mr. Krabs's expression softened, the realization of the depth of Plankton's 
connection to jellyfish dawning on him. "Well, in that case," he said, his 
voice gruff but kind, "maybe we can find a way to make peace. No more 
stealing, Plankton."

Plankton's antennae quivered as he 
met Mr. Krabs's gaze. "No more 
stealing," he murmured, his voice firm. 
"Plankton loves jellyfish now."

Mr. Krabs's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Loves jellyfish?" 
he repeated, his voice filled with skepticism. "You're giving 
up your life's work for these... blobs of jelly?"

"It's a special interest," she explained. "It brings him comfort 
and helps him make sense of the world. And who knows, maybe 
it'll lead him to something amazing."

Mr. Krabs's claw tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Well, if jellyfish are 
what you love, Plankton," he said slowly, "then I guess we can find 
a way to... coexist."

Plankton's antennae perked up at the word, his monotone voice 
cracking with hope. "Coexist?"

Mr. Krabs nodded, his expression uncharacteristically thoughtful. 
"Maybe," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "But you've got to 
promise me no more stealing."

"No more stealing," Plankton murmured, his antennae waving slightly. 
"Jellyfish... Plankton's friends now."

Mr. Krabs studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright," he said 
gruffly. "But you've got to promise me something in return."

"What?" Plankton's monotone voice was filled with caution.

Mr. Krabs leaned in, his expression serious. "You gotta promise 
me, Plankton, that you'll keep on sharing this... this love for 
jellyfish," he said, the words strange and foreign in his mouth. 
"Maybe even teach others about 'em."

Plankton nodded, his antennae 
quivering with excitement. "Teach," he 
murmured, his monotone voice 
cracking. "Plankton can do that."

They had never seen Mr. Krabs and Plankton get along, let alone 
discuss something other than Krabby Patties. The atmosphere 
had shifted from tension to something almost... friendly.

"Come on, Plankton," Karen urged gently. "Let's get you home."

With a heavy heart, Plankton picked up his box of jellyfish, his 
antennae drooping slightly. "Home," he 
murmured. "Chum Bucket."

Sandy and Karen exchanged glances, their expressions filled 
with hope and trepidation. But they also knew that with their 
support and understanding, he could find a new path, one 
that didn't involve stealing Krabby Patties or fighting with Krabs.

The group walked back to the Chum Bucket.

Once inside, Plankton carefully placed his jellyfish figurines 
on a shelf that he had cleared out earlier, his antennae quivering 
with satisfaction as he arranged them in a pattern that only he 
understood. The room was a stark contrast to its usual cluttered 
state, with everything in its place and the once-messy floor now a 
canvas of neatness.

Karen watched. "What are you thinking
Plankton?" she asked softly.

"Chum Bucket," he murmured, his antennae waving slightly. "Home. 
Different now."

Sandy looked around the tidy space, her eyes wide with amazement. 
"You've really turned this place around, Plankton," she said, her voice 
filled with genuine admiration.

Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching slightly. "Needed... order," he 
murmured, his monotone voice filled with a hint of pride. "Jellyfish like 
order."

The three of them sat down at a small table, the weight of their 
conversation lingering in the air like a fine mist. Karen reached out. 
"You know, Plankton," she began, "you don't have to hide anymore. 
You can be you, with your jellyfish and your quirks, and we'll all still 
be here for you."

Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye blinking rapidly as he took in 
her words. "Be me?" he murmured, his 
voice filled with doubt.

"Yes," Sandy said, her voice firm. "You're still you, Plankton. Autism is just 
a part of you, like how jellyfish are part of the ocean."

Plankton studied them, his antennae still, processing their words. It was a 
lot to take in, but he felt a warmth 
spread through his tiny body.

"You really mean it?" he murmured, his monotone voice cracking.

Karen and Sandy nodded in unison. "We do," Karen assured.


A LIFE OF DIVERSITY → THE LIFE OF UNITY
 (leads into the sequel if u like but make sure to read A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i - x first)

new a life of diversity x

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ix
(Autistic author)

With newfound enthusiasm, Plankton 
began to organize the mini jellyfish 
in the box, his antennae quivering 
as he meticulously arranged them 
by species and size. Each figurine 
was carefully placed, his movements 
deliberate and precise. "Jellyfish... 
special," he murmured, his monotone 
voice filled with a hint of wonder.

Sandy watched, her eyes shining with 
admiration. "You're really good at this," 
she said, her voice filled with warmth.

"Good at jellyfish," Plankton murmured, 
antennae waving slightly with pride. 
"Plankton's special place."

Sandy nodded, her tail swishing with 
excitement. "Yes," she said, her voice 
filled with encouragement. "You have 
a special place in the world, Plankton, 
and jellyfish are your thing."

As Plankton continued to organize his 
new collection, his movements grew 
more animated, his antennae quivering 
with purpose. Each jellyfish was placed 
with such precision that it was as if they 
were living beings in a miniature ocean. 
His eye never left his task, his mind fully 
engrossed in the world of jellyfish. It was 
as if by organizing them, he was somehow 
bringing order to his own chaotic thoughts.

"Plankton," Karen said softly, "I know this is a 
big change for you. But you know what? 
Maybe this is your chance to do 
something amazing with your life."

Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "Let's go outside."

Plankton looked up from his box, his antennae 
twitching with excitement. "Outside?" 

"Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her smile warm.

They made their way outside, with Plankton carrying 
his precious box of jellyfish figurines, his antennae 
quivering with excitement at the prospect of sharing 
his knowledge. The sun was setting, casting a warm 
glow over Bikini Bottom as the trio strolled down the 
sidewalk.

Their peaceful evening was abruptly interrupted when 
they rounded the corner to find Mr. Krabs, his eyes wide 
with surprise at the sight of Plankton in the company 
of Karen and Sandy. "What's all this?" he barked, voice gruff.

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly, but he held his 
ground, his box of jellyfish figurines clutched tightly. 
"Mr. Krabs," he murmured, monotone voice cracking.

Mr. Krabs squinted at Plankton, his claw resting on his 
chin. "Well, if it isn't the little troublemaker," he said with 
a gruff chuckle. "What brings you out of the Chum Bucket?"

Karen's forced a smile. "We're just out for a little stroll
Krabs," she said. "Plankton's found a new hobby."

Mr. Krabs's eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued by the unusual 
sight of Plankton engaged in something other than his 
usual Krabby Patty obsession. "What kind of hobby?" he asks.

Plankton's antennae quivered as he held up his box of 
jellyfish figurines. "Jellyfish," he murmured, his monotone 
voice filled with a hint of pride.

Mr. Krabs's eyebrows shot up. "Jellyfish?" he repeated, his 
voice incredulous. "What's gotten into you, Plankton? You're 
not planning to use them for some crazy Krabby Patty scheme 
are you?"

Plankton's antennae twitched, but he remained calm. "No, Mr. 
Krabs," he murmured, voice firm. "Plankton loves jellyfish."

Mr. Krabs squinted at him, his claw tapping against his chin 
as he tried to process this new piece of information. "You 
love jellyfish?" he said, his voice filled with skepticism. "What's 
so special about jellyfish?"

Plankton's antennae waved slightly as he thought about how 
to explain it. "Jellyfish... unique," he murmured. 
"Different. Like Plankton."

Mr. Krabs's eyes narrowed. "Different, you say?" he repeated, his 
claw stroking his chin as he contemplated this revelation. "Well
I'll be a barnacle's uncle. I never knew you had an interest in any
thing but stealing me secret recipe."

Karen stepped forward, her tentacles waving gently. "Mr. Krabs, when 
Plankton hit his head because of you and when I took him to the 
hospital, well let's just say things are a little different now."

Mr. Krabs's eyes widened, his 
claw freezing mid-stroke. "Different? What
do you mean, different?"

Karen's tentacles waved in a calming gesture. "Plankton 
was diagnosed with autism after the incident with 
your cash register," she said gently.

Mr. Krabs's eyes bulged, and his claws clutched at his chest 
dramatically. "Autism? What?" he bellowed.

Sandy stepped forward, her voice firm and steady. "It's ok, Mr. 
Krabs," she said, her eyes on the crab. "It just means Plankton's 
brain works differently than ours. But he's still the same 
Plankton we know, and he's found something that makes him 
really happy."

Mr. Krabs's eyes darting between Plankton and his box 
of jellyfish. "Well, I'll be a sea cucumber's uncle," he 
murmured, his expression a mix of shock and confusion.

As they talked, a group of kids playing catch nearby 
accidentally bumped into Plankton, their laughter 
and shouts of excitement cutting through the air. 
In an instant, the delicate balance of jellyfish 
figurines was disrupted, and they spilled out 
of the box, scattered across the sidewalk. The 
children's ball rolled into the mix, coming to a stop.

Plankton froze on the ground, antennae shooting straight 
up, eye unblinking as he stared at the chaos before him. 
The children looked up, their laughter fading as they took 
in the scene.

"Plankton?" Karen's voice was gentle, but it was lost, mind 
racing as he tried to make sense of the sudden disarray.

The children stared, their laughter dying in their throats as 
they saw the tiny plankton's distress. One brave soul 
reached out to help, but pulled back when Plankton didn't react.

Karen and Sandy exchanged a worried glance. "Plankton?" 
Karen called again, her voice a little louder this time.

The children watched, their curiosity piqued by the sight. 
One by one, they cautiously approached, their eyes wide 
with a mix of fear and fascination.

"What's wrong with him?" a young fish whispered to another, their 
eyes darting from Plankton to the scattered jellyfish figurines.

"I think he's in shock," Krabs murmured, his own eyes filled 
with concern. "The disorganization of his jellyfish is really 
bothering him.."

Sandy nodded, her eyes on the children. "Why don't you guys help 
Plankton?" she suggested. "You can put the jellyfish back in the box. 
Let's all put them back the way he had them!"

The children looked at each other, then back at Plankton, who was still 
frozen on the ground. Slowly, they began to pick up the scattered 
figurines, their little hands moving with care as they tried to mimic the 
order Plankton had created. They whispered to each other, comparing 
notes and asking questions, their curiosity 
overcoming their initial fear.

Karen watched them work, her tentacles relaxing slightly as she saw the 
concern in their eyes. "Good job," she murmured, her voice gentle. "You're 
all helping out."

The children nodded, their eyes never leaving Plankton as they carefully 
placed each jellyfish back in the box. They worked in silence, their 
movements a mix of awe and caution. The sight of Plankton's intense 
focus on his jellyfish had left an impression on them, and they were 
determined to help him restore order to his miniature world.

One by one, the jellyfish returned to their spots, each figure a silent 
testament to Plankton's knowledge and passion. The children looked 
at each other, then back at Plankton, who hadn't moved a muscle, still 
rigid, his eye unblinking.

"Is he okay?" the bravest one asked, holding out a tentative fin.

Plankton remained unmoving, his antennae quivering slightly. The 
children's gentle whispers and the soft patter of their flippers on 
the pavement was the only sound as they worked.

The last jellyfish was placed back into the box, the figure of 
Burgessomedusa phasmiformis nestling into its spot among 
the others. The children held their breath, waiting for some 
sign from Plankton that he noticed their efforts.

Slowly, Plankton's antennae lowered, and he blinked once, then 
twice. He looked down into the box, his eyes scanning the neat 
rows of jellyfish. The children watched as a slight smile graced 
his lips, and he let out a sigh of relief. 

The children beamed, their eyes shining with pride, stepping back 
to give him space.

Mr. Krabs, still looking slightly stunned, took a tentative step forward. 
"Plankton?" he asked, his voice gruff but concerned.

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he looked up, his one eye focusing 
on the crab. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his monotone voice still present but 
with a hint of warmth.

Mr. Krabs's claw hovered over the 
box, unsure of what to say. "I had no idea 
Plankton," he murmured, his eyes 
on the meticulously organized jellyfish.

"It's ok," Plankton said, his monotone voice tinged with sadness. "Mr. 
Krabs didn't know."

Karen stepped in gently. "Krabs is just surprised," she explained. 
"He's never seen you like this before."

Mr. Krabs nodded, his expression softening slightly. "That's right," he 
said, his voice no longer filled with anger. "I've never seen 
you so... focused on something other than Krabby Patties."

"Jellyfish special," Plankton murmured, his antennae waving slightly.

"I didn't mean to cause you brain damage, Plankton.." Mr. Krabs says.

"It's okay," Plankton murmured, his antennae twitching slightly. 

new a life of diversity plabsen ix

JUST A TOUCH vi
(Autistic author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae
still, his breathing
evening out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the door
bell rings. It's
Sandy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new just a touch sandarenton vi

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iv
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
But Plankton's 
frustration had 
reached a boiling 
point. His voice 
was a thunderclap 
in the small room, 
his eye flashing 
with a rage he 
couldn't contain. 
"You don't know!"
he roared, his 
body shaking.

Hanna took another 
step back, her 
heart racing. "I'm 
sorry, Plankton, I 
truly didn't mean to 
upset you," she said, 
her voice shaking.

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to the door, 
his mind racing 
to the safety of 
his solitude. "You 
don't know," he 
murmured, his anger 
subsiding slightly. 
The sudden silence 
was like a balm 
to his raw nerves.
But Hanna's curiosity
angered him further.
"Plankton, what..."

"I DON'T KNOW!" Plankton's 
voice pierced the 
silence, his frustration 
at an all-time high.
Hanna's eyes grew 
wider.

"I'll leave you 
alone," she said 
quickly, her voice 
quiet and soothing. 
But as she turned 
to go, she 
accidentally brushed 
against his arm.

Plankton's reaction 
was instant and 
explosive. He 
jerked away, his 
body tensing, his 
eye flashing with 
anger. "Don't touch me!" 
he snapped, his voice 
sharp and jagged.

Hanna's eyes wide with 
shock. "Plankton
tell me what's..."

But Plankton had 
reached his limit. 
The touch, the 
questions, the 
expectation of 
normalcy—it was 
all too much. He 
felt personally
attacked, now on
a roll.

"You don't know 
what's what?" he 
spat out, his 
voice a whip crack. 
"You come in here, 
invading my space, 
without a care in 
the world for 
what I'm going 
through!"

Hanna took 
another step 
back, retracting 
quickly. "I'm sorry, 
I didn't know," she 
whispered, her eyes 
filling with 
sorrow. "Karen never 
mentioned..."
But Plankton's 
frustration had 
become anger, 
his next words cutting 
like a knife.

"You don't know 
anything," he 
snarled, his 
voice laced with 
bitterness. "You come 
in here, asking your 
stupid questions, 
expecting me to be 
the same person I 
was before!" 
"Before what, Plankton?"
Yet Plankton's not wanting
to answer Hanna so he
yells his next words at 
the top of his lungs.
"Before I...I...
YOU KNOW
WHAT? IT'S
NONE OF YOUR
BUSINESS!" Plankton's
voice cracked with
the effort of
his outburst, but he's
just getting started,
now he's on a roll, his
next words being worse.
"I don't want you 
here. I don't need 
you here," Plankton 
spat out, his 
frustration a 
palpable force 
in the room.

Hanna took 
another step 
back, her 
eyes brimming 
with unshed tears. 
"I'm sorry," she 
whispered, her voice 
barely audible. "I 
was just trying 
to..."

But Plankton's 
anger had taken 
over. "You're not 
helping!" he 
shouted, his voice 
raw with emotion. 
"You don't get to 
decide what I need!" 
He was on his 
feet now, his 
body rigid with 
frustration. "I don't 
want you to know!"
"Know what, Plankton?
You don't get 
to decide what I 
can and can't know," 
she said, her voice 
firm. But Karen's
now returned with
the smoothie, both
Hanna and Plankton
too wrapped up to
notice her presence.
"You think you can 
just waltz in here 
and fix everything?" 
his voice was a 
growl now. "You think 
you know what it's 
like to be trapped 
in here?" He tapped 
his head with 
his finger, his 
eye wild. "You don't 
know anything!"
Now Hanna's getting
real angry.
"You think you're 
the only one 
suffering?" Hanna 
countered, her 
voice rising. "What 
about Karen? What 
about the people 
who actually care 
about you?"
Plankton's 
gaze snapped to 
hers, his anger 
fueled by her words. 
"You don't know 
what it's like!" he 
shouted, his voice 
echoing through 
the empty space 
of the Chum 
Bucket. "You don't 
know what it's like 
to have the world 
make no sense! 
To be trapped 
in your own head!"
Hanna's 
expression softened 
slightly. "I'm 
sorry," she said 
gently. "I really am. 
But you can't just 
push everyone away."
"Why not?" Plankton 
demanded, his 
voice a whip crack. 
"Why do I have to 
explain?"
But Hanna's 
concern for 
Karen overrode 
her own fear. 
"Karen's my friend 
and she deserves
better than you
and your little 
tantrums," Hanna 
snapped back.
"Tantrums? TANTRUMS?" 
Plankton's voice 
was a roar now. 
"This isn't a tantrum, 
it's reality!"
Hanna's in a 
defensive posture, 
her eyes flashing with 
anger. "You think 
I don't know what 
real pain is?" she 
shouted back. "You're 
so caught up in your 
own world that you 
can't see what you're 
doing to her, just 
because you're too 
stubborn and acting 
like a child who can't 
deal with the real
world! YOU'RE NOTHING
BUT A BURDENSOME
WASTE OF SPACE! So,
if you can't get your
act together, maybe 
you should just go to
an institution where 
people can handle 
your..." "That's 
enough!" Karen 
snapped. Her voice 
was a whip crack 
across the tension 
filled room, startling both 
Plankton and Hanna. She
couldn't stand
silent any longer. Yet
Plankton's face 
crumpled at
Hanna's threat,
his anger giving 
way to despair. 
Tears began to 
stream down his 
face, his 
body shaking with 
sobs he couldn't 
control.
The sudden shift 
from rage to sorrow 
was like a punch 
to Hanna. 



**NOTEs As an autistic
writer (and I used AI to
help me with the words)
I do not encourage the
ableism people have
shown in their ignorance.
Depending on when and
where you live, some
people have thought 
such therapies might be
good, without actually
accepting nor helping.
Even Hans Asperger
has supported eugenics
during the war, sending
people to internment
camps leading to demise.
I came across the site 
autismmemorial.wordpress.com
if you'd like to educate yourself
about how people have
endured such.*

new neurobehavioral plankton bullycore iv

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vi


(Autistic author)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae slowly
lowering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sponge Bob pressed play, the
screen flickering to life.

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

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

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

new autism in the plankton family plankton vi

CATCH IN MY CHIP iv
(Autistic author)

Plankton looks around, confusion
flickering in his eye. "What's going on?"

"You had a bit of an overload,"
Karen explains, her voice gentle.
"Too much sensory input, remember?"

Plankton's antennas twitch, and
his eye widens slightly as he takes
in the scene. The mess, the quiet,
Chip's tear-stained face. He sighs,
his body relaxing back into the
pillows. "Ah, yes," he murmurs.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to
scare you."

Karen smiles, her eyes
shimmering with relief. "It's okay,
dear. We're just here for you."

Plankton's gaze drifts to Chip,
who's hovering in the doorway,
his eyes wide and worried. "Chip... 
I'm sorry."

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his voice shaking. "It's okay, Dad.
Is your autism causing..."

Plankton looks at him, his
eye widening slightly. "What do
you know about autism?" He sits
up, his voice tinged with surprise.

Chip sniffles, his grip tight
on the seashell collection. "Mom
told me," he says, his voice
barely audible. "It's why you got
overwhelmed, isn't it?"

Plankton's expression shifts
from confusion to something
closer to anger.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me,"
he snaps, his voice sharp. "I can
handle it."

"But Dad you just..."

Plankton cuts Chip 
off, his voice
edged with agitation. 
"I said, I can handle it!"

Chip takes a step back,
his eyes wide and filled with
fear. He hadn't meant to upset
his dad; he just wanted to
understand. "You couldn't handle
it, Dad. Otherwise, you..."

Plankton's eye narrows,
his antennas standing on end.
"Don't," he says,
his voice a warning growl.
"I don't need a little kid telling
me what I can and can't handle."

Chip's shoulders slump,
his eyes welling up. "But I just...
I didn't mean to..."

"I said, I can handle it!" Plankton's voice
cracks through the air, his face flushing
with irritation. Karen's grip on Chip's hand
tightens, a silent message to stay calm.

Chip's eyes water as he stammers, "But I just
wanted to help." The weight of his dad's
words hits him like a brick. He hadn't meant
to make him mad, but he couldn't shake
the feeling that he'd done something wrong.

Plankton's breaths are sharp and quick, his
body tense with frustration. "You don't know
what you're talking about," he snaps, pushing
the covers off his legs. "You're just a kid. You
don't understand."

Chip's eyes well up with 
tears as he looks at his
father, the man he's 
always admired and loved,
now a stranger in his own 
pain. "But Mom said it's
okay for..."

Plankton's anger flares,
his antennas quivering. 
"Don't you dare bring 
your mom into this," he
says, cutting Chip off again. 
"This is not your business!"

Chip's lower lip trembles,
his eyes filling with tears.
He hadn't meant to upset
his dad, but everything
he says seems to make it worse.
"But Dad," he starts, but
his voice is lost in the
wave of Plankton's frustration.

"I don't need your pity,"
Plankton says, his voice rising.
He swings his legs over the
side of the bed, his movements
quick and jerky. "You think
just because you know a fancy
word, you know what it's like?"

Chip feels his cheeks burn,
his eyes blurred with unshed tears.
"No, Dad, I just..."

But Plankton is already out
of bed, his legs wobbly. "You think
you know everything, don't you?"
His words are a jumble of anger
and pain, his voice echoing in
the quiet room.

Chip steps back, his eyes wide
with shock. "No, Dad, I just..."
He tries to explain, but Plankton
interrupts again.

"Don't tell me what you 'just,'"
Plankton snaps. "You think
because you went to some camp
you can come back and act like
you know me?" His voice is
sharp, cutting through the
tension in the air like a
knife.

Chip's eyes dart to the ground,
his body shrinking under the
weight of his father's words.
"But Dad, I just..."

Plankton's anger is palpable,
his body vibrating with tension.
"I said, don't tell me what you
'just'!" He snatches up Chip's
new surfboard, the one symbol
of joy from camp, and slams it
against the wall. The room
shakes with the impact, sending
a shower of sand and shells flying.

Chip jumps, his eyes wide with shock.
"Dad, please," he whispers, his voice
shaking. He's never seen his dad
like this, never felt such anger
radiating from him. It's like a storm
has taken over the room, and he's
the only one caught in it.

"What are you doing?" Chip asks,
his voice barely above a whisper.
He takes a step back, his hands up
in a protective gesture.

"What does it look like?" Plankton
snarls, his grip tight on the broken
surfboard. "I can't even have a moment
without you poking and prodding!"

Chip's eyes dart around the room,
his heart racing as he tries to find
the words to fix this. "I'm sorry, Dad,"
he whispers, his voice trembling. "I just
wanted to help."

But Plankton is beyond reason,
his anger a living thing that feeds
off the chaos. He turns to the desk,
his gaze settling on the pile of sandy
photos. "You think your camp
souvenirs mean anything to me?"
He snatches the pictures, ripping
them into shreds. Chip gasps, tears
spilling down his cheeks as he watches
his memories destroyed. "Dad, no!"

He tries to grab the photos,
his hands shaking, but Plankton
swats him away, the torn pieces
falling like confetti around them.
The room seems to close in, the
smell of saltwater and musty sand
overwhelming him. "These are
from my trip!" Chip sobs, his voice
choking on his own pain.

"I don't care about your trip!"
Plankton shouts, throwing the
remaining pieces into the air.
They flutter down like sad confetti,
a stark contrast to the joy they
once represented. "I care about
me! I care about what you do
to me with your noise and your
energy!"

Chip's heart feels like it's
shattering into a million
pieces, each one a memory of
his dad's love and patience
torn apart. "I didn't mean to,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible over the ringing in
his ears. "I just wanted to share..."

Plankton's eye flashes with anger,
his grip on the shredded photos
white-knuckled. "Share?" He spits
the word out like it's poison. "You
have no idea what you're
doing to me! You just keep pushing
and pushing, and you don't even
notice when I can't take it anymore!"

Chip's eyes dart to the floor,
his hands curling into fists. "I
thought you liked it," he says,
his voice shaking. "I thought
you liked when I talked about
my day."

Plankton's chest heaves, his
eye blazing with frustration. "You
don't get it, do you?" He says,
his voice rising. "You never get it!"
He picks up Chip's rare seashell
collection, the one he'd been so
proud to show off, and hurls
it across the room. The sound
of breaking shells fills the air,
each one a shard of Chip's shattered
happiness.

"Dad, please!" Chip begs, his
hands outstretched. "Stop!"
But Plankton's rage has taken
over, a whirlwind of accusations
and anger. "You think this is fun?"
He yells, holding up a shard
of seashell. "You think this is what
I want?"

Plankton throws the shard down,
the clatter of broken shells
like a mocking echo of Chip's
pleas. "I don't want your noise!" His
hands shake with fury as he
grabs the sandy trophy from the
camp sandwich contest.

"Dad, please," Chip says, his voice
small and scared. "What's wrong?"
He tries to approach, but Plankton's
body language is a clear warning.

Plankton's eye dart around the
room, his anger a tangible force.
"Wrong?" He laughs, a harsh,
bitter sound. "Wrong is you, coming
in here with your stories and your
noise and your... stuff!" He gestures
wildly at the camp souvenirs, the
remnants of Chip's excitement scattered
across the floor.

He hurls the trophy at the wall,
watching with a twisted satisfaction
as it shatters into a hundred
pieces. "This," he says, holding
up a fistful of sand, "this is what
you do to me!"

Chip flinches with each broken
piece, his heart aching. "But
Dad, I just wanted to make you
proud." His voice is barely a
whisper, lost in the storm of
Plankton's rage.

"Proud?" Plankton sneers,
his grip tight on the sand.
"You think this junk makes
me proud?" He throws the sand
at Chip, the grains stinging his
face like tiny needles. "You have
no idea what I go through every
day, do you?" His voice cracks,
his anger giving way to pain.

Karen steps in, her voice firm
but calm. "Plankton, that's enough."
Her eyes are on her son, her
face a mask of concern. "Chip,
why don't you go... dust your screen?"
Her tone is gentle, but her gaze
holds a silent message: stay calm.

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving
his dad's. He turns and heads
for the bathroom, his steps slow
and deliberate. The door clicks
closed behind him, leaving Karen
and Plankton alone in the room.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II iv

GREAT CHIP iv
(Autistic author)

In the bedroom, Karen
managed to guide Plankton
to the bed, her voice
soothing. She knew
his senses were heightened
right now, his body
a battleground.

Chip hovered in the doorway,
his eyes never leaving
his dad. He felt
like he didn't recognize
this man who had
always been his hero.

The seizure passed,
leaving Plankton 
drained.
Karen helped tucked him in,
her eyes filled with sadness.

In the quiet that followed,
she turned to Chip,
his own eyes red and puffy.
"I'm sorry you had to see that,"
she said gently.

Chip nodded, his gaze
still on Plankton's exhausted face.
"Is he okay?" he asked, his voice
barely above a whisper.

"He'll be fine," Karen assured,
her voice strained. "Just tired.
This happens sometimes."

Chip nodded, his gaze never
leaving Plankton's face. He felt
like he was seeing his dad
for the first time, like he'd
been looking at him through
a fog and suddenly, it had lifted.
He didn't know what to do
with the mix of feelings swirling
inside him: confusion, fear, sadness.

Karen took Chip's hand,
squeezing it gently. "Let's go
talk, okay?" she suggested,
leading him out of the room.
They sat in the kitchen,
the silence heavy between them.

"I don't get it," Chip said finally,
his voice still shaky. "Why
did Dad get so mad?"

Karen sighed, her grip on
his hand tightening. "It's not that
he's mad at you, sweetheart.
It's his way of dealing with the fear
and confusion. Sometimes,
his brain gets overwhelmed,
and it's like he can't control
his reactions."

Chip looked at her, his
eyes searching for understanding.
"But why does he have to break
my toys?" he asked, his voice
still small.

Karen's heart ached for him.
"It's not about the toys," she
explained softly. "It's about the
frustration he feels, the inability
to communicate what he's going 
through."

Chip sniffled, trying to wrap
his head around it all. "But why
does he get so...so...mad?"

Karen's eyes were filled with
understanding. "It's not just you,
Chip. Sometimes, his brain needs a way
to deal with everything. It's like
his own personal tornado, and when
it hits, it's hard for him to keep
his emotions from spinning out 
of control."

Chip nodded, still not fully
understanding but willing to try.
He looked down at their joined
hands, his thumb tracing small circles
on her palm. "What can I do?"

Karen squeezed his hand.
"Just be patient," she said.
"And don't take it personally.
Remember, it's not about you,
it's about what he's feeling.
And when he's ready, we can talk
about it together."

Chip nodded, feeling a mix
of relief and trepidation.
He didn't want to upset his dad
again, but he needed to know
how to help. He didn't want
to feel so powerless.

"But what if he doesn't want to talk?"
he ventured, his voice small.

"Then we'll give him space," Karen said,
her eyes filled with warmth. "But we'll
be here, ready to listen when he does."

Chip nodded, wiping away the last
of his tears with the back of his hand.

"Okay," he murmured, his voice
still shaky. "Can I sit with him?"

Karen nodded. "Just for a bit,
but remember, he might not know
you're there right away. Let's go."

They tiptoe back into the room,
the air still thick with tension.
Plankton's eye is closed. Karen
knows he's sleeping.

Chip sits in the chair beside
the bed, watching his dad's chest
rise and fall. He reaches out
to touch Plankton's hand, but stops.

He didn't want to startle him,
not after what happened. His mind
raced with questions, but he knew
now was not the time to ask.

Instead, Chip took a deep breath,
his hand hovering over Plankton's.
He didn't know how to make it right,
but he knew he had to try.

Karen watched from the doorway,
her heart heavy with the weight
of her family's pain. She knew
this was a moment that could either
build a wall or bridge the gap
between father and son.

Chip's hand hovered, unsure,
before finally landing on
his dad's. Plankton's antennae
twitched, and Chip looked up to see
his mother's eyes glistening with
proud tears.

Karen offered a gentle smile.
"You can sit with him," she whispered.
"Just don't touch him anywhere else."

Chip nodded and pulled the chair
closer to the bed, his eyes
never leaving his dad's still face.

He sat for what felt like hours,
his hand resting gently on Plankton's.
Every now and then, his dad's antennae
would twitch, and he'd hold his breath,
afraid that he'd wake him up. But Plankton
remained still, lost in a deep slumber.

The room was quiet, save for the soft
snores escaping his dad's mouth. Chip
stared at his hand on Plankton's, his mind
racing with everything he'd learned. Autism,
seizures, the way his dad's brain worked differently.
It was all so new and overwhelming.

He felt a pang of guilt for not
knowing sooner, for not understanding.
But Karen's words echoed in his mind:
his dad's reactions weren't personal. It was
just how his brain dealt with stress.

Chip leaned back in the chair,
his eyes heavy with the weight
of the day's events. He watched
his dad's chest rise and fall, the
steady rhythm comforting him.

His thoughts swirled with questions
and confusion, but he knew
one thing for sure: he loved
his dad, no matter what.

As the minutes ticked by,
his fear turned into resolve.
He would learn more about his
father and try to find a way
to support him without setting
off the storm of sensory overload.

new great chip learncore iv

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM i

(Autistic author)

"I've waited long enough, I 
better go check..." Karen 
says to herself. Sheldon
Plankton, her husband, left 
earlier to attempt
to steal a krabby patty but he
hasn't returned.

Worried, she makes her way to the 
restaurant across the street.

Meanwhile, Mr. Krabs grabbed 
a fry pan and swung it at Plankton.

The sound of metal hitting flesh
echoed through the restaurant,
and Plankton crumpled to the ground.

Mr. Krabs, his eyes bulging with
triumph, looked down at the tiny,
unconscious form of his arch-nemesis.
"Gotcha, ya tiny troublemaker!" he
cackled, waving the fry pan above
his head like a trophy. The Krabby
Patty recipe remained safe, but 
Plankton's not. Karen heard the thud
from the hit and went in.

Her heart skipped a beat as she
saw Plankton sprawled out on the
floor, unmoving. She rushed over.

"Plankton!" Karen gasped, her voice
trembling with fear as she knelt beside
his tiny frame. He was out cold. 
She gently touched his
arm, hoping for a response, but there
was none. The fry pan lay a few
inches from his crumpled body, a silent
testament to the battle that had just
taken place.

The restaurant's usual
chaos was replaced with a tense
silence that seemed to thicken the air.
Mr. Krabs, still clutching the pan,
looked at Karen with a mix of pride
and wariness. His victory over Plankton
was clear, but he knew that this wasn't
the end of the feud between them.

Karen's eyes filled with tears as she
picked up her husband, cradling his
tiny body in her palm. His antennas
were limp, and his single eye was
closed. She clutched him tightly,
desperately.

"Wake up, Plankton," she whispered, her 
voice filled with urgency as she lightly 
shook. But Plankton remained 
unresponsive, his tiny body as lifeless 
as the seaweed that clung to the ocean 
floor. A cold fear gripped Karen's heart, 
turning her blood to ice. She had seen 
her husband in many predicaments, but 
never like this.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as 
she gently cradled him, his normally 
active form now still and heavy in 
her hand. The Krabby Patty recipe was 
the last thing on her mind; all she could 
think about was Plankton and the 
love they shared. The warmth of his 
body was fading, and with it, her 
hope.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Krabs said. 
"This is just business."

Karen's gaze snapped up, anger 
replacing fear. "This isn't just 
business, it's personal!" she exclaimed, 
her voice echoing through the restaurant. 
"You can't keep doing this to him!" 
Mr. Krabs took a step back, his 
claws clutching the fry pan tighter. 
"I didn't mean for it to go this far," 
he mumbled, his proud stance wavering.

Ignoring his words, Karen rushed 
to the door, cradling Plankton in 
her hand. She had to get him to the 
hospital. The local doctor was known 
to help all creatures, regardless of 
their intentions. The Bikini Bottom 
Hospital was the only 
place she could think of.

The emergency room was a 
flurry of activity, with fish and 
crustaceans of all shapes and sizes 
waiting for their turn. The 
bright, sterile lights reflected off 
the polished floors, and the smell of 
disinfectant stung her nostrils as she 
raced in. She didn't care about the 
stares or the whispers that followed 
them; all she cared about was 
getting Plankton the help he needed.

The receptionist, a sluggish sea star,
barely looked up from her crossword puzzle.
"Name?" she drawled.
"Plankton," Karen replied, her voice 
shaking with urgency. "He's been 
attacked."
The sea star's eyes widened, and she 
dropped her pencil. "Oh my!" 
she exclaimed before hitting a 
large, red button that read "Emergency." 
Immediately, the doors to the back 
swung open, and a team of medical 
professionals rushed out.

The doctor, a stern-looking 
octopus named Dr. Manowar, took 
Plankton from Karen's trembling hand.
"What happened?" he asks, tentacles
moving swiftly to check for 
vitals.
"Mr. Krabs...he hit him with a 
fry pan," Karen managed to say 
between sobs.

The doctor's expression softened,
his tentacles moving more gently.
"Bring him to room three, we'll take
care of him," he instructed the 
nurse, a concerned look crossing his 
face as he examined the unconscious 
Plankton.

Karen followed closely, her 
heart racing as the medical team 
whisked Plankton away into the 
depths of the hospital. The stark 
white walls and the beeping of 
machines filled her with dread, 
but she held onto the hope that 
Dr. Manowar could save him.

The doctor's tentacles 
worked swiftly, hooking up monitors
and administering a series of tests. 
Karen watched, her own breaths 
synchronizing with the rhythmic beeps.

The hospital room was small, 
the walls lined with various medical
instruments. 
The sterile smell was overpowering, 
but she focused on Plankton, willing 
his tiny body to stir. Dr. Manowar 
muttered under his breath, his 
expression a mask of concentration.


"Karen," he said, turning to face her, 
his tentacles stilled. "I need to run some 
more tests, but it doesn't look good. 
Your husband has a severe concussion 
and potential internal damage."
Her heart dropped, and she felt like the 
ocean had swallowed her whole. 
"What...what can you do?" she asked, 
desperation clinging to every word.

The doctor's expression remained 
steady, his eyes never leaving hers. 
"We'll do everything we can. But 
you should prepare for the worst."

Karen felt a wave of nausea wash 
over her. She couldn't lose 
Plankton. He was her partner in 
crime, her confidant, her soulmate.
"No," she 
whispered, her voice barely audible. 
"You can't give up on him."

The doctor nodded gravely. "I understand 
how you feel, but we must be realistic. 
Let's give him some time."

The nurse led Karen to a small 
waiting area outside the room, 
where she slumped into a chair. 
The clock on the wall ticked away 
the minutes, each second feeling like an 
eternity. The muffled sounds of the 
hospital - the beeping machines, the 
rush of footsteps, the hushed whispers - 
only served to amplify the deafening 
silence in her heart.

"Your husband is a 
miracle. The tests came back, and 
his injuries are less severe than 
we initially thought."

Karen's eyes widened in disbelief, 
then flooded with relief. "What does 
that mean?"

Dr. Manowar's tentacles unfurled 
as he spoke. "It means we can treat 
his injuries, but he'll need to rest 
for some time. However, during 
our examination, we noticed some 
unusual patterns in his behavior 
and brain activity."

Karen felt a sudden knot in her 
stomach. "What do you mean?"

"It seems that during the impact, 
Plankton's brain has undergone a 
significant change. He's showing 
symptoms consistent with a condition 
known as acquired Autism." Dr. Manowar 
explained, his tentacles folding 
into a comforting gesture.

Karen felt the world spin around her. 
"Autism?" she repeated, her voice 
barely above a whisper. "What does 
that mean for him?"

Dr. Manowar sighed, his tentacles 
waving gently. "It means his 
interactions and responses to his 
environment may be different now. 
It's permanently irreversible but you
can help by creating a calm environment."

Karen nodded, trying to digest 
the information. "What can I do?"
Her voice was small, trembling. 
The doctor's eyes softened. "Give him 
space, patience, and support. It'll be 
a journey of learning for both of you."

The doctor's words hung in the 
air like a fog, thick and impenetrable. 
Karen felt a weight settle in her 
chest, heavier than any she had 
ever known. The thought of 
Plankton being different, of not 
knowing how to communicate with 
the person she loved most, was 
almost too much to bear. But she 
swallowed her fear and nodded, 
determined to do whatever it took 
to help him.

"Thank you, Dr. Manowar," she 
whispered, her voice hoarse with 
emotion. "We'll get through this."
The doctor nodded solemnly before 
excusing himself to attend to other 
patients. Karen was left alone with 
her thoughts, the beeping of the 
machines the only company.

She took Plankton's hand in hers, 
feeling the coolness of his skin 
against her own. "Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice shaking. "You're 
going to be okay." She wasn't sure if 
he could hear her, but she needed 
to say it. To believe it. To feel the 
words in the air between them.

"I know you can't understand me 
right now," she continued, her voice 
barely above the steady beep of 
the monitors. "But I'm here. And 
I'll always be here for you."
Her eyes searched the room for 
anything that might bring comfort, 
but all she found was the cold 
reality of hospital life.

