Gentlecore Emojis & Text

SHELF IMPROVEMENT ix (Autistic author) "Plankton," Karen says, her voice steady despite the worry. "You need to understand that Chip doesn't mean to hurt you." But Plankton was lost in his own world, his tiny fists clenched by his sides, his body vibrating with uncontrolled anger. "No more!" he shrieked. "No more Chip!" His eye was wild, darting around the room as if searching for an escape from the invisible tormentor. Karen watched him. She had read about meltdowns in her research but experiencing one was another matter entirely. Her husband's distress was palpable, and she knew she had to act quickly. "Plankton," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Look at me. It's Karen. You're safe." But Plankton's eye remained wild, his antennae quivering. "No safe," he whispered, his voice haunted. "Chip, too loud." Karen understood the depth of his fear. "Chip's not here," she said soothingly. "He's in his room, just like we asked. You're okay." But Plankton's screams continued, his tiny body shaking with the force of his anger. "Chip go!" he yelled, his voice scratchy from the strain. "Chip bad!" Karen's mind raced, trying to find a way to calm him. She moved closer, her hands up in a non- threatening gesture. "Plankton, please," she said, her voice as gentle as a whisper. "Chip's not here, remember?" But Plankton's autistic meltdown continued, his voice raised in a string of incoherent threats and fear. "No more Chip!" he screamed. "Bad Chip, go!" His body was a blur of movement. Karen tried to approach him, her movements slow and deliberate. "It's just us, Plankton," she said calmly, her voice soothing. "You're safe." But Plankton's autistic meltdown was unyielding. "Chip bad!" he yelled, his antennae thrashing wildly. "Karen, make Chip go!" "Plankton, Chip's not here," she repeated, her voice even softer. "It's just you and me." Plankton's screams continued, his tiny frame contorted with rage. "Make Chip leave!" he shrieked. "Chip go away!" Karen's eyes filled with tears as she approached his trembling body. "Plankton, baby," she whispered, her voice steady. "Chip's not here. It's okay." But Plankton's autistic meltdown showed no signs of abating. He continued to scream, his fear-filled eye darting around the room as if his son was still there, threatening his sanctity. "No Chip, no more!" Karen's voice was a gentle stream of reassurance, trying to cut through the storm of his distress. She knew she had to find a way to calm him without adding to his overwhelm. She moved closer, her body language open and non-threatening. "Plankton," she soothed, her hand outstretched. "Look at me, it's just me, Karen." But his screams grew louder, his tiny fists pounding the bed in frustration. "No Chip! No more loud!" he shrieked, his voice raw. "Karen keep Chip away!" Karen moved closer, carefully placing a hand on his shaking shoulder. "Chip's not here, Plankton," she soothed, her voice gentle. "It's okay." But Plankton's autistic meltdown was a tempest she couldn't calm. "No more Chip!" he sobbed, his tiny body shaking with the force of his emotions. Tears streamed down his face, his antennae drooping as if in defeat. Karen couldn't bear to see him like this, so vulnerable and afraid. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand still on his shoulder. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice a gentle lullaby. "Chip's not here, Plankton." Plankton's sobs were like the waves of the sea, crashing against the shore of his tiny frame. Each breath he took was a battle, his body racked with the effort of trying to calm himself down. Karen felt powerless, but she knew she had to try something. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice barely audible over his cries. "Let's do our deep breathing, okay?" She demonstrated, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, hoping the rhythm would soothe him. For a moment, his screams stuttered, his breath catching. Karen felt a flicker of hope. She leaned closer, her hand on his chest. "In and out," she instructed, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath her palm. Slowly, his sobs began to even out, his breath matching hers. His body was still tense, his antennae still quivering, but the intensity of his meltdown was waning. Karen continued to breathe with him, her hand a comforting weight on his chest. "Good, Plankton," she whispered, her voice a soft breeze in the storm. "In and out." His sobs grew quieter, his body less tense. Karen's hand remained steady on his chest, feeling the erratic thumps slowing to a more manageable rhythm. The room was a cocoon of soft sounds—his breaths, her voice, the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. "Good," she said, her voice still a whisper. "We're okay." Plankton's body was still, his breathing returning to normal. He looked up at Karen. "Karen," he murmured, his voice small and scared. Karen's with love and sadness. "I'm right here, baby," she whispered, stroking his forehead. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body slowly relaxing beneath her touch. "Safe," he murmured. "Chip?" Karen squeezed his shoulder gently. "Chip's in his room, just like we asked," she said, her voice soft and steady. "He's not going to bother you now." Plankton's antennae stilled, his breaths coming in deep, shuddering gulps. "No more loud," he whispered. Karen nodded. "I know, baby," she said. "We'll make sure it's quieter for you." Plankton's antennae relaxed slightly. "No more loud," he repeated, his voice a plea. Karen nodded, swiping at her own tears. "We'll keep things calm," she promised. "We're all going to work together to make sure you're okay." Plankton's gaze flicked to the door, his antennae quivering. "Chip safe?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. "Chip's safe," Karen reassured, her voice soothing. "He's just in his room, giving us some space." Plankton's antennae twitched with understanding. "Space," he murmured. "Chip understands space?" "Chip's just a little confused," she explained. "He loves you, but he's learning about your new needs." Plankton nodded slightly, his antennae still. "Chip good," he murmured. "Just... to much." Karen felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Yes, sweetie," she said. "Sometimes Chip's energy can be too much. We'll talk to him about it." Plankton's antennae twitched again, his gaze drifting back to the closed door. "Talk?" Karen nodded, wiping the tears. "Yes, we'll talk to him," she said. "We'll explain how you're feeling and what you need." Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "Chip still loves Plankton?" Karen's eyes filled with tears. "More than anything," she assured him, her voice thick with emotion. "Chip loves you so much, and he'll learn how to be gentler with you." Plankton's antennae perked up a little, his fear beginning to recede. "Gentler," he whispered, his voice hopeful. "Yes," Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "We'll all learn to be gentler."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix (Autistic Author) As Karen heads back to her own bed, her mind is a whirlwind of emotions. She can't help but feel a twinge of anger at the cruel hand life has dealt Plankton, making something as simple as expressing love a monumental challenge. But she quickly pushes it aside, focusing on the love she feels for her husband and the determination to help their family navigate through this. The night passes slowly, filled with restlessness and worry. When dawn breaks, Karen is already preparing breakfast, hoping that the routine might offer a semblance of normalcy. The smell of pancakes fills the house, a silent promise that today will be better. Plankton emerges from the bedroom, his antennae drooping slightly, evidence of his fatigue. He meets Karen's gaze, and she offers him a soft smile. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice gentle. He shrugs, his antennae twitching nervously. "Tired," he admits. "But ready to talk to Chip." Karen nods with a mix of concern and admiration. "I'll get him up," she says, heading to Chip's room. When they all gather at the breakfast table, the tension in the air is palpable. Plankton sits stiffly, his antennae barely moving, as if afraid to break the delicate silence. Chip looks between them, his eyes wide and hopeful. "Chip," Karen says gently, taking a deep breath. "Remember what we talked about last night? About Daddy's meltdowns?" Chip nods, his eyes darting to Plankton, who's pushing his pancake around with a syrupy look of dread. "Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up, his gaze meeting Chip's. The fear and confusion in Chip's eyes is almost too much to bear, but he steels himself. "Yes, buddy?" he asks, his voice hoarse from the previous night's outburst. "I made you this," Chip says, pushing a plate of perfectly formed pancakes towards his father. "To make you feel better." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at the gesture, his eye focusing on the food with a hint of curiosity. "Thanks, buddy," he murmurs, his voice still thick with sleep. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his heart pounding in anticipation of a reaction. "Do you like them?" he asks, hope blooming in his voice. Plankton nods, his antennae waving slightly. "They look delicious," he says, and there's a hint of a smile in his voice. He takes a bite, chewing slowly. The room holds its breath, waiting. "They're great," he finally says, and Chip's face lights up. The tension in the room eases ever so slightly, the sweetness of the maple syrup mingling with the salty scent of fear that still lingers. Karen watches the exchange, her heart swelling with pride for both of them. Plankton's effort to engage, despite his exhaustion, is clear. Chip, for his part, seems to understand the unspoken rules of their new reality. They're all learning together, stumbling in the dark but finding their way through the maze of neurodivergence. "Daddy," Chip says after a moment, his voice filled with courage. "I know you have meltdowns sometimes. But I still love you." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his chewing slowing. He looks at his son, his single eye filled with a mix of emotions: love, regret, and a hint of fear. "I know, buddy," he whispers. "And I too." The room remains quiet, the only sound the soft clinking of silverware against plates. Plankton clears his throat. "Chip, I need to tell you something." Chip looks up, his eyes wide and expectant. "What is it, Daddy?" Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "I have something," he says slowly. "It's like... it's like my brain works differently than yours and Mommy's." Chip's eyes never leave his dad's, nodding slightly. "Ok," he says, his voice steady. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks down at his plate, his voice quivering. "It's called Autism," he says. "It means that sometimes, I get really, really upset, and my body reacts in ways that might scare you." Chip's expression is a blend of confusion and curiosity. "But why do you get upset, Daddy?" he asks. Plankton's antennae wiggle as he searches for the right words. "Sometimes, things that don't bother you or Mommy can feel really, really big to me," he explains. "It's like when you're scared of a thunderstorm, and the thunder feels like it's right next to you." Chip's brow furrows, and he nods. "But you're not scared of storms, Daddy," he points out. "It's different, bud," Plankton says, his antennae stilling for a moment. "It's like... sometimes my brain gets a storm inside, and I don't know how to make it stop." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "But you're ok now?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton nods, his antennae moving in a way that Karen knows means he's trying to be brave. "I'm ok," he says, his voice a little stronger. "But I might have more storms. And when I do, I might need some space." Chip looks at him seriously, his young mind working to understand. "Ok," he says, his voice a soft echo of Plankton's earlier apology. "I won't make it stormy for you, Daddy." Plankton's antennae twitch with a mix of love and relief. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "That means the world to me." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of a new understanding. "And you know," she adds, her voice gentle, "Whenever you have questions or if you're scared, you can come to me and/or Daddy, and we'll explain as best as we can." Chip nods, his gaze still focused on Plankton. "But what if I don't know when I’m irritating you?" Plankton's antennae droop, and he sighs. "That's the hard part," he admits. "Sometimes I don't know either. But we can learn together, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes still on his dad's. "Ok," he says, his voice a little shaky. Karen pours them both a glass of juice, hoping to lighten the mood. "Why don't we talk about what you can do to help?" she suggests, handing a glass to Chip. Chip takes a sip, his eyes still on Plankton. "What can I do?" he asks, his voice earnest. Plankton's antennae twitch thoughtfully. "Well," he says, "sometimes, all I need is a little space, like when I'm in the middle of a big idea." Chip nods, remembering the times when Plankton would get so focused on his latest contraption that the slightest disturbance would send him into a tizzy. "I can do that," he says, his voice filled with determination. Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "And when you do freeze, Dad," Chip continues, his voice soft, "How can I tell if you need a hug or if you just need me to sit with you?" Karen's eyes fill with pride as she watches her son's bravery. Plankton looks at Chip, his antennae moving in a way that she knows means he's trying to find the right words. "If I freeze," he says slowly, "it's ok to just be there, to wait until I come back. I might not be able to hug you right then, but I'll know you're there." Chip nods, his grip on his juice glass tightening slightly. "What about meltdowns?" he asks, his voice quivering. Plankton's antennae droop, and he takes a deep breath. "Those are harder," he admits. "But if you can give me space and maybe some quiet, it'll help me calm down faster." Chip nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'll try," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Dad, what types of touch do you like and what types of affection do you dislike?” Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks at Karen for a moment, unsure of how to answer. She gives him a gentle nod of encouragement. "Well," he starts, "I'm not a big fan of surprise hugs or pats on the back, especially when I'm working or thinking hard. But a hand on my shoulder or a quiet 'I love you' is always nice." Chip nods, processing the information. "So, like when you're stressed, I should just tell you I love you?" Plankton's antennae wobble with the weight of his nod. "Yes," he says. "That's right. Just remember, buddy, everyone shows love differently." Karen's eyes are filled with hope as she watches the conversation unfold. It's not perfect, but it's a start. A start to understanding and acceptance. "And if you need more than that, Daddy?" Chip asks, his voice small but earnest. Plankton looks at him, his antennae moving in a way that Karen can't quite read. "If I need more than that," he says, "I'll tell you. Or Mommy will help you understand." Chip nods, taking another sip of his juice. "Ok," he says, his voice small. "But what if I don't know what to say?" Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, and he looks down at his plate. "That's ok, Chip," he says. "Sometimes, just sitting with me is enough."

