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new cabby osc inanimate insanity ii cabby inanimate insanity dot art text art ascii art

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ii
(Autistic author)

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

"You ok?" she asked 
tentatively.

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

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

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

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

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

"You ok?" Karen asked, voice soft.

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

"What, the floor?" Karen asked.

"The floor," Plankton repeated.

"What about it?" Karen asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want for breakfast, Plankton?"

Plankton's eye didn't leave the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Walk after breakfast," Plankton echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi, Sponge Bob," she says.

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

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

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

Plankton stared at him, composing response.

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

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

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

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

new POV Karen a life of diversity plankarenbob ii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vi


(Autistic author)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae slowly
lowering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sponge Bob pressed play, the
screen flickering to life.

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

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

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

new autism in the plankton family plankton vi

TRUTH AND NAIL i 

“Karen Plankton‽”

Karen stood up as
the receptionist at
the dental office
called her. She’s 
been in the waiting
room as her husband
Plankton’s in surgery.

She followed the nurse into
a brightly lit room
where Plankton lay on
his back, his mouth
agape, snoring gently.
The anesthetic had done
its job, leaving him
completely oblivious
to the world around him.

The surgeon looked up
from his chair, a smile
creasing his mask.
"Mrs. Plankton, your husband's
wisdom teeth extraction
was a success," he said.
"You can stay with him
as he wakes up."

Karen sat by his side,
her hand resting gently
on his arm. The steady
hum of the machines filled
the space, punctuated
by occasional beeps.
The nurse adjusted the
IV, ensuring the flow
of fluids remained steady.
The doctor
entered, nodded at Karen,
and began to check
the surgical sites,
but he didn't wake up.
The surgeon leaned over,
his eyes studying
the readouts with care.
Satisfied, he turned to Karen,
"He'll be coming around
in time," he assured her.

Her screen never left
Plankton's peaceful face,
his cheeks slightly puffy,
his mouth slack and open.
A trickle of drool
slid from the corner
of his mouth,
and Karen couldn't help
but chuckle softly,
even in the tension of
the moment. He'd never
let her see him like this
if he had a choice.

The nurse offered
a reassuring smile,
"It's normal, dear.
The anesthesia can do
funny things. Just wait.
He'll be back to his usual
self by tomorrow."

Karen nodded. She leaned in
closer to Plankton,
his normally stern face
was relaxed in sleep,
his brow unfurrowed.
It was strange to see
his sharp features softened,
his expression one of peace.

The nurse left them,
and Karen took the
chance to whisper,
"You're going to be okay."

The nurse had warned her
about the disorientation
that often came with
waking up from surgery.
Patients could be confused,
even a little babyish, as
the world swam back into
focus. Some had a tendency
to say things they didn't
mean or remember later.

So, when Plankton's eye
flickered open, Karen was
ready. 
"Wha... where am I?"
he mumbled, his voice
slurred and eye glassy.
Karen took his hand,
squeezing it gently. "You're
in the recovery room,
sweetie. You had your
wisdom teeth out."

The words seemed to
float around him,
like bubbles in
his befuddled brain.

"Wisdom teed?" he
muttered, blinking
slowly. "Wha awe
those?"

Karen stifled a
laugh, her emotions
swelling with love
and concern.
"They're teeth, darling.
Don't worry, you won't
miss them."

Plankton's gaze
drifted around the
room, taking in
the sterile whiteness
and the blinking lights
above him.
"Teef?" he slurred,
his mind still groggy.
"Wheh take out teef?"

Karen gently
stroked his hand.
"Just the wisdom ones,
sweetheart," she
whispered, her voice
soothing as a lullaby.
"They were causing
you trouble."

"Trubble?" Plankton
repeated, his speech
slurring more with
each syllable. His eye
closed again, lid
heavy with sleep.

"I know it's
confusing right now,
but you'll understand
soon," Karen said, her
voice steady and calm.

Plankton's eye
opened again, a bit wider
this time, and he squinted
at the light. "M'th... m'th...
my mouf feels..." He
tried to form the words,
but his tongue felt thick
and clumsy.

"It's normal, darling,"
Karen said, her voice
like a gentle breeze.
"The anesthesia can
make your mouth feel
funny."

Plankton's eye
drifted to the ceiling,
his thoughts racing
but his words failing to
keep up. "Bright wight,"
he murmured, his voice
distant and lost.

"It's okay," Karen said,
wiping the drool from
his chin with a tissue.
"The lights are just to
help you wake up."

"Wake up?" Plankton
repeated, his eye
trying to focus on her
screen. "Wha happened?"

"You had a little surgery,"
Karen said, her voice
soothing and calm.
"They took out your
wisdom teeth. Remember?"

Plankton's eye searched
hers, confusion and fear
swirling in his gaze.
"Sur...surgery?" he
managed to say, his voice
weak and unsure. "Why?"

"Don't worry," Karen
soothed, her voice a soft
caress. "It was just a
little thing. They took out
some teeth that were
causing you pain."

Plankton's eyelid
flitted, trying to
make sense of the
words. "Teef? Pain?" he
slurred, his hand reaching
up to probe his mouth.

"No, no, don't touch," Karen
hurried to stop him, her
grip firm but gentle. "They're
still a bit tender."

Plankton's hand fell back to
the bed, his mind racing
but his body slow to respond.
"Tends?" he murmured, the
word strange and foreign.
"Every ting sho..." His
thoughts trailed off, the
word "different" eluding him.

Karen watched him, her
smile a blend of amusement
and tenderness. "You're
going to be okay," she
repeated, her voice a
constant in the sea of
confusion. "You're just a
little out of it."

"Ooot of it," Plankton echoed,
his voice a faint rumble.
He tried to sit up, but
the nurse had warned Karen
about this too. The sudden
movement made him dizzy,
and she placed a hand
on his shoulder, gently
pushing him back down.
"Take it easy, sweetie,"
she cooed.

His eye searched hers,
like a child lost in a
supermarket. "Karen?"
he murmured, her name
sounding like a question.

"I'm here," she assured him,
squeezing his hand. "You're
in the hospital, Plankton.
You're okay."

"Hospit...hospit...tal?" he slurred,
his eye darting around
the room again. "Why?"

"You had wisdom teeth,
Plankton," Karen said, her
tone as soothing as a
mother's. "Remember?"

"Wis...dome tweed?"
Plankton slurred, his mind
spinning,
his thoughts muddled and
slow to form. "Ow?"

Karen chuckled gently,
her screen sparkling with
humor. "It's all right,
dear," she cooed. "They just
removed your wisdom teeth.
You're feeling a bit
loopy."

Plankton's eyebrow knit
trying to piece
together the puzzle.
"Widom...teef?" he
repeated, his voice still
slurred but with a hint of
recognition.

"Yes, sweetie," Karen said,
smiling down at him.
"You had your wisdom teeth
removed. You're going to be
fine."

Plankton's hand
wobbled in the air
before it fell to his side,
his mind a swirl of fog.
"Where...where am I?"
his voice was a faint murmur,
his eye glazed over.

"You're in the hospital,"
Karen said, her voice
steady as a lighthouse beam.
"You had surgery, darling.
Remember?"

Plankton's eye fluttered
closed, his head rolling
to the side as if the
weight of the world was
too much. "Sur...gury?"
he slurred, the syllables
like molasses on his tongue.

"Yes, Plankton," Karen said,
her voice a lullaby in
the stark room. "It's all over.
You're safe now."

He mumbled incoherently,
his words a jumble of
letters and sounds that
barely formed coherent
thoughts. "Wh...wha...was it?"
his mind grasped for
understanding, his eye
half-closed and unfocused.

Karen leaned in closer,
her voice a lifeline in
his foggy sea of confusion.
"It was just a surgery,
Plankton. To remove your
wisdom teeth."

"Wis...wis...dome...teef?"
he murmured, the words
still strange in his mouth.
He blinked slowly, trying to
recall why he was here.

Karen nodded, her smile
reassuring. "Yes, they took
them out. You're all done."

Plankton's eye rolled
back in his head, his
body going slack again.
"Tek...tum...out?" he mumbled,
his mind still swimming
in the murky waters of
unconsciousness.

Karen nodded, her hand
still on his arm. "They're
gone, sweetie. You're okay."

But he’s fallen asleep again,
his snores filling the
silent room, his chest
rising and falling with
each gentle breath. Karen
watched him, her love
squeezing with a mix
of amusement and concern.

new truth and nail karen plankton i

CHIP AND FAIL v
(Autistic author)

"Mom, something's wrong with Dad!"
Karen rushes into the room.

Karen's gaze falls on Plankton,
her heart aching at the sight
of her husband's distress. She knows
his limits, knows the signs of
his overstimulation. She had hoped
this wouldn't happen, had hoped that
Chip's visit would be a gentle one,
that they could find a way to
connect without pushing Plankton too
far. But she had underestimated
Chip's excitement, his need for
physical closeness. Her heart 
broke for both her son and
her husband. He had never
seen his dad like this, never
known that his boundless enthusiasm
could have such a profound effect. She
knew this moment might come
someday. She's had to handle
Plankton's meltdowns before, but
not with Chip in the room. She
quickly assesses the situation,
seeing the confusion and fear
in Chip's screen.

"MOM, PLEASE..."

Karen rushes over, her screen
wide with fear and concern. She
sees Plankton's unblinking eye,
his unresponsive state. She
understands immediately.

"PLEASE MOM..."

Karen's screen darted between her
son's frantic expression and
Plankton's unresponsive form. She
knew she had to act fast. She could
see the confusion in Chip's screen,
the desperation to understand.

"But Mom, I..."

Yet Karen, who's priority is
Plankton's urgency, cuts Chip off.

"Chip," she says firmly, her voice
filled with a calm urgency. She
doesn't have time to explain.
"Listen to me, honey. You need to
let me handle this. Go to your
room and wait." She knows
how hard this is for him, but
his safety, and Plankton's, is
what's most important right now.

Chip nods, his screen never leaving
his father's unresponsive form.
He takes one last, lingering look
before retreating to his room, his
heart heavy with confusion and
fear.

As soon as the door clicks shut,
Karen springs into action. She
knows the signs of an autistic
meltdown, the sudden retreat into
self, the inability to communicate.
Her own heart racing, she gently
sits beside Plankton, her screen
filled with understanding. She
speaks softly, her voice a balm
to his overstimulated mind.
"Shh, Plankton," she whispers, her
hands moving in slow, deliberate
motions, "It's ok."

Chip's footsteps fade away as
Karen focuses on her husband. She
knows he's in there, somewhere,
battling a storm of sensations.
Her voice is a lighthouse in the
chaos, guiding him back to the
shore. "Take a deep breath, love,"
she says, demonstrating with a
slow inhale and exhale of her
own. Plankton's chest rises
slightly, matching her rhythm.

The room is a minefield of
potential triggers, but Karen's
been here before. She knows to
keep her movements minimal, her
voice low and soothing. She starts
to gently rub Plankton's back,
finding the steady rhythm that
calms his frayed nerves. His
breathing evens out, the color
slowly returning to his cheeks.

But Chip, in his room, is
anything but calm. His mind is a
whirlwind of confusion and guilt.
Why isn't Dad ok? Isn't
something wrong? He paces, his
heart racing. He still didn't know
his dad was autistic.
In the quiet of his room, Chip's
thoughts raced like a tornado.
Why wasn't Dad ok? Why did I
have to leave like that? Was it
my fault? He didn't know about
his dad's autism, how his mind
worked differently, how easily it
could be overwhelmed. He didn't
know that his enthusiastic touches
and loud laughter could cause such
distress.

Meanwhile Karen, with her gentle touch 
and calming voice, began to 
guide Plankton back to reality.

"Plankton, love, you're okay," Karen 
whispers, her voice a gentle lullaby 
in the chaos. Plankton's eye slowly 
refocus, the storm in his mind 
beginning to subside. His breathing 
slows, the panic retreating. She 
continues her soothing motions, her 
touch a lifeline in the sensory tempest.

Plankton's eye blinked, his antennae
twitching as his gaze
focused on her, his breathing
evening out as he felt her calming
presence. He didn't know how long
he had been lost in the storm, but
he was grateful for her guidance.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II v

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix

(Autistic Author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore ix

CATCH IN MY CHIP viii
(Autistic author)

The room is bathed in a soft
moonlight, the shadows playing
across Plankton's sleeping features. His
body, once taut with tension,
has relaxed into the embrace
of the bed, his arm curled
around a pillow. His antennas
now rest gently on the
pillowcase, no longer quivering
with agitation.

Karen watches him sleep, her
thoughts a jumble of worry and
love. She knows he's tired, that the
weight of the world can be too
much for him to bear at times. But
she also knows that he's strong,
that he'll face tomorrow with
determination.

The first light of dawn filters
through the curtains, painting the
room in soft shades of pink and
orange. Karen gently squeezes his
shoulder before standing, her eyes
never leaving his peaceful face.
She knows that today will be a
day of apologies and
understanding, of teaching Chip
about his dad's autism and how to
navigate the world around him.

With a soft sigh, she heads to
Chip's room, her footsteps silent
on the cool floor. She opens the door
to find him sitting up in bed,
his eyes red and puffy from crying.
He looks at her.

"Is Dad okay?" he asks, his
voice thick with sleep and the
remnants of his earlier distress.

Karen nods, her eyes filled
with a quiet determination. "We'll
talk to him when he wakes up."

The words hang in the air, a gentle
reminder of the conversation that
needs to be had. Chip nods, his eyes
still puffy from crying. He clutches
his pillow, the fabric damp from
his tears.

"But what do I do?" he asks, his
voice small and scared. "How do
I make sure I don't make him
upset again?"

Karen sits on the edge of the bed,
her hand stroking his. "You
just keep being you, Chip," she
says, her voice warm. "Daddy loves
you, and we'll learn together how
to make sure he doesn't get
overwhelmed."

Chip nods, his eyes searching
hers for reassurance. "But what
about my trophy?" he asks, his
voice still shaky.

Karen's hand stops, her gaze
dropping to the shard of plastic
he holds tightly in his fist. "We'll
fix it," she says, her voice
filled with conviction. "Together."

The promise brings a small
smile to Chip's face, his eyes
lighting up. "Really?"

Karen nods, her own smile
genuine. "Of course, honey,"
she says. "We're a family. We
stick together."

With that, she stands up, her
body weary but her spirit
resolute. The room feels
lighter somehow, the air less
charged with tension.

Chip clambers out of bed, his
small hand reaching for hers.
Together, they walk to the
bedroom, the shattered
remnants of the trophy
glinting in the early light.

Plankton is still asleep,
his chest rising and falling in
a steady rhythm. Chip
looks at him, his eyes filled
with a mix of sadness and
curiosity.

"We'll talk to him when he
wakes up," Karen says, her voice
soft.

They sit beside Plankton's
bed, the room still and quiet.
Chip's hand trembles slightly as
he holds the broken piece
of trophy. "But what if he's still
mad?" he whispers, his voice
barely above the silence.

Karen's hand squeezes his.
"He'll understand," she says,
her voice filled with a calm
certainty. "He loves you, and he
knows you didn't mean to hurt
him."

The words are a gentle balm
to Chip's fears, but the doubt
lingers. He nods, his gaze
never leaving his father.

"Remember, Chip," Karen says, her
voice a soft whisper. "Daddy's
brain is different."

Chip nods, his eyes fixed on
his dad's sleeping form. He's
seen Plankton stressed before,
but never like this. He wants to
show him love.

With tentative steps, he moves
closer to the bed, his heart
beating a staccato in his chest.
He reaches out, his hand shaking
slightly as he hovers it over
his dad's arm.

"Chip," Karen whispers, her hand
covering his. "Remember, gentle."
Her words are a gentle
reminder of the invisible lines
that can be crossed.

Chip nods, his eyes on Plankton's
peaceful face. He takes a deep
breath, his hand steadying. Slowly,
so slowly it's almost imperceptible,
he brings his palm to rest
on Plankton's forearm, his touch
as light as a feather.

Plankton's body tenses for a
moment, a reflexive reaction to
the sudden contact. Chip holds
his breath, waiting, hoping.
Then, almost imperceptibly, he feels
his dad's arm relax under his hand.

"It's okay," Karen whispers, her
voice a gentle breeze. "He's okay."

Chip's hand remains hovering, his
heart in his throat. Plankton's
body remains still, his breathing
even. Karen's touch is a guide,
her hand resting on Chip's.

"It's okay," she whispers, her voice
a soft encouragement. "You can
do it."

With a deep breath, Chip's hand
descends, his fingertips brushing
against Plankton's arm.

Plankton's antennas twitch.
Karen watches, her eyes never
leaving her husband's face.

Chip's hand hovers, his
heart racing. He wants to
reassure his dad, to let him
know he's there. He's
learned about space and
understanding, but all he
can think of is the warmth of
his touch, the comfort
he craves to give.

His fingertips graze Plankton's
arm, the contact so light it's
barely there. He watches,
waiting for a reaction, for a
sign that he's crossed the line.
But Plankton remains still,
his breathing unchanged.

Encouraged, Chip presses down
slightly, his hand a soft
weight on his father's arm.
He feels the warmth of his
skin, the steady pulse beneath.
It's a tentative connection,
fragile as spider silk.

Plankton's antennas quiver,
but his body remains still.
Chip's heart hammers in his chest,
his breaths shallow and quick.
He's afraid to move, afraid
to break the spell.

Karen watches, her eyes
filled with a quiet hope.
The air in the room is thick
with anticipation.

Chip's hand hovers over
Plankton's arm, trembling
slightly with nerves and
love. He's unsure if this
small gesture will be met
with anger or acceptance.

Karen's gaze is a silent
cheer, urging him on. Plankton's
breaths remain steady, his body
still. Chip's heart is a
drum in his chest, each beat
a silent plea for
understanding.

With a tremble, he lets his hand
settle, his fingertips barely
grazing the fabric of the blanket.
He feels the heat of Plankton's skin,
the rise and fall of his chest.
It's a gentle touch, the lightest
of caresses.

Karen's hand remains on his,
guiding him, encouraging him.
Plankton's breaths remain steady,
his body still. Chip's eyes
are wide with hope, his hand
poised above the blanket.

With a tremble, he lets his
fingers come to rest on the
cotton, feeling the warmth
of his father's arm beneath.
He holds his breath, waiting
for a reaction, for any sign
that he's done the right thing.

Plankton's body remains still,
his breathing unchanged.
Karen's eyes are glued to
his face, watching for any
hint of distress. But there's
none. Only the gentle rise
and fall of his chest, a testament
to his deep sleep.

Chip's hand is a butterfly
landing on Plankton's arm, his
fingers fluttering slightly
against the warmth of his
skin. He's never felt so
exposed, so vulnerable. But
his love for his dad is stronger
than his fear.

Karen watches the silent
exchange, her heart in her throat.
The moment feels sacred, a
testament to their growing
understanding of each other.

Chip's hand remains on Plankton's
arm, the warmth of his touch a
promise of comfort and love.
He's afraid to move, afraid to
disrupt the delicate balance.
Karen's hand is a soft presence,
guiding him, giving him
the courage to stay.

Plankton's breaths are slow
and even, his body relaxed.
Chip wonders if he's dreaming, if he's
in a world where the sensory
overload doesn't exist. His heart
swells with hope, with the
desire to protect his dad from
the world's harshness.

Karen's hand on his is
a gentle reminder that he's not
alone. She gives him a small,
encouraging nod, her eyes filled
with understanding. He takes a
deep breath, his hand moving
slowly, so slowly, to cover his dad's.

The moment their skin
touches, it's like a dam breaks.
Chip feels a rush of warmth, a
connection that's been missing.
He squeezes Plankton's arm lightly,
his heart pounding. He's afraid to
move, afraid to breathe too loudly.

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, watching for any
sign of distress. But his features
remain relaxed, his antennas
still. The room is a sanctuary
of quiet, the only sound their
melded breaths. Chip feels a
lump form in his throat, his eyes
welling with tears.

He whispers, "Thank you," to
his mom, his voice shaky with
emotion. She nods, her hand
still covering his. "Remember,"
she says, her voice a soft
caress. "Gentle."

With trembling fingers, Chip
tucks the blanket closer around
Plankton, the fabric smoothing
over his shoulders. It's a
tiny act of love, a silent
apology. He wants to crawl into
the bed beside him, to wrap
his arms around his dad..

He looks up at Karen, his
eyes pleading. "Can I?"

Karen nods, her smile sad
but understanding. "Just be
careful not to wake him,"
she whispers.

With the grace of a
cat burglar, Chip slides into the
bed, his movements slow and
calculated. He's careful not
to disturb the sheets, not to
make a sound that could break
the tranquil silence.

Plankton's arm is a warm
mound beside him, and he
reaches out tentatively, his
fingers seeking the comfort
of his dad's skin. He finds it,
his hand coming to rest lightly
on the crook of his elbow.
The connection feels right,
like finding a piece of himself
he didn't know was lost.

He snuggles closer, his head
resting on the pillow beside
Plankton's.

Karen watches, her heart
swelling with love for her son.
"It's ok," she whispers. "Just be
gentle."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II viii

CATCH IN MY CHIP iii
(Autistic author)

They sit in silence for a few
moments, Chip's screen glued to
his dad's still form. The only
sound is the steady rhythm of
Plankton's shallow breathing.

As the minutes tick by, Chip's
thoughts swirl with confusion and
guilt. He had no idea that his
dad's quirks and sensitivities were
part of something so complex.
He'd just thought Plankton was
easily annoyed or tired.

Karen notices his son's distress
and decides it's time to explain
more. "You know how sometimes
you get really excited about
something, and you just can't
keep it in?" she asks.

Chip nods. "Yeah, like when I
see a new toy or when I've got
a great idea for a sandcastle."

"Well, for Dad, it's like that
all the time," Karen continues.
"Every little thing can be a
big deal, and sometimes it's just
too much." She pauses, looking at
Plankton with a mix of love and
concern. "But he's also the smartest
person I know, and he loves you
so much. That's what's important."

Chip nods, his eyes filling
with tears as he watches
his mom care for his dad. He'd
always felt a bit left out, not
understanding why Plankton would
sometimes retreat from the world.
But now he gets it. It's not that
his dad didn't want to share in
his excitement, it's just that sometimes,
the world was too much for him.

"Mom, I'm sorry," he whispers, his
throat tight with emotion. "I didn't
mean to make him... like this."

Karen pulls him into a warm
embrace. "You didn't do anything
wrong, Chip. This isn't your fault.
Dad's brain just works differently.
And now that we know, we can help
each other understand."

Chip sniffles against her,
his thoughts racing. "Does
he know what's happening
or can he understand us?"

"Sometimes he can," Karen says,
her voice low and soothing. "But
right now, I don't think he realizes
anything's happening around him."

"What if he doesn't wake up?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.

"He will, honey," Karen says, her
tone reassuring. "It just takes
a little time. It's like when you're
really tired and you need a nap.
His brain needs to rest."

The room is quiet except for
the occasional sound of the
air conditioner kicking in,
a stark contrast to the excitement
that had filled it just moments ago.
Chip watches his dad, feeling a
wave of emotion wash over him.
He wants to laugh and share more
stories, but he knows now that
his dad's brain needs a break.

As they wait, Karen starts to
clean up the mess Chip made.
The sand and papers scattered
across the floor seem so trivial
now, a stark reminder of the chaos
his enthusiasm can create for
his dad. He helps her, carefully
picking up each piece, placing
them back into their rightful
spots. His mind is racing with
thoughts of how to be a better
son, how to make sure his dad
doesn't feel like this again.

They work in silence, the only
sounds the rustling of papers and
the occasional clank of a metal
item being set back on the desk.
The room slowly transforms back
to its usual state of order, a stark
contrast to the turmoil Plankton
was experiencing. Chip's eyes never
leave his dad, hoping to see
any sign of improvement.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity,
Plankton's eye blinks, and the tension
in the room shifts. His breathing
becomes deeper and more regular.
Karen's shoulders relax as she sees
the first signs of Plankton coming
back to himself. She gives Chip's hand
a gentle squeeze. "Look, honey. He's
starting to come out of it."

Chip stares, hope filling his chest.
Plankton's antennas twitch slightly.
He blinks a few more times, as if trying
to bring the room into focus. "What...
what happened?" His voice is weak,
almost a whisper.

Karen's grip tightens on Chip's hand.
"You just needed a little break,
sweetie," she says softly. "It's okay."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II iii

GREAT CHIP iii
(Autistic author)

Karen followed, her screen
on her husband's tentative steps.
"Chip," she called out softly,
knocking gently. "Can we come in?"

There was no immediate response,
just the faint sound of sniffling.
"It's ok, sweetie," she said.
"Your dad and I want to talk to you."

Slowly, the door cracked open,
and Chip's tear-stained screen peeked out.
His eyes searched theirs, looking
for answers, for reassurance.

Plankton's heart twisted at the sight.
He had never wanted to cause his son
any pain, especially not like this.
He felt a wave of self-consciousness
wash over him as he stepped into the room,
his every move feeling clumsy and exposed.

"Chip," he began, 
his voice strained,
"It's just..."

Plankton's words trailed off,
his gaze flitting around the room
as if searching for the right ones.
The air felt thick with tension.

Chip looked up at him, his eyes
swollen with unshed tears.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he managed to say,
his voice thick with emotion.

But Plankton's anger hadn't
subsided entirely. "You shouldn't have
touched me," he snapped, his voice
sharp, his frustration still palpable.
"You now know better than that!"

Chip flinched at his father's tone,
his own eyes brimming with tears.
"But Dad, I didn't mean to," he protested.

Plankton's gaze was unyielding.
"You should know better!" he insisted,
his voice echoing with accusation.
"You're not a baby anymore!"

Chip's eyes fell to the floor,
his shoulders shaking 
with held-back sobs.
"But I didn't know!" he choked out,
his voice small and defensive.

"Well, now you do," Plankton said firmly,
his eye still avoiding Chip's.
"You have to respect my space!"
The room felt too small,
his emotions too big.

Chip's face crumpled, his voice
barely audible. "I just wanted
to..."

But Plankton's anger was like
a storm, unyielding. "I don't care
what you wanted!" he shouted. "You
can't just touch me like that!"

The room felt like it was closing in,
his heart racing faster with each word.
He saw the hurt on Chip's face, but
his own emotions were a tornado
whipping through his thoughts.
He couldn't stop, couldn't apologize.

"It's your fault for not knowing!"
Plankton's voice was like thunder,
filling the room with accusation.
Karen's eyes grew wide with shock,
but she didn't dare to interrupt.

Chip's sobs grew louder, his body
shaking with the weight of his father's
wrath. "But I didn't know, Dad,"
he pleaded, his voice thick with pain.

Plankton's eye was like a stone,
his words cutting through the air.
"That's no excuse!" he bellowed.
"You should've learned by now!
Or are you just to busy with your
silly games and neurotypical friends
to care about your own father?"

Chip's shoulders shook
as he tried to hold back his sobs.
He didn't know what to say,
his mind a jumble of emotions.
All he knew was that he had hurt
his dad, and now his dad was hurt
and mad at him.

"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered again,
his voice trembling.
"It was an accident, I didn't know!"
But Plankton's anger didn't abate.

"Accident or not, you should've known better!"
Plankton's voice grew louder,
his words piercing the air like knives.
"You're not a baby anymore, so
don't act like one!"

Chip felt his world crumbling.
He didn't mean to upset Dad,
but he didn't know what to do.
He just wanted to help, to show
his love, but it all went wrong.

"But Dad," he tried again, his voice
barely a whisper, "I didn't mean to..."

"I DON'T CARE!" Plankton roared,
his anger a living, breathing entity
that filled the room. His words were
sharp, like shards of glass in the air.

Chip's sobs grew louder, his heart
breaking with each accusation.
He didn't understand why his dad
was so mad at him. "I'm sorry," he choked,
his voice barely audible. "I didn't know..."

Plankton's anger didn't waver.
"You never know!" he spat. "You
never pay attention!" His words were
like a whip, each one stinging Chip's
already bruised heart. "You think
the world revolves around you!"

Chip's eyes were a pool of tears,
his body trembling as he tried to
find the right words. "But Dad,
I just..."

Plankton's anger grew with each
of Chip's stumbling attempts.
"You just what?" he snarled,
his senses overwhelmed by the
emotional turmoil. He felt
the urge to break something,
anything to release the pressure
building in his chest.

With a roar, he swiped
his hand across Chip's desk,
sending papers flying and toys clattering
to the floor. "DO YOU SEE?"
he yelled, his voice shaking
the walls. "DO YOU SEE HOW YOU
MAKE ME FEEL?"

Chip cowered, his eyes
locked on the chaos, his mind
whirling. He hadn't meant to make
his dad feel like this. He didn't
understand why his curiosity
was so wrong. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered again, his voice
tiny and lost in the maelstrom
of Plankton's rage.

Plankton's eye was wild,
his movements erratic. He knew
his anger was a storm, but
he couldn't stop it. The room
spun around him, his thoughts
a jumbled mess. He felt a hand
on his arm, Karen's voice cutting
through the noise in his head.
"Plankton, please," she begged.

But he shrugged her off, his rage
now a living, breathing monster
inside of him. He picked up
a toy, one of Chip's beloved creations,
and threw it across the room.
It shattered against the wall,
the sound piercing the silence
that followed. Chip's sobs
grew quieter, his body trembling
with fear.

"This," Plankton said,
his voice low and dangerous,
"is what you do to me."
He picked up another toy,
his hand shaking with anger.
"This is what your curiosity does!"

Chip's eyes widened with fear
as Plankton's hand arced back,
ready to hurl it. But as
the toy could leave his grip,
his body seized up again,
his legs buckling. Another
absence seizure had struck.

Karen's heart raced as she watched
her husband's uncontrolled
movements. She knew she had to
intervene before things escalated.
She rushed to Plankton's side,
grabbing his arm to steady him.
"Stop," she whispered urgently.

Chip's sobs grew quieter,
his eyes wide with fear.
He had never seen his dad
so out of control before.

Plankton's seizure
was taking over, his body
betraying him once again.

Karen's voice pierced
the chaos, a beacon of calm.
"Chip, let me handle this."

Her son nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's
shaky form.

Karen turned to Plankton's
form, supporting.
"Come on," she said firmly,
guiding his trembling form
to their own bedroom.
"Let's sit down, okay?"

As they do, Plankton's
still caught in the throes
of the seizure.

Chip felt like he was watching
a stranger, his dad's body
twitching uncontrollably.
He didn't know what to do.

new great chip fitscore iii

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.

new great chip familycore ix

GREAT CHIP viii
(Autistic author)

When Plankton finally came out
Chip approached with caution. He didn't want to scare
his dad, didn't want to cause another seizure.
"Hey, Dad," he said softly. "How are
you feeling today?"

Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye
flicking towards Chip. "Tired," he murmured,
his voice hoarse from sleep. "But okay."

Chip felt his chest tighten with relief.
He'd been worried about his dad all night,
scared that another seizure would strike 
without warning.

"Can we talk?" Chip asked, his voice
gentle as he approached Plankton.
He didn't want to push, but he needed
to make sure they were okay.

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
eye searching Chip's face. "Of course,"
he said, his voice still groggy.
He sat down at the kitchen table,
his body language open but cautious.

Chip took a deep breath, his heart
racing with the need to get this right.
"Dad, I know last night was...
scary," he began, his voice shaky.
"But I want to be there for you."

Plankton's antennae waved slightly,
his expression a mix of confusion and
fatigue. "What do you mean?" he asked,
his voice still thick with sleep.

Chip took a deep breath, trying
to find the right words. "I mean,
I want to understand your seizures
and what you go through," he said,
his eyes never leaving his father's.
"So that maybe I can help."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye
narrowing slightly. "What do you want
to know?" he asked, his voice a mix
of curiosity and caution.

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his thoughts racing. "Everything," he said,
his voice earnest. "What happens
before, during, and after. What you feel,
what you see..."

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
face scrunching up slightly. "Why?"
he snapped, his voice sharp. "What's
the point of reliving it?"

Chip took a step back, surprised
by his father's sudden irritation.
"I just want to understand,"
he said, his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae waved erratically,
his eye flashing. "It's not a show, Chip,"
he snapped. "It's not something to be
poked and prodded at."

Chip felt his cheeks flush with heat,
his hands balled into fists at his sides.
"I'm not trying to pry," he said, his voice
shaking with frustration. "I just want to help!"

Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye
narrowed. "You can't help," he said,
his voice cold. "You don't get it."

Chip's heart sank, feeling the distance
between them growing wider. "But Dad,"
he began, his voice trembling. "I'm trying."

Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly,
his face a mask of agitation. "You can't,"
he said, his voice clipped. "You don't know
what it's like!"

Chip felt a wave of frustration
crash over him, his hands
clenching into fists. "That's why
I'm asking!" he exclaimed. "I'm not
trying to make it about me!"

Plankton's focusing solely on Chip.
"You don't get it," he said, his voice
softening slightly. "It's not about you,
but it's also not something you can fix."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his heart racing with a mix of anger
and hurt. He knew Plankton wasn't
trying to be cruel, but the words stung.
"I just want to be there for you,"
he said, his voice shaky. "To make
sure you're okay."

Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly,
his eye flashing with agitation. "I don't
need you to fix me," he snapped, his voice
sharp as a knife. "I just need you to leave me
alone sometimes."

Chip took a step back, his eyes
watering with the sting of his father's
words. "I just want..."

"I know what you want," Plankton cut
in, his antennae vibrating with irritation.
"But you can't fix this, Chip. It's not a puzzle
you can solve with a pat on the back or a hug."

The room grew tense, the air thick
with unspoken words. Chip felt his throat
tighten, his eyes stinging with unshed tears.
He knew his father's snappy tone was a defense
mechanism, a way to keep the world at bay
when it all became too much. But it still hurt.

new great chip arguecore viii

NEW REALITY viii
(Autistic author)

"I don't
understand," she says, her voice
filled with distress.

Plankton's hand clenches, his
body vibrating with tension.
"Numbers," he repeats, his voice
edging on a scream. "They
make quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen, her smile
fading to a look of horror.
"But Plankton," she says, her voice
shaking, "it's just a clock."

But her words are like fuel
on the fire of his distress.
He steps closer to the clock,
his hand outstretched as if
to will it to silence. "Numbers,"
he whispers, his voice a
plea. "They make quiet."

Hanna's eyes fill with
sympathy, but her words only
worsen his agitation. "Plankton,
it's just a clock," she says,
reaching out to touch him.

Karen's heart hammers in
her chest as she sees his
body tense even further.
"Hanna, don't," she warns, her
voice tight. "Please don't touch
him right now."

But Hanna doesn't hear her,
her own voice rising with
frustration. "It's just a clock,
Plankton," she repeats, her hand
covering his shoulder. "Nothing's
going to hurt you.."

The touch sends him spiraling,
his body convulsing with
overstimulation. "No touch!"
he screams, his hand slapping
at her arm, his face a mask of
fear and anger.

But Plankton's outburst has
ignited something in Hanna,
a spark of anger.

"Why can't you just be normal?"
she snaps, her voice echoing
through the tense room.

Karen's heart breaks as
Plankton's eye goes wide, his
body jerking away from her.
"Hanna, please," she says,
her voice tight with pain.

But Hanna's words keep coming,
a barrage of misunderstanding.
"You can't just ignore us,"
she says, her voice rising. "You have
to interact with the world."

Plankton's body recoils, his
skin seemingly vibrating with each
of her words. "Interact," he echoes,
his voice strained.

Karen's heart is in her throat.
"Hanna, please," she says, her
voice tight with pain. "You're
not helping."

But Hanna's eyes are
glassy with frustration. "How
can I help if he won't even
look at me?" she asks,
ignoring the desperation in
Plankton's gaze as she holds
his arms tightly.

Karen's eyes plead with her,
but Hanna's grip doesn't loosen.
"Let go," Plankton whimpers,
his voice tight with tension.

Hanna's smile is forced,
her grip unyielding. "Look at me,
Plankton," she says, her voice
laced with irritation. "You can't
just..."

But her words cut him like
knives. "Look
away," he murmurs, his voice
strained, his body begging for
the pressure to ease.

Hanna's smile falters, her
grip tightening. "Why can't
you just look at me?" she asks,
her voice edged with annoyance.

Plankton's breath hitches,
his antennae drooping. "Can't," he
whispers, his gaze flickering
between her and Karen.

Hanna's eyes narrow, her
grip on his arms tightening.
"You can," she insists, her
voice firm. "Just..."

But Plankton's whimpers
grow louder, his body
shaking with the effort
to pull away.

Hanna's smile fades, her
grip tightening in frustration.
"Why can't you just be like
everyone else?" she asks, her
tone no longer gentle.

Plankton's whimpers become
sobs, his body shaking with
the effort to break free.
Karen's eyes are wet with
unshed tears as she watches
the scene unfold, her heart
breaking for him.

Hanna's grip remains firm,
her expression a mix of
confusion and annoyance.
"Why are you doing this?"
she demands, her voice
sharp. "You're just being
difficult."

Plankton's sobs grow more
desperate, his body
twisting in her grasp.
"Let go," he whispers, his voice
a strained plea.

Hanna's eyes flash with
irritation. "Why ca--"

Her words are cut off by
Karen's firm voice. "Hanna,
please," she says, stepping
between them. "You're
upsetting him."

But Hanna's confusion turns
to anger. "How can I not
be upset?" she retorts, her
grip on Plankton's arms
tightening. "He won't even..."

Her words are cut off by
Karen's firm voice. "Please,
Hanna," she says, her eyes
pleading. "You don't
understand."

Suddenly, Plankton's legs
buckle, his body going slack
as Hanna finally releases
his arms. He crumples to
the floor. He's retreating, Karen
realizes, her heart racing.
He's retreating into himself.

Karen's eyes fill with
fear as she watches him, his
sobs subsiding into quiet
whimpers. "Plankton," she
whispers, her voice a prayer.

Hanna's face falls, her anger
replaced with shock. "What's
wrong with him?" she asks,
her voice trembling.

Karen's eyes are wet with
unshed tears as she crouches
beside him. "It's a condition,"
she says, her voice tight with
frustration. "He needs time
and space to process everything."

Hanna's face crumples, her
hands going to her mouth.
"I didn't know," she whispers,
her eyes wide with regret.
"I'm sorry."

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's huddled
form. "It's not your fault,"
she says, her voice thick with
emotion. "But we all have
to learn."

Hanna nods, her eyes
brimming with tears.

Karen wraps her arms
around Plankton, her
touch gentle. "It's okay,"
she murmurs. "I'm here."
He trembles against her,
sobbing.

Hanna stands there,
apology etched in every
line of her face. "What can
I do?" she whispers.

Karen looks up, her eyes
wet. "Just give us a moment,"
she says, her voice a gentle
command.

Hanna nods, backing away
slowly, her eyes on Plankton.
"Okay," she murmurs, the weight
of her words heavy in the
silent room.

Karen holds Plankton tightly,
his body a trembling mass
of emotion. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her voice a
soothing balm. "You're safe."

He nests his head into
her shoulder, his whimpers
softening to quiet sobs.
The room feels thick with
their shared pain, the air
charged with the tension
of misunderstanding.

Hanna's eyes dart around,
looking for anything that might
soothe him.

Karen's gaze meets hers,
a silent plea for understanding.

"It's called autism," Karen says softly,
her voice a gentle explanation.

Hanna's eyes widen, her face
a canvas of realization. "Oh," she
whispers, the word a soft
exhalation of breath.

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's tear-stained
face. "It's a spectrum,"
she says, her voice calm and
steady. "And he's on a part
of it that's very sensitive to
stimulation."

Hanna nods slowly, her
understanding growing. "I'm
sorry," she says, her voice
full of regret. "I didn't know."

Karen's grip tightens around
Plankton's shoulders. "It's okay,"
she murmurs. "We're all still
learning."

Hanna nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's trembling
form. "I'll go," she says, her voice
small. "I didn't mean..."

Karen nods, her gaze
steady. "Thank you," she whispers.
"We can talk soon."

Hanna nods, her eyes filled
with sadness. "Of course," she says,
turning to leave.

The door clicks shut behind her,
leaving Karen and Plankton in the
heavy silence. Karen's arms
remain around him, her body
a protective cocoon against
the harshness of the world.

Plankton's sobs slowly
ease into quiet sniffs, his body
still trembling in her embrace.
Her heart aches for the pain
he's feeling, the fear that
Hanna's misunderstanding
has brought to the surface.

"I'm sorry," she whispers
to him, her voice
shaking.

Plankton's trembles begin
to subside, his breathing
evening out. He pulls back,
his eye searching hers. "No,"
he murmurs, his voice hoarse
from crying. "Not at fault."

Karen's eyes fill with
relief, her grip on him
loosening slightly. "It's
okay," she says, her voice
a gentle caress. "We just need
to find ways to help you."

Plankton nods, his eye
fluttering shut.

Karen's mind races with
thoughts of what more she
can do, what she can say
to make him feel safe.

"We'll get through this,"
she says, her voice a promise.
"Together."

Plankton's eye opens,
his gaze meeting hers.
"Together," he echoes, his
voice a whisper.

Karen's heart swells with
love for him, her eyes
shimmering with determination.
"We'll find what works,"
she says, her voice firm.

Plankton nods, his gaze
dropping to the floor.
"Thanks," he murmurs, his
voice barely audible. "Tired.."

Karen's heart breaks at the
exhaustion etched into his
features. "I got you, you
can rest," she says, her
voice a gentle whisper.

They move to the couch,
Plankton's body curling into
her side. She wraps the
weighted blanket around him,
still within their embrace.

His breathing slows, his body
relaxing against hers. The
whirring fan above offers
a steady rhythm, a lullaby for
his troubled mind.

Karen's hand strokes his
back in gentle circles, her
thumb tracing patterns that
seem to soothe his nerves.

The fan's steady whir
fills the room, a calming
symphony that lulls Plankton's
racing thoughts to a crawl.

Karen's thumb moves in
soothing circles on his back,
each pass sending a ripple
of comfort through him.

Plankton's breathing evens,
his body slack against hers.
The fan's steady hum is a
lullaby in the quiet room,
a metronome for his racing
thoughts.

Karen's hand continues its
soothing dance across his back,
his eye finally closing.

