Roman Numeral Nine Emojis & Text

JUST A TOUCH ix
(Autistic author)


Plankton's antennae quiver with
frustration. "It's about the order,"
he repeats, his voice strained.
"Everything needs order."

Squidward sighs, his tentacles
flapping in exasperation. "Look,
I don't know what's gotten into
you, but we need to get these
dishes done, and we can't do that
if you're going to micromanage
every single one!"

Plankton's antennae droop.
"Needs thorough..."

Squidward throws his tentacles
up in the air. "I don't care
about your 'thoroughness' right
now!" he exclaims. "Just let me do
my job!"

Plankton's antennae flatten.
"No!" he shouts, his voice echoing
off the stainless steel walls.

Squidward turns, his tentacles
poised for a fight. "What is your
problem?" he snaps. Plankton's
eye darts around, his heart racing.
He can't explain the sudden
urgency, the need for order that's
consuming him. The need to be
perfectly cleansed without blemish.

"It's just... it's just..." Plankton
stammers, his antennae drooping.

Squidward's eyes narrow, his
tentacles still. "What's the matter
with you?" he asks, his voice
edged with irritation. Plankton
swallows, his throat tight. "Needs
good.."

But before he can say more,
his gaze locks onto a speck of
dirt on a plate. The world
around him fades away as he
reaches for it, his movements
slow and deliberate.

Squidward watches him, his
expression a mix of confusion
and annoyance. "What is
that?" he asks, his tone sharp.

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye focusing on the speck.
"Dirt," he whispers, his voice
laced with distress. "Has to be
gone." His hand shakes as he
reaches for the plate, his mind
consumed by the need to remove
the imperfection.

Squidward snatches the plate,
his tentacles firm. "It's just a
tiny speck!" he says, his voice
loud. Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his body stiffening. "Can't
have dirt," he murmurs.

The room seems to close in,
his heart hammering in his chest.
The need for order, for
everything to be just so, is a
wave crushing down on him.
Squidward's face swims in
his vision, a blur of impatience.
"Squidward," he says, his voice
steadying. "It's dirty."

Squidward's grip on the plate
doesn't waver. "It's not dirty,"
he says, his tone firm. "It's a
tiny speck."

But to Plankton, that speck
is a boulder, a symbol of the
chaos he can't control. His
antennas quiver as he stares
at the offending spot, his
breaths coming in short, sharp
gasps. The world narrows to just
the dish, the speck, and the
overwhelming need to erase it.

Squidward reaches out a tentacle,
to move him aside, reaching
to touch Plankton's shoulder. But
before he can make contact,
Plankton flinches, his eye
snapping up to meet Squidward's.

"Don't," he says, his voice
sharp. "No touch."
"Then move so I can mix
the dishes.."
The words hit Plankton like a
wave, sending him spiraling.
He can't explain it, but the
thought of Squidward's tentacle
touching him sends a shiver
down his spine. But the only
alternative is to result in
disordered dishes!

Squidward's grip on the plate
doesn't change, his tentacle
poised to push Plankton aside.
"Please," Plankton whispers, his
voice trembling. "No..."

SpongeBob watches from a
distance, his smile fading.
He's noticed the changes
in Plankton, the way his
movements have become so
precise, his speech so formal.
But he doesn't know what to say,
what to do.

Squidward's tentacle hovers,
his gaze flicking from the
plate to Plankton's face. "I'm
in charge, not you!" He says
shoving Plankton as he mixes
the dishes. That's it.

The room spins around Plankton,
his vision blurring with the
sudden assault. The clatter of
plates, the smell of grease,
the touch of Squidward's tentacle—
it's too much. His body reacts
before his brain can catch up, 
the partygoers' laughter
a distant echo in Plankton's ringing
ears.

"Plankton?" Squidward asks,
his voice a distant rumble as
SpongeBob comes in.

Plankton's vaguely aware of
his surroundings, but it's all just
white noise, his gaze going
blank as the absence seizure
starts up.

new just a touch neurodisability ix

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 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

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

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

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

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

🔢

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

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

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

SHELF IMPROVEMENT ix
(Autistic author)

"Plankton," Karen 
says, her voice 
steady despite the 
worry. "You need to 
understand that Chip 
doesn't mean to 
hurt you."

