Shockfic Emojis & Text

ㄨ

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

𓏵

new x ex discord dissacord

✖

new cross x

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 viii
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new great chip arguecore viii

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

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

CATCH IN MY CHIP viii
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II viii

JUST A TOUCH viii
(Autistic author)


After dinner, they
retreat to the living room.
Plankton's eye is glued
to the puzzle book on the
coffee table, his antennae
twitching with unspoken
longing. Karen picks it up,
opening to a new page.

"Would you like to work
on this one together?"
she asks, her voice gentle.
He nods, his eye lighting
up with the familiar challenge.

Together, they tackle the
puzzle, Karen's voice a gentle
narration as Plankton's antennae
move in time with her words.

The patterns on the page
hypnotize him, drawing him in.
Plankton's antennae stop
twitching, his focus solely
on the words before him.

And then the doorbell rings,
breaking the spell. Karen's
heart skips a beat, her hand
tightening around the puzzle
book. Plankton's head snaps up,
his eye wide with alarm. "Who
is it?" he asks, his voice
sharp.

Karen's eyes dart to the clock.
"It's probably SpongeBob,"
she murmurs. Plankton's antennae
perk up at the mention of his
friend's name. "Party," he says,
his voice hopeful. Karen nods,
swiping at the tear that's
managed to escape. "Yes, Plankton.
SpongeBob's probably here
to invite us to a party at the
Krusty Krab. Do you
think you're up for it?" she asks,
her voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae droop
slightly. "Maybe," he says,
his voice unsure. The thought
of the bright lights and loud
noises at the party sends a
shiver of anxiety through
his tiny body. But the
prospect of seeing Sponge
Bob is tempting.

Karen sighs, understanding
his hesitation. She walks
to the door, her movements
slow and deliberate. Sponge
Bob's cheerful greeting floods
the hallway. "Hey,
Karen! Plankton! You guys
coming to the party?"

"Hey, Sponge Bob," she says,
her smile forced. "What's the
occasion?"

Sponge Bob's face lights up
like a Christmas tree, his
spongy body bobbing with
excitement. "Mr. Krabs is
throwing a bash at the
Krusty Krab!" he says, his
hands gesturing wildly. "You
guys are coming, right?"

Plankton's antennae quiver
at the mention of the party.
The thought of the loud
noises and the jostling
crowd makes his stomach
churn, but the prospect of
seeing his friend shines like
a beacon through the fog
of his fear.

Karen watches him,
reading his emotions like
a book. "It's okay," she says,
her voice a gentle reminder.
"We can go for a little bit."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. "Okay," he says, his voice
barely a whisper. Karen can
see the internal struggle
playing out across his features.
"Just stay as long as you're
comfortable," she adds. "I'll
just stay, you go with him."

Sponge Bob's eyes light up.
"Great!" he says, bending
down to hold his hand. He
holds his finger as they go.

Plankton's grip is tight,
his antennae flat against
his head. The noise of the
Krusty Krab is a cacophony
of sounds, each one
stabbing at his heightened
senses. But the warmth of
Sponge Bob's hand, the
familiarity of their friendship,
anchors him.

Mr. Krabs sees Plankton
clinging to Sponge Bob's 
side.

"What's going on, laddie?"
he asks, his voice gruff but
concerned at the sight of
their hands.

Plankton's antennae
twitch, his gaze darting
to the floor. Mr. Krabs' 
eyes narrow.

"Why did ye invite
Plankton?" he asks
with suspicion.

Sponge Bob's smile
doesn't waver. "Well,
he's always welcome..."

Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow.
"But he's our enemy.."

Sponge Bob's smile
doesn't waver. "He's my friend,"
he says firmly. "And I'm watching
to make sure he won't steal any
thing, boss.."

Mr. Krabs' eyes soften,
his suspicion giving way to
reluctant acceptance. "Alright,
but keep an eye on him," he says,
his voice gruff.

Sponge Bob nods, his grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.
Plankton's antennae quiver,
his heart racing at the sudden
influx of stimulation. The
colorful lights, the smells of
frying food, the laughter of
the patrons—it's all so
much. But Sponge Bob's hand is
warm, a lifeline in the chaos.

They move through the
crowd, Plankton's steps small and
careful. His eye darts around,
trying to take it all in without
getting overwhelmed. Sponge
Bob's voice cuts through the
noise like a knife. "You okay,
buddy?" he asks, his smile
concerned. Plankton nods, his
voice a strained whisper. "Good,"
Sponge Bob says, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's.

As they reach the party
area, Plankton's antennae start to
wave erratically. The lights
are too bright, the sounds too
loud. He clutches Sponge
Bob's hand tighter. 
Plankton takes a deep breath,
his chest expanding with the
effort. It's like trying to
swim through jello, his senses
on high alert.

Sponge Bob feels the
change in his friend's grip,
his own heart racing with
concern. "You okay, Plankton?"
he asks again, his voice
barely audible over the din.
Plankton nods, his eye
focused on the floor. The
pattern of the tiles is
soothing, grounding him amidst
the chaos.

A flash of pink darts
through the crowd, and Plankton's
antennas twitch. "Patrick!"
Sponge Bob says, letting go
of Plankton's hand.

Plankton looks around and
sees Squidward doing the
dishes, but in a disorganized
manner that Plankton needs
to correct.

The sight of the
scattered plates, the water spots
on the glasses, sends a jolt of
anxiety through him. His
compulsion to straighten, to
organize, to make it right, is
almost unbearable. So he goes
to Squidward by the sink to interfere.

Squidward glances up, his
tentacles frozen mid-wash. "What
are you doing here?" he snaps.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his gaze fixated on the mess.
"Help," he says, his voice tight.

Squidward rolls his eyes, grabbing
another plate to wash as he ignores
Plankton.

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
eye darting between the chaos
and Squidward's dismissal. He's
doing the dishes wrong and needs
him to help!

"Squidward, let Plankton assist,"
he says, his voice formal.
Squidward sighs, shaking his
head.

"Look, I don't have time for
this," he says, his tentacles
moving rapidly. Plankton's
body tenses, his need for
meticulousness consuming him.

As Plankton approaches Squidward,
his movements are precise, almost
mechanical. His antennae twitch
in time with his racing thoughts,
his need for order a silent
scream in the noisy room. He
holds out his hand, palm up.
"Wash," he says, his voice firm.
Squidward pauses, eyeing him
warily. "What?"

Plankton's gaze is unwavering,
his voice steady. "Smudges.
Wash dishes. Correct way."

Squidward's grip on the plate
slackens, his eyes narrowing.
"What do you mean?"

Plankton's antennae wave
frantically. "Correct way,"
he repeats, his voice a
desperate whisper. "No smudges.
Wrong order."

Squidward's tentacles still,
his gaze sharpening. "What's
gotten into you?" he asks, his voice
filled with skepticism.

Plankton's antennae twitch.
"No smudges," he says again,
his voice a mix of urgency and
desperation. Squidward sets
the plate down with a clatter.
"What are you on about, Plankton?"

But Plankton's focus is solely
on the task at hand. He reaches
for the dish soap, his movements
precise.

Squidward watches him, his
expression a mix of annoyance
and curiosity. "What's going on?"
he asks, his voice gruff. Plankton's
antennas twitch, his eye darting
to Squidward. "Just helping,"
he says, his voice flat as he puts
the now clean dish away. But he
sees imperfections on some of the
clean dishes, handing them over
for Squidward to wash as he straightens
up the other plates.

Squidward's eyebrows furrow,
his gaze flicking between Plankton
and the dishes. "What are you
doing?" he asks again. Plankton's
grip on the towel tightens, his
body vibrating with the need for
perfection. "It's not right,"
he says, his voice strained. "Has to be
right."

"Those I've cleaned!" Squidward
says as Plankton puts them in
the sink for him to wash over
again. "Squidward look. No..."

But before Plankton can
finish, Squidward snatches the plate
from his tentacles. "Look, I don't
have time for your... whatever
this is," he says, his voice gruff. He
takes it and haphazardly shoves
it with smaller plates. Plankton
can't take the misalignment!

Plankton's antennae stand on
end, his eye wide with horror.
"No!" he says, his voice rising.
"Wrong order!" His hands
shake as he tries to grab the
plate, his mind racing with
the need to correct the mistake.

Squidward pulls away, his
expression a mix of confusion
and irritation. "Plankton, what's
wrong with you?" he snaps.

"Plankton's centrum semiovale has
restricted inhibitory synaptic
transmission!" Plankton's
voice is a mix of panic and
frustration, his antennae waving
wildly. Squidward's eyes narrow,
his grip on the plate tightening.
"What are you talking about? I
am not going to wash this again,"
he says, his tone firm.

Squidward's words hit a nerve,
triggering a cascade of emotions
in Plankton. "It's not
about Squidward!" he says, his voice
sharp. "It's about the order! Cleanliness..."

"PLANKTON I SAID NO!" Squidward
yells, startling him as he turns back
to the sink.

new just a touch neurodisability viii

NEW REALITY viii
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hanna nods, her eyes
brimming with tears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton nods, his eye
fluttering shut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new new reality hannacore viii

CHIP AND FAIL ix
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A 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 AND FAIL viii
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ix
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a life of diversity plabsen ix

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS viii

(Autistic Author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore viii

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY viii
(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his grip on Plankton's wrists
loosening. "What
accident?" he asks, his voice
filled with dread.

Plankton's smile is gone,
replaced by a look of sadness.
"Head," he says, his voice
a barely-there whisper. "Hurt." He
touches his forehead gently,
his antennas drooping.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen with
realization, his grip on Plankton's
wrists loosening entirely. "You
got hurt?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "What happened?"

Plankton nods, his antennas
still drooping.

Sponge Bob's confusion
grows, his anger replaced
with worry. "What do you
mean?" he asks, his voice
softening. "What happened to
your head?"

Plankton's antennas twitch, his
smile a distant memory. "Fall," 
he says, his voice a monotone.

Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat.
"You fell?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "When? How?"

Plankton nods, his eye
flickering with something
akin to pain. "Recently," he says,
his voice flat. "Head bad."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock,
his mind racing with questions.
"You fell and hurt your head?" he
repeats, his voice filled with
disbelief. "Why didn't you tell
me?"

Plankton's gaze drops to his book,
his hands fluttering over the
pages. "No tell," he whispers, his
voice filled with regret. "Shame."

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
understanding, his anger
evaporating like mist in the sun.
"Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice
soft. "You didn't have to keep
this to yourself."

Plankton's smile is a
pale imitation of his usual
self, his antennas still. "No good,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible. "Head hurt. Plankton bad."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry as he tries to
comprehend his friend's cryptic
words. "You're not bad, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You've
just had an accident."

Plankton's gaze remains fixed
on the book, his hands
flapping over the pages. "No,"
he says, his voice a sad echo.
"Head bad. Plankton bad." His body
slumps, his usual vibrant energy
dimmed by his distress.

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with sadness as he tries to
comfort his friend. "You're not
bad, Plankton," he says, his voice
soothing. "You're just hurt right?"

Plankton's antennas twitch slightly,
his hand stilling on the book. "Hurt,"
he echoes, his voice a monotone.
"Inside head." He taps his forehead,
his eye searching Sponge Bob's
for understanding. "Grey matter.
Neural pathways."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
confusion growing. "What do
you mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "What's
going on with your brain?"

Plankton's hand continues to
tap his forehead, his voice
detached. "Neurochemicals," he says,
his voice a robotic recital. "Synaptic
connections. Autism." His smile
is a mere memory, his eye
glazed over with a faraway look.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes in his
chest, his mind racing. "You're
talking about your brain," he says,
his voice tentative. "What's wrong
with it?"

Plankton's hand stops tapping,
his gaze focusing on Sponge Bob.
"Wiring," he says, his voice a
monotone explanation. "Neuro-
typical patterns disrupted affect
the parts of brain when result
in autism." His words are precise,
his tone devoid of emotion.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen with
comprehension, his spongy heart
sinking. "You're saying you have
autism now?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton nods, his eye
still fixed on the book. "Neurotypical
divergence," he confirms, his voice
still devoid of emotion. "Synaptic
variance, myelination discrepancies."
He speaks in a monotone, his words
sounding rehearsed and mechanical.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears,
his heart breaking for his friend.
"What does that mean, Plankton?"
he asks, his voice shaking.
"Does that mean you're not okay?"

Plankton's gaze remains on
the book, his hand tracing the
spine. "Neuro-typical divergence,"
he repeats, his voice a flat
recitation of medical terms.
"Synaptic connections altered.
Atypical neural patterns. Autism."
He speaks as if recounting
a scientific paper, his tone
lacking any personal connection.
"When hit head, damaged the
myelination," he says, his hand
continuing its mechanical movement
against the book. "Myelination is
the insulation around the axons
that speeds up the nerve impulses 
made in a part of brain we call
the cerebral cortex. My cerebral
cortex now restricts, slows
down impulses."