The room is a cocoon of
silence, the fan's whisper the
only sound breaking the stillness.

Plankton's breathing slows,
his body melts into Karen's embrace.
Her hand continues its gentle
caress, a metronome of comfort as
he finally surrenders to sleep.

new new reality hannacore viii

CHIP AND FAIL ix
(Autistic author)

Chip stared at his dad, his mind
racing. He had always known his
dad was different, but he had
never understood why. Now, as
he watched the man he idolized
quivering with overstimulation, he
couldn't help but feel a deep sadness
and anger. "Why didn't you tell
me?" he asked, his voice tight.

Plankton's antennae shot up, his
face contorting with a sudden
surge of anger.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, the sound
exploding from his chest like a
bomb, his antennae quivering with
each syllable. "Do you have any
idea what you're doing to me?"

Chip recoiled, his eyes wide with
shock. He had never heard his dad
so angry before, never seen him
so out of control. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he stammered, his voice thick with
unshed tears.

"You're sorry?" Plankton spat,
his antennae vibrating with rage.
"You don't get it, Chip. You never
will." His voice was a storm,
his words cutting through the
tension in the room. "You think
I don't want to hear your stories?
You think I don't want to be a part
of your life?" His body trembled
with the force of his emotions, his
eye blazing with pain.

Chip took a step back, his
hands up in defense. "Dad, no, I..."

But Plankton was a tornado,
his anger a living thing in the
room. "You think I don't want to
connect with you?" he shouted, his
antennas whipping around. "You think
I don't love you?" His voice broke,
his body shaking with the effort of
holding back his tears.

Chip stared at his dad, his eyes
like saucers. "But Dad, you always
push me away," he protested, his voice
tiny in the face of Plankton's fury. "You
never want me to touch you or..."

"You just let me explain!" Plankton
shouted, cutting him off. His antennae
were a blur with the force of his
emotions, his eye flashing. "You always
keep pushing and pushing, and it's too
much!" His words were a volley of
thunder, each one striking Chip like a
physical blow.

Chip took a step back, his eyes
filling with tears. "But Dad, I just
want to be close to you," he choked
out, his voice a mere wisp. "I don't
understand why you can't..."

"Because you don't listen!" Plankton's
voice was a whip, slicing through
the air. "You don't see the
storm in my head, the way every
touch feels like a storm, every
sound a siren!" His antennae
quivered with rage, his body tense.
"You think it's easy for me? That I
don't want to be there for you?"

Chip took another step back, his
hands up in defense. "I didn't
know," he whispered, his eyes
brimming with tears. "I just wanted
to tell you about my week." He says
reaching out with a trembling
hand, but Plankton's swatting 
Chip's hand away.

"Don't. Touch. Me!" Plankton roared, his
body trembling with rage. "Can't you
see that?" His voice was a knife,
sharp and unforgiving. "And don't
you DARE say you're better off without
me!" His eye blazed with a fierce
protectiveness that Chip had never
seen before.

Chip's hand hovered in the air, his
fingers curling into a fist. "But Dad," he
choked out, his voice thick with
unshed tears, "I just want to be
close to you." He took a step closer...

"NO!" Plankton shouted, his antennae
snapping like whips. "You don't get
to invade my space like that!" His
body was a live wire, his anger a
force field that repelled Chip's
reaching hand. "You think it's
funny?" His voice was a maelstrom
of pain and fury.

Chip's eyes filled with tears, his
hand dropping to his side. "I just
wanted to help," he murmured, his voice
tiny in the face of his father's
storm.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II ix

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iii
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounds can be really intense for him now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sponge Bob nods. 

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

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

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

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

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore iii

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iii

(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sponge Bob steps into the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a journey to autism plankarenbob iii

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ix

(Autistic author)


The silence in the room
was suffocating, the 
echo of Mr. Krabs' 
footsteps the only 
sound as he retreated 
to his home, his 
heart feeling heavier 
than his treasure chest.

Sponge Bob's heart torn 
between pity and 
frustration. He looked 
at Plankton, 
his friend's gaze 
still locked on the 
chessboard, his 
body a portrait of 
rejection.

"Plankton," he 
whispered, his voice 
full of pain.
But Plankton didn't 
move, his antennas 
twitching slightly.

Sponge Bob felt a 
lump form in his 
throat, his eyes 
brimming with tears. 
He didn't know what to 
do, what to say, to 
make things right. 
He glanced at Karen, 
her lights dimming 
slightly with sadness.

"I'll leave you two 
to talk." With a nod to 
Sponge Bob, she left 
the room, leaving them 
alone in the 
stifling silence.

Sponge Bob approached 
Plankton cautiously, 
his heart pounding.

"What can I do?"
he asked, his voice 
barely a whisper.

Plankton's antennas 
twitched slightly, but 
he didn't look up. 
"Nothing," he murmured, 
his voice flat. "Cannot 
change."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
welled with tears.
"I mean right now, I
can do what you want
me to," he pleaded. 
"You're my best friend, 
Plankton."

Plankton's antennas 
lifted, his single 
eye meeting Sponge 
Bob's gaze.

"We can talk, we can play
a game, we can watch some
thing..."

Plankton's antennas 
remained still, his 
expression unreadable.
"Watch," he said finally, 
his voice devoid of 
enthusiasm.

Sponge Bob nodded, 
his heart heavy with 
disappointment. He knew 
his friend needed 
space, and he would give 
it to him.

The screen flickered 
to life. Sponge 
Bob felt a pang of 
despair, his hand hovering 
over the remote. 
"Is this okay?" he 
asked, his voice 
trembling.

Plankton nodded, his 
gaze unfocused. "Okay," 
he murmured.

Sponge Bob 
selected a nature 
documentary, knowing 
Plankton. They 
sat in silence as the 
soothing sounds of the 
ocean filled the room, 
the TV's blue light 
washing over them. Plankton's 
body relaxed slightly, 
his antennas still as he 
watched. 
Sponge Bob felt a 
tiny spark of hope when
Plankton scoots up next
to him.

The documentary 
played on, the narrator's 
soothing voice detailing 
the lives of jellyfish.
Sponge Bob watched 
Plankton from the 
corner of his eye, 
his heart aching at the 
sight of his friend's 
vacant gaze. 
He reached over and 
gently placed his hand 
on Plankton's shoulder, 
his touch tentative.

Plankton didn't flinch, 
his eye never leaving 
the screen. Sponge Bob
swallowed the lump in 
his throat and whispered,
"I'm here for you."

Plankton's antenna 
twitched slightly, a 
barely perceptible 
acknowledgment. The 
silence stretched on, the 
only sound the rhythmic 
pulse of the jellyfish 
through the speakers.

Sponge Bob's hand 
remained on Plankton's 
shoulder, his thumb 
making small, comforting 
circles.

As the 
documentary droned on, 
Plankton's antennas 
gradually lost their 
rigidity, drooping 
slightly with each 
passing moment.

The rhythmic 
pulse of the jellyfish 
on the screen seemed to 
lull him into a state 
of quiet contemplation. 
His gaze grew unfocused,
his eyelid fluttered once,
then twice, before 
finally settling shut.
Plankton's tiny frame relaxed into 
SpongeBob's side, breathing 
evening out. His hand 
remained on Plankton's 
shoulder, his thumb 
continuing to make 
small circles as his 
friend slipped into 
slumber.

When SpongeBob turned off
the tv, he noticed Plankton's 
head drooped to the side
with a soft snore, 
his body gone slack.
Plankton was asleep, 
his chest rising and falling
in a gentle rhythm.

The yellow sponge felt a 
wave of relief wash over 
him as he realized that 
his friend had finally 
found some peace.
He carefully scooted Plankton 
closer.
He knew Plankton needed 
his rest, especially with 
his brain trying to 
adjust to this new 
reality.

Karen came back in to see 
Plankton's antennas limp 
and Sponge Bob's hand on 
his shoulder. She nodded 
gently at the sponge, who 
looked up and sighed.

"It's 
ok to let him rest. He's 
been through a lot." She says.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
grip on Plankton's 
shoulder tightening 
slightly. "I know. I 
just want to help," 
he replies, his voice 
barely audible over 
Plankton's soft snores.

Karen's lights flicker 
gently. "You are helping 
by being here, Sponge 
Bob. Just give him 
time and space to 
adjust."

Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
face. "I'll do 
anything for him."

Karen's light blips. 
"I know you will. But 
for now, let's get him 
to his bed."

Sponge Bob nods, 
carefully scooping up 
Plankton, cradling him 
like a fragile shell. He 
carries him to the 
bedroom. 
He lays him down, 
tucking the blanket 
under his chin with 
extra care.

Plankton's snores 
soften into a gentle 
purr, his antennas 
twitching slightly 
in his 
sleep.

Sponge Bob pulls 
up a chair beside 
the bed, his 
eyes never leaving 
his friend's face. He 
feels a heavy 
responsibility, a 
desire to be there 
for Plankton in ways 
he's never had to before.

As the minutes 
tick by, Sponge Bob 
begins to feel the 
weight of the day's 
events. His eyes 
grow heavy, his 
body swaying with 
exhaustion. Despite 
his resolve, he 
can't keep his 
lids open any longer.

With a yawn, he 
collapses into the 
chair beside 
Plankton's bed, his 
head lolling to the 
side. His eyes 
close.

Plankton opens his eye to 
find Sponge Bob 
asleep next to him.

Plankton's gaze lingers 
on the sponge, his 
expression unreadable. 
He moves his antennas 
slightly, testing the 
boundaries of his 
new reality. The 
weight of Mr. Krabs' 
apology and his own 
words hang heavy on him.

With a deep sigh, 
he knew that 
his relationship with 
Mr. Krabs was 
irrevocably changed, 
but he hadn't expected 
the sadness that 
accompanied the 
realization.

He watched as 
Sponge Bob's chest 
lifted and fell in a 
steady rhythm, 
his grip on the 
blanket tight.

A strange warmth 
spread through 
Plankton's 
heart, something 
he hadn't felt in 
a long time. 
Sponge Bob had 
always been his 
friend, even when he 
was at his worst.

But this...
This was different.
This was someone 
sticking by him, not 
because they had to, 
but because they 
wanted to.

The warmth grew, 
spreading through 
Plankton like a gentle 
current. It was 
unfamiliar, but not 
unpleasant. He had 
felt it before, with 
Karen. Yet this was 
a different kind of warmth.
This was friendship, 
pure and untainted by 
the greed that usually 
consumed him before...

He studied Sponge 
Bob's peaceful 
face, his mind 
racing. This sponge, 
his enemy's best 
worker, had shown 
more kindness and 
understanding in the 
past few hours than 
anyone else in his life,
other than Karen. 
And for what? A 
chance at the Krabby 
formula? No, 
for him. For Plankton.

The warmth grew 
stronger, 
pushing out the 
coldness that 
usually dominated 
his thoughts. He 
felt a strange 
urge to reciprocate, 
to be... nicer.

Sponge Bob stirred, 
his eyes fluttering 
open. "Plankton?"
he mumbles, his 
voice thick with sleep.

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly, his 
single eye focusing 
on the yellow 
form beside him.

"Yes, Sponge Bob," he 
replies, his voice 
gentler than before.

Sponge Bob sits up 
with a start. "How
long have you been up?"
he asks, his eyes 
searching Plankton's 
face for any sign 
of pain or distress.

Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly. "Not 
long," he murmurs, 
his gaze lingering 
on Sponge Bob.

Sponge Bob's 
expression is a 
mixture of relief 
and concern. "Do you 
want to talk?" he 
asks, his voice 
gentle.

Plankton's antennas 
wave slightly, a 
tiny nod of his 
head. "Talk," he 
echoes, his voice 
soft.

Sponge Bob takes a 
deep breath, trying 
to form the words 
he desperately 
wants to say. "I 
just... I want you to 
know that I'm here 
for you, Plankton," he 
says, his voice 
shaking.

Plankton's antennas 
wave slightly, and 
his eye narrows. "Here 
for Plankton," he echoes, 
his voice flat.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
fill with tears. "Yes, 
Plankton," he whispers. 
"Always."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch again, the 
word "always" echoing 
in his mind. "Always," 
he murmurs. 

new a journey to autism plankbobs ix

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii
(Autistic author)

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

He nodded, his 
expression slightly 
less tense.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hanna looked at 
him with a 
puzzled expression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hanna's concern 
was now clear 
on her screen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new neurobehavioral plankton neurodivergentcore iii

CHIP AND FAIL viii
(Autistic author)

Karen's hand was a lifeline,
her voice a gentle guide. "Chip,"
she called out.
"We need to talk."

Chip stopped in the hallway. 
Why was Dad acting so
weird? He turned to face his
mother, his eyes brimming with
unshed tears. "What's wrong with
him?" he demanded, his voice
filled with accusation. "He doesn't
deserve to be called my dad if
he can't even..."
But that's when it happens.
That's when Plankton started
hyperventilating, and that's
when Plankton can't take
anymore.
That's when it happened.
Chip's words were like a match
striking too close to a powder keg.
Plankton's breath hitched, his antennae
twitching erratically. Karen rushed to
his side, her screen wide with concern.
"Babe, you okay?" she asked, her voice
a gentle caress. She holds her arms
out to catch Plankton.

But Plankton's mind was a
whirlwind, his body a live wire.
He couldn't answer, couldn't find
the words to explain the chaos
that was his reality. His antennae
trembled as he struggled to
breathe, his body rigid with fear.
He had hoped to keep this
hidden, to protect Chip from the
truth, but it was too much.
The storm inside him grew
wilder, each breath a battle.

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his own confusion
mirroring the chaos in the
room. "What's wrong with you?"
he repeated, his voice a mix of anger
and desperation.

But Plankton's mind was a tornado,
his thoughts swirling too fast
for words. He could feel his chest
constrict, his heart pounding
like a drum.

Karen watched her son's screen,
seeing the hurt in his eyes, the
misunderstanding etched
deep. She took a deep breath,
knowing the moment had arrived.
"Chip," she began, her voice
soft but firm, "there's something
you need to know about your dad."

Chip looked at her, his expression
a mix of anger and confusion. "What
could possibly make him act like
this?" he spat, poking Plankton hard. "Why
did you marry him? He's just nothing but..."

"Chip," Karen said firmly, taking his
hands in hers, when Plankton
starts to wheeze heavily, his body
constricting with each shallow breath.

Chip's anger faded, replaced with
fear as he watched his father's
distress. "Dad?" he whispered,
his voice shaking.

Plankton's body trembled as his
legs gave out, collapsing into the
embrace Karen had been ready to offer.

"Dad?" Chip's voice was barely
above a whisper, his eyes wide
with fear and confusion. He had
never seen his father so
overwhelmed, so vulnerable.

Karen knelt beside Plankton, her
hands gentle on his trembling
body. "It's okay, love," she
whispered, her voice a salve
on his raw nerves. "Just breathe."

Chip's eyes were glued to his
father with fear. He had never seen him
like this before, his body a
stranger's under his own touch.
"What's wrong with him?" he asked
again, his voice shaking.

Karen took a deep breath, her
hands trembling as she smoothed
back Plankton's antennae. "Chip, your
dad was born with something..."
Her voice trailed off, the words
stuck in her throat like a piece
of unchewed food.

Chip's eyes searched hers, his
confusion a storm cloud
gathering. "What do you mean?"
he asked, his voice small and
scared.

Karen took a deep breath, her
heart aching for both her son
and her husband. "Your dad," she
began, her voice shaking with
the weight of her words, "was born
different, Chip." Plankton's
eye flickered open, filled with a
mixture of fear and hope.

"What do you mean, 'different'?"
Chip asked, his voice small and
scared. He had never heard his
mother talk about his dad this
way before.

Karen took a deep breath,
swallowing the lump in her
throat. "When your dad was born,
Chip," she began, her screen
filled with a sadness that
threatened to spill over, "his brain
was injured during delivery. When
the doctors pulled him out, they
didn't realize how fragile he was
and they..." Her voice trailed off,
the memory too painful to
recount. "They had to get him out
and applied too much force on his
head, which caused some damage.
It gave him a type of condition, where
he's on what's called autism spectrum."

Chip's eyes widened, his grip on
his shirt tightening. "But that's
not his fault, right?" he asked, his
voice a hopeful whisper. He didn't
want to think of his dad as
damaged or broken.

Karen nodded, her screen filled
with love for both her husband and
her son. "No, honey, it's not his
fault," she said, her voice steady.
"It's just how he's. And
it's not something you can see or
touch. It's like having a radio in
your head that's always tuned to the
loudest station, and sometimes
the static gets too much."

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

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iii


(Autistic author)



Karen picked him up, and carried
his limp form to his bed. She
stood there for a moment, watching
his chest rise and fall. The
snores grew quieter as sleep
consumed him.

The weight of what had just
happened settled on her shoulders.

Karen lay him down gently. She
tucked him in, his antennae 
resting against the pillow.

The room was quiet except for
his soft snores, a stark contrast
to the chaos that had filled it
moments before. Karen sat by his
side, her hand on his arm.

After a few moments, she
stood up and walked to the door,
closing it gently behind her. She
found Hanna in the living room,
her eyes red-rimmed and worried.

"Hanna, I need to talk to you,"
Karen said, her voice firm but not
accusing. Hanna looked up, her
expression hopeful for guidance.

Karen sat beside her, her eyes
on her own hands, which were
fidgeting in her lap. "Plankton's
been through a lot," she began, her
voice measured. "He's different now."

Hanna nodded, her eyes wide
with unspoken questions.

"Still coming to terms with it but you're
just fine. It's a rarity, yet he'll be fine."

"I guess I'll head out. I never meant 
to cause Plankton distress."

Karen nodded, her eyes still on her
fidgeting hands. "Thank you for
understanding. I'm pretty sure he
knows you didn't mean to, but I
can still tell him when he wakes up."

Hanna left, and Karen went back
to the bedroom.
Plankton was still asleep, his
breathing steady and peaceful.

Karen sat by the bed.

Plankton's snores were the 
only sound in the room, a 
gentle reminder of the peace 
that sleep brought him from 
his tumultuous world of 
heightened senses.

Karen took a deep breath, 
her thoughts racing. This was 
their new normal, a dance 
of understanding and patience 
they would have to learn.

When Plankton next woke up,
his eye searched the room, 
his antennae twitching slightly.
He looked over to find Karen
sitting in a chair beside the bed,
her gaze on him.

"Hi," she said, her voice gentle.
He sat up slowly, the fabric
of the bed rustling beneath
his weight.

"How are you feeling?" Karen's
concern was palpable, her eyes
scanning his face for any signs
of distress. Plankton took a
deep breath, trying to organize
his thoughts. Karen's presence
was a balm to his soul, her
understanding a lifeline in the
storm of sensory input.

"Where's Hanna?"

Karen sighed, her gaze never leaving
his face. "She left, sweetie. You were
a bit...overwhelmed."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching with the memory of the
sensory assault.

"It's okay," Karen assured him, her
voice a soft whisper. "She just
didn't understand, and felt bad
for the way she treated you."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. The room was quiet, a stark
contrast to the chaos from before.
He took a moment to collect himself,
his thoughts racing.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice
barely a whisper. Karen reached out
and took his hand, her grip firm
but gentle. "You have nothing to
apologize for," she said, her tone
soothing. "This is all new to us.
Would you like to eat?"

Plankton nodded.

"I'll get you something quiet and simple," Karen
said, standing up. She knew that too
much stimulation could send him spiraling.

In the kitchen, she prepared a
snack of plain crackers. She
placed the plate on the table
carefully, not wanting to startle
his heightened senses again.

Plankton entered the room, his
movements deliberate and slow.
He sat down across from her, his
eye darting around the room.

"It's ok," Karen reassured him,
handing him the plate of crackers.
"Just food."

"Just food. It's ok; just food." He
repeats back to himself, focusing
on the plate. Each cracker was a
tiny square of safety, a familiar
comfort in a sea of sensory
uncertainty.

He took a deep breath and
selected one. The taste was
comforting, a reminder of
a simpler time. Karen watched
him, her screen filled with love.

Plankton took a sip of water,
his eye never leaving hers. "It's
ok just food," he said again, his 
voice still low. "Karen good and
good food. It's ok."

Karen nodded, her smile a mix
of relief and sadness. She knew
his echolalic tendencies was
the autism, but she's glad he
likes the food as well.

They sat in silence, the only
sound the crunch of crackers
and the occasional sip of water.

Plankton's eye focused on the
cracker in his hand, the patterns
on the surface a comfort. His
autistic brain craved the predictability,
the sameness that calmed his
nerves.

This was the man she knew, yet
he was different. The Plankton who
was always plotting and scheming
was now one who found
comfort in the mundane.

His mind felt clearer
now, the overwhelming chaos of
the earlier encounter with Hanna
beginning to fade.

Karen watched him, her heart
breaking for the silent struggle
she knew he faced every moment.
"I'll talk to Hanna," she said
gently. "I'll explain. What do you
want me to tell her? What'd you
like for her to know?"

Plankton's gaze remained on the
cracker, his thumb tracing the
edge. "Tell her sorry," he
mumbled.

"What else? I mean, is it ok if
I tell her you're autistic now?
Or what about the accident
that lead to the autism?"

Plankton's antennae twitched at
the word 'accident', his mind
reeling with memories of the
stove, the fight with Mr. Krabs,
the pain. But he nodded slowly.
"Ok," he murmured.

Karen's heart ached at the
simplicity of his response. The
complexity of his thoughts was
now a tightly guarded secret, hidden
behind a wall of sensory overload.

"Okay, I will," Karen said, her voice
soft. "But remember, it's ok to be
different." 

Plankton nodded, his eye still on
his food. But as he took another
cracker, he paused. He looked up,
his gaze locking with hers.

"Karen," he said, his voice a
little stronger now. "I, I l-love you."

Karen's eyes widened at the sudden
declaration. "Oh, Plankton," she
whispered, her voice thick with
emotion. "I love you too." 
Plankton nodded, his gaze never leaving 
hers. "Karen making everything okay," he 
murmured.

He took another cracker, his
hands shaking slightly. "You make 
Plankton feel safe," he continues 
with sincerity. "In a world that's too
much, Karen not too much."

Karen's eyes filled with tears
at his heartfelt words. She reached
across the table and took his
hand. "Plankton, I'm here for
you. Always."

Plankton's antennae stopped
twitching. He looked into her screen,
his own filled with a depth of
emotion that hadn't seen
before. "You good, Karen," he said,
his voice steady. "Helping
Plankton."

Plankton was finding his way to
express himself, to connect with
her in a way that was meaningful.
She squeezed his hand.
"I'll always help you," she promised.

"Karen," Plankton began, his
voice tentative. He took a deep
breath, trying to find the words.
"I love you, Karen," he said finally, his
eye intense with feeling. 

Karen swelled with love
and pride. Despite his struggles,
Plankton was learning to express
his emotions in a way that made
sense to him. It was a victory,
small but significant.

"Thank you, Plankton," she said,
squeezing his hand. "Your love makes
me happy." His antennae twitched
slightly, a sign of his awkwardness
with the emotional exchange.

The room was quiet, the only
noise the soft sound of their
breathing and the occasional
crunch of a cracker. Plankton's
eye searched hers, looking for
reassurance.

"Plankton need...space," he 
managed, his voice
shaky. "Too...much emotional
interaction. Still love."

Karen nodded, understanding
dawning. "Okay, sweetie," she said,
releasing his hand. "I'll be right
here. Take all the time you need."

new autism in the plankton family plaren karen plankton iii

CHIP AND FAIL iii
(Autistic author)

"Ok Dad," he said.
"Let's go to your workshop."
Maybe there, he would
be able to come back to himself. But
Plankton's not budging, despite Chip's
efforts to get him up. "Come on,"
he said, his voice gentle, trying to
mask his own fear. "Let's go."
But he sees it's not gonna work.

He hadn't realized that his
excited touches and loud
laughter were only making
things worse. Plankton's condition
meant that even the smallest
disruption could send him spiraling,
and here Chip was, bombarding him
with sensations.

With a tremble in his voice,
Chip tried one more time to
reach his father. "Dad, can you
just come with me?" He asked,
his voice small and hopeful. "We'll
talk in the workshop." But Plankton
still didn't move, his eye
fixed on some unseen horizon.

Chip stood up, wiping the
tears from his screen, trying
to listen for his dad's breathing.

Chip doesn't like this.

Chip's face crumpled, 
realizing that his dad isn't okay.

This was chilling.

The more Chip talked, the
more he touched, the deeper
Plankton's mind spun into a vortex
of overstimulation. 

"Dad, you're not talking," Chip
whispered, his voice cracking with
concern. He had never seen his
father like this, so silent and
still. He didn't know that the
affectionate gestures and loud
stories were only adding to
Plankton's distress.

"Dad, please," Chip said, his voice
small.

This wasn't right.

This is wrong.

Something is very wrong
with his dad.

Chip's eyes
filled with tears,
his mind racing
with fear and confusion.
Something's wrong with
his dad.

"Dad, you're not okay," Chip said,
his voice filled with a new
urgency. But now, he
knew it was something more, something
he didn't know how to fix. But he
needs to try. "Can you tell me
about your week too?"

Absolutely no sign of life
from him. This is bad.
He's getting worse...

Chip didn't know that Plankton's lack of
response was due to his autism, that
his sensory system was in overdrive.
All he knew was that he needed to
help, to do something.

With a tremble in his hands, Chip
gently touched Plankton's shoulder.
"Dad, can you hear me?" He asked, his voice
soft and soothing, hoping to cut through
the storm in his father's mind. But Plankton's
expression remained unchanged, his eye
unfocused. Chip felt like he was
shouting into a void, his words
disappearing without a trace.

The room was spinning, the air
thinning with each shallow breath
Plankton took. Chip's mind raced
with scenarios, trying to piece
together what could've caused
this sudden change. "Is there
something wrong?" He asked, his voice
quavering. "Did something happen?"
But Plankton was lost, the cacophony of Chip's
excitement echoing through his
overstimulated brain like a never-
ending nightmare.

Chip's touches grew gentler, his
laughter fading into a soft
concern. "I don't get it," he said,
his voice thick with confusion. "I
just wanted to tell you about my
week." Plankton felt the pressure but
his mind was a maelstrom of sensation.

"Dad," Chip said, his voice barely
above a whisper, "I don't know what's
going on." He nudged him, and he
remained still and unblinking as the
prod toppled him onto his side, with
no reaction.

The room felt colder, the air
heavier with each passing second.
He had never seen his father so
unresponsive, so utterly lost to the
world around him. "Dad," he tried
again, his voice trembling. "You're
scaring me."

Plankton's eye remained fixed.
The gentle touches from Chip were
now a maelstrom of sensation, each
one a wave crashing against the
shore of his overwhelmed mind.

Chip's smile faded as he watched
his father. "Dad,
you're not okay," he murmured, his
voice laced with concern. He didn't
know about Plankton's condition,
how his brain processed stimuli
differently, how easily it could
be overwhelmed. All he knew was
that his dad, the man he looked
up to, was trapped in a silent
prison of his own making.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II iii

THE LIFE OF UNITY iii
(Autistic author)

Kevin's laughter reaches a crescendo as 
he takes a step closer to Plankton. 
"What don't I know?" he asks, his voice 
sharper than ever. "That PLANKTON 
JUST. DON'T. WUV. THEM. JELLYFISH. 
YOU ARE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY..."

But his words are cut off by the 
sight of Plankton, his antennae 
drooping, his eye brimming with 
tears. The tiny creature's body 
trembles as Kevin's to 
loud words settle upon him, and 
suddenly, all the pent-up frustration and pain 
come rushing out in a torrent as 
a single tear forms and slides down his face. 
Plankton's antennae quiver uncontrollably, and 
he squeaks out a sob, his tiny 
body convulsing with the weight of Kevin's cruel words.

SpongeBob is shocked.

Kevin's words hang in the water, his 
laughter fading into an awkward silence 
as he watches Plankton's reaction. The sea 
cucumber's eyes widen as he 
takes in the sight of Plankton's tears, his 
own expression morphing from smug 
to surprise, then to something akin to fear.

"Plankton?"

Plankton's antennae quiver as he sniffs, 
trying to compose himself, his 
monotone voice thick with emotion. "Plankton... 
brainless," he murmurs, his 
one eye filled with unshed tears. "Plankton," he 
adds, his voice cracking, 
"Plankton... not like jellyfish."

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes tight 
in his chest. "Hey, Plankton," he says 
softly, "it's ok. Kevin didn't mean it."

But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone 
voice echoing Kevin's hurtful 
words. "Kevin... right," he murmurs, his eye 
glistening with tears. "Plankton... 
brainless. Like jellyfish."

Kevin's expression morphs from 
smugness to shock, his eyes wide as he 
realizes the impact of his words. "It's just... 
you know, a joke."

But Plankton's antennae quiver, his 
monotone voice trembling. "Joke?" he 
murmurs. "Plankton... a joke. Plankton... 
brainless."

Kevin's grin falters, his eyes widening in 
horror as he sees the pain etched 
on Plankton's tiny face. "No," he stammers, 
his voice cracking. "It was just a... I 
didn't mean it like that."

But Plankton's antennae continue to 
quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo 
of Kevin's cruel words. "Plankton... no 
purpose in life," he murmurs, his one 
eye filled with a sadness so profound it 
seems to suck the color out of the 
surrounding waters.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock. 
"Plankton," he says gently, "you 
have friends. You have a purpose."

But Plankton's antennae droop even 
lower, his monotone voice a sad 
echo of his own self-doubt. "Plankton mindless.."

Kevin's smugness evaporates, replaced 
with a flicker of concern as he 
watches the usually unflappable Plankton 
crumple under the weight of 
his words. "Look, Plankton," he says, reaching 
out to touch him.

But Plankton flinches, his antennae quivering 
with pain.

"Plankton," Kevin says, his voice a mix of 
surprise and regret, "I didn't mean 
it like that. I was just messing around."

But Plankton's antennae continue to 
quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo 
of Kevin's insults. "Mindless," he murmurs, 
his one eye fixed. "Brainless."

Sponge Bob's eyes wide with shock and 
sadness. "Plankton," he whispers, his 
voice filled with a tenderness Plankton 
rarely hears from anyone. "You're 
not brainless."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
doubt, his monotone voice echoing 
Kevin's words. "Plankton... mindless," 
he murmurs, his one eye unable to 
meet Sponge Bob's gaze. "Like jellyfish."

SpongeBob knew that Plankton's obsession 
with jellyfish is more than just a 
hobby; it's a deep connection, a part of 
who he is after the traumatic brain injury. 
And now, Kevin's careless words have struck 
a nerve, leaving him feeling 
exposed and vulnerable.

"Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice gentle, 
"you're not like that. You're 
smart. You're... you're you."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad 
echo of Kevin's words. "Mindless," he 
murmurs, his one eye still avoiding 
contact. "Plankton... like jellyfish."

SpongeBob understood 
that the brain 
trauma has 
affected him, making him 
more vulnerable to words that question 
his intelligence and identity due to his autism.

"Plankton," he says, his voice filled with 
concern, "you know that's not true. 
You're not like jellyfish in that way."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, 
his monotone voice a sad echo 
of Kevin's mockery. "Mindless," he 
murmurs. "Mindless, brainless."

Sponge Bob's heart aches for his friend, 
reaching out to offer 
comfort. "Plankton, you're not like that," 
he says, his voice gentle 
and assuring. "You're brilliant. You 
know more about jellyfish than anyone."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
insecurity, his monotone voice a sad 
echo of Kevin's laughter. "Mindless," 
he murmurs, eye downcast. 
"Plankton... brainless."

Sponge Bob tries to find the right words 
to say. "Plankton," he says gently, 
"you're not like that. You're so much 
more than what Kevin said."

But Plankton's antennae quiver, his 
monotone voice a sad echo of the 
cruel words. "Mindless," he murmurs, 
his one eye avoiding Sponge Bob's 
gaze. "Plankton... no purpose."

Kevin's eyes dart from Plankton to 
Sponge Bob, his grin faltering. "What's going 
on?" he asks, his voice tight with confusion. 
"You guys are acting weird."

Sponge Bob's embrace tighten around 
Plankton's tiny body, his voice firm 
but kind. "Kevin," he says, his gaze fixed 
on Plankton, "you don't know what 
happened to Plankton."

Kevin's laughter fades into a puzzled look. 
"What do you mean?" Kevin's 
smirk fades, his eyes narrowing with 
confusion. "What are you guys talking 
about?" he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob hesitates, glancing at 
Plankton, who nods almost imperceptibly. 
"Kevin," he says, his voice serious, "Plankton 
had a bad accident. He hit his 
head, and now he's... different."

Kevin's tentacles freeze in mid-air, his 
smugness evaporating. "What do you 
mean, 'different'?" he asks, his voice tentative.

Sponge Bob sighs. "Plankton's had a 
brain injury," he says, his eyes never 
leaving Plankton's quivering antennae. 
"He's... autistic now."

Kevin's eyes widen, his tentacles dropping 
to his sides. "What? No way," he 
stammers, his smugness gone. "You're... 
you're joking, right?"

But Sponge Bob's expression is serious, 
gently stroking 
Plankton's antennae. "It's true, Kevin," he 
says, his voice gentle. "Plankton's 
had a tough time, and he's different now."

"Plankton, joke."

Kevin's confusion turns to shock as he 
looks from Sponge Bob to Plankton, 
his tentacles dropping to his sides. "But... 
but why didn't you say anything?" 
he asks, his voice trembling.

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix 
of sadness and determination. "We 
didn't think it was anyone's business,"
he says tightening around Plankton's 
shaking antennae. "But now you know
Kevin. And we need you to be cool 
about it."

new the life of unity bullycore iii

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ix
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a life of diversity plabsen ix

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS viii

(Autistic Author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore viii

GREAT CHIP ii
(Autistic author)

After what feels like
an eternity, Plankton's eye 
slowly refocus. His body
twitches, then relaxes. 
He blinks, looking around 
the room as if seeing it 
for the first time.
Karen moves closer,
her hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome back," she says 
soothingly. Plankton looks up, 
seeing Chip in the doorway, 
his eyes full of questions.
"What..." Plankton asks, 
his voice groggy.

Chip takes a step forward,
his heart racing.
"It's okay, Dad," he says,
his voice barely 
above a whisper.
Plankton blinks again,
his gaze sharpening.

He looks at Karen.
"I had one of my moments,
didn't I?" His voice is tinged with 
self-consciousness.

Karen nods, her eyes full of love
and understanding. "Yes, you did."

Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip,
his vulnerability laid bare
for his son to see.

Chip steps closer, unsure
of what to do with his hands,
his eyes searching his dad's.

"Are you okay?" Chip asks,
his voice tentative. "I just
got h..."

"Yes," Plankton cuts him off,
his tone brisk, "I'm fine, ok?" 
There's a hint of annoyance
in his voice, as if the seizure is an
inconvenience, something to be pushed aside
quickly and forgotten. Chip's heart
squeezes at the sight. "Dad, ca..."

"I said I'm okay," Plankton repeats,
his voice a little sharper this time.
There's a defensiveness
in his tone that Chip's never
heard before.

Chip flinches. But he's still
confused, and his curiosity 
won't quit. "But why do..."

"I don't want to talk about it,
I told you what to know," 
Plankton snaps,
his voice abrupt and final.
"So just drop it!"

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his curiosity colliding
with his dad's discomfort.
He's never seen Plankton
so agitated before.
"Dad I'm so..."

"I said I'm okay!" Plankton
says. "So JUST STOP ASKING!"

Chip's eyes well with tears.
He didn't mean to upset him,
he just wanted to understand.

Karen steps in, placing a comforting
hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't
you go to your room for a bit, honey?"

"Ok," Chip says, but he ends
up accidentally touching his
dad when he stands up to go,
brushing against Plankton. And
that makes him even angrier..

Plankton jolts away, his face
twisting into a grimace. "I said
not to touch me!" The room goes
deathly quiet. Karen's eyes widen,
and she opens her mouth to say
something, but Plankton's not done
with Chip.

"Why can't you just leave me
alone?" he yells, his voice echoing
off the walls. "I can't even have
a moment without you pestering me!
YOU'RE the one who's not okay! YOU'RE
JUST A KID, CHIP; I NEVER WANT
YOU TO EVER THINK ABOUT THIS AGAIN!"

Chip's eyes widen, his face flushing
with a mix of fear and sadness.
He didn't know his dad could be so mad.
He turns and runs to his room,
slamming the door behind him.

Karen sighs heavily.
This isn't how she wanted
Chip to learn about Plankton's condition.
She knows her husband's frustration
is a defense mechanism, a way
for him to cope with his own fears.
But it doesn't make it any easier
for Chip to understand.

Plankton's eye follows Chip
as he runs off, his own
expression a mix 
of anger and upset.
He didn't like to scream,
but the sensory overload
from the seizure had left him
on edge, his emotions raw.

His son didn't mean any harm,
but the sudden contact 
had been too much.
His skin feels like it's buzzing,
his mind racing with the echoes 
of his own voice.

Plankton sighs. He doesn't like
his son to see him like this,
so vulnerable and out of control.

Karen never liked to see
Plankton upset. She knew
to tread carefully with him
when he's so explosive, as
he's now breathing heavily.

"Plankton," she starts gently,
"Chip didn't mean to upset you.
He's just trying to understand."
But Plankton's still tense, not
replying to her.

Karen saw the frustration and
wanted to try again, not knowing
if he understood what she said.
She inched closer to him cautiously.

Plankton's eye darted around
the room, avoiding hers. He knew
his reaction was too much, but
his senses were still screaming.
He felt like a failure, unable
to control his own body.

Karen waited patiently, giving
Plankton the space he needed.
Her hand hovered near his arm,
ready to offer comfort, but she
knew better than to touch him now.

Plankton's shoulders slumped
as the reality of the situation
sank in. He had always tried
so hard to hide his seizures
from Chip, not wanting to burden him.
But now the secret was out, and
his son had witnessed his most
vulnerable moment.

He felt a twinge of guilt,
knowing he had snapped at Chip.
It was his way of protecting
his own pride.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his heart thumping in his chest.
He didn't want his son to see him
as weak or broken.

Karen's hand remained hovering,
a silent offering of comfort.
He knew she understood,
but he didn't want her defending
Chip either.

Plankton's mind raced,
his heart still pounding.
He felt exposed,
his secret laid bare
for his son to see.

The room was suffocating,
his thoughts a tornado.
He didn't want Chip to think
less of him, to see him as damaged.

Plankton took another deep breath,
his eye focusing on
anything but Karen's concerned gaze.
He felt a knot in his stomach,
his chest tight, both of which can in
themselves cause an overload on
their own. But Karen didn't realize
when she reached out to touch
his shoulder..

The touch was light, almost imperceptible,
but to Plankton, it was like a bomb had
detonated in his sensory system.
He jolted away, his eye wide with panic.

"Sorry," Karen murmured,
quickly retracting her hand.
She knew better than to push
when he was like this.

Plankton nodded, his breathing
steadying slightly. "It's okay,"
he managed to say, his voice
still tight. "I know you're trying."

Karen sat down next to him,
her hand resting on the couch
between them, a silent bridge
of support. "We'll talk to Chip
together, when you're ready."

Plankton nodded, his eye
still avoiding hers.

In the quiet, Plankton felt his
self-consciousness grow. He didn't
want Chip to see him this way, to think
less of him. It was something he'd
managed to hide for so long, his
autism, his moments of overload.
Now, it was out in the open,
and he felt like a creature
exposed to the elements.

The room felt too warm, too bright,
each sound amplified. He knew
his reaction was extreme, but
his mind couldn't help it. The effort
it took to appear 'normal' was
like swimming against a riptide,
and now the current had dragged him
under. He could see the worry in
Karen's screen, the sadness that he'd
lashed out at Chip.

He took a deep breath, trying
to regain his composure. He didn't
want Chip to think he didn't care,
that he didn't want to be there for him.
He just couldn't handle the touch,
not now. Not with his senses still
in overdrive.

Karen knew that look,
the one of internal battle.

"Why don't we go talk to him?"
she suggested, her voice soft.

Plankton nodded, pushing himself
out of the chair. His legs felt
like jelly, his heart racing.
He took a moment to gather
his thoughts before opening
the door to Chip's room.

new great chip chipcore ii

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD iii

He took another sip of water,
his cheeks puffing out as he
swished it around his mouth.
"Mmph, tath's betta," he said,
handing the cup back to the nurse.

Karen couldn't help but chuckle
at his antics. "Okay, let's get
you up," she said, her voice
still filled with laughter. Plankton
nodded, his antennae bobbing.

He swung his legs over the side
of the bed, his movements slow
and clumsy. Karen slipped her arm
under his and helped him stand. His
balance was wobbly, like a newborn
foal taking its first steps. She had to
stifle her giggles as he tried to
navigate the unseen world with his
numbed mouth.

"Mmph... Kahen," he began,
his voice a series of muffled sounds.
"How long wi’ this lafs?"

Karen chuckled at his question.
"It'll wear off in a few hours.
But until then, you're going to
have to be careful."

Plankton's antennae wiggled
with determination. "Mmph, I'm
a bih boy," he slurred.

Karen couldn't help but laugh
at his bravado. "Yes, you are,"
she said, her voice warm and
supportive. "Let's get you to
the car."

With Plankton leaning heavily
on her, they shuffled down the
hallway."

"Mmph... Kahen," Plankton slurred,
his words still thick with the
remnants of the anesthesia. "You know,
I've alwaths wanthed to know...
how youw wove me wath."

Karen raised an eyebrow, her
smile growing.

"What do you mean, Plankton?"
she asked, her curiosity
piqued by his sudden
sentimental turn.

"Mmph, wike, how... how youw...
feww in wove?" he managed,
his tongue thick and clumsy.

Karen's smile grew tender at
his earnest question. "Well, it's
complicated," she began, her voice
soft. "But I guess it started
when we met. Now, let's get in
the car."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving with understanding.
"Mmph, okay."

Karen helped him shuffle
his way out of the hospital,
his feet dragging slightly.
He was still groggy from the
anesthesia, but his curiosity
was in overdrive.