"When you wake up," she whispered, 
squeezing his hand slightly, "things 
might be different. But that's 
okay. We'll figure it out together."
The words sounded hollow in the 
small, sterile room, but she hoped 
they would reach him somehow.

As the hours passed, Karen's mind 
raced with questions. How would 
this change their lives? Could they 
still scheme together? Would he 
even remember their love for 
each other? She pushed the thoughts 
aside, focusing instead on the gentle 
rise and fall of his chest, a sign that 
he was still fighting.

Suddenly, Plankton's single eye 
flitted open, looking around the 
room with a dazed expression. 
"Karen?" he croaked, his voice weak 
and unsteady.

"Plankton!"
she exclaimed, her voice a mix of 
relief and hope. He was awake! 
"I'm here, my love."

new a journey to autism headinjuryposting autismcore plaren i

SHELF IMPROVEMENT iv
(Autistic author)

The next morning, Karen
awoke with the sun, her
mind still heavy with the
weight of the previous night's
discovery. Plankton slept
peacefully beside her, his
breathing even and deep.
For a moment, she allowed
herself to hope that was just a bad
dream, a fleeting nightmare
that would disappear. But when
she looked over at him, she
knew it was all too real.

Her eyes took in the 
familiar lines of his 
face, the way his antennae
twitched even in sleep. 
They had faced challenges
before, and they would 
face this one too.

Gently, she slipped 
from the bed, not wanting 
to wake him. She knew he 
needed his rest. In the 
kitchen, she started to 
make his breakfast 
smoothie. She had read 
about autism, knew 
it could manifest in 
different ways, but she had 
never thought it would 
touch their lives so 
suddenly, so profoundly.

The blender whirred to 
life, slicing through 
the fruit and yogurt. The 
smell of strawberries and 
bananas filled the room, 
a stark contrast to the 
heaviness of her thoughts.

As she poured the smoothie 
into a glass, her mind raced 
with questions. How would 
this change their 
relationship? What did 
this mean for Plankton's 
life? What could she do 
to help him?

The sudden sound of 
footsteps on the floor 
snapped her out of her 
thoughts. Plankton. She turned 
around to see him standing 
in the doorway, his 
expression tentative. His 
eye searched hers, and she 
forced a smile, hoping to 
reassure him.

"Breakfast," she said, 
holding out the smoothie.
"Your favorite."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, and he took 
a step forward, his eye
locking onto the glass. 
"Smoothie," he murmured.

Karen clenched at
his response, so unlike 
his usual greeting. "Yes, 
a strawberry-banana smoothie."
Her voice was filled with
hope, trying to keep their
morning routine as 
normal as possible.

He took the glass from 
her, his grip careful, 
his movements precise. 
He took a sip.

Karen watched him. "How 
does it taste?" she 
asked, trying to keep 
the desperation out of 
her voice.

Plankton paused, his 
eye blinking thoughtfully. 
"Good," he said finally, 
his voice still subdued. He 
took another sip, his 
expression unreadable.

Karen's smile grew 
wider, genuine this 
time. "I'm so glad. Why don't you 
sit down?" She gestured to 
the kitchen table. "I'll get 
you some toast."

Plankton nodded 
slowly, his movements 
deliberate. He sat at the 
table, his gaze fixed 
on the smoothie. Karen 
felt the weight of his 
silence as she busied 
herself with the toaster. 
But the pop of the bread 
springing up snapped 
his attention to her.

"Too much noise," he 
mumbled, flinching at the 
sound. Karen 
sank. She had forgotten 
how sensitive his 
hearing might become. 
She quickly turned off the 
toaster and approached 
the table.

"I'm sorry," she said 
softly, placing the plate of 
toast before him. "Did the 
toaster bother you?"

Plankton nodded, his 
antennas quivering slightly.
"Noise," he said, his voice 
barely above a whisper.

Karen felt a pang 
of guilt. "I'll be more 
careful," she promised, 
placing a gentle hand on 
his back. She watched 
as he took a deep 
breath, visibly trying to 
regain his composure.

They sat in silence 
for a moment, the weight 
of the new normal 
pressing down on them 
like a thick fog. Karen 
wanted to fill the air with 
words, to reassure him 
and herself, but she knew 
that sometimes silence 
was the best comfort.

As Plankton took a bite 
of toast, she observed 
his every move, looking 
for any signs of 
distress. His antennae 
were still, his eye focused 
on his food. It was as 
if the world had narrowed 
to just the two of them 
and their quiet breakfast.

But then, she heard
Plankton's words.
"Breakfast," he murmured,
his antennae twitching.
"Did the toaster bother you."

It took Karen a second
to realize that Plankton
was actually responding
to his own thoughts. She watched
as he paused, his antennae
twitching again. "Noise," he said,
his voice echoing in the 
silent room. Was he 
talking to himself? Or was this 
a new part of his autism, 
a way of processing 
information?

"No," she said gently, 
sitting down beside him. 
"The toaster is okay now. 
It's quiet."

Plankton nodded, his 
antennas stilling. He 
chewed slowly, his gaze 
flickering to Karen 
before returning to the 
bread. "Karen," he said 
after a moment, his voice 
clearer now. "The toaster
okay says it's quiet, Karen
said no is okay now."
He was parroting her 
words, but with a 
slight delay. It was 
as if he was trying to 
make sense of them, to 
process the conversation 
in his own time. 
"Yes, Plankton," she 
replied. "The toaster 
is quiet now."

Plankton nodded again, 
his antennae still. He 
took another bite of 
toast, chewing slowly. 
Then, out of the blue, 
he spoke again, his voice 
stronger this time. "Karen 
loves Plankton?"

"Yes, Plankton, I do," she 
replied, her voice 
steady. "Karen loves you 
very much."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched once before 
going still. He took another 
sip of his smoothie, his 
face a canvas of contemplation. 
"Plankton loves Karen," 
he murmured, almost to 
himself. It was as if he 
was reassuring himself of 
their bond.

Karen felt a warmth 
spread through her. 
This was a new aspect 
of his autism, but 
it was also a sign that 
he was trying to understand 
his feelings, to make 
sense of the world around 
him. "Yes," she said, 
squeezing his hand. "And 
Karen loves Plankton 
right back."

Plankton nodded, 
his gaze returning to 
his food. Karen could 
see the wheels turning 
in his mind, trying to 
comprehend the change. 
He took another sip of 
his smoothie, his antennae 
twitching slightly as he 
swallowed. "Different," 
he said again. "But same love."

Despite the 
confusion, he had 
managed to articulate 
his feelings with a 
simplicity that was both 
heartbreaking and 
beautiful. She squeezed 
his hand, her screen 
shimmering with unshed 
tears. "Yes, Plankton," she 
said, her voice thick with 
love. "Same love, no matter 
what."

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to her, his 
eye focusing on her 
damp screen. His antennae 
stood straight up, and he 
frowned slightly. "Tears," 
he said, his voice 
concerned. "Karen sad?"

"No, Plankton," she said 
softly. "These are happy 
tears." But she knew 
that might not make sense 
to him, so she tried to 
explain further. "They're 
because I'm feeling a 
lot of love for you right 
now, and my body..." "Love 
makes Karen sad?" he 
interrupted.

Karen sighed, 
knowing that explaining 
emotions to a 
suddenly autistic Plankton 
was going to be tough. "No, 
not sad," she corrected. "They're 
just tears that come when 
I'm really happy or 
overwhelmed with love. It's 
a good thing, I promise."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he processed 
this information. "Good 
tears," he murmured. "Karen 
love making good tears."

Karen couldn't help but 
smile, despite the heaviness 
of the situation. His 
childlike innocence was a 
beacon of light in the 
darkness. "Yes," she 
nodded, her voice 
steady.

"Good tears," she said 
again, her thumb brushing 
away a tear that had 
escaped. "Now, let's eat 
our breakfast, okay?"

new shelf improvement karen plankton iv

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ii

(Autistic author)

His eye took a moment to focus 
on her, and when it did, she saw a 
flicker of confusion, followed by 
a glimmer of recognition. "Karen?" 
he repeated, his voice still faint.

"Yes, it's me, 
Plankton. You're ok."

But his gaze remained distant, 
his focus unsteady. "Where...where 
are we?"
"We're at the hospital, sweetheart," 
Karen said softly, stroking his antenna. 
"You had an accident."

The confusion in Plankton's eye grew, 
and he tried to sit up, but a wave of 
dizziness forced him back down. "What 
kind of accident?" His voice was 
still weak, but there was an urgency 
to his words that hadn't been there 
before.

Karen took a deep breath, her 
grip on his hand tightening. "Mr. 
Krabs...he hit you with a fry pan."
The words tasted bitter 
but she had to tell him the 
truth. Plankton's eye widened 
slightly, and she watched as the 
puzzle pieces of the situation 
slowly clicked into place in his 
mind.

"Krabby Patty," he murmured, 
his voice distant.
"Yes, Plankton, you were trying to 
get the recipe again," Karen 
whispered, aching at 
the memory. "But it's over now. 
You need to rest."

His eye searched hers, and 
for a moment, she thought she saw a 
flicker of his old self, the cunning 
and ambitious man she had married. 
But it was gone as quickly as it 
appeared, replaced by a vacant 
stare.
"Don't... don't remember,"
he mumbled, his antennas drooping.
This wasn't the 
Plankton she knew, the one who 
schemed with a glint in his eye 
and a plan in his pocket.
"It's ok, Plankton," she 
soothed, her voice trembling.
She took a deep breath, 
trying to compose herself. "Do you 
remember me?"

Plankton's gaze remained 
steady for a moment, and then he 
nodded slowly. "Karen," he said, 
his voice a hoarse whisper. But 
the spark of recognition 
was tinged with confusion, as if 
he wasn't quite sure how he knew her.

Karen's felt like 
breaking into a million tiny pieces. 
But she knew she had to stay 
strong. For Plankton. For them. 
"You don't remember what happened, 
do you?" she asked gently. "What else
do you remember?"

Plankton's antennas twitched 
slightly, his eye searching hers. 
"Don't know," he admitted, 
his voice barely above a whisper. 
Karen's chest tightened as she 
held back a sob. "It's ok," 
she reassured him, her voice 
shaky.

"Do you remember your name?" 
she asked, her voice hopeful.
He blinked slowly, his gaze 
fading in and out of focus, his brow 
furrowing as he concentrated. 
"Sheldon... Plankton?"
The sound of his voice saying 
his own name brought a small 
smile to Karen's face. "Yes, that's 
right," she said, her voice filled 
with relief.

"Do you remember where we live?"
she continued, her tone gentle.
Plankton's eye searched the 
ceiling of the hospital room, as if 
the answer was written there. 
"The Chum Bucket," he murmured, 
his voice unsure. Karen nodded, 
encouraged by his response.
"Good, good," she said, smiling 
weakly. "What about our friends?"

Again, the confusion clouded his 
gaze. "Friends?" he repeated, 
his voice tentative. "SpongeBob, 
Sandy...?"
"Yes," Karen said, her voice 
soft. "Do you remember them?"

Plankton's expression grew more 
distressed, his antennas drooping.
"Square...SpongeBob. And a 
squirrel, yes?" He paused, trying 
to piece together the fragmented 
memories.

Karen nodded, brimming 
with unshed tears. "Yes, SpongeBob 
SquarePants and Sandy Cheeks. They're 
friends."

Plankton's antennas twitched as he 
processed the information, his brow 
furrowing with the effort. "Friends," 
he repeated, the word sounding 
foreign. Karen could see 
the gears turning in his tiny head, 
his brain desperately trying to 
make connections to his past.

"Do you remember anything about 
your life before the accident?" Karen 
asked, her voice trembling with 
anticipation.

Plankton's eye searched hers, 
uncertain. "Life...before?"
Her heart sank. "You know, our 
adventures, our home, our love?"

He stared at her, his expression 
unreadable. "Love?" The word was 
barely a whisper.

"Yes, Plankton," she said, her 
voice cracking. "We love each other. 
We've been married for a long time, 
and we've had so many adventures 
together." She paused, willing 
the words to resonate with him, to 
ignite a spark of memory. "Do you 
remember any of that?"

Plankton's gaze remained 
vacant for a moment before he 
nodded slightly. "Married," he murmured, 
as if tasting the word for the first 
time. "To Karen." His antennas lifted 
slightly, a glimmer of something 
familiar flickering in his eye.
"Karen Plankton computer wife."
"Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her 
voice thick with emotion.
"Does that mean something to you?"
she asked, her heart in her throat.

He nodded slowly, his antennas 
waving slightly. "Computer wife,"
he murmured again, his voice 
gaining a hint of warmth. "Karen."

Karen felt a flicker of hope. 
"Yes, Plankton, I'm your 
wife." She leaned closer, her voice 
gentle. "Do you remember anything
about us?"

Plankton's antennas twitched as he 
thought. "Wife," he said slowly, 
his voice a faint echo of the man 
she knew. "Wife...Karen. Married
July 31, 1999."

That was their 
wedding day, a date they had 
celebrated every year since. "Yes," she 
whispered, her voice choking. "We
got married on July 31, 1999."

The hospital room felt thick with 
silence as she waited for his next 
words. Plankton's eye searched 
the room, his antennas twitching 
as he tried to piece together the 
shards of his past.

"Plankton, can you tell me about 
yourself?" Karen asked, her voice 
gentle. "What do you like to do?"

Plankton's antennas twitched as he 
thought. "Invent," he said, his voice 
still weak but with a hint of pride. 
"Science?"
The words came out as a question, 
as if he wasn't quite sure of his 
own identity.

"Yes," Karen said, her voice 
brightening slightly. "You're a 
genius inventor. You've made so 
many wonderful things." She 
paused, hoping to see some spark of 
recognition in his eye. "Do you 
remember any of your inventions?"

Plankton's antennas waved in 
the air, as if searching for the 
memories that remained elusive. 
"Inventions," he murmured, his 
single eye searching the ceiling. 
"Gadgets...machines."
"That's right," Karen encouraged, 
squeezing his hand. "You've created 
so many amazing machines. Can you 
describe one of them?"

He blinked, his antennas 
stilling for a moment. "Chum...Chum 
Dispenser 3000," he said, his voice 
picking up a bit. "It makes...makes 
food for fishies."
Karen's smile grew despite the 
pain. The Chum 
Dispenser 3000 was one of 
his earlier inventions, a 
failed attempt to lure customers 
to their restaurant, but it was a 
testament to his ingenuity. 
"That's wonderful, Plankton," she 
said, her voice thick with emotion.
"How about something more 
recent?" she prompted, eager to 
see how much of their shared 
history remained with him.

Plankton's antennas twitched as 
his brain worked overtime. "Um... the 
Incredibubble," he said, his voice 
picking up speed as he talked. "It's a 
bubble that can shrink things down to 
microscopic size."

Karen felt a jolt of excitement. 
"That's right!" she exclaimed, 
squeezing his hand. "You used it to 
get to find a secret plan."

Plankton's gaze remained 
distant, but there was a hint of 
curiosity in his eye. "Computer... 
plan?"
"Yes," Karen said, her voice 
shaking. "We've had so many 
adventures together, Plankton. We've 
faced so much together."

He nodded, his antennas 
twitching slightly. "Together," he 
repeated, as if testing the word 
on his tongue.

"Do you remember any of 
those adventures?" Karen 
asked, her voice trembling.
"Adventures?" Plankton's eye 
flickered, and she could almost see 
the wheels turning in his mind.
"With Karen... wife?"

"Yes, with me. We've 
traveled the ocean, faced so 
many challenges together."

The doctor came in. "You can go
home now," he said.

Karen nodded, never 
leaving Plankton's face. She had 
spoken to the doctor about his 
condition, about the autism, but 
she still wasn't sure how to 
process it all. How would their 
life change now?

"Come on, Plankton," she said, 
helping him sit up gently. "Let's 
get you home."

She buckles him into his side of the car, 
his newfound passivity making the 
usual struggle unnecessary. The 
engine of the tiny vehicle roars to 
life, and Karen guides them out of the 
hospital parking lot. 

The ride back to the Chum 
Bucket is quiet, the only sound 
being the hum of the car's engine 
and the occasional splash from 
the waves outside. Karen keeps 
glancing at Plankton, his antennas 
listless as he stares out the 
window. His mind seems to be 
somewhere else, lost in a world of 
his own making.

When they arrive, she helps 
Plankton out of the car and 
supports him as they make their 
way to the door. The neon sign 
flickers in the gloom, casting 
erratic shadows across the 
sand. The once bustling 
environment now feels eerie and 
desolate. Karen's mind is racing 
with thoughts of how to make 
this place feel like home again for 
Plankton.

new a journey to autism plaren memorycore ii

THE LIFE OF UNITY iv
(Autistic author)

Kevin's smirk is long gone, 
replaced by a look of shock 
and regret. "I... I had 
no idea," he stammers. "I 
didn't mean to... 
I didn't know."

Plankton's antennae quiver. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, "you 
hurt Plankton."

Sponge Bob's protectively 
around Plankton, who is now visibly 
upset. "You hurt Plankton's feelings," 
he says, his voice firm but not unkind. 
"You see, Plankton had an accident. 
He's not the same as before. 
He nearly broke his 
skull on a cash register at 
the Krusty Krab. 
It changed him."

Kevin's expression shifts from shock to disbelief. 
"What do you mean, 'changed him'?" 
he asks, his tentacles quivering slightly.

"He has autism now," Sponge Bob says 
simply, never leaving
Plankton's trembling form. "It's ok, 
Plankton," he murmurs, tightening around 
the tiny plankton. "You're still you."

Kevin's eyes widen, the reality of the situation 
sinking in. "Oh my...," he whispers, his 
tentacles dropping to his sides. "I had no idea."

Plankton's voice 
filled with accusation. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, "you 
didn't know. You didn't care."

Kevin's eyes are wide. "I'm sorry
I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's cutting 
off Kevin's apology. "Kevin," 
he murmurs, his one eye 
flashing with 
pain. "Kevin not care."

"I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't 
mean to be so cruel."

But Plankton's unyielding. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, his 
one eye still brimming with 
unshed tears. "You didn't 
know. You no care."

Kevin's smugness evaporates 
as the weight of his own 
words crashes down on him. 
The realization that his 
careless jests have caused 
such pain is written all over 
his face. His eyes are wide 
with horror, his tentacles 
trembling. "I'm sorry," he 
whispers, starting to touch Plankton. 

But Plankton recoils at the 
touch, his antennae quivering 
violently, his monotone voice 
filled with panic. "NO!" he
squeaks, his one eye wide with 
fear. "Kevin, no touch!"

Kevin's tentacles jerk back as 
if burned, his eyes filled with 
shock and remorse. "I'm sorry," 
he says quickly, his voice
thick with regret. "I didn't 
know. I didn't mean to..."

"Kevin, no touch," he repeats, 
his one eye flashing. 
"Plankton not like that."

"I didn't know," he whispers, 
his eyes never leaving
Plankton's trembling form. 
"I'm so sorry."

But Plankton's antennae continue 
to quiver, his monotone 
voice a sad echo of the fear 
he feels. "Kevin," he murmurs, 
his one eye fixed on the sea 
cucumber, "you didn't know. 
You don't care."

Sponge Bob's placing 
himself between Plankton 
and the sea cucumber. "Kevin," 
he says firmly with a newfound resolve. 
"You need to apologize to Plankton. 
What you said was not okay."

Kevin's tentacles quiver, his eyes 
darting from Sponge Bob to 
Plankton's trembling form. 
"I'm... I'm sorry," he stammers, his 
smugness replaced by genuine contrition. 
"I didn't know. I didn't 
mean it like that."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with a mix of anger
and sadness, his monotone voice 
still echoing the 
pain of the insult. "Kevin," he 
murmurs, his one eye 
narrowed, "you hurt Plankton."

Kevin's expression falls, the full 
impact of his words hitting 
him like a brick wall. He takes a 
step back, his tentacles 
drooping. "I didn't know," he says, 
his voice barely above a
whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize 
you had... you know."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with a mix of anger and pain.

"Kevin," he murmurs, his monotone 
voice strained. "Kevin hurt 
Plankton. Not funny."

Kevin's tentacles twitch, his expression 
a mix of shock and 
discomfort. "Look, I didn't know," he says, 
his voice quivering. 
"I'm sorry. I just..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with a mix of anger and 
sadness, his monotone voice 
cutting through the awkward 
silence. "Space," he murmurs, 
his one eye pleading.

Kevin creeps up closer. "Space? What..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
a mix of anger and fear, his 
monotone voice a sad echo of the 
pain Kevin's words have caused. 
"Plankton," he murmurs, his one eye 
wide with desperation. "Alone."

Kevin still doesn't understand. 
"You're not alone," 
he starts, reaching out.

But Plankton's antennae 
quiver more fiercely, 
his monotone voice filled 
with a rare urgency. "No," 
he murmurs, 
his one eye darting 
around. "Space."

"I don't underst--"

But Plankton's filled 
with a desperation 
Kevin had never heard before. 
"Space," he murmurs again, more 
forcefully this time. 
"Kevin, go."

"Go to outer space? But..."

"Space," Plankton repeats more 
insistently, his eye frantic.

Kevin's with confusion. "But, Plankton
we're in the middle 
of the jellyfish fields."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with urgency, his monotone voice 
unwavering. "Space," he murmurs, 
his one eye pleading. "Now."

"I don't..." Kevin starts, 
grabbing Plankton's hand.

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with anger, and he pulls away, 
his monotone voice rising. "SPACE!" 
he shouts, his eye flashing 
with fury.

Startled, Kevin takes a step back. 
"Where in outer space?"

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
impatience, his monotone 
voice tight. "Any space," he 
cries. "Just go."

Kevin's tentacles twitch, his 
smugness forgotten. "But... 
but what about the jellyfish? 
Oh do you mean any planet.." 
He says, absent mindedly 
putting his hand on 
Plankton's back.

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with anger, and he jumps 
away. "NO TOUCH!" he screams, 
his monotone voice cracking 
with emotion. "PLANKTON. NEED. SPACE!"

Kevin's tentacles recoil as if 
stung, his eyes wide with 
shock. "I'm sorry," he stammers, 
taking a step back. 
"I can't fly a rocket to space.."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with rage. "Any space," 
he repeats, his one eye 
glaring. "Away."

Kevin's tentacles hang limp, his 
smugness shattered by 
the depth of Plankton's pain. 
"But, Plankton, we can't leave 
Earth without..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with fury, his monotone 
voice a whip crack. "Any space," 
he repeats, his one eye 
narrowed. "Now."

Kevin's tentacles retract, his 
smugness gone. "Any planet 
other than Earth? I'd like to 
help but..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with frustration, his 
monotone voice cutting through 
the confusion. "Not space," 
he murmurs, his one eye blazing 
with anger. "Space."

Kevin's tentacles tremble, his 
smile fading into a look 
of fear. "I can't get outer 
space without a rocket?" he 
says, taking a step back.

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with anger, his monotone 
voice a thunderclap in the 
stillness. "No rocket," he 
murmurs, his one eye flashing. 
"Space. Now."

Kevin's tentacles quiver, his 
smugness replaced by fear. 
"But Plankton," he stammers, taking 
a step back, "we 
can't just go to space without..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
rage, his monotone 
voice a whip crack. "Space," he repeats, 
his one eye narrowed. "Now."

Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced 
by a look of pure terror. "But Plankton, 
I can't just leave the 
sea," he says, his voice shaking.

But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger 
and desperation, his monotone voice a thunderclap 
in the quiet waters. "Space," he repeats unwavering.

Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced by a look 
of fear as he tries to comprehend Plankton's words. "But 
Plankton," he stammers, "you can't survive in space. 
It's not possible."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, his monotone 
voice a monotone shout. "Space," he repeats, his one 
eye flashing with desperation. "Away from here."

Kevin's tentacles retract, his smugness dissolving in
to confusion. "But Plankton, we're in the middle of 
jellyfish fields," he says, his voice trembling. 
"We can't just..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and 
desperation, his monotone voice a monotone shout. 
"SPACE!" he repeats, his one eye flashing. 
"Kevin go now!"

Kevin's tentacles twitch, his smugness dissipating like smoke 
in the face of Plankton's distress. "But Plankton 
I don't..." he starts, taking a cautious step back.

Plankton breathes in and gathers his words together, 
his antennae quivering with the effort of controlling 
his emotions. 
"Kevin JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" he shouts, 
his monotone voice crackling with anger.

Kevin's tentacles quiver in understanding, his 
smugness evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh," 
he says, his voice small and sad. 
"You mean personal space.."

Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his 
monotone voice softening. "Yes," he 
murmurs, his one eye blinking rapidly. "Space."

Sponge Bob nods. "Okay, Kevin," 
he says firmly. "You need to give 
Plankton some space right now. He's going 
through a tough time."

Kevin's smugness is completely gone, 
replaced by a look of genuine concern. 
He takes a step back. "I had no idea," he 
whispers. "I'm really sorry. I'll go. Bye."

new the life of unity spacecore iv

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iii

(Autistic author)

Inside, she sets him down 
on their favorite couch, the one 
with the frayed edges and 
the squeaky spring that always 
reminded them of their first date. 
The room is cluttered with 
half-finished inventions and 
plans for Krabby Patty heists. 
She sits beside him.

The silence stretches on, 
heavier than a net full of 
anchovies. Plankton's antennas 
twitch, his eye darting around 
the room, taking in the chaos. 
Karen's mind is racing, 
wondering if he recognizes any 
of it, if it brings back any 
memories of their life together.

"Home," he murmurs, his 
voice filled with uncertainty. 
The room feels smaller, more 
cramped than she remembered, as if 
the walls are closing in on them.
"Do you like it here?" she asks, 
trying to gauge his reaction.

He looks around, his antennas 
moving slightly as he processes 
his surroundings. "Home," he says 
again, his voice a mix of 
curiosity and confusion.

The room is a jumble of 
wires, gadgets, and half-eaten 
chum sticks. Karen's 
with tears as she realizes 
how much she's taken for granted 
their life together. She had 
always loved Plankton's quirks and 
his boundless energy, but now 
his mind seemed to be stuck in a 
loop, unable to move beyond 
the basic functions of 
acknowledgment.

"Home," Plankton says again, 
his antennas drooping. "Home with 
Karen."
The repetition of the words 
stirs something within Karen. 
Echolalia, the doctor had called it, 
a common trait in those with 
autism. It was Plankton's way 
of trying to understand the 
world around him, to find 
comfort in familiar words and 
phrases.

"Yes," she whispers, her 
throat tight with emotion. "This 
is our home."

The room seems to 
shrink around them as Plankton's 
echolalic chant of "home with 
Karen" repeats in a soothing 
loop. Each time he says it, 
Karen feels a pang of hope. 
Maybe, just maybe, he was 
finding comfort in the 
simplicity of their life together.

"Home with Karen," he 
says again, his antennas 
slightly more animated. 
Karen nods, 
brimming with tears. "Yes, 
Plankton, we're home."

But she sees a flicker of 
distress in his eye. "Sponge Bob," 
he whispers, his antennas 
quivering with urgency. "Where's 
Sponge Bob?"

Karen's heart squeezes at the 
mention of him. "Sponge Bob's not 
here right now," she says, 
choosing her words carefully. 
"But he'll come to visit."

Plankton's antennas shoot up, 
his eye wide. "Sponge Bob," he 
repeats, his voice gaining 
strength. "Friend. Need Sponge Bob."
The desperation in his tone is 
heart-wrenching, and Karen knows 
she needs to act fast to soothe his 
anxiety.

"Ok, ok," she says, her voice 
calm. "Let's call Sponge Bob."

Karen picks up the phone, her 
hands shaking slightly as she 
dials the familiar number. The 
phone rings once, twice, before 
it's answered by a cheerful 
voice.

"Karen?" Sponge Bob's voice 
sounds surprised but concerned. 
"Is everything ok?"

Karen takes a deep breath, 
trying to keep her voice steady. 
"It's Plankton," she says. "He's 
asking for you to come over."
There's a pause on the 
other end of the line. "Plankton? 
But we're... I mean?" Sponge 
Bob's voice is filled with 
confusion.
Karen's with 
desperation as she watches 
Plankton rock back and forth 
on the couch, his chant 
growing louder. "Sponge Bob. Need 
Sponge Bob."

"Please, Sponge Bob," she 
pleads, her voice cracking.

Sponge Bob's voice on the 
other end of the line softens.
"Of course, Karen. I'll be right 
over."
The line goes dead, and Karen 
hangs up the phone, feeling a 
tiny spark of hope. Plankton's 
cries for Sponge Bob have become 
more insistent, his rocking more 
pronounced. She gently places 
a hand on his shoulder, trying 
to soothe him.
"Sponge Bob's coming, Plankton," 
she says, her voice steady. "He'll 
be here soon."

Plankton's rocking slows, 
his antennas drooping slightly. 
"Sponge Bob," he whispers, 
his eye searching hers. "Safe."
The word hangs in the air, and 
Karen realizes that despite his 
confusion, he feels comfort in 
Sponge Bob's presence.

A few moments later, they 
hear the telltale sound of 
bubbles popping against the 
glass, and a knock on the door. 
With a tremble, Karen 
stands and opens it to reveal 
Sponge Bob, looking slightly 
nervous but determined.

"Hi, Plankton!" he exclaims. 
Plankton's antennas shoot up at 
the sound of his name, and he 
whips his head around to face 
the door. "Sponge Bob!" he 
shouts, his eye lighting up 
with an unmistakable joy.

Sponge Bob steps into the room.

"Sponge Bob!" he exclaims, his 
voice a mix of excitement and 
relief. He lunges forward, 
wrapping his tiny arms around 
the larger sponge in an embrace.

Sponge Bob looks surprised but 
quickly returns the hug, his 
spongy form enveloping Plankton 
completely. "Plankton, what's 
going on?" he asks, his eyes 
wide with concern. He's never
seen Plankton like this.

Plankton pulls back, his 
expression a jumble of 
emotions. "Sponge Bob," he says 
again, his voice filled with 
affection. He grabs Sponge 
Bob's hand and tugs him closer.
"Home with Karen. Need you."

Sponge Bob looks to Karen, 
his eyes filled with 
uncertainty, but she nods 
encouragingly. "It's ok," she 
says. "He's just happy you're here."

The sight of Plankton's 
excited state brings a smile 
to Sponge Bob's face, despite 
his confusion. He sits down 
next to him on the couch, 
his own excitement growing.
"What do you want to do?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice 
filled with genuine enthusiasm.

Plankton's antennas twitch 
as he thinks, his eye darting 
around the room.

"Let's play a game," he 
suddenly exclaims, his voice 
filled with a child-like 
excitement that hadn't been 
there before.

"What kind of game, Plankton?"
Karen asks, eager to encourage 
his newfound energy.

"Chess!" he exclaims, pointing 
to a dusty board in the corner 
of the room. Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with surprise, but he 
doesn't hesitate. He leaps up 
from the couch and wipes the 
dust from the board with his 
spongy hand, setting up the 
pieces with surprising 
efficiency.

Karen watches from the 
sidelines, her heart swelling 
with love and hope as Plankton's 
enthusiasm grows. 
He moves the pieces with a 
frenetic energy, his eye
alight with a joy she hadn't 
seen since before the accident. 
Sponge Bob, ever the optimist, 
matches his excitement, even 
though he's clearly outmatched 
by Plankton's strategic mind.

"Checkmate!" Plankton cries out, 
his antennas waving with 
each word. Sponge Bob's 
expression is a mix of 
surprise and admiration. "Wow, 
Plankton, you're really good at 
this!"

The room echoes with Plankton's 
laughter, a sound that's both 
familiar and foreign to Karen's 
ears. The old Plankton would 
have gloated.

"Checkmate," he says again, 
his antennas bobbing in 
excitement. "Checkmate, 
checkmate."

Sponge Bob laughs, a 
wonderful, genuine laugh that 
fills the room. "You win, Plankton," 
he says, his hands clapping 
together.

Plankton's antennas stop 
twitching for a moment, and he 
looks at Sponge Bob, his eye 
studying the sponge's reaction. 
"Win," he repeats, a hint of 
understanding in his voice. 
"Win at chess." He claps like
SpongeBob.

Sponge Bob's eyes light up, 
seeing the connection. "Yes, 
Plankton, you won the chess 
game," he says, his voice 
soothing. "You're really good 
at it."

Plankton's antennas start to 
twitch again, his eye darting 
between the board and Sponge 
Bob. "Win," he murmurs, his 
voice filled with a newfound 
sense of pride. "Win with Sponge 
Bob."
The phrase becomes a chant, 
his brain finding solace in 
the repetition. "Win with Sponge 
Bob, win with Sponge Bob."

Sponge Bob smiles warmly, 
picking up the rhythm of 
Plankton's words. "Yes, 
Plankton," he says, his voice 
soothing. "You won the game. 
You're a great chess player."
Plankton's antennas quiver, 
his eye locking onto Sponge 
Bob's. "Great chess player," 
he echoes, his voice a mix of 
pride and amazement. 
"Win with Sponge Bob."

Karen watches from the 
sidelines with hope. 
Maybe, just maybe, this was 
the breakthrough they needed. 
Sponge Bob's presence was 
calming him, bringing out a 
side of Plankton she hadn't 
seen since the accident.

new a journey to autism plankarenbob iii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vii


(Autistic author)



The movie ended with the
snails crossing the finish line.
Sponge Bob reached for the remote,
fingers hovering over the
button. "Would you like to watch
something else?" he asks, voice
soft. 

Sponge Bob noticed his
friend Plankton's gentle
snores. He had fallen asleep,
his body slack. "Plankton?"
he whispered. 
Sponge Bob leaned closer,
his heart skipping a beat as he
noticed Plankton's gentle
snores. Plankton didn't stir, his
body slumped slightly curled up.
Sponge Bob's gaze
softened as he realized
he had fallen asleep
likely for the night.

Sponge Bob felt a wave of
relief wash over him, for Plankton
found comfort in their shared
experience.
He gently cradles him.

Karen, watching from the doorway,
smiled softly as she saw Sponge
Bob's gentle care. She knew that
Sponge Bob had always had a
special bond with Plankton, but
now, it seemed that bond had grown
deeper, more meaningful.

He had always been
there for Plankton, through
their many adventures and
misunderstandings. Now, in the
face of Plankton's new reality,
he remained steadfast, offering a
steady hand in the storm of change.

"Let's get him to bed," Karen
whispered, stepping into the room.
Her eyes met Sponge Bob's, her gaze
filled with warmth and thanks.
Together, they carefully lifted
Plankton from the couch, his
body limp with sleep. His antennae
twitched slightly at the sudden
movement, but his snores remained
steady, a testament to his deep sleep.
Sponge Bob walked down the hallway,
his steps light, carrying 
Plankton with ease.

Karen had prepared the bed.
They laid him down, his antennae
flailing briefly before settling
against the pillow. Sponge Bob
tucked the blanket around him,
his movements careful not to
disturb his friend.

Plankton's snores grew quieter as
his body settled into the cool
embrace of the sheets. His antennae
twitched one last time before
going still, his mouth slightly parted.

Sponge Bob and Karen stepped back,
exchanging a look of shared
relief. "He's asleep," Karen
murmured, her voice a soft
caress in the quiet room.

Sponge Bob nodded, his gaze
lingering on Plankton's peaceful
face. "Thanks for today,
Karen," he said, his voice
grateful.

Karen's smile was warm. "Anytime,
Sponge Bob," she replied. "You're
such a good friend to him."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton's sleeping
form. "Always will be," he said.

The next morning, Plankton woke
up, and his antennae
twitched as he registered the
events of the previous day.
He sat up, the blanket sliding
off his body, and looked around.

Sponge Bob stirred from the
armchair, where he had dozed off
watching over him. "Morning,
Plankton," he said, his voice
slightly rough with sleep.

Plankton's antennae quivered as
he looked around, his gaze
falling on Sponge Bob. 

Sponge Bob yawned, stretching his
spongy body, his voice gentle. "You 
fell asleep."

Plankton's antennae twitched as
his eye focused on Sponge Bob,
his brain slowly piecing together
the events of the previous evening.

Sponge Bob's smile was warm. "You
tired out, buddy?" he asked, his
voice gentle.

Plankton nodded slowly, his antennae
twitching slightly. "Tired," he
murmured, his voice still thick with
sleep.

Sponge Bob nodded, understandingly.
"How about we start with a quiet
morning?" he suggested. 

Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly before he nods. "Quiet
morning," he murmured, his voice
agreeable.

Sponge Bob nodded, his
expression filled with concern.
"How about some pancakes?" he offered.
"They're nice and easy on the
stomach."

Plankton's antennae perked up at
the mention of food. "No pancakes,"
he murmured, his voice still
sluggish with sleep.

Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "No
pancakes?" he repeated,
surprise evident in his tone.
"But you love pancakes!"

Plankton's antennae quivered as
he thought, his voice a soft
whisper. "Pancakes... no," he said,
his gaze drifting to the
window where the early morning
sun peeked through the curtains.
The light was gentle, not yet
harsh enough to cause him pain. 
"Toast," he decided, his voice
final.

Sponge Bob nodded, his smile
slightly saddened but respectful
of Plankton's new boundaries. "Okay,
toast it is," he said, standing up
from the chair and heading to
the kitchen.

Karen met SpongeBob. "Good
morning! How's everything?"

Sponge Bob's expression was a
mixture of hope and trepidation.
"Plankton's okay," he said. "He's just
really tired."

Karen nodded, her gaze
following her husband as he
slowly made his way to the kitchen.
"It's going to take some time for
us to figure this out," she said.
"But we'll get there."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's
reclined form. "We will," he said,
his voice firm with resolve.

He returned to the kitchen,
his spongy feet padding softly
against the floor. The room was
bathed in the gentle light of dawn,
the quiet hum of the
refrigerator the only sound. He
pulled out a loaf of bread,
his mind racing with thoughts
of Plankton's new needs.

Sponge Bob carefully sliced
two pieces of toast, placing them
in the toaster with a soft click.

"Morning!" Karen says as Plankton
sits down. She gives him milk, as
she knew it soothes him.

"Stayed up late for movie. Still am
tired. Love Karen and SpongeBob."

The toaster's ding pierced the
silence, and Plankton's antennae
shot straight up, his body
stiffening at the sudden noise.

"Easy, Plankton," Sponge Bob called
from the kitchen, his voice
soothing. "It's just the toast."

"Toast," he murmured. "Toast."

Sponge Bob carefully brought the
toast to the table, placing it
before Plankton. The scent of warm
bread filled the air, mingling with
the comforting aroma of Karen's
brewing coffee. Plankton's antennae
twitched as he took in the sight, his
body visibly relaxing at the
familiar smells.

"Yesterday's crazy, autistic or not. And
you're still getting used to it all."
Karen says as Plankton eats the toast.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching slightly, still exhausted.

The milk Karen had given him was
warm, the perfect temperature to
soothe his still-frazzled nerves. He
brought the cup to his lips, his
hands trembling just a bit.

As the creamy liquid slid down his
throat, Plankton felt a gentle
wash of calm spread through him.
His antennae, which had been
twitching in anticipation of the
morning's noises, grew still.
It usually helps calm him, which is
what it did today.

Sponge Bob sat opposite him,
his eyes filled with concern.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice
soft and gentle.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
drooping as he took another sip of
his milk. "Tired," he murmured.

Karen sat next to him, her hand
resting lightly on his shoulder. "It's
okay," she said, her
voice a gentle reminder of his
new reality.