Sponge Bob listens, his
mind racing to keep up with
Plankton's sudden shift in
vocabulary. "But what does that
mean?" he asks, his voice
filled with concern. "How'd the
damage give you autism?"

Plankton's hand stops
its movement along the book.
"Neurodivergence," he says, his
voice a clinical recount. "My brain
now operates outside typical
parameters. Synaptic pruning,
myelination patterns altered.
Atypical neural networks formed."
He speaks as if discussing a
complex scientific experiment,
his words a jumble of medical
terminology that Sponge Bob
barely understands.

"Does that mean you're not okay?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice
filled with fear.

Plankton's hand stills on the book,
his gaze unfocused. "Functional
diversity," he says, his voice
a hollow echo of the medical
lingo he's been taught. "Neurodivergence
can lead to unique cognitive
strengths, but also challenges."
He taps the book, his antennas
waving slightly. "My brain's wiring
changed," he says, his voice
a monotone. "Synaptic clefts
widened, neurotransmitters less
efficient. Restricted blood flow to
temporal lobes."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with a mix of confusion and
fear. "Does that mean you can't
be... fixed?" he asks, his voice
small.

Plankton's antennas twitch,
his gaze still unfocused. "Can't fix,"
he echoes, his voice a sad
recitation. "Neuroplasticity, yes.
Rewire, adapt. But cerebral
cortex, permanent. Autism, permanent."

Sponge Bob's eyes are wide,
his mind reeling with the
complexity of Plankton's words.
"But, Plankton," he says, his voice
quivering. "What about the Krabby
Patties? Your plans?"

Plankton's gaze snaps up, his
hands still. "No plans," he says,
his voice a sad echo. "No more steal."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his heart racing. "You don't want
to steal the Krabby Patties anymore?"
he asks, his voice filled with
hope and disbelief.

Plankton's antennas droop, his
hands flapping slightly. "No more
schemes," he whispers, his voice a
monotone. "No more steal." His eye
meet Sponge Bob's, a flicker of
his old mischief briefly shining
through. "But," he adds, his
smile mischievous, "still have
competitive spirit." His hands
begin to flap with excitement.

Sponge Bob's heart soars with
relief, a smile spreading across
his face. "So, you're still
the same Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with hope. "Just...
different. Ok, cool!"

Plankton nods, his smile a
ghostly reflection of his usual
self. "Different," he repeats, his
voice a sad echo. "But still
have friend?" His antennas
wave slightly, his eye searching
Sponge Bob's for reassurance.

Sponge Bob's heart swells with
affection. "Of course, Plankton,"
he says, his voice firm. "We're
still friends. Nothing can
change that." He squeezes
Plankton's shoulder, trying
to convey his support. 

new karen and the autistic journey corpus callosum anterior cingulate cortex (ACC) braincore autismcore headinjuryposting neurodivergentcore neurodisability viii

•×•

new cute x nagi blue lock face manga

𝕏

new x b circle of candles

𓏵﹕txt. 𓊆ྀི𓊔𓊇ྀི

new seventh scar bandage bandaid band-aid bow frilly name heal scar x healing adhesive bandage gauze bind medicine cloth compression bandage plaster cast gauze bandage elastic bandage stitches

🇮🇻🇻🇮🇮

new viii sevener xviii iv eighteen 7 8

8ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☾

new march eight viii month mars march 1 coquette

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS i
(By NeuroFabulous)


Chip, son of Karen
and Plankton, came
home from summer
camp early one day.

Chip's mother, Karen,
greeted Chip. Plankton, his
father, was a quirky
little fellow, known
for his ingenious
inventions that often
failed, but never
dampened his spirit. So
Chip decides to go find
his father eagerly.

Plankton was on his
own bed in the room
he shared with Karen.

The door swung open,
slamming against the
wall, and in burst Chip.
He threw himself onto
Plankton's bed, not
noticing his father's
flinch at the sudden
noise and movement.

"Dad! Dad! You
won't believe what I
learned at camp! I
made a new friend, and
we did the coolest science
project together! It's like
you're always saying, science
can make anything taste
good!" Yet it was too much for his
overwhelmed body to handle. Plankton's
eye glazed over, his body
still as a statue, frozen in
the midst of his usual
frenetic energy. Chip's chatter
trailed off as he stared at his
father, confused. "Dad? Are
you okay?" Chip stepped closer,
noticing the way he didn't
move, not even to blink. Panic
clawed at his chest.

The room grew
silent, save for the
ticking of a clock in
the corner. The vivid
colors of Chip's camp
t-shirt seemed to dull in
contrast to Plankton's unnatural
stillness. The boy's mind raced,
trying to understand what was
happening. He knew his dad
was quirky, but this was different.
It was like the gears in Plankton's
brain had stopped turning, leaving
his body an empty shell.

Chip reached out with a
trembling hand, placing
it on Plankton's shoulder.
The cold, unyielding feel of his
father's skin sent a shiver
down his spine. "Dad?" he
whispered, voice shaking with
fear. "Wake up, please." His voice
was a mere echo in the room,
bouncing off the walls and
returning to him, unheard.

Panic swelled in his
chest, pushing aside
the excitement from moments
before. Chip knew his dad
was different, had always been
different, but this... this was
new, this was terrifying.
Here, in their tiny house
in the Chum Bucket, Plankton's
breathing remained steady,
but his eye were vacant.

The young boy's mind
whirred, trying to piece together
his father's sudden stillness.
Plankton had always been
a whirlwind of ideas and
energy, but now he sits there,
silent and unresponsive. Chip's
fingers tightened on Plankton's
shoulder.

"Dad, please," Chip
began to plead, his voice
cracking with emotion. He
shook him gently at first,
then more urgently, but the
small figure remained unmoved.

He tried to shake his
father again, more firmly
this time, but Plankton was
still as stone. His eye were
open, but there was no spark of
life. The only sound
was the frantic panting of
his own breaths.

"Dad, come on! You're scaring
me!" Chip's voice grew
desperate. He felt tears
prickling at the corners of his
eyes, but he blinked them
back. He couldn't let fear
overtake him now. He had to
help his dad.

He patted Plankton's cheek,
then called out louder, "Daddy,
snapshot out of it!" Still no
response.

He tried calling again, louder
now, but Plankton remained eerily
silent. He grabbed the nearest
item, a rubber spatula from
his dad's invention bench, and
waved it in front of his father's
face. Nothing. Not a blink, not
even a twitch. "Dad, wake up!" But Plankton
just sat there, his gaze
fixed on some unseen point
on the wall.

Chip's thoughts spun out
of control. He had to get
his mother. She'd know what to
do. "Mom,
something's wrong with Dad.
He won't wake up!"

Karen rushed in. She
took in the scene and
immediately knew that Plankton
was in the grip of a shutdown.
An intense reaction
to overstimulation for someone
on the spectrum, like his
autism. "Chip, sweetie,
back away," she said gently, pushing
his hand off Plankton's shoulder.

Karen had
always tried to protect her son
from the reality of his father's
condition. But now, she realized,
it was time for Chip to learn.

Her voice was calm and
soothing as she approached
Plankton. She sat beside him
on the bed, her hand resting
on his cold, stiff arm. "Chip,
sometimes Daddy's brain gets
too full." She looked
up at her son, her screen filled
with both sadness and love.

Chip stared at her,
his mind racing. "What do we do?"
he asked, his voice a whisper.

"We just need to wait," Karen
replied, her voice steady. "It's like
his brain's gone on a little vacation.
Give him some space, okay?"

Chip nodded, though he didn't
fully understand. He stepped back
and watched his mother gently
stroke Plankton's arm.

Curiosity began 
to bubble up
inside him, mixing 
with the fear.

Chip stepped
back from the bed,
his screen wide with
wonder and worry.
He studied his father
intently, as if trying
to solve a puzzle.

Oblivious to his own
fear, Chip tiptoed closer
once more, his curiosity
getting the better of him.

He leaned in, peering
closely at Plankton's
expressionless face. "What's
happening to him, Mom?"

Karen took a deep breath,
trying to find the right words.
"It's like his brain needs
a break, Chip. Sometimes,
his mind gets too busy, and
his body just stops so he can
recharge."

Chip's screen searched his
mother's, looking for more.
"But why is he so still?"
he pressed, his curiosity
refusing to be quenched.

Karen sighed softly, her
fingers still moving in soothing
circles on Plankton's arm. "It's like
his brain is taking a nap," she
explained. "When he gets too
much information or feels too much,
his body just stops to help him cope."

Chip nodded, his
young mind working overtime.
"Can I talk to him?"

Karen looked down at
Plankton, her gaze filled with
concern. "You can," she said
softly, "but he might not
hear you right now. Give him
some quiet."

Chip nodded, but
his curiosity couldn't be
stilled. "Can't I tell him
about my day?"

Karen squeezed
his hand gently. 
"You can, but remember,
his brain is resting. 
He might not
understand everything 
you say. But it's
okay to whisper comforts 
to him. Sometimes
just hearing your voice 
can be comforting."

With a nod, Chip
whispered his questions,
his voice barely audible
above the clock's tick.
"Dad, can you hear me?
What's it like when your
brain takes a nap?"
He paused, waiting
for some sign of life,
but Plankton remained
still.

Karen watched her son
carefully. She knew
this was a crucial moment
for him, learning to navigate
his father's complex world.

new chip on the shoulders autistic author Karen/Chip Plankton II Chip Plankton II & Sheldon J. Plankton i

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ii
(By NeuroFabulous)


"What causes this, Mom?"
Chip asked, his voice quieter
now, more contemplative.

Karen sat beside Plankton,
still stroking his arm. "Sometimes,
sweetie, when people have brains that
work differently, like Daddy does,
they can get overwhelmed." She spoke
slowly, choosing her words with care.
"It's a type of 'neurodisability' he has."

Chip's still confused. "But why
didn't you tell me before?"
his voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's hand stilled on
Plankton's arm as she took
a moment to gather her
thoughts. "Well, Chip, sometimes
parents want to protect their
kids from things they think
might be too much for them to
understand. But now that you're
a little older, it's important
you know about your dad's... 
condition."

Chip looked at her with wide
eyes, processing this new
information. "Is it because
of his inventions? Does he
think too much?"

Karen's gaze remained
on Plankton, her thumb
still making circles on
his skin. "No, honey, it's not
because of his inventions. It's
just his disability. Some
people's brains work differently,
and that's okay."

Chip's eyes darted
back to his father, who
was still as a statue. "But
what does it feel like?"

Karen took a deep
breath. "It's hard to say,
because everyone's experience
is unique. For Daddy,
it might be like being in a
really quiet room where everything
is far away and muffled."

Chip nodded slowly, his
gaze still on Plankton. "So,
it's like he's not here, but he
kind of is?"

Karen nodded, her screen
never leaving her son's.
"In a way, yes. It's like
his brain has gone 
until it's ready to 
come back and get
unstuck."

Chip's screen searched
his mother's screen for
any sign of fear or
sadness, but she was
calm, a rock in the storm
of his confusion. "How
long will he be like this?"

Karen's gaze never
left Plankton's still form.
"It could be a few
minutes or hours. We
just have to wait it out."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
still burning. "Does he
know we're here?"

Karen offered a 
small, sad smile. "I
think he can feel 
us, but he's
not really with us 
right now."

Chip nodded, his 
hands fidgeting with
the hem of his camp
t-shirt. "But how do we
know when he's... not 
stuck anymore?"

Karen looked up at him,
her screen filled with a gentle
wisdom. "You'll know, Chip.
He'll blink, or twitch, or maybe
even say something. It's like
he's in a deep sleep, and we
have to let him wake up on his
own."

Chip sat cross-legged on
the floor next to the bed, his
hands folded in his lap. He had
so many questions, so much
he wanted to share with his
dad. "Does he remember
stuff when he's like this?"
he whispered.

Karen's eyes remained on
Plankton, her voice low and
soothing. "It's complicated,
Chip. Sometimes he does,
sometimes he doesn't. But
it's like his brain is playing
backup right now."

Chip nodded, his
thoughts racing. "But how do we
help him?" he asked, his voice
tinged with urgency.

Karen turned to her son.
"We just have to be patient,
Chip. And keep the room calm."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
now muted by the gravity
of the situation. He watched
his mother closely, studying her
calm demeanor, the way her hand
continued to move in gentle strokes
on Plankton's arm. He wanted
to be like her and help.