"Mmph, Kahen," Plankton
slurred, his voice barely above
a whisper. "Wha's wove wike?"
Karen glanced down at him,
his expression earnest. "It's like
when two people really, really
like each other," she replied,
her voice gentle.

"Wike... I wove youw tho 
mush." He says.

Karen couldn't help but laugh 
again. "Plankton, you're not
making any sense," she said,
her voice filled with affectionate
exasperation. His antennae
drooped slightly, his eye looking
disappointed.

"Mmph... I'm tawwy," he mumbled,
his mouth still a mess of numbness.
"It's just... I wove youw Kahen."
Karen's heart skipped a beat,
his words a sweet jumble of slurs.
"I know, Plankton," she said,
her voice thick with emotion.

They reached the car, and Karen
gently guided him into the passenger seat.

"Mmph, Kahen, wath's that?"
Plankton asked
pointing to the dashboard.

Karen chuckled. "It's the 
car's dashboard, Plankton.
You're just seeing things differently because
of the medicine." She buckled his seatbelt,
his movements exaggerated.

"Mmph, oh," he murmured, his
interest shifting to the
windshield wipers. "Mow, theath 
things, they'we like... like... arms,"
he said, his speech still a
slurry mess. Karen laughed,
shaking her head.

"They're wipers, Plankton. For
the rain," she corrected, starting
the engine.

He nodded, his antennae still
waving with fascination. "Mmph, wath's
theath wound?" he asked, pointing
at the steering wheel.

Karen couldn't help but laugh.
"That's the steering wheel,
buddy. It's what I use to drive
the car," she said, her voice
still filled with humor. Plankton
stared at it for a moment, his
expression thoughtful.

"Mmph, and theath wound?"
he asked, his finger tracing
the path of the windshield
wipers.

Karen couldn't help but
laugh. "It's to keep the
windshield clear, so we can see
while driving."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching with curiosity.
"Mmph, so many tings in this
big wowld."

Karen couldn't help but laugh,
his innocent wonder bringing
a smile to her face. "Yes,
Plankton, there are so many things
to discover," she said, backing out of
the parking spot.

"Mmph, and wath's wath?"
Plankton asked, pointing out the
window at a passing scallop.
"That's a scallop, Plankton. It flies
in the sky," she explained, her voice
still filled with amusement.

He nodded, his antennae bobbing
as he took it all in. "Wow, so-o
beautiful," he slurred, his eye
gazing out the window like a child
seeing the world for the first time.

Karen couldn't help but be
captivated by his innocent
wonder. "You know, Plankton,
sometimes you say the sweetest things
without even realizing it."

His antennae perked up. "Mmph, do I?"
he asked, his speech still a
garbled mess. Karen nodded,
her smile tender. "You do."

"Mmph, gweat," he says with a
slow nod of his head.

Karen steers the car onto the
road, the sun casting a warm
glow over Plankton's sleepy face.
His antennae wilt slightly as
his eye struggles to stay open.

"Mmph, Kahen, theath sun is so
bright," he complains, his voice
still slurred from the anesthesia.
Karen chuckles, reaching over
to adjust the visor. "Better?"

He nods, his antennae drooping.
"Mmph, yeth. Thanf you." He
said, as drool began to form
again in the corner of his
mouth. Karen reached over
with a tissue, carefully
dabbing it away. Plankton
flinched slightly, his mouth
still too numb to feel the
touch.

"Mmph, I wathn't expehcting
this," he mumbles, his gaze
fixed on the passing scenery.
The world outside the car
was a blur of colors and shapes,
his mind still trying to
make sense of it all. Karen
navigated the road, her eyes
flipping between the road
and Plankton's amusing expressions.

"Mmph, Kahen, wath's thaf?"
he asks, his eye half-closed.

Karen looks over at the
traffic light, its red light a stark
contrast to the bright sun. "It's
a stoplight, Plankton. It tells
me when to stop and go."

Plankton nods, his antennae
barely moving. "Mmph, wike a
twail." His eye closes, and Karen
can feel his weight shift slightly
toward her as sleep begins
to claim him again.

"Mmph, Kahen?" Plankton's voice
interrupts the quiet hum of the
engine, his words a soft whisper.
"Ith wike I'm swimmin' in
molasses," he says, his mouth
still not cooperating.

Karen laughs, keeping one
eye on the road and the other
on his peaceful face. "You're
just tired from the surgery,"
she assures him. "You'll be
fine once you get some rest."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye opening slightly. "But,
Kahen, I don't wan' to sleep,"
he slurred. "I wan' to expehrience
this wowld with you." His words
were earnest, his gaze
firm despite his grogginess.
She watched him fight
the tide of sleep, his eyelid
drooping again.

"Mmph, wath's theath wowndow?"
he asked, pointing at the car's side mirror.

Karen couldn't help but chuckle
at his confusion. "It's a mirror,
sweetheart," she said, her voice
soothing. "So we can see what's behind us."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
barely moving. "Mmph, wike a... wike
a... wookie," he mumbled, his speech
still a garbled mess. Karen laughed,
shaking her head. "It's okay, Plankton.
You're just tired."

His eyes grew heavier, his
lid drooping. "Mmph, I am,"
he admitted, his voice a faint
whisper. The car's gentle rocking
and the hum of the engine began to
lull him into a doze.

Karen watched him, his
snores growing louder as he
succumbed to sleep. His hand
still held hers, the connection
warm and comforting. She felt
his grip loosen slightly, his
body relaxing into the seat.

His breathing grew deep
and even, his antennae
quietly bobbing with each
exhalation. Karen couldn't help
but feel a swell of affection
for this vulnerable side of
Plankton she'd never seen before.

The car ride home was
quiet, punctuated only by
Plankton's gentle snores
and the rhythmic swish of the
windshield wipers. Karen
smiled to herself, her grip on
his hand never loosening.

new the tooth of a child wisdomtoothcore wisdomteethcore iii

CATCH IN MY CHIP ii
(Autistic author)

Chip looks at his father with
newfound understanding. He
remembers the way Plankton's
eye would sometimes glaze over
when the TV was too loud or when
the restaurant was too crowded.
He'd always assumed it was just his
dad being tired or grumpy, not that
his brain was struggling to keep up.

"So, what is it?" Chip asks,
his voice small and scared.

Karen takes a deep breath. "It's called
autism, sweetie. And it just means
that Daddy's brain works a little
differently. Sometimes, it's really
good at things, like inventing and
remembering stuff. But sometimes, it
can get overwhelmed by too much
noise or too many people or things."

Chip nods slowly, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form. "But why
doesn't he tell me?"

Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand in
hers. "Because he doesn't always
know it's happening until it's too
late. And sometimes, talking about it
can make it harder for him." She looks
up at her son with a gentle smile.
"But now that you know, you can help
him. Like giving him space when
he needs it, or turning down the TV."
Chip nods, his mind racing. He's
always thought his dad was a little
weird, but now he knows it's not just
weirdness. It's something real, something
that makes him who he is. He looks
back at Plankton, feeling a mix of
concern and curiosity.

He goes and touches 
his dad's arm,
his heart racing.
"Dad, wake up," Chip cries,
his hand shaking slightly.

But Karen steps in, placing 
a comforting hand on Chip's 
shoulder. "Let's give him some 
space, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving his dad's still form.
He retreats to the corner 
of the room, clutching his 
newly acquired seashell 
collection tightly to his chest. 
His mind races with questions,
but fear keeps his mouth shut.
He watches as his mom pulls
the curtains, dimming the light
to a gentle glow that seems to
ease the tension in the room.

The quiet is almost deafening
now, the only sound the faint
hum of the Chum Bucket's 
air-conditioning. Chip sits
cross-legged on the floor,
his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion.
He'd always known his dad was
unique, but he didn't realize
it was something so... serious.

Karen sits beside Plankton,
speaking in hushed tones. "It's okay,
dear," she says, stroking his arm.
"Just breathe." Plankton's body
twitches slightly, his eye still
open and unseeing. Chip watches,
wishing he could do something to
help.

He tries to be patient,
his mind racing with questions
about what just happened.
Why couldn't Dad handle his stories
and his energy? Why did he just...
shut down? He'd never seen
anyone react that way before.

Chip's curiosity gets the
better of him, and he tiptoes closer
to the bed, peering over his mom's
shoulder. Plankton's eye is still
staring off into space, and his
breathing is still shallow. "Mom,
what's autism?" He whispers.

Karen glances over at him,
her expression a mix of love
and sadness. "It's a condition
that affects how people process
information, honey," she says, her
voice soft. "Some things that are
easy for you and me, like talking
and being around lots of noise, can
be really hard for Daddy."

Chip's eyes widen with
realization. "So, when I was
sharing all my stories and showing
him my stuff, I was being too loud
and moving too much?"

Karen nods. "Sometimes,
yes. It's like if you were trying
to read a book in the middle
of a rock concert. It's hard to focus."

Chip looks down at his sandy
hands, feeling a pang of guilt.
"I didn't know," he murmurs.

Karen smiles sadly. "It's okay,
Chip. We didn't tell you because
we didn't want you to think of
your dad as different. But now that
you know, you can help us take care of
him."

Chip nods solemnly, watching
his mom gently guide Plankton to
a more comfortable position on the
bed. "How do we help him?"

Karen sighs. "Well, for starters,
we give him some space when
he needs it. And when he's feeling
better, we can talk about it, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes glued to
his dad's still form. He wants to
help, but he doesn't know how.
He watches as his mom covers
Plankton with a blanket, her movements
gentle and soothing. "What do we
do now?"

Karen looks at him, her expression
full of warmth. "Now, we wait."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II ii

CHIP AND THE DILEMMA ii
(Autistic author)

| ᴺᵉᵍᵃᵗⁱᵛⁱᵗʸ ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ |

Karen's eyes widen, and
she quickly takes in the
situation. She's seen this
before—his meltdowns.
They've become less frequent,
but when they happen, they
hit hard. She turns to Chip,
placing a hand on his
shoulder. "Chip, honey, why don't
you go wash up for dinner?"
Her voice is calm, but firm.

Chip's screen flicked between his
dad and mom, not fully
understanding. "But Dad
said we're doing the solar
system after dinner," he
protests weakly.

Karen gives him a gentle
nudge towards the door. "It's
ok, sweetie. I'll take care of
this. You go ahead."

Reluctantly, Chip
backs out of the room.
He's worried, but he trusts
his mom.

Karen closes the door
behind Chip, turning her
full attention to Plankton.
His breathing is still
erratic, his eye unfocused.

"It's okay," she whispers,
moving closer to him. She's
learned over the years that
proximity can be both a
comfort and a trigger. She
treads carefully.

Plankton flinches at
her approach, but she's
quick to respond, retreating
slightly. She knows better
than to push to hard.

"You're having a hard time,"
she says softly, her voice
soothing. "Do you want me
to turn off the light?"

Plankton nods, his eye
squeezed shut. The dimness
of the room helps, but the
noise of Chip's retreating
footsteps echoes like thunder.
Karen moves to the window,
drawing the curtains to block
the setting sun, plunging the
room into a comforting
gloom. She sits down next to
Plankton, not touching him,
but close enough to be there.
He takes a shaky breath.

"Talk to me, love," Karen
coaxes. "What triggered it?"

Plankton's eye are still
closed, but his breathing
steadies. "Chip," he
manages. "Chip's touch. It was
too much."

Karen nods. She's always been
his rock, but she hates
seeing him like this. She
knows the stress of hiding
his autism has taken a toll on
him. "We should tell him,"
she says gently. "He's old
enough to understand."

Plankton's eye flies open,
his panic rising again. "No,"
he says firmly. "He doesn't
need to know."

Karen sighs, stroking his
back gently. "He deserves to
know, Plankton. He loves
you and he's worried about
you."

Plankton's body relaxes a
little, the sound of Karen's
voice like a balm to his
frayed nerves. "I know,"
he admits.

Karen nods, understanding
the fear behind his words.
"But think about it," she says.
"He's going to notice
things. It's better if we
explain it to him on our
terms, rather than him
figuring conclusions and feeling
alone or scared."

Plankton looks at
Karen, his expression a mix
of fear and resignation.

"Perhaps when the ringing
in my ears dwindles," he says, his
voice shaking. "I know, we can't keep
it from him forever."

Karen nods, her screen filled
with empathy. "Whenever you're
ready," she says. "We'll do it
together."

Plankton takes a deep
breath, his mind racing with
thoughts of how to explain
his condition to Chip. He
knows it won't be easy, but
his son deserves the truth.

Dinner is a subdued affair,
both Chip and Karen watching
Plankton closely, noticing
his lack of appetite and the
faraway look in his eye.
Chip keeps his questions to
himself, sensing his dad's
discomfort. After dinner, Karen
breaks the silence.

"Chip, why don’t we all go to
your room?" she suggests,
trying to keep her voice
light.

Chip nods, leading the way
as Plankton follows, his steps
slow and measured. Karen
can feel the tension in his
body as he tries to keep
his composure.

Once in Chip's room,
Plankton sits on the edge of
his bed, looking around.

Chip notices the
uncharacteristic stillness in
his father's posture, the
way his antennae droop slightly.

"What's going on?" he asks,
his voice a mix of confusion
and concern.

Karen sits beside Plankton,
her hand resting gently on his.
"Chip, your dad has something
important to tell you."

Chip looks at them both, his
screen wide. "What is it?"

Plankton takes a deep breath.
"Chip," he starts, his voice
shaking slightly. "There's
something you should know
about me." Chip looks
between his mom and dad. "What
is it?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton takes a moment,
his eye scanning the room
as if searching for the right
words. "I'm... different, Chip,"
he finally says, his gaze
locking onto Chip's. "I have a
condition, called..."

“Oh, Dad! Will get better?”
Chip asks. “It’s gonna go
away, right?”
Plankton’s eye fills with
sorrow as he shakes his
head. “No, Chip, it doesn’t..."

But before he can finish,
Chip gasps. 

“It’s called autism, Chip,”
Karen says gently, filling the
silence.

Chip frowns, his mind racing.
“What’s that?” He’s heard the
word before, but it’s always
been in whispers or as a
punchline in a joke at school.
He doesn’t understand.

Plankton sighs heavily. "It's
a... the way my brain works,"
he explains, his antennae
twitching with nerves. "It's like
I experience the world through a
different way than you do."

Chip's eyes widen, his mind
swirling with questions. "So,
you're like... broken?" he asks,
his voice filled with innocent
concern.

Plankton flinches at the
word, his heart sinking. He's
always feared this moment,
wondered how his son would react.
"No, Chip," he says, trying to
keep his voice steady. "It's not
like that. Autism is just part of
who I am."

But Chip's mind is racing. "You,
you're like... not normal?" He
can't hide the worry in his tone.

Plankton's eye flickers with
pain at the question, but
he nods. "It's just a
different way of 
things, buddy! It doesn't
make me less..."

But Chip's mind is already
made up. "So you can't be
fixed?" he blurts out, his
tone filled with disappointment.

Plankton's antennae droop. "There's
nothing to fix," Karen says,
interrupting gently. "Different,
not broken. Autism is just a
part of who your father is."

But Chip can't shake the
word from his mind. "Autistic."
He's heard it before in
whispers at school, thrown
around like an insult. He looks
at Plankton, his hero, his
rock. But the damage is done.
In Chip's gaze, his dad is no
longer just quirky or unique—
he's broken, like a toy that's
missing a piece.

"Chip," Karen says gently,
"autism isn't something that
can be fixed or taken
away. It's part of who your
dad is, and it's what makes
him special."

Chip looks at his
mother, his expression
confused. "But if he's
different, doesn't that mean
he's not as good?"

Karen's screen fills with sadness,
but she remains calm. "No,
Chip," she says firmly. "Being
different doesn't mean
being less. It just means
seeing the world in a
different way. And your dad,
he's incredible in so many
ways. He's smart, and he's
kind, and he loves you
more than anything."

new chip and the dilemma Chip Plankton II ii

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD ii

The nurse finished up the
paperwork and handed it to Karen.
"You're all set to go home
once Mr. Plankton is ready.
Just remember, he'll need to take
it easy for a few days. No
solid food, only soft things like
soups and mashed potatoes."

Karen nodded, her gaze
still locked on Plankton's
fascinated expression. "I've got it
covered," she said. Plankton,
seemingly oblivious to the
instructions, was busy poking
his cheeks with his fingers,
his mouth still numb and frozen.

He looked up at her, his
eye twinkling. "Kay... Kahen...
anotha... anotha teeth."
The nurse had left the room,
leaving them in a quiet
solitude punctuated only by
the rhythmic beeping of the
monitors and the occasional
swish of hospital curtains.

Karen couldn't resist the
urge to laugh. "You're
already asking for more?"
she teased. Plankton shrugged, his
expression as goofy as a puppy's.
"Ith... wothless... wifout...
wisdom," he mumbled.

Her amusement grew.
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment
to the teeth or an insult to
me," she said playfully.

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his cheeks flushing a brighter shade
of pink. "Mmph... no, no... gwed...
wisdom..." he insisted, his speech
still slurred. Karen couldn't help but
smile at his earnestness.

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind,"
she said, her voice filled with affectionate
sarcasm. "So, what's the first thing
you want to do when we get home?"

Plankton's antennae twitched with excitement.
"Mmph... mow... wock?" he slurred, his voice
muffled by the anesthesia.

Karen raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden
interest in music. "You want to rock?"
she repeated, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Plankton nodded vigorously, his antennae bobbing.
"Mmhmm," he managed, his mouth still
refusing to cooperate. "Wock and wowl."

Karen couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, okay. I'll
make sure to have some rock music ready
for when we get home." Plankton's eye lit up,
his enthusiasm clear despite the numbness.

"Gweat," he murmured, his antennae swaying
to an unheard melody. Karen watched him,
his normally stoic face now a canvas of
comical expressions and muffled sounds. It was
surreal to see him like this, but she
found his vulnerability endearing.

"But first, we need to get you home,"
she said, her voice a gentle reminder
of reality. Plankton nodded, his
eye closing in exhaustion. He leaned
his head back on the pillow, his
snoring resuming its soft crescendo.

The nurse returned to check on them.
"Looks like he's comfortable," she said
with a smile. "You can take him home
whenever you're ready." Karen nodded,
still watching Plankton's peaceful face.

"Mmph... Kahen?" Plankton's eye
opened again, searching for her.
"Ca-- we go now?" he slurred, his voice
laced with hope. Karen couldn't resist the
urge to lean over and kiss his forehead.
"Soon, buddy," she whispered.

He nodded, his antennae waving
sluggishly. His hand found hers again,
his grip firm despite his grogginess.
Karen felt her heart melt at his
determination. "Mmph... I teww you 'notha
tink?" he mumbled, his smile hopeful.

"Sure," she said, leaning closer.

"Wheh, mmmph... the dentist
made every ting awwright, yet
firsh, they saith I woul’ be in
surgery. Bu’ they didn’t even
cuth me openth! They jus’
made every ting go woozy,"
Plankton slurred. "Then youw
face wath theath wight bulb on
top."

Karen couldn't stop herself from
laughing. "What are you talking
about, Plankton?" she asked, her voice
filled with warmth.

He tried to enunciate, his
lips moving awkwardly. "Mmph, Kahen,
the dentist... they... they put me to
sweep wi’out cutting me." His
words were jumbled. Karen's curiosity
piqued, she leaned in closer.

"What do you mean, without cutting you?"
she questioned, her voice filled
with gentle amusement.

Plankton's antennae waved wildly.
"Mmph, they goth me all sleepy and
then I woke up wifout getting cuth!"
he exclaimed, his words still thick.

Karen couldn't contain her laughter.
"They didn't cut you because they already
took your teeth out while you were asleep,"
she explained, her voice a blend of humor
and affection.

Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye
looking disappointed. "Mmph, oh... I wath
expehcting a magith trick." He slumped
back into the pillow.

Karen chuckled, stroking his
hand. "It's like magic, isn't it?"
she said, her voice light. "You
went to sleep with four extra teeth
and woke up with none."

Plankton's antennae shot up again.
"Ma... ma... magic?" he repeated,
his voice filled with wonder.
Karen nodded. "In a way, yes.
They used sleepy medicine so you
wouldn't feel a thing."

He stared at her, his eye wide
with fascination. "Wow, Kahen.
They're wike wizawds!" he exclaimed,
his speech still slurred but his
enthusiasm unmistakable. Karen laughed
again, her heart feeling lighter.

"Mmph, can they make me
fwee too?" Plankton asked,
his voice filled with hope. Karen
shook her head, her smile never
leaving her lips. "Sorry, Plankton.
Only in your dreams."

He pouted, his cheeks puffing
out like a chipmunk's. "Mmph, no fun."
His eye grew heavy again, his body
still feeling the weight of the
anesthesia. Karen stood, gently
squeezing his hand. "Let's get you
up, okay?"

With a groan, Plankton
managed to push himself into
a sitting position, his legs
dangling over the side of the bed.
Karen supported him, her arm
wrapped around his shoulder. His
head lolled to one side.

"Mmph... wath... whath... 
whath's that?"

Plankton's voice was a muffled
mess, his words tripping over
his still-numb tongue. Karen
followed his gaze to the
plastic cup of water.

"Mmph... wath's in thef?"
he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Karen laughed gently. "It's for rinsing,
buddy. To keep your mouth clean."
Plankton nodded, his antennae
still waving with excitement.

The nurse stepped in to help,
handing him the cup filled with
water. "Here, take
a sip."

Plankton's antennae waved
nervously as he took the cup,
his hand trembling. He took
a tentative sip, his mouth
filling with the cold liquid. "Ah, gwed,"
he slurred, his speech still
affected by the anesthesia.

Karen watched him with
amusement. "You're doing great,"
she encouraged, her voice
soothing. Plankton managed
a wobbly nod. "Mmph... wath's nxt?"

"Now, we just need to get
you home,"
she said, her eyes sparkling
with mirth. Plankton's antennae
drooped slightly. "Mmph... dawes?"

Karen nodded, her smile
never fading. "Yes, darling,
we're going home now." Plankton's
eye lit up with excitement,
his slurred speech a cute contrast
to his usual sharp wit.

new the tooth of a child wisdomtoothcore wisdomteethcore ii

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY viii
(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his grip on Plankton's wrists
loosening. "What
accident?" he asks, his voice
filled with dread.

Plankton's smile is gone,
replaced by a look of sadness.
"Head," he says, his voice
a barely-there whisper. "Hurt." He
touches his forehead gently,
his antennas drooping.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen with
realization, his grip on Plankton's
wrists loosening entirely. "You
got hurt?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "What happened?"

Plankton nods, his antennas
still drooping.

Sponge Bob's confusion
grows, his anger replaced
with worry. "What do you
mean?" he asks, his voice
softening. "What happened to
your head?"

Plankton's antennas twitch, his
smile a distant memory. "Fall," 
he says, his voice a monotone.

Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat.
"You fell?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "When? How?"

Plankton nods, his eye
flickering with something
akin to pain. "Recently," he says,
his voice flat. "Head bad."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock,
his mind racing with questions.
"You fell and hurt your head?" he
repeats, his voice filled with
disbelief. "Why didn't you tell
me?"

Plankton's gaze drops to his book,
his hands fluttering over the
pages. "No tell," he whispers, his
voice filled with regret. "Shame."

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
understanding, his anger
evaporating like mist in the sun.
"Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice
soft. "You didn't have to keep
this to yourself."

Plankton's smile is a
pale imitation of his usual
self, his antennas still. "No good,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible. "Head hurt. Plankton bad."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry as he tries to
comprehend his friend's cryptic
words. "You're not bad, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You've
just had an accident."

Plankton's gaze remains fixed
on the book, his hands
flapping over the pages. "No,"
he says, his voice a sad echo.
"Head bad. Plankton bad." His body
slumps, his usual vibrant energy
dimmed by his distress.

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with sadness as he tries to
comfort his friend. "You're not
bad, Plankton," he says, his voice
soothing. "You're just hurt right?"

Plankton's antennas twitch slightly,
his hand stilling on the book. "Hurt,"
he echoes, his voice a monotone.
"Inside head." He taps his forehead,
his eye searching Sponge Bob's
for understanding. "Grey matter.
Neural pathways."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
confusion growing. "What do
you mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "What's
going on with your brain?"

Plankton's hand continues to
tap his forehead, his voice
detached. "Neurochemicals," he says,
his voice a robotic recital. "Synaptic
connections. Autism." His smile
is a mere memory, his eye
glazed over with a faraway look.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes in his
chest, his mind racing. "You're
talking about your brain," he says,
his voice tentative. "What's wrong
with it?"

Plankton's hand stops tapping,
his gaze focusing on Sponge Bob.
"Wiring," he says, his voice a
monotone explanation. "Neuro-
typical patterns disrupted affect
the parts of brain when result
in autism." His words are precise,
his tone devoid of emotion.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen with
comprehension, his spongy heart
sinking. "You're saying you have
autism now?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton nods, his eye
still fixed on the book. "Neurotypical
divergence," he confirms, his voice
still devoid of emotion. "Synaptic
variance, myelination discrepancies."
He speaks in a monotone, his words
sounding rehearsed and mechanical.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears,
his heart breaking for his friend.
"What does that mean, Plankton?"
he asks, his voice shaking.
"Does that mean you're not okay?"

Plankton's gaze remains on
the book, his hand tracing the
spine. "Neuro-typical divergence,"
he repeats, his voice a flat
recitation of medical terms.
"Synaptic connections altered.
Atypical neural patterns. Autism."
He speaks as if recounting
a scientific paper, his tone
lacking any personal connection.
"When hit head, damaged the
myelination," he says, his hand
continuing its mechanical movement
against the book. "Myelination is
the insulation around the axons
that speeds up the nerve impulses 
made in a part of brain we call
the cerebral cortex. My cerebral
cortex now restricts, slows
down impulses."

Sponge Bob listens, his
mind racing to keep up with
Plankton's sudden shift in
vocabulary. "But what does that
mean?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "How'd the
damage give you autism?"

Plankton's hand stops
its movement along the book.
"Neurodivergence," he says, his
voice a clinical recount. "My brain
now operates outside typical
parameters. Synaptic pruning,
myelination patterns altered.
Atypical neural networks formed."
He speaks as if discussing a
complex scientific experiment,
his words a jumble of medical
terminology that Sponge Bob
barely understands.

"Does that mean you're not okay?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice
filled with fear.

Plankton's hand stills on the book,
his gaze unfocused. "Functional
diversity," he says, his voice
a hollow echo of the medical
lingo he's been taught. "Neurodivergence
can lead to unique cognitive
strengths, but also challenges."
He taps the book, his antennas
waving slightly. "My brain's wiring
changed," he says, his voice
a monotone. "Synaptic clefts
widened, neurotransmitters less
efficient. Restricted blood flow to
temporal lobes."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with a mix of confusion and
fear. "Does that mean you can't
be... fixed?" he asks, his voice
small.

Plankton's antennas twitch,
his gaze still unfocused. "Can't fix,"
he echoes, his voice a sad
recitation. "Neuroplasticity, yes.
Rewire, adapt. But cerebral
cortex, permanent. Autism, permanent."

Sponge Bob's eyes are wide,
his mind reeling with the
complexity of Plankton's words.
"But, Plankton," he says, his voice
quivering. "What about the Krabby
Patties? Your plans?"

Plankton's gaze snaps up, his
hands still. "No plans," he says,
his voice a sad echo. "No more steal."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his heart racing. "You don't want
to steal the Krabby Patties anymore?"
he asks, his voice filled with
hope and disbelief.

Plankton's antennas droop, his
hands flapping slightly. "No more
schemes," he whispers, his voice a
monotone. "No more steal." His eye
meet Sponge Bob's, a flicker of
his old mischief briefly shining
through. "But," he adds, his
smile mischievous, "still have
competitive spirit." His hands
begin to flap with excitement.

Sponge Bob's heart soars with
relief, a smile spreading across
his face. "So, you're still
the same Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with hope. "Just...
different. Ok, cool!"

Plankton nods, his smile a
ghostly reflection of his usual
self. "Different," he repeats, his
voice a sad echo. "But still
have friend?" His antennas
wave slightly, his eye searching
Sponge Bob's for reassurance.

Sponge Bob's heart swells with
affection. "Of course, Plankton,"
he says, his voice firm. "We're
still friends. Nothing can
change that." He squeezes
Plankton's shoulder, trying
to convey his support. 

new karen and the autistic journey corpus callosum anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) braincore autismcore headinjuryposting neurodivergentcore neurodisability viii

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON ii
(Autistic author)

The doctor stepped in, 
his tentacles moving 
gently as he spoke. 
"Mr. Plankton, it's 
important to stay 
calm. This is a 
big change. Can
you tell me your name?"

Plankton's gaze 
flicked from Karen 
to Dr. Kelp, his 
expression a mask 
of confusion. 
"I'm Plankton," he 
managed to say, his 
voice shaky.

The doctor nodded, 
his tentacles still 
and calm. "Good. That's 
good, Mr. Plankton. Do 
you know where you 
are?"

Plankton's eye 
darted around the 
room again, his 
breathing growing 
rapid and shallow. 
He looked down
and then back up at 
Karen. "What's happening?"
he repeated for the third 
time, his voice 
now a little more 
frantic.

Karen's heart 
was in her throat. 
The doctor's 
explanation was 
beginning to take 
root in her mind, 
and she could see 
the stark reality 
of their situation. 
Plankton's repetition, 
his difficulty with 
understanding new 
surroundings and his 
increased sensitivity 
to sound—these were 
all hallmarks of his 
new autism.

The doctor 
continued his 
assessment.

"Mr. Plankton, 
can you tell me 
your wife's name?" 
he prompted.

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to Karen, 
his expression 
becoming more 
focused, as if her 
presence was the 
only familiar 
thing in the room. 
"Karen," he said, 
his voice 
softening slightly.

The doctor 
nodded, making 
a note on his 
clipboard. "Good. 
Now, can you tell 
me what happened 
before you woke up?"

Plankton's eye 
flitted back to 
Karen, searching 
for answers. 

He began to 
rock slightly, his 
body moving in 
a rhythmic 
motion, a common 
self-soothing behavior 
for those on the 
autism spectrum. 
Karen recognized 
it immediately
but seeing it in 
Plankton was 
jarring.

His gaze darted 
around the room, 
his pupil dilating 
with every new 
sound or movement. 
The doctor's tentacles 
were a blur of 
activity making notes.

"Mr. Plankton, I 
see you're feeling 
You're almost ready
to go back home
with Karen." Dr. Kelp 
says calmly. "Just
one more question, 
if you don't mind. Now, 
can you tell me if you
have any pets?"

Plankton's eye
flitted around the 
room. "Pets? Spot!
Yes, Spot. Amoeba
puppy; Spot.."

The doctor nodded, 
his tentacles 
still scribbling notes. 
"Very good, Mr. Plankton. 
It seems like your long-term 
memory is intact, which is a 
positive sign. Now Karen can
take you home!"

Karen felt a 
wave of relief 
crash over her, but 
it was tinged with 
the stark reality that 
their life was never 
going to be the same. 
Plankton's autistic 
mannerisms were 
now a constant 
reminder of the 
accident—his 
newfound need for 
routine, his heightened 
sensitivity to 
surroundings, and the 
way his eye would 
dance around the room 
as he tried to 
make sense of 
his environment.

As they arrived home, the 
stark reality of their new 
life hit Karen like a wave. 
His once-quick steps had 
been replaced with a 
cautious shuffle, as if the 
very floor beneath him was 
unpredictable.

Inside, Plankton 
was drawn to the 
rhythmic ticking of the 
grandfather clock, 
his eye fixated on the 
second hand's journey. 
Karen watched him. His 
newfound need for 
predictability was 
overwhelmingly apparent.

"Let's sit down," 
she suggested, 
guiding him to their 
couch, which was 
now occupied by
Spot.

Plankton's gaze 
flitted around the 
living room, 
his eye alighting 
on his beloved
amoeba puppy
Spot.

"Spot," he murmured, 
his voice tentative, 
as if unsure if 
his words would 
have the same 
effect they once did.
The pup looked up 
at him, its blob-like 
form shifting 
slightly with excitement.

But instead of the
weariness Plankton 
has shown today, he
joyfully watched Spot's 
movements. Karen felt a 
moment of warmth—
his love for Spot hadn't
changed, nor their usual
interactions.

The doctor had 
told her that routines 
were vital for those 
with his condition. So,
she decided to start 
their day with a 
familiar activity: 
breakfast.

Plankton's eye
lit up at the 
sight of the 
familiar kitchen. 
He took his usual 
seat at the table, 
his hands fidgeting 
with the napkin. Karen
noticed his meticulous
arrangement of his 
silverware, the way 
he lined up his plate 
and cup perfectly 
parallel to the edges.

As she prepared 
their meal, she 
could feel his 
gaze on her, 
his eye darting 
between her and 
Spot, who was now 
playfully chasing 
his own tail in a 
loop around the 
living room.
He began to 
hum a tune, 
his voice off-key 
and repetitive. 
Karen's with love 
despite the 
pain she felt.

The clanging 
of pans was 
loud in the 
silence, making 
Plankton flinch—this 
was going to be 
so much harder 
than she had 
anticipated.

The doctor's 
instructions echoed 
in her mind: 
stick to routine, 
keep things simple.

Karen set the 
breakfast plates 
down carefully, 
each item placed 
exactly where 
Plankton liked it.
His eye grew wide 
as she slid his plate 
closer. He stared at 
the food for a 
moment, then picked 
up his spoon.

The clink of 
metal on porcelain 
was like a gunshot 
to his heightened 
sensitivity. He 
dropped the spoon, 
his hands shooting up 
to cover his head in
distress.

"It's okay, 
sweetheart," Karen 
soothed, moving 
quickly to 
his side. She 
retrieved the 
spoon and set it 
aside, her hand 
trembling slightly.

"You don't 
have to eat 
right now," she 
said softly, her voice 
a gentle caress 
against the tension 
in the room.

Plankton 
nodded slightly, his 
breathing slowing as 
his hands uncovered 
his ears. He 
fidgeted in his 
chair, his eye
darting to the 
ceiling as if 
searching for something.

"Let's go read
a book," Karen suggested, 
desperate to find 
anything that might 
calm his nerves.

Plankton nodded 
slightly, his gaze 
still unfocused. He 
stood up carefully, 
his body moving 
with the precision 
of a man who knew 
his world had changed.

As they approached 
the bookshelf, 
his eye caught 
a glint of metal 
from the corner 
of the room. 
The invention 
that had brought 
them here lay in 
a tangled heap, 
its wires and gears 
silent and 
ominous, giving
him déjà vu.

Plankton stopped, 
his body rigid, 
his gaze locked 
on the machine. 
He stared unblinking, 
his mind racing 
back to the crash.

Karen notices his
suddenly unmoving
form and gets concerned.

"Plankton?" she calls
softly, but he doesn't
react.

His entire being 
seemed to be 
consumed by the 
wreckage of his 
former life.

The invention, a 
testament to his 
former brilliance, 
now a grim 
reminder of the 
accident.

"Plankton, honey," 
Karen's voice was 
barely a whisper 
as she tried to 
get him to talk. 
He didn't move.

The invention, a 
tangled web of 
wires and gears, 
seemed to hold 
his gaze captive. 
It was the very 
machine that had 
caused this 
transformation.

Karen followed 
his gaze, her heart 
sinking as she 
realized the source 
of his distress.

"Let's go to 
another room," she 
suggested gently, 
her hand resting 
on his arm. 
But he didn't move.

Karen felt the 
weight of the 
moment settle 
heavily on her 
shoulders. It was 
time to face the 
reality of their new 
life together—a 
life where Plankton's 
once sharp wit and 
innovative spirit 
were now clouded by 
a disorder she 
was only beginning to
understand.

Her heart 
swelled with 
sorrow as she 
observed his 
interaction with 
the inanimate objects 
around him. The 
love she had for 
him remained 
unshaken, but the 
thought of what 
they had lost—what 
he had lost—was 
almost too much to 
bear.

"Come on," she 
coaxed, her voice 
gentle as a lullaby. 
"Let's go to the 
living room. I'll 
read you a story?"

Yet Plankton remains
frozen. So Karen made a 
decision. She 
couldn't bear the 
thought of that 
accursed machine 
looming over them, 
a constant 
reminder of the 
tragic turn their lives 
had taken.

With a fierce 
determination she 
hadn't felt in 
ages, she strode 
over to the invention 
and began to dismantle 
it, piece by painful 
piece.

The metal 
clanked and clattered 
as she worked, 
her movements 
quick and sure, 
each part coming 
off with a 
satisfying crunch. 
Plankton's eye 
followed her, his 
expression unreadable.

When the last 
piece was removed, 
his gaze lifted 
to meet hers, 
his eye filled 
with something 
that looked akin 
to gratitude.

"Thank you, Karen," 
Plankton murmured, 
his voice a 
quiet rumble in 
the stillness of the 
now bare room.

Karen paused in 
her task, her eyes 
meeting his with a 
surprised expression. 
This was the first
time since the 
accident that he had 
spoken to her with 
anything other than 
fear or confusion.

"You're welcome," 
she said, her voice 
choked with emotion.

new neurobehavioral plankton plaren ii

GREAT CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his face etched with lines
of fatigue. "It's not that I don't
want your affection," he said,
his voice hoarse. "I just need it
in a way that doesn't make me feel...
like I'm in a minefield."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his mind racing to understand.
"How do you mean?" he asked,
his curiosity genuine.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae twitching as he searched
for the right words. "It's like...
sometimes, a simple touch can feel
like an electric shock," he began,
his voice strained. "Or like I'm being
smothered by a heavy blanket of sound."

Chip's eyes widened, trying to
comprehend. "But you've always
hugged mom," he said, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly.
"It's different with your mother,"
he explained, his voice a little
less strained. "She knows me,
she knows my limits. And she's...
patient." He paused, his eye
flickering with something
resembling sadness. "But others,
it's..."

Chip leaned in, his curiosity
piqued. "What about others?"
he asked gently.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his expression tightening.
"With others, it's... unpredictable,"
he said, his voice a mix of
frustration and resignation.
"Some days I can handle a pat
on the back, and others, it's like
being stabbed."

Chip's eyes widened, his hand
instinctively moving to his chest.
"It's that intense?" he whispered.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving slightly. "Some days are
worse than others," he said, his voice
soft. "But when it's bad, it feels like
I'm being bombarded from all sides.
It's...overwhelming."

Chip's brow furrowed as he
tried to imagine the intensity
his dad described. "What can I do
to make sure I don't hurt you?"
he asked, his voice earnest.

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly, his eye searching Chip's
face. "Just be mindful," he said,
his voice softer than before. "Watch
for my cues. If I look overwhelmed,
if I flinch, just...give me space."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's. "What are
the cues?" he asked, eager to learn.
"How do I know when you're in that
'minefield'?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching for the right words.
"Well, my antennae might twitch a lot,
I might get really quiet, or I might
get louder. It's different
every time."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's face.
"So, if you're in that 'minefield',
I should just...?"

"You can be there,"
Plankton finished for him,
his antennae still. "But not too close.
Make sure to get your mother."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with the new information.
He'd always known his dad
was special, but this was
a new kind of understanding.

"What about sounds?" he asked,
his voice tentative. "What noises
set you off?"

Plankton sighed, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's not just
about the loudness," he began,
his eye searching the ceiling
as if for an answer. "It's more about
the pitch, the suddenness. Like when
you scratch or drop something.."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
realization. "Oh," he murmured.
"So, it's like a surprise attack?"

Plankton's antennae nodded.
"Exactly," he said, his voice
sounding a bit less strained.
"But it's not just about the
sounds themselves. It's about
how my brain interprets them."

Chip leaned in, his eyes
filled with curiosity.
"But how did you get it, Dad?"
he asked, his voice soft.
"Was it from something you caught
or something that happened?"

Plankton's antennae waved
in frustration. "It's not like that,"
he said, his voice sharp. "I was born
with it. It's just the way
my brain is developed, and it's not
like getting a cold!" His eye
was intense, his voice rising.

Chip's eyes widened, taking
in his father's outburst.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae dropping slightly.

"I know you didn't mean it like that,"
he said, his voice softer. "But it's
important to understand that it's
not something I can just get over.
It's a part of how I am."

Chip nodded, feeling the weight
of his father's words. "I'm sorry,"
he said, his voice barely audible. "I..."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his eye softening. "It's okay," he said.
"I know you didn't mean to upset me.
It's just...it's a lot to explain."

Chip nodded, feeling a pang
of guilt. He knew his dad
wasn't mad at him, but it was
still hard to see him so upset.

Plankton's eye searched his son's
face, the anger slowly fading
into something softer. "Look," he said,
his voice low. "I know it's a lot to take in,
but I need you to know that I l-love you."

Chip felt a tear slide down
his cheek. "I love you too, Dad,"
he managed to say, his voice
choking with emotion. "But I don't
want you to be in pain."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his expression a mix of love and
sorrow. "I know," he said. "And that's why
we're talking about this. So you can
understand, so you know."

Chip sniffled, trying to hold back
his tears. "But why didn't you tell
me sooner?" he asked, his voice
small.

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his face etched with regret.
"I was afraid," he admitted.
"Afraid that you'd think
I was broken. That you'd...
not love me the same. And
I don't usually like to talk
about it to much."

Chip felt his heart ache.
"Dad," he said, his voice
steady despite his emotions.
"I could never think of you
as broken. You're the smartest
person I know. And you're
my hero."

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly at the words, his eye
filling with warmth. "But you don't
see me like that when I'm...
in that state," he said, his voice
barely a whisper. "You stared at me like I'm
to be feared."

Chip's eyes widened, a look
of horror crossing his face. "Dad, no!"
he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to!"

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his expression one of defeat.
"It's okay, Chip," he said, his voice
resigned. "It's hard to explain. It's not
like I can control it."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with questions and fears. He knew
his dad wasn't broken, but he wished
there was something he could do to ease
his pain. "What happens when
you're in that state?" he asked, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye closed as he tried to
explain. "It's like my brain's in a
whirlwind, and I can't get out,"
he said. "Everything's spinning,
and I can't focus on anything."