SpongeBob helped Karen clean
up the kitchen.

Plankton sat in the chair, his
body slumped, his antennae
still. His eye was closed, his
tiny chest rising and falling in
the slow, steady rhythm of
sleep. His head tilted back
and a soft snore escaped
his open mouth.

Karen noticed. The past 
few days had taken a
toll on him, but she knew
that with time and patience,
they would find their new
normal.

"Let's get you to the couch,"
she murmured, her voice
soft. She gently took the
cup from Plankton's hand,
his grip loose with sleep.
Sponge Bob helped her lift
his tiny form from the chair.

Together, they carried him
to the living room, his body
relaxed in their grasp.
They placed him on the couch,
his antennae twitching slightly
as he settled into the pillows.

Sponge Bob tucked the blanket
around Plankton, his eyes
never leaving his friend's
sleeping face. "Rest, Plankton,"
he whispered. "We're here."

Karen nodded, her pixel eyes
misting with emotion. "Thank
you, Sponge Bob," she said. "For
being here."

Sponge Bob's smile was genuine.
"Always, Karen," he said, his
spongy hand giving hers a gentle
squeeze. "Always."

new autism in the plankton family sleepicore vii

GREAT CHIP vii
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes searched their faces,
picking up on the unspoken tension.
"I see you two had a talk," she said gently,
her gaze lingering on Plankton. "How are 
you feeling?"

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly.
"Tired," he admitted. "But better."

Karen stepped closer to the bed,
her hand reaching out to cover
his own. "I'm here," she said softly.
"Do you remember what happened
in Chip's room before coming in here?"

Plankton's antennae twitched
nervously. "Bits and pieces,"
he admitted, his eye avoiding hers.
"I know I had a...moment. And I...
I was mad."

Karen's hand squeezed his gently.
"It's okay, sweetie," she said, her voice
soothing. "You don't have to be ashamed.
It's just your brain's way of coping."

Plankton's eye searched hers, his antennae
still. "But the things I said..."
his voice trailing off.

Karen's expression remained calm,
understanding. "They were the seizure's words,
not yours," she assured him. "We're just
glad you're okay."

Chip's gaze flitted between
his parents, his heart aching for his dad.
He knew he needed to be strong, to support
his father through this. "Can we talk more
about it tomorrow?" he suggested, his voice
filled with hope.

Plankton's antennae nodded wearily.
"We can," he said, his voice a mix
of relief and exhaustion. "But for now,
I need to rest. It's bedtime, so.."

Chip felt a twinge of sadness
at the thought of his dad's struggle,
but he also felt a spark of hope.
Maybe tomorrow would bring a new
understanding, a way to bridge
the gap between them.

The next morning, the sun streamed
through the blinds of their small, cluttered
bedroom, casting patterns on the floor.
Chip stirred, his mind filled with the
memories of the previous night's conversation.
He checked on Plankton, who was
still asleep, his antennae twitching slightly.
He knew today would be a new day,
a chance to start anew with his father.

Carefully, Chip padded out to the kitchen,
his thoughts racing with the promise
of understanding.

He found Karen at the counter,
sipping her morning coffee, her eyes
red-rimmed from the night's worry.

"Mom," he began, his voice
still thick with sleep. "Can we talk?"

Karen turned, her eyes
filled with the same
exhaustion he saw in Plankton's.
"Of course, honey," she said,
placing her mug down gently.

Chip took a deep breath,
his words spilling out like
water from a broken dam.
"I want to understand Dad's
condition," he said, his voice
determined. "I don't want
to make it worse for him."

Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the sincerity in his gaze.
"That's a big step, Chip,"
she said, her voice filled
with pride. "But it's not
going to be easy. It'll take
patience and practice."

Chip nodded, his expression
resolute. "I'm ready," he said.
"I just don't want Dad to be
alone in this."

Karen's face softened, her hand
resting on his shoulder. "You're
such a good son," she said, her
voice warm with affection. "But 
remember, he might not always
know how to ask for help. Sometimes,
you'll have to read between the lines."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with questions and concerns.
"But what if I mess up?"
he asked, his voice trembling.

Karen's hand gave his shoulder
a gentle squeeze. "You might,"
she said, her voice filled with
experience. "But that's okay. Just
keep trying, and we'll figure
it out together."

Her words echoed in Chip's head
as he sat down at the kitchen
table, his eyes never leaving
his mother's. "But how do I know
what to do?"

Karen took a deep breath, her
eyes filled with a quiet strength.
"You'll learn," she said, her voice
calm and reassuring. "It's about
patience and observation. And
most importantly, communication."

Chip nodded, feeling the
weight of her words. "Okay," he said.
"I'll do my best."

Karen's hand squeezed his
shoulder gently. "You already are,"
she said, her smile warm.

Chip felt a surge of determination.
He was going to be there for his dad,
no matter what it took. "What can I do
now?" he asked, eager to start.

Karen's eyes searched his, a hint
of sadness in them. "Now, we wait,"
she said. "Let him sleep. When he wakes,
be there, but don't overwhelm him."

Chip nodded, his mind racing with
questions and fears, feeling a mix of emotions:
fear, love, and a newfound
determination to be the best
son he could be.

As he waited for Plankton to
wake up, he tried to remember
the cues his dad had mentioned:
twitching antennae, a sudden
quietness, a look of overwhelm.
He promised himself to be more
aware, more attuned to his father's needs.

new great chip tiredcore vii

CATCH IN MY CHIP vii
(Autistic author)

the only sound the steady
rhythm of their breaths. Plankton's
body slowly relaxes, his
eye unclenching, his antennas
stilling. Karen's hand remains
poised, ready to offer comfort
should he need it.

As his breathing evens,
Plankton's eye flutter open.
He looks at Karen, her face a
picture of love and concern.
He feels a pang of guilt for
his earlier outburst, but also a
wave of gratitude for her
understanding. He knows she
doesn't push or harm, she just gets it.

Karen sees the shift in
his gaze, the anger
giving way to something softer.
"Do you want to
talk about it?" she 
asks, her voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton shakes his
head slightly, his antennas
drooping. "No," he murmurs,
his voice hoarse. "Just...
needing a moment."

Karen nods, her hand
still hovering, a silent
offer of comfort. "Take all
the moments you need,"
she says, her voice gentle.

Plankton's gaze lingers
on her hand for a
moment before he nods.
He understands her unspoken
offer, her respect for his boundaries.

Karen knows that touch can
sometimes be too much for him,
a sensation that turns comforting
into overwhelming. So, she waits,
letting the air between them
remain unbroken by physical
contact, allowing him the space
he desperately needs.

The room is a canvas of shadows
and quiet, the only sound the
soft rustle of their breaths. Plankton
slowly uncoils, his body no longer
a taut wire ready to snap.

"Do you want me to let
you alone?" Karen asks, her voice
soft as a whisper in the night.
Plankton shakes his head, his eye
meeting hers. The anger is gone,
replaced by a weary sadness.

She nods, her hand still hovering,
a silent question mark. "Okay,"
she says, her voice a gentle
caress. "But if you need anything,
just tell me."

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his shoulders rising and falling
like waves on the shore. "Thank
you," he murmurs, his eye
brightening slightly.

Karen nods, her hand
still hovering but not
touching. "I'm here," she says.
"Always." Her voice is a
lullaby in the quiet room,
a gentle reminder that
she's his anchor in the
storm of sensory overload.

Plankton's antennas twitch
slightly, a flicker of
understanding passing between
them. He's aware of her presence,
but the weight of his guilt
and frustration is to much.

"I'm sorry," he whispers,
his voice a frayed thread of
his usual bravado.

Karen's hand remains hovering,
a silent question, a gentle offer.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asks,
her voice a soft breeze in the stillness.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still drooping. "Yeah," he murmurs,
his voice a whisper of relief.

Karen's hand lowers slowly,
coming to rest on the bed between
them. She's careful not to
cross the invisible barrier of his personal
space, her touch a gentle
promise of support.

"You don't have to be sorry,"
she whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "You're doing the best
you can, Plankton."

He nods, his antennas
twitching slightly. "But I
snapped," he says, his voice
filled with regret.

Karen's hand remains still,
just outside his personal space.
"It's okay," she whispers, her
tone filled with empathy. "You're
overwhelmed. It happens."

Plankton nods, his antennas
barely moving. "But I shouldn't
have yelled," he says, his voice
barely above a murmur. "I'm sorry."

Karen's eyes fill with
understanding. "It's okay, sweetie,"
she says. She reaches out
slowly, her hand hovering an inch
from his shoulder. "May I?" she asks,
her eyes searching his for consent.

Plankton's antennas twitch, his
body still tense, but he nods.
It's a small gesture, but it's
enough. Karen's hand settles on
his shoulder, her touch feather-light.

He flinches at first, his body
remembering the pain of the
unexpected touch, but her gentle
pressure is a soothing balm.
He leans into it slightly, his
body language speaking louder
than his words ever could.

Her hand on his shoulder is
the bridge between them, a
testament to their love and
understanding. Plankton's breathing
gradually deepens, his body
softening into the mattress. Karen's
touch is a lullaby, a promise that
everything will be okay.

The room is a cocoon of quiet,
their breaths the only sound.
Plankton's eye droops, his
body finally succumbing to
exhaustion. The weight of his
head shifts slightly, his trust
in Karen unspoken but palpable.

Her hand remains on his
shoulder, a gentle reminder of
her presence. She watches
his chest rise and fall, his
body slowly relaxing under
the soft blanket of sleep. His
features smooth out, the lines
of anger and frustration
disappearing into the pillow.

As his breaths become
even, Karen can't help but feel
a mix of sadness and love.
Her heart goes out to him,
this man she's spent her life
with, who fights battles she
can never fully understand.

The room is a sanctuary
of quiet, the air thick with the
scent of their unspoken
words. Plankton's hand twitches
slightly, and she wonders if he's
dreaming of a world where the
noise isn't so loud, where the
colors aren't so bright, where
his mind can rest without
fear of being bombarded.

Karen watches as her
husband's chest rises and falls,
his breaths deepening into
the steady rhythm of sleep.
The lines of his face relax,
his antennas droop slightly.

Her gaze shifts to the
shattered trophy on the floor,
the sand scattered like a
tiny desert. The room is a
testament to the storm that
was his sensory overload.

Karen's hand tightens slightly
on Plankton's shoulder, her
heart aching for both her
husband and son. She knows the
road ahead won't be easy, that
they'll need to navigate this
new terrain with care. But as
she watches Plankton's chest
rise and fall, she feels a
spark of hope.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II vii

THE LIFE OF UNITY i        (A LIFE OF DIVERSITY → THE LIFE OF UNITY)
(Autistic author; make sure to read A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i - x first!)

Sheldon Plankton wasn't born with autism
but acquired neurodisability after a theft
gone wrong. Despite interacting differently
he's still an intellectual scientist inventor.
             (A LIFE OF DIVERSITY → THE LIFE OF UNITY)
It's perfect day for jellyfishing. 
SpongeBob, ever eager to help 
a friend, had been up early 
preparing the jellyfish nets. 
When he arrived at the Chum 
Bucket, he found Plankton 
reading about jellyfish, his 
antennae quivering.

"Plankton, are you ready to go jellyfishing?" 
Sponge Bob's voice filled with excitement.

Plankton looked up from his book. "Jellyfish 
fields?" he murmured, his one eye lighting up.

"Yeah, jellyfish fields," Sponge Bob said 
with a grin. "It's going to be amazing. 
We're going to see jellyfish like never before!"

Plankton carefully put his book away.

"Let's go," he murmured, his monotone voice 
filled with an unusual sense of anticipation.

As they arrived, the water grew clearer, revealing 
a breathtaking sight: a vast meadow of jellyfish, 
their gelatinous bodies pulsing gently in the 
current, their tentacles trailing like a ballet. 
Plankton took in the mesmerizing display.

But, Sponge Bob's eyes widened in recognition. 
"Kevin!" he exclaimed. Kevin the sea cucumber, 
Sponge Bob's long-time rival, surfaced with a smirk. 
"What's going on here?" he sneered, eyes flicking 
between them "You guys playing jellyfish keep-away?"

Plankton's antennae twitched, monotonous voice tight. 
"No," he murmured. "Plankton... jellyfish expert."

Kevin's smirk grew wider. "Expert, huh?" he sneered. "I bet 
I know more about jellyfish than you ever will."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow. "Why don't we have a little trivia 
showdown?" He suggested. "Just a friendly competition to 
see who knows more."

Kevin's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "You're on," he says
cracking his knuckles. "But if I win, you leave the 
jellyfish fields and don't come back."

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly, but his eye remained 
focused on the sea cucumber. "If wins," he murmured steady, 
"Kevin leaves. And brings jellyfish back to Chum Bucket."

Kevin's grin faltered, but he quickly regained his composure. 
"Fine," he said, his voice dripping with confidence. "But if I win
you both leave and never come back to these fields."

The stakes were set. 

"Alright, let's get started," Kevin said, his smugness palpable. 
"First question: What is the scientific name for the jellyfish 
you're so fond of, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as he thought for a moment. 
"Medusozoa," he murmured with certainty.

Kevin's smirk faltered, his confidence visibly shaking. 
"What? How do you even know that?"

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he 
replied, "Jellyfish," his monotone voice calm. 
"Plankton studied."

Kevin scoffed. "Fine, then what's the most 
venomous jellyfish in the sea?"

Without missing a beat, Plankton 
murmured, "Chironex fleckeri."

Kevin laughs. "Wrong; it's a Box Jelly!"

But Plankton's antennae don't waver. 
"Chironex fleckeri," he repeats, his 
monotone voice unshaken. "Box jellyfish, 
Kevin. Chironex fleckeri."

Kevin's eyes widen in surprise, his 
smugness dissipating. "Alright, show
off," he stammers, visibly thrown off 
his game. "But you don't know this 
one: What's jellyfish can grow up 
to 16 inches in diameter?"

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly 
as he considers the question. 
"Moon jellyfish," he murmurs unshaken. 
"Aurelia aurita."

Kevin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his 
grin faltering. "What? That's... that's right," he 
admits, his voice trailing off.

"Good job, Plankton," SpongeBob cheers.

Kevin's smirk turns into a grimace as he tries 
to regain his footing. "Alright, fine," he says 
through gritted teeth. "But I've got one more 
question that'll stump you for sure."

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, his one eye 
focused intently on the sea cucumber. "Go on," he 
murmurs, his monotone voice filled with quiet confidence.

Kevin's eyes narrow, his mind racing for the ultimate 
question to outsmart Plankton. "Ok then," he says, 
his voice dripping with challenge. "What's the most 
rare jellyfish species known to Bikini Bottom?"

Plankton's antennae twitch as he thinks, his monotone 
voice measured. "The Bikini Bottom Glowing Jellyfish," 
he murmurs. "It's not rare everywhere, but here, yes."

Kevin's grin fades into a scowl.

"Fine," he says, his voice tight. "What's the average lifespan 
of a jellyfish?"

Plankton's antennae quiver as he considers the question. 
"Depends on species," he murmurs, his monotone voice 
unwavering. "Some live weeks, others years."

Kevin's smugness returns, his grin stretching wide. "Ah, but 
I'm not talking about any jellyfish," he says, eyes gleaming. 
"I'm talking about the Jellyfish of Legend, the one that even 
SpongeBob can't catch. What's the average lifespan of that one?"

Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, eye narrowing 
in thought. "Rare. Long lifespan."

Kevin's smug expression wavers as he realizes Plankton 
might actually know the answer. "You're bluffing," he accuses, his 
voice rising. "There's no way you know that!"

But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver as he murmurs, 
"The average lifespan of a type jellyfish known as Turritopsis dohrnii
is... indefinite."

Kevin's eyes widen in shock, smugness evaporating. "What? 
That's impossible!"

But Plankton's antennae keep quivering with confidence. 
"Immortal jellyfish," he murmurs. "Turritopsis dohrnii."

Kevin's smugness turns to astonishment. "But that's not 
possible!" he stammers, his bravado slipping away. "No jellyfish 
can live forever!"

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly as he calmly explains, 
"Turritopsis dohrnii," his monotone voice unshaken. "It's 
unique. Can revert to polyp stage, start life cycle again."

Kevin stammers, his usual bravado gone. "But... but?"

"Plankton studied," Plankton murmurs, his antennae 
waving slightly. "Jellyfish... interesting."

SpongeBob steps forward, eyes glinting with excitement. 
"I've got one," he says, turning to Kevin. "What's the main 
diet of jellyfish?" Kevin snorts. "Phytoplankton," Kevin says 
with glee. "And zooplankton, like your little friend here. Some
times other jellyfish."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with excitement. "Kevin 
wrong," he murmurs. "Jellyfish eat... everything."

Kevin's smirk falters. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice wary.

Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he elaborates. "Jellyfish 
diet... diverse," he murmurs. "Phytoplankton, zooplankton, even 
small fish and shrimp. Some, yes, eat other jellyfish. But not all."

Kevin's grin turns into a scowl. "That's what I just said!"

"But you didn't say everything," Plankton murmurs, his monotone 
voice filled with a hint of satisfaction. "Jellyfish... adaptable."

Kevin's confidence is visibly shaken, his smugness gone. "Fine," he 
grumbles. "But I bet you don't know their natural predators."

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly. "Natural predators," he murmurs. 
"Turtles, some fish, sea anemones."

Kevin's scoff turns into a growl. "Turtles, sure," he says, his voice 
mocking. "But what about the big bad..."

"Leatherback sea turtles," Plankton murmurs, his antennae quivering 
slightly. "They love jellyfish."

Kevin's smirk fades, his bravado slipping away like sea foam 
on the shore. "Fine," he says, his voice tight. "What's the most... I don't know, 
the most useless jellyfish fact you know?"

Plankton's antennae quiver slightly as he murmurs, "Usefulness... subjective."
His monotone voice is calm, unruffled by the challenge.

Kevin's scowl deepens. "Alright, then," he says, his voice tight 
with frustration. "But surely you don't know this one: What's the 
jellyfish that's immune to its own venom?"

Plankton's antennae twitch, his monotone voice unfazed. "Turritopsis nutricula," 
he murmurs. "Immune to own sting."

Kevin's eyes narrow. "Alright, then," he says, his voice tight with frustration. 
"What's the most bizarre jellyfish fact you can think of?"

Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his monotone voice contemplative. 
"Bizarre," he murmurs. "Some jellyfish have bioluminescent glow."

Kevin's eyes light up with a spark of hope. "That's it," he says, voice smug. 
"Everyone knows that. I've got a better one: jellyfish don't have brains, just 
nerve nets. So, what's the point of all this studying?"

Plankton's antennae quiver as he considers the question, his monotone voice 
calm. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, "have complex behaviors. Complex. Have nerve 
nets. Plankton studied. Brain not necessary for intelligence."

new the life of unity a life of diversity plankton i

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ix

(Autistic author)


The silence in the room
was suffocating, the 
echo of Mr. Krabs' 
footsteps the only 
sound as he retreated 
to his home, his 
heart feeling heavier 
than his treasure chest.

Sponge Bob's heart torn 
between pity and 
frustration. He looked 
at Plankton, 
his friend's gaze 
still locked on the 
chessboard, his 
body a portrait of 
rejection.

"Plankton," he 
whispered, his voice 
full of pain.
But Plankton didn't 
move, his antennas 
twitching slightly.

Sponge Bob felt a 
lump form in his 
throat, his eyes 
brimming with tears. 
He didn't know what to 
do, what to say, to 
make things right. 
He glanced at Karen, 
her lights dimming 
slightly with sadness.

"I'll leave you two 
to talk." With a nod to 
Sponge Bob, she left 
the room, leaving them 
alone in the 
stifling silence.

Sponge Bob approached 
Plankton cautiously, 
his heart pounding.

"What can I do?"
he asked, his voice 
barely a whisper.

Plankton's antennas 
twitched slightly, but 
he didn't look up. 
"Nothing," he murmured, 
his voice flat. "Cannot 
change."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
welled with tears.
"I mean right now, I
can do what you want
me to," he pleaded. 
"You're my best friend, 
Plankton."

Plankton's antennas 
lifted, his single 
eye meeting Sponge 
Bob's gaze.

"We can talk, we can play
a game, we can watch some
thing..."

Plankton's antennas 
remained still, his 
expression unreadable.
"Watch," he said finally, 
his voice devoid of 
enthusiasm.

Sponge Bob nodded, 
his heart heavy with 
disappointment. He knew 
his friend needed 
space, and he would give 
it to him.

The screen flickered 
to life. Sponge 
Bob felt a pang of 
despair, his hand hovering 
over the remote. 
"Is this okay?" he 
asked, his voice 
trembling.

Plankton nodded, his 
gaze unfocused. "Okay," 
he murmured.

Sponge Bob 
selected a nature 
documentary, knowing 
Plankton. They 
sat in silence as the 
soothing sounds of the 
ocean filled the room, 
the TV's blue light 
washing over them. Plankton's 
body relaxed slightly, 
his antennas still as he 
watched. 
Sponge Bob felt a 
tiny spark of hope when
Plankton scoots up next
to him.

The documentary 
played on, the narrator's 
soothing voice detailing 
the lives of jellyfish.
Sponge Bob watched 
Plankton from the 
corner of his eye, 
his heart aching at the 
sight of his friend's 
vacant gaze. 
He reached over and 
gently placed his hand 
on Plankton's shoulder, 
his touch tentative.

Plankton didn't flinch, 
his eye never leaving 
the screen. Sponge Bob
swallowed the lump in 
his throat and whispered,
"I'm here for you."

Plankton's antenna 
twitched slightly, a 
barely perceptible 
acknowledgment. The 
silence stretched on, the 
only sound the rhythmic 
pulse of the jellyfish 
through the speakers.

Sponge Bob's hand 
remained on Plankton's 
shoulder, his thumb 
making small, comforting 
circles.

As the 
documentary droned on, 
Plankton's antennas 
gradually lost their 
rigidity, drooping 
slightly with each 
passing moment.

The rhythmic 
pulse of the jellyfish 
on the screen seemed to 
lull him into a state 
of quiet contemplation. 
His gaze grew unfocused,
his eyelid fluttered once,
then twice, before 
finally settling shut.
Plankton's tiny frame relaxed into 
SpongeBob's side, breathing 
evening out. His hand 
remained on Plankton's 
shoulder, his thumb 
continuing to make 
small circles as his 
friend slipped into 
slumber.

When SpongeBob turned off
the tv, he noticed Plankton's 
head drooped to the side
with a soft snore, 
his body gone slack.
Plankton was asleep, 
his chest rising and falling
in a gentle rhythm.

The yellow sponge felt a 
wave of relief wash over 
him as he realized that 
his friend had finally 
found some peace.
He carefully scooted Plankton 
closer.
He knew Plankton needed 
his rest, especially with 
his brain trying to 
adjust to this new 
reality.

Karen came back in to see 
Plankton's antennas limp 
and Sponge Bob's hand on 
his shoulder. She nodded 
gently at the sponge, who 
looked up and sighed.

"It's 
ok to let him rest. He's 
been through a lot." She says.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
grip on Plankton's 
shoulder tightening 
slightly. "I know. I 
just want to help," 
he replies, his voice 
barely audible over 
Plankton's soft snores.

Karen's lights flicker 
gently. "You are helping 
by being here, Sponge 
Bob. Just give him 
time and space to 
adjust."

Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
face. "I'll do 
anything for him."

Karen's light blips. 
"I know you will. But 
for now, let's get him 
to his bed."

Sponge Bob nods, 
carefully scooping up 
Plankton, cradling him 
like a fragile shell. He 
carries him to the 
bedroom. 
He lays him down, 
tucking the blanket 
under his chin with 
extra care.

Plankton's snores 
soften into a gentle 
purr, his antennas 
twitching slightly 
in his 
sleep.

Sponge Bob pulls 
up a chair beside 
the bed, his 
eyes never leaving 
his friend's face. He 
feels a heavy 
responsibility, a 
desire to be there 
for Plankton in ways 
he's never had to before.

As the minutes 
tick by, Sponge Bob 
begins to feel the 
weight of the day's 
events. His eyes 
grow heavy, his 
body swaying with 
exhaustion. Despite 
his resolve, he 
can't keep his 
lids open any longer.

With a yawn, he 
collapses into the 
chair beside 
Plankton's bed, his 
head lolling to the 
side. His eyes 
close.

Plankton opens his eye to 
find Sponge Bob 
asleep next to him.

Plankton's gaze lingers 
on the sponge, his 
expression unreadable. 
He moves his antennas 
slightly, testing the 
boundaries of his 
new reality. The 
weight of Mr. Krabs' 
apology and his own 
words hang heavy on him.

With a deep sigh, 
he knew that 
his relationship with 
Mr. Krabs was 
irrevocably changed, 
but he hadn't expected 
the sadness that 
accompanied the 
realization.

He watched as 
Sponge Bob's chest 
lifted and fell in a 
steady rhythm, 
his grip on the 
blanket tight.

A strange warmth 
spread through 
Plankton's 
heart, something 
he hadn't felt in 
a long time. 
Sponge Bob had 
always been his 
friend, even when he 
was at his worst.

But this...
This was different.
This was someone 
sticking by him, not 
because they had to, 
but because they 
wanted to.

The warmth grew, 
spreading through 
Plankton like a gentle 
current. It was 
unfamiliar, but not 
unpleasant. He had 
felt it before, with 
Karen. Yet this was 
a different kind of warmth.
This was friendship, 
pure and untainted by 
the greed that usually 
consumed him before...

He studied Sponge 
Bob's peaceful 
face, his mind 
racing. This sponge, 
his enemy's best 
worker, had shown 
more kindness and 
understanding in the 
past few hours than 
anyone else in his life,
other than Karen. 
And for what? A 
chance at the Krabby 
formula? No, 
for him. For Plankton.

The warmth grew 
stronger, 
pushing out the 
coldness that 
usually dominated 
his thoughts. He 
felt a strange 
urge to reciprocate, 
to be... nicer.

Sponge Bob stirred, 
his eyes fluttering 
open. "Plankton?"
he mumbles, his 
voice thick with sleep.

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly, his 
single eye focusing 
on the yellow 
form beside him.

"Yes, Sponge Bob," he 
replies, his voice 
gentler than before.

Sponge Bob sits up 
with a start. "How
long have you been up?"
he asks, his eyes 
searching Plankton's 
face for any sign 
of pain or distress.

Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly. "Not 
long," he murmurs, 
his gaze lingering 
on Sponge Bob.

Sponge Bob's 
expression is a 
mixture of relief 
and concern. "Do you 
want to talk?" he 
asks, his voice 
gentle.

Plankton's antennas 
wave slightly, a 
tiny nod of his 
head. "Talk," he 
echoes, his voice 
soft.

Sponge Bob takes a 
deep breath, trying 
to form the words 
he desperately 
wants to say. "I 
just... I want you to 
know that I'm here 
for you, Plankton," he 
says, his voice 
shaking.

Plankton's antennas 
wave slightly, and 
his eye narrows. "Here 
for Plankton," he echoes, 
his voice flat.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
fill with tears. "Yes, 
Plankton," he whispers. 
"Always."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch again, the 
word "always" echoing 
in his mind. "Always," 
he murmurs. 

new a journey to autism plankbobs ix

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iv
(Autistic author)

Sandy feels the full weight
of her words crash down upon
her. The accusations she had
thrown at Plankton now felt like
sharp stones in her own stomach.
Her mind reels as she tries to
comprehend what she had just
learned. Autism? Plankton?
How could she have been so
blind, so cruel?

Her gaze falls to the floor,
avoiding Karen's. "I'm so sorry,"
she whispers, her voice thick with
guilt. "I didn't know."

Karen nods, her own emotions
swirling. "But we need to be
more careful with him."

Sandy's eyes are glued to
the floor, her tail flicking
nervously. "I didn't mean to
hurt him," she says, her voice
small and ashamed. "I just
thought he was being weird."

Karen nods, understanding. "I
know," she says, her voice gentle.
"But now we know better, and we
have to help him." She moves
towards the bedroom, her steps
determined. "Let's go check
on him."

They enter the room quietly.

Karen's optical sensors scan his
tiny form, noticing the slight rise
and fall of his chest. He's
asleep, she realizes, exhausted
from the emotional turmoil.

Sandy's gaze follows hers, her
expression a mix of regret and
curiosity. She's never seen
Plankton like this before,
his features softer, almost
peaceful in repose. "Is he okay?"
she asks, her voice a whisper.

Karen nods, her hand reaching
out to touch his shoulder.
"He's sleeping," she says, her voice
filled with tenderness. "It's been
a big day for him."

Sandy steps closer, her gaze
taking in Plankton's sleeping
features. His face, usually
twisted with plotting and
schemes, is now slack with
exhaustion. His eye, usually
alive with cunning, is closed,
and his breaths come in deep,
even snores, his mouth slightly
agape.

"What do we do now?" Sandy
asks, her voice hushed. Karen
sits beside him on the bed,
her hand still on his shoulder.
"We help him," she says, her
voice firm. "We learn about his
autism and how we can support
him."

They spend the next few
moments in silence, the air
heavy with the weight of what
has been said. Karen's hand
continues to gently stroke
Plankton's shoulder.
Sandy sits down on the
opposite side of the bed.

Her gaze is fixed on
Plankton, her thoughts racing.
She had known him for so
long, and yet she had never
considered this possibility.
"What does this mean for him?"
she whispers, her voice filled
with concern.

Karen sighs, her hand
still stroking Plankton's
shoulder. "It means we'll
have to make some changes,"
she says softly. "He'll need
routines, and patience, and
understanding."

Sandy nods, her eyes
glistening with unshed tears.
"I can do that," she says, her
voice filled with determination.
"But what about... us?"

Karen looks up, her gaze
meeting Sandy's. "What do you
mean?" she asks, her hand
pausing in its soothing motion.

Sandy swallows, her eyes still on
Plankton. "Our friendship," she
says. "How do we handle this
without making him feel...
different?"

Karen nods, understanding her
concern. "We just need to be
there for him," she says. "He's
still the same Plankton, just
with some new challenges."

They sit in silence for a
moment, the only sound the
rhythm of Plankton's snores.
Sandy reaches out tentatively,
her paw hovering over his arm.

"Is it ok to touch him?" she asks.

Karen nods. "Yes, Sandy. Just be
gentle," she whispers.

Sandy's paw touches Plankton's
arm, her touch light and tentative.
He stirs slightly, but doesn't
wake. She leaves her paw there,
offering comfort without intrusion.

Karen watches them
with a mix of love and
fear for the future. Plankton's
autism was still a mystery to
them, a labyrinth they were just
beginning to navigate. She knows
it won't be easy, but she's
determined to be by his side.

"We're a team," she says,
squeezing Plankton's shoulder.

Sandy nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's sleeping
form. "A team," she repeats, her
voice filled with resolve.

For the first time since the
diagnosis, the three of them are
united in a common goal: to
understand and support Plankton
as he navigates his new reality.

Sandy and Karen exchange a look,
each one filled with a determination
that mirrors the other. They've
been friends through thick and
thin, through Krabby Patty
heists and jellyfish stings, and
now they're facing a challenge
none of them had ever anticipated.

Sandy's paw remains on
Plankton's arm, her touch
steady and reassuring.

Plankton stirred, his sleep 
disturbed by the unfamiliar 
weight of Sandy's paw on his 
arm.

His eye fluttered open, and he
was met with the sight of
Sandy and Karen, their faces
contorted with a mix of
concern and confusion. He sat up
quickly, his body jolting with
fear.

"Plankton, it's ok," Karen
soothes, her hand reaching out to
calm him. "You're safe."

"Karen sad?" he
asks, his voice 
cracking.

Sandy's paw tightens on his
arm, which makes Plankton
feel uncomfortable enough to
get him to snap at her.

"What Sandy want?" he
asks, his voice sharp, his
body tense with anxiety.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears.
"I didn't mean to make you
upset," she says, her voice
shaking. "I just didn't know."

Plankton's gaze flits
between them, trying to read
their expressions, but his
brain struggles to interpret their
complex emotions. "Karen sad?" he
repeats, his voice a mix of
fear and confusion.

Karen's hand moves to cover
Sandy's, her grip firm but gentle.
"No, Plankton," she says, her
voice soothing. "We're just
concerned about you."

Sandy takes a deep breath,
forcing back her tears. "I'm sorry,"
she says, her voice barely above a
whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt
you."

Plankton's gaze flickers
between them, his mind racing to
understand the situation. "No
hurt," he says, his voice shaky.
"Sandy say Karen sad. No sad."

Karen's circuits pulse with a
mixture of relief and sadness.
"Sandy didn't mean it, Plankton,"
she says, her voice filled with
compassion. "We're all just trying
to understand what's happening."

Sandy's eyes are cast down, her
paws fidgeting in her lap. "I'm
sorry," she murmurs, her voice
heavy with regret. "I didn't
know." She grabs Plankton in
a hug, unaware of how the tight
embrace might feel to him. Plankton
stiffens, his senses getting overwhelmed.

"No touch," he says, his voice tight.

Sandy quickly releases him, her eyes 
wide with apology. "I'm sorry," she 
says, her voice trembling. "I just 
wanted to help."

Karen nods, her gaze softening. 
"We all do," she says. "But we 
have to learn how to help in ways 
that don't overwhelm him."

Plankton's eye darts around 
the room, with the need 
to regulate himself.

He starts to rock 
in a rhythmic motion, a 
self-soothing behavior
his new autism
craves. The sensation of
his own movements helps
to calm the storm of 
thoughts and emotions
swirling within him.

Karen notices the change
immediately and nods
understandingly. "It's
ok, Plankton," she says,
her voice gentle. "You
do what you need to do."

Sandy watches, her curiosity
piqued by the rhythmic rocking
"What's he doing?"
she asks, her voice hushed.

Karen sighs, her gaze
filled with understanding.
"It's his way of self-soothing,"
she explains. "It's called stimming."

Sandy's eyes widen, taking in
Plankton's rhythmic rocks.
"Stimming?" she repeats. "What's
that?"

Karen nods, her voice calm
and patient. "It's a way for him
to regulate his sensory
input," she explains. "It helps
him feel safe and in control."

Sandy watches. He starts to hum, a low
buzz that resonates in the
quiet room, his way of finding
comfort in the chaos of his
thoughts.

"It's ok," Karen whispers, her
hand on his shoulder. "We're
here."

Plankton's eye lock onto her
hand, the pressure of her touch
offering a semblance of comfort.
He starts to rock back and forth
again. The movement
calms him slightly.

Sandy watches. She had never
seen Plankton like this before.
The sharpness of her words
from earlier stings her
now, as she realizes the
depth of his distress.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice
quiet. "I didn't know."

Plankton's humming turns to
a soft melody, his body
still moving in a soothing
pattern. The words echo in his
head, a reminder of the world's
expectations he can never quite
meet.

Sandy watches him, her own
world now forever changed.
She had always known Plankton
to be eccentric, but this was
different. This was real.

Her mind reels with questions
and fears. How would this
affect their friendship?
Could they ever return to
the easy banter they once
shared? Would he still be the
same friend she had always
known?

But as she watches him
stim, the reality of the
situation starts to set in.
Plankton was still Plankton,
but with a new set of rules
and a new way of seeing the
world. Sandy makes a silent
vow to learn those rules, to
understand his world as much
as he had tried to understand
hers.

new karen and the autistic journey karenktondy plankary sandarenton karentony karandyn iv

CHIP AND FAIL vii
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHIP 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

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vi
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new shelf improvement neurodivergentcore vi

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vi
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new karen and the autistic journey confusedcore vi

GREAT CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae dropping slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new great chip learncore vi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So his accident gave
him autism; when?"

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

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

He sits down 
on the floor 
beside the couch.

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

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

Karen's gaze 
snaps to him.

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

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

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

"Who's Hanna?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



**NOTEs As an autistic
writer (and I used AI to
help me with the words)
I do not encourage the
ableism people have
shown in their ignorance.
Depending on when and
where you live, some
people have thought 
such therapies might be
good, without actually
accepting nor helping.
Even Hans Asperger
has supported eugenics
during the war, sending
people to internment
camps leading to demise.
I came across the site 
autismmemorial.wordpress.com
if you'd like to educate yourself
about how people have
endured such.*

new neurobehavioral plankton comfortfic vi

🇮🇻🇻🇮🇮

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

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

new vii mercaptan xvi

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM viii

(Autistic author)


Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly. "Game," he 
whispers, his voice 
shaking. "Just game."

Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow, 
his claws tense. "If it's 
just a game, then why 
are you acting so 
strange?" he snaps at
Plankton.

Plankton's antennas 
wobble with effort 
to maintain control.

"Because," he starts, his 
voice shaky, "Plankton... 
different."

Mr. Krabs stares at 
Sponge Bob, his 
expression unyielding. 
"Different?" he echoes, 
his eyes darting to 
Plankton, then back to 
his employee.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
voice trembling. "Yes, 
Mr. Krabs, Plankton's 
been through something 
that's changed him."
He looks at Karen for 
support, but she stays 
silent, her eyes 
reflecting a mix of 
concern and hope.

Mr. Krabs crosses his 
arms, his eyebrow 
quivering with skepticism. 
"What do you mean, 
changed him?" he asks.
"Is he trying to steal 
the Krabby Patty formular 
again?"

Sponge Bob's 
frustration rises. "No, 
Mr. Krabs," he says, 
his voice steady. "It's 
not like that. Plankton 
has... a condition."

Mr. Krabs' 
skepticism turns to 
curiosity. "Condition?" 
he repeats, his voice 
softer.

Sponge Bob nods, 
swallowing the lump 
in his throat. "He's 
been diagnosed with acquired
autism," he explains, 
his voice barely above 
a whisper.

Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, 
his mouth dropping open
as the words sink in.
He turns to Karen, his gaze 
demanding confirmation.
"Is it true?" he asks, 
his voice gruff.

Karen nods solemnly, 
her circuits flickering 
with a mix of 
sadness and hope.
"Yes," she says gently. 
"Plankton has 
an acquired 
form of autism."

Mr. Krabs' expression 
shifts from skepticism 
to shock. He looks 
at Plankton. 
"Autism?" he repeats, 
his voice barely above 
a murmur. "But... but 
how?"

Karen's LED lights 
dim slightly. "I don't
think he'd like to answer
that question" she says, 
her voice clinical. "It's 
caused a significant 
shift in his neural 
functioning."

Mr. Krabs' gaze 
remains on Plankton, 
his expression one 
of dawning 
understanding. "Was 
me fry pan..." he starts, 
his voice trailing off.

Plankton's antennas 
drop, and he 
nods slowly. "Yes," he 
whispers. "Krabs pan."

Mr. Krabs' face 
crumbles, his 
claws clenching into 
fists. "I didn't mean to," 
he stammers, his voice 
choking with regret. "I 
was just trying to keep 
me formular safe."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, his single eye 
welling with unshed 
tears.

Mr. Krabs' guilt is 
palpable, his eyes 
swimming with 
remorse. "I'm sorry, 
Plankton," he says 
hoarsely. "I had no idea."

But Plankton's gaze 
doesn't soften. His 
stare is unyielding, 
his voice cold.

"Sorry not enough," he says, 
his words clipped. 
"Hurt, Mr. Krabs 
hurt Plankton bad."