But Plankton was lost 
in his own world, his 
tiny fists clenched 
by his sides, his 
body vibrating with 
uncontrolled anger. "No 
more!" he shrieked. "No 
more Chip!" His eye 
was wild, darting around 
the room as if searching 
for an escape from 
the invisible tormentor.

Karen watched him. She had 
read about meltdowns 
in her research but 
experiencing one was 
another matter entirely. 
Her husband's distress 
was palpable, and she 
knew she had to act 
quickly.

"Plankton," she 
said, her voice calm 
but firm. "Look at me.
It's Karen. You're safe."

But Plankton's 
eye remained wild, 
his antennae quivering. 
"No safe," he 
whispered, his voice 
haunted. "Chip, too loud."

Karen understood the depth 
of his fear. "Chip's 
not here," she said 
soothingly. "He's in his 
room, just like we asked.
You're okay."

But Plankton's 
screams continued, 
his tiny body 
shaking with the 
force of his 
anger. "Chip go!"
he yelled, his voice 
scratchy from the 
strain. "Chip bad!"

Karen's mind raced, 
trying to find a way 
to calm him. She 
moved closer, her 
hands up in a non-
threatening gesture. 
"Plankton, please," 
she said, her voice 
as gentle as a 
whisper. "Chip's not 
here, remember?"

But Plankton's 
autistic meltdown 
continued, his voice 
raised in a string of 
incoherent threats 
and fear. "No more 
Chip!" he screamed. 
"Bad Chip, go!" His 
body was a blur of 
movement.

Karen tried to approach him, 
her movements slow 
and deliberate. "It's 
just us, Plankton," she 
said calmly, her voice 
soothing. "You're 
safe."

But Plankton's 
autistic meltdown 
was unyielding. "Chip bad!"
he yelled, his antennae 
thrashing wildly. "Karen, 
make Chip go!" "Plankton, 
Chip's not here," she 
repeated, her voice 
even softer. "It's just 
you and me."

Plankton's screams 
continued, his 
tiny frame contorted 
with rage. "Make Chip 
leave!" he shrieked. 
"Chip go away!"

Karen's eyes 
filled with tears 
as she approached 
his trembling body. 
"Plankton, baby," she 
whispered, her voice 
steady. "Chip's not 
here. It's okay."

But Plankton's 
autistic meltdown 
showed no signs of 
abating. He continued 
to scream, his 
fear-filled eye darting 
around the room as if 
his son was still 
there, threatening 
his sanctity. "No 
Chip, no more!"

Karen's voice 
was a gentle stream 
of reassurance, 
trying to cut through 
the storm of 
his distress. She 
knew she had to find 
a way to calm him 
without adding to his 
overwhelm. She 
moved closer, her 
body language open and 
non-threatening.

"Plankton," she 
soothed, her hand 
outstretched. "Look 
at me, it's just me, 
Karen." But his 
screams grew louder, 
his tiny fists 
pounding the bed 
in frustration.

"No Chip! No more 
loud!" he shrieked, 
his voice raw. "Karen 
keep Chip away!"

Karen moved closer, 
carefully placing 
a hand on 
his shaking 
shoulder. "Chip's not 
here, Plankton," she 
soothed, her voice 
gentle. "It's okay."

But Plankton's 
autistic meltdown 
was a tempest 
she couldn't calm. 
"No more Chip!" 
he sobbed, his 
tiny body shaking 
with the force of 
his emotions. 
Tears streamed 
down his face, 
his antennae drooping 
as if in defeat.

Karen couldn't bear to 
see him like this, 
so vulnerable and 
afraid. She sat 
on the edge of 
the bed, her hand 
still on his shoulder. 
"It's okay," she 
whispered, her voice 
a gentle lullaby. "Chip's 
not here, Plankton."

Plankton's sobs 
were like the 
waves of the sea, 
crashing against 
the shore of his 
tiny frame. Each 
breath he took 
was a battle, his 
body racked with 
the effort of trying 
to calm himself down. 
Karen felt powerless, 
but she knew she had to 
try something.

"Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice 
barely audible over 
his cries. "Let's do 
our deep breathing, 
okay?" She demonstrated, 
inhaling deeply and 
exhaling slowly, hoping 
the rhythm would 
soothe him.