JUST A TOUCH ix (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae quiver with frustration. "It's about the order," he repeats, his voice strained. "Everything needs order." Squidward sighs, his tentacles flapping in exasperation. "Look, I don't know what's gotten into you, but we need to get these dishes done, and we can't do that if you're going to micromanage every single one!" Plankton's antennae droop. "Needs thorough..." Squidward throws his tentacles up in the air. "I don't care about your 'thoroughness' right now!" he exclaims. "Just let me do my job!" Plankton's antennae flatten. "No!" he shouts, his voice echoing off the stainless steel walls. Squidward turns, his tentacles poised for a fight. "What is your problem?" he snaps. Plankton's eye darts around, his heart racing. He can't explain the sudden urgency, the need for order that's consuming him. The need to be perfectly cleansed without blemish. "It's just... it's just..." Plankton stammers, his antennae drooping. Squidward's eyes narrow, his tentacles still. "What's the matter with you?" he asks, his voice edged with irritation. Plankton swallows, his throat tight. "Needs good.." But before he can say more, his gaze locks onto a speck of dirt on a plate. The world around him fades away as he reaches for it, his movements slow and deliberate. Squidward watches him, his expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. "What is that?" he asks, his tone sharp. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on the speck. "Dirt," he whispers, his voice laced with distress. "Has to be gone." His hand shakes as he reaches for the plate, his mind consumed by the need to remove the imperfection. Squidward snatches the plate, his tentacles firm. "It's just a tiny speck!" he says, his voice loud. Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body stiffening. "Can't have dirt," he murmurs. The room seems to close in, his heart hammering in his chest. The need for order, for everything to be just so, is a wave crushing down on him. Squidward's face swims in his vision, a blur of impatience. "Squidward," he says, his voice steadying. "It's dirty." Squidward's grip on the plate doesn't waver. "It's not dirty," he says, his tone firm. "It's a tiny speck." But to Plankton, that speck is a boulder, a symbol of the chaos he can't control. His antennas quiver as he stares at the offending spot, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. The world narrows to just the dish, the speck, and the overwhelming need to erase it. Squidward reaches out a tentacle, to move him aside, reaching to touch Plankton's shoulder. But before he can make contact, Plankton flinches, his eye snapping up to meet Squidward's. "Don't," he says, his voice sharp. "No touch." "Then move so I can mix the dishes.." The words hit Plankton like a wave, sending him spiraling. He can't explain it, but the thought of Squidward's tentacle touching him sends a shiver down his spine. But the only alternative is to result in disordered dishes! Squidward's grip on the plate doesn't change, his tentacle poised to push Plankton aside. "Please," Plankton whispers, his voice trembling. "No..." SpongeBob watches from a distance, his smile fading. He's noticed the changes in Plankton, the way his movements have become so precise, his speech so formal. But he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Squidward's tentacle hovers, his gaze flicking from the plate to Plankton's face. "I'm in charge, not you!" He says shoving Plankton as he mixes the dishes. That's it. The room spins around Plankton, his vision blurring with the sudden assault. The clatter of plates, the smell of grease, the touch of Squidward's tentacle— it's too much. His body reacts before his brain can catch up, the partygoers' laughter a distant echo in Plankton's ringing ears. "Plankton?" Squidward asks, his voice a distant rumble as SpongeBob comes in. Plankton's vaguely aware of his surroundings, but it's all just white noise, his gaze going blank as the absence seizure starts up.

GREAT CHIP ix (Autistic author) Chip took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "I know I can't fix you, Dad," he said, his voice shaking. Plankton's antennae stopped moving, his eye focusing on Chip with an intensity that made him feel like he was being x-rayed. "You can't," he said, his voice firm. "But you can support me. You can be there without trying to change me." Chip nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Okay," he managed to say. "But I want to understand. I want to be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye narrowing slightly. "Understand?" he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Sure, it's easy. Just imagine your brain's a pinball machine on tilt. Sounds fun, right?" Chip felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth despite the tension, which only adds to Plankton's anger. "Well, when you put it that way..." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye squinting at his son's response. "What?" he barked, his voice sharp. Chip tried to hold onto his smile, his heart racing. "I mean, if it's like a pinball machine, I can learn the patterns," he said, his tone carefully light. "I'm pretty good at video games, so..." Plankton's antennae waved wildly, his eye flashing with anger. "You think this is a game?" he shouted, his voice filling the room. "You think I enjoy being out of control? WELL THEN PERHAPS YOU CAN EXPLAIN THE FUN OF FORGETTING WHERE I AM FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME!" Chip's smile dropped, his eyes wide with shock at his father's outburst. He took a step back, his hands up in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to make a joke of it, I just..." "You just what?" Plankton spat, his small body vibrating with rage. "You just don't get it! You can't get it! You're not autistic, you don't know what it's like to have your brain turn on you like that!" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his heart breaking at the accusation. "I know, Dad," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying." Plankton's antennae quivered with the force of his rage. "You don't know," he said, his voice cold. "You can't know. All I see is a little child playing pretend, thinking he can understand what I go through! And yet you're the one asking for help! Face it, you're never going to get it and so don't expect ME to explain it to you!" Chip's eyes watered, the words hitting like a sledgehammer. He had never seen his father so furious, so unyielding. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I just want to help." Plankton's antennae stopped their wild movements, his eye focusing on his son with a cold, calculating gaze. "Help?" he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want to help by poking fun at my condition?" Chip's eyes searched his father's, his heart racing. "Dad, I didn't mean it like that," he said, his voice trembling. "I just wanted to lighten the mood." Plankton's antennae waved, his eye still cold and distant. "Don't," he said, his voice like ice. "Don't try to lighten it. And don't you DARE make fun of it." Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his heart aching with the weight of his father's anger. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I di-" "You're sorry?" Plankton's voice was a whip crack in the silence. "Sorry doesn't cut it!" He slammed his fist on the table, causing their plates to rattle. "You think an apology is enough when you belittle what I go through?" Chip's eyes widened with fear as his dad's anger grew. He'd never seen Plankton like this before, his tiny body trembling with rage, his antennae thrashing like live wires. The kitchen felt suffocatingly small, the walls closing in. "Dad, please," Chip begged, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean it that way." But Plankton was beyond listening, his tiny body vibrating with fury. "You don't get to make jokes about this!" he roared, his antennae whipping about like agitated snakes. "You don't get to reduce it to a game you can win with a simple joke!" Chip took another step back, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never seen his father this enraged, and it scared him. "Dad, I-" he began, but Plankton's tirade didn't stop. "You think it's funny?" Plankton shouted, his antennae a blur of motion. "You think it's fun to live with this?" His voice grew louder, his words sharper. "You think it's easy to lighten up at the drop of a hat?" Chip's eyes filled with tears as his father's anger grew, his voice crackling like static. He hadn't meant to make light of his dad's condition, but now it seemed as if he'd made everything worse. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his hands shaking. Plankton's antennae whipped around his head, his eye bulging. "Sorry won't make it go away!" he screamed, his voice bouncing off the walls. "You think you can make it better with a laugh?" He slammed his fist down again, the sound like a gunshot. "It's not a joke, Chip!" Chip's eyes filled with tears as he watched his father's outburst, his heart pounding. He had never seen Plankton like this, his anger a living, breathing thing that filled the room like a toxic cloud. "I know," he whispered, his voice shaking. "But I want to help." Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "Help?" he spat, his voice a whip. "You want to help? Then stop making it about you!" Chip's eyes grew wide with fear as he watched his father's anger boil over, his voice shaking. "Dad, please," he whispered, his heart racing. Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his body vibrating with uncontrollable rage. Suddenly, he grabbed the coffee mug from the table, flinging it across the room where it shattered against the wall. Shards of ceramic flew everywhere, puncturing the silence like shrapnel. "Dad, no!" Chip yelled, his heart racing faster than it ever had before. He had never seen Plankton this out of control. And Karen knew she had to act fast. Her voice was calm but firm as she approached Plankton. "Sweetie, it's okay," she said, her hands up in a non-threatening gesture. "Let's go to your workshop. You know that's your safe space." Plankton's antennae thrashed, his eye darting around the room, seeking anything to target his anger. "I don't want to go anywhere!" he roared, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. "It's not okay!" Karen stepped closer, her voice steady. "It's okay to be upset," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "But Chip..." But Plankton's rage was unstoppable. He lunged for the nearest object, a framed photo of Chip, his grip tightening as he raised it over his head, ready to smash it against the floor. Karen's eyes widened, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to defuse the situation before it got any worse. "Plankton, no," she pleaded, her voice steady. "Please, don't." But Plankton's rage had taken over, his body moving on autopilot as he swung the photo frame with all his might. It crashed to the floor, the shattering glass echoing in the small room. Chip's eyes grew round with shock, his body frozen in place as he watched his father's tantrum unfold. "Dad, please stop!" he shouted, his voice cracking with fear. "You're scaring me!" But Plankton's rage was a runaway train, his antennae quivering with the intensity of his anger. He stomped over to the counter, grabbing a plate and flinging it against the wall, where it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. The sound was deafening, the force of the impact sending a shiver down Chip's spine. Karen stepped in front of Chip, placing herself between him and the storm of Plankton's fury. "Stop," she said firmly, her voice a calm oasis in the chaos. "You're scaring him." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye focusing on Karen with a mix of anger and confusion. For a moment, his body seemed to pause, his arm still mid-air, a kitchen towel gripped tightly in his hand. Then, with a roar, he threw it, the soft fabric landing limply on the floor. Karen's eyes searched her husband's, seeing the turmoil behind the rage. "Please, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "Let's talk about this." But Plankton's anger was like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He picked up another mug, his arm winding up to throw it, when Chip suddenly stepped forward, his eyes locked on his father's. "Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "Please don't." Plankton's antennae paused, his arm still raised. "WHY?" he growled, his eye wild with anger. "You think you can just tell me what to do?" And then, with a sickly twisted satisfaction, Plankton hurled the mug in front of Chip, purposefully missing him. The room seemed to hold its breath as the mug spun through the air, the shattering of porcelain on the tile floor a symphony of pain. "Dad," Chip said, his voice shaking. "It's not about control. It's about us. Our fam..." But Plankton was beyond words, his rage a living entity that consumed him. He grabbed a toaster, his grip white-knuckled, and hurled it at the fridge, the metallic clang a cacophony in the small kitchen. "I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!" he bellowed, his antennae a blur.

CHIP AND FAIL ix (Autistic author) Chip stared at his dad, his mind racing. He had always known his dad was different, but he had never understood why. Now, as he watched the man he idolized quivering with overstimulation, he couldn't help but feel a deep sadness and anger. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice tight. Plankton's antennae shot up, his face contorting with a sudden surge of anger. "ENOUGH!" he roared, the sound exploding from his chest like a bomb, his antennae quivering with each syllable. "Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?" Chip recoiled, his eyes wide with shock. He had never heard his dad so angry before, never seen him so out of control. "Dad, I'm sorry," he stammered, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You're sorry?" Plankton spat, his antennae vibrating with rage. "You don't get it, Chip. You never will." His voice was a storm, his words cutting through the tension in the room. "You think I don't want to hear your stories? You think I don't want to be a part of your life?" His body trembled with the force of his emotions, his eye blazing with pain. Chip took a step back, his hands up in defense. "Dad, no, I..." But Plankton was a tornado, his anger a living thing in the room. "You think I don't want to connect with you?" he shouted, his antennas whipping around. "You think I don't love you?" His voice broke, his body shaking with the effort of holding back his tears. Chip stared at his dad, his eyes like saucers. "But Dad, you always push me away," he protested, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's fury. "You never want me to touch you or..." "You just let me explain!" Plankton shouted, cutting him off. His antennae were a blur with the force of his emotions, his eye flashing. "You always keep pushing and pushing, and it's too much!" His words were a volley of thunder, each one striking Chip like a physical blow. Chip took a step back, his eyes filling with tears. "But Dad, I just want to be close to you," he choked out, his voice a mere wisp. "I don't understand why you can't..." "Because you don't listen!" Plankton's voice was a whip, slicing through the air. "You don't see the storm in my head, the way every touch feels like a storm, every sound a siren!" His antennae quivered with rage, his body tense. "You think it's easy for me? That I don't want to be there for you?" Chip took another step back, his hands up in defense. "I didn't know," he whispered, his eyes brimming with tears. "I just wanted to tell you about my week." He says reaching out with a trembling hand, but Plankton's swatting Chip's hand away. "Don't. Touch. Me!" Plankton roared, his body trembling with rage. "Can't you see that?" His voice was a knife, sharp and unforgiving. "And don't you DARE say you're better off without me!" His eye blazed with a fierce protectiveness that Chip had never seen before. Chip's hand hovered in the air, his fingers curling into a fist. "But Dad," he choked out, his voice thick with unshed tears, "I just want to be close to you." He took a step closer... "NO!" Plankton shouted, his antennae snapping like whips. "You don't get to invade my space like that!" His body was a live wire, his anger a force field that repelled Chip's reaching hand. "You think it's funny?" His voice was a maelstrom of pain and fury. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his hand dropping to his side. "I just wanted to help," he murmured, his voice tiny in the face of his father's storm.

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.

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.