Mr. Krabs' heart squeezes 
at the accusation in 
Plankton's voice. He's 
never heard him speak 
like this before, with such 
raw emotion.

"I know," he says 
remorsefully, his 
voice cracking. "I know 
I hurt you, Plankton. I'm 
so, so sorry."

But Plankton's 
unforgiving gaze 
doesn't waver. "No," 
he insists, his voice 
still cold. "Not just sorry.
Mr. Krabs must understand."

Mr. Krabs nods, 
his eyes brimming with 
tears. "I do," he 
chokes out. "I understand.
What can I do to help?"

Plankton's antennas 
still don't move, his 
expression unreadable.

Mr. Krabs' reaches for
Plankton's shoulder.
That's the last straw.
With a burst of 
energy, Plankton 
pushes away the 
clawed hand. "No 
touch," he snaps, his 
voice cold. "Mr. Krabs 
not understand." His 
words are like shards of 
ice, each one cutting 
deeper into Mr. Krabs' 
guilt.

Mr. Krabs' face falls, 
his hand retreating 
quickly. "But I do," 
he insists, his voice 
desperate. "I swear, 
Plankton, I do."

But Plankton's 
expression remains 
stony, his antennas 
rigid. "No," he says 
simply. "Krabs don't." His 
voice is a knife, slicing 
through the tension 
in the room.

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
water, his heart 
heavy with regret. "I 
swear, Plankton," he 
pleads. "I'll do anything 
to make it right."

But Plankton's 
gaze remains 
steady, his 
unforgiving gaze 
bearing into Mr. 
Krabs' soul. "Make right?"
he echoes. "Cannot make 
right. Cannot change. Krabs
fault."

Mr. Krabs' shoulders 
sag with the weight 
of Plankton's words. 
He knows his rival is 
right; he can't reverse 
what's been done, 
no matter how much he 
wishes it. "But I want 
to help," he says 
desperately. "Please, tell 
me how..."

But Plankton's 
expression is a 
mask of coldness, 
his antennas unyielding. 
"Help?" he echoes, his 
voice dripping with 
skepticism. "Krabs 
can't help." His gaze 
slides to the 
discarded chessboard, 
his eyes lingering 
on the scattered 
pieces. "Too late."

Mr. Krabs' shoulders 
sag with the weight 
of Plankton's rejection. 
"Please," he says 
desperately. "I didn't 
know. I just want to 
make it better."

But Plankton's 
unforgiving gaze 
doesn't falter. His 
stare is a mirror 
reflecting Mr. Krabs' 
own guilt and regret. 
"Better?" he repeats, 
his voice devoid of 
emotion. "Cannot be.
No cure. Just stop."

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
well with tears, his 
heart aching with 
the pain of his 
mistake. "But I want 
to fix it," he says 
pleadingly. "I want to 
make it right."

But Plankton's gaze 
doesn't soften. "No fix," 
he says flatly. "Cannot 
change what is." His 
single eye seems to 
bore into Mr. Krabs, 
his voice unyielding.
"Krabs hurt Plankton. 
Krabs must live with."

Mr. Krabs hangs 
his head, his 
shoulders heaving with 
sobs. "I'm sorry," he 
whispers, his voice 
breaking. "I'll do anything."

But Plankton 
simply shakes his 
head, his antennas 
still. "Cannot change," 
he murmurs. "Must live 
with." His eye are 
empty, devoid of the 
malicious spark that 
once fueled his quest 
for the Krabby Patty 
formula. Normally
Plankton would love to 
cause such a reaction
out of Mr. Krabs.

Mr. Krabs' 
sobs grow louder, his 
guilt consuming him. 
"But I didn't mean 
to," he wails. "It was 
just a mistake."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly. "Mistake," 
he echoes, his voice 
still cold. "Mistake 
not enough." His eye 
are unrelenting, his 
stare piercing through 
Mr. Krabs' soul. "You hurt 
me," he says, his 
words a quiet thunder 
clap in the tense silence. 
"Mistake changed me."

Mr. Krabs looks up, 
his eyes red with tears. 
"I know," he says, his 
voice thick with regret. "I 
know I hurt you, Plankton. 
Yet I didn't know how bad..."

But Plankton's 
expression is one of 
resentment, his antennas 
twitching with anger. 
"Hurt," he says, his 
voice cold. "Krabs hurt 
Plankton. Krabs must 
understand." His gaze 
doesn't waver from Mr. 
Krabs, his accusation 
hangs in the air like a 
heavy fog.

Mr. Krabs' sobs 
quiet, his eyes 
swimming with regret. 
He opens his mouth to 
speak, but the words 
catch in his throat. 
"I do underst--"

"No," Plankton 
interrupts, his 
voice like a whip. "You 
don't." His antennas 
wave with agitation, 
his eye flashing with 
a cold fire. "You don't 
understand pain." His 
words are sharp, 
cutting through Mr. 
Krabs' protests.

Mr. Krabs' 
expression falls, his 
claws trembling. "I 
see that now," he 
whispers, his voice 
racked with emotion. "But 
what can I do?" His 
desperation is clear, 
his eyes searching Plankton's 
face for any sign of 
forgiveness. "I'd even give
you a krabby patty.."

But Plankton's 
expression doesn't 
change. His antennas 
remain rigid, his eye 
still cold. "Krabby 
Patty not fix," he says 
simply. "Cannot fix 
brain." His voice is 
matter-of-fact, his 
tone unyielding.

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
widen, his hope 
dashed. "But I'll do 
anything," he insists, 
his voice desperate.

But Plankton's 
unforgiving gaze 
remains unmoved. 
"Anything?" he repeats, 
his tone mocking. "Can 
you give me back my 
mind?" His antennas 
wave in frustration.
"Do leave, Krabs. Can
leave."

Mr. Krabs' 
expression falls, his 
claws hanging limp at 
his sides. "But Plankton," 
he begs. "We can work 
together, I can help 
you get better."

But Plankton's 
face is a wall of 
coldness, his antennas 
waving with anger. 
"No better," he says 
firmly. "Only live 
now." His words are a 
reflection of the stark 
reality that Mr. 
Krabs had ignored.

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
fill with tears, his 
claws clutching at 
his chest. "I hurt you 
so badly, Plankton. But I 
can't live with this," 
he sobs.

"I know Krabs sorry now.
Yet I last registered Krabs
laughter as I fainted from
the impact. Even if Krabs
didn't mean to, Krabs did.
So goodbye, Eugene Krabs."

The room grew silent as
the gravity of Plankton's words
settled heavily upon Mr. Krabs.
He hadn't considered that his
foolishness could lead to such
a profound change in his rival.

Mr. Krabs looked at Plankton,
his eyes brimming with
desperation. "If I can go back
and sacrifice my life to..."

"Can't. Perhaps can find peace
but for now, goodbye."

The finality in Plankton's voice
was a slap to Mr. Krabs' face,
his hope crumbling like
sand through his claws.
He staggered back, his
eyes wide with shock.

Sponge Bob's heart ached,
his hands clenched into fists
at his sides as he watched
the exchange unfold.
He knew Mr. Krabs was 
suffering, but he couldn't 
ignore the pain in 
Plankton's voice either.

Mr. Krabs' sobs grew 
louder, his body 
shaking with the weight 
of his guilt. "Please, 
Plankton," he begged.

But Plankton's gaze 
remained on the 
chessboard, his 
hands tracing the 
pattern of the 
squares, his antennas 
were still, his body 
a statue of cold 
resolve.

Mr. Krabs' sobs 
turned to sniffs as 
he took in Plankton's 
unyielding stance. He 
knew his rival well 
and he could see 
the deep-seated pain 
that lay beneath the 
surface of his words. 
With a heavy heart, he 
nodded. "I'll let ye
space then. I never wanted
to lose ye."

Plankton turns away.

Mr. Krabs' eyes grew 
large with sadness, his 
body quivering with 
the weight of his 
mistakes. "SpongeBob 
I'll give ye time off work as
long as you need to when for
Plankton. Goodbye, 
Plankton," he choked out.
He left the chum bucket.

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

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES vii

"Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers,
shaking him lightly. "We're not
even to the parking lot yet!"

Plankton's eye opens. "Tish... tish...
Karen?" he mumbles, his voice
a sleepy whine. "Why we not... not
at home?"

Karen laughs, her voice a gentle
lullaby. "We will be soon," she
says, her grip on him firm but
caring. "Just stay with me a
little longer. Let's make our way
to the car; yea?"

But Plankton's eye is
already drooping. 
"Caw... car?"
he mumbles.

Karen nods, her smile
soft. "Yes, the car. We're
going home."

But Plankton's eyelid
flaps heavily, his gaze
unfocused. "Home... home,"
he repeats, his voice a
slurred echo. His head wobbles
against her shoulder, his
body slack.

Karen sighs, her
laughter mingling with the
slight exasperation in her voice.
"Just a bit more, Plankton,"
she whispers, patting his
back. "Stay with me. Let's stand
up now."

But Plankton's body is
already succumbing to the
warm embrace of sleep. His
eyelid flaps once, twice, before
his eye closes completely. He
slumps back into the chair,
snoring gently. Karen chuckles,
shaking her head. "Come on,"
she says, her voice a blend
of humor and patience.

With a sigh, she stands,
his weight still leaning on
her. "You need to wake up
for just a little bit more,"
she insists, her voice a mix
of playfulness and firmness.

But Plankton's snores are
already steady.
"Wake up," she whispers,
shaking him gently. "We
have to go."

His eyelid twitches,
his mouth moving in a
slight snore. "Home?" he 
mumbles.

Karen laughs softly, her hand
still on his shoulder. "Yes,
home," she repeats, her voice
a gentle prodding. "Let's go."

But Plankton's snores are
now a symphony of sleep. His
body sags, his head lolling to
the side, and Karen knows the
battle is lost. She looks to the
nurse, who nods in understanding.
"Let's get him to the car," she says,
her voice a whisper of amusement.

They lift him again, his arms
draped over their shoulders like a
tiny, uncooperative ragdoll.

"Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers
again, her voice filled with a mix
of humor and exasperation.
"We're almost there."

But Plankton's snores are a
testament to his deep slumber.
His head tips to the side,
his mouth hanging open. The
nurse's smile widens, and she
nods to Karen. "It's okay. He's
comfortable. We'll get him to
the car."

They manage to stand him up,
his legs wobbly as a newborn
deer's. Karen's arm is wrapped
around his waist. "Come on,
babe," she coaxes, her voice
laced with affection. "Walk with
me to the car. Wake up.."

But Plankton's snores are a
constant background noise,
his body swaying with the rhythm
of sleep. He opens his eye with
difficulty, his gaze unfocused.
"Wha... wha..."

Karen chuckles, her
arm tightening around him.
"Walk, Plankton," she whispers,
guiding his unsteady steps.
"You're doing so well."

But Plankton's body has
other ideas. His knees buckle,
and he sags against her, his
snores growing louder. "Wake
up, babe," she whispers, her voice
filled with affectionate
frustration. "You can't sleep
until we're in the car."

Plankton's head wobbles, his
eye half-opening. "But... buth...
I'm tiwed," he mumbles, his speech
still thick. "Tish... tish...
chair is... is... is so comfowt."

Karen laughs softly, her
patience unwavering. "You need
to wake up, sweetie," she
says, her voice a gentle prod.

But Plankton's snores are
the only response, his head
lolling to the side. His body
sags heavily against her.

"Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers,
a hint of a laugh in her voice.

But Plankton's only response
is a sleepy snore, his body
relaxing further against hers.

"Come on, Plankton," Karen
whispers, her voice a blend
of amusement and urgency.
"You're gonna need to get in
to our car."

Plankton's eye opens with
effort, his gaze unfocused.
"Caw... caw?" he mumbles,
his speech still a thick
slur.

Karen laughs softly, her arm
supporting his wavering body.
"Yes, car," she repeats, her voice
a gentle nudge. "We're going home."

But Plankton's eye droops closed
once more, his snores a soft
symphony of unconsciousness.
"Buth... buth... Karen," he mumbles,
his words barely audible.

Karen's laugh is a soft
whisper of affection. "You're
so sleepy," she says, her voice
a gentle reminder. She tightens
her grip on him, her arm
supporting his wavering frame.
"Just a few more steps."

But Plankton's snores are
a sweet lullaby, his body
heavy with slumber. His legs
barely move, his feet
dragging against the floor.
Karen's arm tightens, her
strength the only thing keeping
his body upright. "Wake up,"
she whispers, her voice
a soft caress. "Almost there."

Yet Plankton's only response
is a snort, his head rolling
back. Karen looks to the nurse.

"It's okay," the nurse whispers,
her smile warm. "Let's get him
to your car. He'll sleep it off."

They shuffle towards the
exit, Plankton's snores a soft
accompaniment to their quiet
steps. Karen's arms are tight
around his waist, her strength
the only thing keeping him from
sliding to the floor. His head
rolls back, mouth open, a soft
snore escaping him.

"Wake up, Plankton,"
Karen whispers, her voice
a gentle plea. "We're almost at
the car." The nurse holds the
door open for them.

Plankton's eyelid flaps
weakly, his mouth dropping
open with a snore. "Caw?"
he mumbles, his gaze unfocused.

"Almost, sweetie," Karen says, her
voice a blend of humor and
determination. She shifts his weight
slightly, her arm still supporting
his waist. "Just a few more
steps."

But Plankton's body is a
deadweight, his snores a
testament to his deep slumber.
His head tips back, mouth
open wide, and Karen can feel
his body going slack again.
"Wake up. We're so close."

But his only response is
another snore, his chest rising
and falling with the rhythm
of his sleep. Karen laughs
softly, her arm tightening
around him. "You're so
funny when you're sleepy,"
she whispers.

The nurse opens the
door to the car, but Plankton remains
deeply asleep. His snores echo
through the empty space,
his body a ragdoll in Karen's arms.

Karen tries to
rouse him once more. "Come on,
Plankton," she whispers, her voice
a soft coax. "Wake up."

But Plankton's snores are
a sweet symphony of exhaustion.
His head tips back, his mouth
open wide, and Karen feels his
body go limp again. She sighs
with affectionate exasperation.
"You're so stubborn," she murmurs,
his weight a testament to his deep sleep.

new wisdomteethcore wisdomtoothcore vii

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES vi

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

"What, sweetie?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new wisdomteethcore wisdomtoothcore vi

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iv


(Autistic author)



The front door clicked open, and
Hanna poked her head in, expression
uncertain. "Hi! Is he ok?" she asked,
her voice barely a whisper.

"Come in," Karen called out softly, 
noticing Hanna's worried features.

Hanna stepped into the room, her
movements cautious.

Plankton rocked
slightly in his chair, a subtle
motion that Karen recognized as
his way of self-soothing. It was a
stimming behavior, something he
does now.

Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton,
her gaze questioning. Karen nodded
reassuringly. "He's okay," she
whispered. "He just needs a
moment."

Plankton sat in his chair, his
body moving gently in a rhythmic
rock. It was a new behavior, one
he'd developed since the
diagnosis. Karen had read about
stimming in her research and knew
it helped him to regulate his
sensory input.

Hanna, who had returned with a
cautious hopefulness, took a seat
across from them, curious
as she watched Plankton's
movements.

"What's he doing?" Hanna asked
softly, her voice filled with
concern.

Karen glanced at Plankton,
his body swaying gently in the chair.
"It's called stimming," she explained
calmly. "Plankton, Hanna's here. Do
you want to tell her about what's
happened with you?"

He stopped rocking, his antennae
twitching. He took a deep breath
and nodded slightly.

Hanna leaned in, her eyes full of
sympathy. "What happened, Plankton?"
she asked gently.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae still. "Plankton...
autistic," he murmured, his voice
barely audible.

Hanna's expression shifted from
confusion to concern. "What does
that mean?" she whispered.

Karen took a deep breath,
preparing to explain. "It means
his brain works differently now.
He's more sensitive to sounds,
textures, lights, everything. And
sometimes, it's just too much."

Hanna's eyes widened, her grip
on the chair tightening. 
He swallowed hard, his gaze
dropping to his trembling hands.
"Fight," he began, his voice
still a whisper. "With Krabs."

Her screen filled with
understanding, the pieces
falling into place. "The fight
gave you...this?" she asked, her
voice tentative.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching slightly. "Krabs hit
head," he murmured. "Too much."
The words were simple, but clear.

Hanna's eyes filled with tears
as she looked from Karen to
Plankton. "Oh, Plankton," she
whispered. "I had no idea."

Plankton nodded slightly, his gaze
fixed on his hands. Karen watched
his struggle to communicate, her
heart breaking for him. She knew
autism was a part of him now.

Hanna reached out tentatively,
her hand hovering over Plankton's
shoulder. "Can I...?"

But Plankton flinched, his antennae
shooting up.

"No," he murmured, his voice
strained.

Hanna's hand hovered in midair,
uncertain. She looked to Karen for
guidance. Karen's expression was
sad, but firm. "He's touch averse now,
Hanna," she said gently. "It's part of
his condition. But thanks for asking."

Hanna nodded, her eyes never leaving
Plankton's. She could see the fear
in his eye, the way he shied away
from her touch. She felt a pang of
regret for her earlier behavior.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice
filled with sincerity. "I'd never hurt you.."

Plankton's gaze remained on the
floor. "No touch," he said firmly, his
voice shaky but determined.

Hanna nodded, her hand dropping
back to her side. "Okay," she whispered,
respect in her tone. "I'll remember." 

The doorbell rang, a sharp
intrusion into the quiet of their
makeshift sanctuary. Plankton's
head snapped up, his antennae quivering
with the sudden noise. Karen
stood quickly, moving to the door.

"I'll get it," she murmured to
Plankton, her hand on the doorknob.
"Remember, it's okay."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. The door swung open to reveal
Karen's gal pal Sandy, face lit up 
with a smile. "Surprise!" she
exclaimed, her voice too loud for
Plankton's heightened hearing.

Sandy didn't notice the tension
in the room, her eyes bright with
excitement. "I brought cookies!"
she chirped, holding out a plate of
sugary goodies.

Plankton flinched at the sound of
her voice, the sudden change in
environment jolting his senses.
He felt his heart rate spike, his
body preparing for fight or flight.

Sandy saw Karen and Hanna sitting
in front of Plankton.
Sandy knew Plankton's always a
loner, so she didn't catch on, nor
does she know about what
happened to him this week.

"Hi Plankton!" she said cheerfully,
completely unaware of the
sensory minefield she'd just
stumbled into.

Plankton's antennae twitched with
discomfort, the sudden burst of
sensory input overwhelming him. He
swallowed hard, trying to
maintain composure.

"Hi, Sandy," Karen said, her
smile forced. She took the plate
of cookies, hoping to diffuse the
situation. "Thanks for the surprise."

But Sandy's gaze was on Plankton,
who sat stiffly in his chair. "Howdy," 
she said, her voice a little
too bright. "How are you?"

Plankton didn't look up, his
body tense.

"Why ain't ya talking?" Sandy
asked, her cheerfulness fading.

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
body tightening. "Sandy," he murmured,
his voice barely audible.

Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes
narrowing. "What's with you?" she
snapped, her voice sharp. "You're
acting weird!"

Plankton flinched at the harsh
tone, his antennae drooping. He
couldn't explain, not with words
that made sense to him. "No."
He says.

Sandy's smile disappeared, replaced
by a scowl. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
she demanded. "I don't get it,
why are you being so rude, even for you?"
Her voice was loud.

Plankton's eye darted around the
room, searching for an escape from
the confrontation. He felt the
familiar panic rising, his heart
beating faster.

But Sandy wasn't having it. "You
usually got a lot to say, Plankton,"
she said, her tone accusatory.
"What's wrong with you?"

Plankton's antennae flattened
against his head, his eye darting
nervously around the room. He
could feel the pressure building,
his ability to communicate slipping
away under the weight of her
frustration. "Sorry," he murmured,
his voice a mere whisper.

Sandy's frown deepened. "Sorry?
What for? You're acting like a
sulfur-brain, Plankton!"
Her words were a slap to his face,
each syllable a jab at his already
fragile state.

"Can't ya at least say hi back‽"
She demanded.

"Hi back." Plankton replied.

Sandy thought he's trying to
be rude. "You're
always so full of it, but now you
can't even bother to talk?"

Her words cut through the
tension like a knife, slicing
into the quiet sanctuary they
had built. Plankton's antennae
twitched erratically, a silent
testament to his rising anxiety.

But Sandy was
on a roll, her frustration with
his lack of response fueling
her accusations.

"You know what? Forget it," she
huffed, throwing the cookies down
right in front of Plankton.

The sharp clatter of the plate
was like a gunshot to his
overstimulated senses. He
flinched, his antennae shooting
straight up. "It's like you're not even
trying!" Sandy's voice was a
whirlwind of accusation.

Plankton felt his control slipping,
his thoughts racing. "Sandy,"
he tried again, his voice strained.
"Plankton not good now."

But Sandy's irritation had turned
to anger. "What's your problem,
Plankton? You've always been a
tiny troublemaker, but now
you can't even have a simple
conversation?"

The room grew tense, and 
Plankton started rocking
trying not to let the tears
in his eye fall.

Sandy's eyes narrowed, her
frustration with Plankton's new
behaviors growing. "What's with
the rocking?" she snapped.

Plankton's rocking grew more
pronounced, his antennae
twitching rapidly.

Sandy got even more annoyed.

Her voice grew louder.

"Stop that!" she barked, startling
Plankton more. He stopped rocking  
but he starts shaking.

Sandy's fury was a storm, her 
words stinging like hailstones. "Why
are you acting so crazy?" she
demanded, her voice laced with
disgust.

Plankton's antennae drooped, his
body trembling. The room was too
loud, too bright, too much.

Sandy's tone grew sharper, her
frustration palpable. "What's gotten
into you, Plankton?" she snapped.
"You're acting like you're not even
here!" Plankton's eye darted to Karen,
his silent plea for help evident.
Karen took a deep breath,
stepping into the fray. "Sandy, I
need to tell you something," Karen 
began, her voice steady 
despite the storm of emotions 
swirling within her. "There's
something we need you to know."

Sandy's scowl didn't fade. "What
could possibly be more important
than a simple hello?" she spat out.

Karen took a deep breath, her
hands clenched into fists at her side.
"It's not simple, Sandy," she began, her
voice tight. "Plankton had an accident.
A really bad one."

Sandy's expression morphed from
anger to confusion. "What do you mean,
an accident?" she asked, her voice
softening slightly.

Karen's screen was a mix of
sadness and determination. "He
got into a fight with Mr. Krabs,"
she said, her voice measured. "And
he hit his head. Hard.
It... changed him. Plankton's been
diagnosed with autism,
Sandy," she said gently.

Sandy's expression went from
confusion to shock. "What?" she
whispered, her anger forgotten.

Sandy looked at Plankton,
his antennae drooping, his body
shaking.

Her eyes filled with horror as
she took in the scene before her.
"Oh my stars," she breathed, her
hands reaching out.

But he shrank away from her.
"No touch," Plankton murmured, his
body curling inward, antennae 
quivered with anxiety.

Her heart sank. "Oh, Plankton,"
she murmured, her voice filled
with regret.

new autism in the plankton family gal pals iv

JUST A TOUCH vii
(Autistic author)


The room is thick with
unspoken words as Sandy
slowly approaches the bed,
her movements calculated to
avoid overstimulating Plankton.
Her eyes are full of compassion,
but also fear of the unknown.

"Hi, Plankton," she says softly,
extending her hand with a gentle wave.
He flinches, his antennae quivering.
"Remember me?" Plankton's
brain processes her words, but
his response is delayed. He nods,
his movements mechanical.

Sandy sits on the edge
of the bed, her eyes never
leaving his. "How are you
feeling?" she asks, her voice
carefully modulated to avoid
causing him discomfort.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye darting to the side.
He doesn't look at her directly,
his gaze lingering on a spot
on the wall. "Fine," he says,
his voice devoid of inflection.

Sandy nods, her eyes
searching his for any sign
of the friend she knew. "It's
good to see you, Plankton."
Her words hang in the air,
their meaning lost in the
labyrinth of his new reality.

Karen watches them, her heart
in her throat. She can see
the effort Plankton is making
to engage with Sandy, the way
his antennae twitch with every
word spoken. It's a dance,
a delicate balance between
his need for solace and
his desire for connection.

Sandy's hand hovers
near his, her eyes questioning.
"Can I?" she asks, her voice
barely a whisper. Plankton's
gaze shifts to hers, his
expression unreadable.

Karen nods, giving her
permission. "Gently," she says,
a soft reminder. Sandy nods,
her hand inching closer to
his. Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly, his body
stiffening as her fingertips
brush against his.
But the moment their skin
makes contact, something
snaps within him. He jolts upright,
his antennae flailing as his eye
widen in panic.

"Too much," he cries out, his
voice a mix of fear and anger.
"Too much!" The room seems to
shrink around him, the walls
closing in with every beat of
his racing heart.

Sandy's eyes widen in shock,
her hand retreating quickly. "Plankton,"
she says, her voice calm. "It's okay."

But Plankton's not listening, his
body shaking with the force
of his emotions. "No!" he yells,
his voice echoing through the room.
"No touch!"

Sandy's face falls, her eyes
brimming with confusion and
hurt. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice
shaking. "I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's in the throes
of a full-blown meltdown. His
tiny fists clench. "No touch!"
he repeats, his voice rising.

Karen's heart breaks
seeing the fear in Sandy's eyes,
but she understands the
importance of respecting
Plankton's boundaries. "We're
sorry, Plank..."

But Plankton's anger
interrupts her, his voice
sharp and intense. "No! No sorry!
Sandy touch no good!" His words
are a jumble of pain and
frustration, a stark contrast
to the controlled monotone
he'd used earlier.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears,
her hand retreating to her lap.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
her voice cracking. "I didn't
know." Karen nods, her grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.

"It's okay," she says to both
of them, her voice steady.
"We're just figuring this out."
Plankton's chest heaves with
breaths. "No touch," he
mutters, his voice fading.

Sandy nods, her eyes
still on Plankton. "I'm
sorry," she repeats, her voice
softer. "I'll..."

But Plankton's outburst
continues, his voice rising. "No touch!"
The room vibrates with his
distress, the air thick with
his panic. Karen's heart races,
her mind racing to find a way
to soothe him. She knows he's
overwhelmed, that his new
hypersensitivity to touch has
been violated.

Sandy's eyes widen, her
hands hovering awkwardly in
the space between them. She
can see the turmoil in his
face, the anguish in his voice.
"I didn't mean to..." she starts,
but her words are swallowed
by his distress.

"Plankton, it's okay,"
she says, her voice barely
above a whisper. But it's too
late. The dam has broken,
and his emotions flood the
room like a storm.

His tiny body trembles with
rage, his antennae flailing in
every direction. "No touch!"
he screams again, the force
of his voice surprising even
Sandy. She jumps back,
hands raised in a gesture
of surrender.

Karen's eyes are on Plankton,
a silent apology in her gaze.
"It's okay," she says to him,
her voice soothing. "We'll
make sure that doesn't
happen again." Plankton's
eye darts around the room,
his breathing erratic. "No touch,"
he whispers, his voice
broken.

Sandy backs away, her eyes
swimming with unshed tears.
"I didn't know," she says,
her voice thick. "I'm so sorry."

The room echoes with Plankton's
sobs, his body quaking in Karen's
arms. Karen's heart
aches for him, her eyes never leaving
his face.

"No touch," he whispers, his voice
broken. Karen nods, her eyes brimming
with tears. "I know," she says, her voice
gentle. "It's okay. We'll figure this out."

Plankton's antennae stop flailing,
his body still trembling as the storm
of his emotions begin to subside. He
looks up at Karen, his gaze searching
for comfort. She wipes a tear from her
face with her free hand. "It's okay,"
she repeats. "You're okay."

Sandy's eyes are red, her
shoulders slumped. "I didn't know,"
she says again, her voice shaking.
"I just wanted to help."

Karen nods, her own eyes
wet with empathy. "I know," she says.
"It's a lot to take in."

The three of them sit
in the quiet room, the only
sound Plankton's muffled sobs.
Sandy's eyes dart around,
not knowing what to do with
herself. Karen squeezes
his hand gently, her gaze
never leaving his. "We're
here for you," she whispers.

Slowly, Plankton's crying
subsides, his body still
shaking. Karen can feel the
tension in him, like a coiled
spring ready to snap again.
Sandy's hand twitches, as if
she wants to reach out, but
she stops herself, remembering
his outburst. "I'm sorry,"
she says again, her voice
small.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "It's not
your fault," she says to
Sandy, her voice gentle.
"We're all just trying to
navigate this new... reality."
Sandy sniffs, nodding.

"I just want to be here
for you guys," she says, her
voice shaky. Plankton's
sobs quiet, his body
slumping in exhaustion.

Karen nods, her eyes
meeting Sandy's. "We know,
and we appreciate it," she
says, her voice tight. "But we
have to be careful with
his sensory needs."

Sandy nods, her
face a mask of sorrow. "I'll
learn," she whispers. "What do
you need from me, Plan..."

But Plankton's already
slipping away, his eyelid
drooping as sleep beckons.
Karen's grip on his hand
doesn't loosen as she watches
his breathing even out. The
tension in the room slowly
eases as his body relaxes,
his sobs giving way to quiet
snuffles.

Sandy's eyes are on him,
her heart heavy with guilt.
"I'll go," she says, her voice
barely above a whisper. Karen
nods, her gaze still on Plankton.
"Thank you," she murmurs. "Call
me if you need anything."

Sandy nods, her eyes
lingering on the two of them
before she stands, her legs shaky.
She crosses the room, the weight
of her mistake dragging her
down. As she reaches the door,
she glances back one last time.
Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly in his sleep, and she
can't help but feel a pang
of sadness.

Karen's eyes follow her,
filled with a mix of
gratitude and sorrow.
"Thank you," she whispers
again as Sandy exits,
closing the door behind her.
The click echoes through
the quiet space, a stark
reminder of the distance
that's grown between
them all.

Plankton's grip on her
hand tightens slightly in his
sleep, as if sensing the
shift in the room's energy.
Karen brings her other hand
to cover his, sandwiching
it between hers. Her eyes
well with tears as she
whispers, "It's okay, Plankton.
You're okay."

The room is bathed in silence
once again, the only sound
being Plankton's gentle
snores. Karen's mind is racing,
thinking of all the
adjustments they'll need to
make, the education she'll
have to provide to those
who know and love him. But
for now, she focuses on the
warmth of his hand in hers,
his head buried in her shoulder.

Her eyes drift to the clock,
the hands moving in a slow,
steady march forward. It's time
for her to start dinner,
to bring some semblance of
normalcy back into their lives.
Gently, she shifts Plankton to
his side, making sure he's
comfortable before rising
from the bed.

The kitchen is a minefield
of potential triggers: the
hum of the fridge, the clink
of pans, the smell of
cooking food. She moves
carefully, her eyes scanning
the room for anything that
might overstimulate him.

The recipe she's chosen is
simple, something they both
enjoy. She starts the prep,
chopping vegetables with a
precision that Plankton would
appreciate, her movements
methodical and calming.

The aroma of cooking food
fills the air, a comforting
reminder of their shared life.
Karen's mind is a whirlwind
of thoughts, planning how
to help Plankton navigate this
new world. She wipes her
hands on a towel.
As she hears Plankton's tentative
steps on the stairs, she takes a
deep breath. His descent is
slow, each step measured
with caution.

When he enters the kitchen,
his gaze darts around the room,
his antennae twitching with
each new sound. Karen's heart
squeezes. She's used to his
energy, his boundless enthusiasm.
This cautious creature is still
his shell-shocked self.

"Hungry?" she asks, her voice
as soft as the evening light.
Plankton nods.

The meal is a simple one,
a familiar comfort in a world
that's become so alien. Karen
places the plate before him,
the steaming food a visual
symphony of their shared past.

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his gaze fixating on the plate.
"Food," he says, his voice
still monotone. Karen nods,
aching for the
passionate foodie she knew.

"Do you need anything
else?" she asks, her voice
soft. He shakes his head.

The meal is eaten in
silence, each bite a victory. Karen wants
to say something, anything,
but she knows he needs
space, time to process the
whirlwind of emotions.

new just a touch neurodisability vii

PLUSH ONE vi
(By NeuroFabulous)

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

Just then, Karen comes in
to check on him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," he says, his voice urgent.

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

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

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

But then she accidentally
touches him, brushing his arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new plush one worldcore vi

JUST A TOUCH iv
(Autistic author)


The next day, Karen woke up
to a meticulously organized
kitchen. Plankton was already
up, his movements sharp and
focused as he arranged the
cutlery in the drawer. "Good
morning, Plankton," she said,
her voice tentative.

He looked up, his expression
neutral. "Good morning, Karen,"
he replied, his voice monotone.
Her heart squeezed. This was
not the man who used to greet
her with a cheeky smile and a sigh 
every morning. But she pushed the
sorrow aside and focused on
the task at hand: making
breakfast.

As she began to prep the
meal, Plankton hovered nearby,
his antennae twitching.

"Would you like to help me?"
she asked, holding out a spatula.
He took it with both hands,
his movements mechanical as he
followed her instructions to the
letter. The sizzle of the
chum on the pan seemed to
calm him, his gaze flicking
between her face and the food.

Plankton's meticulousness
extended to their breakfast.
Every ingredient measured to
the exact milliliter, every
step in the recipe followed
without deviation. Karen
watched him, a mix of amazement
and sadness swirling inside her.

As they sat down to eat,
Karen noticed his eye darting
between his plate and the clock.
"Is something wrong?" she
asked, trying to keep her voice
light. Plankton's gaze snapped
to hers, his antennae still. "Must eat at 7:00,"
he said, his voice tight. "It's okay,
we're a little late," she said,
trying to soothe him. "But we're
together, and that's what
matters."

Plankton took a bite of
his perfectly arranged breakfast,
his eye not leaving the clock.
"Seven minutes, thirty-four seconds
until 7:00," he murmured. Karen's
throat tightened, but she forced
a smile. "We'll be done before
then," she assured him.

The meal was finished in
silence, Plankton's precision
contrasting with Karen's
clumsy attempts to match his rhythm.
As they cleared the table,
his movements were a dance
of order and control, while
hers were stilted, filled with
nervous glances.

In the living room, Plankton
moved to his favorite chair,
his eye immediately drawn to
the bookshelf. His gaze
flitted over the books. Karen
watched, her heart heavy with
the weight of their new reality.

The doctor had suggested
that engaging in familiar activities
could help with the transition.
Hoping to ease the tension, she
offered, "Would you like a work
book?"

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. Karen retrieved one from
his collection, handing it to
him with care. He took it in his
hands. It was clear that
his intellect had not been
diminished, but rather had been
reshaped by his condition.

Moments later, Hanna
came in. She knows
Karen's married, but
she doesn't know any
thing else about Plankton.

Hanna's smile was wide
and welcoming as she
saw the two of them. "Hi,
I'm Karen's friend Hanna,"
she said, extending a hand.
Plankton looked at it and
then went back to his book.

Karen stepped in, her voice
soft. "Plankton, this is
Hanna," she said, gesturing
between them. "Hanna, this
is my husband, Plankton."
Hanna's smile faltered
slightly, noticing the
distance in Plankton's gaze.

"Hi, Plankton," Hanna said,
her tone gentle. "It's nice
to meet you." Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze shifting
to her briefly before returning
to the book.

Karen watched the
interaction, her heart racing.
How would Hanna react to him?
Will Plankton like her? Would she
still want to be friends with
her?

Hanna looked from Karen
to Plankton and back, her smile
slightly puzzled. "Is he okay?"
she asked quietly. Karen nodded.
"He's just focused" she said, her voice
hitching. "I'll go fix us up some
chumbalaya."

After Karen left, Hanna sat
right up next to Plankton.

"Hi, Plankton," she said again.
He glanced at her, then back
at his book. She waited, leaning
forward slightly.

Finally, he spoke without looking up.
"Hello, Hanna. Karen's friend. Good."
It was a statement, not
a question or a greeting. Her curiosity
was piqued by this odd behavior.

Hanna watched as Plankton
continued to study the book, his
tiny hands flipping pages with a
quickness she hadn't seen before.
He was like a different creature,
his movements calculated. She knew
something was off, but she wasn't sure
what. So she decides to try getting him
to interact.

"What are you reading?"
she asked, leaning closer.
Plankton's antennae shot up.
"It's a book," he replied,
his voice flat.

Hanna laughed, mistaking
his bluntness for shyness.
"I know that," she said, her tone
playful as she leaned closer.
"But what's it about?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his eye narrowing
slightly. "It's about... puzzles?"

Hanna's eyes widened. "Puzzles?"
she repeated, leaning in even closer.
Her proximity was making him uncomfortable,
his body stiffening like a board.
"What kind of puzzles?"

Plankton's gaze darted to her
before returning to the book.
"Word's," he said, his voice
sharp as he focused on the page.
The way he said it was a clear
message to back off, but Hanna
was oblivious to the cues.

"Oh, words puzzles!" she exclaimed,
clapping her hands together.
"I love those! Can I see?"
Without waiting for an answer,
she reached for the book, brushing
against his hand. Plankton
flinched, his antennae drooping.

Hanna's cheerfulness didn't wane
as she flipped through the pages,
exclaiming over the puzzles.
"This looks like FUN!" she said, 
not taking note of how Plankton's
body was taut with tension.

"It's a good book," Plankton said,
his voice devoid of emotion.
He was trying to be polite, but
the sensory overload was
building inside him. The way
she talked, the way she moved,
the sound of her voice—it was
all too much.

Hanna, still beaming,
turned the page and pointed at
a particularly complex puzzle.
"Look at this one! Can you do it?"
she challenged, her finger
tapping the page impatiently.
Plankton's eye 
darted to the puzzle,
his mind racing. 
He didn't want to disappoint
but the pressure
was too intense. 
He can't think!

"Sure," he stuttered,
his voice small. 
Hanna clapped her hands, 
excitedly. "Great! Let's see
how fast you can solve it!"

Plankton felt his heart
racing, his antennae drooping.
The pressure to perform
was suffocating him.
He looked at the puzzle,
his mind racing through possible
word combinations, his eye
darting from letter to letter, but
Hanna interrupts him again.

"Come on, Plankton! I bet
you're really good at these!"
Her excitement was palpable,
but Plankton could only feel
his chest tightening. He wanted
to scream, to tell her to stop,
but the words remained trapped
behind the wall of his new
social ineptitude.

He took the book, his
hands shaking slightly as
his eye scanned the puzzle.
The letters swam before him,
his mind racing to keep up with
the barrage of sensory input.

"Don't be shy," she said,
nudging him. "You can do it!"

Plankton felt the weight of
Hanna's enthusiasm like an
anvil on his shoulders. His
grip on the book tightened.
He had always been good at
word puzzles, but now they
felt like a labyrinth with no
exit. The room spun around
him, the pressure to perform
building like a storm in
his chest.

But Hanna's energy
was like a tsunami, unstoppable.
"You know, I used to be really
bad at these," she said,
sitting closer, her knees
touching his. "But I got so much
better with practice!"

Plankton felt his skin
crawl, the need to escape
intensifying. He was trapped
in a conversation he hadn't
asked for, with a person who
was oblivious to his plight.
He took a deep breath,
his eye scanning the room
for a way out.

"How about we try one
together?" Hanna suggested,
her voice bubbly. Plankton's
heart hammered in his chest.