"But why do you get so upset
when it happens?" he pressed.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae stilling. "Because
I don't know what's happening,"
he said, his voice strained. "And when
it's over, I don't remember."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his heart breaking for him. "But
why don't you remember?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye opening slightly. "It's like
waking up from a deep sleep,"
he murmured. "I know I've been
somewhere, but the details are
always fuzzy."

Chip nodded, trying to imagine
his dad's world. "What do you see?"
he asked, his voice filled with awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye focusing on a spot on the wall.
"It's like...colors and shapes,"
he said, his voice distant. "They're all
swirling around, so fast that I can't
make sense of them."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
wonder. "Is it like a kaleidoscope?"
he asked, his voice filled with
awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly,
his eye opening a bit wider. "In a way,"
he murmured. "But it's more...
dis..."

The door to the room creaked open,
interrupting his thought. Karen stepped in,
her eyes darting between Chip and Plankton.
The tension in the air was palpable,
but she offered a small smile of encouragement.
"Chip, Plankton; how long have you been up?"

Chip glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
"A while, Mom," he said, his voice thick
with the weight of their conversation.

new great chip learncore vi

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ii

(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a journey to autism plaren memorycore ii

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ii
(Autistic author)

The next morning, Karen woke up to
find Plankton still asleep, his hand
still clutching hers. She gently
pulled her hand away and stood up.

Plankton's snores echoed 
through the quiet room. Karen 
studied his peaceful expression, his 
features softer in sleep, and felt a
surge of affection for the man she
had married so many years ago.

In the cold light of day, the reality
of his condition settled in. 
He was different, but she 
would not let that change the way
she saw him. As a robot, Karen
understood the importance of
adjusting to new situations, and
this was no exception.

As Plankton stirred, she quickly
moved to his side, ready to face
whatever challenges the day 
might bring. His eye opened,
looking around the room
before settling on her.

"Karen," he said, his voice
still flat, but with a hint of
recognition.

"Good morning, Plankton," she
replied.
This was their first day facing
his autism together, and she had
spent the night
preparing.

Plankton sat up, his eye
locking onto hers. "Morning," he
repeated. His movements were
slow, deliberate, as if his brain
was processing each action. "Would
you like some breakfast?" she asked.

He nodded.
"No vault," he murmured, and she
could see the beginnings of a frown.
Karen nodded, knowing that
his obsessions might become more
pronounced. "It's okay," she said.
"We don't need the vault."

Plankton's eye searched her face,
his expression unreadable. "No
vault," he repeated, his voice
rising slightly. "Good."

Karen nodded. "Let's start the
day," she suggested, trying to
shift the focus. She led him to the
tiny kitchen area, the smell of
chum wafting through the air.

Plankton followed her, his steps
measured and precise. His gaze
flitted around the room, taking
in every detail. 

"Would you like eggs or chum?"
she asked.
"Both," he said, his voice clearer 
than before.

Karen nodded, cracking an egg
over the sizzling pan. Plankton sat
at the table, rocking back and forth
slightly. It was clear that
his senses were heightened, every
sound and smell more intense than
before.

"Here's your breakfast, Plankton,"
she said, placing the plate in front
of him. His gaze fixated on the
food, his eye narrowing as if
studying a complex puzzle. "Thank
you," he said, the words coming out
mechanically.

But as Karen stirred the chum and
eggs together, something shifted in
his demeanor. He stiffened in his
chair, his rocking coming to an
abrupt halt. "What's wrong?" she
asked, noticing the sudden change.

Plankton's eye grew wide. "No," he
whispered, his voice strained. "Not
together. Separate," he
demanded, his voice growing more
urgent.

Karen paused, her circuits racing.
"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I'll
fix it." She carefully scraped the
food onto two separate places, one
with egg, one with chum. She placed
it in front of him, hoping she
was interpreting his needs correctly.

Plankton stared. "Different plate,"
he murmured. "And a new spoon.
And new eggs not touching new chum."

Karen nodded, quickly moving to
comply with his requests. She knew
that routines and sensory preferences
could be crucial for individuals with
autism, and she wanted to make sure
his first breakfast post-diagnosis was
as comfortable as possible. She
replicated his meal with meticulous
precision, ensuring every detail was
exactly as he had specified, ridding of
the old food.

The new plate was set before him,
the eggs and chum neatly separated.
Plankton's shoulders relaxed slightly.
He picked up the spoon, his gaze
intensely focused on the task at
hand. Karen watched as he took a
tiny bite in what seemed like pleasure.

"Good?" she ventured.

Plankton nodded, his eye not
leaving the plate. "Good," he echoed,
his voice still monotone.

Karen observed him as he
methodically ate his breakfast,
each bite the same size, each chew
lasting the same amount of time.
It was fascinating and slightly
disconcerting to watch the man
she knew so well now engaging with
the world in such a different way.

Plankton's routine was always
important, but now it had taken
on a new level of significance.
The clink of the spoon against the
plate was the only sound in the
room, the rhythm of it almost
hypnotic. 

As Plankton finished his meal,
his head snapped up, his gaze
sharp and focused on her. "Karen,"
he said, his voice now clear and
concise.

"Yes, Plankton?" she replied,
wiping down the counter.

"Thank you," he said, his eye
fixed on the now-empty
plate.

Karen nodded, taking the
dishes to the sink. She could feel
his eye on her as she moved about
the room, the weight of his
silence a stark contrast to his
usual incessant chatter. She knew
that autism would bring
challenges, but she was
determined to be there for him.

new karen and the autistic journey breakfastcore ii

TEETHIES ii

The nurse dimmed lights and adjusted the bed, giving Plankton's body a chance to recover from the wisdom tooth surgery. 

Gently, Karen began to hum a tune she knew Plankton loved. The melody filled the room, wrapping around them like a warm blanket. His breathing grew a little easier, the tension in his hand loosening slightly. 

Plankton stirred, eye fluttering open to reveal a world still blurred by the fog of anesthesia. "Where... what...?" Plankton slurred. "Who... who are you?" 
"The dentist had to get your wisdom teeth out in surgery." Karen told him. "Wis...dommm...surgery? I don't...I don't remembe--- much." Plankton says. "Had to take them out. You've been asleep for a while." The nurse said. 

The door to the room creaked open to SpongeBob, his face a picture of concern. "Plankton!" he exclaimed. "How are ya?"

Plankton, still groggy from the surgery, tried to form a coherent sentence. "S-SpongeBob," he slurred. "M-more wike... 'Arrr, matey' than usual, I s'pose." 

Karen rolled her pixel eyes. "It's the anesthesia."

Plankton chuckled. "Ahoy ther- Spongey! Aye, it's awh’ 'cause of tweasare... I mean, surgery," he corrected, his speech still swaying. 
"You two are always so... " Karen trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Inseparabubble?" Plankton suggested.  
Sponge Bob's laughter bubbled up again. "You mean, no Krabby Patty stealing schemes?"

"Thath's righ'. No mow... Krabby... Patties... fow awhile." The words came out in a drawn-out slur, his head lolling slightly on the pillow. "Thath's... wath I wath thhinking," his speech still slurred but fading as his eyelid growing heavy.

"Arr, thith... thith way, me... hearty," Plankton mumbled, as the nurse helped 'em into the car.  "Arr, me... tweasuwe... home,".

Sponge Bob watched his eyelid grew heavier. Plankton's head lolled back against the seat and his mouth fell open slightly, emitting a soft snore. 

"He's gonna be out for a bit," Karen said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "The anesthesia usually takes a few hours to wear off completely. He'll be fine."

He reached out and gently patted Plankton's arm, whispering, "Don't worry, buddy. We're almost there."

"We're home, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge.

Sponge Bob turned to see Plankton's chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths, his mouth open in snore's. His usually scheming eye were shut tight. Karen carefully opened the door. Sponge Bob looked at Plankton, who was still out cold. Sponge Bob leaned over the seat, his arms wrapping around Plankton's frail body. Plankton's head lolled back, his mouth still open in snore's.
"Should we... should we wake him?" "Let him rest, Sponge Bob. He's had a rough day." Karen puts him on the couch.

"Do you think he'll... you know, remember any of this?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice low and tentative.
Karen's smile was a gentle wave. "I doubt it. The anesthesia usually wipes out memories for a bit."

"Rest well, honey," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "You've had a long day."

Suddenly Plankton stirs in his sleep, his snores morphing into a groan as he shifts beneath the blanket.
"Is he okay?" SpongeBob asks.
"He's okay," she nods, her voice a gentle lullaby in the stillness. "Just anesthesia wearing off." She stood by him. "Easy, Plankton," Karen cooed, gently rubbing Plankton's back. "You're okay."

The little villain's body twitched, and his eye fluttered open. For a brief moment, confusion clouded his gaze before he spotted Sponge Bob and Karen. "W-wha... whass happening?" Plankton's words were slurred, his lisp more pronounced than ever.

"You're home, Plankton. You had wisdom teeth removed."

"W-what? Did I miss... somefink?" He tried to sit up, his body moving as if through syrup.

"You've been out for a bit," Karen said. "But you're home now." 

Plankton blinked. "Home?" he mumbled.

"Yes, sweetie," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "You had your wisdom teeth out. You're going to be fine."
 "Oww... wha’ happened to my mouf?"

"Your wisdom teeth were out." "Oh... wight," he murmured.
"Need anything?" "Could... could I have some... ice... cweam?" His voice was a whispered plea. They get him some. "Thath's... thoothing. So, how'd I get home?" 
"Karen and I brought you back," Sponge Bob said. "You were out cold. Didn't even wake up when we carried you in."
"Did... did you two... take care of me?" His voice was a mix of surprise and vulnerability.

"Of course, Plankton!"

He turned to Plankton. "Want me to pick something to watch?"

"Mm-hmm," Plankton mumbled, eye already closing again.

Sponge Bob flicked through the tv channels, finally settling on a rerun of their favorite show, "Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy." The familiar theme song filled the room, and Karen took a seat next to Plankton on the couch, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

As the adventure unfolded on the screen, Plankton's breathing grew deeper and more regular, his body gradually relaxing into the cushions.

"Looks like he's out again," Karen said softly.  

Sponge Bob nodded, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall rhythmically. "Guess the surgery really took it out of him."

The room grew quiet, save for the distant laugh track of their favorite show and the occasional snore from Plankton. Karen's hand remained on his shoulder, her thumb tracing small circles. At night, turning the tv off, 
Spongebob picked Plankton up, cradling him. His friend's head lolled back, his mouth slightly open in a peaceful snore. Sponge Bob carefully made his way to his bed, setting him down. He pulled the blanket up to Plankton and gave him a soft pat. 
They both settled into the makeshift beds they had set up next to Plankton's. 

The next morning, both woke up before Plankton. Karen chuckled. "We should take a picture."
Spongebob snapped a picture of Plankton, still asleep with his mouth slightly open, a trail of drool escaping onto the pillow.

"Morning, Captain Snores-a-lot," Sponge Bob whispered with a smirk, rousing Plankton.
Plankton's eye opened, only to wince. "Oww... wath... what's happening?"
"It's morning, Plankton," Karen said, her tone still gentle.
"Look your post-surgery glamour shot," Spongebob teased, holding the phone out of reach. "You were out cold last night."
Plankton's eye widened as he took in the image. "You... you took a picture of me?!" He was half horrified, half amused.

"Couldn't resist," Karen said, grinning.

Plankton rolled his eye and wiped his mouth, then winced. "How wong hav- I been out?"

"Overnight," Sponge Bob said, unable to hold back a chuckle. "You had quite the ride home yesterday."

Plankton groaned, his hand reaching up to gingerly touch his swollen cheek. "Whath happened?"

"You had your wisdom teeth out," Karen reminded him, her voice filled with a touch of amusement. "It's normal to be a bit out of it after surgery."

"Wisdom teeth?" Plankton echoed, his voice still groggy. "Oh, wight. The dentist."

Karen chuckled. "Yeah, you don't remember much, do you?"

Sponge Bob leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You talked like a pirate all the way home, matey."

Plankton's eye widened in horror. "I did what?"

Sponge Bob nodded. "Yeah, you kept calling me 'Spongey' and said we were 'inseparabubble'."

Plankton blushed. "Oh, come on," he mumbled, trying to hide his face in the pillow.

Sponge Bob and Karen shared a knowing look, their laughter subsiding into a comfortable silence. They could both tell that despite his tough exterior, Plankton was a bit embarrassed.

Plankton sighed, his small body sinking deeper into the pillows. "Okay, okay," he conceded. "But if I don't get to do anything, can I at leash wash TV?"
"Of course," Karen said, handing him the remote. "But take it easy today, okay?"
With a groan, Plankton managed to sit up, his hand still tentatively exploring his tender cheeks. He squinted at the TV, searching for something to watch. His eye lit up when he found a science fiction marathon. "Jackpot," he murmured.

new teethies post awakening plankarenbob AI Story Generator ii

CATCH IN MY CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip,
his eye filled with regret, but 
the words won't come. Despite
his leftover anger, he felt a bit
bad about it. He just wanted to
show Chip what it meant to be
bombarded! He didn't have it in
him to say he's sorry, and he's
still tense.

Karen feels the weight of the
moment, her eyes moving
between her husband and her son.
"Why don't you sit with Daddy,
Chip?" she suggests, her voice
soft. "Give him some space,
but let him know you're here.
I'll be downstairs."

With a nod, Chip approaches the
bed, his eyes still filled with
uncertainty. He sits down gingerly
beside Plankton, who's staring
at the shattered mess of their
evening. The room is a silent testament
to their unspoken words and the
battle that raged within Plankton.

For a moment, neither of them
moves, the air thick with unspoken
regret and confusion. Then,
slowly, Chip reaches out with
his small hand.

Plankton looks at him, his
eye reflecting a tumult of
emotions—anger, guilt, fear,
frustration.

Chip's hand hovers over
his dad's, unsure if he'll
flinch or pull away. "I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
barely above a breath.

Plankton's antennas droop, his
eye still cast down at the
wreckage of their evening. 
"I know," he says, his voice
still tight with anger.

Chip's hand hovers 
over his arm. "Ca--"

But Plankton cuts him off.
"Don't," he says, his voice
raw with emotion. "Just don't."
He turns away, his body a wall
of tension.

Chip's hand falls to his side,
his eyes wide with hurt. "But Dad,"
he says, his voice breaking.
"I di-"

"I said don't," Plankton snaps,
his voice harsh. "I can't do this
right now." His antennas twitch,
his body language a clear
indication that he needs space.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his hand retreating to his
lap. "But Dad," he starts again,
his voice shaking.

Plankton's eye snaps up,
his anger a living flame. "I said
don't!" he shouts, his voice
echoing in the small room.

"But I'm just 
trying to-"

"I SAID DON'T!"
The words are a thunderclap,
silencing Chip's protests. He pulls
his legs up to his chest, hugging
his knees tightly, as if to shield
his heart from the pain.

"Dad I promise I won't 
overwhelm you again," 
Chip whispers. Plankton's 
antennas quiver, his 
shoulders hunched. But
Chip takes that as a green
light.
Remembering how his mom
put her hand on his back, he
tries to replicate it. So
with a trembling hand, Chip
reaches out and touches Plankton's
shoulder with hope..

But Plankton's reaction is
not what he expects. With a
shriek of overstimulation,
Plankton jumps away, his
body convulsing as if he's
been electrified. "Don't touch
me!" he yells.

The room seems to tilt, and
Chip's eyes widen with shock.
He's never seen his dad like
this before, so raw and exposed.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispers,
his hand retreating as if burned.

Plankton's face contorts, his
body wracked with a tremor
that shakes him to the core.

Chip's eyes widen in horror,
his hand hovering in the space
between them, frozen.

Karen steps back into the
room, her gaze taking in the
snapshot of pain and regret.
Her heart aches for both her
husband and son. She knows
Plankton didn't mean to scream,
that his senses are still on
high alert. And she knows
Chip is just trying to bridge
the gap with his love.

Her eyes lock onto Plankton's,
and she can see the desperation
behind the anger. He's scared
and overwhelmed, and she
understands that feeling all too
well. She moves towards the bed,
her steps measured and calm.
"Plankton, sweetie," she says,
her voice a soothing melody as
she reaches out to touch his
back. But the moment her hand
makes contact, Plankton's
body tenses further, his eye
squeezing shut. "No!" he yells.

Karen's hand retreats as if
she's been burned, her eyes
filled with a mix of sadness
and concern. "Plankton," she
whispers, her voice barely
audible above Chip's sniffles.

Plankton's body is a coil of
tension, his eye squeezed
shut as if trying to block
out the world. The room
seems to spin around him,
each sound and sensation a
needle prick in his overloaded
brain. "K-Karen, I...," he gasps, his
voice strained. "I-I-I-I… can't..."

Karen's realizes the gravity
of the situation. She
understands that her husband
has hit a point of no return,
where even the gentle touch
of her hand is too much.

With a deep sigh, she sits
down on the bed, her eyes on
Plankton's trembling form.
Her heart is torn between
concern for him and the
knowledge that Chip is
watching, trying to make
sense of the chaos. "Okay, honey,"
she says, her voice a soft
whisper. "It's okay. We'll give
you some space."

Chip looks up at her, his
face a question mark. "But
Dad?" he says, his voice
small.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "It's okay,
Chip," she says, her voice steady.
"Daddy needs some alone time."

With a heavy heart, Chip slides
off the bed, the shattered
pieces of his trophy crunching
under his feet. He looks at
his dad one last time, his eyes
filled with a mix of fear and
longing. "Okay," he whispers,
his voice thick with unshed tears.

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton. "I'll come
find you when Dad's feeling
a bit better."

Chip's eyes dart to his
dad, who's still shaky, his
body curled into a tight ball.
The sight breaks Karen's heart,
but she knows that this is
the best they can do for now.

Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton,
understanding the silent
cry for help in his eye. She's seen
this before, the way his autism
can consume him during moments of
overwhelm. She nods gently, her eyes
conveying her love and patience.

Plankton's breathing starts to
even out, his body slowly
unwinding from the tight coil
of tension. He's aware of her
presence, the steady rhythm of
her breathing a comforting metronome
in the chaos of his thoughts. Karen
knows that space is crucial for him,
but she also understands that a quiet
companion can be just as healing.

"It's okay," she whispers, her
hand hovering close but not
touching him. "You can take your
time." Her voice is a gentle
reminder that he's not alone.

Plankton's eye flickers to her,
his breaths still ragged. Karen's
understanding is a lifeline in
the storm of his emotions.

Karen knows that pushing him
now would only make things worse,
so she sits quietly beside him,
offering her silent support.
Her love for him is a balm to
his soul, even if he can't
express it in words.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II vi

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vi

(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's heart 
swells with compassion. 
"It's ok, Plankton," he 
says, his voice gentle. "We 
don't have to play anymore."

Plankton's antennas 
drop, and he nods slowly. 
"No fish," he repeats, 
his voice a sigh of 
relief.

Sponge Bob's hand 
freezes in mid-air, 
his eyes searching 
Plankton's face for 
any sign of anger or 
disappointment. But all 
he sees is a glimmer of 
understanding in his 
friend's eye.

"Thank Sponge 
Bob for being patient."
Plankton says to him.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
eyes still filled with 
concern. "I'll be patient, 
Plankton," he promises. "Can
I ask how you hit your head?"

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly. "Pan," he 
murmurs, his voice 
barely above a whisper. 
"Fry pan, Mr. Krabs. Only
Karen and SpongeBob know."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with shock. "What?!"
he exclaims. "Mr. Krabs 
hurt you?"

Plankton nods, his antennas 
still low. "Pan," he repeats, 
his voice shaking. "Pan," he 
says again, his voice 
softer. "Krabs hit on head."
Sponge Bob's anger 
towards Mr. Krabs is 
immediate and intense. 
"I can't believe he'd do 
that to you," he says, 
his voice low and 
teary.

"Mr. Krabs did to protect
the krabby patty." 
Karen interjects quickly, 
sensing the tension. 
"He doesn't know how
badly he hurt Plankton."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, 
his thoughts racing. He can't
believe Mr. Krabs could 
do something like that, even 
in the heat of the moment.

"I'll talk to Mr. Krabs," 
he says firmly, his voice 
laced with determination. 
"He needs to know what..."

"No!"

The sharpness of Plankton's 
voice cuts through the 
air like a knife, his 
antennas shooting up in 
alarm. "Mr. Krabs no," he 
says, his eye wide with fear. 
"No tell."

Sponge Bob's anger 
fades slightly, replaced 
by confusion. "Why not?" 
he asks, his voice 
gentle. "He needs to know 
so he can understand.."

Plankton's antennas 
quiver anxiously. "Krabs 
not know," he whispers, his 
eye pleading with Sponge 
Bob. "Safe here."

Sponge Bob's 
confusion deepens. "But 
Plankton, if Mr. Krabs 
doesn't know, how will he 
make it up to you?"
Plankton's antennas 
droop, his eye darting 
back and forth between 
Karen and Sponge Bob. "No 
make up," he murmurs. "Just 
no satisfaction for Krabs."
Sponge Bob's mind 
spins with the implications. 
He knows Mr. Krabs 
would never hurt 
anyone that much 
intentionally, even Plankton;
but the thought of his 
boss not knowing the 
extent of his actions 
troubles him.
"I won't tell him," 
Sponge Bob says, his voice 
soft with reassurance.
But of course, Mr. Krabs
comes in. "What in the
name of Neptune are
ye doing? I gave ye the
day off yesterday!"
"The Krusty Krab is closed on
Sunday, and it's Sunday today."
SpongeBob reminds his boss.
"Oh, right." Mr. Krabs looks
at Plankton and his eyes narrow.
"What's going on here?" he asks,
suspicion heavy in his voice.
Plankton's antennas droop even
lower, and he looks down at the
floor.
Plankton speaks first. "Go 
fish," he whispers, his 
eye darting up to meet 
Mr. Krabs'. Sponge Bob steps in 
quickly, trying to cover 
for his friend. "We were 
just playing a game," he 
says, forcing a smile.
Mr. Krabs eyes them 
both skeptically.
"Well, I hope it wasn't 
about stealing me secret 
formular," he says, his 
claws tapping 
nervously.
"No, Mr. Krabs," Sponge 
Bob says quickly, "just a 
friendly game."
Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly at the 
mention of the Krabby 
Patty formula, but he 
remains silent.
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
narrow further.
"What's wrong with 
you, Plankton?" he 
asks, his voice filled 
with concern and a 
touch of irritation.
"You're acting strangely
quiet even for you."
Plankton's antennas 
quiver.
Sponge Bob's heart 
paces. He doesn't want 
to betray Plankton's trust.
"It's nothing," Plankton 
says, his voice 
forced. "Just a little 
game, Krabs wanna play."
"Fine I'll play, but I got my
eye on ye, Plankton."
Mr. Krabs says, his tone 
still suspicious as he 
sits down to join them. 
Sponge Bob's eyes dart to 
Karen, who gives a 
nod of understanding. 
They'll keep the secret and
hope Mr. Krabs doesn't figure
it out.

"Let's play Uno!" Sponge
Bob says, getting out the new
card game, dealing the cards.
Plankton's antennas 
perk up at the mention 
of a new game, and he 
eagerly takes his cards. 
Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
plays along, eyeing Plankton 
carefully.
Then, it happens.
Mr. Krabs slaps a card 
down on the pile and 
excitedly yells, "Uno!"
Plankton's antennas shoot 
straight up, and his eye 
widen with sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob's concerned, 
but Mr. Krabs 
is too busy gloating to 
notice. "Yee-haw!" he 
crows. "I win again!"
Plankton's antennas 
quiver as he tries to 
process the sudden 
loudness and change in 
the atmosphere. 
Mr. Krabs looks at him, 
his expression puzzled.
"What's the matter, 
Plankton?" he asks, 
his voice laced with 
disdain. "Lost your 
competitive spirit?"
Sponge Bob's eyes widen.
"Plankton's just 
excited, Mr. Krabs," he 
says quickly. "Isn't that right, 
Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
wave erratically, and 
his voice is a mix of 
fear and confusion. 
"Yes, Krabs," he stammers, 
his eye darting around 
the room. "Uno. Fish. Yes."
Mr. Krabs looks at him 
oddly but shrugs it off, 
his attention already 
returning to the game. 
"Alright, let's keep playing," 
he says, dealing out 
more cards.
But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, 
his antennas twitching with 
the effort to keep up.
"Fish," he murmurs to 
himself, trying to find 
a familiar 
word. His hands 
shake as he holds 
his cards, the 
world around him a 
cacophony of sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob notices 
Plankton's distress and 
quickly changes the 
topic. "Hey, Mr. Krabs, 
have you ever played 
Chess?"
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
light up. "Chess? The 
game of kings and 
conquers!" he exclaims. 
"I'd love a round!"
SpongeBob gets
the chess game.

The chess pieces are set 
up, and Mr. Krabs 
begins to play, his 
claws clacking against 
the board as he moves 
his pieces. Plankton 
watches, his antennas 
still, his eye 
focused.
"Your move, Plankton," 
Mr. Krabs says, his 
claws tapping the 
edge of the board 
impatiently.

But Plankton doesn't 
move. He just sits there, 
staring at the 
chessboard, his cards 
forgotten in his hand. 
"What's with you?" 
Mr. Krabs asks, 
his voice filled with 
exasperation. "You're 
taking forever!"

Sponge Bob's heart 
skips a beat. He knows 
he can't let Mr. Krabs 
see how much Plankton's 
been affected by the 
accident. "It's ok 
Mr. Krabs," he says 
quickly. "Plankton's just 
thinking of his next 
move."

Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
doesn't push the issue. 
He's too focused on 
his own strategy, his 
claws moving pieces with 
calculated precision.
But Plankton remains 
frozen, his gaze 
unwavering on the 
board. His antennas 
twitch slightly, a 
sign of his racing 
thoughts.

After several moments of 
silence, Mr. Krabs 
finally snaps. "Plankton,
it's your turn!" he says, 
his patience wearing 
thin.

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, and his eye 
flits to the board. 
"Fish?" he asks, his 
voice unsure.
Mr. Krabs stares at 
Plankton, his eyes 
narrowing. "What do 
fish have to do with 
chess?" he asks, 
confusion etched 
deeply on his face.

Sponge Bob's heart 
sinks as he sees the 
puzzlement in Mr. 
Krabs' eyes. He 
quickly jumps in. "Oh, 
Plankton was just 
thinking out loud," he 
says, trying to 
lighten the mood.

Mr. Krabs grunts, 
but his suspicion 
doesn't fade. "You've 
always been a weird 
little fellow, Plankton, but 
this is something else," 
he says, his tone a mix 
of curiosity and 
exasperation.

Sponge Bob's heart 
thumps in his chest 
as he tries to 
diverge the conversation. 
"Why don't we talk 
about something else?" 
he suggests, his eyes 
darting back to the 
chessboard.

Mr. Krabs' gaze 
remains on Plankton, 
his eyes narrowed. 
But Plankton's antennas 
remain still, his 
expression vacant.
"Fish," he murmurs, 
his voice distant.

Mr. Krabs' patience 
thins to a thread. 
"Fish?" he repeats, his 
confusion palpable. 
"What's going on with 
you, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennas 
wobble, his eye
still fixated on the 
board. "Fish," he says 
again, his voice 
uncertain.

Mr. Krabs leans 
forward, his eyes 
studying Plankton 
closely. "You okay, 
tiny fry?" he asks, 
hinting concern 
despite the 
sarcasm.

Plankton's antennas 
quiver slightly. "Fish," 
he says, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper. Sponge Bob's 
heart clenches at the 
word, understanding 
now that it's not just 
a game for Plankton; it's 
his way of trying to 
make sense of the 
world around him.

Mr. Krabs, however, 
simply sighs and shakes 
his head. "You always 
have to make everything 
so complicated," he 
mumbles, his voice 
tired. "Why can't you just 
play the game like 
everyone else?" He yells
tipping the board over to
where the chess pieces
fall to the ground by Plankton.

Plankton's antennas 
shiver at the sound, and 
his eye dart to the 
upset board, his 
expression one of deep 
distress. "No fish," he 
whispers, his voice 
breaking.
Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, 
his suspicion growing. 
"What's going on with 
you?" he asks again.

"Fish, fish, fish!" 

new a journey to autism gamefic vi

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton holds up the science book
he had been clutching, the
pages fluttering in his excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick to the book,
then back to Plankton's face.
"You're acting
different."

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stilling momentarily. "No bad,"
he insists, his voice a bit too
cheerful. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search Plankton's,
trying to read the truth behind
his words. "But you've never
been this... affectionate before,"
he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's smile widens. "Sponge
Bob," he says, his voice a sing-song.
"You are good friend." He leans
in closer, his antennas quivering.
"Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen further,
his spongy cheeks reddening. "Plankton,
what's going on?" he asks, his
tone filled with confusion. "You've
never said that before."

Plankton's smile only grows
broader. "No bad," he repeats,
his voice still monotone. "Good
day. Happy." He starts to rock
back and forth on the bed, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
seems almost... happy?

Sponge Bob's confusion
deepens. Plankton had never
been one to show affection,
let alone so openly. "What's
going on?" he asks again, his
voice laced with concern.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his eye
locked on Sponge Bob's
face. "Good day," he says, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
matches his words. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in
surprise. Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Very happy,"
he says, his voice high and
excited. "Best friend happy."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "Plankton, are you
okay?" he asks, his voice gentle.

Plankton's giggle turns to a
laugh, a sound Sponge Bob rarely
hears from him. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Happy."

Sponge Bob watches his
friend, his heart racing. "What
happened to you?" he asks, his
concern growing with each passing
moment.

Plankton's laughter fades into
a grin. "No bad," he says, his
hands still fluttering in the
air. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry. "What's really going on?"

Plankton's grin turns into a
frown, his hands stopping their
motion. "Sponge Bob," he says,
his voice dropping to a whisper.
"No bad. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he
can't ignore the desperation
in Plankton's tone. He reaches out,
his hand resting gently on
Plankton's arm. "But why are you
so happy?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Plankton's frown deepens,
his mind racing to find the
right words. "Because,"
he says, his voice strained. "I
have friend. Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his hand still on Plankton's
arm. "But we've always been
friends," he says, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's smile is wide, his
eye unblinking. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Best
friends. Happy."

Sponge Bob's mind races.
Something is clearly different about
Plankton, but he doesn't know
what. "But, Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "What happened to
make you so... so...?" He struggles
for the right word.

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his gaze dropping to the book
in his lap. "Book," he says, his
voice flat. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, trying to
follow the conversation. "Yeah,
it looks interesting," he says,
his eyes searching for a clue.

But Plankton's gaze is fixed
on the book, his hands
resuming their rhythmic
flapping. "Good book," he repeats,
his voice a gentle mantra.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick from
the book to Plankton's
hands, his mind racing to
connect the dots. "Is something wrong,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping abruptly, his
eye snapping to Sponge Bob's
face. "No wrong," he says, his
voice earnest. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of bewilderment. "But you've
always liked your science books,"
he says, trying to find some
semblance of normalcy in the
situation. "What's different about
this one?"

Plankton's smile returns, his
hands resuming their flapping.
"This one," he says, his voice
filled with a newfound enthusiasm.
"Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy heart swelling with a
mixture of joy and concern.
"What makes this one so special?"

Plankton's hands flutter with
excitement as he opens the book
to a random page. "Look," he says,
his voice a high-pitched squeak.
"See?"

Sponge Bob leans in, his eyes
scanning the dense text filled with
scientific terms. He nods, trying
to appear engaged, though he has
no clue what he's looking at.
"Wow, Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with forced enthusiasm.
"That's... really interesting."

Plankton's smile widens, his
hands flapping in excitement.
"Yes," he says, his voice a
cheerful monotone. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, still
confused but not wanting to
rain on his friend's parade. "Well, I'm
glad you're enjoying it," he says,
his voice warm.

Plankton's hands stop moving
momentarily. "Thank you," he says,
his voice sincere. "You are best
friend." He leans in closer, his
antennas quivering with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in surprise
as he feels a sudden wave of warmth
and affection from Plankton, something
that's never been present in their
usually antagonistic friendship.

"What's going on, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice filled with curiosity.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Plankton's smile doesn't waver.
"Sponge Bob," he says, his voice
still monotone. "You are good.
You make Plankton happy."

"What's happened to make you 
so affectionate, Plankton?"

Sponge Bob's question hangs in the
air, his curiosity piqued by the
unexpected warmth from his
usually adversarial friend.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his hands
resuming their flapping. "No bad,"
he says, his voice cheerful. "Good
day." He pats the bed next to him.
"Sit, Sponge Bob. Read book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body frozen in place.
"I don't think I can read that,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "It's
really complicated."

Plankton nods, his smile
remaining constant. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice soothing. "You
try." He pushes the book closer
to Sponge Bob, his hand
guiding him to the page.

Sponge Bob hesitates, his
thumb flipping through the pages.
The words are a blur of symbols
and numbers, his mind struggling
to make sense of them. "But,
Plankton, I don't understand any
of this," he admits, his voice
filled with frustration.

Plankton's hand stops him, his
eye wide with excitement. "Doesn't
matter," he says, his voice
cheerful. "You are here. Best
friend."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "But Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You're
not acting like yourself."

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his hands stilling. "Self,"
he repeats, his voice contemplative.
He looks at Sponge Bob, his
eye searching his friend's
face for understanding.

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of confusion and concern. "Is
this a joke?" he asks, his
voice gentle.

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment before growing wider. "No joke,"
he says, his voice a singsong.
"Happy." He pats the bed again,
his hand a silent invitation.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
compassion. He sits down beside
his friend. "Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "Is everything
ok?"

Plankton nods vigorously,
his hands flapping with
excitement. "Everything is
good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best day."

Sponge Bob's gaze lingers on
his friend, searching for any
sign of distress. "But,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "You're
not usually like this."

Plankton's smile never
fades. "Don't know," he says, his
voice calm. "But now, happy."

Sponge Bob's heart clenches, his
fears for his friend's well-being
growing stronger. "But what
about your schemes?" he asks,
his voice hopeful.

Plankton's eye blinks, the
thought of his usual plans
of world domination momentarily
forgotten. "Schemes?" he repeats,
his voice confused.

Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, you
know, your plans to steal the Krabby
Patty secret formula," he says, his
tone light.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping their flapping. "Krabby Patty?"
he asks, his voice distant. "No want
Krabby Patty. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy mind racing. "You don't want
to steal the formula?" he asks, his
voice incredulous, now really
suspicious.

Plankton shakes his head, his
antennas swaying slightly. "No,"
he says, his voice still monotone.
"Only happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he can't
ignore the genuine smile on
his friend's face. "Okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If
you're happy, then I'm happy
for you."

Plankton's eye lit up, his
hands flapping with excitement.
"Thank you," he says, his voice
filled with gratitude. "Best
friend." 

new karen and the autistic journey confusedcore vi

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vi
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Plankton's eye 
closed slowly, his 
breathing evening out 
under her calming 
touch. His body 
relaxed into the 
cushions of the couch, 
his mind still racing 
but his body succumbing 
to the siren call of 
sleep. The smoothie 
and Karen's comforting 
presence had 
worked their magic.

Karen sat beside 
him, 
wrapped protectively 
around his small 
form. She watched 
his chest rise and 
fall with each 
breath, her heart 
heavy with the weight 
of the day's events. 
The Chum Bucket 
was quiet now, the 
silence a stark 
contrast to the 
shouts and sobs that 
had filled it moments 
before. Karen's
heart breaks for Plankton
yet she knows Hanna's
never met him, never heard
of the accident nor diagnosis.

With a sigh, she 
picked up the phone 
that lay on the 
end table and 
dialed Hanna's number. 
The line rang once, 
twice, three times 
before Hanna's 
voice filled the 
line. "Hello?"

Karen took a 
deep breath, 
steeling herself for 
the conversation 
she had to have. "Hanna, 
it's me," she 
said, her voice 
calm despite the 
whirlwind inside her.
"I need to talk to 
you about what 
happened."

Hanna's tone 
shifted immediately, 
concern lacing her 
words. "Is Plankton 
okay?"

Karen's grip 
on the phone 
tightened. "No," she 
admitted, her voice 
a whisper. "He's 
asleep now, but he's 
not okay."

Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
shock and 
disbelief. "What do 
you mean?"

Karen took 
another deep 
breath, her eyes 
never leaving 
Plankton's peaceful 
face. "There was 
an accident," she 
began, her voice 
steady. "He hit his 
head and..." She 
swallowed the lump 
in her throat. "Acquired 
Autism Spectrum Disorder."

The line was 
silent for a 
moment before 
Hanna's voice 
came back, filled 
with horror. "Oh 
Neptune, I had 
no idea!"

Karen's tentacles 
trembled slightly 
as she recounted 
the doctor's words, 
the diagnosis that 
had turned their 
world upside down. "It's 
permanent," she 
whispered. "They said 
his corpus callosum 
and cerebellum were 
damaged. He's...he's 
not the same, Hanna."

On the phone, 
Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
sympathy and 
confusion. "But 
why didn't you tell 
me sooner?"

Karen's sigh 
was heavy with 
regret. "We've 
been dealing with 
this alone," she 
explained, her tentacle 
tracing patterns 
on the couch cushion. 
"It's so new, so 
overwhelming."

Hanna's voice 
was gentle now, 
understanding in a 
way that made Karen 
feel less alone. 
"I'm so sorry, Karen," 
she said, her 
concern genuine. "I 
had no idea."

Karen's 
eyes remained 
locked on Plankton's 
face, his chest rising 
and falling with 
each breath. "It's 
been a rollercoaster," 
she admitted, her 
voice tight. "But 
we're trying to 
make the best of it."

Karen hangs up and
turns her focus back to
Plankton, his small 
body curled tightly 
under the blanket.
She notices 
the way his 
antenna twitches 
as if he's dreaming.

Her hands 
gently adjust the 
blanket, her touch 
feather-light against 
his skin. Plankton's 
face is a mask of 
peace in sleep, a stark 
contrast to the 
turmoil of the 
waking world. His 
snores are faint, a 
soothing rhythm 
that fills the 
otherwise silent room.

Just as Karen 
begins to relax, 
the door to the Chum 
Bucket bursts open, 
letting in a rush 
of sunlight and 
SpongeBob's 
unmistakable 
laughter. "Plankton?" 
he calls out, his 
voice high and 
cheerful.

Sponge Bob's 
entrance is a 
whirlwind of 
energy, a stark 
contrast to the 
heavy silence that 
hangs over the 
laboratory. He 
doesn't notice the 
tension in the 
air as he bounds 
towards the couch, 
his eyes widening 
in surprise when he 
sees Plankton's 
unusual position.

"Whoa, Plankton," 
Sponge Bob says, 
his voice a 
chirp of curiosity. 
"Looks like you're 
taking a siesta!" 
He laughs, not 
comprehending the 
depth of emotion 
that has just 
played out in 
the room.

Karen looks 
up from her 
watchful vigil, 
her eyes tired but 
determined. "Sponge 
Bob," she says, 
keeping her voice 
steady, "Plankton's 
not feeling well."

Sponge Bob's 
face falls, his 
cheerfulness 
dimming. "Oh no," 
he says, his 
concern genuine. 
He approaches 
the couch with 
caution, his eyes 
fixed on Plankton's 
peaceful form.

"What happened?" 
he asks, his 
voice hushed. 
"Is he okay?"

Karen's eyes 
meet Sponge Bob's, 
full of a sorrow 
he can't quite 
comprehend. "It's 
been a...difficult 
day," she says, her 
tentacles tightening 
slightly around 
Plankton. "He had 
an accident."

Sponge Bob's 
expression shifts 
from confusion to 
alarm. "Is he 
going to be okay?" 
he asks, his voice 
filled with 
concern. Karen 
sighs, her tentacle 
stroking Plankton's 
forehead in a 
soothing motion. 
"He's just...different 
now," she says, her 
voice tight.

Sponge Bob 
frowns, his 
bubbles popping 
with worry. "What 
kind of different?"

Karen's 
expression is 
guarded, her 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
form. "He's been 
diagnosed with... 
autism," she 
whispers, the word 
sounding foreign 
even to her.

"Hey, I was born with
idiopathic Autism!" 
Sponge Bob says.

"Well Plankton's got
an acquired form, it's
a rarity," Karen 
explains to Sponge
Bob, her voice 
barely a murmur so 
as not to disturb 
the sleeping Plankton.
Sponge Bob nods 
slowly, his 
understanding of 
the situation 
deepening with 
each word.

"So his accident gave
him autism; when?"

"Yesterday, when he hit 
his head on an invention."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with realization. 
"Oh," he says, 
his voice filled with 
sympathy.

He sits down 
on the floor 
beside the couch.

"It's okay, Karen," 
Sponge Bob says 
softly, his eyes 
full of 
understanding. "We'll 
figure this out 
together."

Plankton stirs 
beneath the 
blanket, his 
small form 
shifting slightly.

Karen's gaze 
snaps to him.

"Plankton?" she 
whispers, her 
tentacles poised 
to comfort him if 
his distress 
resurfaces. But his 
eye remains closed, 
his breathing even.

Sponge Bob's 
expression is 
thoughtful as he 
looks at the 
sleeping Plankton. 
"You know, Karen, 
being different isn't 
so bad," he says 
gently. "I mean, 
look at me."

Karen's tentacles 
relax slightly 
as she looks at 
Sponge Bob, his 
optimism a balm 
to her weary 
spirit. Karen smiles.
"Tell that to Hanna,"
Karen mutters to
herself.

"Who's Hanna?"

"A friend," Karen
explained, her 
voice still tight. 
"She came over 
today, didn't know 
about Plankton's 
diagnosis. She said 
things she shouldn't 
have."

Sponge Bob's 
frown deepens. 
"What kind of 
things?"

"She said 
he's a burden, 
that maybe I should 
put him in an 
institution," she 
whispers, her voice 
shaking with anger.

Sponge Bob's 
face falls in shock. 
"That's not 
right, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You 
don't have to 
listen to her. What's an
institution?"

"It's a place where 
clinically crazy people
are sent to rehabilitation
be 'taken care of.' But 
it's not like that 
really for neurodivergent
people. It's more like 
a...a prison where they 
deprive them, and 
often...never make it.
But mostly it's for people
who are violent, which isn't
the case for..."