I V X L C D M 1 5 10 50 100 500 1000 🔢 Individual decimal places Thousands Hundreds Tens Units 1 M C X I 2 MM CC XX II 3 MMM CCC XXX III 4 CD XL IV 5 D L V 6 DC LX VI 7 DCC LXX VII 8 DCCC LXXX VIII 9 CM XC IX

SHELF IMPROVEMENT i (Autistic author) "Plankton if you're gonna get the shelf remade, then just call a repair or buy a new one." Karen says. The shelf groaned, protesting under the weight. The shelf lurched, and with a crash, it tumbled down. Plankton's eye rolls back into his head as he crumpled to the floor. The room grew eerily quiet, except for the sound of Karen's gasp. "Plankton!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him. Panic washed over her, her heart beating like a drum in her chest. She knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder gently. "Plankton, can you hear me?" Her voice was high-pitched and shaky. His eye remained closed, his body unresponsive. Karen had to figure out what to do next. Her mind raced through scenarios, each more alarming than the last. What if he was hurt badly? What if this was her fault? The thought made her want to scream, to throw something, but she couldn't. Not with Plankton lying there, so still, so silent. She felt for a pulse. It was there. He was alive, thankfully. And still breathing. "Okay, okay," she murmured to herself, "just stay calm." She knew she needed to see if she could wake him up. Gently, she called his name, her voice soft and urgent. "Plankton, come on, wake up." She patted his cheek, not too hard, not too soft. Still, his eye remained closed, his body unmoving. The quiet was deafening. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling, "please wake up." But Plankton lay there, unmoving, like a discarded ragdoll. "Wake up!" she called out, but his body remained a lifeless weight beneath her fingertips. Her thoughts raced as she managed to lift Plankton's arm. It flopped back down like dead weight. "Come on," she mumbled, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. "You can't leave me like this." Her voice cracked, but she couldn't let despair consume her. She had to think. Carefully, she slid his arm over her shoulder, grunting with effort as she managed to get him into a sitting position. His head lolled back, but she held him firmly. "Let's get you to the couch," she says, setting him down on the sofa. "Don't leave me," she whispered, squeezing his hand. Her mind was a whirlwind of "what ifs" and regrets. What if she had insisted he leave the shelf alone? What if she had caught him? Tears slipped down her screen. "You're such a stubborn husband but I love you," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "You can't leave me like this," she whispered to his unresponsive form, her voice hoarse with emotion. "We've been through so much together. Remember when we first met?" Her thoughts drifted to their early days, the laughter, the bickering, the love.. She tried to chuckle, but it came out as a sob. Her voice grew softer, more desperate. "You have to come back to me, Plankton." Her eyes searched his face for any sign of life, any flicker of an eyelid, any twitch of his antennae that would indicate he heard her. But there was none. The silence in the room was a heavy blanket smothering her hope. Her hand tightened around his, willing him to squeeze back, to give her a sign. Suddenly, she heard a faint moan. "Plankton?" she gasped, her eyes widening. There it was again, a soft moan, and the tiniest movement of his mouth. "You're okay," she said, relief flooding her voice.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT ii (Autistic author) His eyelid fluttered, and his antennae twitched slightly. He groaned, and she felt his hand move in hers, giving a weak squeeze. "Karen?" he managed to murmur, his voice raspy and distant. Her eyes filled with tears of joy, and she leaned in closer. "Yes, it's me, I'm here," she said, her voice choked. Plankton's single eye slowly opened, blinking a few times as he tried to focus. "What... happened?" he croaked. Karen couldn't hold back her smile. "You fell," she said, her voice still shaky with emotion. "But you're okay, you're okay now." Plankton's gaze swept the room, taking in the wreckage of the shelf. His face contorted in pain, and he winced. "Ow," he muttered, touching his head. "You hit it pretty hard," Karen said. "But you're awake, and that's all that matters." Plankton groaned again, trying to sit up. Karen quickly put a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back down. "Take it easy," she said, her voice soothing. "You need to rest." But as she studied his face, she noticed his antennae twitching nervously. "Plankton, are you okay?" she asked, concern lacing her words. His behavior was unusual, even for him. His antennae quivered more erratically than before, and he began to rock back and forth on the couch. "The shelf," he murmured, his voice distant. "Shelf broken." Karen ached for his distress. She had never seen Plankton like this. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice filled with worry. "Why are you acting like this?" His antennae continued to quiver, and he rocked faster. "The shelf," he repeated, his eye dilating with panic. Karen's eyes widened with understanding. "Is it because of the shelf?" she asked, her voice gentle. Plankton nodded, his rocking growing more pronounced. "It's... it's gone," he stuttered, his single eye darting around the room. "Everything's... different." His voice was filled with a mix of fear and confusion. "It's okay," she said, her tone calm and reassuring. "The shelf broke, but we can fix it. We'll get it back the way it was. We'll fix it," she repeated, her voice soothing. "Everything will be just how you like it." Plankton nodded as he stopped rocking, and looked up at her. "Thanking Karen," he whispered, his voice still trembling. Her eyes searched his, seeing the fear slowly recede like the tide. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, smoothing his antennae gently. "Let's get you some water." As she rose to get the water, Plankton's panic grew. "No, no," he stammered, his hand gripping her arm tightly. "Can't... can't leave." Karen froze. She had never seen Plankton like this before. "Plankton," she said, sitting back down next to him, "just breathe." He nodded, his grip on her arm loosening. He took a deep, shaky breath, and his antennae began to still. "It's okay," she said again, her voice a gentle lullaby. "Everything's going to be okay." But Plankton's clearly in distress. Karen wondered if the fall had caused some kind of concussion, or perhaps released some deep-seated anxiety. She had read about these sudden behavioral changes before, but never in the context of Plankton's usually stable demeanor. "Let's just sit here for a while," she suggested. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Plankton nodded against her touch, his body still trembling. He wrapped his arms around his legs, drawing them tight to his chest. Karen's screen filled with concern. This was not the Plankton she knew. His usual confidence and sharpness were replaced by a child- like vulnerability. "It's okay," she repeated, stroking his back in a soothing motion. "You're safe here." Plankton's trembling subsided slightly. He looked at Karen, his eye wide and searching. "It's okay," she whispered, her hand still on his back. "You're safe." But her mind was whirling. Was this a symptom of something more serious than a concussion? Plankton's rocking slowed down, and he finally leaned back into the couch cushions. Karen could see the effort it was taking for him to maintain composure. He was always so independent, so in control. To see him like this was... unnerving. "Karen," he whispered, his voice still tremulous, "Karen, Karen hug?" She lurched at his vulnerability. Plankton was not one to ask for comfort, but his current state was clearly overwhelming him. Without a second thought, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. His body was rigid, but gradually, it began to relax into her embrace. Karen felt his breathing even out as he clung to her. "It's okay," she said again, her voice a soft murmur. "You're okay."

SHELF IMPROVEMENT iii (Autistic author) As the minutes ticked by, Plankton's trembling subsided. He looked up at her, his antennae still twitching slightly. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Plankton sorry Karen." This wasn't like him. Plankton had his quirks, sure, but this was something else entirely. It was as if the fall had shaken something loose in his mind, revealing a part of him she had never seen before. Her arms tightened around his slight frame, and she pressed her screen to his forehead. "Don't be sorry," she whispered. "You're scared, and that's okay." Plankton nodded, his single eye squeezing shut as if to hold in his fear. He leaned into her embrace, his body finally going limp. Karen felt his wetness on her neck, and realized he was crying. "It's okay," she whispered again, her voice the only sound in the silent room. "You're safe with me." Plankton's antennae stilled against her, and she felt his breathing grow calmer. The quiet was unusual for their home, but in this moment, it was a welcome balm. Her mind raced, trying to recall any signs she might have missed, any indication that Plankton was suffering from something deeper than the physical trauma of the fall. Was this a sudden onset of a condition? Or had it been there all along, masked by his quirks and his usual bravado? "Karen," Plankton murmured again, his eye squeezed shut. "Karen Plankton." "It's okay," she soothed. "You're okay." But the silence grew louder, and she knew it was more than just the quiet of their usual bickering. This was a new Plankton, one she wasn't sure how to reach. His repetition of her name was like a mantra, a lifeline to the world he knew. Karen held him closer, her own eyes now brimming with tears. They had been through so much together, and she had always been his anchor, the one constant in his life. But now, she felt adrift, uncertain of how to navigate these uncharted waters. Plankton's grip around her tightened, his breath hitching in sobs. His muttered repeating of her name grew louder, almost frantic. "Karen, Karen, Karen..." It was like he was stuck in a loop, his mind unable to comprehend the sudden change around him. "Shh," she soothed, stroking his back. "It's okay, we're here, together." Plankton's repetition of her name grew more frantic. "Karen, Karen, Karen," he chanted, his voice rising in pitch. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, her voice steady despite her internal turmoil. "Everything's going to be okay." But his chanting continued, growing louder and more desperate. She knew she couldn't just sit here forever, she had to do something. But what? Her mind raced, thinking of all the times Plankton had fixed her when she was broken. Now it was her turn. She had to find a way to reach him. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest. "Look at me." She gently lifted his chin so he was forced to meet her screen. "You're okay, we're together." His eye searched hers, desperation clear in its depths. The chanting of her name grew softer, but didn't cease. Karen's mind raced, trying to think of anything that could help him snap out of this state. "Remember the chum?" she said, her voice trembling slightly. "The time we had a picnic and the seagulls came?" Plankton's chanting paused for a moment, and his eye flickered with recognition. It was a memory from their early days, a moment of shared joy amidst their usual bickering. "Chum," he murmured, his antennae twitching slightly. "Seagulls." Karen's screen lit up with hope. It was a start, a crack in the facade of his fear. "Yes, the seagulls," she said, smiling through her tears. "Remember how we laughed when they stole our sandwiches?" Plankton's antennae twitched again, and a tiny smile graced his lips. "Seagulls," he repeated, his voice a little less shaky. Encouraged, Karen pressed on. "And remember how we chased them together?" Plankton's smile grew slightly, and his antennae moved a bit more naturally. "Chased," he agreed, his voice still wobbly but with a hint of his usual spirit. Karen felt a wave of relief wash over her. He was remembering, engaging with her. "Yes, we chased them, and we got the chum back," she said, trying to keep the conversation going. Plankton's antennae moved slightly, and he nodded, his eye focusing more clearly on her. "Chum," he murmured, his voice stronger now. "Good chum." Karen took a deep, shaky breath, fighting the tears that threatened to fall. She had to keep him grounded, keep him with her. "Yes," she said, her voice determined, "good chum." Plankton's antennae stilled, and he took a deep, ragged breath. "Karen," he said, his voice a little stronger. "Chum." Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the flicker of the man she knew. "Yes, Plankton, chum." The room remained silent, except for the sound of Plankton's deepening breaths. The word "chum" seemed to have a calming effect on his agitated state. He repeated it to himself, his antennae finally stilling. Karen watched him, relief and sadness mingling within her. This was a side of Plankton she had never seen before, a raw vulnerability that made her ache. He was like a lost child, seeking comfort in familiar words. "Chum," he murmured once more, his eye shutting. Karen nodded. "Yes, chum," she said, her voice soothing. Plankton's body relaxed in her arms, his breathing evening out. For a moment, the room remained still, save for the steady rhythm of his breath. But then, his antennae began to move again, not with fear this time, but with something else. It was almost as if his mind was racing, trying to process the world around him. Karen felt his grip on her loosen, his body shifting slightly in the couch cushions. "Plankton?" she asked, her voice tentative. He didn't respond, but his eye fluttered open, his gaze focused on a spot on the wall. "Looks like he's in a trance," Karen thought aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's going on with you?" Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, as if trying to capture invisible signals. His face was a mask of concentration, his body tense and poised like he was ready to flee. Karen felt a cold wave of understanding wash over her. This wasn't just fear or confusion, it was something deeper. She scanned his brain, and then she saw the results. "Oh, Plankton," she breathed. He had developed autism. The fall had triggered something within his brain, irreversible damage to. She felt a mix of shock and sorrow, but also a fierce determination to support him. "Autism. You're autistic now." He looked at her, his eye blinking in understanding. "Autism," he echoed. "Different." Karen nodded. "Yes, but you're still my Plankton." Plankton's expression was a jumble of emotions. Recognition, fear, confusion, and a tiny spark of hope. "Different," he repeated. "But... same?" Karen nodded, squeezing his hand. "Different, but still my Plankton." She swiped at her tears, determined to be strong for him. "We'll get through this, I promise." Plankton looked at her with a mix of relief and fear. "Karen... love." Karen felt love and pain. "I love you, Plankton," she whispered, her voice shaking. "We'll get through this together." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching for a moment, and he squeezed her hand. "Together," he repeated, his voice small but firm. Karen nodded, swiping at her tears. "We'll face this together, I promise. Now, it's late; let's get to sleep.." She cleaned up the remnants of the shelf.

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?"