Hanna didn't seem to notice
his distress, her screen shining
with excitement. "It'll be
fun! Just tell me the letters
you see, and I'll guess the words!"

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his shoulders tense. He
wanted to scream, to tell
her to leave him alone. But
his newfound condition made
the words catch in his throat.

"Fine," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. Hanna's
screen lit up, and she leaned in
even closer. "Great!" she exclaimed.
"I'll start with 'C'. What
do you see?"

Plankton's gaze remained
steadfast on the book, his
eye darting from letter to letter.
He can't see anything with all...

Hanna's voice cut through
his thoughts like a knife,
sharp and demanding. "C'mon,
Plankton, don't be shy! Tell me
what you see!" Her hand reached
out, grabbing his arm. The sudden
touch sent a jolt through him.

Plankton flinched, his
body reacting before his mind
could form a coherent thought.
His antennae shot up, and he
pulled away, knocking over
the book in the process. The
sound echoed in the room like
thunder.

Hanna's smile faltered,
confusion clouding her features.
"What's wrong?" she asked,
genuinely concerned as she
cups his head; and that's it.

The dam bursts. Plankton's
body goes rigid, his
eye wide with pain. He can't
take it anymore—the touch,
the noise, the pressure, his hand
flailing to shove her away.

"STOP!" he screams, his
voice cracking.

Hanna's hand retreats as if burned.
Her smile fades, replaced by a
look of shock and concern. "What
happened?" she asks, turning him
towards her with her hands on his
shoulders. Which is when he stops
moving, unblinking as Karen
comes back in.

Karen sets the chumbalaya aside
as she notices his unresponsiveness.

"Plankton?" she calls out,
concern etching her voice.
Hanna turns to her, her eyes wide.
"I don't think he's okay," she says,
her hand hovering over his shoulder.

Karen's heart drops as she
rushes over, her eyes scanning
his frozen form. "It's okay,"
she murmurs, gently guiding
Hanna away. "Let me handle this."

new just a touch hannacore iv

NEW REALITY vii
(Autistic author)

She sleeps at her bed
next to his. The house is quiet,
except for the soft snores
coming from Plankton.

But both of their 
eyes snap open
at the sound of 
the doorbell.

Plankton's body tenses,
his hand shooting up to 
cover his head. Karen
moves quickly, her heart 
racing. She knows that 
sudden sounds can be
overwhelming for him.
"It's okay," she murmurs,
placing her hand over 
his. "Door," he says, his voice
still groggy from sleep.

Her eyes dart to the 
clock. It's early, much 
earlier than anyone would 
usually visit. "I'll go 
see who it is," she says, 
trying to keep her voice 
steady. "You stay here."

Plankton nods, his hand
dropping from his head
to clutch at the blanket.
"Stay," he whispers, his
voice tight with anxiety.

Karen's eyes fill with
concern. "I'll be right
back," she promises, her
voice soft. "Just stay here."

Plankton nods, his grip
on the blanket tightening.
"Stay," he repeats, his voice
less than a whisper.

Karen nods, her heart racing.
"I will," she whispers. "Just rest."

As she opens the door, she's
met with the cheerful face of
Hanna, her book club friend.
"Hey Karen, I hope I'm not too early!"
Hanna says, a word book in hand.

Karen's eyes widen, her heart
racing. "No, not at all," she says,
forcing a smile. "Come in."

Hanna steps into the house,
her eyes bright with excitement.
But as she sees Karen's 
expression, her smile falters.
"Is everything okay?" she asks,
concern etched on her face.

Karen nods, as Plankton
comes into the room, his gaze
fixed on the spinning fan.
"This is Plankton,"
Karen introduces, her voice
calm.

Hanna smiles. "Hi Plankton,"
she says, her voice too bright.

He nods, his gaze still
locked on the fan. "Fan spin,"
he murmurs.

Hanna's eyes widen, unsure
how to respond. Karen
quickly interjects. "Why
don't we take a look at the
work puzzle book.."

Plankton's gaze shifts, his
interest piqued by the
mention of books.

"Puzzles," he repeats,
his voice a bit clearer.

Hanna's smile relaxes,
seeing his interest. "Yes,
puzzles," she says, holding
up the book. "They're like
fun little brain teasers."

Plankton nods, his hand
reaching out to touch the
book. Karen watches, her
heart racing. Will this
be another trigger?

But Plankton's gaze locks onto
the puzzle book, his eye
lighting up with curiosity.

Karen's heart skips a beat.
This could be good for him,
a way to focus his
whirling thoughts.

Hanna opens the book,
showing him a simple word search.
"See if you can find
the hidden words, Plankton,"
she says, her voice gentle.

His gaze scans the page,
his hand moving in time
with his eye. "Words," he murmurs,
his voice filled with excitement.

Hanna nods, her smile growing.
"That's right," she says, her
tone encouraging. "See if
you can find them all."

Plankton nods, his eye
quickly moving over the
page. Karen watches,
her heart swelling with hope.
This might be it, she thinks,
a new way to connect.

Hanna points to a word,
her voice soothing. "What's this?"

Plankton's hand moves over
the letters, tracing them.
"F-A-N," he reads, his
tone monotone. "Fan," he says,
his gaze flicking up to the
whirring object above.

Hanna laughs, misunderstanding.
"No, Plankton, not fan," she says,
pointing to the puzzle. "Find
the words that are hidden."

But Plankton's gaze remains on
the spinning blades. "Fan," he repeats,
his voice taking on a firm tone.

Hanna's smile falters, not
comprehending his 
meaning. "No, Plankton,"
she says, her voice still cheerful.
"Look at the puzzle."

But Plankton's gaze
doesn't waver from the fan.
"Fan," he says, his tone
firm, almost defensive.

Hanna's smile falters,
her cheerfulness waning.
"Plankton," she says gently,
"it's a puzzle, not about
the fan."

But Plankton's gaze remains
fixed on the fan, his
body tensing. "Fan," he repeats,
his voice firm, almost
defensive.

Hanna's smile falters,
uncertain of his meaning.
"It's just a puzzle, Plankton,"
she says gently, her voice
filled with misunderstanding.

But Plankton's tone sharpens.
"Fan," he insists, his voice
raised, his body tense.
"Fan spin, make quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen with
surprise, her smile slipping
away. "It's not about the
fan, Plankton," she says,
her voice still kind but
concerned. "It's about..."

But Plankton's voice cuts
through the air, his tone
sharp. "Fan spin," he says,
his hand moving in
erratic patterns. "Fan make
quiet. Fan important."

Hanna's eyes widen,
taking a step back. "I didn't
mean..." she starts, but
Plankton's agitation is
growing.

"Fan important," he repeats,
his voice echoing in the quiet
room. Karen's heart races as
she tries to defuse the
situation.

"Hanna, it's okay," she says,
her voice calm but firm.
"The fan is special to Plankton.
It helps him feel calm."

But Hanna's confusion
only grows. "It's just a fan,
right?" she asks, her voice
pitching with uncertainty.

Plankton's voice rises, his
hands flailing. "No!" he yells.
"Fan special! Make quiet!
Must spin!"

Hanna's eyes widen with shock,
her cheerful demeanor evaporating.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know,"
she stammers, taking a step back.

Plankton's voice echoes,
his frustration palpable.
"Fan special!" he yells,
his hands slashing the air.

Hanna's smile has disappeared,
replaced by a look of fear.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
backing away slowly.

Karen's eyes are wide
with worry. She steps
between Hanna and Plankton,
trying to shield her friend
from his distress. "It's okay,
Hanna," she says, her voice
calm but firm. "Let's just
give him some space."

Hanna nods, her eyes
filled with apology.
"I didn't mean to upset him,"
she murmurs, setting the
puzzle book down on the
coffee table.

Karen nods, her gaze
on Plankton. "It's okay,"
she says softly. "He's just
overwhelmed."

Plankton's hands flap like
wings against his sides.
This is stimming, she knows,
his way of coping with
the sensory onslaught.

He rocks back and forth,
his gaze still on the fan.
Karen's heart aches as she
watches him, his body a
whirlwind of energy.

"Fan spin," he murmurs,
his hands fluttering like
butterfly wings. "Spin, spin."

Karen's eyes follow
his erratic movements,
her heart racing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
calm and soothing. "Look at me."
He doesn't react, his gaze
still glued to the fan.

Karen approaches him,
moving slowly to avoid startling
his heightened senses. "Plankton,"
she repeats, her tone steady.

He doesn't react, his eye
still on the fan, his body
a flurry of movement.
Her heart racing, Karen tries again.
"The fan spins," she says, mimicking
his rhythmic speech.

Plankton's gaze flicks to her,
his body still. For a moment,
his movements cease.
"Spin," he whispers, his eye
searching hers.

Karen nods, understanding
his need for the fan's rhythmic
whirl. "It's okay," she says,
her voice a gentle melody.
"The fan will spin."

Plankton's gaze shifts
from the fan to the digital clock
on the mantle. His eye widens
as he sees the seconds tick by,
restarting each minute.
The numbers, stark and
precise, seem to call to him,
a silent symphony of order
in a world gone haywire.

Hanna looks confused, for
Plankton's gaze shifts to the
digital clock, the seconds
ticking away in a silent
symphony. His hands stop
their erratic movements, his
body stilling as he watches
the precise dance of the
numbers.

Karen sees his fascination,
the way his eye tracks
each second as it passes.
"It's okay," she says softly.
"The clock will keep going."

But Plankton's gaze doesn't
shift. His body is still,
his mind lost in the rhythm
of the ticking digits.

Karen watches, her heart
racing. She's read about
how some with autism
find comfort in patterns,
how the predictability
of something as simple
as a digital clock
can be a lifeline in a
world that's otherwise
so chaotic.

Hanna, however, 
doesn't understand.
Her eyes go to Plankton, her
confusion growing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
still too bright, "it's just a clock."

His eye snaps to her, his
body rigid with tension. "Clock
important," he murmurs, his voice
a mix of anger and fear. "Numbers
change."

Hanna's smile fades, her eyes
widening with confusion. "It's
just a clock, Plankton," she says,
trying to placate him. But her
words only serve to stir his
distress further.

Plankton's eye darts from the
clock to Hanna, his breath
coming in quick bursts. "No,"
he whispers, his voice tight.
"Clock important. Numbers change."

Hanna's smile is gone, her
expression one of confusion.
"It's just a way to tell time,"
she says, her voice shaking.
But Plankton's agitation is
building, a storm gathering
behind his eye.

"No," he whispers, his hand
trembling as it points to
the clock. "Numbers change,
make brain quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen, her
understanding still elusive.
"But Plankton," she starts,
"it's just a way to keep track
of time."

But Plankton's gaze is
intense, his voice urgent.
"No, no, no," he says, shaking
his head. "Numbers change,
make brain quiet."

Hanna's voice rises, her
confusion thick. "But it's
just a clock, Plankton,"
she repeats, her words
falling on deaf antennae.

Plankton's body is tight
as a spring, his gaze
locked on the digital
dance. "No," he whispers,
his voice strained. "Numbers
make quiet, chronologically."

Hanna's eyes dart between
Plankton and Karen, her
confusion thick. 

new new reality hannacore vii

TRUTH AND NAIL iv

His eye flickered open again,
his gaze unfocused. "Wha?"
he mumbled, his voice
slurred. "Home?"

Karen nodded, her smile
a beacon in the dark.
"Almost," she said, her voice
like a gentle breeze.

Plankton's eyelid fluttered,
his mind a foggy haze.
"Home...?" he slurred, his voice
barely a whisper.

"Almost, darling," Karen
reassured him, her voice
soothing as the car's gentle
purr. His eye rolled back,
lid heavy with sleep.

The nurse had warned
her about this, the anesthesia
leaving him groggy and
disoriented. But the sight
of him, drooling and
slumped over, was still
a bit foreign.

"Home, soon," Karen
soothed, her voice a
whisper in the quiet
car. "Just stay awake."

But Plankton's eye
closed again, his head
lolling back. His snores
were the only sound
in the car, a steady
counterpoint to the
hum of the engine.

"What's your favorite
color, Plankton?" she
asked, trying to keep
his thoughts afloat.
His eye blinked slowly,
his gaze unfocused.
"Buh...blu?" he murmured,
his voice a faint echo.

Karen's smile grew
wider, full
of love and amusement.
"Good boy," she whispered,
patting his hand. "Stay with me."

But Plankton's eyelid
were heavy, his mind
a swirl of confusion
and exhaustion. His
head fell back again,
his snores a rhythmic
accompaniment to the
hum of the car.

"Stay with me, love,"
Karen coaxed, her voice
a soft lullaby in the
silence of the night.
His chest rose and fell
with each snore, his
body relaxed.

Plankton's head jerked
upwards with a snort,
his eye wide for a moment
before the sleep
dragged it shut again.
"Home?" he murmured, his
voice thick with sleep.

Karen's eyes never left
the road ahead, her
grip tight on the steering
wheel. "Almost, darling,"
she said, her voice a
comforting purr. "Just stay
with me a bit longer."

But Plankton's body had
other plans. With a
snort, he slumped over
again, his head bouncing
on the headrest like a rag
doll's. Karen knew he
was okay. Just...out of it.

"Plankton, stay awake,"
she urged, her voice a soft
caress in the darkness.
But his snores grew
louder, his breathing deep
and even.

"Wha...?" Plankton's
head jerked up, his eye
widening in surprise. "Where
am I?"

Karen glanced in the
rearview mirror, her smile
tight. "You're in the car,
sweetie. We're almost home."
Her voice was a soft
reminder of reality,
but his mind was still
swimming in a sea of
anesthesia.

"Home?" Plankton slurred,
his voice a faint echo.
His head lolled to the side,
his eye trying to focus
on the passing streetlights.

"Almost," Karen said, her
voice a soft whisper.
"Just stay with me."

But Plankton's eye
closed again, his snores
filling the car. Karen
sighed, her grip tightening
on the steering wheel.
This was going to be a
long night..

new truth and nail tripcore iv

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vii
(Autistic author)

Gently, she helped 
Plankton to his feet. He 
swayed slightly, his legs 
weak from the seizure. 
"Let's go to your room,"
she suggested, her 
arm around his waist.

They moved slowly, 
his steps cautious. Karen 
could feel his tension 
easing as they left 
the chaos of the living 
room behind. Plankton 
was still silent, 
twitching slightly with 
every new sound they 
encountered.

In the quiet of 
his bedroom, Karen 
helped him sit on the bed. 
"Rest," she said softly. 
"You're safe here."

Plankton nodded, 
his antennae drooping. 
"Safe," he mumbled.

Karen felt a 
wave of protectiveness 
wash over her as she 
tucked him into bed, 
his small frame looking 
even more vulnerable 
than ever. She 
knew she had to speak 
to Chip, to explain 
everything.

With a heavy heart, 
she made her way to 
his room. The door was 
ajar, and she could see 
his form huddled 
on his bed, tears 
staining his screen. 
He looked up as she 
entered, his eyes red 
from crying.

"Chip," she began, her 
voice gentle. "I need to 
talk to you about 
Dad."

Chip sniffled, 
wiping his screen with the 
back of his hand. "What's 
wrong with him?" he 
asked, his voice 
hoarse with emotion.

Karen sat on the 
edge of his bed, 
taking a deep 
breath. "Dad's had 
a bit of an accident, 
sweetie," she began. 
"He's okay, but he's 
going through 
something called 
autism. He'll have it
for the rest of his
life, yet we're still
finding ways to
manage.."

Chip's eyes widened 
in shock, and he 
swiped at his 
tears. "What's 
autism?"

Karen took a 
deep breath, 
preparing to explain. 
"It's like a different 
kind of brain wiring, 
Chip. Sometimes, 
it makes things 
that seem simple 
to us really hard 
for Dad to understand 
or do."

Chip's brow furrowed 
in confusion. "Does 
that mean he won't be 
the same?"

"No, it doesn't mean 
he won't be the same 
person," she said 
gently. "But it does mean 
that we'll have to 
make some changes 
to help him feel 
comfortable and safe. 
Dad will need extra patience, 
and we'll have to learn 
new ways to communicate.
He still has memories of his
life before, though."

Chip looked at 
his mother with 
uncertainty. "How 
can we help him?"

Karen took his hand 
in hers, feeling the 
warmth of his small 
fingers. "Well, Chip, 
we have to be very 
understanding," she 
explained. "Dad might 
react differently to 
things now, like 
noises or touch."

Chip nodded, his 
expression earnest. 
"So I can't hug him 
like that anymore?"

"Not like you did 
just now," she said. 
"But we'll find ways to 
show love without 
overwhelming him."

Chip nodded with 
newfound determination. 
"Okay," he said, his voice 
small. "I'll try."

Karen felt a 
surge of pride. Despite 
his young age, Chip 
was showing a maturity 
beyond his years. "That's 
my brave boy," she said, 
squeezing his hand. "Good
night.."

new shelf improvement neurodivergentcore vii

NEW REALITY iv
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new new reality Karen / Sheldon J. Plankton iv

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS vii
(By NeuroFabulous)


"Chip," he began, his voice
cracking. "I have something
important to tell you."

Chip leaned forward,
his heart racing. "What is it,
Dad?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, his eyes
meeting his son's with a
meld of love and apprehension.
"I'm autistic," he said, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Chip thought back to what his mom
had told him about his father's
unique way of being born, and
how it had affected his brain.

He remembered the awe in
his mother's voice as she recounted
the story of Plankton's
birth, the way she'd
spoken with a mix of wonder
and sorrow. It was a lot to take in,
but it made him feel closer to
his father somehow.

"Dad?" Chip's voice
was tentative, his hand
still hovering over
his father's arm. "What's a...
coffin birth?"

Plankton's antennae
stilled, his eye flicking
to Karen's. She gave a
tiny nod, understanding
the need for honesty.

"It's a rare event, Chip,"
Plankton began, his voice
steadier now. "It's when a
baby is born after their
mother has... passed away."

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, trying to make
sense of the words. "But how?"

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
flattening slightly. "The
doctors had to be... quick,"
he said, his voice filled
with awe. "They knew I was
still alive, and they did
everything they could to get me
out."

Chip's eyes grew even
wider, his imagination
running wild. "But Dad,
how does that even work?"
he whispered, his voice filled
with wonder and horror.

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's... it's a
difficult thing to explain,
Chip," he said, his voice
strained. "But basically,
when a mom's body isn't
alive anymore, but the baby's
heart is still beating, the
doctors do an emergency
procedure to get the baby out."

Chip's eyes were like
saucers, his mind racing.
"But how is that possible?"
he whispered, his voice
barely audible.

Plankton sighed, his
antennas drooping slightly.
"The doctors try to induce labor
in mum's body after she...
after she's gone," he said,
his voice strained with the
difficulty of the memory.
"It was a delicate process,
and not always successful. In
my birth, there was a moment
where my brain didn't get enough
oxygen," he murmured. "When I
was still inside mum."

Chip's unsure
how to react. "And
how'd it give you autism?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, his gaze
dropping to the bed. "Well,
it's something that
can happen when a baby's brain
doesn't get enough oxygen
during birth, Chip," he said,
his voice quiet. "It's like
a... hypoxic-ischemic event.
It can lead to... complications.
For me, it was autism."

Chip nodded, his hand
still hovering over his
father's arm. "But how did
your mum... die?" he asked, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennae
drooped further, his gaze
going distant. "It was an
accident," he murmured. "Her
heart... it just stopped.
Bled out, the doctors said."

Chip's hand hovered
over his dad's arm,
his mind racing with the
implications. "But why?"

Plankton took a moment,
his antennae flicking slightly.
"It's complicated, Chip.
My mum... she had a rarity.
Her heart was
weak, and it couldn't handle
the stress. It went undiagnosed
back then."

Chip's hand hovered
still, his heart breaking
for his dad. "But Dad,
why didn't anyone know?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze going
to the floor. "They did,
eventually," he murmured.
"But by then, it was too late.
My mum was gone."

Chip's eyes filled with
sympathy, his hand
resting on the bed. "I'm
sorry, Dad," he whispered.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, his gaze meeting
his son's. "It's okay, Chip.
It's not something you
could've known. I obviously
didn't know her to well, but
thank you."

Karen was glad to see
them connecting. "So
Chip, you can ask us
questions if you want."

Chip looked from Karen
to Plankton, his curiosity
piqued. "Dad, is there
anything you really hate
that makes you have these...
shutdowns?"

Plankton's antennae twitched
nervously, his eye darting
between them. "Well, Chip,
it's not always just one thing. It's
mostly like... a buildup.
Loud noises, too many people,
bright lights," he listed off.
"They can all make it
harder for me to focus, to
filter out the extra stuff
my brain's taking in."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's face.
"What about touch?" he asked,
his voice tentative. "Does it
bother you?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze flicking to
Karen's comforting hand.
"It depends," he said slowly.
"Some days, I crave it. Other
days, it's too much."

Chip nodded, his mind
racing. "What about hugs?"
he asked, his voice hopeful.
"Does it help you feel better?"

Plankton's antennae
quivered, his eye searching
his son's face. "Sometimes,"
he said, his voice tight. "But
not always."

Chip nodded, his
hand still hovering. 
"Can I... ca--"

Plankton's antennae shot
up, his eye widening. "No!"
The suddenness
of his reaction made
Chip's hand jerk 
back, his eyes
wide with shock.

"I'm sorry, buddy,"
Plankton said, his voice
softening as he saw the
fear in his son's eyes.
"It's just that, sometimes,
hugs are too much. I need...
space, like I told you. But only
if I know they're coming, and
only from people I trust. I'm
still recovering right now."

Chip's hand hovered in the
air, unsure of what to do.
"Can I... I don't know, maybe
just pat you on the shoulder?"
he asked, his voice hopeful. But
Plankton shook his head.

"No, Chip," he murmured. "I do
not want my shoulders to be
patted. That's too much."

Chip nodded, his gaze
on Plankton's. "How about a
high five?" he asked, his
hand still hovering.

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly, his eye
narrowing as he considered
his son's question. "Maybe,"
he murmured. "But only if
you're gentle."

Chip nodded eagerly, his hand
slowly descending towards
his dad's hand. He hovered
for a moment, his heart racing.
Then, with all the gentleness
he could muster, he tapped his
father's hand with his fingertips.

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly, but
his eye remained focused
on Chip's. "Good job,"
he murmured, his voice
a quiet praise. "That was...
perfect."

new chip on the shoulders childbirthcore vii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS iv
(By NeuroFabulous)


Plankton's face was
now slack with 
sleep. Karen
moved silently, 
not wanting to
disturb him. 
She knew how
important this 
time was,
how much he 
needed it.

The house felt 
heavier with quiet,
but Chip's door was
open a crack, a sliver
of light spilling into
the hallway. Karen 
peeked in.
He looked up,
seeing her in the doorway.

"Mom?"
his voice was small,
his screen searching hers.
Karen walked over,
sitting beside him on his
bed. "Yes, Chip?"
He looked up at her,
his eyes filled 
with unshed tears.
"Is Dad okay?"

Karen took his
hand, giving it a
squeeze. "He will be,
sweetie. Sometimes,
people with disabilities
have moments like this.
It's part of who he is."

Chip nodded, his
throat tight. "But why's
he..."

Karen pulled him into
a warm embrace. "It's okay
to feel scared or confused.
But remember, Dad's still in
there. He loves you so much,
and he's doing his best."

Chip nodded, his
throat tight with unshed
tears. "Does he know
when it happens?"

Karen's gaze remained
steady. "Sometimes he does,
sweetie. It's like when you get
tired and need a nap. His brain
just needs to recharge."

Chip thought about that
for a moment, his thumb
playing with a loose thread
on his blanket. "Does he
remember what happens?"

Karen's hand stilled on
his back. "It's like a
dream, Chip. Sometimes
he remembers snippets,
sometimes it's all a blur."

Chip sat up, his
eyes bright with
questions. "Does he
see us when he's like that?"

Karen shrugs. 
"He might
feel us, but
his brain isn't 
fully here."

Chip's mind raced
with questions. "Mom, how
did Dad get this...
this... brain thing?"
his voice cracked.

Karen took a deep
breath, her hand still
warm on his back. "Well,
sweetie, it's something
he was born with. It's called
autism, and it's a part of him."

Chip's eyes widened.
"But why? Did he do
something wrong?"

Karen sighed, her grip
tightening around him.
"No, Chip, it's not like that.
It's just how his brain was made.
Some people have different
brain wiring, and that's okay. But
in his specific circumstance,
he was born posthumously,
after his mum passed away.."

Chip's eyes grew wider
still, his curiosity piqued.
"But, what? How..."
he whispered, his voice
barely audible.

Karen took a deep
breath, preparing herself
for the explanation she had
never thought she'd have
to give. "Your dad's mum,
she had him after she...
passed away," she said, her
voice gentle.

Chip's eyes grew as
big as saucers. "What
do you mean, 'after she passed
away'?" he whispered, his
voice filled with disbelief.

Karen took a moment,
swallowing hard. "Well, sweetie,
you know how babies are usually
born when their mommies are
alive and well, right?"

Chip nodded, his eyes
fixed on her face. "Yeah, of
course," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "But
how's that even physically
possible?"

Karen took a deep
breath. "It's a
rare procedure, Chip. When
his mum was very sick, the
doctors did everything they
could to save her. But when
she passed away, they realized
his heart was still beating
inside her."

Chip's eyes were wide with
horror and fascination. "But
how did they get him out?"
he asked, his voice trembling.

Karen's eyes grew misty as
she recounted the story, her
voice soft and gentle. "They
performed an emergency
procedure called a
post-mortem 'coffin birth'. 
It's very rare, Chip."

Chip's eyes were like
dinner plates, his mind
trying to grasp the concept.
"But how?" he breathed, his voice
barely a whisper.

Karen took a moment to
collect her thoughts, the
story weighing heavily on her.
"The doctors had to be very
quick and careful, Chip.
They knew Plankton had a
chance, so they did what they
could to save him. It was a
miracle he made it out
alive," she said, her voice
filled with wonder and a hint
of sadness. "Yet, because of
the way he was born, his brain
developed differently. That's
what caused his autism. His
brain was deprived of oxygen
for a short time, which can lead
to such conditions."

Chip's hand went to his
chest, his heart racing
with the realization. "But
does that mean he's...
not like other dads?"

Karen wrapped her arms
around her son, holding him
close. "Chip, your dad is
unique, just like you. And yes,
his brain works differently,
but that doesn't mean
he loves you any less. He
might just show it in his
own way."

Chip sniffled, trying to
make sense of everything.
"But why didn't you tell
me sooner?" he asked.

Karen stroked his
back, her heart heavy.
"Because, sweetie, it's a
hard thing to explain.
And we didn't want to scare
you or make you feel
different about him. We
wanted you to understand
his quirks as part of who
he is, not because of some
label. And he's a good
dad in his own way, even if
he doesn't show it like
other dads. Yet he also has
his challenges, like with
his sensory issues."

Chip nodded slowly,
his mind racing with
the new information.
He had noticed how his
dad sometimes flinched at
loud noises or avoided
crowded places.

new chip on the shoulders Karen/Chip Plankton II iv

CHIP IN MY BOX vii
(Autistic author)


Dr. Kelp's tentacles move
quickly, setting out a new set
of sensory items. He places
the velvet curtain over Plankton's
head, creating a safe, quiet
space. The weighted blanket
is laid gently over his body,
his breathing starting to even
out. The doctor's eyes are
filled with a quiet wisdom
that Karen finds reassuring.

The octopus then turns his
attention to Chip, his tentacle
gently stroking the boy's arm.
"It's okay," he repeats, his
voice a calming lullaby in
the tense room. "We all make
mistakes."

Karen's eyes are glued to
Plankton, his body still and
silent under the velvet curtain.
Fear and regret are a heavy
weight on her shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispers to
Dr. Kelp, her voice trembling.
"We should have told him
sooner." She watches as the
doctor works, his tentacles
deftly placing items around.

"When Plankton wakes up,"
Dr. Kelp says, his voice low
and soothing, "he might be
disoriented, upset." He looks
up at Chip, his eyes gentle.
"It's important to give him
space, let him know it's safe."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving her husband's still
form. She knows the routine,
but hearing it from Dr. Kelp's
lips somehow makes it feel
more real, more manageable.

"When he wakes," the doctor
continues, "he may be
confused, overwhelmed." His
voice is soft, his eyes
compassionate. "He might
not immediately be able
to process what happened."

Karen nods, her hand
trembling slightly. "What
do you mean?" She asks,
desperation lacing her
voice.

Dr. Kelp takes a deep
breath, his tentacles
arranging the items with
precision. "When Plankton
comes to," he says, "his senses
may be overstimulated, not knowing
what's happening around him."
He looks at Chip, his eyes
serious. "It's important
you don't take it personally. He
may incoherently talk, forget or
lash out. It's his brain's way of
trying to make sense of the
sensory overload."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton. "We'll be
ready," she says, her voice
determined. She doesn't want
to scare Chip, but he needs
to know. "We'll help him
through it."

Dr. Kelp looks at the
both of them, his gaze
softening. "Good," he says.
"Because he's going to need
you." His tentacles
flatten against the floor
as he leans closer to
Plankton, checking his pulse.
"When he wakes up, keep your
voices low, and keep the lights
dim. Try to limit any sudden
movements."

He demonstrates with a
slow, deliberate wave of his
tentacle. "And if he seems
scared or confused, just
tell him it's okay, that he's
safe," he instructs, his voice
calm and steady. "Remember, he
might not recognize anything at first.
His mind will be trying to piece
together what happened, as if in
a dream."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
Chip clutches the indestructible
fidgets in his small hands, his
face a mask of determination.

"When he wakes up," Dr. Kelp
continues, his eyes on the
floor, "his reactions may seem
unpredictable. Sometimes, he
might get scared, other times
he might be agitated." His tentacle
flicks slightly, a subtle sign of
his own tension. "It's all part
of his brain trying to recalibrate."

He looks up at Chip, his
expression serious. "Your dad's
going to need you to be brave,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If he
doesn't know you at first,
don't be scared. Just stay calm
and keep talking to him."

Chip nods, his eyes
glistening with tears. "I'll do
anything," he says, his voice
tiny but firm.

Dr. Kelp gives a small
smile, his tentacle patting
Chip's shoulder. "That's all
we can ask," he says.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii vii

TOOTH AFTERNOON iv

The car’s engine hummed a
soothing tune, and Karen’s voice
was a gentle guide in the
background. “Almost home,
love. Just a few more minutes,”
she said, her screen never leaving
the road.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his mind a tangled mess of
half-formed thoughts. “Huh?”
he mumbled, his voice a
slurred echo.

Karen’s smile was a soft
guiding light. “We’re almost
home, Plankton. Just a bit
more, ok?” she said, her voice
a gentle reminder of the warmth
that awaited them.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his thoughts a jumble of confusion
and pain. “Home...moth...” he
managed, his words still a slurred
mess.

Karen’s smile was a warm
reassurance. “Yes, Plankton.
Home. Just a few minutes more,”
she said, her voice a gentle
reminder of the comfort that
was almost within reach.

“Moth...no...moth...no...”
his words made no sense.

Karen’s smile grew, her
eyes on the road ahead.
“Almost there, Plankton.
We’re just passing the park.
You can see the swings?”
she asked, her voice a gentle
reminder of the world outside.

Plankton’s gaze drifted to the
window, his eye searching
for familiar landmarks. “Swings...?”
his voice a sleepy question.

Karen nodded, pointing out
the car window. “Yes, Plankton.
The park. Remember, we come
here sometimes to walk?”

Plankton’s eye searched the
blur of green outside, his mind
trying to piece together the
puzzle of the world. “Walsh?”
he murmured, his speech still
slurred and slow.

Karen chuckled, her voice
a warm embrace. “Yes, sweetie.
We’ll walk in the park once
you’re all healed up, ok?” she
said, her eyes flickering to
his reflection in the rearview
mirror.

The car pulled into the
garage, the sudden darkness
a stark contrast to the bright
afternoon outside. Karen turned
to him, her smile a gentle
reminder of her presence.
“Alright, Plankton. We’re home.
Can you sit up for me?” she
asked, her voice a soft guide
back to reality.

Plankton’s movements were
slow, his body still fighting
against the anesthesia’s grip.
He nodded, his hand reaching
for the car door. Karen was
there in an instant, opening
it for him and helping him
to his feet. His legs felt like
jelly, and he leaned heavily on
her as they made their way
to the house.

The door creaked open, and
the familiar scents of home
wrapped around them like a
comforting blanket. Plankton’s
eye searched the room, his
mind grasping for any semblance
of normalcy.

Karen guided him to
their bedroom, the softness
of the bed calling to him like
a siren’s song. She helped
him lay down, his body
sinking into the mattress with
a sigh of relief. His eyelid grew heavy,
his thoughts drifting like
leaves on a lazy river.

Karen tucks him in. “Now, would
you like…”

But Plankton’s eye had
already drifted shut, his body
surrendering to the siren call
of sleep. His snores grew
steady and deep, the gauze in
his mouth muffling the sound.
Karen watched him. She knew the
recovery ahead would be long
and difficult, but she was
ready to face it with him.

With a soft sigh, she went to
the kitchen and retrieved
the chocolate chip cookie dough
ice cream. She placed it on the
nightstand, ready for when
his hunger would inevitably
wake him. She then gathered
his favorite pillow, propping it
under his head to elevate it
slightly, hoping to reduce any
swelling that might come.

The house was eerily quiet,
the only sounds being Plankton’s
soft snores and the occasional
tick of the grandfather clock
downstairs. Karen felt a pang
of loneliness in the absence
of their usual banter, but
she pushed it aside, focusing on
his recovery.

With tender care, she changed
his gauze, the blood slowly
seeping through a stark
reminder of the surgery. She
flinched at the sight, but
quickly composed herself. She
was his rock, his anchor in the
storm of pain and confusion.

She pulled the blanket
up to his chin. “Rest, love,” she
whispered.

Plankton’s hand reached out,
his movements slow and
deliberate. He found hers, his
fingers entwining with hers.
“Kareb?” he mumbled, his voice
a sleepy plea.

Karen’s smile was a soft
caress. “I’m right here,
Plankton. I’m not going anywhere,”
she assured him, her voice a gentle
reminder of her constant presence.

Plankton’s grip tightened slightly,
his eye flickering open. “Wheh...youw
shay...” he slurred, his words
a sleepy plea.

Karen leaned closer, her smile
a gentle promise. “What did
you say, sweetie?” she asked, her
voice a soft whisper in the
quiet room.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his grip on her hand growing
firm. “Youw shay...stay...stay whiff
me?” he murmured, his voice a
slurred tapestry of need.

Karen’s heart swelled with love.
“Of course, Plankton. I’ll…”

But her words were cut off by
his snores, his hand going limp
in hers. He was asleep again.

Karen sat in the chair beside
the bed, her hand still entwined
with his. She knew this was just
the beginning of a long road
ahead, but she was ready.

Plankton’s snores 
grew more rhythmic,
his sleep deepening 
with each passing minute.

Karen sat in the chair
beside the bed, her thoughts
a whirlwind of care and love.
Her eyes never left him,
a silent sentinel in the
quiet room. She knew he’d
have questions when he awoke,
confusion to navigate,
and pain to endure.

The ice cream called from
the nightstand, a sweet
temptation she knew he’d crave.
But for now, sleep was
his best medicine, his
body healing from the
invasion of surgery. She watched
his chest rise and fall,
each breath a testament
to his strength.

The hours ticked by, the
sun dipping below the
horizon and leaving a soft
glow in the room.
Plankton’s snores grew quieter,
his sleep more peaceful as
his body slowly metabolized
the lingering anesthesia. Karen’s
thoughts wandered to the days
ahead, planning his meals,
his pain relief, and the
moments of joy she’d weave
into his recovery.

The room grew darker, the
streetlights outside casting a
soft glow through the
curtains. Karen’s eyes grew
heavy with fatigue, but she
fought it off, knowing Plankton
would need her when he awoke.
Her thoughts drifted to their
first date, the way his laugh
lit up the room, the way his
hand felt in hers.

A sudden movement caught
her eye, and she turned to see
Plankton’s eye flutter open,
his gaze unfocused and lost.
“Karen?” he croaked, his voice
a dry whisper.

Her smile was a gentle
welcome back. “Hey there, sleepy.
How are you feeling?” she
asked, her voice a soft caress.

Plankton’s mouth moved, his
speech still slurred. “Moth...”
he murmured, his tongue thick.

Karen’s voice was a soft
symphony of comfort. “You’re okay,
Plankton. You’re home and safe.
You just had surgery. Do you
remember?” she prompted, her
hand squeezing his gently.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his thoughts slowly coming into
focus. “Sur...surgery?” he
mumbled, the numbness in his mouth
distorting his words.

Karen nodded, her smile a
warm embrace. “Yes, sweetie.
Wisdom teeth surgery. It’s all
over now, and you’re going
to be okay,” she said, her
voice a gentle reminder of the
reality that had been obscured
by the fog of anesthesia.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his mind slowly piecing together
the fragments of the day.
“Moth...huh?” he murmured, his
hand moving to his swollen
cheek.

Karen’s voice was a soft
lullaby. “It’s alright, love.
You had your wisdom teeth out.
You’re all safe and sound,”
she said, her hand covering his
own, guiding it back to the
bedside.

Plankton’s gaze searched
his surroundings. “Thish...
thish wish...” he mumbled.

“Ice cream?” she guessed, her voice
a whisper.

Plankton’s nod was a tiny
celebration of victory. “Yesh...ish
cweam...now?” he asked, his
eye hopeful.

Karen chuckled, her smile
a warm invitation. “Of course,
sweetie. Let’s get you set
up,” she said, her voice a gentle
guidance as she reached for
the ice cream.

new tooth afternoon tripcore iv

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vii
(By NeuroFabulous)

Chip listened intently, his heart
heavy with the realization that
his father's world was so much
more complex than he had ever
imagined. "What do I do..."

"When you see those signs," Karen
said, her voice filled with patience
and love, "you need to give him
space. Sometimes, the best thing
you can do is just be there for him,
without expecting anything in return."

Chip nodded, his eyes still
swollen with tears. "But what if he
needs help?" he asked, his voice
small.

Karen's expression was a mix
of love and concern. "If he's
having a seizure, it's important
to keep him safe," she said, her
tone serious. "Make sure there's
nothing around that he could
hurt himself on, and don't try to move
him unless he's in danger." She
paused, taking a deep breath. "And
never put anything in his mouth.
It can be really scary to watch,
but he'll come out of it, I promise."

"How will I know if it's a
seizure?" Chip's voice was
shaky, fear gripping him.

Karen took a deep breath, her
expression turning serious. "If he
just stops talking or moving
suddenly, and his eye glazes over,
it's probably a seizure," she said,
her voice calm and measured.
"Sometimes he'll stare off into
space, or his body might get really
stiff for a moment." She paused,
squeezing his hand. "But remember,
his brain is just taking a little
vacation, okay? And if he convulses
or starts to fall, you have to catch
him and guide him to the floor
safely. It's really important that
he doesn't get hurt."

Chip's eyes were wide with fear,
but he nodded, determined to be
there for his dad. "What if..."

"If it's a bigger seizure,"
Karen said, her tone gentle but firm,
"you'll know. His whole body might
shake, and he could fall to the floor."
Her grip on his hand tightened.
"If that happens, you 
need to stay calm.
Alert me, and make
sure he's in a safe 
place where he
won't hurt himself."