For a moment, 
his screams stuttered, 
his breath catching. 
Karen felt a flicker 
of hope. She leaned 
closer, her hand 
on his chest. "In and 
out," she instructed, 
feeling the rapid 
thump of his heart 
beneath her palm.

Slowly, his sobs began to 
even out, his breath 
matching hers. His 
body was still tense, 
his antennae still 
quivering, but the 
intensity of his meltdown 
was waning. Karen 
continued to breathe 
with him, her hand 
a comforting weight 
on his chest.

"Good, Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice 
a soft breeze in the 
storm. "In and out."

His sobs grew quieter, 
his body less tense. 
Karen's hand remained 
steady on his chest, 
feeling the erratic 
thumps slowing to a 
more manageable rhythm. 
The room was a cocoon 
of soft sounds—his 
breaths, her voice, the 
faint ticking of the 
clock on the wall.

"Good," she said, 
her voice still a 
whisper. "We're okay."

Plankton's body 
was still, his 
breathing returning to 
normal. He looked 
up at Karen. "Karen,"
he murmured, his voice 
small and scared.

Karen's with love 
and sadness. "I'm 
right here, baby," she 
whispered, stroking his 
forehead. "You're safe."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, his 
body slowly relaxing 
beneath her touch. 
"Safe," he murmured. 
"Chip?"

Karen squeezed his 
shoulder gently. "Chip's 
in his room, just like 
we asked," she said, her 
voice soft and steady. 
"He's not going to 
bother you now."

Plankton's antennae 
stilled, his breaths 
coming in deep, 
shuddering gulps. "No 
more loud," he whispered.

Karen nodded. "I know, 
baby," she said. "We'll 
make sure it's quieter 
for you."

Plankton's antennae 
relaxed slightly. "No 
more loud," he repeated, 
his voice a plea.

Karen nodded, 
swiping at her own 
tears. "We'll keep 
things calm," she 
promised. "We're all 
going to work 
together to make 
sure you're okay."

Plankton's gaze 
flicked to the door, 
his antennae quivering. 
"Chip safe?" he asked, 
his voice a mere 
whisper.

"Chip's safe," Karen 
reassured, her voice 
soothing. "He's just in 
his room, giving 
us some space."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched with 
understanding. "Space," 
he murmured. "Chip 
understands space?"

"Chip's just a 
little confused," she 
explained. "He loves 
you, but he's learning 
about your new 
needs."

Plankton nodded 
slightly, his antennae 
still. "Chip good," 
he murmured. "Just... 
to much."

Karen felt a 
wave of relief wash 
over her. "Yes, 
sweetie," she said. 
"Sometimes Chip's 
energy can be too 
much. We'll talk to 
him about it."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched again, 
his gaze drifting 
back to the 
closed door. "Talk?"

Karen nodded, 
wiping the tears. "Yes, 
we'll talk to him," she 
said. "We'll explain 
how you're feeling 
and what you need."

Plankton's antennae 
drooped slightly. "Chip 
still loves Plankton?"

Karen's eyes filled 
with tears. "More than 
anything," she assured 
him, her voice thick 
with emotion. "Chip loves 
you so much, and he'll 
learn how to be 
gentler with you."

Plankton's antennae 
perked up a little, 
his fear beginning 
to recede. "Gentler,"
he whispered, his voice 
hopeful.

"Yes," Karen 
nodded, her eyes 
never leaving his. 
"We'll all learn 
to be gentler."

new shelf improvement gentlecore ix

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ix
(By NeuroFabulous)


The drive to the dentist was
silent, the tension in the air thick.
Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye on the passing
scenery outside the window.

"You okay?" Karen asked,
her voice soft. She reached
over, her hand hovering.

Plankton's antennae quivered.
"Just... I'd prefer quiet, alone...
and no touching," he murmured,
his voice tight. "Please, for now."

Karen nodded, her hand
retreating to the steering
wheel. "Okay, Plankton," she
said, her voice gentle. "I'll
give you space.."

The car was a cocoon
of quiet, the hum of the
engine the only sound
to break the silence.
Plankton sat in the
passenger seat, his
body tense, his antennae
twitching slightly as
he took deep, shaky
breaths.
Karen knew her husband
was trying to prepare himself
for the possible onslaught
of the dentist's office.