SHELF IMPROVEMENT v (Autistic author) They sat together, the morning light filtering through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over their quiet meal. Karen watched Plankton closely, noticing the subtle differences in his behavior. The way his eye would dart around the room, as if searching for something. The way his antennas would stiffen whenever a noise pierced their sanctuary. "No more noise," he whispered, his voice tight with anxiety. Karen nodded, swiping at her eyes. "I'll be quiet, Plankton. I'm here." They ate in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Karen's mind raced with the implications of this new development. She had read about autism before, but it had always felt like something that happened to other people. Now it was right here, in their kitchen, changing the dynamic of their relationship. Plankton's antennae twitched as he chewed, his focus completely on his food. Every now and then, he'd look up at Karen, his eye searching for reassurance. She gave it without hesitation, her smile genuine, full of love. As they finished breakfast, Karen's mind raced with what their day would look like now. Would they still go about their usual routine, or would everything be different? "Plankton," she said gently, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Do you w..." He flinched at the sudden contact, his antennae shooting straight up. She had to be more careful, more sensitive to his new reality. She pulled her hand back, giving him space. "Plankton," she started again, her voice softer this time. "Do you want to find a quiet place to sit for a while?" He nodded, his antennas still. "Quiet," he whispered, his eye flickering to the living room. Together, they moved to the couch, the sunken cushions welcoming them like an old friend. Karen knew Plankton liked the feeling of being enveloped, and she hoped it would offer him some comfort, and moved a throw blanket over his legs. Plankton leaned into the cushions, his antennae twitching slightly as his eye darted around the room. Karen sat beside him, not sure what to say or do next. "Would you like to read a book?" she offered tentatively. Plankton's antennae stopped moving for a moment, his gaze locking onto hers. "Book," he mumbled, his voice lacking the enthusiasm he usually had. Karen selected a simple story, hoping the familiar words would comfort him. As she read, Plankton remained still, his eye half-closed. The words were a gentle lullaby to his overwhelmed mind. Karen noticed that he didn't react to the plot twists or the punchlines, his expression unchanged. It was as if he was listening, but not quite there. "The end," she said softly, closing the book. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly, and he turned his gaze to her. "Book," he mumbled. It was the first word he had said in what felt like hours. This wasn't the Plankton she knew, the one who could spout complex sentences and wield his wit like a weapon. This was a Plankton lost in a world of sensory overload and confusion. She knew that autism was a spectrum, and that Plankton was still himself, but it was difficult to see him this way. "Let's try something else," she suggested, desperation tinting her voice. She searched his face for any sign of recognition or interest. Plankton nodded, his antennas drooping slightly. "Okay," he murmured, his eye unfocused. "How about we play a game?" she suggested.

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.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT x (Autistic author) Plankton's body finally stilled, his breathing evening out. The room was now quiet, the only sounds their combined exhales and the distant hum of the house. Karen could feel the weight of his fear slowly lifting, his body becoming less rigid under her touch. "Gentler," he murmured, his eye looking up at her. Karen's hand trembled slightly as she brushed his antennae, trying to give him comfort. "We're going to get through this," she promised, her voice firm. Plankton's antennae twitched in response, his gaze searching hers. "Together?" Karen nodded, a warm smile spreading across her screen. "Together, Plankton. We're a family." Plankton's antennae quivered with relief, his body slumping into the pillows. "Together," he echoed, his voice weak but steady. Karen felt a weight lift. "Yes, together," she said. They sat in silence for a moment, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Plankton's antennae twitched, and he reached out to grasp her hand, and Karen squeezed back. "Karen," he murmured, his voice still weak from his meltdown. "Thank you." Karen's eyes watered as she squeezed his hand back. "Always," she whispered. The room was still, the only sounds the soft sighs of relief from both of them. Plankton's antennae slowly relaxed, his grip on her hand loosening. "Tired," he murmured, his eye half-closed. Karen nodded, wiping her own tears away. "Why don't we get some rest?" she suggested, her voice still a whisper. She helped him lay down properly, adjusting his pillows and covering him with the blanket. Plankton's antennae nodded slightly. "Rest," he murmured, his voice fading. Karen sat beside him, her hand still in his, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. She felt his grip tighten briefly, a silent plea for her not to leave. As the minutes ticked by, the tension in the room began to unravel. The steady rhythm of his breaths grew deeper, his body relaxing into the embrace of the soft mattress. Plankton's antennae twitched one last time before going still, and Karen heard the telltale rumble of his snores. They were faint, almost imperceptible. It was the sound of his body letting go of the fear and anger, surrendering to sleep. With a sigh of relief, she gently released his hand, placing it by his side. Her heart ached as she took in the sight of him, so small and vulnerable. This was their new normal, and she had to be strong for both of them.

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.."