"What can I do to make him
feel better?" he asked,
his voice quieter than
his racing thoughts.

Karen's eyes flicked to
his, a gentle smile
playing on her screen. "You're
already doing it, Chip.
Just being here, keeping
the room calm, is helping."

But Chip's mind was still
whirring with unanswered
questions. "But what causes
this?" he pressed.

Karen sighed, her gaze
still focused on Plankton.
"It's a disorder, sweetie. It's a
neurological condition that
makes his brain process things
a bit differently. Sometimes, when
his senses get overwhelmed,
his body does this to protect
him."

Chip's brows furrowed.
"But why didn't he tell..."

"Because," Karen interrupted,
"it's hard for some people to
explain things like this, even to those
they love most. Your dad's been dealing
with this and it's not
always easy to talk about."

Chip nodded, his curiosity
still not fully satisfied. "How will
he feel whenever he wakes up?"

Karen took a deep breath.
"It can vary, Chip. Sometimes
he's groggy, like waking up from
a deep sleep. Other times,
he's just tired, but he'll be okay.
He might need some space, some
quiet, and maybe a little time alone."

Chip nods.
"Mom, ca--"

Plankton's antenna twitches
suddenly. Karen's puts her
hand up to silence Chip.
"Shh," she whispers.

Slowly, Plankton's eye
begins to focus, the vacant
stare shifting as he blinks,
his pupil slowly coming into
focus, as if surfacing from
a deep sleep. He looks up at
Karen, not recalling her
coming in here.
"Wh...what's going on?" he
stammers, his voice rough
from disuse.

Karen's hand tightens
on his arm, her voice a
whisper. "You had a 
shutdown, sweetie."

He figured that. He
remembers Chip
bombarding him before
going dizzy/lightheaded
as Chip kept prodding him,
his son's gaze unwavering.
Plankton's antennae droop
slightly, his body
still sluggish from the
shutdown.

new chip on the shoulders neurodisability ii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS iii
(By NeuroFabulous)


Plankton feels a
wave of self-consciousness
crash over him. He's always
been different, and now
his son is seeing him at
his most vulnerable.
He doesn't look at
Chip, focusing instead on the
ceiling above.

Chip stares at him, his
face a mix of confusion
and concern. "Dad, are 
you o..."

But Plankton snaps, cutting
his son off with a harsh
tone that slices through
the tension in the room.
"The show's over, Chip; you
can leave now!"

Chip's eyes widen in shock,
his screen flushing with a
mixture of embarrassment
and hurt. He had never
seen his father like this
before. Karen intervenes gently.

"Chip, your dad's just tired.
Why don't you go play in
your room for a bit?"
Her voice was calm, but
there was a firmness that
Chip knew meant business.

He nodded, feeling the weight
of the situation settle on his
small shoulders. As he turned to leave,
his gaze caught the sadness
in his father's eye, a look
that seemed to apologize
without words.

The door clicked shut
behind him, and the silence
was deafening. Chip sat on
his bed, his mind racing with
thoughts about his father.

He knew Plankton was different,
but seeing him like that... it was
like looking at a robot that
suddenly turned off. It was
scary, but also fascinating.
He had so many questions,
but his mother's words echoed
in his mind: "Give him some space."
He'd have to be extra careful
around his dad from now on.

Back in their own room,
Karen sat beside Plankton,
still stroking his arm.
"I'm sorry, Plankton," she murmured.
"I know it's hard for you."

His eye searched hers,
filled with a quiet desperation.
"It's not your fault," he rasped,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"It's just... sometimes it's too much."

Karen's gaze softened, and
she leaned in to press a gentle
kiss to his forehead. "I know,"
she whispered, her thumb
continuing its soothing
motion on his arm. "We'll get
through it together."

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, and he took
a shaky breath. "I'm sorry,"
he murmured, his voice
still hoarse from his
self-imposed silence. "I know
it's scary for you, for Chip."

Karen's eyes remained
on his, filled with love and
understanding. "You have
nothing to apologize for,"
she said firmly. "You're doing
the best you can."

Plankton managed a
weak smile, his body slowly
starting to uncoil from the tight
knot it had formed during
his shutdown. Karen's gentle
touch was like a warm blanket,
wrapping him in a cocoon of
comfort.

"Thank you, Karen," he
whispered, his voice still
shaky. "I'm just so tired."

Karen nodded, her hand
never leaving his arm.
"You've had a long day,"
she said, her voice a soothing
balm. "Why don't you rest
a bit?"

Plankton nodded, his
energy depleted. He
managed to get himself into
a lying position, the bed
creaking beneath him. Karen
pulled the covers over him,
tucking him in.

Her voice was a lullaby
in the quiet room. "Close
your eye, Plankton. Take
deep breaths. I'm here."
Her hand remained on his
arm, her thumb tracing
the same comforting pattern.

Plankton's breaths grew
even, his body slowly
relaxing into the mattress.
The tightness in his chest
eased with each exhale, and
his antennae drooped slightly
as he succumbed to his body's
needs for rest. Karen watched
over him, her screen never
straying from his face.

"Rest, love," she whispered,
the words carrying a gentle
lilt of reassurance. She knew
the battle he faced every day,
how hard he tried to fit into
a world that didn't quite
understand him. She felt a
surge of admiration for his
strength and resilience.

new chip on the shoulders Chip Plankton II iii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS iv
(By NeuroFabulous)


Plankton's face was
now slack with 
sleep. Karen
moved silently, 
not wanting to
disturb him. 
She knew how
important this 
time was,
how much he 
needed it.

The house felt 
heavier with quiet,
but Chip's door was
open a crack, a sliver
of light spilling into
the hallway. Karen 
peeked in.
He looked up,
seeing her in the doorway.

"Mom?"
his voice was small,
his screen searching hers.
Karen walked over,
sitting beside him on his
bed. "Yes, Chip?"
He looked up at her,
his eyes filled 
with unshed tears.
"Is Dad okay?"

Karen took his
hand, giving it a
squeeze. "He will be,
sweetie. Sometimes,
people with disabilities
have moments like this.
It's part of who he is."

Chip nodded, his
throat tight. "But why's
he..."

Karen pulled him into
a warm embrace. "It's okay
to feel scared or confused.
But remember, Dad's still in
there. He loves you so much,
and he's doing his best."

Chip nodded, his
throat tight with unshed
tears. "Does he know
when it happens?"

Karen's gaze remained
steady. "Sometimes he does,
sweetie. It's like when you get
tired and need a nap. His brain
just needs to recharge."

Chip thought about that
for a moment, his thumb
playing with a loose thread
on his blanket. "Does he
remember what happens?"

Karen's hand stilled on
his back. "It's like a
dream, Chip. Sometimes
he remembers snippets,
sometimes it's all a blur."

Chip sat up, his
eyes bright with
questions. "Does he
see us when he's like that?"

Karen shrugs. 
"He might
feel us, but
his brain isn't 
fully here."

Chip's mind raced
with questions. "Mom, how
did Dad get this...
this... brain thing?"
his voice cracked.

Karen took a deep
breath, her hand still
warm on his back. "Well,
sweetie, it's something
he was born with. It's called
autism, and it's a part of him."

Chip's eyes widened.
"But why? Did he do
something wrong?"

Karen sighed, her grip
tightening around him.
"No, Chip, it's not like that.
It's just how his brain was made.
Some people have different
brain wiring, and that's okay. But
in his specific circumstance,
he was born posthumously,
after his mum passed away.."

Chip's eyes grew wider
still, his curiosity piqued.
"But, what? How..."
he whispered, his voice
barely audible.

Karen took a deep
breath, preparing herself
for the explanation she had
never thought she'd have
to give. "Your dad's mum,
she had him after she...
passed away," she said, her
voice gentle.

Chip's eyes grew as
big as saucers. "What
do you mean, 'after she passed
away'?" he whispered, his
voice filled with disbelief.

Karen took a moment,
swallowing hard. "Well, sweetie,
you know how babies are usually
born when their mommies are
alive and well, right?"

Chip nodded, his eyes
fixed on her face. "Yeah, of
course," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "But
how's that even physically
possible?"

Karen took a deep
breath. "It's a
rare procedure, Chip. When
his mum was very sick, the
doctors did everything they
could to save her. But when
she passed away, they realized
his heart was still beating
inside her."

Chip's eyes were wide with
horror and fascination. "But
how did they get him out?"
he asked, his voice trembling.

Karen's eyes grew misty as
she recounted the story, her
voice soft and gentle. "They
performed an emergency
procedure called a
post-mortem 'coffin birth'. 
It's very rare, Chip."

Chip's eyes were like
dinner plates, his mind
trying to grasp the concept.
"But how?" he breathed, his voice
barely a whisper.

Karen took a moment to
collect her thoughts, the
story weighing heavily on her.
"The doctors had to be very
quick and careful, Chip.
They knew Plankton had a
chance, so they did what they
could to save him. It was a
miracle he made it out
alive," she said, her voice
filled with wonder and a hint
of sadness. "Yet, because of
the way he was born, his brain
developed differently. That's
what caused his autism. His
brain was deprived of oxygen
for a short time, which can lead
to such conditions."

Chip's hand went to his
chest, his heart racing
with the realization. "But
does that mean he's...
not like other dads?"

Karen wrapped her arms
around her son, holding him
close. "Chip, your dad is
unique, just like you. And yes,
his brain works differently,
but that doesn't mean
he loves you any less. He
might just show it in his
own way."

Chip sniffled, trying to
make sense of everything.
"But why didn't you tell
me sooner?" he asked.

Karen stroked his
back, her heart heavy.
"Because, sweetie, it's a
hard thing to explain.
And we didn't want to scare
you or make you feel
different about him. We
wanted you to understand
his quirks as part of who
he is, not because of some
label. And he's a good
dad in his own way, even if
he doesn't show it like
other dads. Yet he also has
his challenges, like with
his sensory issues."

Chip nodded slowly,
his mind racing with
the new information.
He had noticed how his
dad sometimes flinched at
loud noises or avoided
crowded places.

new chip on the shoulders Karen/Chip Plankton II iv

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS v
(By NeuroFabulous)


"You know how sometimes,
Dad gets overwhelmed with
too much going on around him?"
Karen began, her voice gentle.
"It's because his brain
processes things differently.
He's sensitive to sounds, lights,
even touch. That's why he
can seem a bit... reserved, other
than the fact that he's just shy 
about it."

Chip nodded, his mind
still racing with questions.
"But why's he shy about it?"

Karen took a deep breath,
wiping a stray tear from her eye.
"Because, Chip, your dad's
always been self-conscious.
He's aware of how he's
different, and sometimes,
he just needs his space."

Chip nodded slowly,
his eyes never leaving
his mother's face. "Does
he ever get mad about it?"

Karen's gaze was
steady, her voice gentle.
"Sometimes, Chip. But it's
not at you. It's his way of
dealing with the overstimulation."

Chip nodded,
his curiosity morphing
into understanding. "So,
his brain needs a time-out?"

Karen nodded, her voice
soft. "In a way, yes. It's his
body's way of telling him to
slow down and take a break.
Sometimes, when things get too
much for him, he just needs
to be alone, without any
noise or distraction."

Chip looked at his
mother, his eyes brimming
with emotion. "But what
about when he has these...
episodes? Will he always be like
this?"

Karen squeezed his hand,
her gaze never leaving his.
"Sweetie, we can't predict
the future, but we can help him.
He's gotten better at
managing his overstimulation over
the years, but sometimes it still
happens. It's part of who he is."

Chip nodded, his mind
still racing. He looked
towards the door,
his curiosity about 
his father's condition
growing. He wanted 
to check on him,
to make sure he was okay.

With Karen by his side,
they tiptoed into the
dimly lit room. Plankton
was now fast asleep,
his chest rising and falling
evenly beneath the
covers. The room was
silent except for the
steady rhythm of his
breathing.

Chip felt a pang of
sympathy for his father,
his mind still racing with
questions about the condition
he had just learned of.
He studied Plankton's face,
now peaceful in slumber.
His antennae lay flat against
his pillow, no longer
twitching with the stress
of the shutdown.

Karen put a finger to
her lips, reminding Chip to
be quiet as they approached
the bed.

Plankton's chest rose and
fell in a steady rhythm, his
face finally relaxed, free from
the tension that had held him
captive earlier. The room
was dim, the only light
coming from the hallway.

Karen watched her son
studying his father, her heart
swelling with pride. Chip
was growing up so fast, and
now he was facing something
so complex. She knew he
was strong enough to handle
it, though.

They stood there in
silent vigil for a moment,
until Chip finally
whispered, "Can I talk
to him?"

Karen nodded,
her screen never leaving
Plankton's peaceful face.
"Just keep your voice low,"
she advised.