With a nod, Chip tried
to absorb the information, his
stomach churning with a mix
of fear and determination.
He didn't want his dad to go
through that alone. "Okay,"
he murmured.

Karen gave his hand a final
squeeze before releasing it. "Why don't
we check on him?" she suggested,
her voice tentative. "Let's see
if he's ready to talk."

They approached 
the bedroom.
"Remember, sweetie," 
she whispered.
"Let him set the pace."

The door was ajar, 
letting a sliver of light
spill into the hallway.
Through it, Chip could see
his father, still sitting on the
edge of the bed, his antennas
slumped in defeat. The room was
quiet, save for the faint sound of
his father's shallow breaths.

Karen knocked gently, her
voice soft. "Plankton?"

There was a moment of
silence before they heard a
sniffle. "Come in," Plankton's
voice was barely audible.

Karen pushed the door open,
letting Chip step in first.

Plankton's single eye was red
and swollen from crying, and he
was clutching a worn pillow to
his chest while rocking in place.

Karen's heart ached at the sight
of her husband's distress, but
she knew better than to rush in.
Instead, she gave Chip a gentle nod,
encouraging him to go first.

Chip took a tentative step
forward, his eyes on Plankton's
small frame. He had never
seen his dad so vulnerable before,
his usual bravado and strength
nowhere to be found.

Plankton looked up at him, his
eye searching, his antennas drooping.
For a moment, the room was
so quiet that Chip could hear his own
heart pounding in his chest.

With a deep breath, he
moved closer, his heart racing.
He knew he had to fix this, to somehow
make it right. "Dad," he began, his voice
shaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it."

Plankton's gaze was unreadable,
his antennas lying flat against his
head. "You don't get it," he murmured,
his voice thick with emotion. "You'll
never get it."

The words stung Chip, but he knew
his dad wasn't mad at him. It was
frustration, a feeling Plankton struggled
to express without it coming out as anger.
He took another step closer, his eyes
locking with Plankton's. "I want to,"
he said, his voice earnest. "I want
to understand you, Dad."

Plankton's antennas twitched, a
small sign that he had heard, that
he was processing the words.

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous vii

PLUSH ONE iv
(By NeuroFabulous)

The next day, Karen wakes
up to find Plankton sitting
on the edge of the bed, his
hands moving in repetitive
patterns over the blanket.
The sun casts a warm glow
over his face, highlighting
his furrowed brow. She watches
him for a moment, his
concentration so intense it's
as if he's trying to solve
a complex puzzle.

"Good morning," she says softly,
not wanting to startle him.
His head snaps up, and for a
fraction of a second, she sees
fear in his eye before it
quickly shifts to recognition.
"Karen," he says, his voice a
little stronger than yesterday.

He looks around the room,
his gaze lingering on the
closed door, the curtains,
the picture of them on
their wedding day. Karen
notices his hand twitching,
his thumb tracing the fabric.
It's a new tic, a new way
his brain is trying to process
the world around him, but she knows
she can't let her fear
control her. She has to be
his rock, his anchor in this
storm of change.

"Do you need anything?"
she asks, keeping her voice
low and even. Plankton's
hand pauses mid-motion, his
eye darting to hers. "Karen,"
he murmurs, almost to himself.

"What's on your mind, Plankton?"
she prompts, her voice soft.

He stares at the wall, his hand
still moving over the fabric.

Karen watches him.
What can she do to help him?
What does he need?

The silence stretches, and she
decides to try again. "Plankton,"
she says gently. "What's on your
mind?"

This time, his hand stops moving,
his gaze flicking to hers. "Karen,"
he says, his voice clear.

"What is it, sweetie?"
she asks, leaning closer.

He takes a deep breath, his
eye darting around the room
before focusing on her. "Karen,"
he says, his voice a little
more coherent. "Need Karen."

It's the first time
he's expressed a need directly.
"You need me?" she asks, trying to
keep her voice steady.

He nods. "Karen," he repeats,
his voice a whisper.

Karen's eyes well up with
tears of joy and fear.
This is the first time
he's expressed a need directly.

"You need me?" she asks,
trying to keep her voice steady.
He nods again, his hand
still clutching the blanket.

Karen takes his hand in hers,
his skin warm and familiar.
"I'm here," she whispers,
squeezing gently. "Always."

Plankton's gaze lingers on their
entwined fingers, his eye
narrowing slightly as if
trying to decode a secret
message.

"You need me to be with you?"
Karen clarifies, her voice
filled with hope and fear.
He nods again, the tension in his
body palpable.

Her eyes never leave his as
she slides closer, sitting
beside him on the bed. "I'm
here," she repeats, her hand
leaving his to rest on his leg. But
he jolted away, his body 
tightening.

"I'm sorry," she says quickly,
retracting her hand. She's 
learning the delicate balance
of closeness and space, a dance
that's unfamiliar but vital to 
their new life.

Plankton's gaze remains on the 
spot where her hand was, his 
expression unreadable. Karen 
wipes at her eyes, willing herself
to be strong. "Okay," she says, her 
voice firm. "Let's try different
touches to see which you like?"

With gentle hesitation, she 
begins to explore his sensory
preferences, starting with a
light stroke on his forearm, watching
closely for any signs of 
discomfort or distress. His hand
twitches, but he doesn't flinch.

Encouraged, Karen moves her hand
up to his antennae, the tenderest
of touches. He flinches at first, but
his gaze holds hers, willing her to
continue. She tries again, stroking
them lightly, watching as the
tension in his body eases.
It's a revelation, a glimpse into
his new sensory landscape.

"Is that ok?" she asks, her
voice barely above a whisper.
Plankton nods, his eye closing
in what seems like pleasure.
"Tickly," he smiles. She tries again,
this time a little more pressure.
He flinches, and she quickly
removes her hand. "I'm sorry,"
she says, her voice thick with
concern.

Plankton opens his eye, looking
at her with a mix of confusion
and sadness. "Karen," he says,
his voice barely a whisper. "Want
Karen."

Her heart breaks for him, for
the man he used to be, for the
man he's becoming. "I'm here,"
she says, her voice soothing.
"I'm gonna try different touches."

Gently, she starts again, her
hand hovering above his arm.
This time, she watches his
expression closely. When he
doesn't react, she touches
his skin lightly, her thumb
tracing circles. "How does
this feel?"

Plankton's gaze flits to her hand,
his eye studying the movement.
"Comfort, rubs," he murmurs.

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving
his. "Okay," she says, her voice
steady. She then moves her hand
to his cheek. Plankton's eye widens.

His skin is warm and smooth under
her touch, and she can feel his
breathing quicken. "Does this
feel okay?" she whispers.

Plankton's eye darts around the room,
his antennae twitching. "Karen," he says,
his voice filled with longing.

Karen's eyes widen.
This is new territory, a place where
the familiar has become strange.

Plankton's eye locks onto hers,
his expression a silent plea.
Her hand stills on his cheek,
his breaths coming in short bursts.

Karen's mind races with the implications
of his reaction. She's read that some
autistic individuals find certain
touches overwhelming. She pulls her
hand away. "I'm sorry,
sweetie," she says, her voice filled with
apology. "I'll try some more different
touches."

She watches him, her love a
steady beacon through the fog
of fear. "How about this?" she asks,
placing her hand on his shoulder.
His breath hitched, his body
tensing. "Plankton," she says gently,
"Does tha-"

"No," he says, his voice firm.
He flinches away from the touch,
his eye wide with panic.

Karen nods. "Okay," she says, her voice
soft. "We'll keep trying." She
reaches for his hand, her touch
deliberate and gentle. This time,
his body relaxes, his hand fitting
perfectly into hers. It's a small
step, but it feels like a victory.

new plush one karencore iv

PLUSH ONE vii
(By NeuroFabulous)

The room feels alien, the
walls closing in around Karen.
Plankton's autism has painted
a new reality, one filled with
sounds too loud, lights too bright,
and emotions too intense.

Plankton then sniffles as tears
start to trickle down his cheeks.
"Karen," he says, his voice
desperate. "Plankton... Karen
upset? Plankton not meant to
upset Karen."

Karen's screen swells with love
and pity. She can't bear to see
his pain, his confusion.
"It's okay," she whispers. "You didn't do
anything wrong." She takes a deep
breath, trying to keep her voice
steady. "I'm just learning,
sweetie. We both are."

Plankton sniffles, his eye
searching hers. "Love Karen," he says,
his voice a tremble. "Yes; Karen
Plankton." "I love you, too,"
she whispers. "Always."

Plankton's gaze lingers on
the envelope, his antennae
quivering. "Loving Karen even
when wanting space."

Karen nods, her eyes
filling with understanding.
"We'll figure this out," she says,
her voice a balm to his fear.

Plankton's hand opens, the
envelope slipping onto the bed.
"Plankton memorized formula.
Plankton need put back, in Krabs
safety vault."

Karen's eyes widen with shock.
"You... you remember each and
every detail; how?"

Plankton's eye twitches, a
flurry of thoughts racing across
his face. "Patterns," he whispers.
"Everything in patterns. Krabby
Patty, Krabs, all patterns."

Karen nods, her mind racing. "So,
you're saying you'll return it, so Krabs 
won't know you got it. Ok, sweets."

Plankton nods vigorously, his antennae
bobbing. "Yes." He goes and does so
before hurrying back. "Plankton did it!
And not caught!"

Karen swells with pride,
despite the circumstances. "Good job,"
she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Now,
let's focus on you. How do you feel?"

Plankton's eye flickers, his antennae
waving in contemplation. "Different,"
he murmurs. "Everything's so... much."
He looks around the room, his gaze
landing on their wedding photo. "But
Karen, always. Love."

Karen smiles through her tears,
touched by his words. "I know,
sweetie. I love you, too."

The room feels smaller,
the air thick with their shared
understanding. Plankton's autism
has become a part of them, a third
entity in their relationship.
They'll have to navigate this
new reality together, a dance
of patience and empathy.

Karen watches him, his movements
now a symphony of tics and rituals,
each gesture a clue to his inner world.
"What do you need, Plankton?" she asks,
her voice a soft whisper in the cacophony
of his thoughts.

He looks at her, his 
eye searching hers.
"Does," he says. "Do
Plankton."

Karen nods. "What 
does my Plankton 
need?"

He looks at her, his
eye swiveling in his
newly autistic way, trying
to find the words. "Karen,"
he says, his voice a gentle
wave of comfort. "Safe Karen."

Karen's eyes well with
tears, understanding his
need for familiarity. She nods,
her hand reaching out to stroke
his antennae gently. "Yes,
Plankton. You're safe with
me."

The contact sends a rush
of comfort through him, his
body relaxing slightly. He
closes his eye, leaning into her
touch. "Good Karen," he whispers.

Karen continues
stroking his antennae, her hand
trembling with emotion. "What
else can I do for you?" she asks,
her voice low and soothing.

Plankton's eye opens slightly,
his focus on her touch. "Love Karen,"
he murmurs, his voice filled with
longing. "Always, love." "I know, Plankton.
We're in this together."

He nods, his antennae twitching
slightly. "Together," he echoes. Karen
can see the fear in his
eye, the way it searches hers
for reassurance. She nods,
her hand moving to gently stroke
his arm.

But the moment her hand makes
contact with his skin, Plankton's
body stiffens. He jerks away,
his eye wide with terror. "NO!"
he shouts, the sound piercing
the quiet room.

Karen's hand freezes in midair, her
thoughts racing. "I'm sorry," she
whispers, her voice cracking.
"I didn't mean to—"

But Plankton's already retreated
to the corner of the room, his body
curled into a protective ball. "Not now,"
he murmurs, his voice shaking.
"No touch." She'd hurt him
without meaning to, crossed a line
he hadn't even drawn yet. She takes
a step back, her hand hovering in the
air. "Okay," she says, her voice
barely a whisper. Then an idea forms in her
head. Carefully, she picks up a plushie,
her movements slow and deliberate.
"Look, Plankton," she says, her voice
calm and even. "It's your plush.."

But Plankton's eye remains wide
with fear, his antennae rigid. "NO!"
he shouts, the word echoing in
the room. Karen's hand
freezes, the plushie dropping to the
floor forgotten.

"I'm sorry," she 
says, her voice
soft and trembling. 
"I di-"

But Plankton's 
eye is
locked on 
her screen, 
his body
shaking. "NO!"
he screams, his
autism 
surging.

This is new, 
this raw fear.
He's never reacted
so strongly before.
"I didn't know."
Karen aches for him,
but she knows she can't
force her way in.

Plankton's breaths come
quick and shallow, his
body trembling. She
wants to comfort him,
to tell him it's okay,
but she knows it's not. Not
right now.

Instead, she sits down
on the bed, giving him
the space he needs. Her eyes
on him, watching his
every move.

The plushie lies on
the floor, which he
tentatively reaches
with his shaky hand.
He then clutches it
as he remains in the
corner of the room
on the floor.

Karen watches him.
The man she loves
is lost in his own
sensory overload,
and she feels powerless. 
"Would you like me
to sing..."

Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his face a mask of terror.
"No!" he shouts, his voice
sharp as a knife.
The room falls silent,
the air charged with his fear.

Karen's seen this look before, but never
with such intensity. His
autism has painted their lives
with new colors, vivid and overwhelming.
She takes a step back, her hand
raised in a peaceful gesture.
"Okay," she whispers, her voice
barely audible. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's eye doesn't leave
the plushie, embracing it.
"MINE," he murmurs, his voice
a mix of anger and fear.

Karen nods, her voice calm.
"Yes, Plankton. It's your plushie.
You're safe." She doesn't move,
knowing any sudden action could
send him spiraling again.

The silence is heavy,
punctuated by Plankton's
quick, shallow breaths.
Karen's mind races, trying
to understand his new rules,
his new reality.

Plankton clutches the plushie
to his chest, his eye squeezed
shut.

Karen's seen his fear before,
but never like this. The autism has
unlocked a new intensity in him,
his emotions a maelstrom she can't
begin to navigate.

"Plankton," she whispers, her voice
soothing. "You're okay. I'm here."
Her hand reaches out, but she stops
short, not wanting to invade his
space. His grip on the plushie
loosens slightly, his breathing
evening out.

Karen's eyes never leave
his face, watching for any sign
of distress. "Would you like
me to sit w---"

But Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his voice firm. "No please," he says.
The words hang in the air,
a stark reminder of their
new normal.

Karen nods, her hand falling to her
side. She knows he's trying to
control his environment, to find
comfort in the chaos. "Okay," she
says softly. "I'll be right here."

The room is silent but for the occasional
whisper of his voice, recounting the
formula to himself. She watches him
from afar. But she's also in awe of
his ability to process the patterns
and remember every detail.

Karen sighs. She observes
his every move, the way his antennae
twitch to the rhythm of his thoughts.
This isn't the exact same Plankton 
she knew, but this is the Plankton she 
still loves. She watches him, his
eye still closed, his body slowly
relaxing as he clutches the plushie.

new plush one comfortcore vii

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM v

(Autistic author)

SpongeBob picks up his cards 
and looks for any 
twos. "Got any twos?"
he asks, trying to 
keep the peace.

But Plankton's focus 
has shifted, his 
eye no longer on the 
game. "Fish," he says 
again, his voice 
desperate.
Sponge Bob's patience 
snaps like a dry 
twig. "Plankton, enough 
with the fish!" he 
exclaims, tossing his cards 
down onto the floor. 
The sudden movement 
startles Plankton, and 
his antennas retract 
slightly.
"What's wrong with 
you!" Sponge Bob asks, 
his voice shaking with 
frustration. "You're not 
the same, Plankton."
Plankton's antennas 
wobble, and his 
eye darts around the 
room, unable to 
meet Sponge Bob's gaze. 
"Fish," he whispers, his 
voice lost.

SpongeBob's frustration was 
palpable in the tense air of the 
Chum Bucket, his eyes wide with 
confusion. He had always known 
Plankton to be a master of 
manipulation and cunning wit, so 
seeing him in such a repetitive state 
was unsettling. He didn't understand 
why his friend's world had narrowed 
down to a simple game of Go Fish 
and the repeated question for more 
of the same card.

"Plankton, I don't get it," Sponge 
 said, his voice tight with the 
effort to stay calm. "What's 
with all the fish?"

Plankton's antennas 
drooped further, his 
eye cast downward. "Fish," he 
mumbles again, his voice 
deflated. "Need more fish."

Sponge Bob's mind races to 
understand the change 
in Plankton's behavior.

He's known Plankton for so 
long, they've had countless 
battles over the Krabby Patty 
formula, but this, this is 
different. The way Plankton's 
voice echoes his own words, 
how he can't seem to let 
go of the word "fish," it's 
almost as if he's a different 
person entirely.

"Plankton, please," Sponge 
Bob pleads, his voice 
cracking. "Why do you 
keep saying that?"

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly, his 
expression a mix of 
confusion and sadness. 
"Fish," he repeats, his 
voice a mere whisper. 
"Need fish."
"I told you Plankton," Sponge 
Bob says, his voice strained 
with patience, "I don't have 
any more twos, so I can't give 
you any fish."
Plankton's antennas droop, 
his eye sad. "No fish," he 
whispers.
Sponge Bob's at his wit's end. 
"Look, Plankton," he says, 
his voice firm.
"This isn't fun anymore. 
Why do you keep asking for 
fish when I don't have any?"
Plankton's antennas shoot 
up again, his eye 
widening in surprise. 
"Fish?" he asks, as if 
the concept has just 
been introduced.

Sponge Bob's patience 
snaps like a rubber band. 
"Yes, fish!" he yells, 
his spongy body trembling 
with frustration. 
"But I don't have any!"

Plankton flinches at the 
loudness of Sponge Bob's 
voice, his antennas 
retreating into his body. 
"Fish?" he whispers, his 
eye wide with fear.
Sponge Bob's frustration remains. 
"Why do you keep asking 
for fish?" he asks.
"What's happening to 
you, Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
twitch erratically, his 
expression a mix of 
pain and confusion. 
"Don't know what's
happening to you
Plankton." Plankton
says.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill 
with tears, his voice 
shaking. "I just want 
my friend back," he 
whispers. "I don't know 
what happened to you."
Plankton's antennas 
drop, his eye filling with 
sorrow. "Friend," he 
repeats, his voice 
small. "Sponge Bob friend."
Yet Sponge Bob doesn't 
understand. He only sees 
his friend acting strange 
and distant, and he can't
stay calm anymore.

"Why can't you just be 
normal!" Sponge Bob 
exclaims, his voice 
shaking with emotion. 
Plankton's antennas 
tremble, and his 
eye fills with 
uncertainty. "Fish?" he 
whispers, his voice 
shaking.

But SpongeBob's frustration 
was only growing.

"I can't do this," he says, 
his voice shaky. "You're not 
my friend like this, Plankton.
I don't know what happened to 
you, but I need you to snap 
out of it!"

Plankton's antennas 
wilt at Sponge Bob's anger, 
his eye filling with a 
sorrow that seems to 
mirror Sponge Bob's own.
"Fish," he whispers, his 
voice trembling. "Need fish."

Sponge Bob's heart 
aches as he watches his 
friend's distress. He's 
so tired of the echoing 
words, the endless loop 
of "fish." 

With a sigh, Sponge 
Bob gathers the 
scattered cards, 
his movements 
deliberate and 
careful. "I'm sorry," he 
says, his voice 
gentler now. "But we can't 
keep playing this way."

Plankton's antennas 
droop as he watches 
Sponge Bob clean up. "Fish?"
he asks, his voice 
small and hopeful.

Sponge Bob turns, his 
face a mask of anger and 
hurt. "No, Plankton," he 
says firmly. "We're not 
playing anymore; I'm tired
of it!"

Plankton's antennas 
wobble at the harshness 
of Sponge Bob's tone. "No 
fish?" he asks, his voice 
small and trembling. 
Sponge Bob cannot hold
back anymore, as his 
frustration won't let 
up.

"Plankton," he says, 
his voice tight with 
emotion, "I don't have 
any more fish! Can't you 
understand that?"

Plankton's antennas 
quiver, his eye 
welling up with tears. 
"Fish," he whispers, 
his voice shaking.

That's the last straw.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with 
tears of anger and 
frustration. He's had 
enough of Plankton's 
strange behavior, his 
incessant echoing of words. 
"You're not listening!" 
he yells, slamming the 
cards down on the floor. 
"I don't have any more fish
Plankton, so just stop it!"

Plankton's antennas 
shiver at the harshness 
of Sponge Bob's words, his 
body shrinking under the 
weight of the accusation. 
"Fish?" he asks again, 
his voice cracking.
Sponge Bob's fists clench, 
his knuckles turning 
white. "No more fish!" 
he says, his voice 
shaking with anger. 
"I've had enough of you
and your fish!"

Plankton stops but
Sponge Bob's anger still burns 
bright. He doesn't know 
what's happening to 
Plankton, but he can't 
tolerate this strange 
behavior any longer.

"What's wrong with 
you?" Sponge Bob yells, 
his eyes wide with 
desperation. "Why 
can't you just play 
normally, huh? How
hard is it to just ask 
for a card without 
all the fish nonsense?
I didn't come here to 
play your weird games!"
Plankton's antennas 
quiver, his eye 
swelling with unshed 
tears. "Fish," he whispers, 
his voice barely audible.

Sponge Bob's anger 
continues to build, 
his frustration 
spilling over like 
boiling water. "You're 
not even trying!" he 
accuses, his voice 
rising. "What happened 
to you, Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
droop, his body 
slumping. "Fish," he 
mumbles, his voice 
broken.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
fill with tears, his 
heart aching for his 
friend. "I don't 
understand," he says, his 
voice cracking. "What's 
wrong with you?"
Plankton's antennas 
barely move, his 
expression a mask of 
sorrow. "Fish," he whispers, 
his eye searching 
Sponge Bob's.

Sponge Bob's anger 
grows, his voice 
raised. "You're just 
saying the same 
thing over and over! 
Why can't you talk to me 
normally?"
Plankton's antennas 
flatten against his 
head, his eye 
welling up with tears. 
"Fish," he says again, 
his voice shaking.

Sponge Bob's fists 
clench tighter, his 
knuckles white with 
frustration. "I don't 
know what's going on 
with you," he says, 
his voice thick with 
emotion. "But this isn't 
how we talk to each 
other. We're friends!"
Plankton's antennas 
barely twitch, his 
expression lost. "Fish," 
he whispers, his voice 
desolate.

Sponge Bob's anger 
reaches its peak, his 
eyes flashing. "I don't 
have any fish!" he yells, 
his spongy body 
quivering with rage. 
"Why can't you just 
talk to me?"
Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly, his eye 
wet with unshed tears. 
"Fish," he murmurs, 
his voice a plea.
Sponge Bob feels like 
his patience has been 
stretched to its 
breaking point. "I can't 
do this," he says, his voice 
shaking with the effort to 
control his emotions.
He turns away, his 
back to Plankton. "We're 
not playing anymore," he 
declares. "We're not playing 
anything until you start 
making sense! So you can
either stop acting weird 
and talk to me like a normal 
being or, I'm leaving!" He
kicks the cards, and then
Karen decides to intervene.

Her voice is firm but 
kind. "Sponge Bob," she says, 
placing a hand on his 
shoulder. "Plankton's not 
doing this on purpose. 
Plankton can I tell Sponge
Bob?"

Plankton nods slowly, his 
eye never leaving Sponge 
Bob's back.

"Sponge Bob," Karen 
continues, her voice 
soothing, "Plankton had a
bad accident, and..."

Her words hang in the 
air, but Sponge Bob 
doesn't turn around. "What?"
he asks, his voice 
small and defeated.

Karen's voice is soft but 
steady. "Plankton hit his 
head and it affected 
his brain," she 
explains. "He has 
something called Autism 
now."
Sponge Bob turns, his 
eyes wide with shock. "What's 
that?" he asks, his 
voice trembling.
"It's a condition," Karen 
says gently, her gaze 
meeting Sponge Bob's. "It 
makes it hard for him 
to understand certain things, 
like how to play games 
without getting stuck 
on one word." She gestures
to Plankton, who's shedding
tears rolling down his cheeks.

Sponge Bob's anger 
evaporates, replaced by 
sympathy. "Oh, Plankton," 
he says, his voice 
full of sadness. He 
steps towards his friend, 
his hand reaching out. 
"I'm sorry, I didn't know."
Plankton's antennas 
wobble as he looks 
up at Sponge Bob, his 
single eye brimming with 
tears. "I'm 
sorry," he says again, his 
voice thick with emotion.
"I didn't mean to get 
so mad."

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly, his eye 
meeting Sponge Bob's with 
gratitude. "Fish," he 
whispers, but it's not a 
demand this time. It's 
more of a statement of 
understanding.

new a journey to autism fishcore auties v

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES iv

The nurse finishes up and
turns to Karen with a gentle smile.
"He'll be waking up soon," she
says. "Why don't you talk to him?
Sometimes hearing a familiar voice
can help bring them around
better."

Karen nods, leaning in.
"You did so good," she says,
her voice filled with love. "It's
almost over." Plankton's snores
remain consistent, his mouth
slightly open as he drools onto
the chair. She reaches over
and carefully wipes it away with
a tissue. The room is quiet
except for the soft beeps of
the monitors and the sound of
Plankton's deep, even breaths.
The assistant begins to remove
the I.V. from Plankton's arm,
his hand steady despite the
tiny vein he's working with.

The nurse stands by, ready
with a cup of water and a
comfortable chair for him to sit
in when he wakes. Karen's eyes
follow her every move, eager
for the moment she can take him
home.

The minutes tick by, the only
sound in the room the soft
hum of the surgical lights
and the occasional snore from
Plankton. His drool forms a
tiny puddle on the chair, and
Karen dabs it away with a
tissue. His breathing is deep
and steady, the anesthesia
keeping him in a peaceful slumber.

Dr. Finnegan checks the
monitors one last time before
nodding to the nurse. "Due to
the numbing medication we
administered into his mouth,
Karen, Plankton probably won't
immediately feel his mouth or
talk fluently, not to mention the
normal confusion from anesthesia."

The nurse starts to lower the
chair into a more upright position.
Plankton's snores become less
snuffly, more like a soft purr.

"Okay, Karen," Dr. Finnegan
says, "You can start talking to
him now. It'll help him come
around." Karen nods, leaning in
closer. "Plankton," she whispers,
her voice filled with warmth, "it's
almost over. You did so well."

Plankton's snoring morphs into
a gentle snuffle as his head
lolls on the chair. His drool forms
a tiny stream down his chin, and
Karen wipes it away with a tissue,
trying not to laugh at the sight.
The nurse smiles at her, patting
his hand. "He's just about ready."

The chair slowly reclines
back, and Plankton's snores
change pitch again, his mouth
opening slightly more, revealing his
swollen gums and the freshly
stitched sockets. Karen's heart
swells with love and concern.
This is her husband, her rock,
currently a ragdoll in the
hands of anesthesia.

The nurse puts down her tools
and gently shakes Plankton's
shoulder. "Mr. Plankton, it's time
to wake up," she says in a
soothing voice. Karen squeezes his hand
and whispers, "You can do it,
babe. It's almost over."

Plankton's snores begin to
soften, turning into small
moans as he stirs in the chair.

Karen's voice grows
slightly louder, "Plankton,
wake up, you're okay."

The nurse nods, her hand
still on his shoulder. "Come
on, Mr. Plankton," she says,
her voice gentle. "Time to 
wake up now."

Plankton's snores taper off
into quiet, shallow breaths,
his mouth still slightly open.
A string of saliva stretches
between his bottom lip and the
chair, and Karen quickly
wipes it away with the tissue.

His eyelid flutters open,
his gaze unfocused and glazed.
He blinks slowly, looking
around the room as if trying
to piece together where he is.
Karen's eyes are on him, a
mixture of love and concern,
as she smiles down at him, and he
looks at her with a confused
expression.

"Welcome back," she says
softly. His mouth moves, but a
sound comes out, being a
slightly slurred mumble that
sounds like "Mmph?"

The nurse laughs gently. "It's
normal for the mouth to be
numb. You just had your
wisdom teeth out."

Plankton's eye widens a
little, and he tries to speak
again, "Wheah...?"

The nurse chuckles. "Your
mouth is still numb, don't worry."

Karen takes the cue and
reassures him, "You're at the
dentist, honey. You just had
your wisdom teeth removed."
Plankton blinks again, his eye
slowly focusing on her face.
He then looks at the nurse with
confused suspicion. His eye
widens a bit more, looking at
his arm where the I.V. had been,
now just a small bandage.

The nurse nods. "Yes, you're
all done. We're just waiting
for you to wake up fully before
we let you go ho-"

Plankton interrupts with a
slurred, "Huh?" His tongue
doesn't quite cooperate, and he
ends up drooling a bit more.
Karen laughs, the tension in
the room dissipating. "You
heard her, you're okay," she says,
patting his hand.

But Plankton's not quite
convinced. His eye narrows as
his mind fights the fog of
the anesthesia. "Wha... wha...
youw nee thoo do my teethies!
Youw shupposht to taketh them 
out!"

The nurse laughs lightly, a
kindness in her eyes. "Don't
worry, Mr. Plankton, we did.
You're all done. Dr. Finnegan
took them out."

Plankton's gaze shifts to
Dr. Finnegan with curiosity.
"Who's 'Dr. Finny-gwan'?" he
slurs, his voice thick with
confusion.

Karen laughs softly, "It's
Dr. Finnegan, sweetie. He's
the dentist. He's the one who
just took your teeth out."

Plankton's unfocused eye
swivels towards Dr. Finnegan,
his expression one of disbelief.
"Y-you're not... 'Dr. Finny-gwan'?"
he stammers, the words
sliding out of his mouth like
molasses.

The dentist chuckles, his
face appearing over Karen's
shoulder. "It's okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice calm. "I'm
right here, see?"

Plankton blinks heavily, his
eye darting between the nurse
and Dr. Finnegan, trying to make
sense of the situation. "bu’...
my teethies," he mumbles, his
hand rising to tentatively touch
his swollen cheeks.

The nurse's smile never
fades as she says, "Yes, Dr.
Finnegan performed the
surgery. You're all set."

But Plankton's not so sure.
He looks at her hand on his
shoulder, the same one that
was so gentle when he was
unconscious. "You... youwre
not... a... nentis," he
asks, his words thick with
drowsiness.

The nurse laughs gently, her
patience unwavering. "No,
Mr. Plankton, I'm not. I'm
just here to help you wake
up. Dr. Finnegan is the one
who did the surgery." She
gestures to the dentist, who
smiles back at Plankton.

But Plankton's mind is
still swimming in anesthesia.
"Thent... then wha... who
dat?" he slurs, pointing a
shaky finger at the figure
behind the surgical mask.

The nurse laughs gently,
not offended by his confusion.
"I'm just here to assist Dr.
Finnegan," she explains, her voice
soft and soothing. "I didn't
do the surgery. He did."

Plankton's eye squints
suspiciously at her, his hand
still hovering over his cheek.
"Buth... youw... you haz... hands..."
he mumbles.

The nurse's smile
doesn't falter. "Yes, I do.
But I promise you, it was
Dr. Finnegan who performed
the surgery."

Plankton's gaze swings to
Dr. Finnegan again, his
expression a mix of confusion
and accusation. "Den...
den who... who ish... ish..."
his voice trails off as he tries
to form coherent words, but
his mouth isn't cooperating.

The dentist laughs, a
deep, hearty sound that fills
the room. "It's okay, Plankton.
You're just a little out of it
right now." He reaches out to
give Plankton's shoulder a gentle
squeeze. "Let's get you into the
recovery chair."

Karen helps to lift him
up, his body feeling like a rag
doll in her arms. He leans
heavily on her, his legs
shaky and unsteady. The nurse
supports his other side as
they guide him to the chair.

"Whathish ish...?" he mumbles,
his eye glazed and unfocused,
his hand feeling along the chair
as if trying to understand
what it is.

"It's your chair, Plankton,"
Karen says with a smile,
helping him to sit upright.

Plankton's gaze travels
slowly to the chair.
"Chair?" he slurs, his voice
barely a whisper. He looks back
at Karen, then at the nurse,
his eye wide with bewilderment.
"Whath... whath do I do wiff
thish... chair?"

The nurse and Karen both
chuckle, the tension of the
surgery lifting slightly. "You
just sit down, sweetie," Karen
says, her voice soothing. "Let's
get you comfortable."

Plankton looks at the chair
with a mix of suspicion and
exhaustion. "Buth... I don't
know how to siht," he slurs,
his mouth barely moving. His hand
grips the armrest as if it's a
life preserver.

Karen laughs softly,
supporting him as he sits.
"You've got this," she says,
adjusting his posture. "Just
let yourself lean back."

Plankton's eyelid flaps
weakly. "Buth... buth how do
youw siht?" he repeats, his
words slurring into each
other. His head lolls back,
and Karen and the nurse share a
look of amusement.

The nurse gently pushes
his head back. "Just
and relax, Mr. Plankton," she
instructs. "We've got you."

new ivcore nursecore iv

CHIP IN MY BOX vi
(Autistic author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip in my box chip plankton ii vi

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vii
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Sponge Bob's 
thumb begins to 
move in slow, 
soothing circles 
against Plankton's 
skin. "Thank you," 
he says, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper.
Sponge Bob 
simply nods, 
his thumb 
continuing its 
soothing motion. 
He doesn't know 
how to explain 
the depth of his 
feelings, but 
his actions speak 
louder than words. 
His friendship 
with Plankton has 
always been 
unconventional, but 
now, in the face of 
this new 
challenge, it feels 
more precious than 
ever.

Just as the 
moment of 
connection seems 
to solidify, the door 
to the Chum 
Bucket opens again, 
and Hanna tentatively 
steps inside, 
a pamphlet clutched 
in her hand.

"I brought 
this," she says, 
her voice shaking 
slightly as she 
holds out the 
pamphlet. "It's about 
autism...and 
rituals that might 
help get rid of the 
autistic behaviors."

Karen's snatching the 
pamphlet from 
Hanna's grip. Her 
eyes scan the 
pages, her anger 
building with 
each word. "What 
are you thinking?" 
she demands, her 
voice like a 
whipcrack.

Hanna takes a 
step back. "I just...I 
thought it might 
help you get him 
back to normal," 
she stammers, 
clearly not expecting 
the ferocity of 
Karen's reaction.

But Karen's 
anger is a 
volcano, erupting 
with the force 
of her 
love for Plankton. 
"These are not 'behaviors' 
to get rid of," she 
snaps, 
shaking the 
pamphlet in the 
air. "This is who 
he is now!"

"But Karen, don't you 
think life would 
be easier if he 
wasn't...you know, 
like this?" Hanna 
tries to explain.

"This isn't 
about making life 
easier for me," she 
snaps. "It's about 
supporting him!"

"Karen, Plankton just 
needs to be fixed," 
Hanna says, her voice 
smaller now, her 
expression pleading. 
"We both know 
how difficult it is to 
be around someone 
with...problems."

The words hit 
Karen. "Fixed?" she 
repeats, her voice 
low and dangerous. 
"Plankton isn't 
broken. He's not a 
machine to be 
tinkered with! These 
are dangerous, 
deadly suggestions!"

Plankton flinches 
at the sound, his mind 
whirling. 
He feels a 
tiny spark of 
defiance in his 
chest.

"You dare 
suggest that he 
doesn't deserve 
to live because 
he's autistic? You 
don't get to decide 
his worth!"

Plankton's 
grip on Sponge 
Bob's  
tightens, his 
body stiffening, 
his heart racing.

"How 
could you?" she 
demands, her eyes 
spitting fire. "You 
want me to just...to 
just get rid of him?"

Hanna's eyes 
fill with tears as 
she takes another 
step back, her 
hands coming up 
in a defensive 
gesture. "I didn't 
mean it like that," 
she says, her voice 
quavering. "I just 
want to help!"

But Karen's 
fury is a 
freight train, 
unstoppable. "Help?" 
she spits. "This is 
not help!" She 
gestures at the 
pamphlet, now a 
mangled mess on 
the floor. "This 
is hate, Hanna! 
This is saying 
he's not worth it 
because he's not 
like everyone else!"

Plankton looks 
down, his antennae 
drooping. Was he 
really such a 
burden? Was his 
life not worth 
living?

Sponge Bob 
squeezes Plankton's 
hand, his 
grip a silent 
reassurance.

Karen's fury 
doesn't waver. "You 
call yourself a 
friend?" she says, her 
voice laced with 
disgust. "You'd throw 
his life away because 
it's inconvenient 
for you?"

Hanna's sobs fill 
the room, her 
body trembling 
under the weight 
of Karen's accusations. 
"I didn't mean it 
like that," she 
whimpers. "I just...I 
don't know what to do."

Karen's anger 
doesn't abate, but 
it turns into a 
deep sadness. She 
looks at Hanna, her 
eyes filled with 
disappointment. "You 
don't 'fix' someone 
because they're 
different," she 
says, her voice 
deadly calm. "You 
support them."

Plankton watches 
the exchange. He feels 
tiny, insignificant 
under the weight 
of their words.

Karen turns to 
Sponge Bob. 
"Take him to his 
room," she says, her 
voice barely above 
a whisper. "I need 
to talk to Hanna."

Sponge Bob nods 
slowly, his eyes 
filled with 
understanding. He 
gently helps Plankton 
to his feet, a 
steadying presence 
against Plankton's 
uncertain steps.

As they walk 
to the bedroom, 
Plankton's gaze 
remains glued to 
the floor, his mind 
whirling with 
thoughts he can't 
quite grasp.

Once Plankton is 
safely in bed, 
Sponge Bob 
tucks the blanket 
around him, his 
movements gentle and 
soothing. Plankton's 
body relaxes slightly 
under the comforting 
weight, his 
eye closing with 
a sigh.

Karen turns 
to Hanna, 
unfurling from  
defensive pose. "You 
don't understand," 
she says, her voice 
calmer now, though 
still tinged with 
frustration. "The 
things you're 
suggesting, they're 
not just cruel, they're 
dangerous."

Hanna's 
sobs slow, her 
eyes red and 
swollen. She looks 
at Karen with 
desperation, 
clearly lost in the 
ignorance. "What do 
you mean?"
Karen's
determined. "Straightjackets 
are used," she 
says, her words 
carefully measured. "They 
restrain patients, 
not help them." She 
pauses. "And 
those rituals you 
found, the ones 
that suggest 
them to 
make him 'normal'... 
They could 
kill.."

Hanna's 
sobs stop 
abruptly, her 
breath hitching. "What?" 
she asks, 
shock etched 
on her features.

Karen's eyes 
never leave 
Hanna's, her 
voice cold and 
devoid of pity. "You 
don't get to decide 
his worth, Hanna," 
she says, each 
word a bullet. "And 
you certainly don't 
get to decide his 
fate."

Hanna's 
shoulders slump. "I'm 
so sorry," she 
whispers, her 
tears flowing freely. 
"I didn't know."

Karen's 
expression softens 
slightly, the anger 
fading to 
disappointment. "You 
have to understand," 
she says. "Plankton 
is still Plankton. 
He just...sees the 
world differently 
now."

Hanna 
sniffs, wiping 
away her tears. "But 
what if he's in 
pain?" she 
whispers. "What if 
his autism is 
making him miserable?"