SHELF IMPROVEMENT viii (Autistic author) The next day, Karen got up out of bed. Plankton's still asleep. She wondered how she's to wake him with his new sensory sensitivities. Gently, she opened the blinds, letting in the soft morning light. The room was peaceful, the silence only broken by the steady hum of his breathing. She took a moment to just watch his sleeping form, the covers rising and falling with each breath. Karen approached the bed, careful not to wake him. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as she reached out to stroke his forehead. He mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, and she smiled sadly. "Good morning, Plankton," she whispered, keeping her voice soft. His eye fluttered open, and he blinked at her, his gaze slightly unfocused. "Karen," he mumbled, his voice groggy. "How are you feeling?" she asked, concern etched on her screen. Plankton blinked a few times, his antennae slowly raising. "Tired," he finally said, his voice raspy. "It's okay," Karen soothed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We'll take it easy today. I told Chip about your new neurodisability.." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he took in her words. "Chip knowing?" he murmured, his eye searching hers. "Yes, sweetie," Karen nodded. "We talked about how we need to be gentler with you now." Plankton's antennae stilled, his gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, his eye found hers. "Thank... you?" he whispered, the words a gentle caress. Karen felt a tear roll down her screen. "Of course," she said, smiling softly. "We're in this together." It's the first time since the accident that he used an actual pronoun. Plankton's antennae quivered as he absorbed her words. "Together," he echoed, his voice gaining strength. Karen wiped her screen, trying not to let her emotions overwhelm them as Chip came into their room. "Morning, Dad," Chip said, his voice tentative. He had spent the night thinking about his father's condition, his young mind racing with questions. Plankton's antennae twitched, and he offered a small smile. "Chip," he mumbled. Chip cautiously approached the bed, his eyes wide with concern. "You okay, Dad?" Plankton nodded, his antennae still. "Chip," he murmured. "Chip loves Plankton." Chip climbed up onto the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. "I love you too, Dad," he said, his voice trembling as he crawled closer to Plankton. Plankton's antennae flinched as Chip approached, his body tensing instinctively. Karen had explained about personal space the night before, but she wasn't sure if he'd remember. "Chip," she said softly, placing a hand on her son's shoulder. "Let's not get too close just yet, okay?" Chip nodded, his screen a picture of understanding. He sat at the edge of the bed, giving Plankton enough space. Karen could see the effort it took for him to control his instincts. Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in the new dynamics, his eye flicking between Karen and Chip. "Space," he murmured, his voice still weak. "I need... space." Karen nodded, swallowing hard. "Of course, Plankton. We'll make sure to give you your space." She reached for Chip's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Remember, buddy, let's not overwhelm Dad." Chip nodded, his eyes serious. He slowly slid off the bed, his movements careful. But as he stood up, his elbow accidentally brushed against Plankton's arm. The reaction was instant. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body jerking away from the touch. "No!" he yelped, his eye widening in discomfort. Karen lurched as she saw Plankton's expression. She had tried to prepare Chip, but it was clear that their new reality was going to be a learning experience for them all. Chip's screen filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered. Karen's seeing her son's upset face. "It's okay, Chip," she said quickly. "It's an accident. Let's give Dad some more space, okay?" But Plankton's expression had shifted. His antennae were vibrating rapidly, his eye flashing with anger. "Too much," he snapped, his voice harsher than Karen had ever heard it. "Chip, too much!" Chip's eyes watered, and he took a step back, his hand hovering. "I'm sorry, Dad," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennae whipped around, his whole body vibrating with agitation. "Out!" he bellowed, the word exploding from his tiny body. "Chip, go out!" Chip's eyes grew large with shock. He had never heard his dad speak to him like that before. His shoulders slumped, and he turned to leave, his steps slow and heavy. Karen watched her son retreat. "Plankton," she began, her voice shaky. "It's okay, he didn't mean..." But Plankton's anger was palpable. "No!" he shouted, his eye flashing. "Chip, no more!" His voice was loud, a stark contrast to the gentle whispers of their previous interactions. Chip hovers by the door. "Dad, I di-" "OUT!" Plankton's shout reverberated through the room, cutting him off mid-sentence. His body was rigid with tension, his antennae quivering angrily. Karen felt a pang of fear and sadness seeing her husband like this. But Chip wants to reconcile with his father. Chip looked back, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Dad, ca--" "OUT!" Plankton's voice was a thunderclap in the stillness of the room. Chip flinched, his small body visibly trembling. "Dad," Chip tried again, his voice shaking. "Can't you li—" "OUT!" Plankton shouted, his antennae whipping around like tiny storm clouds. Karen saw the fear in Chip and knew she had to intervene. "Chip, go to your room," she said firmly, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Let's give Dad some time to calm down." Chip nodded. With one last longing glance at Plankton, he left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xi (Autistic author) Karen stood up. She needed to check on Chip, to make sure he was okay after the scary scene he had witnessed. She stepped out of the room, leaving the door cracked open, listening for any sign of movement from Plankton. The house was quiet, the only sound being the distant thump of Chip's footsteps. She walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last. When she reached Chip's room, she found him sitting on his bed, his screen blurry with unshed tears. He looked up as she entered, his eyes wide with worry. "Mom," he said, his voice small. Karen's heart broke anew. She crossed the room and sat beside him, wrapping her arms around his small frame. "Chip," she whispered, "it's okay." Chip leaned into her embrace, his body shaking with sobs. "But Dad...," he choked out. "Dad was so mad at me." Karen's heart was heavy. She stroking his back. "He's not mad at you, Chip," she said, her voice gentle. "His brain is just... different now. He's scared and overwhelmed." Chip sniffled, his shoulders heaving. "But why?" "Because of his autism," Karen explained, her voice soft and steady. "It's like he's experiencing the world with all his senses turned up to max. Sometimes it's too much, and it can make him upset." Chip's sobs grew quieter as he absorbed her words. "But I didn't mean to," he murmured, his voice filled with regret. "I know, buddy," Karen said, her voice soothing. "And Dad knows you didn't mean to. We all just need to learn how to be more careful with each other." Chip nodded against her shoulder, his body slowly relaxing into her embrace. "I don't want him to be sad," he whispered. Karen kissed his forehead. "I know, Chip. And we'll make sure he isn't. We'll all learn together." They sat in silence for a few more moments, until Chip's sniffles subsided. "Would you like to go see him?" Karen asked, her voice tentative. Chip nodded, his screen wiping away tears. "But I don't want to make Dad mad again," he whispered. "You won't," Karen promised, her voice filled with warmth. "We'll go in together, and I'll be right here with you." They walked back to Plankton's room, their steps measured. Karen pushed the door open carefully, her gaze flicking to the bed. Plankton was still asleep, his snores now a comforting lullaby in the quiet space. Chip's eyes were glued to his dad, his antennae quivering slightly. "Dad?" he whispered. Karen nodded, swiping at her own tears. "Let's just watch him for a moment," she said, guiding Chip to the chair beside the bed. They sat down together, their hands joined. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly in his sleep, and Karen held her breath, fearing he might wake up. But he remained still, his tiny frame nestled under the blanket. "Look, Chip," she whispered, pointing to Plankton's peaceful face. "Dad's sleeping. Let's not wake him up yet." Chip nodded, his gaze never leaving his father. "But I want to tell him I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You can tell him later," Karen assured, squeezing his hand. "Let's let him rest for now." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "Okay," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. "But I'll make it up to him. I've a science fair at school tonight and would like you both to come. I know he enjoys science." Karen's heart swelled with pride and hope. "That's a wonderful idea, Chip," she said, smiling through her tears. "I'm sure your father would love to see your project." They sat in companionable silence for a few moments more before Karen stood up. "Go get ready," she said, gently tugging on Chip's arm. "We have a science fair to attend." Chip's eyes lit up with excitement. "Really?" "Yes," Karen nodded, standing up. "We'll all go together and support you." Chip perked up, and he scurried out of the room, eager to get ready for the science fair. Karen watched him go, his enthusiasm a tiny beacon of light in the heavy silence that lingered. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the task ahead.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xii (Autistic author) Turning back to Plankton, Karen approached the bed slowly, not wanting to startle him. She stood there for a moment, taking in his peaceful form, his antennae still. "Plankton," she whispered, reaching out to gently shake his shoulder. His eye fluttered open, his antennae twitching as he took in the scene before him. "Karen?" he mumbled, his voice slurred with sleep. "Hey, Plankton," she said softly, her face a picture of calm. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he slowly came to consciousness. "Fine," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. "Good," Karen smiled, gently squeezing his shoulder. "Chip has his science fair tonight. Do you think you're up for it?" Plankton's antennae perked up. "Science fair," he repeated, his voice clearing a little. Karen nods. "Yes. Are you ready to go?" Plankton's eye widened with excitement. "Science fair," he said, his voice gaining strength. "Chip's science fair." Karen felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Yes, sweetheart," she smiled. "And we're going to be there for him." Once ready, they left the house, the crisp evening air a welcome change from the stifling atmosphere inside. The walk to Chip's school was quiet, each of them lost in their thoughts. The sight of the school's lights spilling out into the night served as a reminder of the event that awaited them. The science fair was a cacophony of sounds and colors, with excited children dotted around the hall, eagerly explaining their projects to parents and teachers alike. Chip's class was grouped together, and his face lit up when he saw them approach. Plankton's antennae twitched, but his eye was drawn to Chip's proud smile and project. "Welcome to the Annual Science Fair!" The loudspeaker blared, its metallic voice cutting through the buzz of the crowd. Plankton's body stiffened at the sudden noise assault, but was quick to cover his antennas with his hands. "Remember, Plankton," Karen whispered, her voice a soft contrast to the loudspeaker's roar. "Just let me know if it's too much." Plankton nodded, his antennae still covered by his hands, his eye scanning the bustling room. The noise was a symphony of voices and laughter, of beeps and whirs from the various science projects. His heart pounded in his chest, a drum matching the loudspeaker's rhythm. "Find your classmates and have fun!" Karen and Plankton follow Chip to his classmates. "Now students, I see you brought your families with you; now share with a partner and their families, too, about how our class made projects.." The room erupted in a flurry of excited voices, each student eager to share their projects. The cacophony was like a storm of sound, threatening to overwhelm the sensitive Plankton. One of Chip's class partner's moms came up to their family. "Hi, I'm Andreea, Penny's mom," she introduced herself, a smile on her face. "And this is Penny," she said, nudging the tiny octopus beside her. Penny looked shy. Yet meanwhile the talking was like nails on a chalkboard to Plankton. He could feel the echoes of her words bouncing off the walls, reverberating in his skull. The room spun around him, a whirlwind of color and sound. "Hello, I'm Karen," Karen said warmly, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you!" The woman took her hand, her smile widening. "Penny told me Chip's the smartest boy in class," she said, her voice bubbly. "Mother," Penny whispered, her face flushing a deep shade of pink. "Chip's not the only smart one in class," she mumbled. Karen chuckled, squeezing Chip's shoulder. "They're both very bright," she said, her eyes twinkling. Penny's mother laughed unknowingly causing Plankton even further distress. "Oh yes, I'm sure they all are," she said. But Plankton was barely holding on, his head prickling with the sensory assault. Karen felt his body sit, and she turned to him with concern. "Plankton?" she asked, her voice cutting through the noise like a knife. But Plankton was unresponsive, his eye glazed over. He wouldn't budge, his body rigid. The noise was a wall he couldn't scale, his senses bombarded. "Plankton?" Karen's voice was a gentle prodding, but he didn't react. The world around him was a chaos of colors and sounds, each more overwhelming than the last. "Plankton, honey?" Karen tried again, her tone a gentle coax. But Plankton was like a statue, his tiny body unyielding. The sounds of the science fair crashed over him. "Plankton?" Karen repeated, her voice filled with worry. Penny and her mom exchanged glances, picking up on the tension. "Is he okay?" she asked, her voice concerned. Chip, too, noticed this absence seizure spell. "He's just overwhelmed," Karen replied, her voice steady despite the worry etched on her face. She took a deep breath, knowing they had to act quickly. She knew this was his body's way of shutting down from the overstimulation. Andreea's smile faded, her eyes filled with concern. "Is there anything we can do?" Karen shook her head, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "Just give us a moment, please," she said, her voice tight. "This is part of a condition." Andreea nodded, understanding dawning on her face. "Oh," she said, her voice soft. "Is he alright? I happen to be a nurse," she offered, her eyes filled with concern. Karen's gaze flitted to her, desperation in her eyes. "Could you please help?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Andreea nodded, quickly moving to Plankton's side. "I also work with the school nurse, Vicky, but Vicky's not here today. I do have access to her office; we can watch over him there, while Chip and Penny can go back to the class." With Andreea, Karen carries Plankton. "He fell off a shelf, hitting his head on the floor along with the shelf hitting his head. He's acquired autism." Andreea's eyes widen in understanding. "Come on," she says, leading the way to the nurse's office. "Let's get him someplace quiet." The nurse's office is a haven of calm in the storm of the science fair. The walls are lined with charts and supplies, but it's the soothing silence that envelops them like a warm blanket that Karen finds most comforting. They gently lay Plankton on the examination table, his tiny frame looking vulnerable against the white sheets. Andreea quickly assesses the situation, her nurse instincts kicking in. She listened to his heart. "If anything a little fast, which is understandable," she told Karen. "He's okay?" Karen's voice was tight with fear. Andreea nodded, her movements precise and calm. "He's just having an intense sensory overload. It's not uncommon with this condition." Karen's eyes were filled with gratitude as she watched Andreea work, her professionalism and kindness a balm to her frayed nerves. "Thank you," she murmured. "I'm not sure what to do." Andreea nodded, her hands moving quickly and surely. "It's okay," she said. "My ex girlfriend said her grandaunt had similar issues." She tapped Plankton's cheek gently. "Let's see if we can get you to respond." But Plankton's body remained still. Andreea sighs. "Do you know any specific triggers of his you've noticed?" Karen nods. "Loud noises, sudden movements, and certain touches," she lists off. Andreea nods. "We'll keep it calm and predictable here," she promised, her voice soothing. She dimmed the lights, closed the door, and turned him to face a blank part of the wall. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "Look at the wall, okay?" He doesn't respond. Andreea turns to Karen. "Remember, Karen," she said, her voice calm and measured. "Every person with autism is unique. We can't always know what will trigger their overload, but what's crucial is to create an environment that minimizes those triggers." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "I know," she whispered. "We're learning." Andreea offered a kind smile. "It's a journey," she said. "But you're already doing so well." She turned to the shelves, pulling out a weighted blanket. "This might help," she said, spreading it over Plankton's legs. Karen watched as Plankton's body relaxed slightly under the blanket's soothing embrace. "Thank you," she whispered, her eyes filling with gratitude. Andreea nodded, her eyes kind. "It's important to tailor our approach to each autistic person," she said, her voice gentle. "Everyone's experience is different, but creating a predictable and comfortable environment can help." Karen's hope grew. "Remember," Andreea said, her eyes on Plankton, "it's not about 'fixing' him, but helping him navigate the world." "I know," Karen says, nodding. Plankton began to rouse from his stillness. His eye blinked, the world coming into focus in fragments. And Karen noticed. "Plankton?" she whispered, her voice hopeful. His antennae twitched, his eye darting to hers. "Karen," he murmured, his voice groggy. He looked around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings of the nurse's office. "Where..." Karen's heart skipped a beat, relief flooding her chest. "You're in the school nurse's office," she said, her voice gentle. "You had a little sensory overload at the science fair. Remember?" Plankton blinked, his antennae slowly unfurling from his head. The weight of the blanket grounded him, and the dim lights calmed his racing mind. He nodded, the memory of the noise fading into a distant throb.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xiii (Autistic author) "It's okay," Karen soothed. "You're safe." Plankton nodded slowly, his antennae twitching as he tried to sit up. Andreea was there instantly, offering a gentle support. "Take it easy," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "Let's not rush." "Who are you?" Plankton asked, his voice shaky. Andreea smiled warmly, recognizing the fear behind the question. "I'm Andreea, Penny's mom," she introduced herself softly, her eyes kind. "We met just now at the science fair, remember?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his memory slowly reconstructing the events. The noise of the science fair washed over him again, the confrontation with his new reality stark. He nodded, his body still tense. "Oh, right," he murmured. Andreea's gentle touches continued, but Plankton's discomfort was growing. His skin felt like it was crawling with every contact, his senses heightened. "Could you please...not touch like that?" Andreea nodded, understanding. "How about this?" she asked, her hand hovering over his, a question in her eyes. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae quivering. She placed her hand gently on his, her touch light as a feather... It was too much. Plankton's body tensed up again, his skin feeling like it was on fire. "No...," he whimpered, pulling his hand away. "NO TOUCH." Andreea's hand froze mid-air, her eyes widening in surprise. "Oh," she said, her voice apologetic. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." Karen stepped forward, her heart racing. "It's okay," she assured both Andreea and Plankton. Plankton's hands were a blur in the air, his stimming a silent scream for relief, and his body was desperately trying to make sense of it. Andreea's hand retreated quickly, understanding dawning on her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes filled with compassion. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton was beyond words, his body caught in the throes of a silent storm. His hands patted the bed rhythmically, a self-soothing gesture that offered him a semblance of control amidst the chaos of his overstimulated surroundings. Karen watched, her heart breaking for the fear and confusion that danced in his eye. "Home," he managed to get out, his voice barely a whisper. "Take home." Karen nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "Okay, sweetheart," she soothed, her voice steady despite the worry etched deeply in her heart. "We'll go home." Andreea stepped back, giving them the space they needed. "Let me know if there's anything I can do," she said, her voice low and soothing. "We're here for you." Plankton nods as Karen goes to find Chip. The hallways of the school are a blur of sounds and sights, each one a potential trigger for Plankton's fragile state. Karen's heart races, her mind on autopilot as she moves swiftly, her eyes scanning for Chip's distinctive form. She finds him, his face a picture of concern as he stands outside the classroom. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice filled with worry as he sees Plankton's condition. "Chip," Karen says, her voice shaking slightly. "Daddy's not feeling well. We have to go home." Chip's eyes widen in concern. "What happened?" Karen sighs, explaining quickly. "It's just his autism, sweetie. It's overwhelming sometimes." Chip's eyes fill with understanding, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "Okay," he mumbles. Karen scoops Plankton up into her arms, his tiny frame feeling like a feather. The walk home is a journey through Plankton's minefield of sensory overload. Each footstep a potential trigger, Karen's heart in her throat with every crunch of gravel underfoot. Arriving home, Chip follows his parents to their bedroom, as Karen sets down Plankton in his bed. The room is dimly lit, a sanctuary from the harsh world that lies beyond their walls. The soft glow of a lamp in the corner casts long shadows that dance and flicker. Karen gently lays Plankton down on the bed, his body still tense from the overstimulation. "You can go to your room if you want, Chip," Karen says. She quickly kisses both their heads before slipping out the door, leaving Chip to watch over Plankton. She desperately needs a moment to herself, to process the whirlwind of emotions and new realities that have crashed into their lives. But Chip's gaze doesn't leave his father's form. He was so excited to show his parents, but they had to leave! All because of his dad.. Chip's thoughts swirl with accusations. "Why did you have to get sick?" he whispers angrily, his small fists clenching. Plankton's antennae twitch, and his eye flicks to Chip, his gaze questioning. "Son, please underst--" "It's all your fault!" Chip's voice cracks with anger and disappointment. "If you weren't like this, we could have stayed at the science fair!" Plankton's antennae droop, his heart shattering at his son's words. The weight of Chip's accusations presses down on him like a heavy stone, his body trembling with the effort to control his breathing. "Chip," he whispers, his voice breaking, "it's not..." But Chip is on a roll, the dam of his emotions finally breached. "You're always ruining things!" he yells, his voice echoing in the quiet room. "You can't even go to a simple science fair without having a...a... meltdown," he spits out, the word bitter on his tongue. Plankton's eye widens in hurt. "Chip, no," he whispers, his voice trembling. "You don't get it!" Chip shouts, tears welling up in his eyes. "You don't get how it feels to have everyone looking at me because you can't even handle a little noise!" Plankton's antennae droop further, the weight of his son's words a heavy burden. "So sorry," he whispers, his voice small and defeated. "I never wanted to..." But Chip isn't finished. "How do you think mom feels, always having to take care of you?" he demands. "Don't you see how much she's suffering because of you?" His words are a knife, each one twisting in Plankton's chest. Plankton's antennae drop to his sides, his body a picture of defeat. "Chip," he says, his voice weak. "I..." "Your wife," Chip says, "is tired," he spits, "always taking care of you! And you don't see how you're ruining her, hurting us! She deserves better than this!" The venom in his words is like a poison, seeping into the very fabric of their relationship. "So don't tell me you're not a burden to her, because you are!" The accusations hang in the air like shrapnel, each word a piece of metal that pierces Plankton's heart. "Chip," he whispers, reaching out with a trembling hand, but Chip's had enough. He turns on his heel, his footsteps pounding on the floorboards like a marching band, each step taking him further from Plankton's reach. The door slams behind him, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot. Plankton flinches, his body curling into a tight ball under the blankets. Tears stream down. The silence that follows is deafening, the echo of Chip's words bouncing around the walls, a taunting reminder of his failure as a father. Karen, who had been downstairs, rushes upstairs at the sound of the slam. Her heart thuds in her chest as she thinks of the possible scenarios.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xiv (Autistic author) Finding Chip's door closed, Karen knocks gently. "Chip, are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with concern. There's a pause, then the sound of sniffling. "Come in," he mumbles, his voice muffled by the closed door. Karen opens the door with a soft creak, the room bathing in the soft light from the hallway. Chip is sitting on his bed, his face red and blotchy from crying. The sight of him like this breaks her heart. "Chip?" she says, her voice trembling with concern. "What's wrong, baby?" Chip's head snaps up, his eyes wet with unshed tears. "I wanted you to be proud of me in the science fair, if only Dad..." But Chip was cut off, interrupted by a crash from his parent's room. Both Karen and Chip exchanged looks of alarm before bolting out of Chip's room and down the hall. They open the door. The sight that greeted them was like a tornado had swept through their bedroom. Plankton's anger had manifested in a flurry of destructive energy, his small body heaving with the effort of his rage. He had thrown everything within his reach: the lamp was on the floor, the shadows from its shattered glass twisting and turning on the ceiling like ghosts. The bedside table lay on its side, its contents spilled out. Karen's eyes widened in shock, but it was the sight of Plankton that truly broke her heart. His face was a mask of fury, his antennae whipping around as if about to strike. "Plankton, honey, what happened?" she asked, her voice trembling with fear and concern. But Chip's presence was like fuel to the fire, only serving to inflame his anger further. "I'm not trying to be a burden!" Plankton shouted, his tiny fists clenched in rage. "I'm lovable!" His antennae whipped back and forth in a display of frustration that Karen had never seen from him before. Karen took a step back, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Plankton," she pleaded, her voice shaky. "You..." But Plankton was beyond reason, his autistic mind overwhelmed by the accusations. "I'M. NOT. A. BURDEN!" he screamed at Chip, his tiny fists shaking with the intensity of his emotions. Karen's eyes widened in shock. Plankton had never been like this before. His autism had brought moments of stress, but she had never seen this raw anger. Chip looked from his mother to his father, his own eyes brimming with tears. He understood now that his words had caused this. He had never meant to make his father feel that way. "Dad," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I'm sorr-" But Plankton's anger had consumed him. "But I didn't know how she now feels about me?" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. "How tired is she, from caring for me?" His eye was wild, his tiny frame shaking with the effort of his outburst. "And no more lying!" Karen's heart was racing. She knew she had to intervene before things got worse. She stepped tentatively into the room, her hands held out in a calming motion. "Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "What did Chip say to upset you?" She turns to Chip. Chip's eyes dropped to the floor, his cheeks flushing with guilt. He swallowed hard, his voice a whisper. "I didn't mean it," he managed to get out. "I just got..." But Karen's gaze was on Plankton, her heart breaking for the pain she could see in his eye. "Chip, tell me," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "What did you say to your father?" Chip took a deep breath, his eyes darting to the floor. "I...I told him he's a burden," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "That mom deserves better, that...that he's ruining our lives." The admission was like a punch to his own stomach. "Because I can see how tired you're feeling with his tantrums, and it's not fair that YOU have to deal with this," he added, gesturing to his dad. "I told him you don't like to suffer becau…" But before he could finish, Karen's hand was on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Chip," she said, cutting him off. "That's enough." Her voice was calm, but it held a firmness that made him swallow his next words. She turned to Plankton, her gaze filled with compassion and understanding. "You're not a burden, sweetheart," she said, her voice steady as a rock in a storm. "You're our family, and we love you." "Mom, that's no excuse to keep him around," Chip snaps. Plankton's antennae quiver, his rage now filled with even more hurt and anger. "Chip," Karen says, her voice a gentle reprimand. "That's not how we speak to each other." She kneels beside Plankton's shaking form, her hand reaching out to him. Plankton's eye locks onto her hand. He flinches away, his breathing erratic. "Don't touch me," he says, his voice cold and hard. Karen's hand freezes in midair, the sting of his words cutting deep. "Okay," she whispers, retracting her hand slowly. "Okay." Her heart is a whirlwind of emotions. She understands Chip's frustration, but she also sees the devastation on Plankton's face. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. "Chip, please," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "We have to be understanding." But Chip's pain is like a volcano, erupting without warning. "Understanding?!" he yells. "What about what I feel?" He turns to Plankton, his eyes wet with tears. "Do you even know how hard it is for me to see Mom tired from you all the time?" Plankton's face falls. "I never meant to..." But Chip's tantrum isn't over. "You're always so selfish!" he shouts, the words stinging like whips. "You don't think about us, about what we need! And now, because of you, I'm missing the science fair! So much for your 'love'!" He snaps, poking Plankton. Hard. Hard enough to make him whine. Plankton's anger spikes. "Don't touch me!" he yells, his voice echoing in the small space. Chip rolls his eyes and proceeds to touch Plankton again. This time, the reaction is swift and violent. Plankton's tiny arm shoots out like a whip, slapping Chip's hand away. "I SAID NO TOUCH!" he screams, the force of his words shaking the room.