Her voice trails off as
Plankton stirs again, 
his antennae twitching 
slightly.

Sponge Bob looks at 
Plankton, his eyes 
filled with 
compassion. "He's not 
going anywhere, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You guys 
are like family to 
me. I'll help you 
take care of him."

Plankton's single 
eye opens slightly, 
his gaze unfocused.

"Shh, it's okay," 
she whispers, her 
voice a soothing 
caress.

Plankton blinks 
slowly, his eye 
coming into focus 
as he sees Sponge 
Bob.

A smile 
spreads across his 
face, a rare 
expression of pure 
joy that lights up 
his features. His 
body uncoils from 
its tense curl, 
his antennae 
perking up with 
excitement.

"Sponge Bob," 
Plankton whispers, 
his voice filled with 
a warmth that 
surprises Karen. 
He sits up slowly, 
his movements 
calculated to 
avoid any jolts 
to his sensitive 
system.

Sponge Bob's face 
splits into a 
beaming smile, 
his eyes 
shining with 
joy. "Hey, Plankton!" 
He says.

Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on 
Sponge Bob, his 
expression a 
mixture of 
gratitude and 
comfort. "You're 
here," he says 
simply, his voice 
a rough whisper.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his smile never 
wavering. "Of course 
I am," he says, 
his voice gentle. 
He reaches out 
a hand tentatively, 
his movements 
slow and deliberate.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, then he 
reaches out, 
his grip firm but 
not too tight. 
The two of them 
sit there, 
the silence 
comforting rather 
than oppressive.



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

new neurobehavioral plankton comfortfic vi

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vi
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a life of diversity jellycore vi

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new iii emoseerht ijome tra tod tra txet tra iicsa

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

GREAT CHIP v
(Autistic author)

Eventually, Plankton stirs, his 
antennae twitching slightly. 
His eye opens, and for a 
moment, he's disoriented. He 
looks at Chip, then at his hand 
on his own, and a flicker of 
memory passes through his eye. 
He then pulls his hand 
away. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says 
softly. "I'm here."

Plankton's expression shifts.
He sighs, his eye dropping to 
his son's hand.

"Chip," he murmurs. "Wh-what 
happened?"

Chip's heart skips a beat.
He wasn't sure how much to say,
but he knew he couldn't lie. "You had
another... moment," he says carefully.

Plankton's face falls, the weight
of his own reality crashing down
on him like a heavy fog. He nods slowly,
his eye searching the room as if
trying to piece together the puzzle
of his lost time.

"I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice
barely above a whisper. "I didn't know."

Plankton's eye meets his, the anger
dissipating like the fog. 
"It's not your fault,"
he says, his voice weary. 
"I just... I can't handle
much sometimes."

Chip nods, feeling a lump
in his throat. "Can I hug you?"
he asks tentatively, remembering
his mother's advice.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his eye searching Chip's face.
After a moment, he nods. "Yes,
but just for a second."

Chip leans in 
carefully, wrapping
his arms around 
his dad's shoulders.
Plankton tenses, 
his body
a coil of nerves.

The hug is brief, but 
it feels like
an eternity to Chip. 
He pulls back,
his eyes searching 
Plankton's face.
"Are you okay?"

Plankton's eye blinks 
slowly. "I will be,"
he says, his voice 
weary. "I just need some
time to regroup."

Chip nods, his mind racing
with questions and fears.
He didn't know what to say,
how to fix this.
He just knew he didn't want
his dad to feel like this.

Karen watches from the doorway,
her heart heavy with the weight of
the unspoken words between them.
She wishes she could take the pain
away, but she knows that this
moment belonged to her husband
and her son.

Chip's hand lingers in the space
where Plankton's was, feeling
the warmth that's no longer there.
He swallows hard, trying to push
his fears aside. "What can I do?"
he asks, his voice trembling.

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his antennae twitching as he tries
to gather his thoughts. "Just maybe
try not to touch me... unless I ask."

The words hang in the air,
a stark reminder of the chasm
that's opened between them.
Chip nods solemnly, his heart heavy.
He doesn't fully understand
his dad's condition, but he knows
it's real and it's painful. And he knows
he played a part in it today.

"Dad," he starts 
tentatively, 
"Can we talk
about your... 
moments?"

Plankton's antennae 
droop. "What do you
want to know?" he 
asks, his voice
sounding more 
tired than defensive.

Chip takes a 
deep breath, trying
to formulate his
thoughts. "Well, I just
want to understand
what you go through.
What happens during
those moments?"

Plankton looks away, his
face contorting with the
effort of explaining.
"It's like my brain goes
on a vacation without me,"
he says finally. "Everything's
too much, and I just...
zone out."

Chip nods, trying to
picture it. "What's it like?
The zoning out, I mean."

Plankton sighs, his antennae
waving slightly. "It's like...
being in a movie theater, but
instead of watching the movie,
the lights and sounds are all around me.
They're too bright, too loud. And when I come
back, it's like the movie's still playing
in fast forward. I miss parts of it,
and I can't rewind."

Chip's eyes widen with
understanding. "So, it's like a break,
but it's not fun for you?"

Plankton nods. "It's more like
a reboot. My brain needs it,
but it's scary not knowing
when it'll happen or how
long it'll last."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
seeing the vulnerability behind
the usual bravado. "But why do
you get so mad sometimes?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his face contorting with the effort
of explaining. "It's like...
everything's too much, and then
I can't stop it," he said. "It's like
being stuck in a loop of noises
and feelings, and I just need to
make it stop. And sometimes, that
means getting angry."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
trying to understand. "But why
does it make you so mad?"

Plankton's antennae drooped.
"It's not just from 
anger," he corrected gently.
"It's overstimulation. My brain
can't process everything at once,
so it shuts down to protect itself."

Chip nodded, his eyes
wide with realization.
He'd never thought of it
like that before. "So, it's like
you're in a crowded room,
and everyone's talking at you
at the same time?"

Plankton's eye lit up
slightly. "Exactly," he said,
his voice a mix of relief
and exhaustion. "And when
you touch me afterward,
it's like someone turning
the volume up even louder."

Chip's hand retreated to
his lap, understanding
dawning on his face. "So, it's like...
sensory overload?"

Plankton nodded, his eye
closing briefly. "Yes, it's like my
brain's circuits are fried, and I just
need a reset."

Chip sat quietly,
absorbing his father's words.
He'd never thought about it
from that perspective before.
He knew his dad was different,
but he didn't understand
the depth of his struggle.

"What about the seizures?"
Chip asked, his voice tentative.
"Do they feel like that too?"

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving slightly. "They're like...
a storm in my head," he said,
his voice strained. "They come
without warning, and I can't do
anything to stop them. It's like
everything's too much, and my brain
has to shut down to protect itself."

Chip's eyes grew wide
with empathy. "That sounds 
scary. But I've seen you hug
mom.."

Plankton sighed, his antennae
waving slightly. "It's different
with your mom. She knows 
how to touch me without making
it too much."

Chip's mind raced, trying to grasp
the complexities of his dad's
neurodivergence. "But how?"
he pressed, eager to learn.

Plankton took a moment to gather
his thoughts. "It's like...everything
is too loud or too bright,
and I can't just turn it down.
So, when I get overwhelmed,
my brain goes to 'sleep' for a bit."

Chip nodded slowly, his eyes
fixed on his father's antennae
which had stopped their erratic twitching.
"But what if I want to hug you?"
he asked, his voice tentative.

Plankton's eye opened, a glimmer
of something akin to hope flickering
within its depths. "Then you ask,"
he said simply. "You ask, and if I say
yes, you hug me gently. Like this."
He demonstrated by placing
his own hand on Chip's shoulder,
his grip firm but not tight. "But only
if I'm okay with it, okay?"

Chip nodded, feeling a weight
lift slightly from his chest.
"Okay," he whispered, his voice
shaky with emotion.

new great chip learncore v

GREAT CHIP i
(Autistic author)

"I'm home," Chip
exclaims. His mom
Karen looked up.
Plankton, his dad,
is in the middle of
an absence seizure.
Plankton only let
Karen know about
his autism, and she
knew their son Chip
may eventually find
out about it. 
Chip notices his dad's odd
unresponsive stare at
the wall, unblinking. "Dad?"
Karen knew Plankton's in
sensory overload and needs
to wait the absence seizure out.
But Chip starts to come closer.

"Chip, don't touch him," Karen
instructs quickly, her voice
sharp with urgency. "Dad's just
having a moment. He'll be okay
in a bit." She tries to distract him
with a snack. "Why don't you go
eat some chum from the kitchen?"

Chip pauses, curiosity piqued.
He's seen his dad zone out before,
but never like this. He looks
at Karen's tightened expression,
then back at Plankton's glazed eye,
sensing something serious.

He nods reluctantly, backing away
and heading to the kitchen.
The sound of the fridge opening
and shutting echoes through the house,
his mind racing. He eats a piece
of chum, but then comes back.
"What's wrong with Dad?" he asks,
his voice cracking with fear.

Karen sighs, bracing herself
for a conversation she's been dreading.
"Your dad has something called
autism, Chip. It's like his brain
sometimes gets overwhelmed by things
we don't even notice. That's why he
zones out. It's called an absence seizure."

Chip's eyes widen, trying to process
this new information. "But why
isn't he talking to me?"

Karen's eyes soften with empathy.
"It's not because he doesn't want to,
sweetheart. When he's like this,
his brain just needs a break.
It's like when you're watching
a movie, and everything else fades
away for a moment. For Dad, it happens
without his control."

Chip nods slowly, watching his dad
still frozen on the couch. He wonders
what it must be like, to be trapped
inside your own mind like that.
"Does he know I'm here?" he whispers,
his voice barely carrying across the room.

"I'm not sure, but 
let's give him
some space," Karen says 
gently. "It's important
not to startle him 
when he's like this.
It could make things 
worse."

Chip nods again, his
mind buzzing with questions.
He watches from a 
distance.
He's never seen anything 
quite so... strange.

"What do we do when 
he has one of these?"
he asks tentatively,
his voice quivering.

Karen takes a deep breath.
"Just stay calm, and wait.
It's like he's in another world.
We can't bring him back, but we
have to be here for him when he returns."

Chip nods, trying to understand.
"But when it ends, how will he be?"

"It's hard to say," Karen admits.
"Sometimes he's a bit confused,
sometimes he's tired, sometimes he doesn't
remember what happened. We just need
to be patient and let him come back to us."

Chip's curiosity
doesn't wane. 
"But why
does it happen?"

Karen sighs, choosing
her words with care.
"It's part of his autism,
his brain processing 
things differently.
Sometimes, it's too 
much for him,
and his body takes 
a break."

Chip nods, his gaze
never leaving his dad.
"But can he hear us?"

"I think so," Karen says,
trying to keep her tone calm.
"But it's like he's in a deep
daydream right now. He might
not be able to respond or even
understand."

Chip watches his dad,
his curiosity morphing 
into concern.
"Can't we wake him up?"

Karen shakes her head.
"It's not like sleep, Chip.
We can't force him out of it.
We just have to wait."

Chip nods, but his curiosity
is insatiable.
"Does Dad like being autistic?"

Karen considers the question.
"It's not about liking or not liking.
It's just who he is. Sometimes it's
hard for him, but he's also really
good at things because of it. Like fixing
those gadgets of yours, or knowing
so much about science."

Chip looks at his dad's unresponsive
form, then at his mom. "But what sets
it off? What makes him zone out?"

Karen sighs, her gaze lingering
on Plankton before returning to Chip.
"It's different every time. Sometimes
it's too much noise, other times it's 
a moment of déjà vu.."

Chip frowns. "But does he remember
what happens to him? Does he know
about the seizures?"

"Well," Karen starts, her voice measured,
"his brain doesn't always keep those
memories. Sometimes it's like a blur
to him. It's like when you forget a dream
right after you wake up. But he's aware
that something happens."

Chip's gaze shifts to his dad's
hand, resting gently on the armrest.
"Does he like hugs?" he asks, his voice
smaller now, quieter.

Karen nods. "He does, but not always.
Some days he needs them more than
others. Sometimes, it depends on the
person.."

Chip thinks about this, his screen
still on Plankton. "Can I...
try giving him a hug now?"

Karen looks over, studying her son's
innocent expression. "I don't think so,
not right now. We have to respect
his space."

Chip nods, his curiosity not waning.
"But when can I hug him?" he asks.
"Is there a right time?"

Karen looks over, 
her screen reflecting
a mix of pride and 
sadness. "There isn't
a perfect time, but when 
he's out of his seizure,
and if he's in a good mood, 
try asking. Just remember,
his senses are really 
sensitive. Sometimes,
his body needs space 
more than others."

The house remains 
silent, save for the 
steady tick of the 
living room clock.
Chip's eyes never leave
his father's frozen form, 
his mind racing.

new great chip dadcore i

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD i

Karen had been pacing 
the waiting room.

Finally, the doors 
swung open and 
Dr. Castellanos 
stepped out. Karen 
rushed over. "How's 
Plankton?" she asked, 
her voice cracking slightly.

Dr. Castellanos offered 
a small, reassuring smile. 
"The surgery went well. 
We removed all four wisdom 
teeth without any complications.
He's in recovery."

Karen followed the dentist
Dr. Castellanos down the 
hallway. 
They entered a small, curtained 
area.

There lay Plankton, 
his snoring soft and 
even, surrounded by the 
beeping monitors. 
Karen felt a gentle wave 
of relief wash over her, 
seeing his usually furrowed brow 
now relaxed in sleep, 
his mouth slightly ajar.

"We numbed his mouth even
though he's slept under the
anesthesia, so he might not
feel that part of his face for
today. The anesthesia can
normally cause patients to
act a bit peculiar when they first
wake up," Dr. Castellanos explained
as Karen studied Plankton's
slack features, his antennae
twitching with each snore.

As if on cue, a string of drool
slithered out of the corner of
Plankton's mouth and dangled. Karen
chuckled at the absurdity
of it all.

"Don't worry, it's perfectly
normal," Dr. Castellanos assured
her with a gentle pat on the shoulder.
"The numbness can cause that.
It'll wear off by tomorrow. He'll wake
up anytime though."

Karen nodded, her eyes
never leaving Plankton's peaceful
face. The surgery was a success,
but she knew the real test would
be when he came to. Would he be
in pain? Would he be groggy or scared?
The what-ifs swirled in her mind like
a tornado of uncertainty.

The room grew quiet, the only
sounds the persistent rhythm of
the heart monitor and Plankton's
slight snores. Karen pulled up a chair
and took his hand, her thumb
gently stroking the back of his palm.

As the minutes ticked by, the
curtain around the bed parted
and in stepped a nurse, her shoes
squeaking softly on the clean,
white floor. "Miss?" she said quietly.
"When Mr. Plankton wakes up, he might
be disoriented. We've prepared a
cup of water if he's thirsty."
Karen nodded her understanding,
squeezing Plankton's hand slightly.

The nurse checked the monitors
and stayed with them. Karen leaned
in, whispering to Plankton, "You're
going to be okay."

Eventually, Plankton's snoring 
grew less pronounced, and his 
eye began to flutter open. He 
looked around the unfamiliar 
space with a dazed expression, 
confused and unfocused. Karen 
leaned in closer, her eyes brimming 
with a mix of concern and relief.

Plankton's eye settled 
on Karen's face. She 
offered a tentative 
smile, not wanting to 
startle him. "Hey, buddy," 
she whispered, her voice 
soothing. "You're all done. 
You're in recovery now."

His eyes searched hers, 
slowly focusing. He tried to 
mouth a question, but 
the numbness took hold. 
All that came out was 
a muffled, "Mmmm?"

Karen's smile grew wider. 
"You're okay," she assured 
him, her voice calm and 
soothing. "You had your 
wisdom teeth removed. 
Remember?"

Plankton blinked a few times, 
his gaze flicking from Karen 
to the unfamiliar surroundings 
and back again. 
He attempted to speak again.

"Mmph?" It was barely audible,
his mouth refusing to cooperate.
Karen nodded, her grip on his 
hand tightening slightly. "You're 
in the dentist, remember? 
You had surgery to remove your 
wisdom teeth."

Plankton's eye grew wider,
his mind trying to piece together
the hazy fragments of memory.
"Windom eet?"

Karen chuckled despite
herself. "Yes, all four,"
she confirmed, nodding.

Plankton's eye grew
even wider, and he
managed to nod, a look
of astonishment spreading
across his face. The nurse
came over.
"Here, let's help you sit
up," she said, placing a
pillow behind his back.

As Plankton sat up, his
face contorted with
confusion, his mouth
feeling like it was filled
with marshmallows. He
tried to talk again.

"Mmph... Kahen...?"
he slurred, his tongue
fumbling over the words.
Karen laughed softly.

"Yes, I'm here," she said.

Plankton's eye lit up at
the sound of her voice, and
his cheeks puffed up as he tried
to smile.

"Mmph... gweat," he managed to
say, the words a garbled mess.
Karen couldn't help but laugh
at his endearing attempt to speak,
his numbness adding an unintentional
comedic twist to the situation.

He reached out a wobbly arm,
his hand grasping for the cup of water
the nurse had left on the tray.
Karen carefully lifted it to his lips,
supporting his head as he took a sip.
The cool liquid trickled down his throat,
a welcome reprieve from the dryness.

"Mmph, gwood," he murmured.
The nurse gave a knowing smile,
accustomed to the peculiarities of
waking patients.

Karen couldn't help but be
enchanted by Plankton's
delirious state. His usual stern
expression was replaced with one of pure
joy, his eye twinkling like stars
on a cloudless night. He began to
flail his arms around, knocking over
the surgical tray with a clatter.
The nurse quickly intervened,
stabilizing the situation with a laugh.
"Whoa there, Mr. Plankton! Take
it easy," she said, her voice
filled with good humor.

With great effort, Plankton
managed to articulate a slurred
sentence, his mouth feeling like
cotton. "Kahen, teww me a
stoy," he begged, his speech
garbled by the anesthesia. Karen
was surprised by the childlike
innocence in his tone.

Karen glanced at the nurse,
who nodded with amusement. She
took a deep breath, thinking of
a simple tale that wouldn't cause
any distress. "Once upon a time,
there was Plankton,
and he gets to go home
from the dentist. The end!"

Plankton's eye squinted,
his antennae waving slightly.
"Mmph... wow, a reawy gweat
stoy," he slurred, satisfied with
the storytelling for now.

The nurse, unfazed by the
unusual scene, began to prep
his discharge papers. Karen
couldn't help but feel a warmth
spread through her chest, watching
his vulnerability. The fierce,
cunning villain she knew from
the cartoons had been replaced
by a gentle soul, his words as jumbled
as a bowl of alphabet soup.

"Mmph, Kahen," Plankton
slurred again, his hand reaching
for her arm. "Whas' tha... tha...?"
He pointed to the monitor,
his curiosity piqued by the
dancing lines and numbers.

"That's your heart rate, buddy,"
Karen explained, her voice
still tinged with amusement.
"It's showing that you're okay."
Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving with excitement.

"Mmph... mow...?" he
managed, his mouth feeling
like it had been stuffed
with pillows.

Karen leaned in, her
laughter bubbling up. "It's okay,
you're just talking funny
because of the medicine."

Plankton's eye grew more
curious. He pointed at
his mouth with a
thumb, his antennae drooping.
"I... hoth?"

Karen nodded, her smile
sympathetic. "No, buddy,
you're just numb. It'll go away."

Plankton's antennae
perked up. "Whuh, wike dis?"
he asked, his voice still
slurred. He tried to stick out
his tongue, only to find
it thick and uncooperative.

Karen nodded. "Exactly like that.
But don't worry, you're doing
fine," she said, her tone
reassuring. Plankton's cheeks
puffed up as he nodded,
his eye glued to the
monitor with childlike wonder.

new the tooth of a child wisdomtoothcore wisdomteethcore i

CHIP AND THE DILEMMA i 
(Autistic author)

As Chip stepped into the 
kitchen, Karen looked up 
from her recipe book, her 
screen lighting up with a 
familiar smile. Her apron 
was dotted with flour. "Hey, 
buddy," she said, wiping her 
hands on her apron. "How 
was your day?"

Chip shrugged, tossing his
backpack on the floor. 
"It was okay, I guess." He
noticed the tantalizing aroma
of something baking in the 
oven. "What's that smell?"

Karen chuckled. "Just a
little surprise for later. I
thought I'd make your favorite
- apple crumble. But first, tell me
about your day. Did you have
any interesting classes?"

Chip rolled his eyes. "It
was the same old, same old.
History was a snooze fest,
math was a headache." 
He pulled a face,
but the hint of excitement
wasn't lost on Karen.

"And what about science?"
she prodded, knowing it was
his favorite subject.

"We started a new unit on
space," he said, his voice
picking up. "Mr. Jenkins said
we might even get to build a
model of the solar system."

Karen's smile grew. "That
sounds like fun!"

Chip hugs her and then
goes upstairs, looking
for Plankton, his father.

He opens the door to
his dad's room and sees
his father asleep, a
soft snore rumbling from
his chest. The room is a
mess of books and
papers, the pages of a
scientific journal open
before him. Chip chuckles
silently, tiptoeing closer
to peek at the title:
"Advanced Quantum
Measurements."

The sight of Plankton's
snoring form brings an
odd feeling to Chip’s chest.
He’s never seen his dad
asleep before!

He takes a moment to
study his dad's face, so
peaceful in sleep, a stark
contrast to the usual
whirlwind of energy. The
snore turns into a quiet
sigh.

Chip knows not to
disturb him, but he can't
help himself. He gently
nudges Plankton's arm.
"Dad, wake up," he whispers.

Plankton's eye shot open
in surprise, the book
falling to the floor with
a thud. "Chip? What is it?"
He sits up, blinking
quickly to clear his vision.

Chip stammers for a
moment before speaking.
"I-I just wanted to tell you
about my day and science
class," he says, knowing
his dad likes science.

Plankton's face relaxes,
but there's a hint of
self-consciousness in his
eye as he glances around
the cluttered room. "Ah, yes,
science," he says, clearing his
throat. "What did you
learn today?"

Chip's screen darts around,
picking up on his dad's
embarrassment. He quickly
summarizes his school day,
leaving out the part about
his classmates teasing him
for his love of science.
He doesn't want to ruin the
mood or make his dad feel
bad for missing out. Plankton
nods along, his mind clearly…
somewhere else?

As Chip finishes his story,
his dad's eye refocus. "A
model of the solar system,
you say?" He seems genuinely
interested, and the
tension in the room eases.
"Why don't we build one
together later tonight?"

"Really?" Chip yells, too
loud for Plankton.

Plankton flinches, his
autistic sensitivity to
sound making him wince. "Ah,
yes, really," he repeats, a
tiny smile playing.

What Chip doesn’t know? His
dad was born with a form of
autism, and only Karen knew
about it. He’s kept it a secret
from Chip, neither of them
having ever told.

The clutter in Plankton's
room isn't just laziness or
disorganization—it’s part of
his condition. Plankton's
autism means that his brain
processes the world differently,
and the chaos around him is a
comforting, familiar pattern.
But seeing it through Chip's
eyes now, he feels a pang of
embarrassment. He wishes he
could be like other dads, with
tidy spaces and simple
interactions.

"Yeah, really," Plankton says
again, trying to sound more
enthusiastic. He knows it's
important to Chip, so he'll push
through his exhaustion. "Let’s
do it later tonight." He's always
tried to hide his autism from
Chip, not wanting to bother him
with the challenges he faces.
But now, the clutter, the
unexpected touch, it all feels
like a spotlight on his
differences. But Chip's excitement is
apparent, though.

Chip nods eagerly, unable
to contain his joy. "That
sounds amazing!" He yells
as he rushes over to hug
his dad, not noticing the
flinch Plankton gives when
his body is touched
unexpectedly. Plankton tenses
up, his senses overwhelmed
by the sudden contact. 
He's always loved
his son, but physical
touch, especially sudden
ones, are something he's
never quite gotten used to.
It's like an alarm going
off in his brain, sending
waves of anxiety through
him.

Chip feels the 
tension in
his dad but
attributes it 
to excitement.

He's always been
so focused on keeping his
condition hidden that he's
never taught Chip about his
needs. Now, as Chip's energy
radiates from the hug,
Plankton is left with the
weight of his secret. The room
spins around him, though, and
he’s unable to think.

"Dad, are you okay?" Chip
asks, pulling back slightly.
He notices the pale tint to
his father's skin, the way
his eye have gone a bit
glassy.

Plankton takes a deep breath,
forcing a smile. "I'm fine," he
says, though it comes out
slightly strained. "Just a bit
tired. Let's do the solar
system project after dinner."

Chip's face falls, noticing
his dad's discomfort. He's
not sure what happened, yet
he’s still not quite done with
the affectionate touching.

So when Chip reaches out
and touches his shoulder,
Plankton jolts like he’s been
zapped by a live wire. The
surprise is too much. His
body locks up, and he can't
help the flinch that crosses
his face.

"Dad?" Chip asks, his
voice full of concern. "What's
wrong?"

Plankton quickly recovers,
his smile back in place. "It's
nothing," he assures, though
his heart races. He's aware
his reaction wasn't typical.

“Oh ok, good,” Chip says,
once again touching him
as he pats his arm.

Plankton can't help but
flinch again, and this
time Chip sees it clearly.
"Dad, are you sure you're
okay?" he asks, his voice
laced with worry.

Plankton nods, his smile
forced. "I'm just tired,
Chip. Really."

"Are you sure you're sure?"
Chip asks, his hands grabbing
his father's. "You seem
kind of... off."

Plankton looks down at
their joined hands, and the
sensation sends another
wave of panic through him. He
takes a deep breath, trying
to compose himself. "I'm fine,"
he says, but Chip isn't
convinced.

"You can tell me if
something's wrong," Chip
persists. "I'm your son, I'm
here for you."

Plankton's eye darts to
their hands, then to Chip's
intense stare. He feels
himself getting disoriented.

"Dad, really," Chip says, his
voice softer now, his screen
filled with concern.
"You can tell me."

Plankton's chest tightens.
This is it. The moment he's
been dreading for years.
He looks at his son, his
face a mirror of his own
confusion and pain. How do
you tell a child that their
father is not like other
dads? That his quirks are
not just eccentricities,
but part of a complex
puzzle of the brain…
NO. He won’t tell him. He’s 
kept it a secret, and Chip’s
not ready either. Not to
mention being to far gone in
the ringing of his ears to even
think up a coherent thought,
nor stay present any longer. 
But he’s to far gone to move.
He feels his heart pounding
against his ribcage. His vision
starts to blur around the
edges.

"Dad?" Chip's voice cuts
through, adding to the static in his
head. "You don't look fine."

Plankton's mind races as he tries
to find the right words to say,
but his mouth won't cooperate.

"Dad, what's going on?" Chip asks,
his voice tinged with fear. "You
look like you're in pain."

Plankton's breaths come in
quick, shallow gasps. He's
having a meltdown. The touch,
the noise, the light—it's all
too much. He needs to get
away, find a quiet space,
but his body won't move.

Karen rushes in,
concern etched on her face.
"Plankton, what's happening?"
she asks, gently touching
his shoulder. But even her
touch is a thunderclap in
his overwhelmed brain.

Plankton jolts and pulls
away, his eye wide with
fear and confusion. "I-I can't,"
he stammers, unable to form
a coherent sentence.

new chip and the dilemma Chip Plankton II i

CATCH IN MY CHIP i
(Autistic author)

Chip, son of Karen and
Plankton, just finished
with summer camp. He
smiled, excitedly going
into his home, bursting 
through the door of the 
Chum Bucket.

"Mom, Dad!" He called out,
his voice echoing through
the corridors.

"Chip!" Karen exclaims
rushing over as he runs
to her. They hug, and she
asks, "How was camp?"

He beams. "It was
awesome! I learned to
surf and made so many
friends!"

Karen smiles. "I'm so
glad you had fun, honey."

"Where's Dad?" Chip asks.

"He's just having some down
time in our bedroom," Karen
says. "You can go unpack.."

But Chip is already bolting
down the hallway, eager to
share his adventures.
He throws open the door to
Plankton's room, expecting to
find his dad eagerly awaiting
his return. Instead, he finds
Plankton just sitting on the bed.

"Dad! Dad! You're not going to
believe what happened at
camp!" Chip's words tumble
out in an excited rush.

Plankton looks up, a little
startled by the sudden
onslaught of energy. His eye
dance over the pile of
equipment Chip's brought back
with him, and he tries to focus
his scattered thoughts.

Chip doesn't notice his dad's
flinch, too caught up in his
own excitement. He starts
unpacking his bag, pulling out
his surfboard, a sandy towel,
and a shiny, new seashell
collection. "Guess what? I
was the best in my group at
catching waves! And I found
this super rare shell on the beach!
Look, it's got all these cool
patterns!" He holds it out to
Plankton's face.

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his sensory overload building
quickly. He tries to smile,
forcing his eye to focus on
the shell. "That's... that's very
interesting, Chip," he says,
his voice strained.

Chip doesn't catch the subtle
tension in his dad's tone.
"But wait, there's more!" He
grabs a fistful of sandy
photos, slapping them onto the
bed. "Look at all the fun we
had!" Each picture is a blur
of smiling kids and splashing
water. Plankton's eye darts
from one to the next, trying
to process the sensory assault.

He nods, a bit too quickly,
his eye slightly glazed over.

"And then there was the talent
show!" Chip says, bouncing on
the bed. "I did a killer impression
of Larry the Lobster!"

Plankton winces at the sudden
loudness of his son's voice and the
rhythmic bouncing. He tries to
muster a chuckle, but it comes out
forced.

"And everyone loved it! They said I
was hilarious!" He doesn't see
the way Plankton's antenna twitches,
a subtle sign of his rising stress.

Plankton's mind races as he tries
to keep up with Chip's stories.
The vividness of the memories,
the loudness of his son's voice,
and the cluttered space around him
all contribute to the sensory storm
building inside him. He takes
another deep breath, trying to
calm himself.

Chip, oblivious to his father's
distress, keeps going. "And you'll
never guess what we had for lunch
on the last day!" He rummages
through his bag, pulling out a
half-eaten sandwich. "They made
it for me special because I won
the sand-building contest!" He can't
help but feel overwhelmed by the
sensory barrage, his mind racing
to find a way to escape the chaos.

"And the counselor said I might
even be able to compete in the
Bikini Bottom surfing championships!"
Chip says, jumping up to give him
a big bear hug. Plankton stiffens,
his antennas drooping slightly.

"And then, remember that time
we built the sandcastle together?
Well, my counselor said it was
even better than that one!" He
gestures widely, his arms sweeping
through the air and knocking
over a stack of papers on
Plankton's desk. The sound of
scattering paper is like nails
on a chalkboard to Plankton's
sensitive hearing, and he jerks
back involuntarily. His meticulously
organized desk, ruined, stressing
Plankton out even more.

Chip laughs, not noticing Plankton's
discomfort. He looks
around the messy room, his mind
spinning. The smell of the musty
sandwich mingles with the salty sea
air, making him feel nauseous. He
swallows hard, fighting the urge to
push Chip away.

"You're the best dad ever!" Chip
squeezes him tighter. Plankton's
heart swells with love and pride,
but his body tenses under the
weight of his son's affection. He
can feel his personal space shrinking,
his need for order and quiet
desperately trying to assert itself.

But Chip is still on a high from his
summer camp tales and doesn't
notice. He keeps talking, his words
flowing like a river, each one
crashing into the dam of Plankton's
overstimulated brain. Plankton's breaths
grow shallower, his eye darting
around the room as he searches
for a way to retreat without hurting
his son's feelings.

"And the counselor said I might
even be able to compete in the
Bikini Bottom surfing championships!"
Chip says, jumping up to give him
a big bear hug. Plankton's body
stiffens under the sudden
physical contact, his antennas drooping
even more. The smell of the salty
ocean, the feel of sand on his skin,
it's all too much, which is when the shut
down happens.

"Dad?" Chip pulls back, noticing
his dad's reaction. Plankton's eye
now wide and unfocused, his breaths
quick and shallow. "What's wrong?"

Plankton can't bring himself
back to consciousness.

"Dad?" Chip says again,
his voice now laced with
concern. Plankton's normally
expressive eye is vacant,
his body as rigid as a board.

The room seems to spin
around Chip, his excitement
quickly morphing into worry.
He's never seen his dad like this
before. "Are you okay?" He touches
his father's arm with a curious poke,
making his unmoving body tip
over onto his back, still not budging.

Chip's never seen such an
unblinking stare.

"Dad? Dad, are you okay?"
He asks again, voice quivering.
Plankton doesn't respond,
his eye glazed over, his body
motionless.

Chip's concern grows
with each passing second.
He tries to shake his dad,
his small hands trembling. "Dad,
please, talk to me," he whispers, his
voice cracking. He looks
at his dad, who lies unresponsive,
it's like Plankton's gone somewhere
else entirely.

He calls out again, louder
this time, "Dad? Daddy?" But
Plankton doesn't move, doesn't
blink. Chip feels a knot form
in him, a cold
realization starting to sink in.
This isn't just tiredness or
daydreaming.

Panic bubbles up in him. He
doesn't know what's happening,
but he knows it's not good. His
thoughts are a jumble of questions:
why isn't his dad responding?
What did he do wrong?

He jumps off the bed and runs
to find his mom. "Mom! Mom!"
his cries echo through the Chum
Bucket. Karen rushes out from
the kitchen, wiping her hands on
a towel. "What's wrong?"

"It's Dad," Chip says, his voice
shaking. "He's just lying there
not moving. I don't know what..."

It dawns on her. Plankton's
autism often left him like this,
a silent retreat into himself
when the world was too much.

Karen's heart squeezes.
Chip had never seen this side
of his dad, never understood
how much sensory input
could overwhelm him.

Sure enough, reaching the 
bedroom, Karen found him
in one of his light-headed/dizzy
moments.

"It's okay, Chip," Karen
soothed, kneeling beside her
son. "Your dad has something
that makes his brain work a
little differently from other
people's. It's called autism.
Sometimes, when he gets too much
information at once, it's like his brain
needs a little break."

Chip looked at her, his screen
wide with confusion. "Is he okay?"

"Yes, honey," Karen says, her
voice calm and gentle. "He's just
overstimulated. Sometimes, when
there's too much going on, it's hard
for him to process everything."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II i

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY v
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae twitched as he broke from recitation.

Patrick looked at Plankton with genuine curiosity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jellyfish interesting. Plankton like jellyfish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patrick, still looking confused, shrugged and waited outside. 

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore v

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new x b circle of candles

please dont post gross stuff on here!! kids who are young like probably 9 year olds are just trying to find cute combos. spread the word (≧ヮ≦) also people who are spreading the word, please do not put curse words. its the same example for kids with the gross things but with curse words. thanks love<3 bye!!(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

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new y font v

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ᵃ ᵇ ᶜ ᵈ ᵉ ᶠ ᵍ ʰ ⁱ ʲ ᵏ ˡ ᵐ ⁿ ᵒ ᵖ ૧ ʳ ˢ ᵗ ᵘ ᵛ ʷ ˣ ʸ ᶻ 

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THE LIFE OF UNITY ii
(Autistic author; make sure to read A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i - x first!)

Kevin scoffs. "Yeah, right," he says, voice 
dripping with disdain. Kevin 
snorts. "So jellyfish are smarter 
than you? You're saying you're like a jelly
fish; Brainless and just floating around?"

Plankton's antennae stiffen, taking on edge. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, "Jellyfish have nerve nets. 
Complex behaviors. 
Brainless? Not brainless. Different."

Kevin's eyes narrow, his grin fading into a sneer. 
"So, what you're saying is 
that you're like a jellyfish?" he taunts. 
"Just with no real purpose?"

The silence that follows is thick with tension. 
Plankton's antennae quiver. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, 
eye flashing, "have purpose. Plankton has purpose."

Kevin snickers, unaware of 
the impact of his words. 
"Sure, Plankton," he says, his 
voice dripping with sarcasm. 
"Your purpose is to annoy me
I guess."

Plankton's antennae stiffen. "Purpose," 
he murmurs, his one eye narrowing. 
"Annoying Kevin... not Plankton's purpose
you don't understand."

Kevin's sneer turns into a full-blown laugh. 
"Understand what?" he asks, his 
voice dripping with disbelief. "That you 
think jellyfish are your friends? That 
you're obsessed with them because 
you're just like them?"

Plankton's antennae quiver 
with a mix of anger 
and sadness, his monotone 
voice tight. "Jellyfish. Different."

Kevin's laughter echoes through the 
jellyfish fields, his ignorance fueling 
the flames of Plankton's anger. "Oh
come on," he says. "You're just mad 
because you can't outsmart a jellyfish."

Plankton's antennae quiver violently, his 
monotone voice filled with a 
rare emotion: insecurity. "Kevin," he 
murmurs, "you don't know what 
you're saying."

But Kevin's laughter doesn't cease, eyes 
sparkling with mischief. 
"What, are you going to get all sensitive 
on me now?" he asks, his voice 
filled with mock concern. "Is Plankton thinking 
with his 'jellyfish brain'?"

Plankton's antennae droop, the barb of Kevin's 
words hitting too close to home. 
"It's not funny," Plankton murmurs, 
antennae drooping.

SpongeBob steps 
forward, fists 
clenched. "Kevin, that's 
not cool," he says 
firmly. "You don't know 
what you're talking about."

Kevin's laughter falters, his smirk fading. 
"What do you mean?" he asks, his 
voice defensive. "It's just a joke."

"No," Plankton murmurs, his antennae drooping 
further. "Not funny."

Kevin's sneer fades, his expression shifting 
to confusion. "What's your 
problem, Plankton?" he asks, his 
voice tinged with annoyance.

"Kevin," Sponge Bob says, his voice a mix 
of concern and reprimand. "That's 
not nice. Plankton's interest in jellyfish 
is special to him."

But Kevin's sneer only deepens. "Oh, I 
get it," he says, his voice dripping 
with condescension. "You're all playing 
along with his little game. Well, I'm 
not. Jellyfish are just mindless blobs. 
And if you're so obsessed with them
Plankton, maybe that's all you are, too."

Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye blinking rapidly. 

But Kevin, fueled by his own ignorance, continues 
to laugh, his words 
cutting deeper. "What's the 
matter, Plankton?" he sneers. 
"Can't take a 
little ribbing?"

Plankton's antennae quiver with each insult, his
monotone voice strained. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye wide with hurt. 
"Not a game."

Kevin's laughter echoes 
through the jellyfish fields, 
his eyes gleaming 
with cruel amusement. "Oh, I see," he 
says, his voice dripping with 
sarcasm. "You're just to sensitive 
for a little teasing."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with a 
mix of anger and sadness, his 
monotone voice tight. "Jellyfish... complex," 
he murmurs, his eye flashing 
with determination. "Not brainless. Not like 
your jokes."

"What's the matter?" Kevin asks, his smirk 
growing. "Can't handle the truth?"

"Truth?" Plankton's antennae quiver with emotion. 
"Jellyfish," he murmurs, his 
monotone voice filled with a rare passion. 
"Jellyfish... beautiful. Complex."

Kevin's eyes narrow, his laughter fading. "Beautiful?" 
he scoffs. "They're 
just jellyfish, Plankton. They don't have feelings. 
They don't have brains. 
Just like you."

Plankton's antennae quiver.

But Kevin's smirk only widens, his 
laughter bouncing 
off the surrounding 
coral, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You
can't talk without 
getting all worked up. What kind of brainless 
blob are you?"

Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone 
voice strained. "Kevin," he 
murmurs, "you don't understand."

"Understand what?" Kevin sneers, eyes gleaming with malicious 
amusement. "That jellyfish are just mindless blobs of jelly? That you're 
just like them?"

Plankton's antennae droop. "Kevin," he 
murmurs, "you don't know."

"Know what?" Kevin's laughter is cruel, his 
eyes sparkling with mischief. 
"That jellyfish are just mindless animals 
and you're obsessed with them 
because you're just a brainless creature 
who can't get a life?"

Plankton's antennae droop even further, his 
one eye blinking 
rapidly. "Not mindless."

Kevin's laughter turns into a cackle. "Oh, so you 
think you're better than 
jellyfish now?" he asks, his voice dripping 
with sarcasm. "Maybe if you 
had a brain, you could actually catch one of those 
Krabby Patties you're 
always after! Maybe if you had a brain, you'd realize THAT 
YOU'LL NEVER 
BE MORE THAN A TINY, BRAINLESS BOTTOM FEEDER!"

The words hit Plankton like a tidal wave, antennae drooping 
even further.

"Kevin," Plankton murmurs, his monotone voice thick 
with emotion, "you don't know."

new the life of unity jellyfishcore ii

Any moment now...
Are you sure this is what you want?
(Scoff) Oh spare me your spin, you tablet tabloid.
If you want to psychoanalyze someone, don't look at me-

Look at them! It's so pathetic,
How they run to fetch their sticks…
Sure, call me polemic, unsympathetic,
At least I know other tricks!

Look at me and all you'll see is the debris of some defective outcast,
A frenetic, antithetic (if poetic) little iconoclast,
But I won't live in the past.

(I almost won this game once, you know.)
But.

History is rearranged just to credit those who win the glory,
So reality is changed in the edit when they spin the story,
And we choose, to feel this pain,
And we lose, more than we gain...

But I will BREAK this cycle,
Of mistakes, unlike all,
Of these SNAKES whom I call to condemn!

If I can't win the prize,
I'll play this last reprisal!
Just to bring their lies all to an end… -Ack!

You need regeneration.
Unfortunately, I don't have much faith in that process.
Of course not.
Why "of course not?".
You believe yourself to be incapable of starting over, in more ways than one.
I do not know who you lost, but is it not possible to get them back?

"Clear the slate, start again",
Are you hearing how preposterous that sounds?
How do you not comprehend that for someone with my MONSTROUS BACKGROUND,
the whole slate has fallen apart!

Taco that is not true.
There are other ways to-

IT’S TOO LATE-

It's not too late,

FOR ME TO RESTART!