When they arrived,
Karen parked the car and
turned to him. "Ready?"
she asked, her voice gentle.

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze
darting to the bright
building ahead. "As
ready as I'll ever be,"
he murmured, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Karen nodded, her
expression understanding.
"Let's go, love," she
whispered, reaching for
his hand. But Plankton's
body tensed, his antennae
shooting up. "No touching right now,"
he murmured, his voice tight.

They approached the dental
office with slow, measured steps.
The bright lights and the smell
of antiseptic made Plankton's
antennas quiver, but he pushed
through, his gaze focused on
his wife's calming presence.

Inside, the receptionist's
cheery greeting was almost too
much for Plankton, his antennae
twitching erratically. 
The hum of the office was
a cacophony to his sensitive
ears, but he took deep breaths,
his gaze never leaving the floor.

Karen's voice is low and
soothing. "It's okay, honey,"
she murmured. "We're just
here for a quick check-up."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still quivering. They take
their seats in the waiting
room, the fluorescent lights
buzzing overhead. Each tick
of the clock echoes in the
silence, a stark contrast to
his racing thoughts. He focuses
on his breathing, in and out,
trying to calm his nerves.

Karen notices the way
his antennae twitch in
agitation, her hand hovering
close to his. But he shakes
his head, his gaze fixed
on the floor.

The wait seems eternal,
but finally, the hygienist
calls Plankton's name.
He stands, his antennae
quivering slightly. Karen
follows him into the room,
her eyes scanning the
environment for potential
triggers.

The hygienist, noticing
Plankton's discomfort,
speaks in a soft, even tone.
"Hi, Mr. Plankton," she says,
her voice calm. "I'm Rachel.
We're just here to check
on the teeth we saw
last time. So we're gonna
take another x-ray and compare
them, okay?"

Plankton nods, his antennae
still quivering. Rachel's gentle
touch as she leads him to the chair
is almost too much for him.
Karen can see the effort it takes
for him to stay still, his body
tense as a bowstring.

The sound of the x-ray machine
whirring to life makes Plankton's
antennas twitch.

"It's okay," Karen whispers,
her hand on his shoulder.
"It'll be quick, just hold still."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still quivering. Rachel
places the film in his mouth,
the cold metal sending shivers
down his spine. He closes his eye,
his breaths coming in short bursts.

Karen's hand rests gently
on his shoulder, her thumb
rubbing circles. She whispers,
"We've done this before," her voice
like a balm to his frayed nerves.

Plankton nods, his antennae
twitching slightly. Rachel,
the hygienist, notices his
discomfort and dims the lights
slightly. The sudden change
makes his antennae still, his
breathing evening out.

"Alright, Mr. Plankton," Rachel
says, her voice calm. "This won't
hurt a bit. Just keep still
and we'll be done in no time."

Plankton nods, his antennae
quivering slightly as Rachel
steps away to take the x-ray.
The room goes dark, the
machine's buzz piercing the
silence. Plankton's breath hitches,
his eye squeezed shut.

When Rachel returns, she's careful
to avoid sudden movements. "Alright,
Mr. Plankton, we're all done," she says,
her voice soothing. Plankton's antennae
still as he opens his mouth, allowing Rachel
to remove the film. He swallows hard,
his eye never leaving Karen's.

new chip on the shoulders shockfic ix

CHIP IN MY BOX ix
(Autistic author)


Plankton's eye focuses on
her, his hand clutching hers
like a lifeline. "Karen?" He
whispers, the fog of confusion
slowly lifting. His voice is
weak, but the recognition is
there, a spark in the vast
ocean of his overwhelmed
mind.

Karen's breath hitches,
relief flooding her body.
"Yes, it's me," she murmurs,
her voice a gentle tide washing
over him. "You had a hard
time, but you're okay now."

Plankton's hand clutches hers,
his grip tight, his reality
slowly coming into focus.
The velvet curtain is lifted
gently, his eye blinking in
the soft light. His gaze
finds hers, and for a
moment, it's just the two
of them, a silent promise of
support and understanding.

"I... Dr. Kelp? Chip?" He
blinks.

Dr. Kelp nods, his tentacles
still busy placing the
sensory items. "We're all here,"
he says, his voice calm. "You're
safe."