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xv (Autistic author) Karen's heart breaks a little more with each word. "Chip, please," she says, her voice shaking. "Your dad doesn't mean to be..." But Chip's anger has taken over. "Dad you just touched me! So I think at this point, you don't get to tell me what to do!" he yells, his voice a mix of pain and anger as he once again pokes Plankton. This time, Plankton's response is explosive. He jumps off the bed, his antennae flaring with fury. "DO. NOT. TOUCH. ME!" he roars, his voice booming in the confines of the room. The power behind his words sends a shiver down Karen's spine. "Chip, stop it," Karen says, her voice firm. "Your dad's autism makes him sensitive to touch right now. You know this." But Chip is beyond reason, his own pain fueling his actions. He pokes at Plankton again, his eyes filled with anger. Plankton's antennae quiver, his body tight as a spring. "Don't," he warns, his voice low and dangerous. But Chip doesn't listen. He reaches out once more, his finger poised like a dart. Karen can see the internal battle raging behind that one word, the need for his personal space and the fear of what could happen if it's violated. The moment Chip's finger makes contact with his arm, Plankton's unable to take much more. With a whimper that sounds like the sigh, he crumples back onto his bed as his eye rolls back in his head. His body convulses once, twice, and then stills as his eye closes. Karen's seen this before, but the sight of it never gets easier. She rushes to Plankton's side. "Daddy!" Chip's voice cracks, his anger dissolving into fear. "Mom!" Karen's eyes widen as she sees Plankton's body go limp. She quickly assesses his condition, seeing the signs of a meltdown turning into a full-blown shutdown. "Mom?" Chip's voice is shaky, his anger now replaced with fear. "What's happening?" Karen's heart is racing as she gently cradles Plankton's head. "It's okay," she soothes, her voice calm but filled with urgency. "He's just overwhelmed." Chip stands frozen, his hand still in midair. The reality of what his words have caused crashes over him like a wave, soaking him in guilt. "Dad?" he whispers, his voice tiny and scared. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, full of pain. "I'll take care of your father," she says, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to fall. "Why don't you go to your room?" She nods towards the door. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. He backs out of the room, the weight of his guilt following him like a shadow. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving Karen alone with Plankton. The silence is heavy, the air charged with the residue of their outburst. Karen pulls the blankets up to Plankton's chin. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible over his shallow breaths. She runs her hand over his forehead, soothing his antennae. Plankton's body shudders under her touch, his mind reeling from the sensory assault. "You're okay," Karen repeats, her voice a gentle lullaby in the storm of Plankton's thoughts. She continues to stroke his antennae, trying to ground him. Plankton's eyelid flickers, his mind slowly coming back to his surroundings. The weight of his exhaustion is like a heavy blanket, smothering him. "Chip," Karen says, her voice tight with worry. "Come back in. I need you to see this." Chip's eyes are red from crying, but he obeys, his gaze falling on his father's still form. "Look at him," Karen says, her voice thick with emotion. "This is what your words did." Chip's eyes fill with horror as he looks at his father's form. "Dad," he whispers, his hand reaching out tentatively. But Plankton doesn't react, his mind shut down. Karen's eyes are filled with despair, watching her husband, her partner, her best friend, trapped in his own overwhelmed world. "Oh, Plankton," she whispers, her voice shaking with concern. Chip's hand hangs in the air, his heart racing. He doesn't know what to do. "He's in a shutdown," Karen explains, her voice calm but strained. "It's like his brain has turned off to protect itself." Chip's hand drops to his side, his eyes never leaving his father's motionless body. "But why?" he asks, his voice small and scared. Karen sighs, exhaustion etching lines into her face. "It's his autism, Chip. It's like his brain's way of saying 'I can't handle any more'." She swipes at her own tears, trying to keep her voice steady. "When the stimulation gets to be too much, his body just...shuts down." Chip looks at his dad, his heart heavy with regret. "But I didn't know it would be this bad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to be heard." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I know, sweetheart," she says. "But you see, your dad's brain works differently than yours or mine." She takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "When there's too much noise, or too many people, or even just too much expectation," she pauses, her hand still stroking his antennae, "it can be like someone's turned the volume up too high, and everything just becomes too much." Chip sighs. "But why did we have to leave?" he asks, his voice small and lost. Karen looks at Plankton, his body still shaky from his meltdown. "The science fair was too much for Daddy," she says gently. "You know how I said he overwhelms easy?" Chip nods, his eyes glued to the floor. "At the science fair, Daddy had a kind of seizure," Karen explains, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's like his brain got too full of information and it couldn't process it all. To many people were talking all at once." She pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat. "It's not that he didn't want to be there for you, Chip. It's that his body simply couldn't handle it." Chip's eyes widen with understanding. "But he looked normal," he says, his voice tinged with doubt. "He didn't..." Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand. "It's not like a normal seizure," she explains. "It's called an absence seizure. He's semiconscious but his mind kind of... leaves him for a moment." Chip nods slowly, his eyes focused on Plankton's face. "But why was he so mad at me?" Karen looks at her son, her heart aching for both of them. "It was just his brain's way of dealing with the overload. And when you kept poking him and blaming him," she sighs, her eyes filling with tears, "it just added to his stress. He's just... overwhelmed." Chip stares at the floor, his eyes wide with guilt. "I didn't mean to," he whispers. "I just wanted you to be proud of me." Karen's heart aches for her son. She knows his intentions were pure, but the impact of his words was like a bomb exploding in Plankton's mind. "I know, Chip," she says gently. "But sometimes, we have to think about how our words affect others, especially when someone's going through something as hard as your dad. Now it's getting late; we could all use some rest." Chip nods, his throat tight with unshed tears. He kisses Plankton's forehead, his heart heavy with regret. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I'll do better." Karen watches as her son backs out of the room, the weight of the evening's events weighing heavily on his small shoulders. She wishes she could take away his pain, his guilt. Turning back to Plankton, she gets in his line of sight and speaks softly. "Plankton, honey, are you awake..." His single eye opens slightly, a tiny slit in his otherwise still form. "Yes," he whispers, his voice hoarse with fatigue. Karen's heart clenches with relief. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's eye flickers, his antennae barely moving. "Tired," he whispers. Karen nods, understanding. "I'll be right here," she promises, her voice a gentle caress.