But it's not I, its they,
(Let us talk about it when your),
Who deign to play this game, so,
(head is not so clouded. You're no),
Cruel & inhumane, base & uncouth,
(menace, Taco, how did they hurt you?)
(Please think this through)

I think they're too afraid to,
(Feeling double-crossed is part of),
Bear the bed they've made,
(Dealing with a loss, yes, but the),
Can't bring themselves to face the awful truth.
(Healing is a process, that's the truth)

So I'm turning up the heat to "sauté",
I've a beef to get grilled,
But I fully guarantee today that all the beans that get spilled,
Won't be mine,
No I'm fine,

I-

Shhhh...
Now it's time...

new ii inanimate insanity osc

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8ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☾

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WHERES ALL THE YOYLE CAKE LOVING BFB/BFDI/II/BFDIA/TPOT 
FANZ >_< ;; NEW WRITTER MIMI<3

*teleportz to mimi* you hav zummoned me. (im a bfb fan and im ztarting to watch hfjone lulz)
-zombie gutz ^_^

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⣯⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⢯⣗⢦⢩⢿⣯⣙⢎⠹⡁⠎⡱⡀⣹⢡⣒⣿⣽⣿⢟⡯⣾⣵⣿⠿⣭⢯⣾⠡⣼⣿⢟⡾⣿⣃⡀⠈⠻⣷⡈⢅⡳⢆⠈⠀⠂⠀⡼⠋⢠⡴⣾⣤⠖⣯⢱⣫⣾⢫
⡷⡿⣏⣟⠾⣟⣿⣿⣎⢧⢳⡹⢗⠮⡑⡓⡎⡔⢸⣿⣿⣿⣯⣟⣮⣟⣿⢿⣛⣭⣷⣿⣿⣿⢴⣿⢋⠋⢸⡷⣿⣇⠢⠑⡙⢿⣄⠐⠒⢄⠀⠀⢲⣶⡾⣟⡽⣳⢬⣛⣴⣿⠻⣌⣷
⣿⡷⢯⣿⣫⣟⡾⠽⢻⣮⣧⣹⢦⡷⣼⣟⢽⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣻⢮⣷⣿⢯⣷⣿⣿⣛⠿⣩⣻⣝⠁⡲⢀⢸⠠⢽⡿⠱⣂⡄⢡⡈⢀⣴⡎⡴⣧⣾⣿⢻⡽⣛⣼⣳⢿⣙⣦⣿⠿⣟
⣿⣟⣷⣭⡟⣬⢒⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢏⣵⣿⣿⣟⡷⣟⣾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣾⣿⣿⣛⢻⣫⢘⡀⢹⠜⠀⠁⢜⣼⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⣩⣾⣿⣻⣞⢯⣳⣻⡾⣏⣷⣿⡿⣏⣳⣼
⣿⣷⣾⡿⣜⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣋⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠈⠉⢹⣵⡎⣵⠋⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⠗⣵⣿⣿⣿⣳⢯⡼⢯⣾⢯⣿⡿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⠻
⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡡⣿⣷⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣴⣿⣿⣿⣟⣧⣻⢮⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⣽⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⡀⢸⣿⠓⣽⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣫⢿⣼⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢨⣓⣷⡿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣳⢯⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣹⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠸⣶⡽⢷⣿⣿⡻⣿⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣷⣻⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⢿⣷⣿⣷⢾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⢿⡻⣟⣾⣻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡈⠂⠀⠀⠀⣟⣳⢿⣹⣾⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⡀⠄⠀⠀⣿⣽⣺⢿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡁⠂⢸⣷⣯⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡽⣹⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡔⠢⠀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠘⠌⢰⠉⠻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀
⣳⢣⢯⡘⡙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢿⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣧⢋⢦⡙⢲⡀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡕⢧⠞⠛⣾⣢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠸⣇⡻⢷⢦⢄⠀⠀
⢧⡏⡖⡌⢂⠙⢢⡄⠘⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⢭⣚⡆⢒⠉⠙⣾⣜⢣⡀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡃⢳⠠⠤⠛⢯⣽⡂
⡳⢎⡵⣎⠰⢈⠀⠱⡄⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣶⡐⢶⡉⠐⡆⠉⢹⣳⣜⢪⠀⠀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠈⢿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠜⠩⣆⠃⢠⠀⠙⢿
⡝⣎⠲⣙⠦⡁⢂⠀⠹⣄⠂⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣥⠊⢵⣂⠀⡖⠀⠘⢮⣻⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠘⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢯⡂⠣⣦⠈⠀⡀⠘
⡟⣬⠓⡌⢶⡁⠆⠀⠀⠘⡄⢸⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡭⣗⡀⢞⡡⡐⠄⠄⠈⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣽⡄⠈⠝⢌⢀⠀
⡝⣦⠛⡌⢆⡿⢠⠁⠀⠈⣧⠖⣿⣿⣥⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣞⣧⢖⠨⠔⢂⠄⠀⠺⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠘⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢜⣿⡤⡉⠜⠡⠀
⡻⣔⠫⡜⢂⡿⣀⠂⠀⠀⢱⠈⣼⣿⣿⡖⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣅⡙⠀⠙⠦⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⣿⣿⣧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⣗⡀⠀⠀
⢷⣩⠓⣌⣹⡷⠄⢂⠀⠀⢸⡈⠊⣿⣿⣿⣖⡱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⠦⠠⠐⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣦⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠽⣤⠀
⡧⣇⢏⠤⣻⣿⢌⠠⠀⢠⣿⣅⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣷⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣇⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉
⣳⢭⣚⣾⣿⡿⣈⠐⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⡓⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣳⢮⣿⣿⣿⡓⠄⡈⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠀⢀⣾⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣄⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣾
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣉⢒⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣣⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡠⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

new iiii iii vii dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢞⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣀⣠⠞⠁⢸⢀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣧⢀⠴⢃⠓⣌⠠⠙⢦⡀⣾⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣉⣻⡆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣸⣿⠄⢣⡉⠖⡄⢓⢅⠂⡙⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠐⡤⢀⢤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⣀⢀⠠⣊⣼⣿⠘⣄⠚⢤⠉⡖⡨⢑⣄⢿⣇⠀⣀⢀⢠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡘⣰⣿⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⢤⣿⡿⠿⢟⠡⣊⠤⣉⠆⢣⠔⡡⢣⠄⡙⢿⢿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠘⣤⣾⠟⠁⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠴⣿⡧⢉⠆⡱⡐⢢⠡⠚⡄⢎⡑⢢⠑⣌⣶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡐⢤⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⡔⣿⣇⠣⣘⠡⠜⡡⢊⠕⡨⢂⠜⣠⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣼⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡌⣿⣇⠒⢤⡉⣒⠡⢃⠜⡠⣃⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⣡⣾⠿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡌⣿⡧⢉⠆⠴⡁⢎⠰⣨⣶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡌⣿⣇⠣⣘⠡⡘⣤⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⣑⣾⡿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡌⣿⡧⠑⡄⣣⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠛⣄⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡘⣿⣇⣣⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠟⣠⠙⣄⠓⣅⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⠱⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠟⢡⡘⠤⡩⢐⢣⡐⠓⣅⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⢀⢼⣿⠆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⢙⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠟⡡⢊⠖⣈⠖⡡⢃⠆⣉⠖⡨⢑⢆⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣠⠞⠁⢀⡴⢉⠼⣿⡃⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢂⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢊⣴⣿⠟⡡⢊⡔⢣⠘⡄⠎⡔⡡⠚⡄⢎⡑⢣⢌⠱⢆⠈⠳⣄⠀
⢾⣷⣶⣶⡁⡆⢇⢸⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢏⣿⡿⢁⠎⡁⢇⠸⣀⢉⢰⠉⡰⢁⠷⡈⢆⡸⢰⠈⠶⣈⣷⣶⣾⡷
⠀⠙⢷⣭⢟⣮⡰⢸⣿⡅⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢲⣵⡿⡋⢆⡩⢒⡉⢆⠱⢂⠥⢊⠴⣁⠣⢂⡍⠢⠔⡡⢊⣴⡿⣯⡿⠋⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣶⡹⢮⣿⠆⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡶⠷⢾⣿⡏⢢⠱⢌⡰⢡⡘⢌⢒⡉⢆⣉⠒⠤⢃⠣⢌⠱⣈⣴⣿⣻⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣽⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⢠⡿⡑⢢⢃⠲⢄⠣⣘⠰⢊⠔⡊⢤⠙⡌⡌⠱⣈⡶⣟⣿⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡅⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢹⣿⣤⣤⣤⡾⠗⣈⠦⡑⢪⢄⡓⠤⠓⡌⣒⡉⠦⡑⠰⣈⣵⡾⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣢⣼⣿⠟⣉⣍⠩⢔⠣⣌⢢⢑⠢⣌⠘⡌⢓⡘⢤⡘⢤⡁⣧⣿⢯⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢒⣾⣛⣛⠛⠛⠛⢛⣿⠃⣶⣟⣛⠛⠛⠛⠻⣮⣦⣼⡾⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣋⣠⡾⠛⠛⠛⠛⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢊⣴⣿⠟⣻⡟⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⢡⠙⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢚⣤⣿⠟⡡⢺⣿⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⢄⠣⣸⡿⠁⠀⢀⣾⠛⡟⣻⣿⡟⠀⠀⢠⡿⠛⠛⠛⣿⠃⠀⠀⣰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢘⣰⣿⠟⣡⠚⢄⣿⠃⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃⡜⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⣸⡟⣤⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⣰⡏⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢄⣱⣾⡿⢧⡘⡄⢃⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⢸⢈⣼⡏⠀⠀⢰⣿⣾⣟⡿⣻⠇⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠆⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣾⠟⠙⢿⣳⡝⢮⣰⡿⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⡄⢣⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡿⠋⢰⡟⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣇⠐⡠⢄⠠⠠⢔⣡⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣧⣿⢃⡀⣀⢀⡛⣿⡧⢡⣿⣃⣀⣀⣸⣻⡏⠀⠀⣾⣁⣀⣀⣜⣿⠆⠀⢠⣟⣀⣀⣀⣛⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣟⢿⣻⠛⡛⢛⠡⢂⣽⡿⣿⡿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣽⣹⢬⡂⣱⣾⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣧⢻⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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“🫧🎀⋆｡‧˚ʚ🍓ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆”

new burbujas i

वेरिफाई ब्लू टिक🇽

new twitter blue tick w s x

୨ৎ

new l n h i

Luna

      ✈︎

new v roman alphabet letter

⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⡟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢶⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⡿⣟⡋⠚⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⣸⣶⡀⠈⠙⠻⢿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⢫⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀⠀⣿⣿⠓⢦⡀⠀⠀⠙⠛⢿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠻⣿⣆⣿⣿⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⢟⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡏⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠻⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢠⣾⣿⡿⢡⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠻⢿⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡟⣵⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡟⢠⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⣀⣹⣿⣯⡄⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⢁⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⣴⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡄⠀⠀⠘⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠇⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⢀⣤⣾⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡿⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣋⣩⣧⣶⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠁⠀⠘⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⡾⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣦⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣴⡿⠟⠋⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⣠⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢴⣶⣛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣼⣿⣿⡿⠋⠉⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣼⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢉⣙⠛⣛⡛⠛⠛⠋⣿⣿⣿⣟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣵⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣷⣄⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣆
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡟
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new ii inanimate insanity kawaii coquette uhmmmmmm goo iii dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⣿⣷⣶⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣦⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⢟⣺⡽⢛⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⠁⡀⢀⠠⠁⠀⠄⠀⠥⠤⠉⠉⠙⠛⠿⠿⣶⣦⣄⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣷⡫⣿⣾⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠠⡛⣁⣂⠄⠀⠒⠁⡄⠄⠀⠂⠐⠔⠠⣀⠠⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣾⣾⣹⣗⡀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣮⢵⣿⠟⠀⠁⠀⠀⠄⠔⠊⠀⠀⡀⠀⠊⠐⡈⡈⠀⠃⠀⠀⠈⠠⠀⠀⠀⣀⢦⡄⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⡷⣻⠟⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣫⣼⡗⠁⠀⠀⠀⡈⠂⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠁⠁⡀⠈⠂⠂⠀⢤⡀⡀⠀⢨⢄⡀⠨⠐⡙⢷⡀⠈⢿⣿⣏⣿⡓⡿⣯⣿⣀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⢿⡿⣼⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠔⡈⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠈⠅⠀⠠⠁⠁⢄⠀⠢⡀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠉⢄⠒⠄⠈⠻⣦⣾⣿⣿⠥⠾⡥⣄⣿⣿⣆⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣻⢟⠃⠀⠀⢀⠄⣠⠂⠀⠑⠀⣿⡥⠁⡐⡀⠁⠀⠠⠀⠀⠐⠀⠘⠀⠘⣧⡀⠀⠀⠈⠁⢠⠀⠈⠹⣿⣷⣿⣦⠘⢿⣮⣻⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠋⢠⡟⠀⠀⢄⢴⡾⡇⡴⢀⠀⠊⠀⠈⣶⡄⠀⡤⠤⡀⠀⠘⢗⡄⠄⠐⠀⡢⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣾⣿⣃⠘⢿⢻⣿⣿⣽⣆⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣷⡒⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⣼⠃⠀⠠⣾⠋⠨⣿⠀⡄⠀⡆⠙⡁⣹⣿⣄⠀⠀⢩⡈⠀⠨⣷⠁⠀⠀⠤⢀⢂⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡷⡄⢘⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⠂⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢹⣷⠄⠀⡰⠁⢰⣿⠀⣰⡿⠥⠄⢤⡟⠆⣷⠀⢩⢠⠀⣿⠉⢿⣦⠁⠘⣿⣆⠀⢻⣷⡀⢀⠃⢀⠊⠄⠀⢹⣿⣟⢷⢳⣼⣷⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣾⣿⠀⠠⢘⠀⣸⣿⣰⡻⠁⠄⠀⠀⠔⡺⣿⣖⠐⡨⠀⣾⡁⠀⣿⣷⡶⣓⡿⢻⡮⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣯⡹⣿⣽⣿⣷⢿⡂⠈⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⢽⣿⠀⠀⠁⠀⣸⣿⣿⢵⣿⢵⣦⣄⠀⢸⣉⣿⡄⠒⠄⣿⠀⠀⠈⠘⠯⢿⣧⠈⠻⣿⣿⡀⢀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠄⣿⣗⢿⠿⣾⠎⠘⣾⣇⡁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⢸⡿⢾⡄⠀⠀⣿⣿⡫⠔⣫⢭⢩⣵⢳⡛⠻⣟⠶⠐⠂⣟⣪⢠⣤⢈⣠⠬⣷⣤⣄⡘⢯⡇⢀⠂⠘⢰⡀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣷⣅⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⢸⡇⢸⡆⠀⠀⣿⣿⡂⣽⣿⣩⠹⢯⣉⣛⣑⠘⢾⣬⡄⢹⡻⢈⣴⣿⣾⣲⣽⣟⠿⣿⣿⣇⠰⠀⠈⢠⡇⠀⢸⣿⣷⣺⣿⠀⠀⣸⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⣸⡇⣸⣿⡀⠀⣿⣷⡇⢻⡿⠋⡏⠳⣷⡇⠀⡁⠊⠼⢞⢼⢿⠘⣿⣿⠻⡘⣊⣹⠂⢘⣿⣟⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⢸⣇⣿⣿⡿⡀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣟⣇⠀⣿⡏⠀⢠⠟⡻⠯⠞⠏⡄⠀⠠⠓⢄⠐⠠⠫⢉⠻⠟⠛⠒⠻⣯⡆⠡⣿⠿⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣦⡀⣿⣿⣾⢟⠇⠀⠀⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⢸⢿⣄⠠⠛⡏⢂⢀⠀⢄⣀⣸⢊⠤⠌⣥⡈⢉⡀⠓⢗⠴⠾⠊⠠⠀⣼⡏⠀⠄⣾⣽⣻⡿⢿⣿⣿⣾⣿⡃⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣴⠀⣿⣿⣿⡏⠹⣿⣾⠿⣿⣯⣄⠁⠕⢡⡐⢛⡲⠓⢦⠬⠥⠬⠬⠭⠬⠄⠁⠈⠅⠹⠖⢀⢿⡋⢂⣾⣿⣯⣿⠁⠀⠀⣿⣿⣻⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿⠁⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃⣿⢸⣿⣹⣾⡇⠀⠘⢿⣻⣾⢾⣿⡻⢶⣤⣁⡗⠖⡐⠶⠶⠶⡆⠉⢁⠰⠄⠀⠈⢁⣠⣼⣾⡎⣠⢿⣯⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⡈⠻⢟⠺⣾⡸⢿⣿⣎⣽⣿⡷⢶⣶⣶⣦⣶⣿⣶⣷⣶⣿⠿⢟⡿⣿⣺⠝⠉⠉⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣵⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣏⣿⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠆⠀⠛⠿⢻⡿⢛⡉⣱⣴⡿⣿⣇⠰⡿⠋⠙⣎⣄⠀⠰⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀
⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⡈⠂⠀⡀⣠⡺⢷⣷⠃⡀⢸⣷⣾⠏⠉⢷⡄⢶⣖⢮⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣞⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀
⠀⣾⡏⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠂⢁⣼⣿⣷⣿⡿⢠⢈⣽⢧⣿⢩⢭⠽⣿⣾⣿⣾⢼⣂⠀⠀⠀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢸⣽⣿⢼⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡄⠀
⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⠾⡿⣟⣷⣺⣿⢸⢀⣿⠀⣿⠈⡆⠀⠈⢿⣟⣿⣴⣇⣧⡀⠀⠀⠁⡆⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀
⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⢿⣗⣟⢹⣿⡋⡿⣆⢸⣿⡆⣿⠀⢸⠄⠤⣲⣿⣿⣭⡞⣿⣻⡄⠀⠀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣷⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣷⠀
⢸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠈⣿⣶⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡬⡿⣝⡿⣺⡞⡹⠁⣼⡝⠃⣿⡀⢸⡇⠑⡘⣿⣿⡟⣵⣿⣿⢿⣦⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡄
⢸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⣈⣿⣟⢴⣝⣧⡘⠁⠀⣹⣷⢶⣟⠁⠀⢳⣣⣀⣘⣿⣧⢻⣿⢾⣿⡟⡇⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠃⠀⢰⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇
⢸⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠛⠋⢉⣬⡻⣿⡻⣧⣴⣿⣷⣻⣿⣆⢤⣶⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⡻⣿⣿⠤⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧
⠘⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⣿⣶⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⢾⣿⢿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣷⣿⣻⣿⣤⣈⡚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧
⠀⢻⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⢻⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠿⣮⣡⣋⣽⣿⠿⣯⣯⠿⣿⣟⡿⣿⣿⣷⠒⠞⠁⠀⠁⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡟⠀⠀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏
⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣹⣯⣭⣿⣿⣶⣷⣹⣓⣁⠉⣁⣰⣶⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⣼⣿⡏⠀⠀⣼⣿⠁
⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣯⣿⣿⡺⢷⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠃⢀⣾⣿⣿⠃⢀⣼⣿⠋⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣽⣯⣿⣯⣧⣯⢶⡙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⢃⣴⣿⣿⣿⣟⣴⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⢿⣼⣿⡿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣷⣷⡠⣤⣟⣿⣯⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠿⠟⠛⠁⠀⢿⣼⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new i roman alphabet alphabet aramaic arabic alphabet abjad syriac transliteration vowel dot art text art ascii art

me📱4️⃣

new ii iii mephone4 inanimate insanity object show

me📱4️⃣

new mephone4 ii iii OBJECTSHOW

NEW REALITY vii
(Autistic author)

She sleeps at her bed
next to his. The house is quiet,
except for the soft snores
coming from Plankton.

But both of their 
eyes snap open
at the sound of 
the doorbell.

Plankton's body tenses,
his hand shooting up to 
cover his head. Karen
moves quickly, her heart 
racing. She knows that 
sudden sounds can be
overwhelming for him.
"It's okay," she murmurs,
placing her hand over 
his. "Door," he says, his voice
still groggy from sleep.

Her eyes dart to the 
clock. It's early, much 
earlier than anyone would 
usually visit. "I'll go 
see who it is," she says, 
trying to keep her voice 
steady. "You stay here."

Plankton nods, his hand
dropping from his head
to clutch at the blanket.
"Stay," he whispers, his
voice tight with anxiety.

Karen's eyes fill with
concern. "I'll be right
back," she promises, her
voice soft. "Just stay here."

Plankton nods, his grip
on the blanket tightening.
"Stay," he repeats, his voice
less than a whisper.

Karen nods, her heart racing.
"I will," she whispers. "Just rest."

As she opens the door, she's
met with the cheerful face of
Hanna, her book club friend.
"Hey Karen, I hope I'm not too early!"
Hanna says, a word book in hand.

Karen's eyes widen, her heart
racing. "No, not at all," she says,
forcing a smile. "Come in."

Hanna steps into the house,
her eyes bright with excitement.
But as she sees Karen's 
expression, her smile falters.
"Is everything okay?" she asks,
concern etched on her face.

Karen nods, as Plankton
comes into the room, his gaze
fixed on the spinning fan.
"This is Plankton,"
Karen introduces, her voice
calm.

Hanna smiles. "Hi Plankton,"
she says, her voice too bright.

He nods, his gaze still
locked on the fan. "Fan spin,"
he murmurs.

Hanna's eyes widen, unsure
how to respond. Karen
quickly interjects. "Why
don't we take a look at the
work puzzle book.."

Plankton's gaze shifts, his
interest piqued by the
mention of books.

"Puzzles," he repeats,
his voice a bit clearer.

Hanna's smile relaxes,
seeing his interest. "Yes,
puzzles," she says, holding
up the book. "They're like
fun little brain teasers."

Plankton nods, his hand
reaching out to touch the
book. Karen watches, her
heart racing. Will this
be another trigger?

But Plankton's gaze locks onto
the puzzle book, his eye
lighting up with curiosity.

Karen's heart skips a beat.
This could be good for him,
a way to focus his
whirling thoughts.

Hanna opens the book,
showing him a simple word search.
"See if you can find
the hidden words, Plankton,"
she says, her voice gentle.

His gaze scans the page,
his hand moving in time
with his eye. "Words," he murmurs,
his voice filled with excitement.

Hanna nods, her smile growing.
"That's right," she says, her
tone encouraging. "See if
you can find them all."

Plankton nods, his eye
quickly moving over the
page. Karen watches,
her heart swelling with hope.
This might be it, she thinks,
a new way to connect.

Hanna points to a word,
her voice soothing. "What's this?"

Plankton's hand moves over
the letters, tracing them.
"F-A-N," he reads, his
tone monotone. "Fan," he says,
his gaze flicking up to the
whirring object above.

Hanna laughs, misunderstanding.
"No, Plankton, not fan," she says,
pointing to the puzzle. "Find
the words that are hidden."

But Plankton's gaze remains on
the spinning blades. "Fan," he repeats,
his voice taking on a firm tone.

Hanna's smile falters, not
comprehending his 
meaning. "No, Plankton,"
she says, her voice still cheerful.
"Look at the puzzle."

But Plankton's gaze
doesn't waver from the fan.
"Fan," he says, his tone
firm, almost defensive.

Hanna's smile falters,
her cheerfulness waning.
"Plankton," she says gently,
"it's a puzzle, not about
the fan."

But Plankton's gaze remains
fixed on the fan, his
body tensing. "Fan," he repeats,
his voice firm, almost
defensive.

Hanna's smile falters,
uncertain of his meaning.
"It's just a puzzle, Plankton,"
she says gently, her voice
filled with misunderstanding.

But Plankton's tone sharpens.
"Fan," he insists, his voice
raised, his body tense.
"Fan spin, make quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen with
surprise, her smile slipping
away. "It's not about the
fan, Plankton," she says,
her voice still kind but
concerned. "It's about..."

But Plankton's voice cuts
through the air, his tone
sharp. "Fan spin," he says,
his hand moving in
erratic patterns. "Fan make
quiet. Fan important."

Hanna's eyes widen,
taking a step back. "I didn't
mean..." she starts, but
Plankton's agitation is
growing.

"Fan important," he repeats,
his voice echoing in the quiet
room. Karen's heart races as
she tries to defuse the
situation.

"Hanna, it's okay," she says,
her voice calm but firm.
"The fan is special to Plankton.
It helps him feel calm."

But Hanna's confusion
only grows. "It's just a fan,
right?" she asks, her voice
pitching with uncertainty.

Plankton's voice rises, his
hands flailing. "No!" he yells.
"Fan special! Make quiet!
Must spin!"

Hanna's eyes widen with shock,
her cheerful demeanor evaporating.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know,"
she stammers, taking a step back.

Plankton's voice echoes,
his frustration palpable.
"Fan special!" he yells,
his hands slashing the air.

Hanna's smile has disappeared,
replaced by a look of fear.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
backing away slowly.

Karen's eyes are wide
with worry. She steps
between Hanna and Plankton,
trying to shield her friend
from his distress. "It's okay,
Hanna," she says, her voice
calm but firm. "Let's just
give him some space."

Hanna nods, her eyes
filled with apology.
"I didn't mean to upset him,"
she murmurs, setting the
puzzle book down on the
coffee table.

Karen nods, her gaze
on Plankton. "It's okay,"
she says softly. "He's just
overwhelmed."

Plankton's hands flap like
wings against his sides.
This is stimming, she knows,
his way of coping with
the sensory onslaught.

He rocks back and forth,
his gaze still on the fan.
Karen's heart aches as she
watches him, his body a
whirlwind of energy.

"Fan spin," he murmurs,
his hands fluttering like
butterfly wings. "Spin, spin."

Karen's eyes follow
his erratic movements,
her heart racing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
calm and soothing. "Look at me."
He doesn't react, his gaze
still glued to the fan.

Karen approaches him,
moving slowly to avoid startling
his heightened senses. "Plankton,"
she repeats, her tone steady.

He doesn't react, his eye
still on the fan, his body
a flurry of movement.
Her heart racing, Karen tries again.
"The fan spins," she says, mimicking
his rhythmic speech.

Plankton's gaze flicks to her,
his body still. For a moment,
his movements cease.
"Spin," he whispers, his eye
searching hers.

Karen nods, understanding
his need for the fan's rhythmic
whirl. "It's okay," she says,
her voice a gentle melody.
"The fan will spin."

Plankton's gaze shifts
from the fan to the digital clock
on the mantle. His eye widens
as he sees the seconds tick by,
restarting each minute.
The numbers, stark and
precise, seem to call to him,
a silent symphony of order
in a world gone haywire.

Hanna looks confused, for
Plankton's gaze shifts to the
digital clock, the seconds
ticking away in a silent
symphony. His hands stop
their erratic movements, his
body stilling as he watches
the precise dance of the
numbers.

Karen sees his fascination,
the way his eye tracks
each second as it passes.
"It's okay," she says softly.
"The clock will keep going."

But Plankton's gaze doesn't
shift. His body is still,
his mind lost in the rhythm
of the ticking digits.

Karen watches, her heart
racing. She's read about
how some with autism
find comfort in patterns,
how the predictability
of something as simple
as a digital clock
can be a lifeline in a
world that's otherwise
so chaotic.

Hanna, however, 
doesn't understand.
Her eyes go to Plankton, her
confusion growing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
still too bright, "it's just a clock."

His eye snaps to her, his
body rigid with tension. "Clock
important," he murmurs, his voice
a mix of anger and fear. "Numbers
change."

Hanna's smile fades, her eyes
widening with confusion. "It's
just a clock, Plankton," she says,
trying to placate him. But her
words only serve to stir his
distress further.

Plankton's eye darts from the
clock to Hanna, his breath
coming in quick bursts. "No,"
he whispers, his voice tight.
"Clock important. Numbers change."

Hanna's smile is gone, her
expression one of confusion.
"It's just a way to tell time,"
she says, her voice shaking.
But Plankton's agitation is
building, a storm gathering
behind his eye.

"No," he whispers, his hand
trembling as it points to
the clock. "Numbers change,
make brain quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen, her
understanding still elusive.
"But Plankton," she starts,
"it's just a way to keep track
of time."

But Plankton's gaze is
intense, his voice urgent.
"No, no, no," he says, shaking
his head. "Numbers change,
make brain quiet."

Hanna's voice rises, her
confusion thick. "But it's
just a clock, Plankton,"
she repeats, her words
falling on deaf antennae.

Plankton's body is tight
as a spring, his gaze
locked on the digital
dance. "No," he whispers,
his voice strained. "Numbers
make quiet, chronologically."

Hanna's eyes dart between
Plankton and Karen, her
confusion thick. 

new new reality hannacore vii

🇼🇭🇾 🇾🇺 🇫🇴🇷🇬🇴🇹?

new letter v

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| 0:10⋆.˚🦋༘⋆lori yapping  🤫',SH♥''.,.what are we gonna do
      𝐒𝐭✰𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥,..,'
     

new i nickname name

PLANKTON GOING TO THE DENTIST Ii/Ii

Plankton's eye dart around the room, trying 
to focus, confusion growing as the words 
won't come out right. 
"Th-th-the...th-the...th-th-th-th..." He stammers, his 
mouth working overtime to form the words.

Karen's laughter subsides into a comforting chuckle. 
"It's ok, Plankton." 

"Th-th-then...why...why do I tawking wike thith?" He 
asks, voice a wobbly mess, each word a struggle. 
"I...I'm a g-g-genius!" He stammers, trying to sound 
defiant despite his speech impediment. "I'n noth 
s-s-suppothed to tawl wike thish!"

Karen giggles. "It's just anesthesia, Plankton," 
she says soothingly. "It'll wear off soon."

Plankton's eye widen further. "B-but...I nee, needff 
to...to think...think...think!" He stammers.

"You'll be fine, Plankton," she says. 

The dentist pats Plankton's shoulder. "You're 
quite the charmer 
even with a mouthful of gauze," he quips, 
and the assistant snickers. 
Plankton's cheeks redden, indignation clear 
even through haze of anesthesia.

"I caan...caan...can't...I caan't th-th-think!" 
Plankton splutters. 

Karen tries to stifle her giggles, shaking with amusement. "It's 
anesthesia," she repeats, her voice a gentle wave washing 
over him. "You're ok, Plankton. You're ok."

He takes a deep breath, willing his tongue to cooperate. 
"G-got...it-t," he says.

"Alright, Mr. Plankton, let's get you sitting up," he says. 

He tries to stand, but his body feels like it's made of jelly, his 
legs wobbling beneath him. "Whoa!" He exclaims, speech 
slightly clearer but still slurred. "Thish isn't goog."

Karen and the dental staff help him to his feet, the nurse holding on
to him as he sways slightly. His eye still glazed over, but there's a hint 
of the sharpness that she knows so well starting to shine through. 
"Steady there," she says supporting him. "Let's get to the car."

Plankton nods. "Yeah...the...the...ca--" he says. He takes a shaky step.

"Just keep taking it slow," she advises, her voice a beacon in the fog 
of his mind. Karen's supporting him as they navigate the hallway.

"Where...wher's...wher's the...the...th-the...?" Plankton's words 
trip over each other, traitor to his usual eloquence.

"The car, sweetie," Karen says, her voice a lifeline in the fog 
of anesthesia. She leads him through the hallway
acting as a gentle guide. The receptionist waves with a smile.

"Moth...thath...moth," he stammers. 

She fastens his seatbelt for him. "D-don't laug-fh at me," he 
mumbles, eye half-lidded with the lingering effects of anesthesia.

"I'm not laughing at you," Karen says. "I'm just happy you're ok."

Plankton nods. He tries to say "thanks," but it comes out as "thathks."

"You're welcome, Plankton. You're going to be fine." She starts the engine.

"Bh-buth...whath abou- the...the...th-the...the...teethies?" Plankton slurs, words 
a tangled mess.

Karen laughs. "Don't worry about the teeth 
Plankton. They're out. You're all healed up."

Plankton nods, his eye glazed and his speech still slurred. "Thath's...tha's 
good," he manages to say. "But I...I can't t-talk wight," he mumbles, frustrated.

"Don't worry, honey," Karen says, patting his hand. "You're just a bit loopy 
from anesthesia. It'll wear off."

Plankton tries to argue, but all that comes out is a series of garbled 
sounds. "Th-the...th-th-th..." 

"Your mouth is just numb, Plankton," Karen says, driving. 
"The anesthesia makes it hard to talk."

But Plankton can't help it; he keeps trying, his slurred 
words a jumble of consonants. "Th-th-that's not ith’s," he 
protests, his voice bubbly. "I'm a g-g-gen-n-n...genius!"

Karen giggles, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "You're a genius 
all right," she teases.

Plankton's eye narrow in determination. "Th-that's not...noth fair!" He 
says, his tongue feeling like a thick sea slug.

Karen can't help but laugh harder. "It's ok, Plankton," she says. 

"But I...I nee-f to...to...to th-th-think! I can't...can't th-think thish!"

Karen's laughter bubbles up again 
and she squeezes his hand reassuringly. 
"You're ok, Plankton," she says, 
voice a warm current of comfort. 

"D-don't...d-don't leav-e me," he mumbles, his eye drooping.

Karen glances over. "I'm right here, Plankton," she says.

Plankton's head lolls to the side, and his snores become a soothing 
background to the hum of the boat's engine. His mouth hangs open, 
a stream of drool trailing down his chin, creating a small pool in the 
seat. Karen, noticing the gauze in his mouth has shifted, gently 
repositioned it, careful not to cause him any pain. He mumbles 
something incoherent, and she chuckles, shaking her head. "Rest 
my love," she murmurs.

The drool continues to escape Plankton's mouth, creating a wet spot 
on the boat's upholstery, his slumbering form a stark contrast to the sharp 
scheming creature she's used to. She reaches over to gently dab at 
the drool, her movements careful not to disturb his sleep. 

As the boat docks at the Chum Bucket, Karen wonders how she'll 
manage to get him inside without him babbling incoherently and 
scaring off any passersby. But Plankton, in his anesthesia-induced 
haze, seems oblivious to the world around him, his snores the only 
sound. Karen helps him out of the boat, and she half-drags 
half-carries him through the door. 

They enter their living quarters and she gently lays him on their bed 
which feels like a vast ocean compared to his usual cramped lab space. 
She carefully takes out the gauze, 
watching his eye flutter open. "Where...where am I?" He mumbles.

"You're home, Plankton," Karen says, her voice a soft wave of comfort. 
She wipes his chin clean with a warm, damp cloth. Plankton looks 
around, his eye finally focusing on the familiar sights of their home.

"Home?" He slurs, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. "B-but...I..." 

"Just rest, Plankton," Karen says, pushing him gently back down. "You've 
had a big day."

Home never felt so welcoming, Plankton thinks, as he sinks into the embrace 
of the bed. Karen fluffs a pillow under his head, her movements tender. "Th-thank 
youw," he manages to say, his speech still thick.

"You're welcome," Karen replies, her voice a gentle caress. "Now, you just rest. 
I'll be here."

He closes his eye, letting the numbness of his mouth and the heaviness of 
his limbs take over. Karen sits beside him, moving in a soothing rhythm 
against his arm. 

"You're going to be fine," Karen whispers, stroking his cheek. "Just sleep it off 
and by tomorrow you'll be back to your usual scheming self."

Plankton tries to smile but his mouth refuses to cooperate. 
The corners of his mouth 
twitch upwards in a half-hearted attempt
and he mumbles "I wove youw thoo." 

The next day, Plankton wakes up. The 
numbness in his mouth has subsided 
leaving only a dull throb. He opens his 
eye to see Karen. "How do you feel?" She asks.

Plankton's eye blinked open, the room spinning around him. 
Karen came into focus.

"Mmph; wha's? Wh-when..."

"Your wisdom teeth," she says, her voice a soothing tide. "They're gone
Plankton. You don't have to worry about them anymore."

"Wis-wis-wis...?" He stammers, his tongue tripping over the word "wisdom."

"Yes, Plankton," Karen says with amusement. "You had your wisdom 
teeth removed yesterday."

Plankton's eye widen, and he tries to sit up. "Y-yesterday?" He slurs. 
"But I...I caan't...can't remember.."

Karen nods, her smile full of mirth. "You were pretty out of it," she says.

He tries to push himself up, but the pain in his mouth sends a shockwave through. 
"Mph-ow!" He flops back down, his hands flying to his cheeks. "What do you mean?"

Karen laughs. "You were pretty loopy," she says, holding him down gently. "The anesthesia 
had you talking like..." she pauses, searching for the right words. "Well, like you've never talked 
before."

"I hope I...I didn't say anything..." he starts, his voice trailing off.

"Oh, you said plenty," she teases. "But don't worry, it was just the anesthesia talking."

"Wh-wh-what did I say?"

Karen chuckles. "You were worried about your 'teethies'," she mimics 
his slurred speech from the day before. "And you kept insisting you needed 
to think, even when it was clear you couldn't even talk straight. But 
don't worry; you're just fine." 

new plankton going to the dentist karen plankton ii

📄×🍊🧃

new paper x oj inanimate insanity ii objectshows OBJECTSHOW couple pair duo 2

3️

new three cardinal iii

🥄 x .𖥔💜🕯 ݁˖

new candle silver spoon iii OBJECTSHOW

CATCH IN MY CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

With grace of a dancer, Chip 
slides into the bed beside
his dad, his movements calculated
and precise. Each inch closer feels
like a victory, a step to
reconciliation. He's careful not
to disturb. His hand reaches
for Plankton's, his touch a
whisper in the quiet.

Plankton's breathing steady and rhythmic.
Chip swells with hope, clutches the
hand tightly, feeling the
strength in the slender fingers.
It's a silent declaration of love,
an unspoken apology.

Karen watches, her screen
shimmering with unshed tears.
The sight of her son and
husband finding their way
back to each other fills her
heart with a warmth that
chases the shadows from the
room. She knows this isn't a
moment to interrupt, so she
simply observes, her hand
on Chip's back in silent
support.

Chip's eyes drift shut, and he lets
his body mold to the warmth
of his dad's side. The scent of
his dad's pillow, a mix of
saltwater and something
uniquely Plankton, fills his
nose, lulling him into a
sense of safety.

Time seems to stand still in the
quiet embrace, each tick of the
clock a gentle reminder that
moments like these are rare. But
eventually, the world outside
their sanctuary calls, and Plankton
stirs.

His antennas twitch, his
eye blinking open .
He's disoriented at first, his
brain still wrapped in the
cotton wool of sleep. Then he feels
the warmth beside him, the
weight of a small hand in his.

Plankton's heart stutters,
his body tense. His eye find
Chip's peaceful face, his son's
cheek pressed against his arm.
The room is a tableau of quiet,
the air thick with the unspoken.
He's torn between emotions and fear,
his mind racing.

He doesn't remember falling
asleep, the anger and frustration
of last night a distant memory.
But here's Chip, a living proof
of their unspoken reconciliation.
Plankton's antennas quiver,
his hand hovering over their
entwined fingers. He's afraid to
move, to disturb the fragile
harmony of the moment.

But his body has other plans.
His muscles tense, his skin
prickling with the need for
space. He's not used to this,
the warmth, the weight. His
autistic brain screams for order,
for predictability. He tries to
swallow the rising panic, to push
it back down into the pit of his
stomach where it belongs. Plankton
can feel his own heart racing,
his antennas quivering with
the effort of holding still. His
body wants to recoil, to retreat
from the sudden assault of
sensation. But he can't, not with
his son's hand in his.

Karen notices the tension
in his body, the way his antennas
spasm slightly. She knows what's
coming, the inevitable retreat.
With a gentle touch, she whispers,
"It's okay, Plankton. You don't have
to handle it if it's too much."
Her words are a soothing balm,
but they're not enough to
calm the storm inside him.

Chip's hand tightens slightly
around his, and Plankton's eye
snap to his son's face. He sees
the trust there, the love.
It's a punch to the gut, a
reminder of all the moments
he's missed, all the times he's
failed to understand. His hand
shakes, the tremble traveling
up his arm.

He tries to swallow the
rising panic, his throat tight.
But it's too much, the weight
of his son's body, the heat,
the smell, the touch. His mind
whirrs, his senses overloading.
He needs space, to think, to breathe.
With a deep, shuddering inhale,
he starts to pull away, his
body fighting the instinct to
shove Chip off the bed.

Karen's hand is a gentle
weight on his shoulder.
"Take it slow," she whispers,
her voice a lifeline in the storm.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still quivering. He tries to
push the panic down, to
focus on the warmth of
Chip's hand, the steady beat
of their hearts. But the
pressure builds, a crescendo
of sensation threatening to
crush him. He can't breathe.

With a tremble, he starts
to pull away, his hand
sliding out from under
Chip's. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his voice strained.
"It's too much."

Karen's hand remains
on his shoulder, her eyes
filled with compassion.
"It's okay," she says, her voice
a soft whisper. "We're here."

The room spins around
Plankton, a whirlwind of
colors and shapes. His antennas
wave wildly, his grip on reality
slipping. He's lost in the chaos
of his own mind, the sensory
overload a tornado that
threatens to consume him.

Karen's voice is a beacon,
guiding him back to shore.
"Breathe," she whispers, her hand
still on his shoulder. "In, out,
slowly." Her words are a
lifeline in the tempest.

Plankton nods, his breaths
coming in ragged gasps. He tries
to focus on the sensation of
her hand, the gentle pressure
of her touch. But the world
keeps spinning, the colors
blurring together like a
watercolor painting left in
the rain.

He feels the bed shift as
Karen sits beside him, her
presence a grounding force.
"Just breathe," she says, her
voice a soft mantra. "You're
okay." His chest rises and falls in
quick succession, his body's
desperate attempt to regulate
itself amidst the chaos. His
heart races, each beat a
staccato in his ears. The room
spins, the walls closing in, the
ringing in his ears getting louder
to where it consumes him, now
impenetrable to any other sound.

Karen notices the sudden
pallor that sweeps over her
husband's face, the way his
body sags into the bed.
Her eyes fill with concern,
her hand tightening on his
shoulder. "Look at me," she says,
her voice firm but gentle.
"Take deep breaths."

But the ringing in his head is
too loud. It's consumed him
and impenetrable. He can't
hear her. He doesn't hear
anything.

Karen's voice is a distant
echo, the words swallowed by
the cacophony in his mind.
Her hand on his shoulder is
the only real thing, the
only anchor keeping him from
being swept away.

The room spins faster, the
colors bleeding into one
another until all Plankton
can see is a kaleidoscope of
sensory overload. The ringing
in his ears crescendos,
drowning out the world.
His chest feels tight, his lungs
desperate for air that won't
come. He's adrift in a sea
of panic, unable to find
his way back to the shore.

Karen's voice cuts through
the din, her hand a firm
reminder of reality. "Look
at me," she says, her eyes
locked on his, her voice a
steady lighthouse guiding
his way back. "Just me,
just us." But Plankton's not
hearing anymore.