Chip leaned over, his
whisper a gentle breeze.
"Dad, I'm here," he murmured.
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, but he remained
asleep.

Karen's hand rested
on Chip's shoulder,
guiding him to sit in a chair
beside the bed.

Chip's eyes remained
fixed on his father,
his mind racing with questions
and fears. Yet, there was
also a newfound respect
for Plankton's silent battles.
He watched his chest rise
and fall, the steady beat
of his heart a testament
to his resilience.

"What do we do now?"
Chip asked, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Karen's eyes never
left Plankton's sleeping form.
"We give him time," she said,
her voice soothing. "And when
he wakes from his nap, we'll
be here."

new chip on the shoulders Karen/Chip Plankton II v

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS vi
(By NeuroFabulous)


They sat in companionable
silence for a few moments,
the only sound being Plankton's
even breathing. Then Chip spoke up,
his voice tentative.

"Mom, can you tell me
more about autism?"

Karen nodded, her hand
still resting on Plankton's arm.
"Autism is a spectrum, Chip.
It means that no two people
experience it the same way.
Some have a harder time
with it than others. For
your dad, it's mostly about his senses.
They can get overwhelmed easily."

Chip leaned in closer, his
curiosity piqued. "What do
you mean, 'overwhelmed'?"

Karen took a moment
to gather her thoughts.
"It's like his brain can't filter out
the extra information."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's face.
He reached out tentatively,
his hand hovering above
Plankton's antennae. Karen's
hand shot out, her grip
on Chip's wrist firm but
not painful. "Remember, sweetie,
his senses are heightened."

Chip's hand froze, his
fingers curling slightly.
"Does that mean he doesn't
like to be touched?" he asked,
his voice quivering.

Karen's grip loosened,
her eyes meeting Chip's.
"It's more that certain
touches can be too much for
his brain to handle."

Chip nodded, his gaze
still on Plankton's antennae.
"But what if I just..."
his voice trailed off,
his hand hovering.

Karen's eyes searched
his, understanding
dawning. "If you want to
touch him, Chip, do it gently.
Use the back of your hand,
like this." She demonstrated,
her hand gliding softly over
his antennae. "It's like you're
saying 'hello' without
disturbing him."

Chip nodded, his
hand trembling slightly.
He mimicked her movements,
his touch as light as a feather.
Plankton's antennae quivered
under his touch, but he remained
asleep. Karen gave him a small
smile of encouragement.

"Mom, does he like it
when I touch him like this?"
Chip asked, his voice filled
with hope.

Karen watched her son,
his hand hovering over Plankton's
antennas with such care.
"It depends," she said, her voice
soft. "Sometimes, it can be soothing
for him. Other times, it can be too much."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on his father. "But how
will I know?" he whispered,
his voice filled with concern.

Karen's eyes searched
his, understanding his
desire to connect. "You'll
have to watch him, Chip.
Look for signs. If he tenses
up or pulls away, that's his
way of saying 'stop'. And if
he seems calmer or his breathing
slows, that's his way of saying
'ok'. It's about reading
his body language."

Chip nodded, his hand
still hovering over Plankton's
antennas. He took a deep
breath, and then, as gently
as he could, he let the back
of his hand graze the antennae.
Plankton's body remained
still, yet his antennae
twitched slightly. Karen gave
a nod of approval.

"Remember, Chip, everyone's
touch is different to him,"
she said. "Some days, he might
not even want to be touched."

Chip nodded solemnly,
his hand hovering over
his father's antennae.
"Does he like it when
I hug him?" he whispered.

Karen's smile grew. "His
favorite person to be
touched by is me.
But even with me, he has
his limits. Sometimes, he just
needs his space."

Chip nodded, his gaze
never leaving Plankton's face.
"Does he like it when other
people touch him?" he asked,
his voice barely above a whisper.

Karen's eyes searched
his, knowing this was a
delicate topic. "Well, Chip,
it's different with everyone.
Some days, your dad can tolerate
more than others. But generally,
it's people he's comfortable
with, like me."

"But what about me?" he asked,
his voice quivering slightly.

Karen's smile was sad. "It's
going to take some time, Chip.
You'll have to learn his
signals, his boundaries.."

Plankton's body began to stir,
his antennae twitching more
frequently as he shifted in
his sleep. Chip watched,
his hand hovering over his
dad's head, unsure if he
should risk disturbing him.
Karen's eyes followed the
movement, her gaze filled
with a quiet sadness.

"It's okay, Chip," she
whispered. "He's just
waking up."

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, more
quickly now. His eye
flickered open, his pupil
expanding as he adjusted
to the dim light. He looked
around, his gaze landing
on Karen and Chip.

"Hey, buddy," Karen
whispered, her voice a
balm to his frayed nerves.

Plankton's eye focused
on Chip, who was staring
at him with a mix of
fear and fascination.
He knew that look, had
seen it in others' eyes
before. But coming from
his son, it hit him harder
than he'd ever expected.

He took a deep breath,
his body still feeling like
he'd run a marathon.
"Hi," he said, his
voice hoarse from disuse.

Chip's hand jerked back,
his heart racing. "Dad,"
he whispered, his voice
shaking.

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, this time
in acknowledgment. "Hi,
Chip," he rasped, his voice
sounding neutral.

Chip stared, his
thoughts racing. He had
so many questions, so much
he wanted to say, but the words
got caught in his throat.

Plankton looked at his
son, his antennae drooping.
He could feel the tension in
the air, the unspoken
worries and fears. He took
another deep breath, his body
still feeling the toll.

"How are you feeling, Plankton?"
Karen's voice was a gentle
caress in the silence.

He swallowed, his throat
dry from his ordeal. "Tired,"
he murmured, his antennae
twitching slightly. "But better."

Karen's hand found his
again, her touch a lifeline.
"Do you remember what
happened?" she asked gently.

Plankton's antennae drooped.
"I... I think so," he murmured,
his voice still shaky. "I had a...
a shutdown, with Chip."

Chip's eyes widened, his
heart racing. He'd never
heard his dad talk about
his episodes before. It was
like a door had been opened
to a part of Plankton's life
that had always remained
closed to him.

"It's okay, Dad," he
whispered, his hand reaching
out tentatively. "You can tell me." His
hand barely grazed Plankton's
arm...

Plankton flinched at
the touch, his antennae
twitching erratically. Chip's
heart skipped a beat, his hand
retreating as if burned. Karen
offered a gentle smile, her gaze
meeting Plankton's. "It's okay,
honey," she said softly. "Chip's just
trying to understand."

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
slowly calming. "I know,"
he murmured. "I, I'm s-sorry."

Karen's hand tightened
on his, her eyes never
leaving his face. "Don't
apologize, love," she whispered.
"You didn't do anything wrong."

Plankton nodded, his
throat tight with emotion.
He knew she was right, but
the fear of losing his 
respect was palpable. His antennae
twitched again, the overstimulation
of the day still lingering.

new chip on the shoulders Karen/Chip Plankton II vi

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS vii
(By NeuroFabulous)


"Chip," he began, his voice
cracking. "I have something
important to tell you."

Chip leaned forward,
his heart racing. "What is it,
Dad?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, his eyes
meeting his son's with a
meld of love and apprehension.
"I'm autistic," he said, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Chip thought back to what his mom
had told him about his father's
unique way of being born, and
how it had affected his brain.

He remembered the awe in
his mother's voice as she recounted
the story of Plankton's
birth, the way she'd
spoken with a mix of wonder
and sorrow. It was a lot to take in,
but it made him feel closer to
his father somehow.

"Dad?" Chip's voice
was tentative, his hand
still hovering over
his father's arm. "What's a...
coffin birth?"

Plankton's antennae
stilled, his eye flicking
to Karen's. She gave a
tiny nod, understanding
the need for honesty.

"It's a rare event, Chip,"
Plankton began, his voice
steadier now. "It's when a
baby is born after their
mother has... passed away."

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, trying to make
sense of the words. "But how?"

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
flattening slightly. "The
doctors had to be... quick,"
he said, his voice filled
with awe. "They knew I was
still alive, and they did
everything they could to get me
out."

Chip's eyes grew even
wider, his imagination
running wild. "But Dad,
how does that even work?"
he whispered, his voice filled
with wonder and horror.

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's... it's a
difficult thing to explain,
Chip," he said, his voice
strained. "But basically,
when a mom's body isn't
alive anymore, but the baby's
heart is still beating, the
doctors do an emergency
procedure to get the baby out."

Chip's eyes were like
saucers, his mind racing.
"But how is that possible?"
he whispered, his voice
barely audible.

Plankton sighed, his
antennas drooping slightly.
"The doctors try to induce labor
in mum's body after she...
after she's gone," he said,
his voice strained with the
difficulty of the memory.
"It was a delicate process,
and not always successful. In
my birth, there was a moment
where my brain didn't get enough
oxygen," he murmured. "When I
was still inside mum."

Chip's unsure
how to react. "And
how'd it give you autism?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, his gaze
dropping to the bed. "Well,
it's something that
can happen when a baby's brain
doesn't get enough oxygen
during birth, Chip," he said,
his voice quiet. "It's like
a... hypoxic-ischemic event.
It can lead to... complications.
For me, it was autism."

Chip nodded, his hand
still hovering over his
father's arm. "But how did
your mum... die?" he asked, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennae
drooped further, his gaze
going distant. "It was an
accident," he murmured. "Her
heart... it just stopped.
Bled out, the doctors said."

Chip's hand hovered
over his dad's arm,
his mind racing with the
implications. "But why?"

Plankton took a moment,
his antennae flicking slightly.
"It's complicated, Chip.
My mum... she had a rarity.
Her heart was
weak, and it couldn't handle
the stress. It went undiagnosed
back then."

Chip's hand hovered
still, his heart breaking
for his dad. "But Dad,
why didn't anyone know?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze going
to the floor. "They did,
eventually," he murmured.
"But by then, it was too late.
My mum was gone."

Chip's eyes filled with
sympathy, his hand
resting on the bed. "I'm
sorry, Dad," he whispered.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, his gaze meeting
his son's. "It's okay, Chip.
It's not something you
could've known. I obviously
didn't know her to well, but
thank you."

Karen was glad to see
them connecting. "So
Chip, you can ask us
questions if you want."

Chip looked from Karen
to Plankton, his curiosity
piqued. "Dad, is there
anything you really hate
that makes you have these...
shutdowns?"

Plankton's antennae twitched
nervously, his eye darting
between them. "Well, Chip,
it's not always just one thing. It's
mostly like... a buildup.
Loud noises, too many people,
bright lights," he listed off.
"They can all make it
harder for me to focus, to
filter out the extra stuff
my brain's taking in."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's face.
"What about touch?" he asked,
his voice tentative. "Does it
bother you?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze flicking to
Karen's comforting hand.
"It depends," he said slowly.
"Some days, I crave it. Other
days, it's too much."

Chip nodded, his mind
racing. "What about hugs?"
he asked, his voice hopeful.
"Does it help you feel better?"

Plankton's antennae
quivered, his eye searching
his son's face. "Sometimes,"
he said, his voice tight. "But
not always."

Chip nodded, his
hand still hovering. 
"Can I... ca--"

Plankton's antennae shot
up, his eye widening. "No!"
The suddenness
of his reaction made
Chip's hand jerk 
back, his eyes
wide with shock.

"I'm sorry, buddy,"
Plankton said, his voice
softening as he saw the
fear in his son's eyes.
"It's just that, sometimes,
hugs are too much. I need...
space, like I told you. But only
if I know they're coming, and
only from people I trust. I'm
still recovering right now."

Chip's hand hovered in the
air, unsure of what to do.
"Can I... I don't know, maybe
just pat you on the shoulder?"
he asked, his voice hopeful. But
Plankton shook his head.

"No, Chip," he murmured. "I do
not want my shoulders to be
patted. That's too much."

Chip nodded, his gaze
on Plankton's. "How about a
high five?" he asked, his
hand still hovering.

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly, his eye
narrowing as he considered
his son's question. "Maybe,"
he murmured. "But only if
you're gentle."

Chip nodded eagerly, his hand
slowly descending towards
his dad's hand. He hovered
for a moment, his heart racing.
Then, with all the gentleness
he could muster, he tapped his
father's hand with his fingertips.

Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly, but
his eye remained focused
on Chip's. "Good job,"
he murmured, his voice
a quiet praise. "That was...
perfect."

new chip on the shoulders childbirthcore vii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xi
(By NeuroFabulous)


Karen watched, her hand tightly
gripping his, her breath shallow,
as the surgeon worked with a
precision that could only come from
years of practice.