CATCH IN MY CHIP ix (Autistic author) With grace of a dancer, Chip slides into the bed beside his dad, his movements calculated and precise. Each inch closer feels like a victory, a step to reconciliation. He's careful not to disturb. His hand reaches for Plankton's, his touch a whisper in the quiet. Plankton's breathing steady and rhythmic. Chip swells with hope, clutches the hand tightly, feeling the strength in the slender fingers. It's a silent declaration of love, an unspoken apology. Karen watches, her screen shimmering with unshed tears. The sight of her son and husband finding their way back to each other fills her heart with a warmth that chases the shadows from the room. She knows this isn't a moment to interrupt, so she simply observes, her hand on Chip's back in silent support. Chip's eyes drift shut, and he lets his body mold to the warmth of his dad's side. The scent of his dad's pillow, a mix of saltwater and something uniquely Plankton, fills his nose, lulling him into a sense of safety. Time seems to stand still in the quiet embrace, each tick of the clock a gentle reminder that moments like these are rare. But eventually, the world outside their sanctuary calls, and Plankton stirs. His antennas twitch, his eye blinking open . He's disoriented at first, his brain still wrapped in the cotton wool of sleep. Then he feels the warmth beside him, the weight of a small hand in his. Plankton's heart stutters, his body tense. His eye find Chip's peaceful face, his son's cheek pressed against his arm. The room is a tableau of quiet, the air thick with the unspoken. He's torn between emotions and fear, his mind racing. He doesn't remember falling asleep, the anger and frustration of last night a distant memory. But here's Chip, a living proof of their unspoken reconciliation. Plankton's antennas quiver, his hand hovering over their entwined fingers. He's afraid to move, to disturb the fragile harmony of the moment. But his body has other plans. His muscles tense, his skin prickling with the need for space. He's not used to this, the warmth, the weight. His autistic brain screams for order, for predictability. He tries to swallow the rising panic, to push it back down into the pit of his stomach where it belongs. Plankton can feel his own heart racing, his antennas quivering with the effort of holding still. His body wants to recoil, to retreat from the sudden assault of sensation. But he can't, not with his son's hand in his. Karen notices the tension in his body, the way his antennas spasm slightly. She knows what's coming, the inevitable retreat. With a gentle touch, she whispers, "It's okay, Plankton. You don't have to handle it if it's too much." Her words are a soothing balm, but they're not enough to calm the storm inside him. Chip's hand tightens slightly around his, and Plankton's eye snap to his son's face. He sees the trust there, the love. It's a punch to the gut, a reminder of all the moments he's missed, all the times he's failed to understand. His hand shakes, the tremble traveling up his arm. He tries to swallow the rising panic, his throat tight. But it's too much, the weight of his son's body, the heat, the smell, the touch. His mind whirrs, his senses overloading. He needs space, to think, to breathe. With a deep, shuddering inhale, he starts to pull away, his body fighting the instinct to shove Chip off the bed. Karen's hand is a gentle weight on his shoulder. "Take it slow," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the storm. Plankton nods, his antennas still quivering. He tries to push the panic down, to focus on the warmth of Chip's hand, the steady beat of their hearts. But the pressure builds, a crescendo of sensation threatening to crush him. He can't breathe. With a tremble, he starts to pull away, his hand sliding out from under Chip's. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice strained. "It's too much." Karen's hand remains on his shoulder, her eyes filled with compassion. "It's okay," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "We're here." The room spins around Plankton, a whirlwind of colors and shapes. His antennas wave wildly, his grip on reality slipping. He's lost in the chaos of his own mind, the sensory overload a tornado that threatens to consume him. Karen's voice is a beacon, guiding him back to shore. "Breathe," she whispers, her hand still on his shoulder. "In, out, slowly." Her words are a lifeline in the tempest. Plankton nods, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. He tries to focus on the sensation of her hand, the gentle pressure of her touch. But the world keeps spinning, the colors blurring together like a watercolor painting left in the rain. He feels the bed shift as Karen sits beside him, her presence a grounding force. "Just breathe," she says, her voice a soft mantra. "You're okay." His chest rises and falls in quick succession, his body's desperate attempt to regulate itself amidst the chaos. His heart races, each beat a staccato in his ears. The room spins, the walls closing in, the ringing in his ears getting louder to where it consumes him, now impenetrable to any other sound. Karen notices the sudden pallor that sweeps over her husband's face, the way his body sags into the bed. Her eyes fill with concern, her hand tightening on his shoulder. "Look at me," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "Take deep breaths." But the ringing in his head is too loud. It's consumed him and impenetrable. He can't hear her. He doesn't hear anything. Karen's voice is a distant echo, the words swallowed by the cacophony in his mind. Her hand on his shoulder is the only real thing, the only anchor keeping him from being swept away. The room spins faster, the colors bleeding into one another until all Plankton can see is a kaleidoscope of sensory overload. The ringing in his ears crescendos, drowning out the world. His chest feels tight, his lungs desperate for air that won't come. He's adrift in a sea of panic, unable to find his way back to the shore. Karen's voice cuts through the din, her hand a firm reminder of reality. "Look at me," she says, her eyes locked on his, her voice a steady lighthouse guiding his way back. "Just me, just us." But Plankton's not hearing anymore. The room is spinning, the colors a whirlwind of chaos. He's lost in the tornado of his own making, the sensory overload a prison he can't escape. His hand shakes, his body tense as his mind begs for reprieve. Karen's eyes widen with concern. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby. "Look at me." She moves closer, her hand reaching for his face. Her touch is a grounding force, but it's not enough. He's too far gone. The room spins, a blur of color and sound. Plankton's eye is wide with panic, his body trembling. The bed seems to shift beneath him, the walls closing in. His breaths are shallow, his chest tight. He's lost in the tornado of his senses. Karen's hand on his shoulder is a lifeline, but his mind is too far gone. Her voice is a distant whisper, the words unintelligible. All he can feel is the crushing weight of the world pressing down on him, the lights too bright, the noises too loud. And then Chip stirs in his sleep. The movement sends a shiver down Plankton's spine, his body tightening like a coiled spring. The ringing in his ears reaches a crescendo, drowning out everything else. He tries to push the panic back down, to find the calm he desperately needs, but it's like trying to hold back the tide with a paper wall. Karen's eyes are filled with fear as she sees Plankton's descent into overwhelm. She knows the signs all too well. Her hand on his shoulder is now a firm grip, trying to keep him tethered to the here and now. "Look at me," she says, her voice a gentle command. "Just me, just us." But Plankton's gaze is unfocused, his mind swirling with a torrent of sensations that make him feel like he's falling into a bottomless pit. The room seems to spin faster, the light from the window a piercing glare that slices through his retina. He wants to shield his eye, but his arm feels like lead, too heavy to lift. Karen's touch is the only constant, her hand on his shoulder the one thing that feels real amidst the sensory maelstrom. But even that is slipping away as his dizziness crescendos into full-blown vertigo. His vision blurs, the lines of reality smearing into a nauseating whirl of color and light. "Plankton," she says, her voice urgent. "Look at me." The words echo in his head, a distant call amidst the chaos. He tries to focus on her face, her eyes the only constant in the whirlwind of sensations. But the world spins, faster and faster, until all he can see is a blur of color. Her hand on his shoulder is a lifeline, but it's slipping away. He feels himself falling, tumbling into the void of his own mind. His body is a marionette, his strings cut by the storm. The ringing in his ears reaches a crescendo, a symphony of panic that consumes him. Karen's eyes are wide with fear, her grip on him desperate. "Look at me," she repeats, her voice steady. "You're okay." Her hand moves to his face. But Plankton's gaze is glassy, his pupil dilated. He's trapped in the chaos of his senses. The ringing in his ears is a siren's call, pulling him deeper. Karen's hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, the softness of her touch a stark contrast to the harshness of the world invading his mind. "Look at me," she repeats, her voice a whisper. "You're safe." Her thumb traces the line of his jaw, a gentle guide. But Plankton's eye is glassy, lost in the storm. Her words are gentle, trying to soothe him. But the flames are too high, too strong. He's drowning in his own senses. With a tremble, Karen's hand moves to his cheek, her touch a soft caress. "Look at me," she whispers, her voice a lifeline thrown into the tempest. "You're ok."

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ix (By NeuroFabulous) The drive to the dentist was silent, the tension in the air thick. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye on the passing scenery outside the window. "You okay?" Karen asked, her voice soft. She reached over, her hand hovering. Plankton's antennae quivered. "Just... I'd prefer quiet, alone... and no touching," he murmured, his voice tight. "Please, for now." Karen nodded, her hand retreating to the steering wheel. "Okay, Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "I'll give you space.." The car was a cocoon of quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound to break the silence. Plankton sat in the passenger seat, his body tense, his antennae twitching slightly as he took deep, shaky breaths. Karen knew her husband was trying to prepare himself for the possible onslaught of the dentist's office. When they arrived, Karen parked the car and turned to him. "Ready?" she asked, her voice gentle. Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze darting to the bright building ahead. "As ready as I'll ever be," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen nodded, her expression understanding. "Let's go, love," she whispered, reaching for his hand. But Plankton's body tensed, his antennae shooting up. "No touching right now," he murmured, his voice tight. They approached the dental office with slow, measured steps. The bright lights and the smell of antiseptic made Plankton's antennas quiver, but he pushed through, his gaze focused on his wife's calming presence. Inside, the receptionist's cheery greeting was almost too much for Plankton, his antennae twitching erratically. The hum of the office was a cacophony to his sensitive ears, but he took deep breaths, his gaze never leaving the floor. Karen's voice is low and soothing. "It's okay, honey," she murmured. "We're just here for a quick check-up." Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. They take their seats in the waiting room, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Each tick of the clock echoes in the silence, a stark contrast to his racing thoughts. He focuses on his breathing, in and out, trying to calm his nerves. Karen notices the way his antennae twitch in agitation, her hand hovering close to his. But he shakes his head, his gaze fixed on the floor. The wait seems eternal, but finally, the hygienist calls Plankton's name. He stands, his antennae quivering slightly. Karen follows him into the room, her eyes scanning the environment for potential triggers. The hygienist, noticing Plankton's discomfort, speaks in a soft, even tone. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "I'm Rachel. We're just here to check on the teeth we saw last time. So we're gonna take another x-ray and compare them, okay?" Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. Rachel's gentle touch as she leads him to the chair is almost too much for him. Karen can see the effort it takes for him to stay still, his body tense as a bowstring. The sound of the x-ray machine whirring to life makes Plankton's antennas twitch. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her hand on his shoulder. "It'll be quick, just hold still." Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. Rachel places the film in his mouth, the cold metal sending shivers down his spine. He closes his eye, his breaths coming in short bursts. Karen's hand rests gently on his shoulder, her thumb rubbing circles. She whispers, "We've done this before," her voice like a balm to his frayed nerves. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching slightly. Rachel, the hygienist, notices his discomfort and dims the lights slightly. The sudden change makes his antennae still, his breathing evening out. "Alright, Mr. Plankton," Rachel says, her voice calm. "This won't hurt a bit. Just keep still and we'll be done in no time." Plankton nods, his antennae quivering slightly as Rachel steps away to take the x-ray. The room goes dark, the machine's buzz piercing the silence. Plankton's breath hitches, his eye squeezed shut. When Rachel returns, she's careful to avoid sudden movements. "Alright, Mr. Plankton, we're all done," she says, her voice soothing. Plankton's antennae still as he opens his mouth, allowing Rachel to remove the film. He swallows hard, his eye never leaving Karen's.

CHIP IN MY BOX ix (Autistic author) Plankton's eye focuses on her, his hand clutching hers like a lifeline. "Karen?" He whispers, the fog of confusion slowly lifting. His voice is weak, but the recognition is there, a spark in the vast ocean of his overwhelmed mind. Karen's breath hitches, relief flooding her body. "Yes, it's me," she murmurs, her voice a gentle tide washing over him. "You had a hard time, but you're okay now." Plankton's hand clutches hers, his grip tight, his reality slowly coming into focus. The velvet curtain is lifted gently, his eye blinking in the soft light. His gaze finds hers, and for a moment, it's just the two of them, a silent promise of support and understanding. "I... Dr. Kelp? Chip?" He blinks. Dr. Kelp nods, his tentacles still busy placing the sensory items. "We're all here," he says, his voice calm. "You're safe." Plankton's gaze moves to Chip, who's been watching silently from the side, his face a mask of fear and hope. "Chip?" He says, his voice weak. The boy nods, his eyes shimmering with tears. "I'm here, Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry." The words hang in the air, a silent apology for his carelessness. Plankton's eye locks onto Chip, his grip on Karen's hand weakening as he tries to sit up. His mind is still a tangled web of confusion. "What happened?" Karen's voice is a gentle current, guiding him back to reality. "You had a reality break," she says, avoiding the harsher terms. "It's okay, we're here." Plankton's gaze shifts between them, his mind a whirlpool of questions and half-forgotten moments. He swallows hard, the lump in his throat a reminder of his vulnerability. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. Chip's eyes are wide, his heart racing as he watches his father struggle. He wants to say something, anything, but his throat is tight with fear. "It was an accident," he croaks out finally, his voice small. "I didn't mean to." Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his expression a mix of pain and confusion. "What did you do?" He asks, his voice a thundercloud of emotion. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his guilt a heavy weight. "I knocked over your box," he admits, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't know." The words hang in the air, a confession that feels like a betrayal. Plankton's gaze is a stormy sea, his emotions a tempest of anger and hurt. He looks at the shards of his sanity scattered on the floor, a silent accusation. The room seems to spin around them, a maelstrom of his swirling thoughts. "You broke it," he says, his voice a thunderclap of disappointment. The words hit Chip like a tidal wave, drowning his guilt. "You broke my box." The room seems to shrink, the air thick with tension. Karen's eyes dart between them, a silent plea for understanding. "It was an accident," she says, her voice soft. "Chip didn't know." Plankton's eye is on Chip, his gaze intense. He swallows hard, the reality of the situation crashing over him. "Why?" He whispers, his voice a raw wound. Chip's chin trembles, his eyes brimming with tears. "I just wanted to see," he whispers back, his voice tiny and scared. "I didn't know it was so important." Plankton's expression softens, the storm clouds of anger parting to reveal his own fear, his chest heaving with the effort of controlling his emotions. "I know," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "I'm just... tired." He looks at the new box. Karen's eyes fill with sympathy, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "You don't have to explain," she whispers. "We're here." Her words are a balm to his soul, a gentle reminder that he's not alone in his journey.