Karen 
sighs, her 
frustration 
dissipating. "He's 
not in pain," she 
explains. "He's 
just...sensitive. To 
everything. Sounds, 
smells, touch... exactly
what the institutions
expose them to, will cause
pain."
Hanna
absorbs Karen's 
words. "Oh, I didn't..."
she trails off, 
overwhelmed by the 
gravity of her 
mistake. "I'm so 
sorry, Karen. I didn't 
know."

Karen nods,  
relaxing slightly. 
"I know," she says, 
her voice softer now. 
"It's a lot to take 
in, and it's 
scary when 
someone you love 
becomes...different."

Hanna nods. "But 
you still love him," 
she says, a question 
and a statement 
wrapped in one.

"More than 
anything," Karen 
replies without 
hesitation, her 
tentacles tightening 
around Hanna. "And 
I need you to love 
him too, Hanna."

Hanna nods, 
swiping at her 
tears with the 
back of her hand. 
"I do," she 
whispers. "I just...I 
want him to be happy."

Karen's tentacles 
give Hanna a gentle 
squeeze. "He is," 
she says, her voice 
filled with 
determined love. "And 
we'll make sure he 
stays that way."


The two of them 
stand there, the 
silence of the 
moment heavy 
between them. Karen's 
eyes drift to the 
closed bedroom door, 
beyond which 
Plankton sleeps 
peacefully. The 
sounds of the 
Chum Bucket are 
muted, the only 
noise the distant 
hum of the 
laboratory equipment.

In that quiet, 
Karen's tentacles 
relax slightly, 
the anger of the 
confrontation 
dissipating. She 
looks back at Hanna, 
her expression 
softening. "Thank 
you for coming," 
she says, her voice 
still firm but 
lacking the sharp 
edge of anger. "But 
you have to understand 
that this isn't 
something to be 
fixed. It's part 
of him now. Let's
go check on him."

They find SpongeBob 
sitting on the 
foot of the bed, 
his hand 
still entwined with 
Plankton's, their 
fingertips barely 
touching. Plankton's 
breathing is deep 
and even, a stark 
contrast to the 
turmoil of moments 
before. His antennae 
twitch occasionally,
his mouth barely 
parted in a quiet 
snore.
Hanna follows 
Karen into the 
room, her eyes 
wide and 
frightened. She 
sees Sponge Bob and 
his gentle touch 
with Plankton and 
her expression 
softens slightly. 
This is new to her, 
this quiet 
understanding, but 
she can't help but 
be moved by the 
sight.
Sponge Bob looks 
up, his eyes 
filled with a 
certain sadness 
that mirrors 
Karen's. He nods 
silently, 
acknowledging her 
thanks. Hanna's 
eyes dart to 
Plankton, who 
remains fast asleep, 
his single eye 
closed peacefully.

Karen sits 
beside the bed, 
reaching out to 
stroke Plankton's 
forehead. His 
skin is cool to the 
touch, his breathing 
steady. She 
whispers to Hanna, 
"We need to be 
careful with him. 
He's...fragile."

Hanna nods, 
swallowing her 
tears. She 
moves closer, her 
own hand tentatively 
reaching out to 
touch Plankton's 
hand. His antennae 
twitch but he 
doesn't wake.

The room is 
bathed in a soft 
glow, the 
dimmed lights 
designed to reduce 
stimulation and 
ease his sensory 
overload. Karen's 
breathing slows as 
she watches the 
scene before her, 
her heart swelling 
with love and 
gratitude for the 
support Sponge 
Bob is 
providing.

Hanna's tentative 
touch seems to 
soothe Plankton, 
his 
snoring growing 
slightly more 
rhythmic.

Sponge Bob 
smiles softly at 
Hanna, his 
thumb still 
moving in gentle 
circles around 
Plankton's. 
"You're doing 
good," he whispers. 
"He just needs 
us to be patient 
and understanding."

Hanna nods, 
her eyes never 
leaving Plankton's 
face. "I'll try," 
she says, her voice 
quiet and earnest. "I 
really will."

Karen looks at 
Hanna, her eyes 
softening. "It's not 
easy," she admits. 
"But it's worth it."



**NOTEs As an autistic
writer (and I used AI to
help me with the words)
I do not encourage the
ableism people have
shown in their ignorance.
Depending on when and
where you live, some
people have thought 
such therapies might be
good, without actually
accepting nor helping.
Even Hans Asperger
has supported eugenics
during the war, sending
people to internment
camps leading to demise.
I came across the site 
autismmemorial.wordpress.com
if you'd like to educate yourself
about how people have
endured such.*

new neurobehavioral plankton autismcore vii

CHIP IN MY BOX iv
(Autistic author)

Chip's door clicks shut upstairs,
the echo resonating through
the house like a gunshot.
Karen takes a deep
breath, her eyes never
leaving the spot where
Plankton had been standing.

With a sigh, she
picks up the sensory box,
carefully placing the
curtain back inside. She
knows her husband's anger
is not directed at their son,
but at his own inability to
control his condition. She
follows him into the kitchen,
finding him slumped over
the kitchen table, his head
in his hands.

"Plankton," she says
softly, setting the box by him.
He doesn't move, his
breathing ragged and heavy.
"I know you're upset."

He looks up, his eye
shimmering with anger
and a hint of despair.

"I can't... I just can't handle
it," he chokes out, his
voice thick with emotion.

Karen approaches, her
movements slow and careful,
as if she's afraid of startling
a wild animal.

"What can't you handle?"
she asks, her voice gentle.

Plankton's shoulders heave
with a silent sob. "The... the
shame," he whispers. "The fear
that... that Chip will think
I'm broken." His words hang
heavy in the air, each one a
droplet of pain.

Karen's seen this battle play
out countless times, but it
never gets easier. She sits
next to him, her hand
resting gently on his shoulder.
"You're not broken," she says
soothingly. "You're just... you."

Plankton's head snaps up, his
eye wild with desperation.
"But what kind of father
am I?" he asks, his voice
barely a whisper. "What kind
of husband?"

Karen squeezes his
shoulder gently. "The best
kind," she says firmly. "You're
the kind who tries, who
fights for us every day."

Plankton's breath hitches, his
eye filling with unshed tears.
He doesn't believe her,
but her words are a balm
on the raw wound of his pride.
"But I-I-I-I… I can't control it!"
He whispers, his voice
shaking with fear.

Karen's voice is firm and
steady as she replies, "No one
expects you to, honey." She takes
his trembling hand in hers.
"What's important is that
we're here for each other."

Plankton leans into Karen's
side, his body shaking with
repressed sobs. He's never felt
so exposed, so vulnerable.
Her warmth is a comfort.

Karen wraps her arms around
his trembling form, her eyes
closed tight. "You're not
broken," she repeats, her voice
like a gentle lullaby. "You just
have something extra, something
that makes you who you are."

Plankton's breathing slows,
his body relaxing into her
embrace. He knows she's
right.

"You're not broken,"
Karen whispers,
her voice a soothing balm.
"You're just... different."
Her words hang in the air,
their truth resonating deep
within him.

Plankton's sobs quieten,
his breaths slowing to
match hers. He nods,
his head resting heavily
on her shoulder. The fight
leaves him, the storm of
his emotions subsiding
to a gentle patter of rain.

Karen feels the weight of
his head increase, his
body going slack as sleep
claims him. She tightens
her embrace with love and
concern. Her husband's
condition is a constant
reminder of the invisible
battles he faces every day.

The kitchen clock ticks
steadily in the background,
marking the passage of
time. Plankton's breathing
evens out, his features
softening in sleep. Karen
kisses the top of his head,
his antennae twitching.

Karen strokes his back
gently, her mind racing with
thoughts of what to say to
Chip. They need to talk,
to explain things better.

Upstairs, Chip sits on his
bed, his eyes fixed on the
closed door. The echo of his
father's anger still rings in
his ears, making him
feel like he's the one who's
wrong. He wipes his tears,
his curiosity tinged with
a heavy guilt. He decides
to go check on his parents.

He tiptoes down the stairs,
his heart in his throat,
each step a silent apology.
The kitchen light is on, a
soft glow spilling into
the hallway. As he approaches,
he sees Karen, her arms
wrapped around a sleeping
Plankton. His dad's head
is nestled into her shoulder,
his breaths deep and
even in sleep.

Karen's eyes meet Chip's,
filled with a mix of
exhaustion and sadness.
She stands, Plankton's weight
barely a burden to her, and
guides her son to the couch.
With gentle movements, she
sets Plankton down, his body
slumping into the cushions. His
snores are the only sound
that breaks the heavy silence.

"He'll sleep now," Karen
whispers, her voice a
soothing lullaby in the
quiet room. "His episodes
can be draining." She sits
next to Chip, her eyes
never leaving her husband.

Chip nods, his own eyes
swollen from crying. "What's
wrong with him, Mom?" He
asks, his voice small and
scared. He's never seen
his dad like this before,
so lost in his own mind.

Karen sighs, her eyes
filling with a mix of
sorrow and love. "It's not
something that's easy to
explain," she starts, her
hands fidgeting with her
apron. "But I'll try."

Chip nods, his curiosity
still a live wire, but now
tempered with concern.
"Dad has something called
sensory overload," she
explains gently. "Sometimes,
his brain gets too much
information from his
surroundings, and gets
overwhelmed."

He looks up at her, his eyes
searching for understanding.
"It's like when you have too
much on your plate at dinner,
and you just can't eat another
bite," she continues, trying to
make the abstract concept
more tangible for her son. "Except
for him, it's all the time, with
everything he sees, hears, feels..."

Her words hang in the air,
suspended by the gravity of
the situation. Chip nods
slowly, his eyes wide with
realization. "And the box?"
He asks, his voice a whisper.

"The box," Karen says, her
voice a soft sigh, "contains
things that help him cope,
things to help calm him down
when the world gets too loud."
Her gaze lingers on the
closed wooden box, the
secret it holds now a little
less mysterious.

Chip nods, his curiosity
dimming in the face of
his newfound empathy. "Can I
see?" He asks, his voice
hopeful.

Karen looks at him, her
expression torn. "Not now,
sweetheart," she says gently.
"Your dad's not feeling well.
But maybe another time,
when he's ready."

Chip nods, his curiosity
now tinged with sadness.
He looks at his father,
his chest tight with the
knowledge that he's caused
this pain. "But why was he so
angry?" He asks, his voice
small.

Karen takes a deep
breath, choosing her words
carefully. "Your dad's
not angry at you, Chip.
He's angry at himself, and
scared of what you might
think. This isn't something he
wants to share with anyone."

Chip's eyes never leave
his father's still form.
"But why?" He whispers,
his voice thick with tears.

Karen's hand finds Chip's,
giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Because, Chip," she says,
meeting his gaze, "it's hard
for him to admit he needs help.
His personality is..." she
pauses, searching for the right
words, "It's like he's a superhero,
trying to hide his kryptonite."

Chip's eyes widen, his
thoughts racing. "But everyone
has something they're not good
at," he says, his voice
small. "Why can't he-"

Karen's grip on his
hand tightens. "Your father's
not just anyone, Chip," she says,
her voice filled with a mix of
pride and concern. "He's a strong
man, and he's used to being in
control. Having something that
makes him feel vulnerable,
something he can't fix, it's hard
for him to accept."

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's sleeping
form. He's beginning to
understand, but it's a lot to
process. "What can we do?"
He asks, his voice barely
above a whisper.

Karen's smile is sad but
determined. "We can be
there for him," she says,
squeezing his hand. "And we'll
find a way to help him
manage his... moments."

Chip nods, his eyes still
on Plankton. "How can I
make it right?" He whispers.
"How can I help him?"

Karen looks at her son,
seeing the man he'll become.
Her heart swells with pride.
"You already are," she says,
squeezing his hand. "By being
curious, by caring enough to
ask." She pauses, her gaze
softening. "But sometimes,
helping is just giving
someone space to be."

Chip nods, his eyes on
his father's peaceful face.
Plankton's snores are a
comforting background to
their quiet conversation.
He feels a knot loosen in
his chest, his curiosity
giving way to understanding.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii iv

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vi
(By NeuroFabulous)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous vi

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iv
ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ
(By NeuroFabulous)
ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀᴄᴛs

"Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack,
full of pain and anger. "How could you say
such a thing?"

Plankton's eye were wet with unshed tears,
his body trembling as he stared at his son,
his mind racing to process the hurtful words.
"Maybe I am a burden," he murmured,
his voice so low it was almost lost in
the heavy silence.

Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened.
"That's enough," she said, her voice shaking.
"You don't mean that, Chip." But the look
on Plankton's face told her that the damage
was done.

Chip stared at his dad, his heart racing.
He hadn't meant to say those things, but
the anger and confusion had just spilled
out. He saw the hurt in Plankton's eye,
the same eyes that had looked at him
with love and pride so many times before.
He felt a lump form in his throat, his
cheeks burning with guilt.

"Dad, I'm, I just..."
He trailed off, not 
knowing what to say
next. Plankton's gaze 
was unflinching,
his hurt palpable.

Chip looked at his dad,
his heart racing. He
could see the pain etched
on Plankton's face, the
way his antennas drooped.

"I didn't mean it," Chip
stammered, his voice
shaking. "I'm sorry."

The silence was deafening.
Plankton's eye searched
his son's, looking for
any hint of sincerity.

Finally, he spoke, his voice
barely a whisper. "You've never
seen me as a burden before."
The words were like a knife
twisting in Karen's heart.

Karen's eyes filled with
tears as she watched the
exchange between her husband
and son. She had always tried
to shield Chip from the harsh
realities of Plankton's condition, but
now it seemed those efforts had
only created a chasm of
misunderstanding.

"Chip," she said, her voice
shaking with emotion, "you know
that's not true. Your father is not a
burden. He's a brilliant scientist, a
loving husband, and the best dad
we could ever ask for."

Chip's eyes fell to the floor,
his shoulders slumping with
the weight of his words. "But
sometimes it feels like it," he
mumbled, his voice thick with
regret.

Karen's eyes searched Chip's
face, trying to understand
his pain. "Sweetie, everyone has
their own challenges. Daddy's just
have to do with the way his
brain works. It doesn't make
him any less of a person or a dad."

But Chip's frustration remained,
his voice cracking.

"But why can't he just get
better?" he demanded, his eyes
filled with a desperation that
neither Karen nor Plankton had
ever seen before. "I mean, if he's so
smart, can't he just fix it? If not, then
why do we have to keep him around?"

Karen's heart sank as she watched
the conversation spiral out of control.
She knew that Chip didn't mean
what he was saying, but the
hurt on Plankton's face was real.
But Chip wasn't listening. His
thoughts had turned to a darker
place, one fueled by his desperation
for normalcy. In a moment of cruel
manipulation, born out of fear and
frustration, he looked up at Plankton.
"Chip," Karen began, her voice firm but
gentle, "autism isn't something that
can be fixed. It's part of who your
dad is. And we..."

But Chip cut her off, his voice
driven by a desperate anger that
surprised even him. "If you can't
play with me, if you can't be a real
dad, then maybe you shouldn't be here
at all," he said, the words tasting bitter
on his tongue. "Maybe we should
just...

"Chip!" Karen's voice was a
whipcrack, eyes filled with horror. "Chip,
that's enough!" she snapped. But her
words seemed to fall on deaf ears.
Chip's mind was a tumultuous sea of
emotions—his frustration, confusion,
and fear of the unknown had led him
to a dark and dangerous place.

Plankton looked at his son, his
eye wide with shock and pain. "Chip,"
he began, his voice shaking, "you
don't mean that. I'm your father. I
love you."

But Chip's anger had turned to
a cold resolve. "It's for the best,"
he said, his voice eerily calm. "If you
can't be a real dad, then maybe it's
time for you to go."

The words hit Plankton like a
freight train. He felt the air leave
his lungs, his antennas drooping
further than ever before. "Chip,"
he choked out, his voice shaking.
"What are you saying?"

Chip's eyes were cold, his
face a mask of determination.
"I'm saying that maybe you
shouldn't be here," he said, his
voice devoid of emotion. "Maybe
it would be better for everyone if
you just weren't around anymo-"

He was cut off by a sound that
seemed to shake the very foundations
of the Chum Bucket—a wail so
deep and mournful that it seemed
to echo through the very fabric of their
lives. It was Plankton, his tiny body
wracked with sobs that seemed too
large for his frame. Chip had never
seen his dad cry before, and the
sight of it made him feel small, his
words weighing on him like an anchor.

Karen's grip on his shoulder
loosened, her eyes filled with a mix
of shock and despair. She moved to
comfort Plankton, her arms wrapping
around him as he collapsed into
her embrace. "It's okay," she whispered,
rocking him gently. "It's okay."

Chip stood there, watching his
parents, the gravity of his words
finally sinking in. He had never
seen his dad like this before—so
weak, so vulnerable. A pang of guilt
shot through him, and he felt the
weight of his own cruelty. Plankton
continued to sob, his body convulsing
with the force of his emotions. Karen
looked up at Chip.

"Your dad needs us right now,"
she said, her voice firm but gentle.
"Please, go to your room and
think about what you've said."
Her eyes were filled with a mix
of anger and sadness, but
mostly, she looked disappointed.

Chip nodded, feeling the full
weight of his own words crash
down on him. He turned and
walked away, each step heavier
than the last as he went to his
own room.

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous iv

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY viii
(Autistic author)

After SpongeBob and Patrick left
Plankton settled for his usual movie 
night. Karen took this time to call 
Sandy, her best friend, a gal pal.

"Sandy, it's Karen," she said, her voice trembling 
slightly. "I need to talk to you about something."

On the other end of the line, Sandy's voice was 
warm and concerned. "Howdy! What's going on
Karen?"

"It's Plankton," Karen began. "He's... changed."

Sandy's voice grew serious. "What happened
Karen?"

"Plankton had an accident," she said, her voice 
shaking. "He hit his head and... well, the doctors 
say he has autism now, and I thought I'd let you know."

Sandy's voice was calm and understanding. "Oh
Karen," she said. "I'm so sorry to hear that. How's 
he handling it?"

Karen sighed heavily. "It's been... a lot," she admitted. 
"He's so focused on jellyfish now, and it's like nothing 
else matters. It's his whole world."

"Wow, that's quite a change," Sandy said, her voice filled 
with empathy. "How's he been with social interactions?"

"Well, that's the thing," she said. "He's been... different. Sometimes, 
it's like he's in his own little world. And other times, like with Patrick, 
he's just... really sensitive."

"Patrick?" Sandy's voice was incredulous. "Patrick made fun of him?"

"Well, not exactly. He just didn't understand," she explained. 
"He said jellyfish were boring, and it really hurt Plankton's 
feelings. The neurodivergence is irreversible, and he's still Plankton."

Sandy's voice was filled with understanding. "But it sounds like he's 
found something that brings him a lot of joy."

"Yeah," Karen agreed, her tentacles relaxing slightly. "But it's hard 
to watch him struggle, you know?"

Sandy's voice was gentle. "I can imagine, Karen. But remember
he's still the same Plankton at heart."

The next day, Sandy arrived at the Chum Bucket, her burly squirrel 
arms holding a treasure trove of various miniature jellyfish figurines. 
She'd spent hours scouring the deepest parts of the ocean for the 
rarest and most detailed jellyfish models she could find. "Hi, Karen!" 
she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

Karen's eyes lit up at the sight of her friend. "Sandy, what's all this?" 
she asked, her tentacles waving in curiosity.

"I heard about Plankton's newfound love for jellyfish," Sandy said 
with a grin, her cheeks red with the excitement of her discovery. "And 
I thought these might help him feel more connected. Where is he?" 
Sandy comes in.

Plankton's sitting in the corner, his jellyfish book open on the floor 
in front of him, surrounded by a sea of scribbled notes and diagrams. 
His gaze didn't leave the page, but his posture straightened at the sound of a 
new presence in the room.

"Plankton," Karen called gently, "Look who's here!"

Plankton's antennae shot up as he looked over at Sandy, his 
eye widening at the sight of a box.

"These are for you," Sandy said, setting the box down in front of him.

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he looked up, his 
monotone voice cracking slightly. "For Plankton?"

Sandy nodded, her smile genuine. "I thought they might make you happy," she 
said, her voice gentle. "They're all different types of jellyfish. Each is unique 
and special, just like you."

Plankton's antennae twitched with excitement as he reached for the box, his 
eye scanning its contents. "Jellyfish," he murmured, his monotone voice filled 
with wonder. "Thanks"

Sandy watched as Plankton carefully removed each figurine, his eye lighting 
up with each new discovery. "You're welcome," she said, her voice warm. "I 
wanted to do something to support you in your newfound passion."

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he examined each jellyfish.
"These are... amazing," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with awe.

Sandy chuckled, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "I'm so glad 
you like them," she said, watching him closely. "They're from all over 
the ocean. Some of them are pretty rare."

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he examined each 
figure. "Rare," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a new
found enthusiasm. "Rare jellyfish."

Sandy nodded, her eyes bright. "Yeah, 
some of them are," she said, her 
voice filled with excitement. "Do you 
have a favorite type?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as he thought. "Turritopsis dohrnii," he 
murmured. "The immortal jellyfish. It can revert back to its polyp stage 
and start its life cycle again."

Sandy's eyes widened. "Wow, Plankton," she said, impressed. "That's 
really cool."

Plankton looked up from the box, his antennae waving slightly. "You know 
jellyfish?" he asked, his voice monotone yet filled with hope.

Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "A bit," 
she said, her tail swishing with 
excitement. "But I'd love to learn more 
from an expert like you."

Plankton's antennae quivered with a hint of pride. "Expert," he murmured, his 
monotone voice cracking slightly.

Sandy sat down next to him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell me more 
about them," she urged, her voice gentle.

Plankton's antennae perked up, and he began to speak with a newfound 
energy. "Turritopsis dohrnii," he recited, his monotone voice cracking with 
excitement. "It's a jellyfish that can live forever. If it's injured or stressed, it 
goes back to being a polyp. It's like a rebirth."

Sandy leaned closer, her eyes wide with fascination. "Really?" she said, her voice 
filled with wonder. "That's incredible!"

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "Yes," he murmured, his monotone 
voice growing more animated. "Immortal jellyfish can survive forever. 
Plankton read in book."

Sandy's eyes grew wide with amazement. 
"That's so fascinating, Plankton," she 
said, her voice filled with 
genuine interest. "How do they do that?"

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "When Turritopsis dohrnii is 
hurt, it goes back to polyp," he said, holding up a tiny figurine of the species. 
"Polyp is like jellyfish baby, but it's not baby. It's just jellyfish in different shape."

Sandy nodded, her eyes glued to the miniature figures as Plankton spoke. "That's 
so amazing," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "I've never heard of anything 
like that before."

"Jellyfish are fascinating," Plankton murmured, his antennae waving slightly as 
he picked up another figurine. "This one," he said, holding up a mini model of a 
clear jellyfish, "is called a Burgessomedusa phasmiformis."

Sandy's eyes lit up. "It's like a ghost jellyfish," she said, her voice filled 
with excitement. "I've read about these!"

"Yes," Plankton murmured, his monotone voice cracking with pride. "They're 
very rare and very beautiful."

Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. 
"They are," she agreed, reaching for one of 
the figurines. "How did you learn 
so much about jellyfish?"

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly 
as he paused in his examination 
of the ghostly jellyfish. "Plankton read 
book," he murmured.

Sandy nodded, her eyes still 
on the delicate figurine. "What 
else?" she 
asked, her voice filled 
with genuine curiosity.

Plankton's antennae quivered as he searched his memory. "Book say... that 
jellyfish are ancient creatures, with some species over 500 million years old."

Sandy's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Wow, Plankton," she said, her voice 
filled with admiration. "You really know your stuff. Can I ask a question?"

Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with excitement. "Question," he 
murmured.

Sandy took a deep breath, her eyes 
on the book. "What was the accident, 
Plankton?" she asked gently. "How 
did you hit your head?"

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly, 
the excitement draining from 
his voice. "Krabs," he murmured, his 
monotone cracking. "Mr. Krabs. Angry."

"What happened, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as he looked up at Sandy, his 
eye wide with the memory. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his 
monotone voice filled with a sudden urgency. "Mr. Krabs 
slammed cash register on Plankton's head, then Plankton 
woke up in hospital."

Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes filled with concern. "Oh
Plankton," she said, her voice gentle.

"Woke up," he murmured. "In hospital. Everything different."

Karen looked at him, her expression gentle. "What do you remember?"

Plankton paused, antennae quivering 
as he tried to piece together 
the jumbled memories. "Car," he 
murmured finally. "Long ride."

"The hospital," Karen said, stroking his back gently. "You were in a 
hospital for a bit after the accident."

Plankton's antennae twitched as he nodded, his monotone 
voice cracking. "Yes, hospital," he murmured. "Doctors talked, 
but Plankton didn't understand."

Sandy leaned in, her eyes filled with sympathy. "They told you 
about your autism?" she asked softly.

Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Karen said it's why 
Plankton thinks differently," he murmured.

Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with empathy. "It's okay to think 
differently, Plankton," she said.

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "Different," he murmured, his 
monotone voice filled with a hint of confusion. "But... Plankton good 
at jellyfish."

Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "You are," she 
said, her voice firm. "And that's something amazing. Your brain 
works in ways that let you understand jellyfish better than anyone 
else."

Plankton looked at her, his antennae perking up slightly. "Better 
than anyone?" he asked, his monotone voice 
filled with a hint of doubt.

"Absolutely," Sandy said, her voice firm. 

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore viii

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vii
(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's mind is racing,
his heart thumping in his chest.
He had never seen Plankton like
this, and the sudden change
was unnerving. "What happened
to make you so..." he asks,
his voice laced with curiosity.

Plankton's smile broadens, his
hands continuing their flapping
dance. "Good book," he repeats.
"Best friend." He pats the bed
again, his gesture urging Sponge
Bob to sit closer.

Sponge Bob does, his gaze
still locked on Plankton's.

"But what happened?" he
presses, his voice filled with
concern. "You've never been
this... this... affectionate
before."

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping, his antennas
drooping slightly. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search
his friend's, his concern
growing with each repetition.
"But Plankton, what's really
going on?" he asks, his voice
filled with urgency. "You've
never talked like this before."

Plankton's smile wavers,
his hand reaching for the book.
"Read," he says, his voice a
monotone. "Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes dart
between Plankton's and the
complex text before him.
"But Plankton, I don't
know what this means."

Plankton's smile fades, his
hands stilled. He looks at
Sponge Bob with an unblinking
stare, his mind racing. "Friend,"
he says, his voice flat. "Best
friend." His gaze drops to
the book, then back to
Sponge Bob's face. "Read," he
instructs, his tone firm.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, the
weight of Plankton's stare
heavy on his shoulders. He opens
the book to a random page.
"Ok," he says, his voice
shaking slightly. "I'll try."

He starts from the top, his
pronunciation awkward and stilted.
"Quantum Mechanics," he reads,
his eyes squinting at the text.
Sponge Bob's voice falters, the
complexity of the words tripping
his tongue. "Plankton, I don't
understand any of this," he says,
his voice filled with frustration.

Plankton's eye widen, his smile
fading. "Friend," he repeats,
his voice strained. "Best friend."
He grabs the book from Sponge
Bob's hands, his movements
suddenly frantic. "Read," he says,
his voice a mix of desperation
and joy. "Good book."

Sponge Bob's heart races as he
watches his friend's erratic
behavior. He knows something is
seriously off, but he's
not sure what. "Plankton What's
going on with you?"

Plankton's smile flickers back,
his hands stilling. He looks at
Sponge Bob, his gaze intense.
"Read," he repeats. "Best friend read."

Sponge Bob nods, his throat
tight. He tries again, his voice
more confident this time. "Quantum
Mechanics," he repeats.

Plankton's smile brightens, his
hands resuming their flutter.
"Good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's heart aches with
concern, but he continues to
read, hoping to find some
comfort in the words for
his friend. "Quantum Entanglement,"
he murmurs, his eyes scanning
the page for any sign of
understanding.

Plankton's flapping grows more
intense, his body rocking back
and forth with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen as he
notices Plankton's erratic
behavior, but he keeps reading,
his voice steady and calm. "The
universe," he says, his eyes
skimming the page, "is a strange
and wondrous place."

Plankton's eye light up, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Wondrous
place," he echoes, his voice
mirroring Sponge Bob's. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy cheeks reddening. "You're
saying the same thing I just said,"
he points out, his voice filled with
confusion.

Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands fluttering in the air. "You're
saying same thing," he says, his
voice a cheerful mimic of Sponge
Bob's. "Wondrous place. Saying
the same thing just said.."

"Plankton," SpongeBob says, his
voice urgent. "What's going on
with you?"

Plankton's smile is wide, but
his gaze is distant, as if he's
somewhere else entirely. "You're
saying the same thing," he echoes
again, his hands flapping in a
rhythmic pattern that matches
his words.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen.
"Plankton," he says,
his voice strained. "You're just
repeating me." He pauses, trying
to gauge his friend's reaction.

Plankton nods, his smile
still in place. "Yes," he says,
his voice a copy of
Sponge Bob's. "You're repeating."
His hands flap with excitement.

Sponge Bob's concern grows,
his eyes searching Plankton's for
any sign of distress. "But why,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping mid-flap. 
"But why?" he repeats, his voice
a perfect echo of Sponge Bob's.

"You're copying
me," he says. "Why are
you copying everything I say?"

Plankton's eye refocus on
Sponge Bob's face, his smile
returning. "You're copying me
why are you copying everything 
I say." Plankton echoed.

Sponge Bob's trying to find a
reason behind the behavior.
"I'm asking you what's going on!"

Plankton nods, his antennae
waving slightly. "SpongeBob asking
me what's going on," he mimics.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
heart racing. "Plankton,"
he says, his voice filled with
urgency. "This isn't funny. What's
really happening?" "This isn't
funny," he echoes Sponge Bob's
tone. "What's happening?"

Sponge Bob's heart sinks.
"Plankton," he says, his voice
shaking. "What's wrong with you?"

Plankton's eye locked
on Sponge Bob's. "Wrong with
Plankton," he echoes. "What's wrong?"

Sponge Bob's voice trembles
as he speaks. "You're not acting
like yourself," he says, his heart
pounding. "You're just repeating
everything I say."

"You're repeating everything
I say," he says, his voice a
mirror.

"Plankton," he says, his
voice shaking. "Please, tell
me what's going on."

"Please tell me what's
going on," he repeats, his voice
a perfect match to Sponge
Bob's. "You tell me."

Sponge Bob's eyes are
filled with a mix of fear and
desperation. "But, Plankton,"
he says, his voice trembling.
"You're just repeating everything
I say." He takes a deep breath,
his mind racing to understand
his friend's sudden change.

Plankton's smile is unwavering,
his hands still fluttering. "You're
just repeating everything," he echoes.
"I say." His voice is calm,
his movements methodical.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears,
his heart breaking at the sight
of his friend. "Please,
Plankton," he begs, his voice
cracking with anger.

But Plankton's response is
only more of the same, his words a
perfect echo of Sponge Bob's plea.
"Please, Plankton," he repeats,
his voice a mirror of pain. "Please.."

"This isn't right,"
he says, his voice filled with
frustration. "You're not acting
normal."

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment, his hands stilling. "Not
normal," he repeats, his voice a
hollow echo. "You not acting
right."

Sponge Bob's frustration boils
over. "I'm not the one who's
changed!" he exclaims, his voice
loud. "You're the one who's
been acting weird and repeating
everything I say!"

"You're the one
who's changed," he echoes, his voice
still calm. "Weird. Repeating."

Sponge Bob's anger flares, his
spongy fists clenching. "No, Plankton!"
he says, his voice rising. "You're the one
who's different! You're not the same
as before!"

Plankton's smile fades, his hands
coming to a halt. His gaze meets
Sponge Bob's with a flicker of
understanding. "Different," he says,
his voice a flat echo. "Not same."

Sponge Bob's anger turns to
desperation. "What happened to
you?" he asks, his voice cracking.
"Why are you doing this?"

Plankton's gaze is
unyielding, his smile a forced
imitation of happiness. "You
doing this," he repeats, his voice
a monotone.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill
with anger. "What are you
talking about?" he demands, his
hands clenching into fists. "I
haven't done anything!"

Plankton's smile flickers,
his gaze dropping to his book.
"You haven't done anything," he
echoes, his voice a mirror of
Sponge Bob's anger. "I have."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, his
confusion turning to anger. "What
are you saying?" he asks, his voice
sharp.

Plankton's hands resuming their flapping. "I
have book," he says, his voice
calmer. "Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's anger dissipates,
his confusion deepening. "But
Plankton," he says, his voice gentle.
"What's the book got to do with
anything?"

"Book," he repeats, his voice
a monotone chant. "Book, book."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to anger, his eyes narrowing.
"What is it with this book?"
he demands, his voice tight.
"What's so special about it?"

Plankton's smile flickers,
his hands pausing in their
flapping. "You and book," he says,
his voice a monotone whisper.
"Makes Plankton happy."

SpongeBob grabs Plankton's
wrists to stop the flapping,
making Plankton finally stop
his repetitive chanting.
"What's gotten into you?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice
shaking with anger and concern.
"Are you just messing with me?"
Plankton's smile fades,
his antennas drooping. "No mess,"
he says, his voice a sad echo.
He tries to pull
his hands free, but Sponge Bob's
grip tightens.

Sponge Bob's eyes bore into
his friend's, searching for
anything that might explain
this strange behavior. "Then what
is it, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice a mix of anger
and fear. "What's going on?"

Plankton's gaze flickers with
a hint of sadness.

"Accident," he whispers, his
voice a hollow echo,
his body tense.

new karen and the autistic journey echolalia palilalia vii

CHIP AND FAIL iv
(Autistic author)

Chip leaned in closer, his screen
searching Plankton's unblinking
gaze for some sign of recognition.
He snapped his fingers in front of
his eye. Nothing.

"Dad, can you hear me?" He asked
again, his voice quivering with
concern. Plankton's condition meant
his senses were heightened, but Chip
was unaware of the storm his
enthusiasm had unleashed. Each
question, each touch, was a boulder
crashing down on his father's
fragile mental landscape. 

The thought sent a shiver down
Chip's spine. He had to get
his dad to respond, to come
back to him. "Please, Dad,"
he whispered, his voice a
plea. "I don't know what to do.
Can you wake up?" But Plankton's
body remained rigid, his eye
unseeing. Chip felt a knot
of fear in his stomach. What if
his dad was stuck in there,
unable to escape?

He didn't know his dad was
autistic, didn't understand the
world of sensory input that was
his reality. He didn't know
how much his excitement and
touches could overwhelm him. He
just knew that his dad, the man
who had always been so strong,
was now as still and quiet as a
graveyard at midnight.

Chip's mind raced, trying to
find the right words, the right
touch, to bring Plankton back. He
wanted to share his stories,
his happiness, but instead, he'd
stumbled into a minefield of
unseen sensitivities. He didn't
know how to navigate this
uncharted territory. "Dad," he
whispered, his voice trembling. "Please,
just tell me you're okay."

Plankton's eye remained 
unfocused. His hand hovered
over Plankton's, unsure of what to
do. He didn't know that his
enthusiastic touches were only
adding to the chaos in Plankton's
mind, that his vivid stories were
like a hurricane in a library.

Chip took a step back, his mind
whirling with worry. He had never
seen his dad like this before,
his usual stoic exterior replaced
by a terrifying stillness. "Dad,"
he whispered, his voice shaking.
"What's happening?" He wished
he could read Plankton's thoughts,
understand the turmoil that was
causing his father to withdraw
so completely.

He knew Plankton was different,
that he needed his space and
his quiet, but he had never
realized the extent of his
sensitivities. The more Chip talked,
the more his dad seemed to retreat,
until he was nothing but a shell,
a statue of a man Chip couldn't
reach. He felt like he was
shouting into the wind, his words
disappearing without a trace.

With trembling hands, Chip reached
out to touch Plankton's face,
his heart breaking at the sight of
his father's vacant gaze. "Dad,"
he whispered, his voice filled with
fear. "Please come back." But
Plankton remained unresponsive,
his eye glazed over.

The room grew colder, the air
thicker with Chip's desperation.
"PLEASE, DAD!" He shouted, his voice
breaking. Plankton didn't move,
his body a statue in the swirl of
his sensory chaos. Chip didn't know
his touches and loudness were only
adding to his father's pain.

"Dad, you're scaring me!" Chip's
fingers hovered over Plankton's arm. His heart
was racing as he tried to think
of what to do, his mind a blur
of panic.
He knew his mom might know what to do.
"Mom!" he calls out, his voice
shaky. 

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II iv

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS vi
(By NeuroFabulous)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chip nodded, his
hand trembling slightly.
He mimicked her movements,
his touch as light as a feather.
Plankton's antennae quivered
under his touch, but he remained
asleep. Karen gave him a small
smile of encouragement.

"Mom, does he like it
when I touch him like this?"
Chip asked, his voice filled
with hope.

Karen watched her son,
his hand hovering over Plankton's
antennas with such care.
"It depends," she said, her voice
soft. "Sometimes, it can be soothing
for him. Other times, it can be too much."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on his father. "But how
will I know?" he whispered,
his voice filled with concern.

Karen's eyes searched
his, understanding his
desire to connect. "You'll
have to watch him, Chip.
Look for signs. If he tenses
up or pulls away, that's his
way of saying 'stop'. And if
he seems calmer or his breathing
slows, that's his way of saying
'ok'. It's about reading
his body language."

Chip nodded, his hand
still hovering over Plankton's
antennas. He took a deep
breath, and then, as gently
as he could, he let the back
of his hand graze the antennae.
Plankton's body remained
still, yet his antennae
twitched slightly. Karen gave
a nod of approval.

"Remember, Chip, everyone's
touch is different to him,"
she said. "Some days, he might
not even want to be touched."

Chip nodded solemnly,
his hand hovering over
his father's antennae.
"Does he like it when
I hug him?" he whispered.

Karen's smile grew. "His
favorite person to be
touched by is me.
But even with me, he has
his limits. Sometimes, he just
needs his space."

Chip nodded, his gaze
never leaving Plankton's face.
"Does he like it when other
people touch him?" he asked,
his voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's eyes searched
his, knowing this was a
delicate topic. "Well, Chip,
it's different with everyone.
Some days, your dad can tolerate
more than others. But generally,
it's people he's comfortable
with, like me."

"But what about me?" he asked,
his voice quivering slightly.

Karen's smile was sad. "It's
going to take some time, Chip.
You'll have to learn his
signals, his boundaries.."

Plankton's body began to stir,
his antennae twitching more
frequently as he shifted in
his sleep. Chip watched,
his hand hovering over his
dad's head, unsure if he
should risk disturbing him.
Karen's eyes followed the
movement, her gaze filled
with a quiet sadness.

"It's okay, Chip," she
whispered. "He's just
waking up."

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, more
quickly now. His eye
flickered open, his pupil
expanding as he adjusted
to the dim light. He looked
around, his gaze landing
on Karen and Chip.

"Hey, buddy," Karen
whispered, her voice a
balm to his frayed nerves.

Plankton's eye focused
on Chip, who was staring
at him with a mix of
fear and fascination.
He knew that look, had
seen it in others' eyes
before. But coming from
his son, it hit him harder
than he'd ever expected.