Plankton's gaze moves to
Chip, who's been watching
silently from the side, his
face a mask of fear and hope.
"Chip?" He says, his voice
weak. The boy nods, his eyes
shimmering with tears.

"I'm here, Dad," he whispers,
his voice trembling. "I'm sorry."
The words hang in the air,
a silent apology for his
carelessness.

Plankton's eye locks onto Chip,
his grip on Karen's hand
weakening as he tries to
sit up. His mind is still
a tangled web of confusion. 
"What happened?"

Karen's voice is a gentle
current, guiding him back
to reality. "You had a
reality break," she says,
avoiding the harsher terms.
"It's okay, we're here."

Plankton's gaze shifts
between them, his mind a
whirlpool of questions and
half-forgotten moments. He
swallows hard, the lump
in his throat a reminder of
his vulnerability. "I'm sorry,"
he says, his voice barely
more than a whisper.

Chip's eyes are wide, his
heart racing as he watches
his father struggle. He wants
to say something, anything,
but his throat is tight with
fear. "It was an accident,"
he croaks out finally, his voice
small. "I didn't mean to."

Plankton's eye narrows slightly,
his expression a mix of
pain and confusion. "What
did you do?" He asks, his
voice a thundercloud of
emotion.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his guilt a heavy weight.
"I knocked over your box,"
he admits, his voice barely
a whisper. "I didn't know."
The words hang in the air,
a confession that feels like
a betrayal.

Plankton's gaze is a
stormy sea, his emotions
a tempest of anger and hurt.
He looks at the shards of
his sanity scattered on the
floor, a silent accusation.
The room seems to spin around
them, a maelstrom of his
swirling thoughts.

"You broke it," he says,
his voice a thunderclap of
disappointment. The words hit
Chip like a tidal wave, drowning
his guilt. "You broke my box."

The room seems to shrink,
the air thick with tension.
Karen's eyes dart between
them, a silent plea for
understanding. "It was an
accident," she says, her voice
soft. "Chip didn't know."

Plankton's eye is on Chip,
his gaze intense. He
swallows hard, the reality
of the situation crashing
over him. "Why?" He whispers,
his voice a raw wound.

Chip's chin trembles, his
eyes brimming with tears. "I
just wanted to see," he
whispers back, his voice
tiny and scared. "I didn't
know it was so important."

Plankton's expression
softens, the storm clouds
of anger parting to reveal
his own fear, his chest
heaving with the effort
of controlling his emotions.
"I know," he says, his
voice a gentle rumble. "I'm
just... tired." He looks at the
new box.

Karen's eyes fill with
sympathy, her hand reaching
out to touch his shoulder.
"You don't have to explain,"
she whispers. "We're here."
Her words are a balm to
his soul, a gentle reminder
that he's not alone in his
journey.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii ix

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY ix
(By NeuroFabulous)

Karen stepped in, her voice
calm but firm. "Chip, let's give
your dad some space," she said,
placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"He needs time to process this."

Chip nodded, his eyes
filled with a mix of sadness
and understanding. He looked
at Plankton one last time, his hand
still hovering in the air. Plankton's
antennas were still quivering, but his
eye had softened slightly. It was a
small gesture, but it spoke volumes.

He stepped back, allowing Karen
to lead him out of the room. As the
door clicked shut behind them, Chip
couldn't help but feel a sense of failure.
He had wanted to bridge the gap
between them, but instead, it felt like he had
only driven it wider. Chip couldn't shake
the image of his dad's antennas, a silent
language of pain and anger. He knew
he needed to learn to understand
these subtle cues, to navigate the
complex world of his father's autism.

In the quiet hallway, Chip
swiped at his eyes, trying to
comfort himself with the knowledge
that Plankton's outburst wasn't
personal. It was just his brain's way
of coping with the overwhelming emotions.
But understanding didn't make the hurt
any less real. He looked up at Karen,
his eyes pleading. "What do we do?"

Karen's expression was a mix
of sadness and resilience. "We
give him space," she said firmly.
"He needs to come to terms with
his feelings in his own way."

Chip nodded, his eyes still
on the closed door. "But what if
he doesn't want me around?" he
asked, his voice trembling.

Karen took a deep breath, her
hand rubbing his back in gentle
circles. "Your dad loves you, Chip,"
she assured him. "He's just scared
that you'll never truly understand
him." She paused, her gaze
thoughtful. "But you can show him
that you're willing to try."