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ix (Autistic author) Plankton's smile flickers back to life, his eye lighting up slightly. "Good," he says, a monotone echo. "Friend." Sponge Bob nods, his smile genuine despite the sadness still lingering in his eyes. "Always," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "Well, what should we do now?" Plankton's gaze shifts to the book, then to Sponge Bob. "Movie," he says, his voice picking up a hint of excitement. "Friend watch movie." His hands flap in a pattern that seems to mirror his thoughts racing. Sponge Bob's smile is a mix of relief and excitement. "Movie?" he repeats, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, let's watch a movie! What do you want to see?" Plankton's eye dart around the room, his hands flapping in a flurry of indecision. "You choose," he says, his voice a monotone. "You know me." His antennas twitch with anticipation. Sponge Bob's smile is filled with understanding. "Okay, then," he says, his voice calm. He scans the bookshelf, looking for a title that might spark Plankton's interest. "How about this one?" he asks, holding up a DVD case with a picture of the Dirty Bubble on the front. Plankton's antennas perk up, eyelighting up at the sight of the villainous bubble's grinning face. "Yes," he says, his voice a monotone. "Dirty Bubble." His hands flap in excitement. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes with love and concern for his unique friend. "Alright, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "Let's watch 'The Great Dirty Bubble Heist'." He pops the DVD into the player, the machine whirring to life. The two of them settle on the couch, Sponge Bob's arm draped protectively around Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's hands are still, his gaze fixed on the screen as the movie starts. The TV flickers to life, casting a warm glow over the room. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax slightly against his side, his eyes never leaving the colorful bubble of the Dirty Bubble's latest escapade. As the movie plays, Plankton's flapping subsides, his gaze transfixed by the screen. The sounds of bubbles popping and laughter fill the room, a stark contrast to the silence that typically accompanied their stakeouts at the Chum Bucket. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his shoulder leaning into him. He notices Plankton's antennas twitch slightly with every joke, his eye flickering with understanding at the slapstick humor. It's a small sign of connection, but it's enough. The movie's plot unfolds, and Plankton's chuckles echo through the room, his laughter a comforting reminder of their long-standing friendship. Sponge Bob smiles, watching Plankton react to the familiar beats of the film's storyline. It's clear his friend's love for the simple pleasure of laughter hasn't changed. As the film progresses, Plankton's chuckles grow softer, his eyelid drooping as he's nestled against Sponge Bob. He's falling asleep, his mind finally at ease in the comforting embrace of his friend. His head lolls to the side, his antennas coming to rest on Sponge Bob's arm. His mouth has fall open slightly, his breaths even and deep. Sponge Bob's heart swells with tenderness, watching Plankton's face. He gently shifts his position, adjusting the small blanket over Plankton to keep him warm. The TV's light continues to flicker across their faces, casting shadows on the walls. Sponge Bob doesn't want to wake him; instead, he takes the moment to study his friend's newfound peace. Plankton's antennas, usually a blur of activity, are still, his breaths deep and rhythmic. Sponge Bob notices the slightest tremble in his friend's hand, now resting on the couch cushion. He gently takes it in his, intertwining their fingers. Their friendship remains a bastion of comfort and acceptance. The TV echoes in the room, punctuating the silence between them. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his head now resting heavily against his shoulder. Plankton's laughter has turned to soft snores, his antenna twitching with each breath he takes. Karen peeks into the room, and sees Plankton asleep against Sponge Bob's side. She goes closer, wanting to make sure Plankton is ok. She feels warmth seeing their friendship unchanged by his diagnosis. Sponge Bob, ever the caretaker, has his arm around Plankton, his hand over Plankton's, their fingers intertwined. Karen smiles softly with pride. This moment of peace, despite the turmoil, shows their unyielding bond. "You guys okay?" she asks, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, Karen," he says, his voice low. "We're just watching a movie." Karen's smile is filled with warmth as she steps closer. "I can see that," she whispers. "How is he?" Sponge Bob's gaze shifts to her, his smile a mix of relief and sadness. "Different," he says, his voice soft. "But still Plankton." Karen nods with understanding. "He's been through a lot," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "But he's strong, and he has his friends." She sits down on the couch, her hand reaching out to rest on Plankton's leg. Her touch is light, comforting. Plankton's body twitches slightly in his sleep, his antennae stirring. Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand gently. "You're ok, buddy," he murmurs, his voice a soft reassurance. Karen sits down beside them, gaze on Plankton's serene expression. "I'm here," she says, her voice soft. "Always." She reaches out, her hand resting on Plankton's knee. The touch penetrates his subconscious, his antennae twitching slightly in response. Sponge Bob nods. "Thanks, Karen," he whispers, his voice filled with gratitude. "I'm still trying to get used to this new Plankton." Karen's expression is one of quiet understanding. "It's ok," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "It's a lot to process, but you're doing great." She looks down at Plankton, his small form snuggled against Sponge Bob. "He's lucky to have you," she whispers. Sponge Bob nods, his voice thick with emotion. "But it's hard to see him like this." His eyes well with tears, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Karen's gaze is filled with compassion as she looks at Plankton. She reaches over, her hand gently brushing his cheek. "He's still the same Plankton," she whispers. "He's just learning to navigate a new part of himself." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes still fixed on the TV. "I know," he says, his voice tight. "But it's so...different." His eyes flicker with unshed tears. Karen's gaze remains on Plankton's peaceful face, her hand still on his knee. "It is," she says, her voice soft. "But different isn't bad, Sponge Bob." She looks at him, her eyes filled with a gentle wisdom. "It's just new. And sometimes, new things take getting used to." Sponge Bob nods. "I know," he says, his voice a whisper. "It's just..." He pauses, his thoughts racing. "It's just that I want to be there for him, you know?" His voice cracks, his grip on Plankton's hand becoming stronger. Karen nods with empathy. "I know you do, Sponge Bob," she says, her voice soft. "And you are." She reaches over, placing a comforting hand on Sponge Bob's shoulder. "You just need to be patient with him, and with yourself. We're all learning together." The TV laugh track fades into silence as the movie reaches its end. Plankton's snores remain steady, a testament to his sleep. Sponge Bob sighs, his eyes finally leaving the screen. He looks down at their joined hands. "I'll be patient," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "For you, Plankton." His eyes meet Karen's, a silent promise passing between them. "I know you will," she says, her voice a gentle encouragement. "You've always been a good friend." The room is quiet, save for Plankton's soft snores. Sponge Bob's eyes remain on the TV, his thoughts spinning. Karen's words echo in his head: different isn't bad, just new. He looks down at Plankton. He tries to imagine a world where Plankton doesn't have autism, but the thought feels wrong. This new version of his friend is still Plankton, still the same in so many ways. Their bond is strong, their friendship unchanged. He squeezes Plankton's hand, his thoughts racing. "I'll be there for you," he whispers, his voice a promise. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton's snores hitch slightly, his antenna twitching in his sleep. Sponge Bob's filled with a newfound determination. He'll be there for Plankton, no matter what. His heart swells as he leans down, his lips brushing Plankton's forehead in a soft kiss. The room is a cocoon of quiet, their friendship a beacon in the stillness. Karen watches them, her heart heavy but hopeful. "Let's get him to bed," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods, his movements careful as he lifts Plankton into his arms. Plankton's eye flutter open briefly, his gaze confused but quickly calming at the sight of Sponge Bob's smiling face. "Tired," Plankton murmurs, his voice sleepy. Sponge Bob nods, his smile gentle. "Come on, buddy," he says, his voice a warm whisper. "Let's get you to bed." They're careful not to jostle him to much. Plankton's eye droop closed again, his body limp in Sponge Bob's embrace. Karen leads the way to the bedroom. The bed is made with fresh sheets, the room organized with care. Plankton's favorite gadgets line the shelves, each item meticulously placed. Sponge Bob lays Plankton gently on the bed, body is heavy with sleep, his snores a comforting lullaby. Karen pulls the blankets up, tucking them around his small form. "Thank you," Plankton mumbles. Sponge Bob's smile is warm and reassuring. "You're welcome, buddy," he says, his voice low. "Sleep tight." Karen watches the scene with affection. "I'll be right outside if you need anything," she whispers. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye opening slightly. "I lo-ove you.." "We love you too, Plankton," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. He smiles at Karen, who nods in understanding before they slip out of the room, letting him sleep.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY ix (Autistic author) Mr. Krabs knew that his rivalry with Plankton had always been about more than just the Krabby Patty. It was about pride, about being the best, about proving his worth. But as he looked at Plankton, his tiny form swallowed by the large couch cushions, he realized that none of it mattered compared to the pain he had caused. The next day, Plankton found himself sitting in the waiting room of a dentist's office, to get an X-Ray. Karen sat by him. "You ok?" she asked, her voice gentle. Plankton nodded, his antennas twitching nervously. The door to the exam room opened, and a cheerful dolphin dental hygienist waved them in. "Good morning, Plankton!" she chirped. "Ready for your X-ray?" Plankton's antennae shot up instinctively at the sudden noise, his body stiffening. Karen squeezed his hand gently, offering reassurance. "It's okay," she murmured. "We're here." The dolphin's smile was bright, but it was the softness in her eyes that helped Plankton relax slightly. They had been informed of his condition, and she approached with a gentle caution. "We'll take it slow," she said, her voice a gentle melody. "We're just getting an x-ray okay?" Plankton nodded, his antennae still quivering slightly. The dolphin hygienist, named Delfina, guided him into the exam room. The room was a symphony of white, a stark contrast to the cozy confines of the Chum Bucket. Plankton felt his heart racing in his chest, his antennae twitching as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings. Delfina the hygienist guided Plankton gently to the chair, her eyes filled with understanding. "Just sit back and relax," she said, her voice a gentle wave washing over him. Plankton did his best to remain calm. The hum of the machinery was a constant reminder of his sensory overload, but he focused on Karen's soothing presence beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Delfina moved with grace and precision, her movements fluid and unthreatening. She explained each step of the process to him, her voice a soft lullaby that helped to soothe his nervous system. "Open wide," she cooed, her eyes gentle as she placed the X-ray sensor in his mouth. Plankton's antennae trembled slightly, but he did as she instructed, his teeth clamping down on the cold, plastic device. The whir of the X-ray machine was like a tornado in his ears, but he focused on Karen's calming presence beside him. Her hand remained on his shoulder, a grounding force amidst the chaos of sensations. As the X-ray was completed Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae slowly unfurling. The doctor, a wise old sea turtle named Dr. Dolittle, entered the room, his eyes behind thick glasses scanning the X-ray results. Plankton tried to read his expression, his antennae quivering with anticipation. Dr. Dolittle's face remained neutral as he studied the images, but Plankton couldn't help the anxiety that bubbled up within him. "Well, Plankton," the doctor said, his voice deep and soothing. "It appears that you need to have your wisdom teeth out. They'll potentially cause issues.." Plankton's antennae shot up in panic, his grip on the chair tightening. The thought of surgery was overwhelming, a tsunami of fear crashing into the shores of his already-fragile nervous system. He froze, his body a statue of terror. The room around him was a blur of colors and shapes, the sounds of the dental office a cacophony. Karen's hand squeezed his shoulder, a silent reminder that he wasn't alone. Sponge Bob sat in the corner, his eyes wide with concern. He had accompanied Plankton for moral support, but the sight of his friend's distress was painful to watch. "It'll be okay," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper in the tense silence. But Plankton couldn't hear him. The words were lost in the symphony of his own fear. His antennae twitched rapidly, his breath shallow. Karen turned to Sponge Bob, her expression soft. "It's okay," she assured him, her voice low and calming. "He's just processing the words sinking in." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's distressed form. "I'm here, buddy," he offered, his voice a gentle wave in the storm of emotions. But it was Karen's voice that cut through the chaos, her words a lighthouse in the fog. "Plankton," she said, her tone firm but soothing, "you just breathe. We'll make sure of everything." Plankton nodded, his antennae still quivering, closing his eye as he took a shaky breath. Dr. Dolittle noticed Plankton's distress and offered a gentle smile. "Don't worry, Plankton. We'll make sure you're nice and sleepy before we do anything. It's a simple extraction, and you won't feel a thing." The room grew quiet as the doctor's words sank in. Plankton was terrified of the unknown, his mind racing with images of sharp tools and pain. His antennae twitched uncontrollably, and his body began to tremble. Karen leaned in, her voice calm and reassuring. "It's like going to sleep," she said, her eyes locked with his. "You won't feel anything, I promise." Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he processed her words. "We're going to give you a little something to help you sleep," Delfina explained, her voice a gentle hum. "It'll be like a nap, and when you wake up, it'll all be over." Plankton's antennae stilled slightly, his breathing slowing as he nodded. The room was a whirlwind of activity as Delfina and Dr. Dolittle prepared for the procedure. Sponge Bob's hands were clenched into fists of worry, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. Karen noticed his distress and squeezed his shoulder. "It'll be okay," she whispered. "Remember, we're here for support." The scent of antiseptic filled the room, making Plankton's eyes water, but he nodded, his trust in his friends overriding his fear. Delfina approached with a clear liquid. "Drink this," she instructed, her voice a gentle whisper. "It'll help you relax." Plankton's antennae quivered but he did as she said, the liquid sliding down his throat with an eerie calmness. As the anesthetic took hold, his thoughts grew fuzzy, like the edges of a distant memory. He felt his body begin to relax, the tension in his muscles dissipating like a wave retreating from the shore. The world grew dark around him, the sounds of the dental office becoming muffled whispers. The weight of his fear lifted slightly as the gentle embrace of oblivion beckoned. They administered the i.v., the cold sting of the needle quickly forgotten as the warmth of the sedative spread through his tiny body. Plankton felt his muscles go slack, his antennae falling limply to his side. The room grew hazier, the colors and shapes melting like crayons on wet paper. He felt his consciousness slipping away, the fear retreating with it. Karen's hand remained on his shoulder, a beacon of warmth and comfort in the cold, sterile environment. As Plankton succumbed to the pull of sleep, he heard the muted voices of Karen and Sponge Bob, their words a gentle lullaby. Their presence was a warm blanket wrapped around him, shielding him from the cold, metal world of the dental chair. Sponge Bob watched as Plankton's tiny form grew still, his antennae finally at peace. He looked up at Karen, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and anxiety. "He's okay," she whispered, her voice a soothing wave. The room grew quieter as Plankton fell into a deep slumber, his antennae finally still, as he's completely asleep before they began the extraction. Delfina checked his vital signs, her flippers moving with the precision of a ballet dancer. "He's out," she murmured to Dr. Dolittle, who nodded in satisfaction.

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