Plankton remained still under
the anesthesia, his antennae
completely at ease. Rachel, the
hygienist, hovered nearby, her eyes
always on Plankton, ready to
assist if needed.

The surgery felt like
eternity, but it was over
sooner than she had feared.
Plankton's antennae remained
still, his breathing deep
and even. Dr. McSquinty
finished the last stitch, his
tentacles moving with a
sureness that was almost
hypnotic. "We're all done,"
he said, his voice a gentle
rumble.

Dr. McSquinty's tentacles moved
quickly and deftly, his focus
on the task at hand. Karen watched
as the surgeon's tentacles gently
placed the gauze into Plankton's
mouth.

The room was silent except
for the steady beep of the
heart rate monitor and the
slight snores from Plankton's
relaxed form. Rachel, the
hygienist, checked the gauze's
placement, her eyes meeting
Karen's. She nodded, her expression
serene. Karen takes a picture and
sends it to Sandy.

"He's doing well," Rachel
whispered, her eyes on the
monitor. "His vitals are all
normal." Karen nods, her
throat tight. "Thank you,"
she murmurs.
Plankton's antennae lay still,
his chest rising and falling
evenly. The anesthesia had
worked its magic, his mind
now free from the storm of
sensory input that had once
threatened to consume him.

Karen watched as Dr. McSquinty
removes the Iv,
but Plankton was oblivious,
his sleep deep and peaceful.

The anesthesia had done its
job, and Rachel, the hygienist,
remained there to wake him.

"Plankton, Plankton," Rachel's voice
was a lullaby, her hand light on
his shoulder. His antennae
twitched slightly, his eye
flickering open. "You're all
done, sweetheart," she murmured.

Plankton blinked, his gaze
unfocused. The room was dim,
his mouth feeling peculiar.
"Whath's happen'd?" he mumbled,
his voice slurred. Karen's screen
swam into view, her smile a beacon
in the fog of confusion.

"You had your wisdom teeth out,"
she said gently, her hand
still in his. "You're okay, Plankton."
Her voice was a balm to his
fuzzy mind. His antennae twitched
slightly, trying to process the
information.

Plankton's gaze flickered around
the room, the shapes and sounds
familiar yet foreign. He felt groggy,
his body weighted down by
the anesthesia. Rachel smiles. "You'll
be tired and a little numb for today Mr.
Plankton, but you can nap once Karen
takes you home!"

Karen's eyes searched his,
their depths filled with love and
concern. "How do you feel?" she
asked, her voice low and gentle.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, his gaze unfocused.
"Tiwed," he murmured, his voice
slurred by the aftereffects of
the anesthesia. "But... it's done?"

Karen nodded, her smile gentle.
"Yes, it's done," she said, her voice
a soothing lilt. "You're so brave."

Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly as he tried to sit up,
his body protesting the sudden
movement. Karen's hand
was a steady anchor, helping
to ground him in reality. The
world spun for a moment, but
soon the fog began to clear.

"Easy," she murmured, her voice
a lifeline in the haze. "Take your
time, Plankton." Her eyes searched
his, looking for signs of distress.
His antennae drooped slightly,
his gaze drifting to the ceiling
above. The lights were dimmer now,
the sounds of the office
muffled.

With Rachel's help, they
managed to get Plankton to his
feet, his legs wobbly. Karen
wrapped an arm around his waist,
supporting him as they made their
way out.

"We'll take it slow," she
murmured, her voice gentle. His
antennas twitched in sleepy
agreement, his eye half-lidded.
The world felt thick and slow,
each step an effort. The pain in his
mouth was distant, muffled by
the fog of anesthesia.
Plankton leaned into Karen,
his antennae drooping with
grogginess. The gentle pressure
of her arm around his waist
was the only thing keeping him upright.

They moved through the office,
his sluggish steps echoing in the
silence. Rachel held the door
open for them, her smile warm.
"Take care of him, he'll be sleepy," 
she said, her voice
soft. Karen nodded, her gaze
never leaving Plankton's face.

The cool air outside was a
sharp contrast to the sterile
environment of the dental
office. Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly as he took
in the world around him,
his senses still dulled by
the lingering anesthesia.

Karen's arm remained
steadfast around his waist,
guiding him through the parking
lot. The sound of gravel crunching
underfoot was oddly soothing,
his mind still fuzzy from the
remaining effects of the surgery.

The car was a familiar
sanctuary, and Plankton
collapsed into the passenger seat
with a sigh, his antennae drooping.
Karen buckled him in with gentle
care, her eyes searching his
for any signs of pain or discomfort.

"Alright, love," she murmured,
her voice a soothing balm. "We're going
to get you home, and you can
sleep it off." Her hand rested
on his shoulder, her eyes on
his sleepy gaze.

But Plankton's eye kept
drooping, his antennae quivering
with the effort to stay conscious.
"Karen," he slurred, his voice
barely audible. "I'm... I'm tiwed."

"I know, sweetie," she said, her
voice soothing. "You just had surgery.
You need to rest. Now let's get home!"

But Plankton's body had other
ideas. His eyelid fluttered
closed, his antennae barely twitching.
Karen chuckled softly, her
heart swelling with affection.
"You can sleep in the car,"
she assured him. "But try to stay
awake for a little while longer."

Plankton's antennae shot up
with a valiant effort to comply,
his eye opening wide for a moment.
But the warmth of the car and the
gentle hum of the engine were
too much for him to resist.
Within seconds, his head
was lolling to the side,
his antennae drooping in defeat.

"Plankton," Karen whispered, her
voice a gentle prod. His antennae
twitched, his eye fluttering open.
"Stay with me, okay?" Her smile
was tired but filled with love.

He nodded, his antennae drooping
again. "M'trying," he mumbled, his
voice thick with sleep. Karen
chuckled softly, starting the
car. The engine's hum was
lulling, the vibrations soothing
to his overwhelmed senses.

As the car pulled out of the
parking lot, Plankton's antennae
twitched, trying to keep
alert. But the warmth of the
car and the gentle sway of the
seat were too much. His eye
closed again, his head lolling
back against the headrest.

Karen's voice was a steady
companion, her words a gentle
reminder of reality. "Stay
with me, Plankton," she said,
her tone filled with love.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye sliding open with
difficulty. "M'trying," he murmured,
his voice thick with sleep.

The car's gentle rocking
lulled him back into
slumber, his antennae drooping
against the headrest. Karen's
voice was a soft melody, her
words a gentle nudge to stay
conscious. "Wake up, Plankton,"
she whispered. "We're going
home, and you can sleep there."

With each word, his antennae
wobbled in protest, his eye
fighting to stay open. "Mm," he
mumbled, his voice a sleepy
whisper. "Home." He was so tired,
his body begging for rest.

Karen's voice was a gentle
reminder of the world outside
his sleep-filled haze. "We're
almost there, Plankton," she
soothed, her eyes never leaving
the road. "Just stay with me a
little longer."

But the siren call of sleep
was too strong. His antennae
twitched one last time before
going still, his breathing
evening out as he gave in to the
warm embrace of unconsciousness.

Karen watched him with
a mix of concern and affection,
his peaceful expression a stark
contrast to the fear from before.
"Looks like you've had enough,"
she whispered to herself,
a hint of a smile playing on
her screen. She drove with care,
his head leaning against the
window, the soft snores echoing
in the quiet car.

The scenery outside the window
was a blur, the world moving
too fast for his sleep-laden
brain to process. Each bump in
the road jolted him slightly,
his antennae twitching in protest.
"Wake up, Plankton," Karen said,
keeping her voice low and calm.
He stirred, his antennae
perking up slightly. "We're almost
there."

But the lure of sleep was
powerful, pulling him back into
its embrace. His antennae
drooped, his breaths growing
even deeper. "Mmph," he mumbled,
his voice muffled by the gauze
still in his mouth.

"Just a few more minutes,
Plankton," Karen coaxed, her voice
soft. The car's gentle motion
was hypnotic, each turn and
bump in the road a siren's
song to his weary mind. "You can
sleep when we get home."

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his eye fluttering
open. He nodded slightly,
his head lolling to the side.
"M'trying," he murmured, his
voice barely audible. The anesthesia
still had a firm grip on
his consciousness, his body
craving the oblivion of sleep.

Karen's hand remained
steady on his shoulder,
her voice a gentle coaxing.
"Look, Plankton," she said,
her tone soft. "We're almost
home. Stay with me."

The world outside was a
blur of colors and shapes,
each passing tree and building
just another obstacle in
his battle against the
dragging weight of sleep.
Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly, his eye trying to focus.
"Mmhmm," he mumbled, his
voice thick with grogginess.

Karen's gentle voice was
his tether to reality, her
soothing words a lullaby
guiding him through the
hazy fog of anesthesia. "You're
doing so well, Plankton,"
she murmured, her grip on
his shoulder firm yet comforting.
"Almost there, buddy."

Plankton's antennae
twitched in response, his
eye opening briefly to meet
hers. He nodded, the effort
to stay awake etched on his
face. The world outside the
car was a blur of greens and
blues, the sun casting a warm
glow over everything. His
body felt heavy, each breath
a struggle against the
weight of his eyelid.

"Look, Plankton," Karen said,
her voice a whisper in the quiet
car. "We're home."

new chip on the shoulders tripcore xi

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xii
(By NeuroFabulous)


Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye opening slightly to
see the familiar sight of their
front door. The house looked
warm and welcoming, a haven
from the overstimulation of
the outside world. He nodded,
his antennae drooping. "Home,"
he murmured, his voice still
slurred.

Karen helped him out of the car,
his legs wobbly under the weight
of his still-sluggish body. The
fresh air was a shock to his
sensitive system, his antennae
quivering at the sudden change.
"Come on," she urged gently,
her arm around his waist. "Let's
get you inside."

Plankton leaned heavily on
Karen as they made their way
up the path to the house.
The brightness of the sun
was almost painful, his eye
squinting against the light. "I'm
shorry," he mumbled, his voice
barely audible. "Soo tired..."

Karen chuckled softly, her
arm tightening around him.
"It's okay, Plankton," she said,
her voice a gentle breeze. "You
can sleep as soon as we..."

But her words were lost as
his antennae drooped, his
body giving in to the siren
call of sleep. His eyelid fluttered
closed, his head lolling forward.
"Plankton," she whispered, her
voice a gentle nudge. But his
body was heavy, his antennae
still.

With a sigh, Karen picked
him up, cradling him against
her chest. His antennae
twitched slightly at the sudden
motion, his eye opening to
slits. "Wha..." he mumbled, his
voice barely audible.

"You're okay, Plankton," she
soothed, her voice a gentle
whisper. "We're going inside."
Her arms were strong, her movements
slow and steady, carrying
his weight with ease. The
world outside faded away,
replaced by the warmth and
comfort of their home.

Inside, Sandy and Chip played chess,
the only other sounds the soft
footsteps of Karen's feet
and Plankton's muffled snores.

Sandy looked up as Karen
carried in the sleeping Plankton,
his antennae drooping like
wilted flowers. "How's he doing?"
she asked, her voice low.

Karen nodded. "The surgery went
well," she murmured. "But he's
still out of it."

Chip looked up from his chess
board, his eyes wide as his mom 
carried his dad. Sandy quickly 
set aside the chess pieces and 
rushed to help.

Karen set him on the couch,
his antennae brushing the fabric
as he was laid down. "Just
rest here for a moment,"
she murmured, her hand
smoothing his antennae. Chip
watched, his curiosity piqued by
his dad's vulnerable state. "Is he
okay?" he whispered, his eyes
searching Karen's face for answers.

"He's fine," she assured him,
her voice soft. "He's just really
tired from the surgery. The
anesthesia makes it hard for
his brain to stay awake."

Chip nodded, watching as Karen
tucked a blanket around Plankton's
form, her movements gentle and
careful. "Why does Dad snore?"
he asked, his curiosity
getting the better of him.

"It's just his body's way of
getting the air it needs," Karen
explained, her voice a soft
mumble.

The living room was bathed in
dim light, the curtains drawn to
keep the world at bay. Plankton's
snores grew louder, his antennae
twitching with each inhale.

Sandy's filled with concern. "Do you
want me to stay?" she asked, her
voice hushed. "Help with Chip?"

Karen's smile was filled
with gratitude. "That would
be amazing," she murmured.
"I need to keep an eye on
Plankton." She gestured to
the sleeping form on the couch.

Sandy nodded, her eyes
filled with understanding. "Of
course," she said. "I'll watch
Chip." Her voice was a gentle
whisper, not wanting to disturb
the fragile peace that had
descended upon the house.

With Plankton safely on
the couch, Karen turned to
face Sandy. "Thank you,"
she murmured, her voice
carrying the weight of the
day's events. "I don't know
what I'd do without you."