He took a deep breath,
his body still feeling like
he'd run a marathon.
"Hi," he said, his
voice hoarse from disuse.

Chip's hand jerked back,
his heart racing. "Dad,"
he whispered, his voice
shaking.

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, this time
in acknowledgment. "Hi,
Chip," he rasped, his voice
sounding neutral.

Chip stared, his
thoughts racing. He had
so many questions, so much
he wanted to say, but the words
got caught in his throat.

Plankton looked at his
son, his antennae drooping.
He could feel the tension in
the air, the unspoken
worries and fears. He took
another deep breath, his body
still feeling the toll.

"How are you feeling, Plankton?"
Karen's voice was a gentle
caress in the silence.

He swallowed, his throat
dry from his ordeal. "Tired,"
he murmured, his antennae
twitching slightly. "But better."

Karen's hand found his
again, her touch a lifeline.
"Do you remember what
happened?" she asked gently.

Plankton's antennae drooped.
"I... I think so," he murmured,
his voice still shaky. "I had a...
a shutdown, with Chip."

Chip's eyes widened, his
heart racing. He'd never
heard his dad talk about
his episodes before. It was
like a door had been opened
to a part of Plankton's life
that had always remained
closed to him.

"It's okay, Dad," he
whispered, his hand reaching
out tentatively. "You can tell me." His
hand barely grazed Plankton's
arm...

Plankton flinched at
the touch, his antennae
twitching erratically. Chip's
heart skipped a beat, his hand
retreating as if burned. Karen
offered a gentle smile, her gaze
meeting Plankton's. "It's okay,
honey," she said softly. "Chip's just
trying to understand."

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
slowly calming. "I know,"
he murmured. "I, I'm s-sorry."

Karen's hand tightened
on his, her eyes never
leaving his face. "Don't
apologize, love," she whispered.
"You didn't do anything wrong."

Plankton nodded, his
throat tight with emotion.
He knew she was right, but
the fear of losing his 
respect was palpable. His antennae
twitched again, the overstimulation
of the day still lingering.

new chip on the shoulders Karen/Chip Plankton II vi

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. 0ᥫ᭡.⚽⚽༯˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

new vinijr. 7 sevener septenary numberless vii

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new sickcore hospitalcore iv

TRUTH AND NAIL vi

Karen couldn't believe
the transformation.
This was not the Plankton
she knew, not the one who
was always scheming
or complaining. This was
a Plankton who was loose,
free from his usual
inhibitions, and it was
both endearing and a little
unnerving. But mostly,
it was just funny.

He poked Sponge Bob's side
again, his giggle a strange
sound in the quiet
living room. "Still squishy,"
he murmured.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was like a bubble bursting.
"Plankton, you're
loopy!" he exclaimed.

Plankton's eye fluttered
open, his gaze
unfocused. "Loopy?"
he repeated, his voice
slurred. "I'm not a loop,
I'm a...a...a...sea creature!"
He giggled, the sound
like a leaky faucet.

Sponge Bob couldn't
help but laugh harder,
his eyes watering with
mirth. "You're right,
Plankton," he said, his voice
shaking with amusement.
"You're a sea creature.
A very loopy one."

Plankton giggled, his
body jerking with each
laugh. "Loopy, loopy,"
he murmured, his hand
still on Sponge Bob's side.
His eye lit up with
an idea. "Peekaboo!"
he exclaimed, hiding his
eye behind his hand.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was like a symphony of
bubbles, filling the room
with joy. "Oh, Plankton,
you're a riot," he said,
his voice a delighted
chuckle. He played along,
covering his eyes. "Where
did you go?"

Plankton's giggle was
a strange, wobbly sound.
"I'm still here," he slurred,
his voice muffled by
his hand. "I'm...I'm right here."
He peeked through
his fingers, his eye
twinkling with mischief.

Sponge Bob chuckled,
his voice warm and welcoming.
"Where'd you go, Plankton?"
he asked, playing along.

Plankton's eye peeked
out from behind his hand,
his grin wide and goofy.
"Boo!" he exclaimed,
his voice a sloppy whisper.

Sponge Bob's laughter was
a delightful sound, echoing
in the quiet room. "You got me,
Plankton!" he said, his voice
filled with surprise.

Encouraged by the reaction,
Plankton's hand dropped to
his lap, his gaze turning
to Karen. "Wanna...wanna play?"
he asked, his voice still thick
with anesthesia.

Her eyes danced with
laughter. "What game, love?"

Plankton's smile grew, his
voice a sleepy whine. "Pat-a-cake?"

Karen's laugh was a gentle
surprise. "Pat-a-cake?"
she echoed, her hand
moving to his. "Okay, darling."

Their palms met with a
slap, Plankton's movements
slow and awkward.
"Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,"
he murmured, his voice
slurred. They played the
game, their hands moving
in a clumsy dance, a silent
reminder of his groggy
state.

Sponge Bob watched, his
laughter a gentle wave in
the background. "Looks
like someone had a bit too
much fun at the dentist,"
he teased, his voice a
soft caress.

Plankton's gaze found his,
his smile a sleepy grin. "Dentith?"
he slurred, his hand
waving vaguely. "No, no,
not dentith...."

Sponge Bob nodded, his
laughter subsiding to
a gentle chuckle. "Alright,
not the dentist," he said,
his voice understanding.
"What game do you
want to play then?"

Plankton's head lolled to
the side, his eye half-closed.
"You know...the one with...
the animals," he murmured,
his words thick and slow.
But Plankton's head
was already lolling back,
his snores a soft rumble
in the quiet room.
Sponge Bob looked at
Karen, his expression
a mix of concern and
amusement. "Should we...?"
he began, his voice trailing off.

Plankton's snore was his
only reply, his mouth
open wide and drool
spilling onto the couch.
Karen chuckled, patting
his hand. "He's just tired,"
she said, her voice a gentle
excuse. Karen
covered him with a soft
blanket, his snores growing
louder as he sank deeper
into sleep. “You can sleep
on the other couch across
by him,” Karen told Sponge
Bob.

The anesthesia worn off over
night, and Plankton only woke
up the next morning on the
couch at the same time as
SpongeBob.

Plankton sat up with a
start, his eye wide.
"Wha... where...what...?"
his words tangled in a
slurry mess.

Sponge Bob stirred on
the couch across from him,
his eyes blinking sleepily.
"Morning, Plankton," he
said.

Plankton's eye focused on
his friend, his mind racing.
"Sponge Bob?" he said, his voice
sharp and clear. "Wath...what's
going on here?!"

Sponge Bob stretches
his limbs. "Well, good
morning to you too, Plankton,"
he said, his voice filled with
cheerful energy. "You had
your wisdom teeth out, remember?"

“I know I went to the dentist
but, what happened after I
came home?” He said, mostly
to himself.

Sponge Bob sat up, rubbing
his eyes. "Well, you were
pretty out of it," he said,
his voice still a bit groggy
from sleep. "But you were also
pretty funny."

Plankton's gaze darted
around the room, his mind
spinning. "What...what do you
mean?" His voice was
sharp, his usual snappiness
creeping back in.

Sponge Bob chuckled,
his body still relaxed
from his nap. "You don't
remember?" he asked, his
voice a tease. "You were
so affectionate, calling
me your best buddy and all."

Plankton's eye narrowed,
his confusion morphing
into suspicion. "I did no
such thing," he said, his voice
a firm rebuttal. "I'm not
that...that..."

Karen stepped in, her
laugh light. "You don't
remember?" she asked, her
voice a gentle tease. "You were
so lovely and affectionate
last night."

Plankton's face scrunched
up in disbelief. "Affectionate?"
he repeated, his voice rising.
"To him?" His thumb jerked
towards Sponge Bob, who
was now watching him with
a knowing smile. "I...I can't
have said that."

Sponge Bob shrugged, his
laugh bubbly. "You sure did,
Plankton. You were poking
me and calling me your
best buddy."

Plankton's disbelief grew,
his eye wide with shock.
"I...I did not!" he protested,
his voice a high-pitched
squeak. "That's...that's not
me!"

Karen couldn't hold back
her laughter, her eyes
twinkling with mirth. "Oh,
it was definitely you, darling,"
she said, her voice a sweet
contrast to his indignation.

Plankton's expression
shifted from shock to
outrage. "But...but why?"
he sputtered, his face
flushing a deep shade
of red. "I don't...I don't
do that sort of...that sort
of thing!"

Karen's laugh was like
a melody, light and
playful. "You did, love,"
she said, her voice a soft
reminder. "You were just a
little...loopy."

Plankton's hand flew to
his mouth, his eye
wide with horror. "No, no, no,"
he murmured, his voice
muffled by his palm. "That
can't be right." He looked
at Sponge Bob with an
accusatory glare. "Who
put me up to this?"

Sponge Bob's laugh was
like a burst of bubbles.
"You don't remember?"
he asked, his voice full
of delight. "It was all
you, buddy. You were
feeling the med..."

"The medicine!"
Plankton exclaimed, his
face paling as realization
hit him. "The anesthesia
made me say those
things.." His voice was
a mix of relief and horror.

Sponge Bob's chuckle
was infectious. "Don't
worry, Plankton," he said,
his voice warm. "We all
have our moments."

But Plankton was not
to be swayed. "That's not
like me," he insisted,
his voice a mix of
dismay and irritation.
"I'm not...I'm not like
that!"

Sponge Bob's chuckles
turned into a full-blown
laugh. "Well, you were
last night," he said,
his voice a gentle ribbing.
"You were all warm
and fuzzy. But you did
eventually fall asleep 
and started snoring.."

Plankton's face was a
picture of disgust. "Snoring?!"
he said, his voice a mix
of outrage and embarrassment.

Karen's laugh was like a
small wave on the shore.
"It's okay, honey," she said,
patting his leg. "You were
just really tired."

"I...I don't snore," he
asks, his voice firm.

Sponge Bob couldn't help
but chuckle, his laugh
bubbly. "Well, you did
last night," he said, his voice
a gentle reminder.

Plankton's eye narrowed,
his usual snappiness returning
with full force. "I...I
snored?" he asked, his voice
skeptical.

Karen's smile was
sympathetic. "You did, darling,"
she said, her voice soothing.
"But it's all right. It's just
what happens when you're
tired."

Plankton's eye shot to hers,
his expression a mix of
disbelief and irritation. "But
I...I never snored," he insisted,
his voice a protest. “Right, Karen?”

Her laugh was a gentle tide,
washing over his protests.
"You do snore, Plankton,"
she said, her voice a warm
caress. "But it's nothing to be
embarrassed about."

Plankton's face was a mask
of disbelief, his voice
a tight knot of denial. "I
snore?" he repeated, as if
the word was foreign to
his vocabulary.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was a delightful sound, his
body shaking with mirth.
"Yes, Plankton," he said,
his voice full of affection.
"But don't worry, it's
not so bad. I mean, you're
not as loud as Patrick."

Karen's giggle joined
his, the two of them
laughing gently at Plankton's
expense. But their laughter
wasn't cruel, it was the
kind that comes from knowing
someone so well that their
quirks become endearing.

"I...I do?" Plankton
asked, his voice barely
above a murmur.

Sponge Bob nodded,
his laughter subsiding
into a knowing smile.
"But hey, we all have
our little quirks, right?"

Karen's eyes sparkled
with amusement. "It's
part of who we are, love,"
she said, her voice a gentle
reminder of the truth.

new truth and nail plankbobs vi

NEW REALITY vi
(Autistic author)

"Plankton," she starts,
her voice tentative.
"Can we try something?"
He nods, his eye
still searching.

Karen reaches over
to the bedside drawer,
pulling out a small,
soft blanket.
"This is called a weighted
blanket," she explains,
unfolding it gently.
"It's like a hug from me
without the pressure."

Plankton's gaze
flickers with curiosity.
He nods slowly, allowing
her to place it over
his body, his eye
closed as he feels the
comforting weight.
"It's good,"
he murmurs, his voice
a mix of wonder and
fatigue.

Karen's heart lifts,
a tiny victory in the
face of the unknown.
"It's like a hug,"
she says, smoothing
the blanket over him.
"It helps some people
feel safe and calm."

Plankton nods, his
body relaxing into
the embrace of the
weighted fabric.

Karen's eyes fill with
relief as she watches
his tension melt away.
"Does it feel better?"
she asks, her voice
gentle.

Plankton nods, his
eye still closed. "Calm,"
he whispers.

Encouraged, Karen pulls
the blanket tighter, mimicking
a gentle squeeze. "Good?"
she asks, her voice a soft
query.

Plankton nods, a smile
ghosting over his lips. "Good,"
he agrees, his voice a faint
whisper.

Karen's heart skips a beat.
"I'm here," she says, her voice
a soothing melody. "I'll always
be here to help you find
your calm."

Plankton nods, his eye
still shut. "Calm," he whispers,
his body sinking deeper into
the blanket's embrace.

Karen's eyes fill with tears
as she watches him. She's
found a way to connect, a way
to bring him comfort in a
world that's become too much
for him. The weight of
the blanket seems to anchor him,
still the storm in his mind.

"I'll get us through this,"
she whispers, her voice filled
with resolve. "We're a team."

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, a sign of his
agreement. "Team," he murmurs,
his breathing evening out
beneath the blanket.

Karen's eyes shine with
hope. "Yes, we're a team,"
she repeats, leaning down
to kiss his forehead.
"Now, try to get some sleep."

Plankton nods, his hand
reaching up to trace the
edge of the blanket. "Sleep,"
he murmurs.

Karen watches him for a
moment longer, then stands
slowly, not wanting to disturb
his fragile peace. She
moves to the door, her hand
on the knob. "I'll be right
outside if you need me,"
she says softly.

Plankton nods, his hand
still tracing the blanket.
"Karen," he whispers.

Her heart squeezes. "I know,"
she says, her voice a gentle
caress. "I'll be right here."

With one last look at him,
she steps into the hallway,
closing the door behind her.

The house feels eerie in
its quiet, the weight of
the silence pressing down.
Her thoughts race, her mind
a whirlwind of fears and
uncertainty. How do you
navigate a world that's
suddenly become so
overwhelming for someone
you love?

Karen leans against
the closed door, her eyes
brimming with tears. She
can't bear to leave him
alone, but he needs rest.
With a heavy sigh, she
forces herself to step away,
determined to give him
the space he needs to adjust.

new new reality Sheldon J. Plankton & Karen vi

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new vi pp w sexual reproduction

CHIP AND FAIL vi
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes searched Plankton's,
looking for the spark that
meant he was coming back to her.
Slowly, the panic in his gaze
faded, replaced by the familiar
look of love and confusion. "I'm
here," she said, her voice barely
above a whisper. "It's okay."

Plankton's body finally
unclenched, his muscles relaxing
under her gentle touch. The storm
in his mind was receding, leaving
behind a quiet beach of clarity.
He didn't know what had
happened, only that it was bad.

Karen knew the routine, the
dance of calming Plankton after
a meltdown. But Chip didn't know.
He was just trying to share his
excitement, to reconnect with
his father after a week apart.
He didn't know that his touch, his
laughter, his stories, were all too
much for Plankton to handle.

As Karen worked to bring
Plankton back to reality, she
couldn't help but feel a pang of
sorrow for Chip. He had no idea
how his love was received, no way
to understand that his actions
could cause such pain. She had to
find a way to explain, to help
both her husband and her son find
a way to connect without setting
off the sensory bombs that lurked
just beneath the surface.

"K-Karen?" Plankton murmurs
as he slowly returns to himself.
The room stops spinning, the noises
dulling to a gentle hum. He looks
around, confusion etched in every line
of his face.

"You're okay," she whispers.
Her heart breaks for her husband,
for the silent battles he fights
every day. She knows Chip
doesn't understand, that his love
and excitement are a minefield
for Plankton's sensitive mind.

But she also feels a pang
of anger. How could she have
let this happen? She had hoped
that Chip's visit would be a
celebration, a chance for them
to bond. Instead, it had become
a reminder of the chasm that
sometimes separated them, a stark
reality of Plankton's condition.

Chip's sobs from the next room
were a constant reminder of the
pain he had inadvertently caused.
Karen knew she had to talk to
him, to explain.

"Chip, sweetheart," she called,
her voice carrying a gentle
authority. "Can you come out
here, please?"

Chip's heart was still racing,
his eyes red and puffy from crying.
He wiped his nose with the back
of his hand and stepped out of
his room, his gaze flickering to
his dad, then back to his mom. "Is he
okay?" he asked, his voice
small and unsure.

Karen nodded, her screen filled
with a mix of love and
exhaustion. "He's okay," she said,
"Honey, it's time we tell Chip. Can
I help you sit up, so you can tell him?"

Plankton nodded weakly, his body
still feeling like it was made
of lead. Karen helped him into
a sitting position, her eyes
never leaving his. "You're okay,"
she repeated, her voice a gentle
reminder.

Chip stared at
Plankton. "Dad?"
he asked, his 
voice tentative.

Plankton looked up at him,
his eye still clouded with the
aftermath of the storm.

"Chip," he began, his voice
weak, "I'm sorry." But Chip was
already there, kneeling beside
his dad, his screen wide with
relief and confusion.

"What happened?" Chip asked, his
voice trembling. "Why didn't you
answer me? You just ignored me!"

Karen's screen filled with
compassion as she placed a
comforting hand on Chip's shoulder.
"Your dad's not ignoring you,"
she said gently. "He has something
to tell you."

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, the words sticking in his
throat. He had always been
afraid of this moment, of the
day Chip would find out. "I...
I, I just..."

Karen squeezed his hand, her
gaze filled with understanding. "It's
okay," she said softly. "You can
tell him."

Plankton took another deep
breath, his voice trembling as
he began. "Chip, I'm... I..."

"Dad?" Chip leaned in, his screen
filled with hope and concern.

Plankton swallowed hard, the
weight of his secret heavy
on his shoulders. "I have...
I've got..."

"Tell me, Dad," Chip said, his
hands going to clutching his dad's 
arm. 
Plankton winced at the sudden
contact, his body tensing again.

Karen saw it, the brief
flicker of pain in his eye. She
quickly stepped in, placing a hand
on Chip's arm. "Give him a
moment, honey," she said, her
voice filled with gentle guidance.

Chip's screen searched hers. He
slowly removed his hand,
backing away slightly.

"Dad, tell me," he said, his voice
desperate. "What's wrong?"

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae drooping. "Chip," he
managed, "I've..."

But Chip was already there, his
hands on his father's shoulder.
"Dad, tell me," he said, his voice
filled with urgency. Plankton's
body tensed at the touch.

Karen stepped in quickly,
guiding Chip's hand away. "Let him
speak, honey," she said softly.

Plankton took another deep
breath, his antennae quivering
as he gathered his thoughts. "I have
a..."

"Dad, if it's something bad..."

Plankton's antennae quivered, his
face a mask of pained effort. "Chip..."

Chip's eyes were glued to his dad,
his mind racing with questions.
Why can't Dad just tell me?
He's always been so strong, so
independent. Why is this so hard
for him?

Plankton took a moment, his
eye searching for the right
words. "It's just..."

Chip leaned in closer. All he 
knew was that his
father was in pain and he needed to
fix it. "Just tell me, Dad!" he said,
his voice earnest. "Whatever it is..."

But Plankton was lost again, his
mind swirling with sensations. He
could feel Chip's screen on him,
hear his desperate pleas, but the
words remained trapped. He
closed his eye, trying to gather
his thoughts.

"Chip," he finally managed,
his voice a mere whisper. "I'm not..."

"You're not what?" Chip's voice
was filled with concern and a hint
of impatience.

Plankton opened his eye with a
sigh, his gaze meeting Chip's. "Son..."

"Dad, please, tell me!" Chip's
excitement was palpable, his
body vibrating with the need
for connection.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae drooping slightly.
"Chip, I'm..."

But Chip, fueled by his
eagerness to connect, didn't
give him the space. "Come on, Dad,"
he said, his hands landing on
Plankton's shoulders again.

Plankton flinched, his eye
squeezing shut as the touch sent
a shockwave through his body. "Chip,"
he groaned, his voice strained.
"Please..."

But Chip's enthusiasm didn't
wane, his voice growing more
desperate. "Dad, tell me!" He didn't
understand the pain he was causing,
his need for a response only adding
to the pressure on Plankton, irritating
his frustration as he squeezed his
shoulders harder. "Just..."

Plankton's eye snapped open,
his body recoiling from the
intensity of his son's touch.
The words he had been trying
to form shattered like glass
under the weight of his sensory
overload. "Chip, STOP!" he
yelled, his voice cracking with
frustration and pain.

The sudden outburst shocked both
Karen and Chip into stillness. His dad had
never talked to him like that before. "What..."

But Plankton's agony was like a
dam bursting. He pushed Chip away,
his voice a shout of desperation.
"I CAN'T, CHIP!"

Chip staggered back, his
expression a mix of shock and
hurt. "But why?" he asked, his
voice trembling.

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, his body still reeling,
his voice strained. "I have...
I have..."

Chip's eyes searched 
his father's. Why couldn't
his dad just tell him what was
going on? "What, Dad?"

But Plankton was retreating
back into himself, his mind a
whirlwind of sensation and
frustration. "It's too much,"
he managed, his voice barely
above a whisper. "Your..."

"What's too much?" Chip
interrupted, his voice rising
with confusion. "My what?"

Plankton's antennae drooped
as he searched for a way to explain.
He had always kept his condition
to himself, fearful of the
misunderstanding it might bring.
"Chip," he began, his voice
trembling with the effort of
finding the words. "You..."

But Chip's excitement was a
wave, crashing over the delicate
barriers Plankton had built. "You're
not telling me something," he said,
his voice filled with accusation.
"What is it!" His touch was
like sandpaper on sunburned skin,
each word a jab at Plankton's
already overwhelmed mind.

Plankton's eye darted around the
room, his antennae twitching
wildly. The pressure was too
much, the noise of Chip's voice
like a siren. He
could feel the beginnings of a
panic attack, his chest tightening.

"Chip, please," he managed, his voice
barely above a whisper. "I need a
moment." But Chip's excitement
was a force of nature, unyielding
and relentless. "But I just
want to tell you about my week,
about the robot and Nutmeg!"
He didn't know that his words,
his touch, were like a tornado in
Plankton's mind, a storm he couldn't
weather.

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

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new satã six 6 vi 666

𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐦

new neovim text dot ascii art vi

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new jjhjhjhj 37 42 vi

🅿️🅾️Rn

ྀི🧸▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||||။၊|။•

new coquette ae iv v f

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⣝⡲⢌⠣⡘⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣱⢻⢠⡐⣴⣾⣿⣿⢿⣿⢽⡻⣳⣳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢀⣴⣾⣻⣞⡧⡽
⢮⡱⢊⡱⢀⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢡⠃⠈⡤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣯⢿⣹⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣜⣿⣿⣯⣷⢯⣷⢶
⢧⣃⠧⡐⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⢺⣀⣀⣇⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⡳⣌⢒⠡⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣱⣬⣭⡭⢶⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⠿⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⡳⡌⢎⠰⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠌⠸⣭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡽⠛⠀⠀⠁⢋⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⢧⡙⣌⠢⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⡄⠩⢌⢂⡐⠀⣈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⣽⣿⣿⣿
⣇⠳⡄⢃⠄⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣎⣮⣤⡄⠠⠈⠁⠂⠢⡄⢁⠀⢨⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⣿⣿
⣎⣷⣿⡾⣆⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢫⣵⣚⣿⣿⣧⣀⠄⡀⠀⠈⢂⠠⡘⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⡄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢏⣡⢛⣿⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⢰⣻⣿
⣯⠶⣏⠷⣧⢖⡩⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⡨⠐⢋⡻⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠱⡘⢬⣿⣿⣿⣿⢒⡛⠂⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠁⠘⢿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢀⠯⣿
⣯⢟⣼⣳⣽⣿⢿⣷⣿⣶⣶⠔⠠⢁⠙⠻⣾⣿⡿⣿⣏⢯⣳⣱⣌⡆⠀⠈⠳⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⠄⡀⠀⢐⣡⡣⣌⠀⠠⣄⠔⠀⠀⠸⣬⣛⣿⣿⣿⣝⢣⢀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢹⣿
⣟⣮⣳⣽⣿⣽⢷⣳⣿⣿⢯⡘⢄⠂⠄⢀⠀⢈⠛⠒⠋⠸⠷⣹⣾⣿⣷⣦⣄⠠⢻⣻⣿⣿⣠⠃⠀⣔⡮⢳⡌⡘⣎⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⠻⠰⠉⠏⡞⣻⢿⣷⣄⣄⠀⠂⡝
⣟⡶⣿⣿⣽⣿⣷⣿⢿⣿⡧⡜⠬⢌⢰⠎⠬⠒⠈⠡⠀⠀⢦⣹⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡉⠱⣺⡥⢀⣪⡯⣵⡿⣐⣿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡴⠈
⡿⣼⣿⣿⣿⢿⡁⠄⠹⣿⣱⣯⣗⣈⢰⣷⣷⡠⢀⠈⡀⠀⠀⠻⣯⡿⢿⣻⣷⣟⠿⢔⠀⣺⡋⣹⣟⡾⣿⡙⠋⠙⢺⡯⢀⣎⠀⠀⢰⣄⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡷⣾⣿⢿⣭⡙⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣻⡼⣅⠆⠹⡿⣿⣿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣟⣾⣆⠉⢲⠇⠀⠈⠹⠶⡂⠝⠻⠁⠀⣴⣿⣰⣿⢷⡾⡟⣡⠂⡀⠈⢳⣿⣿⡷⢶⣾⣿⣿⢢⣴⡀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⢈⠙⠿⠓⠀
⣿⣿⣿⡿⣾⣿⡷⣜⣞⡷⢟⡀⠀⠱⡀⠻⣿⣿⣷⠉⠚⠰⢢⢐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⣡⢸⣿⣿⡿⠯⣰⣷⢀⡁⠤⣴⠔⠉⠐⠀⠉⢟⣻⣷⡞⠃⠔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣟⣽⣿⣿⢻⣯⢟⡔⣢⠙⣧⢄⡘⢄⠈⠻⢯⣷⣦⣸⢫⣌⠄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣞⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠓⣸⣿⡿⢷⣻⠏⠁⠘⢆⡀⡀⢂⠀⠻⣿⣱⣠⡀⡖⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌
⣿⢷⣾⣿⣿⣽⣿⠷⢿⣿⣆⠷⡘⢧⡜⢪⢗⡀⠉⢻⣿⡟⢋⡡⡌⢀⣀⣴⡾⣛⣽⣾⢻⢶⣿⡇⣱⣿⡟⣵⣿⣡⣾⣆⡀⠀⢣⡀⠀⡑⡀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡗⠐⠀⡀⠀⠀⣠⢖⢣⣝
⣯⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⢯⣗⢦⢩⢿⣯⣙⢎⠹⡁⠎⡱⡀⣹⢡⣒⣿⣽⣿⢟⡯⣾⣵⣿⠿⣭⢯⣾⠡⣼⣿⢟⡾⣿⣃⡀⠈⠻⣷⡈⢅⡳⢆⠈⠀⠂⠀⡼⠋⢠⡴⣾⣤⠖⣯⢱⣫⣾⢫
⡷⡿⣏⣟⠾⣟⣿⣿⣎⢧⢳⡹⢗⠮⡑⡓⡎⡔⢸⣿⣿⣿⣯⣟⣮⣟⣿⢿⣛⣭⣷⣿⣿⣿⢴⣿⢋⠋⢸⡷⣿⣇⠢⠑⡙⢿⣄⠐⠒⢄⠀⠀⢲⣶⡾⣟⡽⣳⢬⣛⣴⣿⠻⣌⣷
⣿⡷⢯⣿⣫⣟⡾⠽⢻⣮⣧⣹⢦⡷⣼⣟⢽⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣻⢮⣷⣿⢯⣷⣿⣿⣛⠿⣩⣻⣝⠁⡲⢀⢸⠠⢽⡿⠱⣂⡄⢡⡈⢀⣴⡎⡴⣧⣾⣿⢻⡽⣛⣼⣳⢿⣙⣦⣿⠿⣟
⣿⣟⣷⣭⡟⣬⢒⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢏⣵⣿⣿⣟⡷⣟⣾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣾⣿⣿⣛⢻⣫⢘⡀⢹⠜⠀⠁⢜⣼⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⣩⣾⣿⣻⣞⢯⣳⣻⡾⣏⣷⣿⡿⣏⣳⣼
⣿⣷⣾⡿⣜⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣋⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠈⠉⢹⣵⡎⣵⠋⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⠗⣵⣿⣿⣿⣳⢯⡼⢯⣾⢯⣿⡿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⠻
⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡡⣿⣷⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣴⣿⣿⣿⣟⣧⣻⢮⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⣽⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⡀⢸⣿⠓⣽⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣫⢿⣼⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢨⣓⣷⡿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣳⢯⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣹⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠸⣶⡽⢷⣿⣿⡻⣿⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣷⣻⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⢿⣷⣿⣷⢾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⢿⡻⣟⣾⣻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡈⠂⠀⠀⠀⣟⣳⢿⣹⣾⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⡀⠄⠀⠀⣿⣽⣺⢿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡁⠂⢸⣷⣯⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡽⣹⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡔⠢⠀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠘⠌⢰⠉⠻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀
⣳⢣⢯⡘⡙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢿⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣧⢋⢦⡙⢲⡀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡕⢧⠞⠛⣾⣢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠸⣇⡻⢷⢦⢄⠀⠀
⢧⡏⡖⡌⢂⠙⢢⡄⠘⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⢭⣚⡆⢒⠉⠙⣾⣜⢣⡀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡃⢳⠠⠤⠛⢯⣽⡂
⡳⢎⡵⣎⠰⢈⠀⠱⡄⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣶⡐⢶⡉⠐⡆⠉⢹⣳⣜⢪⠀⠀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠈⢿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠜⠩⣆⠃⢠⠀⠙⢿
⡝⣎⠲⣙⠦⡁⢂⠀⠹⣄⠂⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣥⠊⢵⣂⠀⡖⠀⠘⢮⣻⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠘⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢯⡂⠣⣦⠈⠀⡀⠘
⡟⣬⠓⡌⢶⡁⠆⠀⠀⠘⡄⢸⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡭⣗⡀⢞⡡⡐⠄⠄⠈⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣽⡄⠈⠝⢌⢀⠀
⡝⣦⠛⡌⢆⡿⢠⠁⠀⠈⣧⠖⣿⣿⣥⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣞⣧⢖⠨⠔⢂⠄⠀⠺⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠘⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢜⣿⡤⡉⠜⠡⠀
⡻⣔⠫⡜⢂⡿⣀⠂⠀⠀⢱⠈⣼⣿⣿⡖⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣅⡙⠀⠙⠦⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⣿⣿⣧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⣗⡀⠀⠀
⢷⣩⠓⣌⣹⡷⠄⢂⠀⠀⢸⡈⠊⣿⣿⣿⣖⡱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⠦⠠⠐⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣦⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠽⣤⠀
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new iiii iii vii dot art text art ascii art

CATCH IN MY CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip,
his eye filled with regret, but 
the words won't come. Despite
his leftover anger, he felt a bit
bad about it. He just wanted to
show Chip what it meant to be
bombarded! He didn't have it in
him to say he's sorry, and he's
still tense.

Karen feels the weight of the
moment, her eyes moving
between her husband and her son.
"Why don't you sit with Daddy,
Chip?" she suggests, her voice
soft. "Give him some space,
but let him know you're here.
I'll be downstairs."

With a nod, Chip approaches the
bed, his eyes still filled with
uncertainty. He sits down gingerly
beside Plankton, who's staring
at the shattered mess of their
evening. The room is a silent testament
to their unspoken words and the
battle that raged within Plankton.

For a moment, neither of them
moves, the air thick with unspoken
regret and confusion. Then,
slowly, Chip reaches out with
his small hand.

Plankton looks at him, his
eye reflecting a tumult of
emotions—anger, guilt, fear,
frustration.

Chip's hand hovers over
his dad's, unsure if he'll
flinch or pull away. "I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
barely above a breath.

Plankton's antennas droop, his
eye still cast down at the
wreckage of their evening. 
"I know," he says, his voice
still tight with anger.

Chip's hand hovers 
over his arm. "Ca--"

But Plankton cuts him off.
"Don't," he says, his voice
raw with emotion. "Just don't."
He turns away, his body a wall
of tension.

Chip's hand falls to his side,
his eyes wide with hurt. "But Dad,"
he says, his voice breaking.
"I di-"

"I said don't," Plankton snaps,
his voice harsh. "I can't do this
right now." His antennas twitch,
his body language a clear
indication that he needs space.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his hand retreating to his
lap. "But Dad," he starts again,
his voice shaking.

Plankton's eye snaps up,
his anger a living flame. "I said
don't!" he shouts, his voice
echoing in the small room.

"But I'm just 
trying to-"

"I SAID DON'T!"
The words are a thunderclap,
silencing Chip's protests. He pulls
his legs up to his chest, hugging
his knees tightly, as if to shield
his heart from the pain.

"Dad I promise I won't 
overwhelm you again," 
Chip whispers. Plankton's 
antennas quiver, his 
shoulders hunched. But
Chip takes that as a green
light.
Remembering how his mom
put her hand on his back, he
tries to replicate it. So
with a trembling hand, Chip
reaches out and touches Plankton's
shoulder with hope..

But Plankton's reaction is
not what he expects. With a
shriek of overstimulation,
Plankton jumps away, his
body convulsing as if he's
been electrified. "Don't touch
me!" he yells.

The room seems to tilt, and
Chip's eyes widen with shock.
He's never seen his dad like
this before, so raw and exposed.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispers,
his hand retreating as if burned.

Plankton's face contorts, his
body wracked with a tremor
that shakes him to the core.

Chip's eyes widen in horror,
his hand hovering in the space
between them, frozen.

Karen steps back into the
room, her gaze taking in the
snapshot of pain and regret.
Her heart aches for both her
husband and son. She knows
Plankton didn't mean to scream,
that his senses are still on
high alert. And she knows
Chip is just trying to bridge
the gap with his love.

Her eyes lock onto Plankton's,
and she can see the desperation
behind the anger. He's scared
and overwhelmed, and she
understands that feeling all too
well. She moves towards the bed,
her steps measured and calm.
"Plankton, sweetie," she says,
her voice a soothing melody as
she reaches out to touch his
back. But the moment her hand
makes contact, Plankton's
body tenses further, his eye
squeezing shut. "No!" he yells.

Karen's hand retreats as if
she's been burned, her eyes
filled with a mix of sadness
and concern. "Plankton," she
whispers, her voice barely
audible above Chip's sniffles.

Plankton's body is a coil of
tension, his eye squeezed
shut as if trying to block
out the world. The room
seems to spin around him,
each sound and sensation a
needle prick in his overloaded
brain. "K-Karen, I...," he gasps, his
voice strained. "I-I-I-I… can't..."

Karen's realizes the gravity
of the situation. She
understands that her husband
has hit a point of no return,
where even the gentle touch
of her hand is too much.

With a deep sigh, she sits
down on the bed, her eyes on
Plankton's trembling form.
Her heart is torn between
concern for him and the
knowledge that Chip is
watching, trying to make
sense of the chaos. "Okay, honey,"
she says, her voice a soft
whisper. "It's okay. We'll give
you some space."

Chip looks up at her, his
face a question mark. "But
Dad?" he says, his voice
small.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "It's okay,
Chip," she says, her voice steady.
"Daddy needs some alone time."

With a heavy heart, Chip slides
off the bed, the shattered
pieces of his trophy crunching
under his feet. He looks at
his dad one last time, his eyes
filled with a mix of fear and
longing. "Okay," he whispers,
his voice thick with unshed tears.

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton. "I'll come
find you when Dad's feeling
a bit better."

Chip's eyes dart to his
dad, who's still shaky, his
body curled into a tight ball.
The sight breaks Karen's heart,
but she knows that this is
the best they can do for now.

Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton,
understanding the silent
cry for help in his eye. She's seen
this before, the way his autism
can consume him during moments of
overwhelm. She nods gently, her eyes
conveying her love and patience.

Plankton's breathing starts to
even out, his body slowly
unwinding from the tight coil
of tension. He's aware of her
presence, the steady rhythm of
her breathing a comforting metronome
in the chaos of his thoughts. Karen
knows that space is crucial for him,
but she also understands that a quiet
companion can be just as healing.

"It's okay," she whispers, her
hand hovering close but not
touching him. "You can take your
time." Her voice is a gentle
reminder that he's not alone.

Plankton's eye flickers to her,
his breaths still ragged. Karen's
understanding is a lifeline in
the storm of his emotions.

Karen knows that pushing him
now would only make things worse,
so she sits quietly beside him,
offering her silent support.
Her love for him is a balm to
his soul, even if he can't
express it in words.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II vi

🗒🎱🕢➡

new sevener septet vii sharping knifelike penetrative piano

🌸💮🪷🏵️🌺🌹💐🍉🍑🍏🍈🍇🍈🥥🥕🥦🥕🥥🟨🟡⚪🟡🟠🔴®©a++4€€{\
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💗✨🏹🐈‍⬛

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7️⃣

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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢉⣩⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠟⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢻⣿⡿⠃⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⠿⠇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠼⠿⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⡉⠍⣉⠉⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿⣷⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⣔⣒⣋⣟⣛⣖⠾⢦⡔⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢌⣑⣬⣖⣲⣒⣒⣖⣢⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠈⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢒⣯⣶⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠻⣷⣍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⣾⡟⢻⣿⣯⣿⣿⡟⠻⣮⣟⠦⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠲⠝⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠡⠔⠻⠟⠓⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡆⢴⠄⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠐⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡀⢻⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠹⠀⠰⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢰⠏⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⢀⠘⣧⢀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⣄⡘⠿⠋⠑⠀⠀⠀⠚⢿⠿⠁⣠⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠈⠄⠀⠙⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⡀⠀⠠⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⢂⠉⡄⣠⠠⢡⡐⡄⢲⣠⢌⠱⠤⣀⠈⢻⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠻⣟⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠓⠒⠖⠈⠁⠻⠟⠷⠿⢾⡷⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⢀⢀⡂⠼⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠐⠀⠂⠁⠂⠀⠁⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠑⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⠀⠀⠙⢢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⢯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢶⣄⡂⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢠⣱⡾⠋⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠷⣽⣶⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣰⣾⣷⠿⠋⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡂⠀⠀⢈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡀⠀⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⣥⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡨⠏⡿⠗⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠎⠀⠀⡂⠀⠉⠓⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠄⠤⠤⢤⠄⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠺⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⡆⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠄⠀⡆⠁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠠⠄⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⢵⠗⢸⠠⠀⡂⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣀⡈⣓⠹⡁⣟⢦⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢅⡩⡀⡇⢄⣭⠧⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢼⠨⠏⣧⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⡅⠗⣗⠂⣟⣽⢹⠇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢬⡀⣄⡇⡕⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠧⡙⣧⠄⠝⢞⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢀⣦⠁⣹⡁⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⡧⣗⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⡠⣻⣟⠀⣩⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠏⡄⠀⠀⠀
⢖⢏⠈⡟⠃⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢂⠀
⠀⠉⠃⡀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨
⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢆⡀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄⠃⠀⠀⠓⠤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new ii iv dickies dot art text art ascii art

✅🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

yaurzz🫶😊

new yaur ewan ko vi star

ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ

new vi half a dozen digit amogus sus

i hope everyone at 
hazel glen college 
gets their eyeballs 
taken, throats snatched, 
limbs ripped, noses crushed, 
hair pulled, nipples twisted 
and elbows inverted kys 😘😘
>ᴗ<
-v

new loohcs eid wfsn erog aet amard iv evrats

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