They walked down the
hallway, leaving Plankton's room
behind them. Chip felt his heart
heavy in his chest, the weight
of his father's pain pressing down
on him. "How?" he asked, his voice
small. "How do I show him?"

Karen squeezed his
shoulder. "You just do," she said,
her voice filled with a quiet
strength. "You learn about autism,
you learn about his likes and
dislikes, and you listen to him."

He had wanted to make his father
happy, but instead, he had pushed him
away. He sat down on the couch,
his shoulders slumped.

Meanwhile, Plankton remained in
his room, his antennas drooping as
his thoughts raced. He felt the weight
of their conversation, his chest
tight with the effort of keeping
his emotions in check. He eventually
goes out to find Chip and Karen in
the living room.

"Chip," he said, his voice
shaky but determined.

Chip looked up, his eyes
red-rimmed and hopeful. Plankton
stood in the doorway, his antennas
slightly less rigid than before. Karen
nodded encouragingly, giving him a gentle
push forward.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Chip
said, his voice thick with emotion.
"I didn't mean to upset you."

Plankton's antennas twitched,
his gaze drifting to the floor.
"I know," he murmured. "But you
have to understand, it's not easy."
He took a deep breath, his
body visibly relaxing. "I don't mean
to push..."

Karen stepped in, her voice
soothing. "Why don't we all do
something we enjoy?" she suggested.
"Maybe something that won't
overwhelm?"

Chip's eyes lit up at the
thought. "Yeah, like what?"

Plankton took a moment, his
antennas moving slightly as he
thought. "How about a trip?"
he suggested, his voice tentative.
"Drive to the beach. It's quiet and
calming."

Chip's face lit up with excitement.
"The beach?" He hadn't been in ages,
and it was one of Plankton's favorite
places. "Yes, let's do that!"

Karen gave Plankton a warm
smile. "That's a great idea,"
she said, her voice filled with relief
and gratitude.

In the car, the tension slowly
began to dissipate as the ocean
air filled the vehicle. Chip sat in the
back, fidgeting with his seatbelt.
"Dad, I want to ask you something,"
he said, his voice tentative.

Plankton turned in his seat, his antennas
twitching with curiosity. "What is it?"
he asked, his voice a little softer
than before.

Chip took a deep breath, his
heart racing. "I just want to know
what I can do to help," he said,
his eyes earnest. "What do you like?"

Plankton's antennas moved slightly,
a sign that he was processing the
question. "Well," he began, his voice
still tight with emotion, "I like it
when you're patient with me."

Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving
his father's profile. "Okay," he said,
his voice small. "What else?"

Plankton's antennas moved slightly
as he thought. "I like it when you
ask before you touch me," he said.
"And when you respect my need for
quiet sometimes." His eye flickered
to the side, looking at Chip. "And
I like it when you don't try to change me."

Chip nodded, his eyes filling
with tears. "I'll try, Dad," he said,
his voice earnest. "I'll always
ask, and I'll always love you just
the way you are."

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous ix

PLUSH ONE ix
(By NeuroFabulous)

They sit in silence,
their hands a bridge between
their worlds. She can feel
his pulse beneath her thumb,
the steady beat of his heart.

Plankton's eye 
flicks to the 
plushie in his 
other hand.

Karen notices the 
change in his 
expression, a 
flicker of 
something she can't 
quite read. His grip 
on her hand remains 
steady, but the 
plushie seems to 
have captured his 
full attention. She 
wonders what thoughts
are racing through
his mind, the patterns
and sensory inputs he's 
processing in his 
newly autistic state.

Plankton's eye 
narrows, and 
his hand 
twitches. 
She can see the
determination in his 
face, a reminder of the 
man she fell in love with,
still present beneath
the layers of fear and 
confusion.

"What is it, Plankton?"
she asks, her voice 
gentle.

He stares at the plushie, his
eye flickering with thought.
"Need still," he murmurs.

Karen nods. His autism craves
structure, predictability. She
moves slowly, her eyes never leaving
his, and reaches for the plushie.
"May I..."

But Plankton's hand tightens,
his body tense. "MINE!"
he snaps, his voice sharp.