Sandy waved a dismissive
hand. "It's what friends are
for," she said, her smile
soft. "Now, go take care of
Plankton. I've got this."

Karen nodded, her eyes
filled with gratitude. She
knew she could trust Sandy
with Chip, especially in a time
like this. She bent over
Plankton, her hand brushing
his antennae gently. "Rest,"
she whispered, her voice a
soothing caress. "You're safe."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, his sleep-laden eye
sliding open. The room
spun around him, the edges
soft and fuzzy. "Karen?" he
mumbled, his voice thick with
slumber.

Karen's face appeared above him,
a soft smile playing on her lips.
"You're okay, Plankton," she
whispered, her hand stroking
his antennae gently. "You're
safe."

The words washed over him
like a gentle wave, the warmth
of her voice seeping into
his bones. His antennae
quivered slightly, his eyelid
flickering. The room spun,
his body heavy and sluggish.
"Home," he murmured, his voice
a sleepy echo of his earlier
sentiment.

Karen's smile grew, her eyes
soft with affection. "Yes, we're
home," she said, her voice a
lullaby. "You can rest now."

Plankton let out a contented sigh, his
antennas drooping with exhaustion.

The gentle stroking of
Karen's hand on his antennae
was the last thing he felt before
his mind slipped fully into
the abyss of sleep. His
snores grew deep and even,
his body finally at peace.

new chip on the shoulders sleepicore xii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xiii
(By NeuroFabulous)


Chip and Sandy hovered
at the edge of the room,
their eyes wide with curiosity.
"What happens when you
have your wisdom teeth out?"
Chip asked, his voice a soft
whisper.

Sandy shrugged, her own
interest piqued. "They take
them out so they don't hurt
you," she said, her voice
thoughtful. "But I don't know
what it's like."

Karen's eyes remained on
Plankton's face, her
thumb tracing gentle circles
on his palm. "It's not
always easy," she murmured.
"Especially for someone like
him." Her gaze flickered
to Chip, her expression
serious. "Remember, buddy,
everyone experiences things
differently. We have to be
patient and understand."

Chip nodded, his gaze
never leaving Plankton's
sleeping form. He was
fascinated by his dad's
autism, the way it made him
see the world so uniquely.
He was eager to learn more, to
be there for him in ways
he never knew were needed.

Sandy sat beside them,
her eyes on the chessboard,
lost in thought. "I've heard
of autism before," she said,
her voice barely above a
whisper. "But I didn't know
it could affect Plankton."

Karen nodded, her eyes
never leaving her husband's
face. "It's part of who he
is," she murmured. "It's
not always easy, but it's
what makes him special."
Her gaze softened as she
looked at Chip. "And it's
important we learn to support
each other, especially when
things are tough." Karen
stands up, getting vanilla ice
cream from the freezer.

With a spoon in hand, she
wakes Plankton up gently, her
touch featherlight on his
shoulder. "Hey," she whispers,
her voice a gentle nudge.
"You need to wake up for
a moment."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his sleepy eye opening to
find Karen's smiling face. "Wha?"
he mumbles, the gauze in his
mouth making his words
indistinct.

"Ice cream," she whispers, holding
up the bowl. His eyes widen
slightly, the mention of the cold,
soothing treat cutting through the
haze of his anesthesia-induced
sleep. "For the swelling," she
reminds him gently, her voice
a soft caress. "Let's get rid of
the gauze first.."

With trembling hands, Plankton
reaches for the gauze in his
mouth, his antennae quivering
slightly. Karen's hand guides
his, her touch a gentle
reminder of her presence. He
pulls it out with a grimace,
his mouth feeling strange
without the pressure. The formerly
white gauze is stained pink.

Karen takes it from him, her
movements swift and efficient.
"Here," she says, her voice a soft
whisper. "Let's get you some ice
cream." She brings the spoon
to his mouth.

Plankton's eye widens. He 
opens his mouth, his antennae 
drooping with exhaustion. 
He makes a contented noise,
his antennae twitching slightly.
"Mmm," he murmurs, his voice
barely a whisper.

Karen feeds him 
another spoonful
when his antennae perk up
slightly, his sleepy gaze
locking on hers. "It's okay,"
she soothes, her voice a gentle
whisper. "You can eat."
"Mmph," he mumbles.

The coldness of the ice
cream is a shock to his
sensitive mouth, but the
sweetness soon overpowers
the discomfort. His antennae
twitch with each spoonful,
his eye slowly focusing.
"Manilla cweam," he murmurs, the
words barely coherent. Karen
smiles, her eyes shining with
relief.

He takes another 
bite, the creaminess 
of the ice cream
coating his tongue. 
"Mmph," he sighs, his 
antennae drooping
with contentment. 
Karen chuckles
softly, her hand steady
as she feeds him. 
Chip watches 
as Plankton's 
eyelid flutters.

"He's really tired,
huh?" he says, his voice
small. Sandy nods, 
a knowing smile
on her face. "Yeah, but
the ice cream will help
with the swelling,"
she assures him.

Karen nods, her
movements careful as
she feeds Plankton another
spoonful. "It's important
to stay ahead of the pain,"
she whispers. "And I
think he enjoys it too."
Her eyes sparkle with
mirth, the tension of
the day briefly forgotten
as they watch Plankton's
sleepy indulgence.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye half-lidded as he savors
the ice cream. The sweetness
of the vanilla is a soothing
contrast to the metallic
tang of his mouth, the coldness
a gentle reprieve from
the surgery.

Each spoonful is a battle
against his need for sleep,
his body demanding rest
while his taste buds revel in
the creamy delight. Karen's
hands are gentle, her touch
steady as she feeds him, her eyes
always on his face, watching
for any signs of pain or distress.

Chip sits beside them, his eyes
widening with every spoonful.
"Dad's really out of it, isn't
he?" he whispers to Sandy.
Karen nods, her smile soft.
"The anesthesia can do that,"
she says. "But the ice cream
will help with the swelling."

Plankton's antennae twitch as
his eyes struggle to stay
open, the weight of sleep
crushing down on him. Each
spoonful of ice cream is a
tiny victory, a brief reprieve
from the siren's call of his bed.
He mumbles something incoherent,
his antennae drooping. "What
was that?" Karen asks, leaning
closer to hear him better.

"M'tired," he manages, his voice
slurred. Chip giggles softly
at his father's sleepy state,
his own energy a stark
contrast to the slumber that
threatens to consume Plankton.
"You can sleep soon," Karen
soothes, her voice a gentle
reminder. "But let's fi-"

But Plankton's antennae
droop, his eye slipping
closed once more. His snores
fill the quiet room, a
comforting rhythm that speaks
of his deep rest. Karen
sighs, her hand pausing mid-air
with the spoon of ice cream.
"C'mon, Plank..."

He stirs slightly, his antennae
twitching. "Mmh?" he mumbles, his voice
a sleepy whisper. Karen's smile
is patient, her love for him
shining through her eyes. "Just a
little more," she coaxes, her voice
gentle. "For the swelling." She
helps him sit up straighter.

The coldness of the ice cream
is a jolt to his senses, his
eye opening wider. He nods,
his antennae perking up slightly.
"Okay," he murmurs, his voice
still thick with sleep.

Karen continues to feed
him, her movements slow and
deliberate. Each spoonful is
a battle won, his eyelid
fighting to stay open. "You're
doing great," she whispers,
her thumb brushing his hand.

Sandy and Chip watch
Plankton's struggle.
Chip's eyes are wide, taking
in every detail.

Karen's hand is a
steady presence.
But Plankton's body fights
back, each spoonful a
challenge to stay awake.

He takes a deep breath, his
antennas fluttering as he tries
to focus on the taste of the
vanilla ice cream. "M'okay,"
he murmurs, his voice barely
above a whisper. But his eyelid
droops, the weight of sleep
too much to resist.

Karen's eyes fill with
determination. She'll get him
through this. She feeds him
another spoonful, her voice
a gentle chant. "Keep going,
Plankton. You can do it."

His antennae quiver slightly
as he tastes the ice cream,
his eye blinking slowly. "M'tryin',"
he whispers, the words
almost lost.

Karen's voice is a soft
mantra, her words a gentle
push to keep him conscious.
"Just a little more," she
coaxes, her hand steady as
she brings the spoon to
his lips.

Plankton's antennae twitch, his
eye sliding closed again. "Mmph,"
he protests, his voice a sleepy
mumble. The coldness of the
ice cream is a jolt to his
sluggish system, his body
instinctively swallowing.

Karen's voice is a gentle
coax, her touch a comforting
presence. "You can do it,"
she whispers, her eyes filled with
love and determination. "Just
a few more bites."

But Plankton's body has
other plans. His antennae
twitch with each spoonful,
his eyelid a battleground between
staying awake and giving in
to sleep. "Mmh," he murmurs,
his voice barely audible. "Tired."

Karen's eyes never leave
his face, her smile filled with
compassion. "I know, Plankton,"
she whispers. "But we need
to finish this." She holds the
spoon to his mouth, her eyes
filled with understanding.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his eye opening with
difficulty. "Mmh?" he mumbles,
his voice a sleepy echo of his
exhaustion.

Karen's voice is a gentle
reminder. "Just a little
more, sweetie," she says, her
tone filled with love and
concern. She holds the spoon
to his mouth again, her
expression a silent plea for
his cooperation.

Plankton's antennae wobble, his
eye barely open. He takes
another bite, his antennae
drooping with each spoonful.
"Almost done," she whispers, her
hands steady. "You're doing
so well."

He nods slightly, his antennae
twitching with the effort to
stay awake. "Mmph," he mumbles,
his voice a sleepy grumble. The
ice cream is a sweet torment,
his mouth watering with each
tiny bite. "M'tired," he whispers,
his antennae quivering.

Karen's eyes are soft with
understanding. She knows
the struggle of his autistic
brain to process the world,
even in sleep. "Just a little
more," she soothes, her voice a
whispered promise of rest. She
feeds him another spoonful,
his eye fluttering shut again.

The sweetness of the vanilla
ice cream is a siren's call to
his senses, briefly keeping
his consciousness afloat. "Mm,"
he murmurs, his antennae
twitching slightly. The coldness
of the treat is a stark contrast
to the warmth of his sleepiness.

Karen's voice is a gentle
guiding light, her words a
soothing melody to his sluggish
mind. "You're doing great,"
she whispers, her smile a soft
ray of comfort in the dimly
lit room. "Al-"

But Plankton's antennae
droop, his eye slipping
closed once more. His snores
return, deep and rhythmic.

Karen sighs, her eyes
soft with love. "Okay," she
whispers, setting the spoon
aside. "You've had enough."
Her voice is a gentle
goodbye to the waking world
as she helps him lie down,
his body a deadweight against
the couch cushions.

new chip on the shoulders icecreamcore xiii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xiv
(By NeuroFabulous)


Sandy and Chip watch as
she tucks the blanket around
his form, her movements
careful not to disturb his
slumber. "Let him sleep,"
she murmurs, her voice a
caress. "He'll wake when
his body's ready."

The two of them nod,
understanding in their
silent gazes. They sit
quietly, the only sound
the ticking of the clock
and Plankton's deep snores.

Sandy glances at Karen,
her eyes filled with
concern. "Is he okay?"
she asks in a hushed
whisper. Karen nods, her
expression calm. "It's
normal after surgery.
He'll be fine."

Chip's gaze is glued to
his father, his curiosity
piqued by the unfamiliar
sight. "What happens
now?" he asks, his voice
small in the quiet room.

Karen sits back, her
hands folded in her lap.
"Now, we wait," she murmurs.
"Let him rest."

Sandy nods, her eyes
flickering to the clock
on the wall. "It's late,"
she says, her voice low.
"Should I stay?"

"You can sleep in my bed
Sandy," Karen says.

Sandy nods, her eyes
on Plankton. "Thank you,"
she murmurs, her voice barely
above a whisper. "I don't want
to leave you alone."

Karen smiles, her gaze
on Plankton's peaceful
face. "You won't," she says.
"We're all here."

Sandy nods, a soft
smile gracing her features.
"Thank you," she says, her voice
a gentle echo in the
silent room. She takes the
offered space, her eyes never
leaving her friend's sleeping
form.

Karen watches Plankton
sleep, his antennae twitching
slightly with each
snore. Her thoughts are a
whirlwind of emotion, a mix
of worry and love. She
knows the road ahead
won't be easy, but she's
determined to navigate it
with patience and care.