The room is spinning, the
colors a whirlwind of chaos.
He's lost in the tornado
of his own making, the
sensory overload a prison
he can't escape. His hand
shakes, his body tense as
his mind begs for reprieve.
Karen's eyes widen with
concern.

"Plankton," she whispers, her
voice a gentle lullaby. "Look
at me." She moves closer, her
hand reaching for his face.
Her touch is a grounding force,
but it's not enough. He's
too far gone.

The room spins, a blur
of color and sound. Plankton's
eye is wide with panic, his
body trembling. The bed seems
to shift beneath him, the
walls closing in. His breaths
are shallow, his chest tight.
He's lost in the tornado of
his senses.

Karen's hand on his
shoulder is a lifeline, but
his mind is too far gone.
Her voice is a distant
whisper, the words unintelligible.
All he can feel is the
crushing weight of the
world pressing down on him,
the lights too bright, the
noises too loud. And then
Chip stirs in his sleep.

The movement sends a
shiver down Plankton's spine,
his body tightening like a
coiled spring. The ringing in
his ears reaches a crescendo,
drowning out everything else.
He tries to push the panic
back down, to find the calm
he desperately needs, but it's
like trying to hold back the
tide with a paper wall.

Karen's eyes are filled with
fear as she sees Plankton's
descent into overwhelm. She
knows the signs all too well.
Her hand on his shoulder is
now a firm grip, trying to
keep him tethered to the
here and now. "Look at me,"
she says, her voice a gentle
command. "Just me, just us."

But Plankton's gaze is unfocused,
his mind swirling with a
torrent of sensations that
make him feel like he's
falling into a bottomless pit.
The room seems to spin faster,
the light from the window a
piercing glare that slices through
his retina. He wants to
shield his eye, but his arm
feels like lead, too heavy to lift.

Karen's touch is the only
constant, her hand on his
shoulder the one thing that
feels real amidst the
sensory maelstrom. But even
that is slipping away as
his dizziness crescendos into
full-blown vertigo. His vision
blurs, the lines of reality
smearing into a nauseating
whirl of color and light.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
urgent. "Look at me."

The words echo in his
head, a distant call amidst
the chaos. He tries to focus
on her face, her eyes the only
constant in the whirlwind
of sensations. But the world
spins, faster and faster,
until all he can see is a
blur of color.

Her hand on his shoulder is
a lifeline, but it's slipping
away. He feels himself
falling, tumbling into the
void of his own mind. His
body is a marionette, his
strings cut by the storm.
The ringing in his ears
reaches a crescendo, a
symphony of panic that
consumes him.

Karen's eyes are wide
with fear, her grip on him
desperate. "Look at me,"
she repeats, her voice 
steady. "You're okay."
Her hand moves to his face.

But Plankton's gaze is
glassy, his pupil dilated.
He's trapped in the chaos of
his senses. The ringing
in his ears is a siren's
call, pulling him deeper.

Karen's hand moves from
his shoulder to his cheek,
the softness of her touch
a stark contrast to the
harshness of the world
invading his mind. "Look
at me," she repeats, her voice
a whisper. "You're safe."
Her thumb traces the line
of his jaw, a gentle guide.

But Plankton's eye is
glassy, lost in the storm.
Her words are gentle,
trying to soothe him. But the
flames are too high, too
strong. He's drowning in
his own senses.

With a tremble, Karen's hand
moves to his cheek, her
touch a soft caress. "Look at
me," she whispers, her voice
a lifeline thrown into
the tempest. "You're ok."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II ix

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON viii

(Autistic author)


The room grew quiet as they
all digested the information.
Sponge Bob's gaze never left
Plankton's, his expression
filled with a fierce loyalty.
He knew his friend was
different, but that didn't
change the love he had for
the tiny creature.

Sensing the tension, Sponge
Bob took a deep breath and
smiled his wide, welcoming smile.
"You know what, Plankton?" he
said, his voice a gentle rumble.
"You're still my best buddy, no
matter what."

Plankton's antennae perked
up, his eye focusing on
Sponge Bob's earnest expression.
The sponge's words were a
comforting lullaby, a gentle
reminder of their unbreakable bond.
He felt the warmth of their
friendship wash over him, a
comforting blanket against the
coldness of Hanna's accusations.

Sponge Bob's hand found its
way to his shoulder, the
touch a familiar comfort that
his overstimulated senses craved.
Plankton leaned into the warmth,
his body responding to the
soothing pressure. "Best buddies,"
he echoed, his voice a soft
affirmation.

The room grew quiet as
Sponge Bob's hand remained
steady on his shoulder, his
presence a calming force in
the storm of his emotions. Plankton
closed his eye, his body
relaxing into the gentle embrace.

"We're gonna get through this,"
Sponge Bob said, his voice a
soothing lullaby. "We'll figure
it out, buddy. I'm here for
you."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, the warmth of his friend's
words seeping into his soul.
Sponge Bob had always had
a way of making him feel safe,
but now, with this new
knowledge, their friendship
felt even more vital.

"Thank you," Plankton murmured,
his voice a soft echo of
gratitude. Sponge Bob's
thumb rubbed circles on his
back.

The two friends sat in
silence, the warmth of their
companionship a stark contrast
to the chill of Hanna's words.
Plankton felt the tension in
his body slowly melt away,
his breaths evening out. The
steady beat of Sponge Bob's
heart was a comforting lullaby
that helped him find peace.

Sponge Bob's thumb continued
its circular dance on his back, a
wordless communication of
his love and support. Plankton
sighed, his body growing
heavier with each comforting
pressure point. "Thank you," he
murmured, his voice a gentle
whisper.

Sponge Bob's eyes searched his
face, a flicker of understanding
dawning. "It's okay, Plankton,"
he said. "We'll get through this
together." His hand didn't
move, his touch a silent
promise of his unwavering
support.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, the comfort of his
friend's presence a warmth
against the coldness of his fear.
He knew Sponge Bob would
always be there for him, even
if he didn't fully understand
his condition. The sponge's
love was a constant, a beacon
of light in his otherwise
confusing world.

Sponge Bob's eyes never left
his friend's, his smile a gentle
reminder of the joy they
shared. "You know, Plankton,"
he began, his voice a soft
caress. "You're still
the same little guy I've
always known."

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
body leaning into the warmth of
Sponge Bob's embrace.

The steady beat of the sponge's
heart was a comforting metronome
that helped him find his rhythm
again. He felt the tension in
his body slowly melt away, each
breath growing deeper and more
even. The room, once a battlefield
of accusations and misunderstandings,
was now a haven of quiet comfort.

The rustling of pages grew
softer, the candle's glow dimming
as the minutes ticked by. Karen
and Hanna watched from afar,
heavy with regret
and hope. They saw the change in
Plankton, the way he leaned into
Sponge Bob's touch, the way his
body slowly relaxed.

Sponge Bob, ever the
comforting presence, began to
hum a gentle tune, a melody
that Plankton had heard a
thousand times. The familiar
notes were a lullaby that
soothed his frazzled nerves,
his antennae dropping to rest
against the sponge's shoulder.
The tune was a bridge to
his past, a time before the
accident, before the world had
shifted on its axis.

Plankton's breaths grew deeper,
his body swaying slightly with
the rhythm. His eye closed.
Sponge Bob's humming grew softer,
his hand never leaving Plankton's
back. The warmth of his
companion's embrace was a
soothing balm.

The room, once a prison
of accusations, was now a sanctuary
of friendship. The candle's
flame danced, casting shadows
that played across the walls,
their flickering a gentle reminder
of the warmth in their hearts.

Sponge Bob's hum grew softer,
his melody a gentle whisper that
lulled Plankton into a peaceful
reverie. His body molded
into the sponge's embrace,
his antennae drooping with
the weight of his eyelid. The
world outside faded away,
replaced by the safety of Sponge
Bob's arms.

Karen watched from the
distance, shimmering with
unshed tears. She knew the
importance of this moment, the
power of a friend who
understood without words. Her heart
swelled with gratitude for
Sponge Bob's unwavering support.

Hanna, too, felt the
weight of her own words, the
realization of her ignorance
heavy on her shoulders. She
longed to reach out, to be
part of this healing embrace, but
felt the boundary that she had
unwittingly created. Her screen
followed the tender scene, her
thoughts racing with a
desire to apologize, to explain.

But she knew that now was not
the time for words. Instead, she
sat quietly, watching the
dance of friendship unfold. The
steady beat of Sponge Bob's
heart, the gentle rustle of his
body against Plankton's, the
soothing hum that filled the
air—it was a symphony of care.

Hanna's gaze drifted to the
candle, its flame a flickering
reminder of the warmth that
was slowly seeping into the
room. She watched as Plankton's
body grew heavier, his breaths
deepening. The anger and fear
that had once dominated the
space were now replaced with a
comforting quietude.

Karen's hand found Hanna's,
squeezing gently. "He's ok,"
she whispered. "We're going
to be ok." Her voice was a
calm sea, offering a gentle
buoyancy to the storm of
emotions that had ravaged
them all.

Hanna's screen searched hers,
uncertainty warring with hope.
"I'm sorry," she murmured,
her voice a soft apology. "I
just didn't know."

Karen nodded, her gaze
compassionate. "It's a journey,"
she said. "We're all just
trying to understand."

The humming grew softer, until
it was only a faint echo in
the room. Plankton's antennae
twitched with the last
remnants of his anxiety,
before they too stilled. His
body grew heavy, his breaths
deep and even. The gentle
sway of Sponge Bob's embrace
was a lullaby that rocked him
into a peaceful slumber.

Sponge Bob felt the
change in Plankton's tension,
his friend's body becoming
a soft weight against his. He
smiled, his heart swelling
with love and relief. Carefully,
he adjusted his hold, cradling
the tiny creature against his
chest. His thumb continued its
comforting strokes, his eyes
never leaving the closed eye.

Karen stepped forward, her
movements graceful and silent.
Her hand rested on Sponge
Bob's arm, her screen a gentle
thank you. Hanna quietly left.

The room was now bathed in
the soft glow of the candle,
its flicker the only sound.
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly in his sleep, his
breaths deep and even. Sponge
Bob held him tight, his
heartbeat a gentle rhythm that
soothed the tiny creature's
slumber.

Karen watched the two,
aching with love and
gratitude. She knew that
Sponge Bob's simple act of
comfort was a powerful
statement of friendship and
support. It was moments like
this that reminded her of the
strength in their bond.

The candle's flame danced
gently, casting shadows that
played across Plankton's sleeping
face. His antennae, once a
whirlwind of anxiety, were now
still, resting against Sponge
Bob's chest. His breaths were
even and deep, a testament
to the peace he had found
in his friend's embrace.

Sponge Bob looked down at
his sleeping companion, his
face a picture of quiet contentment.
He knew that Plankton was
safe here, that his slumber was
a reprieve from the storm of
emotions that had ravaged
his day. The room was a
sanctuary of calm, the candle's
warmth a gentle guardian.

The sponge's heart swelled with
love as he watched his friend's
tiny chest rise and fall, each
breath a whispered promise
of support. He knew that
Plankton's world was now
different, that the ASD had
brought with it challenges that
neither of them could have
foreseen. But in this moment,
their bond was stronger than
ever, a beacon of understanding
in a sea of uncertainty.

Karen's eyes searched
Sponge Bob's, her own heart
heavy with the weight of what
Plankton had endured. "Thank
you," she murmured, her voice a
soft wave of appreciation.
"For being there for him."

Sponge Bob's gaze never left
Plankton's sleeping form, his
thumb still tracing comforting
patterns. "Always," he said, his
voice a gentle promise. "No
matter what."

new neurobehavioral plankton plankbobs viii

TRUTH AND NAIL ii

The nurse returned.
"How's he doing?" she
asked, checking the monitors.
"Just woke up briefly,"
Karen said, her voice a whisper.
"He's still pretty out of it."

The nurse nodded, jotting
notes on a clipboard. "That's
normal," she said. "The
anesthesia takes some time
to wear off completely. You
can take him home now."

"But he's still..."

The nurse nodded,
her voice firm but gentle.
"It's normal. He'll
be groggy for a bit,
but he's stable enough."

With her help, Karen
managed to rouse Plankton
to a semi-conscious state.
He blinked at her, his eye
unfocused and glazed over.
"Tek me…” Karen nodded,
smiling at his attempt
to form coherent words.
"Yes, sweetie. We're gonna go.."

He sat up with a start,
his body moving before
his mind caught up, the
world tilting and spinning
around him. Karen's hand
was quick to steady him,
her voice a gentle
reminder of where he was.
"Easy," she said, her voice
like a soft pillow for
his pounding head. "You're
okay."

Plankton blinked, his eye
trying to focus on her screen.
"Wha...wha...wha...?"
he stuttered, the words
fighting to escape his
numb mouth.

Karen's smile grew wider,
seeing the confusion in his
glassy gaze. "It's okay, honey,"
she cooed, her voice a balm
to his bewilderment. "You're
just coming out of the
anesthesia."

He then notices the
nurse standing by.

"Nurse?" he croaks,
his voice hoarse and
his tongue thick in
his mouth. "Nurse?"
he tries again, his voice
a bit stronger.

The nurse looks over,
seeing his struggle to
make sense of his
surroundings. She smiles,
"You're okay, Mr. Plankton.
You had a little surgery."
Her words are clear,
but they hit him like
a foggy echo.

"Sur...surg...teef?" he
slurs, his mouth feeling
like it's filled with
cotton balls.

"Yes, you had your
wisdom teeth removed,"
Karen says, her voice a
soothing melody in the
white noise of the
recovery room.

“Who’s there?” Plankton's 
voice was a faint rasp. The 
nurse and Karen exchanged 
a knowing glance. He was 
coming around more, but still 
not fully with it.

“It’s me, Plankton,” Karen 
whispered, leaning closer. Her 
screen swam into view, a beacon 
of familiarity in the sea of 
white. He squinted, trying to
focus. “Karen?” he mumbled, his 
throat dry and raw.

“Yes, it’s me,” she 
repeated, her voice a gentle 
lullaby. “You’re okay, you 
just had your wisdom teeth out.
You’re still a little sleepy 
from the surgery.”

Plankton's hand reached 
up to his face, feeling the 
swollen jaw and the 
cottony numbness. “Teef?” he 
managed to murmur, his voice 
a gravelly shadow of its usual 
self. The word felt strange
and foreign in his mouth.

“Wisdom teeth, darling,” Karen 
reminded him, her tone 
soothing as a warm blanket. 
“They took them out to stop
your pain.”

“Buh, buth Karen 
haz aww the teefs?”
Plankton's slurred words
hang in the air, a question
mark painted on his
confused expression.
Karen laughs lightly with
amusement. "No, sweetie.
Let’s get you standing up."

With the nurse’s help,
Karen eases Plankton to
his feet. The world
swims around him, a blur
of white walls and the
steady beeping of machines.
He tries to stand on legs
that feel like jelly.

"Easy, darling," Karen
says, her arm around him,
supporting his weight.
"Take it slow."

The nurse nods, guiding
his elbow. "Just a few
steps to the chair."

Plankton's legs wobble
like a newborn deer's,
his feet shuffling
along the cold floor.
"Tek me ho...ho...home?"
he slurs, the words
like molasses escaping
his mouth.

"Soon, baby," Karen
soothes, her arm tightening
around him. She can feel
his confusion like a
heavy fog in the air,
but she's determined
to be his compass
in this disoriented state.

Plankton's eye darts
around the room,
trying to make sense of
the shapes and sounds.
"Wha...wha...where...?"
he stammers, his mouth
still not fully cooperating.
The nurse smiles kindly,
"You're in the recovery
area. You had a little
procedure to take out
some teeth, remember?"

Karen helps him into
a chair, his body moving
slowly as if through
molasses. His gaze
flits to her, his mind
still groggy. "Tee...th?"
he mumbles, his tongue
sluggish in his mouth.

Karen nods, her smile
warm and comforting.
"Wisdom teeth, darling.
They're gone."

“Wav...wav...Karen?” 
Plankton’s voice
was a faint echo.
“How will I eath?”
The words were jumbled,
his speech a slur.

“Soft foods for now, love.
We’ll manage, don’t worry,”
she said, her voice
like a lullaby.

Plankton's head
nodded slightly,
his eyelid heavy.
“Than...thank...you...”
he slurred, his speech
still a puzzle of sounds
as they walk down the
corridor.
 

new truth and nail sleepicore ii

NEW REALITY ii
(Autistic author)

He points to the fan again, his
finger trembling slightly. "Fan. Spin."
The words come out in a staccato
rhythm, each syllable a separate entity.
"It's okay," she tells him, her voice
shaky.

Karen tries to distract him, pointing
to various items around the room.
"Look, Plankton, that's our picture
from our wedding day." She shows
him the small, framed photograph
on the nightstand. His eye flits to it
for a second, then back to the fan.
"Picture. 31 July 1999," he says, but
his voice lacks emotion, as if he's
simply reciting words from a dictionary.

"Do you remember the day?"
she asks, her voice hopeful. He nods,
his gaze still glued to the spinning
blades. "Wedding. Married to Karen.
Happy day." The words come out like
a rehearsed script, and the joy that
should have filled his voice is painfully 
absent.

Karen's heart aches. This isn't the
Plankton she knows, the one who
would tease her mercilessly or
whisper sweet nothings when no one
was around. This is a stranger,
trapped in a body that's only
familiar because of the memories
it holds. She decides to keep talking,
hoping that something will spark a
memory, a connection.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
gentle but firm, "I noticed you're
interested in the fan.."

"Fan," he repeats, nodding
his head slightly, his gaze
unwavering. "Spinning. Fast."

Karen tries to hide her
concern. "Do you like it?"
she asks, her voice a careful
balance of casual and hopeful.

"Like?" Plankton echoes, his
eye still transfixed by the fan.
He seems to think for a moment,
then nods. "Yes. Like. Spinning."

Karen tries to smile, but it
feels forced. "Okay," she says,
swiping at a tear that escapes.
"Let's talk about something else."

Plankton's gaze finally breaks
from the fan and lands on her,
his expression unreadable. 
"Else," he repeats, as if trying
to grasp the concept of something
other than the fan. Karen's mind races,
desperately searching for a topic
that might draw him out of his
fugue.

"Remember SpongeBob?" she asks,
thinking of their shared friend
and his successful rival. Plankton's
face twitches, a glimmer of something
resembling recognition flickering
across his features. "SpongeBob,"
he murmurs, his eye focusing on
a spot just over her shoulder.

"Yes," Karen encourages, feeling
a flicker of hope. "You two are
always trying to outdo each other."
But Plankton doesn't react. Instead,
his hands start to wave slightly,
a rhythmic movement that seems
to soothe him. Karen's heart sinks.

"What are you doing?" she asks,
trying to keep the worry from
creeping into her tone.

Plankton's antennae twitch as
he continues to move his hands.

"It's okay," Karen says, her voice
soft and comforting. "You're just
a bit out of it. You'll be okay."

But Plankton doesn't respond.
His hands keep moving in the same
pattern, his eye on the wall. Karen's
stomach churns. This isn't just
dizziness. This is something else.

Panic starts to set in as
Karen realizes she might not
have her husband back. "Plankton,"
she says, her voice trembling. "Look 
at me."

Slowly, his eye shifts from
the wall to her face, and for a
moment, she sees a flicker of the
man she loves. "Karen," he says,
his voice a bit more present, but
his movements still erratic. She
can't ignore the fear that's
building in her chest.

"What happened to you?" she
whispers, her voice thick with
unshed tears.

Plankton's hand stops
mid-wave. "What Karen meant?"
he asks, his tone devoid of any
understanding.

Karen's throat tightens. "It's
just... you're acting a little
different, that's all," she says,
desperately trying to keep her
voice calm.

Plankton's movements become
more erratic, his hands flapping
in an unnerving rhythm. "Different?"
he repeats, his eye darting
around the room. "No, Plankton."

Karen tries to calm him down,
her heart racing as she searches
for a way to explain without
upsetting him. "I just meant,
you're not quite yourself today."

Plankton's movements slow, his
hands stilling in his lap. "Self?"
he questions, his voice a mix
of confusion and curiosity.
"Plankton self, Karen."

Karen nods, trying to keep
the conversation flowing. "Yes,
yourself. You know, your personality,
your... your quirks." She tries to
laugh, but it comes out forced.

Plankton's eye narrows, his
expression unreadable. "Quirks?"
he repeats. "Plankton has quirks.."

Karen nods, her smile strained.
"Everyone does, honey. It's what
makes us who we are."

Plankton seems to ponder
this, his hand resuming its
wave-like motion.

"Plankton, self," he murmurs,
his gaze returning to the fan.
"Spin. Fast. Like."

Karen watches him, her heart
heavy with unshed tears. She doesn't
know what to make of his behavior.
Could he really be okay? Maybe
this is just a phase, a side effect
of the explosion. She clings to the
thought like a lifeline, not ready to
face any alternative.

"Let's get you some water," she says,
forcing a smile. Plankton nods, his
eye still on the fan. As she moves
to the kitchen, she tries to convince
herself that he'll be fine, that this
is just a temporary setback. But the
way he's acting, so detached and
disconnected, it's not like him at all.

The kitchen is a blur as she
fills a glass with water, her mind racing
with questions. What do they do now?
How do they get through this? She
carries the water back to the
bedroom, her hand shaking slightly.
Plankton hasn't moved, still staring
at the fan. She sets the glass on
the nightstand, his eye never
leaving the spinning blades.

"Here you go," she says, offering
the water with a trembling smile.
He takes it, his movements precise
but mechanical, and brings it to his
mouth. As he drinks, Karen watches
his every move, looking for any
sign of the man she loves beneath
the surface of this new, strange
behavior. "Thanks," he says, his voice
devoid of its usual sass. He sets
the glass down, his gaze returning
to the fan. Karen tries focusing
instead on the way the light
dances off the beads of water
on his antennae.

new new reality Karen (SpongeBob) ii

TRUTH AND NAIL iii

 Karen felt his weight
shifting, his body swaying
towards sleep again.
“Stay with me, Plankton,”
she murmured, her voice
a gentle prod to keep
his consciousness afloat.

He blinked, his eye
trying to focus on her face.
“Wha...?” he mumbled,
his words trailing off
like a forgotten melody.

Karen's tightened.
“You’re okay, Plankton,”
she whispered, her voice
a gentle caress in the
stillness of the room.
“You’re just tired from
the surgery, that’s all.”

But even as she
spoke, Plankton’s head
lolled to the side,
his mouth open slightly,
drooling. Karen reached over
and wiped it away, her
fingers coming back wet.

"It's normal
for them to nod off
like this," the nurse assured
Karen with a kind smile. “Let’s 
walk to your car..”

But as they shuffled
along, Plankton’s knees
buckled, and he slumped
against Karen, his mouth
falling open in a deep snore.
Her arms tightened around
his waist, her strength
supporting his sudden
weakness.

"Wha...?" Plankton mumbled,
his eye fluttering open,
his mind trying to catch up
with his surroundings.
"You okay?" Karen asked.

His head bobbed slightly,
nodding in sleepy agreement.
But as they shuffled closer
to the exit, his knees
buckled again, and he
was out cold.

Karen's grip tightened,
keeping him from collapsing.
The nurse chuckled softly,
"It's okay, Mrs. Plankton.
This happens a lot after
the anesthesia. Wake
up, Mr. Plankton.."

But Plankton's snores
only grew louder, his head
lolling onto Karen's shoulder.
Her laugh was a gentle
sigh as she looked at
his peaceful face, marred
only by the occasional
dribble of saliva.

"Come on, love," Karen
whispered, her voice a soft
nudge. "Let's get you to the car."
With the nurse's help, they
managed to make him 
stir in his sleep.

Plankton's eye cracked
open, his gaze unfocused
and glazed. "Karen?"
he murmured, his voice a
slurred whisper.

Her eyes searched his,
the love in them a beacon
in the starkness of the
hospital corridor. "You're okay,
sweetie," she said, her voice
a gentle reminder.

But Plankton's response
was a snore, his head
lolling forward again.
Karen's grip tightened,
his weight leaning heavily
on her. "Wake up, Plankton,"
she whispered, her voice a
caress in the air.

The nurse chuckled.
"It's just the anesthesia,"
she assured Karen. "Let's
get him to the car."
Plankton's eye
snapped open, his mind
fighting to wake up.

But each step was a
battle against the fog.
Karen's arms wrapped
around him, her grip
firm and loving. His legs
threatened to give out,
his knees like jelly,
but she held him upright.

"Come on, darling,"
she cooed, her voice a
beacon through the
haze. "Almost there."

They made it to the
car, Plankton's snores
filling the quiet
of the parking lot.
The nurse opened the
back door, and Karen
managed to get him
sitting upright, his head
lolling to one side.

"Wha...?" he mumbled,
his eye opening a crack.
"We're going home," Karen
soothed, her voice a soft
song. She fastened the
seatbelt around him,
his limbs heavy and
uncooperative.

As she drove, Plankton
fought to keep his eye
open, his head drooping
forward before jerking
back up with a snort.

"You okay back there?"
Karen called over her
shoulder, her eyes on the
road.

A faint snore was
his only reply, his
head lolling against
the headrest. She chuckled,
a mix of concern and
affection, her screen
flitting to the rearview
mirror. His mouth was
still open, a string of
drool connecting his
bottom lip to his chin.

Karen reached back,
carefully wiping it away
with a tissue. Plankton's
face twitched in his
sleep, but he remained
oblivious to her touch.
The car's gentle hum
lulled him further, his
snores punctuating
the silence of the drive.

new truth and nail sleepycore iii

NEW REALITY iii
(Autistic author)

"You know, Plankton," she starts,
trying to keep the conversation
going, "you've always been so
clever with your inventions. Maybe
this is just your brain working in
overdrive, processing everything
faster than ever before."

He nods, his eyes still glued
to the fan. "Fast," he agrees,
his hand moving in the same
repetitive motion. "Like fan."

Karen tries to keep her voice
even as she sits beside him.
"You're right," she says, smiling.
"It is fast."

Plankton's hand stops moving
for a moment, then resumes the
wave-like motion. "Fast," he
agrees, his eye never leaving
the fan's rotation.

Karen watches him, her mind racing.
Could it be that he's just really
focused on the fan? Maybe his
brain is working differently now,
focusing on details that she's
always missed. She tries to find
comfort in this explanation, but
the emptiness in his gaze
unsettles her. She reaches for his
arm, hoping to ground him, to bring
his attention back to her. But
his hand jerks away, his movements
quick and erratic.

"Plankton, honey, are you okay?"
she asks, her voice tight with worry.
His eye flicks to her for a brief
moment before returning to
the fan. "Karen," he says, his tone
flat and emotionless. "Water. Thanks."

He takes another sip, his hand
shaking slightly as he sets the
glass down. Karen's heart clenches,
wishing she could take his pain away.
Maybe he's just overwhelmed, she tells
herself. Maybe all this spinning is a
way for him to calm down, to make
sense of the world again.

"Plankton," she says softly, placing
a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me."
He does, his eye meeting hers with a
flicker of something she can't quite
place. "You know, you can tell me
anything."

He nods, his gaze flicking back
to the fan. "Tell Karen," he repeats,
his voice a monotone echo.

Karen's mind is racing, but
she keeps her tone calm. "Plankton,
sweetie, what do you mean?"

He points to the fan again. "Fan.
Spin. Like." His words come out
slowly, as if he's trying to piece
together a puzzle.

Karen nods, her heart racing. "Yes,
the fan spins. It's like when you
tell me your grand plans for the
Krabby Patty formula," she says, trying
to draw him back into their shared
world. But Plankton's eye doesn't
even flicker at the mention of his
lifelong obsession.

Instead, he starts to rock slightly,
his hand moving back and forth in
the same pattern. "Spin. Fan," he
mumbles, his voice a distant echo.

Karen tries to ignore the fear
creeping into her voice. "Plankton,
what's going on? Why are you
doing this?"

Plankton's hand stops moving
for a moment, then starts again.
"Fan," he murmurs. "Spin."

Karen's mind is racing, but she tries
to stay calm. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she says soothingly, her hand still
on his shoulder. "The fan is spinning.
It's a simple machine, doing what
it's meant to do."

He nods, his gaze still locked on
the fan's blades. "Spin. Yes." His
voice is flat. Karen
swallows hard, trying to find the right
words. Maybe if she can get him to
focus on something else, he'll snap out of
this strange behavior. "LOOK AT ME!" 
She grabs his wrists..
Startled, Plankton's eye darts to hers,
his pupil wide with shock. "Karen?"
he asks, his voice tinged with anger.
"Karen scaring Plankton." He says,
his eye welling up with tears as he
starts crying.

Karen's heart shatters, she didn't mean to
scare him, she just wanted to get through to
his old self. "I'm sorry," she whispers,
pulling him into a tight hug. "It's okay."

Plankton's sobs are muffled against
her chest, his body stiff and unyielding.
Her eyes fill with tears as she tries
to soothe him, rubbing his back in
small, gentle circles. "It's okay," she repeats,
desperation lacing her words. "You're okay."

He pulls away 
slightly, looking up
at her.

"Karen, sad," he
says, his voice still
flat. "Why Karen sad?"

Karen sniffs, wiping
away her tears. "I'm just...
worried about you."

Plankton's eye widens, his
expression unchanged. "Worry?"
he questions, as if tasting
the word.

Karen nods, her heart heavy.
"Yes, worry. It's when someone
cares about you and is concerned
about your well-being."

Plankton nods, but his gaze
slides back to the fan. "Fan spin,"
he says, his voice monotonous.

Karen sighs, trying to redirect
his focus. "Plankton, let's talk about
something else. Like, what do
you want to do today?"

He blinks, his hand still
waving. "Do today?" he echoes.
"Fan spin."

Karen's stomach drops.
Maybe he's just fixated on the fan,
but something in his voice sends
a shiver down her spine. "Plankton,"
she says softly, her hand still on
his back. "I know you're not feeling
like yourself right now, but can you
try to focus on me for one minute?"
"One minute, sixty seconds,"
Plankton murmurs, his hand
continuing its rhythmic dance.

"Yes, that's right," Karen encourages,
despite the sinking feeling in her chest.
"Can you tell me what you see?"
Plankton looks at her, his expression
still eerily blank. "See Karen," he says,
his voice devoid of warmth. "See bed. See wall."

Karen's eyes widen as realization hits her.
He's not just fixated on the fan; he's taking
everything she says literally. "Plankton,
I'm not sad about the fan spinning. I'm sad
because you're not acting like you."
He looks at her, then at the fan, then back at her.
"Fan spin," he repeats, his eye searching
hers for understanding.

"No, no, Plankton," she says, her voice
gentle but firm. "I'm sad because you're
not okay." She takes a deep breath.
"You're not you."

He nods, his hand still moving.
"Plankton okay," he insists. 
"Karen sad."

Karen's heart breaks a little more.
"I know you think you're okay,"
she says, her voice trembling.
"But you're acting differently,
sweetie. You're not the same."
She decided to scan his brain.
The brain scan results come back,
and Karen stares. There it is,
stark and clear: acquired Autism
It's not something they can reverse.

new new reality Karen the Computer iii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY ii


(Autistic author)



Karen's friend Hanna came
over unexpectedly. Hanna never met
Plankton personally, nor did she hear
of his diagnosis.

"Oh, Plankton, it's good to finally
meet you!" Hanna exclaimed, voice
bubbly. Plankton looked up from his
book, his gaze unwavering. He didn't
move or speak. Yet Hanna was
oblivious.

Karen stepped in, her smile forced.
"Honey, this is Hanna," she said,
hoping for a response.

Plankton studied Hanna with a
curiosity that was both intense and
slightly unnerving. He tilted his head,
his antennae vibrating slightly. "Hello,"
he said, his voice monotone.

"I'll go get some refreshments," says
Karen.

Hanna took a seat right up by
Plankton, unaware of his 
aversion to touch.

"So, Karen tells me you're quite the
inventor," Hanna said with a
chuckle, reaching out to pat him
on the back. Plankton flinched at the
unexpected contact, antennae
twitching.
"What are you working on?" she asked,
picking up a gadget.

Plankton's antennae snapped to attention,
eye widening in horror. "That's not
for touching!" he snapped, his voice
sharp and urgent.

"Oh, sorry," she stuttered,
quickly returning it to the bench. "I didn't
know."

Plankton's gaze didn't leave.
He took a deep breath.
But she didn't
give him space, didn't understand him.
Plankton felt tense,
antennae quivering.
"Could I see what you're reading?"
Hanna leaned closer, trying to peer
at the book. Plankton
flinched, his grip tightening around the
pages. His eye 
flitted to the book and back to her, 
his antennae pulsing rapidly.
But Hanna was
unaware of the discomfort she was
causing.

"It's just a book," she said with a
wave of her hand. "Don't be so
secretive." She leaned in even closer,
trying to make eye contact.

The room grew hotter, his antennae
twitching uncontrollably. He felt his
heart racing in his chest, the thump-
thump echoing in his ears. He wanted to
yell at her to go away, but he knew
that would only make things worse.

"Could you not talk so much?" 
Plankton's voice was tight, his
desire for quiet clear. But Hanna, in 
her ignorance, just laughed, 
thinking it was a quirky part of
his personality.

"I've got so much to tell you about!"
she babbled, her hands animated as
she talked.

Plankton's seeking an escape from the
onslaught of sensory input. 
Hanna, oblivious to his distress,
rattled on. Each word she spoke
was a new pinprick on his already
frayed nerves. He couldn't focus on the
conversation.

"So, what do you think?" Hanna
asked, her eyes bright with
expectation. Plankton blinked,
pulled from his thoughts.

"Think about what?" He replied,
his voice flat.

Hanna's smile wavered. "I said,
what do you think about the new
fashion trend in Bikini Bottom?"

Plankton blinked again, trying to
process her words. His mind was a
whirlwind of thoughts, and the effort
it took to engage in small talk was
exhausting. He shrugs.
It was the only response he could
muster. His brain felt like it was
short-circuiting, trying to keep up.

Hanna was unfazed.
"It's all the rage!" she exclaimed,
grabbing his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae shot up, his
body stiffening. The touch was like a
shock to his system, and he had to
fight the urge to pull away.
"Mm," he murmured, not really
listening. The effort to maintain
his composure was Herculean.

Hanna didn't seem to notice, her
laughter bubbling over,
taking Plankton's lack of engagement
as shyness. "You know, Patrick's
even started a jellyfishing club!"

Plankton nodded again, his eye
flicking towards the doorway,
willing Karen to return.
Plankton felt his head
throbbing. He tried to focus
on her words, to find some semblance
of meaning in the chaos. 
Plankton realized she was
waiting for him to speak, but he can't.
He wanted to scream, to tell her to
just leave him alone.

"You know, Plankton," Hanna said, her
voice softer now, "Karen tells me
you're quite the genius." She leaned
forward. Plankton's antennae
twitching erratically. 
She reached out to pat
his arm again, but that 
was the straw that broke
the camel's back.

Plankton's eye widened with panic. He
twitched abruptly, knocking over
his chair. 

"I'm sorry. Did I do
something wrong?"

Plankton didn't answer. He couldn't.
The words were trapped in his
throat, a tangled mess of frustration
and anxiety. He took a step back,
his chest heaving with shallow
breaths. The room spun around him,
his senses on overload.

Hanna noticed his distress. "Plankton?" she
whispered, her hand outstretched.

But Plankton was beyond words.
He couldn't form a coherent
response, couldn't explain.

Karen rushed into the room, alerted
by the sound of the chair falling.
Her screen searched her husband's face,
seeing the distress he couldn't voice.

"What happened?" 

Hanna stuttered, her hands up in
defense. "I don't know! I was just
talking to him, and he...he..."

But Karen had already
assessed the situation. She saw the
fear in Hanna and the panic
in Plankton. She knew he was
overwhelmed. She stepped in
quickly, her voice a soothing balm.
"It's ok Plankton," she said, her
tone calm and reassuring. "You're safe.
It's just Hanna. She's a friend."

Plankton's antennae stopped quivering,
his breaths coming in slightly more
even. But he didn't look at Karen,
his gaze still locked on the wallpaper.
Hanna watched, her expression
mixture of concern and confusion.

But Plankton couldn't find words.
His mind was a maelstrom of thoughts
and sensory input. He felt his body
shaking, breaths coming in
quick gasps.

Hanna took a tentative step. "What's
going on?" she asked, her voice
barely a whisper.

Plankton's body remained
rigid, his eye still fixed on the wall.

Hanna tried to reach out to him
like Karen did. "NO!" he yelled,
his voice echoing through the
lab, the first time he'd raised it
since his diagnosis.

Hanna took a step back, her face
falling. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

But Plankton couldn't hear her
apology, couldn't process anything
anymore, couldn't move nor speak.

The world was too much, too loud,
too bright, too everything. He retreated
into himself.

Karen watched as Hanna took in
the scene before her, her own hand
freezing in mid-air. The room was
silent except for Plankton's ragged
breaths, his tiny body trembling.

"I didn't mean to upset him," Hanna
whispered, her voice trembling. "I just
wanted to be friendly."

Karen's gaze never left
Plankton. She knew he couldn't help it.
The diagnosis was new, and they were
both learning to navigate this
uncharted territory. Karen didn't want
to go into details about Plankton's
autism with Hanna, not yet.

Hanna looked from Plankton to Karen.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked him,
shaking.

Plankton didn't respond, his gaze
still locked on the wallpaper. His
body was a statue, but inside, he was
a tempest of overstimulation and fear.
Hanna's words, her touch, her very
presence was too much for him to handle.

Karen stepped closer, placing her hand
on Hanna's arm. "He's just overwhelmed."

Hanna looked at her, the
confusion clear in her screen.

"Can you give us a moment? He
needs space."

Hanna nods.

Approaching Plankton, Karen knelt before
his frozen form. "It's ok," she
whispered, her voice a gentle lullaby.
"You're safe here." She took his
hands, guiding them to her shoulders,
his grip tightening reflexively.

Hanna hovered, unsure of what to do,
but Karen's gaze was firm. "I'll take
care of him," she assured.
Karen sat with him, her
heart pounding in her chest. She knew
what he needed.

"You're ok," Karen whispered,
repeating it like a mantra. Plankton's
body was rigid, but his grip on her
shoulders began to loosen. She stroked
his arm, her touch gentle and
rhythmic. "It's just you and me, Plankton."

Slowly, the tension in his body
began to ease, his breathing evening
out. Karen remained
a constant, calming presence.

"I'm here," she murmured, her eyes
meeting his, which were now brimming
with unshed tears. "You're ok.
It's just us."

Plankton's antennae stopped
twitching as he focused on Karen's
face. Her eyes were filled with love
and understanding, a beacon in the
storm of his overwhelmed senses.

"You're ok," she repeated, her voice
a lullaby that seemed to resonate with
his racing heart. He nodded slightly,
his gaze never leaving hers.

Sensing his comfort with her
proximity, Karen carefully wrapped
her arms around him. He didn't resist,
instead leaning into her embrace. She
could feel his body relaxing, his
breaths growing deeper.

The room was quiet now. She rocked
him gently, the motion soothing to
them both. His antennae stilled, and
his eye began to droop.

Plankton's body grew heavy, his
muscles finally relaxing. The storm
of his thoughts began to calm, the
sensory overload slowly abating.

Karen felt his grip loosen, his
breaths deepening as he leaned into her
embrace.
The weight of his head grew
heavier against her shoulder. His
breaths grew slower, deeper.
Karen felt Plankton's grip on her
shoulders loosen until his arms
were draped over her, his breathing
deep and even. She knew he was
exhausted. Plankton's
head lolled against her neck, and
she felt the tension in his body
ease away, his limbs going slack.
Her hand stroked his back, the
rhythmic motion a comforting
reminder that he was safe.

Karen noticed Plankton's
breathing had turned into a gentle
snore, his body finally at ease.

Hanna, who stood in the doorway,
came closer to the couple. "I
am so..."

Karen turned to her, her expression
firm but gentle. "Shh," she hushed, raising
a finger. "He's asleep."
She didn't want to explain
his condition, not yet. The words
were still too fresh, too raw.

Hanna nodded, brimming
with unshed tears. She looked at
Plankton, then back to Karen. "What
can I do?" she asked softly.

Karen took a deep breath,
composing herself. "Just give us
some space for now. I can explain
later."

Hanna nodded, her screen never
leaving Plankton. "Ok," she
whispered, retreating.

new autism in the plankton family ii

🗿

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new jj 38 ii dot art text art ascii art

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.

new karen and the autistic journey moviecore ix

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iii
(Autistic author)

The sound of the door opening
interrupted. Sandy
barged in. "Hey,
Karen!" she called out.
"Hi, Sandy; come in.." Karen says.

Sandy looked over at Plankton
sitting at the
kitchen table, his plate empty,
his gaze fixed on the spot where
his food had been. "Hey, Plankton!"
she exclaimed, as he got up to go
sit on the living room floor with a
science book. She followed him.

"What's up, buddy?" she asked,
her voice cheerful. But Plankton
ignored her, his focus solely on the
pages in front of him. Karen watched
their interaction with a mix of
concern and curiosity.

"Plankton, you ok?" Sandy's
voice grew softer, her eyes
narrowing as she studied her friend.
"You seem... different."

Karen tensed, waiting for his
response. Plankton didn't look
up from his book, his eye
scanning the pages.
"Plankton?" Sandy tried again, her
voice a mix of confusion and
concern.

But Plankton remained
oblivious, his new condition
rendering him unable to read social
cues. "Why?" he asked, his tone
matter-of-fact, as if inquiring
about the weather.

Sandy's smile faltered. "Well,
you're just sitting there, not
saying anything," she said, trying
to keep the frustration from her
voice.

Plankton didn't look up from his
book. "Reading," he said, his voice
devoid of any inflection.

Sandy's confusion grew into
hurt. "Is everything ok?" she
asked, her voice tentative.

Plankton, still engrossed in
his book, didn't look up. "Ok,"
he murmured.

Sandy's known
Plankton for years, but his behavior
today was unlike anything she had
ever seen.

Karen prompts him. "Plankton,
say hello to Sandy."

He glances up from his book,
his gaze passing over her without
recognition. "Say, say hi Sandy," he 
says, his voice lacking any warmth.