Karen's hand stops mid-air,
her heart racing. "I'm sorry,"
she whispers. "It's just a..."

But Plankton's voice is
steady. "MINE," he repeats,
his gaze unwavering. She
understands now. The plushie
is more than just a toy; it's a
comfort object, a piece of
his new reality that grounds him.
"Okay," she says, her voice
calm. "It's yours. You can hold
it as long as you like."

Plankton's antennae stop
twitching, his breaths deepen.
He nods slightly, his grip on
the plushie unyielding.

Karen's mind races, trying
to think of ways to ease
his fear without overwhelming
his senses. "Would you li—"
"NO!" he shouts. She's
learned the importance of
his sensory needs, of not
pushing too hard. "Okay,"
she says, her voice calm,
knowing better than to
interrupt.

Plankton clutches the plushie,
his eye squeezed shut.
"MINE," he whispers, his
voice a tremble. She
wants to comfort him,
to tell him that she loves
him, that she'll always
be there for him. But she
knows that words might not
be what he needs right now.

Instead, she sings a soft 
lullaby. Plankton's hand
squeezes hers, his breaths
slowing with each note.

He opens his eye slightly,
his gaze finding hers.
"Karen," he whispers.
The fear is there, but
so is the love, unspoken
but as real as the air
they breathe. She sings
as his body relaxes,
his antennae still.

Karen watches him,
his eyelid fluttering
closed. His hand in hers
is still, the plushie
pressed to his chest.

Her screen swells with love
and sadness. The man
she knows is exhausted
from the day's sensory
bombardment. His new
autistic brain has been
working overtime to
make sense of a world
now too loud, too bright,
too much.

Plankton's eyelid flickers,
his antennae drooping. His grip
on her hand loosens,
his breaths deepening with
each verse.

Karen's voice is a soft
lullaby. Plankton's grip on
the plushie loosens,
his eyelid fluttering shut.

Karen sings, her
voice a gentle hum
in the quiet room.
Plankton's antennae
droop slightly, his
grip on her hand
softening. The plushie
rises and falls with
his deepening breaths,
his body finally
at ease.

Karen's eyes fill
with tears of relief
as she watches him
slip into sleep, his
hand still clutching
the plushie as he
starts to snore lightly.

Her screen is a mix
of emotions: fear,
sorrow, and a fierce
love that won't let
her look away.

Karen watches
Plankton's chest rise
and fall with each
breath, the plushie
a pillow beneath
his cheek. The room is
quiet, save for the distant
hum of the city outside.

Her mind races with
the day's events, trying
to process the sudden
shift in their lives.
But for now, she'll just
be here, present in this
moment of peace.

Karen gently squeezes
his hand, the gesture
small but significant.
Her love for him unchanged,
though their relationship has
taken a new form.

The plushie rests between them,
now a symbol of his autism's
comforting embrace. She's heard
about the importance of
routine and familiar objects
for those on the spectrum.

Karen watches Plankton,
his sleep deep and peaceful.

Her mind is a whirlwind
of thoughts and fears,
wondering what tomorrow
will bring for him.

But tonight, he's just Plankton,
her Plankton, asleep beside her.
Their hands still entwined,
his antennae finally still.

Karen sighs, her eyes
closed. She's tired, and
the quiet hum of his
snoring is a comfort.

Her thoughts drift to their
life before, to the
days when his plans were
more about Krabby Patties
than patterns. A tear
escapes, tracing a path
down her screen. She
misses those days, but
more than anything, she
misses his touch.

Plankton's hand twitches
in his sleep, and she
wonders if he's dreaming
of the ocean, of their
underwater world. The world
he used to navigate so
easily, now a labyrinth
of sensory overload,
but she refuses to let
the weight of the day
crush her spirit. They'll
figure this out together,
find a new rhythm..

new plush one comfortfic ix

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

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

(*_*) &*() *****9 &&&*()୨ৎ0️⃣1️⃣9⁹91️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣1️⃣₉⁹₉9️9️⃣9️⃣⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹🥧⏳⚜️

new decimal june year rational number recurring decimal november gregorian calendar natural number 26 ix

︵⁹🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️︵⁹

new 9 ⁹ nueve nine ninth ix

Copy & Paste Roman Numeral Nine Emojis & Symbols Ⅸ⭕️ | Ⅸ』 | IX

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