The next morning, the
sun peeks through the
curtains, casting a soft
glow on the living room.
Plankton stirs, his antennae
twitching as the world
intrudes on his slumber.
The room is quiet, the
remnants of the previous
day's events a fading
memory. He opens his eye to
find Karen asleep in the
chair beside him.
Her hand is curled around
his, a silent promise of
support. Plankton's mouth
feels swollen, the tender
reminder of the surgery
yesterday.

He sits up slowly, his
body protesting with a
soft groan.
The house is still, the
only sounds the distant
chirps of early morning
scallops. Chip is probably
still asleep, Sandy in the
other room.

Plankton's antennae quiver as
the pain of the surgery starts
to make itself known, a dull
throb that echoes through his
body. He reaches up to
his mouth with tentative
fingers, the swollen flesh
meeting his touch with a
sharp sting. He winces, his
body tensing in response.

Karen's eyes open. "You're ok,"
she whispers, her voice
a gentle balm. She takes his
hand, guiding it away from
his face. "Le..."

But Plankton's antennae
are already twitching with
discomfort, his eye wide
with pain. "M'hurt," he
mumbles, his voice a hoarse
whisper. Karen's expression
softens, her eyes filled
with sympathy.

"I know," she says, her voice
soothing. "It's from the
surgery." Plankton nods, his
body stiff with discomfort.

Karen stands, her movements
fluid. She fetches a cold
compress from the kitchen,
the fridge's hum a gentle
reminder of the world outside
their quiet bubble. "Here,"
she murmurs, her touch
featherlight as she places
the compress gently against
his cheek. The coldness
soothes the ache, his antennae
quivering with relief.

Plankton's eye closes, his
body sagging into the couch
cushions. The pain is a
dull throb, a constant
reminder of his surgery.
Karen sits beside him, her
hand resting lightly on his,
her presence a comforting
weight. "What else can I
do?" she whispers, her eyes
filled with concern.

He mumbles something incoherent,
his antennae twitching. Karen
frowns, her brow furrowed. "What
was that, Plankton?"

He opens his eye slightly,
his voice thick with pain. "M'hurt,"
he whispers. Karen's heart clenches.
"Your teeth?" she asks, her
voice a soft concern.

Plankton nods, his antennae
drooping. "Mmh," he confirms,
his hand moving to his swollen
cheek. The coldness of the
compress is a small mercy,
but the throb persists.

Karen's gaze is filled with
determination as she looks
for more ways to ease his discomfort.

She remembers the pain
medication from the doctor,
quickly retrieving it from the
kitchen counter. The bottle
rattles slightly in her hand,
each pill a potential lifeline.

Plankton's eye widens
slightly at the sound, his
antennas twitching with
anticipation. She opens the
bottle with a soft click,
the smell of mint wafting
upwards. "Take one," she
instructs, her voice a gentle
guideline through the fog of
his pain.

He nods, his hand
shaking as he takes the pill.
The water is cold on his
swollen tongue, the liquid a
sweet reprieve. Karen
watches as he swallows, her
face etched with care. "There
you go," she whispers, her
hand never leaving his.

The pain medication takes
effect slowly, the throb
easing into a dull ache.
Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his breathing
evening out. "Thank you,"
he murmurs, his voice a
hoarse whisper. Karen's smile
is a soft reassurance.

He sinks back into the
couch cushions, his antennae
drooping with relief.
The cold compress is a
steady presence, her hand
in his a warm reassurance.
"You're welcome," she
whispers, as Chip follows
his mom's friend Sandy
to them.

Sandy's eyes are filled
with curiosity and a hint
of concern. "How's he
doing?" she asks, her voice
a soft question in the early
morning silence.

Karen looks over back at
Plankton. "He's in a bit of
pain," she says, her voice
a gentle sigh. "But the
medication should kick in
soon."

Sandy nods, her eyes
filled with understanding.
"I can stay and help,"
she offers. "If you need
anything, just let me know."

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his eye opening to
meet her gaze. "Mmph,"
he mumbles, his voice
still slurred.

Karen nods, her smile
gentle. "You're doing
great," she whispers.

Chip sees his dad's
swollen cheeks and
his antennae drooping.
"Does it hurt a lot, Dad?"
he asks, his voice
filled with a newfound
compassion for the man
he's often seen as just
his quirky father.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his eye blinking
open. "Mmh," he mumbles,
his voice a hoarse echo of
his pain. "A little."

Karen's smile is filled
with empathy as she squeezes
his hand. "It's okay, I'm
here," she whispers. She
knows the pain of his
autism, the way it can
magnify the smallest of
discomforts into a symphony
of sensory overload. She
gently places the compress
back on his cheek, her eyes
never leaving his face.

new chip on the shoulders sleepovercore xiv

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xv
(By NeuroFabulous)


Plankton's antennae
twitch. "M'sorry,"
he murmurs, his voice a
weak apology for his
condition.

Karen's hand is a
steady presence, her
grip reassuring. "You
have nothing to
apologize for," she says,
her voice a soft
whisper of comfort.

Chip watches his
father, his curiosity
piqued.

"Hey, Dad," he says,
his voice a gentle reminder
of the care and understanding
that now exists between them.
Chip sits on the edge of the
couch, his hand reaching to
touch Plankton's shoulder...

Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his eye snapping open
in alarm.

His hand
shoots out, 
batting Chip's arm
away.

Chip recoils, his eyes
wide with surprise. "It's okay,
Dad," he says quickly, his voice
low. "I wa-"

But Plankton's antennae are
quivering with agitation, his
body tense. "Don't," he snaps,
his voice sharp. Karen's eyes
dart to her son, her expression
a silent apology. She knows Plankton's
autism makes him hypersensitive
to touch, especially when in pain.

Chip's hand hover in mid-air,
his eyes wide. "Why'd yo-"

Plankton's voice is a harsh
interruption, his antennae
twitching erratically. "I said
don't," he repeats, his voice a
firm command. Chip's hand
drops to his side, his
expression one of confusion
and hurt. "It's okay," Karen says
quickly, her voice a gentle
reminder. "He's just sensitive."

Sandy nods, her eyes on
Plankton's face. "It's okay,
Chip," she says softly. "Let's
just give him some space."
Chip nods, his gaze on his
father's tense form.

Karen's eyes are filled with
compassion as she watches
Plankton, his antennae still
twitching with agitation.
"It's all right," she whispers,
her voice a gentle balm.
"Your body's just healing."

The silence stretches
between them, a soft
acknowledgment of his pain.
The compress feels cold
against his cheek, the
medication a distant
promise. His antennae
droop slightly, his body
beginning to relax.

Karen watches him closely,
her eyes a map of his comfort.
"It's okay, Plankton," she
whispers. "You just
need to rest." His antennae
twitch in response, his breathing
evening out.

The medication starts to
kick in, the pain a distant
memory. Plankton's antennae
droop with the weight of
his exhaustion. Karen's hand
remains in his, a silent promise
of support. She knows that
his autism means that even
the smallest touch can be too
much, yet she also knows the
comfort of familiarity.

Chip's eyes are 
wide, taking in 
the scene before 
him. He wants
to be near his dad!

Karen's eyes
are on them both, her heart
a silent prayer. She knows
how much Chip wants to
comfort Plankton, to bridge
the gap that autism often
forces between them.

Chip tries to keep 
his moves calm, but
his heart races with
concern despite his
efforts to hold back.
He also sees
the way Karen's hand
rests on Plankton's, a silent
offer of comfort, and
wonders if he could do
the same..

So Chip takes a deep
breath, his finger tentative
as it reaches out to
his father's shoulder,
his touch immediate...

Plankton's body twitches
right at Chip's contact,
his eye snapping open. "Mmph," he
mumbles, his antennae shooting
up in a defensive stance.

Chip's hand freezes, his eyes
filled with uncertainty.
"It's okay, Da-"

Yet Plankton's antennae
droop again, his eye
falling closed. "Mmh,"
he mumbles. But Chip 
takes this as
a green light.

He leans in closer, his
finger brushing Plankton's
cheek...

"Don't touch me!" Plankton's
voice is a whipcrack, his antennae
twitching angrily. His hand
shoots up to swat Chip's touch
away. "M'fine!" he snaps, his
body trembling with pain and
frustration.

Karen's heart aches, caught
between her son's well-meaning
concern and Plankton's
desperate need for space. "Chip,"
she says gently, her voice a
calming force. "Remember what 
we talked about.."

Yet Chip wants to ask
questions about his 
dad's dental surgery.

Plankton's antennae
quiver, his eye opening
to slits. "What?" he snaps,
his voice a sharp edge.

Chip's eyes are wide
with curiosity. "What
was it like?" he asks, his voice
eager. "The surgery, I mean."

Karen's smile is a soft
explanation. "It was like a
long nap," she says, her eyes
on Plankton. "They gave him
medicine to make him sleepy,
so he wouldn't feel anything."

Chip's eyes light up with
interest. "What happened
to make him asleep?" he
asks, his voice filled with
eagerness to understand.

Karen's smile is a gentle
explanation. "They used
anesthesia," she says, her voice
calm and steady. "It's like a
special kind of sleep that
lets doctors work without you
feeling anything."

Chip's eyes widen, his mind
racing with questions. "But
how did they know he was
asleep?" he asks, his voice a
whisper of wonder.

Karen's smile is filled with
pride. "They used monitors,
sweetie," she explains. "They
keep track of his heartbeat
and breathing, so they know
he's okay."

Chip's gaze is riveted
on Plankton's swollen cheeks.
"But his mouth?" he presses.
"What did they do?"

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, his discomfort
visible. Karen's voice is a
soft guide. "They took
out his wisdom teeth," she
says. "They were gonna cause
problems."

Chip's curiosity is a
whirlwind of questions.
"How do they know when
you're asleep?" he asks,
his voice filled with awe.

Karen's smile is a gentle
teaching tool. "They watch
his brain waves," she says,
her words a soft
explanation. "They use
a machine that shows them
how much he's sleeping."

Chip nods, his eyes
absorbing the information.
"And how'd dad woke up?"

Karen's eyes are filled
with patience. "They stopped
the medicine," she says.
"And when he was ready,
his body woke up."

Chip's mind is a storm
of curiosity. "But what
was it like?" he asks again,
his voice a persistent
wonder. "Being asleep like that?"

Karen's eyes hold a hint of
amusement. "It's like
a very deep sleep," she says.
"You don't dream, you don't feel,
you just rest."

Chip's curiosity is a
tiny flame, flickering
brightly in the quiet room.
"But what about when he
woke up?" he presses, his voice
filled with a child's need
to understand the world.

Karen's smile is a gentle
nod. "When you wake up from
surgery, it's a little
different," she explains. "The
body's still sleepy, and his
mouth was numb."

Chip's eyes are wide with
understanding. "Oh," he says,
his voice a soft wonder.

new chip on the shoulders recoverypunk xv

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvi
(By NeuroFabulous)


"Could Dad feel anything?"

Karen's gaze is filled with
compassion. "No, sweetie," she
says gently. "That's the point
of the medicine. He didn't feel
anything."

Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton. "What's it like when
Dad woke up?" he asks, his voice
a soft curiosity.

Karen's voice is a gentle
narrative, her words painting
a picture of Plankton's
recovery. "He was a bit
confused at first," she says,
her eyes on Plankton. "But he
quickly understood where he
was."

Chip's eyes are a
mirror of his mother's,
his curiosity a living
entity. "But his mouth?"
he asks, his voice a quiet
probing.

Karen's smile is a
soft reassurance. "They gave
him something to make it
numb," she says, her words a gentle
explanation. "So he couldn't
feel the surgery."

Chip's eyes are a
swirl of understanding. "What
was it like when it was over?"
he asks, his voice a whisper
of fascination. "Before he
awoke from it? After they finished
while you waited for him to wake
up, what'd his face and mouth look like?"

Karen's gaze is a silent
answer, her eyes a soft story
of the surgery's aftermath. "His
cheeks were a bit puffy," she
whispers, her voice a gentle
narrative of the scene she'd
witnessed. "And there was
a bit of blood, but the
doctors cleaned him up. As
he slept, I could see his chest
rise and fall, and I knew he was
okay."

Chip's eyes are wide with
interest. "And then?"

Karen's voice is a soft
narrative, her words painting
the picture of Plankton's
recovery. "After they took
his teeth out, they put in
stitches," she says. "And now
his mouth needs time to heal."

Chip's eyes widen, his
mind racing with images.
"Stitches?" he repeats, his
voice a mix of fascination
and horror. "How'd they put
in stitches while he was sleeping?"

Karen's smile is a gentle
explanation. "They're very
careful," she says, her voice a
calm lake. "They use a
special thread that dissolves
so he doesn't need to come back
to have them removed."

Chip's eyes are a mix
of wonder and concern. 
"How'd he not bite the
dentist?"