Sandy's smile fades, her paws
clenching slightly with irritation.

"What's gotten into you, Plankton?"
she snaps, her voice sharper than
she had intended. "You're acting
like you don't even know me!"

Karen's circuits whir with
activity. "Sandy, it's okay," she
hesitates, not quite
sure how to explain
without revealing the truth.
"I'll go pick up some soda
pop drinks." She says, leaving
them both.

Sandy watches her leave, her
expression a mix of anger and
hurt. She turns to Plankton.

"What's your deal, Plankton?"
she asks, her voice tight.
"You've been acting weird
ever since I got here."

Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his gaze unnervingly intense.
"Weird," he repeats, as if
processing the word for the first
time. "Different."

Sandy's anger bubbles to the
surface. "Yeah, you're different.
You're ignoring me!" she exclaims,
her paws on her hips. Plankton's
expression doesn't change. "Reading,"
he says simply.

Her frustration grows. "You're
always reading, Plankton," Sandy says,
her voice rising. "But you've never
ignored me like this before!"

Plankton's eye blinks, his focus
shifting to her. "Sorry," he says,
the word a mere echo of what
he used to express. It's clear
his social awareness has shifted.
He doesn't understand the subtleties
of her emotions anymore.

Sandy's hurt turns to anger. "You
don't just say sorry and go back
to ignoring me," she snaps. "What's
going on with you?"

But Plankton seems lost in his
own world, the words on the pages
of his book more real to him than
the friend standing before him.
Sandy's patience wears thin. "Why
aren't you listening to me?" she
demands.

"Listening," Plankton murmurs, his
gaze never leaving the book.
Sandy's eyes widen, her anger
building. "I'm right here!" she
says, her voice a mix of frustration
and sadness. "What is so important
that you can't even look at me?"

But Plankton's mind is elsewhere,
his thoughts racing through the
pages of his book. The words
swim before his eye,
each line a puzzle waiting to be
solved. He's oblivious to Sandy's
hurt, his world now filtered through
a new, more intense lens.

Sandy's voice pierces through
his concentration, her tone
sharp. "I said, why aren't you
listening to me?"

Plankton looks up, his eye
dilating slightly as he takes in
Sandy's stance. He tries to
interpret her body language.
"Plankton reading," he says, his voice
still flat, his gaze drifting
back to the book.

Sandy's eyes flash with anger.
"That's not what I asked, Plankton!"
she says, her voice rising. "What's
going on with you? Why are you
ignoring me?"

Plankton's gaze flicks back to
her, his expression still vacant.
"Reading," he repeats. The
word feels like a shield, a way to
explain the inexplicable.

Sandy's eyes narrow, her paws
snatching the book from his grasp.

Plankton's eye widens in surprise
at the sudden movement. He tries to
retrieve the book, body moving in jerky
motions. "Book," he says, his voice
still monotone.

Sandy holds it out of reach. "Look at
me Plankton!" 

Plankton's arms flail, his body
straining to retrieve the book.
"Book," he says, his voice
desperate, his mind overwhelmed.

Sandy, unable to understand feels her
own anger flare up. "What's your
problem?" she snaps, holding the
book higher. "You're acting like
a little kid!"

Plankton's eye locks onto the
book. "Mine," he whispers,
voice strained.

Sandy's seen him at his worst,
but this is something she can't
comprehend.

"I'm not a toy for you to ignore!"
she shouts. She hid the book on a
high shelf. 

Plankton's body tenses.
"Mine," he repeats, his
voice rising in desperation.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears of
frustration. "Why are you acting
like this?" 

He stands up, his body
shaking. "MINE," he shouts.

"What's gotten into you? Why
are you being like this?"

Plankton's eye darts around
the room, unable to hold
Sandy's gaze.

"Plankton, you're acting like a
complete jerk," Sandy says, her voice
shaking. "No wonder Karen is
always so tired with you."
"Karen," Plankton murmurs.
"Karen ok?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Sandy throws her arms in the air,
exasperated. "How can you be so 
selfish? Don't you know that
Karen is sick of you?" "Sick 
of me?" he echoes. "Yes, sick of you," she 
snaps. "Why don't you try acting
normal? Perhaps then
Karen would be happier! Or
better yet, leave her!"

The words hang in the air like a
toxic cloud, their sting hitting
Plankton's core. But his new
brain can't process the depth of
her anger. "Karen happy," he
whispers, his voice a broken
echo of his former self.

Sandy's eyes flash with rage.
"You don't know anything," she
spits out, her words like acid.
"You're just a selfish, self-centered
plankton who doesn't care about
how Karen feels!"

Plankton's concepts of "selfish" and
"sick of" are foreign to his new
way of thinking. He tries to
find the patterns in her words,
the logic in her accusations, but
it's like trying to solve an
impossible equation. "No," he
whispers, his voice trembling. "Karen
not sick of me?"

"You really don't get it,
do you?" she says, her voice
filled with a mix of anger and
sadness. "You're so caught up you
can't see what's right in front of
you! Karen doesn't deserve this!"

Plankton's eye narrows slightly,
his mind struggling to piece
together the puzzle of her
emotions. "Karen happy," he
repeats, his voice strained. 

Sandy's anger turns to
despair. "You don't even know
what you're saying," she says, her
voice heavy. "You're
so wrapped up in your own little
world that you can't see how much
Karen does for you, and how
much you hurt her."

As if on cue, Karen returns 
with coffee. "I'm back," she says, her
voice a gentle hum. She notices
the tension in the room and
Plankton's distress.

"Is everything ok?" she asks,
placing the drinks on the table.
Sandy glares at Plankton.
"No," she says, her voice
shaking. "Everything is not ok.
Plankton's been acting weird
all morning and, I told him how
you're always tired of him,
and he just doesn't get it."

Karen takes in the scene. She tries to
intervene gently. "Sandy, I think
there's something you should
know," she begins, but Sandy cuts
her off, turning to Plankton.

"See? Even Karen
thinks you're a burden!"

Plankton's world
shatters. Sandy's words hit him
like a tidal wave, her accusations
sinking into his new reality.
His teary gaze locks onto Karen,
desperation in his voice. "Burden?"
he croaks.

Karen's 
circuits racing as she tries to
smooth over the situation. "No,
Sandy," she says, her voice calm
but firm. "That's not what I said."

"Don't lie to me, Karen," Sandy
snaps, her eyes never leaving
Plankton. "I can see you've had enough
and if Plankton can't see that, then
perhaps it's best if he just leaves."

Karen's circuits race with
a mix of emotions - anger at
Sandy's accusations, sadness at
Plankton's distress, and fear of
what this means for their friendship.
"That's not true," she says, yet
Plankton's searching for any hint of
deception.

Sandy's eyes are steely, her
body language confrontational.
"Why don't you just leave her alone?"
she spits out, her voice thick with
frustration.

Plankton stands up, his sobs echoed
through the corridor as he runs back 
to the bedroom, shutting the door with
a thud.

"Sandy
that was uncalled for," she says,
trying to keep her voice steady.

Sandy's anger turns to surprise.
"What are you talking about?"
she says. "I'm
just telling the truth.."

Karen's expression is a mix of
sorrow and anger, her
voice tight. "You don't know what
he's going through."

Sandy's anger fades, replaced
by confusion. "What do you mean?"
she asks, her voice softer.

Karen takes a deep breath,
steeling herself for the
conversation she had been dreading.
"Plankton had an accident, hit
his head on the vault and got
knocked out."

Sandy's in shock.
"What? Is he ok?" she asks.

Karen sighs, her shoulders
slumping. "Plankton has
autism now," she says. "He can't
help the way he's acting."

The revelation hits Sandy like a
ton of bricks. The realization of
her own harshness crashes over
her. "Oh no," she murmurs, her
eyes filling with tears. "I had no
idea."

Her gaze drifts to the
closed bedroom door.
"What have I done?"
she whispers, her 
voice cracking.

new karen and the autistic journey readingcore iii

CHIP AND THE DILEMMA iii
(Autistic author)

| ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ |

Chip looks at Plankton, his
dad's face a mask of pain.
He's never seen him look so
vulnerable, and it makes
his own chest ache. "But
why can't you just be like
everyone else?" he asks, not
fully understanding.

Plankton's antennae droop
even further. "Chip, everyone
is different," he says, his voice
weak. "And that's what makes
us all..."

But Chip doesn't want his dad
to be like that..

He looks away. "Chip,"
Plankton says, his voice barely above
a whisper. "Look at me."

When Chip meets his
father's gaze, he sees the pain in
his eye, the desperation to
make his son understand.
But Chip is too caught up
in his own.

"You're not like other dads,"
Chip spits out, the words
sharp and cutting. "You're
weak." The hurt on Plankton's
face is palpable, but Chip's
mind is too clouded with fear
and confusion to care.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his shoulders slumping. "Chip,"
he starts, but his voice cracks.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his voice harsh. "I don't
want a dad who's unfixable!"
He says, the word sticking in
his throat like a shard of
glass.

The room goes still, the air
crackling with tension. Plankton
recoils as if struck, his antennae
flattening against his head.

"Chip," Karen says, her voice
sharp with warning. "That's not
a nice thing to say."

But Chip's anger isn't
easy to douse. "You're not
my dad," he yells, the words
echoing off the walls. "My
dad is supposed to be strong,
and normal, not... like you, who
should’ve never existed in the 
first place."

The room goes silent, the
weight of Chip's words like a
tonne of bricks on Plankton's
chest. He looks at his son,
his heart shattering into a
thousand pieces. He's never felt
so misunderstood, so...
less.

Karen's screen is a mix of
disbelief and anger. She's
always known Chip to be a
good kid, but this... this is
not her son. "Chip, that's
enough," she says, her voice
shaking.

But Chip's rage has
overtaken him. "Why did
you have to marry him?" he
snaps at her, the tears
spilling over. "Why couldn't
we just get a normal dad?"

Karen's eyes widen in
shock, her hand rising to her
mouth. "Chip," she says, her
voice trembling. "You don't
mean that."

But Chip's anger doesn't
subside. "Yes, I do!" He yells,
his fists clenched at his
sides. "Why can't you be like
other moms and marry a real
dad?"

The room feels like it's
closing in on Plankton, his
heart pounding in his chest.
He's never felt so small, so
unworthy. The air is thick
with the scent of burnt
dinner forgotten in the
kitchen, and the taste of
his own failure is bitter in
his mouth.

He opens his mouth to
speak, but the words are
stuck in his throat. All he
can manage is a weak "Chip..."
his antennae trembling.

Karen stands, her face a
mixture of shock and anger.
"Chip, that's enough," she says,
her voice firm. "You need to
apologize to your father."

Chip turns, his
screen flashing with defiance.
"Oh, sorry," he says, his tone
dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't
realize that marrying a broken
person was a good idea. I
guess I'll just have to deal
with it. I’m sorry Sheldon Plankton was
born wrong. You know, I
might just make sure not to
have any kids who isn’t right in the
head, they don’t deserve to…"

"CHIP!" Karen's voice is a
whipcrack, cutting off his
words. She's never raised
her voice to him like this before,
and the shock of it sends
his anger reeling back.
The room seems to spin around
Plankton, his vision blurring.
He can't believe what he's
hearing—his own son, the
light of his life, speaking
such cruel words. He's failed
as a father, as a husband. He's
failed them all.

Chip's eyes widen,
seeing the devastation on
his dad's face. For the first
time, he truly understands the
power of his words, the
hurt they can cause. "I-I…"

But it’s too late. Plankton
stands, his legs wobbly. "I'll
be in my room," he mumbles,
turning away.

Chip sinks as he
watches his father leave, the
weight of his words pressing
down on him. He looks at his
mother, her screen a mask of
disappointment and hurt. "Mom..."

Karen's eyes are filled
with unshed tears. "You need
to go apologize to your dad,"
she says, her voice shaking.
"What you said was..."

But they hear a
crash from the 
next room.

Karen and Chip rush to
find Plankton in a frenzy.

The sight that greets them is one of
destruction. Chip's school projects,
carefully crafted over weeks, are
scattered across the floor. Plankton,
his eye wild with a mix of anger
and despair, is in the middle of the
wreckage. He's holding one of Chip's
favorite toys in his hand, ready to smash
it against the wall, tears streaming down.

"Dad, no!" Chip yells, his
fear and regret swirling into a
single, desperate plea. But Plankton
doesn't seem to hear him. He's lost
in a world of pain and confusion,
his movements erratic as he
continues to wreak havoc.

Karen rushes to Plankton's
side, her voice firm but gentle.
"Plankton, stop," she says, placing
a hand on his shoulder. But even
her touch is too much. He flinches,
his grip on the toy tightening.

"Leave me alone!" he roars, swinging
his arm wildly. The toy narrowly
misses a picture of the two of them,
shattering the glass frame instead.

"Dad, please," Chip begs, his
voice thick with tears. But Plankton
doesn't stop, his movements growing
more frenzied with each passing
second. It's like he's lost in a
storm of his own making, unable to
see or hear the world around
him.

Karen tries again, her voice
softer now. "Plankton, it's okay.
We're here for you."

He grabs another project,
Chip's solar system model, the
one he was so excited to
help with. It feels like a
mockery now, a symbol of all
the times he's failed to be
the dad he thought Chip
deserved. With a snarl, he
throws it across the room.
The planets scatter like a
handful of dust in the wind.

"Dad, please," Chip whispers,
his screen pleading. But Plankton
can't hear him over the
roar in his own mind. His
body moves of its own
accord, driven by a rage he
can't control.

He snatches up another
project, a robot Chip had
been working on for weeks.
He slams it to the floor,
his eyes glazed over. The robot's
parts fly everywhere, the
sounds of breaking plastic
like a symphony of pain in
the quiet room.

Chip watches in horror. He can't
believe what's happening.
This isn't his dad—his hero,
his rock. This is a stranger,
someone he doesn't know.

He tries to reach for
Plankton, to stop him, but
his mother holds him back.
"Let me," she whispers, her
voice firm but gentle. "He needs
space."

But Chip can't just stand
there and watch his world
fall apart. He has to do
something. "Dad, please,"
he begs, his voice shaking.

Plankton's movements are
sporadic, his breaths coming
in ragged gasps as he
continues to destroy
everything in sight. It's
like he's to erase
his existence from their lives.

Chip's screen follows the
wreckage, each broken piece
of his heart reflected in the
shattered mess. His projects,
his dreams, his connection
to his father—all of it
crushed under the weight of
Plankton's pain.

Plankton's hand hovers over
the last item on the table, a
half-finished puzzle they'd
been working on together.
It's the one thing in the room
that's still intact, a symbol
of their shared moments,
now threatened by his
father's erratic actions.

"Dad," Chip says, his voice
shaking. "It's okay. It's just
stuff. We can fix it."
But Plankton won’t hear him,
his eye wild with a
frenzy that seems to
consume him whole.

He reaches for the puzzle,
his hand shaking. "No,"
Chip whispers,
welling up. But it's too late.
With one swift movement,
Plankton sends the pieces
flying in every direction,
scattering like the
shattered pieces of their
once-happy home.

Chip flinches at the sound,
aching as he watches
his dad's breakdown unfold.
He's never seen Plankton
like this—so out of control,
so lost. And it’s all because of
Chip...

"Dad," he says, his voice
barely audible. "Please stop."
But Plankton's rage is a
freight train, unstoppable.

Karen's screen darts around
the room, searching for a
way to diffuse the situation.
She is breaking for
both her son and her
husband. She knows the
pain Plankton is in, yet she
can't bear to see Chip hurt
like this.

"Chip, go to your
room," she says, her voice
shaking. "I need to talk to
your father."

But Chip can't move. He's
rooted to the spot, his eyes
glued to the heartbreaking
scene before him. Plankton's
breathing is ragged, his
movements jerky as he
picks up another item, a
science book they'd read
together countless times.

"Dad," Chip whispers, his
voice hoarse with fear. "It's okay.
You don't have to..." But Plankton
doesn't hear him. The book
meets the same fate as the
puzzle, pages fluttering like
leaves in a storm.

Karen's screen is wet with
tears as she watches her family
fall apart. She knows she has to
intervene, but how? She's seen
his meltdowns before, but never
like this..

"Plankton," she says firmly,
taking a step forward. "Look at
me." She holds out a hand,
offering him a lifeline in the
chaos he's created.
 

new chip and the dilemma Chip Plankton II iii

new threesome terzetto iii common year starting on monday foursome

I love you 💗🫶🏽💕🤍i️

new i l luv y i love you 100%

Can Brain Damage Cause Autism?

Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While 

some studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is 

not a direct cause of autism.

Ruben Kesherim

November 1, 2023

Understanding Autism and Brain Damage

To fully comprehend the potential link between autism and brain damage, it is essential to understand the 
individual components involved. This section will provide an overview of autism, brain damage, and explore the 
connection between the two.

What is Autism?

Autism, also known as Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), is a complex neurodevelopmental condition that affects 
social interaction, communication, and behavior. People with autism may exhibit a wide range of symptoms, 
including difficulties in social interactions, repetitive behaviors, and sensory sensitivities. Autism is believed to have 
a strong genetic component, although the exact cause remains largely unknown.

What is Brain Damage?

Brain damage refers to any injury or harm to the brain that disrupts its normal functioning. It can occur as a result 
of various factors, including accidents, infections, strokes, tumors, and traumatic brain injuries (TBI). Brain damage 
can lead to a wide range of cognitive, physical, and behavioral impairments, depending on the location and severity 
of the injury.

The Link Between Autism and Brain Damage

Research exploring the potential link between autism and brain damage has yielded mixed results. While some 
studies suggest a possible association between the two, others indicate that brain damage alone is not a direct 
cause of autism. It is important to note that autism is a complex condition with multiple contributing factors, and 
brain damage might be just one of them.

Case studies and findings have provided insights into individuals who experienced brain damage and subsequently 
displayed autistic-like symptoms. However, such cases are relatively rare, and the exact mechanisms underlying 
the development of autism after brain damage remain unclear.

Understanding the relationship between autism and brain damage requires further research and exploration. It is 
essential to consult healthcare professionals and specialists to obtain accurate and personalized information 
regarding specific cases.

Can Brain Damage Cause Autism?

The relationship between brain damage and autism has been a topic of interest and research. While autism is a 
developmental disorder characterized by challenges in social communication and interaction, brain damage refers 
to any injury or trauma to the brain. In this section, we will explore the research and findings that shed light on the 
potential link between brain damage and autism.

Exploring the Research

Research examining the connection between brain damage and autism has provided valuable insights into the 
complex nature of the disorder. While it is clear that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, some 
studies suggest that there may be a correlation between the two.

One line of research suggests that neurological damage can lead to the development of autistic symptoms in some 
individuals. This damage can occur before, during, or after birth, and it can be caused by various factors such as 
genetic mutations, infections, or trauma.

Case Studies and Findings

Case studies have played a crucial role in understanding the relationship between brain damage and autism. These 
studies provide detailed accounts of individuals who have experienced brain damage and subsequently developed 
autistic symptoms. While case studies offer valuable insights, they are limited in generalizability and cannot 
determine causation.

Additionally, research has identified specific brain regions that may be implicated in the development of autism 
after brain damage. For example, damage to the prefrontal cortex or the amygdala has been associated with the 
emergence of autistic traits. However, it is important to note that brain damage alone does not always result in 
autism, and the relationship between the two is complex and multifaceted.

While the research provides some insights into the potential link between brain damage and autism, it is crucial to 
acknowledge that not all individuals with brain damage develop autism, and not all individuals with autism have 
experienced brain damage. The relationship between the two is influenced by various factors such as the timing, 
severity, and location of the brain damage, as well as individual differences and genetic factors.

As the understanding of autism and brain damage continues to evolve, further research is needed to unravel the 
intricacies of this complex relationship. It is important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in 
autism and brain injury to receive accurate assessments, diagnoses, and appropriate interventions for individuals 
affected by these conditions.
Factors Influencing Autism after Brain Damage
While the relationship between autism and brain damage is complex, several factors can influence the development 
of autism following brain damage. Understanding these factors can provide valuable insights into the connection 
between the two.

Timing and Severity of Brain Damage

The timing and severity of brain damage play a crucial role in whether autism may develop as a result. Research 
suggests that brain damage occurring early in development, particularly during the prenatal period or early infancy, 
may have a higher likelihood of leading to autism.

The developing brain is highly vulnerable during these critical periods, and any disruptions or abnormalities can 
impact neurodevelopment and contribute to the development of autism.

Furthermore, the severity of the brain damage can influence the likelihood of autism. More severe brain injuries, 
such as those caused by traumatic brain injury or certain genetic conditions, may increase the risk of developing 
autistic traits or behaviors. However, it is important to note that not all individuals with brain damage will develop 
autism, and the relationship between brain damage and autism is not fully understood.

Location of Brain Damage
The specific location of brain damage can also influence the development of autism. Different areas of the brain 
are responsible for various functions, and damage to certain regions may result in specific challenges or symptoms 
associated with autism. For example, damage to the frontal lobe or areas involved in social communication may increase 
the likelihood of social and communication difficulties characteristic of autism.

Each case of brain damage is unique, and the location and extent of the damage can vary. Therefore, it is essential 
to consider the individual circumstances and consult with medical professionals to assess the potential impact on 
autism development.

Individual differences and genetic factors can significantly impact the manifestation of autism following brain 
damage. Each person's genetic makeup and predisposition to autism can influence how they respond to brain 
damage and whether they develop autistic traits. It is important to recognize that brain damage alone does not 
cause autism in every case, and genetic factors can interact with brain damage to influence the outcome.
Research suggests that individuals with certain underlying genetic vulnerabilities, such as specific gene mutations 
or genetic syndromes, may be more likely to develop autism after brain damage. Genetic testing and evaluation can 
provide valuable insights into these individual differences and help guide intervention strategies and support.

Understanding the factors that influence autism after brain damage is a complex and ongoing area of research. It is 
important to consult with healthcare professionals who specialize in neurological conditions and developmental 
disorders to gain a comprehensive understanding of the unique circumstances and potential implications.

Differentiating Autism from Other Conditions
When exploring the relationship between brain damage and autism, it's important to understand how autism 
spectrum disorder (ASD) differs from acquired autism. While both conditions may share certain characteristics, 
there are distinct factors that set them apart.


Autism Spectrum Disorder vs. Acquired Autism

Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is a neurodevelopmental condition that typically emerges early in childhood. It is 
characterized by persistent challenges in social interaction, communication, and restricted or repetitive behaviors. 
ASD is considered a lifelong condition that affects individuals across various domains of functioning.

Acquired autism, on the other hand, refers to the development of autistic symptoms following brain damage, often 
resulting from injury or disease. This form of autism is not present from birth but emerges after a specific incident 
or medical condition. 

new language: English autism acceptance month neurodivergentcore neurodisability recovered memories unreliable memory 2023

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new satã six 6 vi 666

🖌 X 💡 lightbulb x painty!!

new lightbulb paintbulb painty ii OBJECTSHOW

Similarities and differences
while asd and acquired autism may exhibit overlapping symptoms, there are notable differences between the two:

aspect					autism spectrum disorder (asd)					acquired autism (after birth)
cause		no identifiable cause, likely a combination of genetic and environmental factors	results from brain damage due to injury, illness, or medical condition
onset		typically apparent in early childhood	evident after brain damage occurs
developmental delays		often accompanied by developmental delays in language, motor skills, and cognitive abilities	developmental delays may or may not be present, depending on the individual
severity		ranges from mild to severe, with varying levels of support needed	severity can vary based on the extent and location of brain damage
treatment		treatment focuses on providing support, therapies, and interventions tailored to individual needs	
treatment involves addressing the underlying brain damage and may include therapies to manage symptoms

Soit is crucial to note that acquired autism resulting from brain damage is relatively rare compared to asd, which is 
believed to have a more complex etiology involving a combination of genetic and environmental factors. The 
presence of brain damage alone does not necessarily lead to the development of autism symptoms.

If you suspect that brain damage may have contributed to the development of autism symptoms, it is essential to 
consult with medical professionals and specialists who can provide a comprehensive evaluation. They can help 
differentiate between asd and acquired autism, ensuring appropriate interventions and support are provided.

Understanding the distinctions between these conditions is crucial for accurate diagnosis, effective treatment, and 
support for individuals with autism. By recognizing the unique characteristics of both asd and acquired autism, 
professionals and caregivers can provide appropriate interventions and care tailored to the specific needs of each 
individual.

new language: English autism acceptance month neurodivergentcore neurodisability recovered memories unreliable memory 2023

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 2


(Neurodivergent author)



By evening, Karen has set
up a makeshift kitchen area
in the living room, with all
the ingredients for spaghetti
arranged neatly on the coffee
table. Plankton sits cross-legged
on the floor, his eye never
leaving the recipe book.

He reads each step aloud, his voice
growing stronger with
confidence. Karen chops
vegetables nearby, noticing
the subtle changes in his
movements, the way he tilts
his head when he's concentrating.

The smell of garlic and onions
sizzling in olive oil fills the
room. Plankton stirs the
pot, his face scrunching up
slightly at the aroma, a sign
his sensory sensitivity has
heightened. She sees him rub
his hands together, a self-stimulatory
behavior, but she knows
it's his way of grounding
himself amidst the chaos.

They move around the makeshift
kitchen, a silent dance of
understanding and support.
Karen boils the water for the
spaghetti while Plankton
continues to sauté the veggies.
Each action is deliberate,
each step measured as they
navigate their new reality.

The water reaches a rolling
boil, and Plankton carefully
drops in the spaghetti strands,
his gaze transfixed by the
swirling water. Karen watches
his concentration and sees
the childlike wonder in his eye.

"How long?" he asks.
"Five minutes," Karen says, her
voice calm. She's read that clear
and concise instructions
can be helpful.

After five minutes, Plankton
quickly drains the spaghetti, his
movements precise and methodical.
He pours the sauce over the noodles
and mixes them gently, his focus
intense. Karen watches him,
a mix of admiration and concern.

"It's done," he announces, his
voice a mix of excitement and
apprehension. She brings over
two plates, setting them on the
coffee table. They sit across
from each other, the steaming
spaghetti a bridge between
them. Plankton's hand hovers
over his plate, unsure of how to
proceed with the new sensory
experience.

"Let's eat," Karen says with a
smile, picking up her fork and
twirling the noodles expertly.
The sound of her silverware
against the plate makes him flinch,
but he mimics her movements.

They eat in silence, the clinking
of forks and spoons the only
sounds in the room. Plankton
chews slowly, savoring each bite,
his face a canvas of emotions.
Karen watches him, her own
fork poised in midair.

As they finish dinner, Plankton
sets his plate aside and looks
at her, his expression earnest.
"Thank you, Karen," he says, his
voice clear. "For being here Karen."

Her eyes brim with tears,
but she blinks them back. "Always,
Plankton. I'll always be here. Now
it's getting late; let's go to bed.."

In bed, she reads to him,
his favorite childhood story,
the words acting as a lullaby.
Plankton's hand rests on her arm,
his thumb rubbing circles in a
self-soothing gesture. His breathing
steadies, matching the rhythm
of her voice.

The book's final page is turned,
and she switches off the lamp,
plunging the room into darkness.
The silence is filled with the
comforting hum of the fan above.

Karen lies beside Plankton,
his body rigid with tension.
Her arm wraps around him,
pulling him closer, and she feels
his muscles slowly relax.

"Goodnight, Plankton," she whispers,
kissing his forehead. He doesn't
respond, lost in his thoughts.
But she knows he heard her.
Karen notices the tension in his body 
and gently runs her fingers through 
his antennae, a silent offer of comfort. 
Eventually, his breathing evens out, 
and he falls asleep, his body curled 
into hers like a child seeking shelter.

The next morning, the sun streams 
through the blinds, casting stripes
across the bed. Karen, already awake, 
watches him, her hand still entwined with his.
He's still asleep, his body relaxed, the 
lines of worry from the day before 
smoothed out by the embrace of slumber.

Carefully, she slides out of bed,
not wanting to disturb him. She sees
him stir in his sleep, his antennae
twitching slightly, but he remains
unaware of her departure.

In the kitchen, Karen starts
the coffee, the scent filling
the room with a comforting
aroma. She opens the fridge,
finding the ingredients for
the morning routine. Plankton's
usual breakfast is a simple one:
toast with jam and a banana.

The toaster pops, and she
spreads the jam with a gentle
smoothness that Plankton likes.
The banana peels easily, revealing
the perfect yellow fruit inside.
Her mind races with thoughts
of how she'll need to learn
his new sensitivities, his likes
and dislikes, his triggers. But for
now, she focuses on the task
at hand, placing the slices
of bread in the toaster. 

When the toast is just right,
she carries the breakfast tray
to the bedroom, her steps
soft against the cold floor.
Plankton's still asleep, his
snores punctuating the quiet
morning. Karen sets the tray
on the bedside table.

She watches him, unsure
how to wake him without
causing distress. She's read
about sensory sensitivity
and knows that sudden noise
can be jarring for someone
with Autism. She gently strokes
his antennae, her touch
featherlight, and whispers his
name, "Plankton, wake up."

He stirs, his antennae twitching,
but his eye remains closed.
Karen tries again, a little
louder this time, "Wake up,
sweetie. Breakfast is ready."

Plankton's hand shoots up
to cover his eye, a reflexive
reaction to the light. His
body tenses, then relaxes as
his mind adjusts to the new
day. He sits up slowly.

"Thank you, Karen," he mumbles,
his voice still thick with sleep.
He takes in the breakfast
spread before him, his antennae
twitching with anticipation. He picks
up the toast, feeling the warmth 
in his hands, the stickiness
of the jam a familiar comfort.

Karen watches him closely, noticing
the way his eye widens slightly
at the first bite, the way his tongue
flicks out to taste the banana.
It's as if every sensation is
amplified, a symphony of flavors
and textures that she can't begin
to understand. She sips her coffee,
silent, giving him space.

As he eats, Plankton starts to hum again,
his body rocking slightly. It's a low,
comforting sound that fills the room.
Karen feels the tension in her
shoulders ease. This is their new
normal, a dance of care and
understanding. 

new copepod autism plaren neurodivergentcore neurodisability 2

AUTISM 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.

new autism in the plankton family dentistcore dentalcore ix

CHIP AND FAIL ii
(Autistic author)

"And then there's my roommate,
Jake," Chip went on as he nudged
Plankton.

Plankton felt the nudge like a
sledgehammer, the vibration
reverberating through his bones, his
body visibly taut.

"He's got a pet 
named Steve," Chip said,
laughing, "and he taught me
how to play the guitar!"

Plankton's eye grew larger, his
heart racing as the room
spun around him. He felt like
his mind was being invaded by a
swarm of jellyfish, buzzing with every
word, every touch. But Chip was in his
element, his words tumbling out.

"And we had a food fight!" 
Chip said, slapping
his hand down on the bed, sending
waves of pain through Plankton's
overstimulated nervous system. He
swallowed a cry, his hands
gripping the sheets. "It was like
a battle royale with spaghetti!"

Chip's laughter filled the room,
but Plankton couldn't find it in
himself to laugh. The noise, the
motion, the smells - it was all
too much. His mind was racing,
trying to keep up but he was losing the
battle. He needed silence,
darkness, a chance to reset.
But Chip was still talking,
still touching, still demanding
his attention. He felt
trapped.

"And then, get this, Dad," Chip
said, slapping his knee with
each new anecdote. "There's
this professor..."

Plankton knew he needed to tell Chip to
slow down, to give him space, but
more Chip talked, the less he could
comprehend. His mind was a
whirlwind of sensory input,
spinning out of control. Chip, not noticing, was
still grinning, his screen sparkling
with joy, voice rising with excitement.

But Plankton was no longer
listening. His eye had glazed
over, his mind a tangled web
of sensory overload. He
couldn't even hear Chip anymore.

Chip, noticing the lack of
response, paused.
"Dad?" he said, his voice
softening with concern as he
poked him with his finger, adding
to the cacophony of sensory
input that engulfed and drowned
Plankton. 

Chip, puzzled by his dad's lack of
response, leaned in closer, his
face a picture of innocent
curiosity. "Isn't that amazing,
Dad?" He asked, placing his hand
on Plankton's arm again.

The room was spinning, the
sounds of Chip's voice and the
memory of his stories a cacophony,
his chest tight.

"Dad?" Chip's voice grew
quiet, his smile slipping away as he
noticed his father's distress.
He had never seen Plankton like
this before, so still..
"Are you okay?" He asked,
genuinely concerned. But his
question was like another
explosion of light and sound to
Plankton. But Chip, in his excitement,
misinterpreted. He leaned in even closer,
his hand landing gently on Plankton's
shoulder. Plankton's body
constricted, unblinking. The pressure
of Chip's hand was a heavy
weight, and the softness of his
voice was a scream in Plankton's
overwhelmed ears. He couldn't
speak, couldn't move..

Chip's eyes grew wide with
concern as he watched his dad.
He had never seen Plankton
like this, so silent and unresponsive.
Was he ok? Did he say something
wrong? The doubt grew in his chest.

"Dad?" He ventured again, his voice
smaller than it had been. Plankton's
body was a statue, his eye fixed
somewhere beyond the room.
Chip's hand hovered over his arm,
uncertain of what to do.

"Dad, are you okay?" He asked,
his voice trembling. He had
never seen his dad so
silent.

Plankton's body is
rigid and unyielding.

He can't understand
why his dad isn't responding,
why he isn't laughing at the
funny stories or asking questions
about his college life.

"Dad?" Chip says again, his voice
more tentative now. He reaches out to
shake Plankton's shoulder. Something's 
wrong, he can feel it. He didn't know
Plankton has reached a
breaking point, and his mind
shuts down in self-defense. He
can't process anything, not even
the love in Chip's voice.

"What's wrong with you!" Chip
asks, his eyes wide with confusion
and hurt. He had only wanted
to share his excitement, to
connect with his dad after being
away for a week. But Plankton's
reaction was like nothing he had
ever seen before. Plankton's unable to
decipher Chip's words or the
concern etched into his features.

Chip's scanning Plankton's
expression for some clue, some
sign of what was happening.

"Dad, talk to me," Chip pleads,
his hand resting on frozen Plankton's
shoulder. Nothing. He's expressionless.

Panic starts to bloom in Chip.

"Dad, say something!" He begs, his
hands shaking. Plankton remains
motionless, his eye unfocused.
Chip's mind races, trying to
understand, trying to piece together
what he could've done wrong.
The silence stretches between them,
taut as a bowstring. Plankton's face
remains an unreadable mask.

Chip's thoughts tumble over one
another, trying to remember
anything that could've triggered this.
He knew his dad was a bit of an introvert,
needy of his space, but this was
beyond that. The room felt
claustrophobic, the air thick with
unspoken words.

"Dad, you're scaring me," he whispers,
his voice cracking. "What's going on?"
Plankton's trapped in
his own body, a prison of
sensory overload.

The room seems to spin faster,
the colors bleeding into one another.
He can't find the words to explain.
He wishes he could tell Chip to stop,
to back away, but his tongue is a
dead weight in his mouth. But Chip,
his mind racing with worry,
doesn't understand. He's never
seen his dad like this before.

"Dad?" He says again, his voice
shaking with fear. "You're not
moving." 

In a moment of desperation,
Chip grabs Plankton's hand, trying
to shake him out of his trance.
"Please, Dad, talk to me," he
whispers, his grip tight. But
Plankton's hand is cold and stiff,
like holding onto a mannequin's. Chip's
face falls, his eyes filling
with tears. "What's wrong, Dad?"
He sobs, his voice thick with fear.

Plankton feels the warmth of Chip's
hand, the pressure of his grip,
but he's trapped in a world of
sensory overload, unable to
move or speak. His heart aches
with the pain of his son's distress,
but his body won't cooperate. He
desperately tries to break through
the fog, to tell Chip he's okay,
that he loves him. But even his
consciousness is frozen now.

Chip's sobs grew louder, his
shoulders shaking with each
breath. "Please, Dad, please," he
whimpers, his eyes brimming with
tears. The weight of his
father's unresponsive hand in his
own was like a stone, dragging him
down into a pit of fear.

He didn't know his dad was
autistic, didn't know the silent
torture he was enduring.
Plankton's heart was a caged bird,
flapping its wings against the
walls of his overwhelmed mind.
He wished he could tell Chip that
he was okay, that he loved him, but
his thoughts were a tangled web,
catching and trapping every
sensation until he couldn't move.

Chip's grip tightened, his voice
desperate. "Dad, please," he
sobbed.

But Plankton remained unresponsive,
his mind a hurricane of stimuli.
The weight of Chip's hand on
his shoulder was unbearable,
each touch a bolt of lightning
striking his already fried nervous
system. The room was spinning,
the colors blurring into a
swirl of chaos.

Chip's voice grew louder, more
insistent, his touches more
frequent as he tried to pull
his dad out of his silent world,
his grip on Plankton's arm tightening.
But Plankton's body was a statue.

"Dad, please, say something," Chip
whispered, his voice choked with
sobs. Chip's face crumpled as he 
concluded his dad wasn't okay. He never
saw him like this, so silent and
still. But the more Chip talked,
the more he touched, the deeper
Plankton sank into his overloaded
state. Plankton's body remained still.
He didn't understand why his
dad was so unresponsive. His
heart felt like it was shattering
into a million pieces.

Chip leaned in closer, his eyes
searching Plankton's for some
glimmer of recognition, some sign
that he was okay, desperate for any
sign of life.

"Dad, you're scaring me," he choked
out, his grip on Plankton's hand
becoming frantic. Plankton's heart
was racing, but his body remained
still as a statue, the storm inside
his mind unseen by his son.

"Please, Dad, talk to me," Chip
pleaded, tears rolling down his
cheeks. In his panic, Chip didn't realize
his touches were only adding to
Plankton's distress. His face crumpled as he 
realizes his dad, so still and unresponsive,
is not okay.

The room grew smaller, the air
thicker with Chip's sobs. "Dad,
please," he whispered, his voice
shaking. He didn't know how to
help, didn't know what was happening.
All he knew was that the man he
loved was slipping away from him,
and he was powerless to stop it.

Plankton's mind was a tornado of
sensation, each touch, each sound
a knife slicing through the
fragile silence he needed to survive.
He wished he could tell Chip to
just give him a minute, to let him
find his calm. But the words were
stuck in his throat, his mind a
whirlwind of panic and confusion.

Chip, unable to understand the
storm happening inside his dad,
felt a sinking dread. He had
never seen Plankton like this, and
his inability to connect with
his father was like a punch to
his gut. He tried to lighten the
mood, to pull him out of his
silent cocoon with a joke. "Remember
when I accidentally turned your
laboratory blue with that chemistry
experiment?" he asked, his voice
shaking slightly. But it's not working.

Plankton remained unmoving,
his expression unchanged, lost in
his own world of sensory overload.
The silence was deafening, a stark
contrast to the tumult in his mind.
Chip's words were just more noise,
more chaos to process.

Chip's eyes searched his dad's
face, desperation etched into every
line of his youthful features.
He didn't know about Plankton's
autism, about the need for quiet
and predictability to navigate the
world. He only knew that his
dad wasn't responding, and it
was tearing him apart.

He took a deep breath, trying to
think of what to do. The silence
was suffocating, pressing down on
them like a heavy blanket. Then,
suddenly, he had an idea.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II ii

NEW REALITY vi
(Autistic author)

"Plankton," she starts,
her voice tentative.
"Can we try something?"
He nods, his eye
still searching.

Karen reaches over
to the bedside drawer,
pulling out a small,
soft blanket.
"This is called a weighted
blanket," she explains,
unfolding it gently.
"It's like a hug from me
without the pressure."

Plankton's gaze
flickers with curiosity.
He nods slowly, allowing
her to place it over
his body, his eye
closed as he feels the
comforting weight.
"It's good,"
he murmurs, his voice
a mix of wonder and
fatigue.

Karen's heart lifts,
a tiny victory in the
face of the unknown.
"It's like a hug,"
she says, smoothing
the blanket over him.
"It helps some people
feel safe and calm."

Plankton nods, his
body relaxing into
the embrace of the
weighted fabric.

Karen's eyes fill with
relief as she watches
his tension melt away.
"Does it feel better?"
she asks, her voice
gentle.

Plankton nods, his
eye still closed. "Calm,"
he whispers.

Encouraged, Karen pulls
the blanket tighter, mimicking
a gentle squeeze. "Good?"
she asks, her voice a soft
query.

Plankton nods, a smile
ghosting over his lips. "Good,"
he agrees, his voice a faint
whisper.

Karen's heart skips a beat.
"I'm here," she says, her voice
a soothing melody. "I'll always
be here to help you find
your calm."

Plankton nods, his eye
still shut. "Calm," he whispers,
his body sinking deeper into
the blanket's embrace.

Karen's eyes fill with tears
as she watches him. She's
found a way to connect, a way
to bring him comfort in a
world that's become too much
for him. The weight of
the blanket seems to anchor him,
still the storm in his mind.

"I'll get us through this,"
she whispers, her voice filled
with resolve. "We're a team."

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, a sign of his
agreement. "Team," he murmurs,
his breathing evening out
beneath the blanket.

Karen's eyes shine with
hope. "Yes, we're a team,"
she repeats, leaning down
to kiss his forehead.
"Now, try to get some sleep."

Plankton nods, his hand
reaching up to trace the
edge of the blanket. "Sleep,"
he murmurs.

Karen watches him for a
moment longer, then stands
slowly, not wanting to disturb
his fragile peace. She
moves to the door, her hand
on the knob. "I'll be right
outside if you need me,"
she says softly.

Plankton nods, his hand
still tracing the blanket.
"Karen," he whispers.

Her heart squeezes. "I know,"
she says, her voice a gentle
caress. "I'll be right here."

With one last look at him,
she steps into the hallway,
closing the door behind her.

The house feels eerie in
its quiet, the weight of
the silence pressing down.
Her thoughts race, her mind
a whirlwind of fears and
uncertainty. How do you
navigate a world that's
suddenly become so
overwhelming for someone
you love?

Karen leans against
the closed door, her eyes
brimming with tears. She
can't bear to leave him
alone, but he needs rest.
With a heavy sigh, she
forces herself to step away,
determined to give him
the space he needs to adjust.

new new reality Sheldon J. Plankton & Karen vi

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