Karen laughs softly,
a warm sound in the quiet
room. "They gave him
more medicine," she says,
her voice a gentle 
guide. "So his mouth
was completely relaxed."

Chip's eyes are wide
with wonder. "How did
it feel to wake up?"
he asks, his voice filled
with innocent curiosity.

Plankton's antennae quiver
slightly, his eye opening to
look at his son. "It was...
strange," he murmurs, his voice
a distant echo of his experience.
"Everything was blurry, and my mouth
felt funny."

Chip nods, his eyes wide with
interest. "But it's better
now?" he asks, hope coloring
his voice.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly. "Mmh," he mumbles,
his voice a hoarse affirmation.
"It's okay; still healing.."

"How about we watch a movie?"
Karen suggests, her voice a gentle
distraction from the pain. "Something
fun, to take your mind off it?"

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly,
his interest piqued despite his discomfort.
"The Dirty Bubble?" he murmurs.

Karen's smile is a nod, her eyes
filled with the promise of
distraction. "Yeah," she says,
getting up to grab the remote.
"It's about the underwater world's
biggest heist," she says, her voice
a gentle coaxing. "I think you'll
enjoy it, Chip."

Plankton's antennae twitch with
slight interest as he sits up
more, his body protesting with a
soft groan. Chip moves closer,
his eyes on his father.

Plankton's antennae twitch.
Karen and Chip sit on either
side of him. The movie's sounds fill
the room, the images
dancing across the
television screen.

As the film progresses, Plankton's
eye grows heavier, his head
slowly tilting towards Chip.

Chip, lost in the story, feels the
slightest pressure against his
shoulder. He looks down to see
his father's antennae quivering,
his head leaning closer.
Plankton's body is a silent
admission of his exhaustion.
He's trying to stay alert, but
his eye keeps slipping shut,
his antennae drooping slightly.

The movie plays on.
Chip feels the weight of his
father's head, a warmth that
spreads through his body.

Plankton's antennae are a
quiet whisper, his breathing
even. Karen's gaze flits from
the TV to the two of them,
her heart swelling with
gratitude. This is progress.

Chip feels his dad's antennae
brush against his arm, the
sensation a soft reminder of
his presence.

The movie's end credits
roll, the room bathed in the
soft glow of the TV. Sandy's
hand is warm on the remote,
turning off the film.

Chip then hears a gentle
snore against his shoulder,
his dad's antennae lying
limp beside him. He looks
down to see Plankton's eye
closed, his head resting
heavily.

Karen's smile is a quiet
celebration. "Looks like he's
asleep," she murmurs, her
voice a soft whisper.

Chip's eyes are wide with
surprise. "On me?" he asks,
his voice filled with
disbelief.

Karen nods, her smile
a warm embrace. "It's okay," she
whispers, her eyes on
Plankton's sleeping form. "He's
just really tired."

Chip's heart swells with
pride. It's the first time
his dad's ever fallen
asleep on him, a silent
testament to the trust
building between them.

He carefully shifts his
shoulder, making room for
Plankton's antennae. Karen's
eyes are a gentle nod of
understanding. "Let him
sleep," she whispers.

The room is a soft
symphony of Plankton's snores
and the distant hum of
the refrigerator. Chip
watches his father, his
expression one of wonder.

new chip on the shoulders moviecore xvi

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvii
(By NeuroFabulous)


Chip's never felt so close to
his dad, not even when they
used to build sandcastles
on the beach. Plankton's antennae
tickle his neck, a gentle
reminder of the trust
that's been slowly
building between them.

The snores are a comforting
background to the quiet
evening. "Can I sleep out
here, next to Dad?" Chip asks.

Karen nods, her eyes filled
with understanding. "Of course,"
she whispers, her voice a soft
caress in the darkness. "Just be
careful not to disturb him. Let's
get you both set up."

They work together,
moving pillows and blankets,
careful not to jostle Plankton.
Chip watches as his mother
gently lifts his father's
head, placing it gently on
his own pillow as Chip stands
up. They move a soft foot bench
for Chip to sleep on next to Plankton.

Karen pulls a blanket over
both of them, tucking it around
them both.

Chip's heart races with excitement,
his mind racing with the newfound
connection. He lies down on the
foot bench, his body tense with
anticipation. Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly as he shifts, but he
doesn't stir.

Karen's eyes are a soft
moon, her gaze a gentle
reminder of the night ahead.
"Remember," she whispers. "Don't
move too much. He needs his
space."

Chip nods, his eyes
filled with understanding.
He watches as Karen
disappears upstairs,
the light flickering before
going out. The room is
a canvas of shadows, Plankton's
snores a soft metronome.

He lies still, his mind
whirling with thoughts. It's
strange, feeling his dad's
body so close.
He's always been the one to
move away, the one to hide.
But here he is, sleeping.

The room is quiet, save for
Plankton's snores. Chip
swallows, his heart thumping.
He reaches out his hand,
his fingers trembling slightly.
He's never felt so
nervous about something so simple.

He touches Plankton's antennae,
his heart in his throat.
They twitch slightly at the
contact, but Plankton doesn't
wake up. Chip's breath
escapes in a silent whoosh.

He holds his hand there,
his fingertips exploring the
softness of his father's antennae.
They're so delicate, like
tiny whiskers. Plankton's
breathing doesn't change.

Encouraged, Chip slides his
hand further up, his heart
racing. He's never felt so
close to his dad, not even
during those rare moments
when Plankton allows a brief
hug. His hand comes to rest
on Plankton's shoulder, his
father's arm lying limp.

Plankton's snores hitch for a
moment, his antennae
twitching erratically. Chip's
heart leaps into his throat,
but then Plankton relaxes again,
his snores resuming their
comforting rhythm.

Chip's hand remains on
his father's shoulder,
his mind racing with thoughts
of all the times he's wanted
to be closer. He's never
dared to touch him like
this before, afraid of
setting off a storm of
sensory overload.

But now, as Plankton sleeps,
his antennae lying still against
his head, Chip feels a strange
sense of peace. He watches his
father's chest rise and fall,
his snores a soothing
lullaby. He's always been so
quick to retreat into his
shell, but here, in this quiet
moment, he's vulnerable,
his defenses down.

Chip's hand remains on
his father's shoulder, his
thumb tracing gentle circles.
He wonders if Plankton knows
how much he's wanted to
connect like this. How much
he's longed for the kind of
closeness that other kids share
with their dads. The antennae
on Plankton's head twitch
slightly, and Chip holds his
breath. But Plankton's snores
remain steady, his body relaxed.

A smile tugs at the corner of
Chip's mouth. He's never felt
this level of acceptance from
his father, not even during
their rare moments of
physical contact.

He leans closer, his eyes
studying Plankton's sleeping
face. His father's cheeks are
still a bit puffy from the
surgery, but there's a peace to
his expression that Chip hasn't
seen in a long time. His antennae
lie still, no longer twitching
with pain or irritation.

Chip's hand on his shoulder
feels like an anchor, a
connection he's longed for.
He wonders if Plankton's
dreams are filled with the
colors and shapes of their
underwater world, or if he
dreams of a place beyond the
reef, a place where his
inventions come to life. Chip
simply watches him sleep,
his own eyes drooping with
exhaustion.

As the night stretches
on, the snores become a
lullaby, a rhythm that
soothes Chip's racing
thoughts. He's so close to
his dad, closer than he's
ever been. The room feels
smaller, yet somehow
more expansive, like the
ocean outside their door.

He watches Plankton's chest
rise and fall with each breath,
his antennae lying still against
his forehead. It's strange,
seeing his father so vulnerable,
so open to the world.
In sleep, Plankton's usual
defensive posture has
melted away, leaving
behind a softness that Chip
has never seen before.

He tentatively reaches out
his other hand, his fingers
sliding under the blanket to
rest lightly on Plankton's hand.

It's a small gesture,
but it feels like a monumental
step forward. Plankton's hand
twitches, but doesn't pull away.
Chip's breath catches in his throat,
his heart racing.

He holds his breath, waiting
for a reaction. But Plankton's
snores remain steady.

Chip's heart thumps in his chest.
He's never felt this close to
his father. It's like they're
sharing a secret, a quiet
moment of understanding.

He squeezes Plankton's hand gently,
his thumb tracing the outline
of his father's palm.

Plankton's antennae twitch again,
his hand moving slightly under
Chip's.

Chip's heart leaps, his eyes
widening. Did he feel that?
A soft squeeze from Plankton's
hand, a silent communication.

He squeezes back, his grip gentle.
Plankton's snores continue,
his hand relaxing into Chip's.
The moment stretches, a warm
band connecting the two of
them.

Chip's heart is a caged
bird, fluttering with excitement.
He's never felt so close to
his dad, never thought this
was possible.

He watches as Plankton's
snores deepen, his hand in
his father's a silent promise
of support. The room is a
symphony of quiet moments,
each breath a note of peace.
Chip's lulled by the steady
beat of his father's snores.

His eyes drift shut, his mind
a kaleidoscope of thoughts.
He dreams of a world where
Plankton's antennae don't
twitch with fear, where the
shutdowns don't steal him
away. He dreams of a future
where they can share laughter,
not just the quiet moments
like this.

Hours later, Plankton's snores
have turned into soft, even
breaths. The room is bathed
in the gentle glow of early
morning, the sun peeking
through the curtains.

Plankton stirs, his antennae
twitching as he awakens to
a new day. He blinks slowly,
his eye adjusting to the
light. And then he sees it.

Chip's hand, curled around
his own, a warm pressure
that grounds him. His son's
body, curled into the
foot bench, his chest rising
and falling silently with sleep.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly as he blinks,
his mind foggy with the
remnants of sleep. He tries
to sit up, to pull away, but
his body protests, a dull
throb in his cheeks reminding
him of the surgery's aftermath.

He feels a warmth beside him,
his son's hand in his own, a
gentle reminder of the night's
unexpected intimacy. His heart
thumps in his chest, the
realization hitting him like
a gentle wave. Chip had been
there, holding on, a silent
support through his slumber.

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
brain slowly waking up. He's
not used to this, to being
touched so casually, so
openly. It's a foreign
sensation, but not entirely
unpleasant. He looks down
at their joined hands,
his son's thumb resting
against his palm.

He's torn between retreating
and embracing the moment,
his mind racing with
conflicting thoughts. But
his son's gentle breaths, the
weight of his body against
his side...

He feels a strange warmth,
a feeling he's often chased away.
But here, in the quiet
pre-dawn light, he lets it in.

Plankton's antennae twitch, a
quiet acknowledgment of his son's
presence. He doesn't pull away,
his hand still in Chip's.

His mind is a tornado of thoughts,
spinning with the realization
that he's allowed this unsolicited
closeness with Chip.

Plankton's heart beats faster,
his antennae quivering slightly.
He's not used to this, the
unexpected warmth, the silent
comfort of his son's touch.
But as the moments stretch
into something more, he finds
that he doesn't want to pull away.

new chip on the shoulders sleepovercore xvii

CATCH IN MY CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

With grace of a dancer, Chip 
slides into the bed beside
his dad, his movements calculated
and precise. Each inch closer feels
like a victory, a step to
reconciliation. He's careful not
to disturb. His hand reaches
for Plankton's, his touch a
whisper in the quiet.

Plankton's breathing steady and rhythmic.
Chip swells with hope, clutches the
hand tightly, feeling the
strength in the slender fingers.
It's a silent declaration of love,
an unspoken apology.

Karen watches, her screen
shimmering with unshed tears.
The sight of her son and
husband finding their way
back to each other fills her
heart with a warmth that
chases the shadows from the
room. She knows this isn't a
moment to interrupt, so she
simply observes, her hand
on Chip's back in silent
support.

Chip's eyes drift shut, and he lets
his body mold to the warmth
of his dad's side. The scent of
his dad's pillow, a mix of
saltwater and something
uniquely Plankton, fills his
nose, lulling him into a
sense of safety.

Time seems to stand still in the
quiet embrace, each tick of the
clock a gentle reminder that
moments like these are rare. But
eventually, the world outside
their sanctuary calls, and Plankton
stirs.

His antennas twitch, his
eye blinking open .
He's disoriented at first, his
brain still wrapped in the
cotton wool of sleep. Then he feels
the warmth beside him, the
weight of a small hand in his.

Plankton's heart stutters,
his body tense. His eye find
Chip's peaceful face, his son's
cheek pressed against his arm.
The room is a tableau of quiet,
the air thick with the unspoken.
He's torn between emotions and fear,
his mind racing.

He doesn't remember falling
asleep, the anger and frustration
of last night a distant memory.
But here's Chip, a living proof
of their unspoken reconciliation.
Plankton's antennas quiver,
his hand hovering over their
entwined fingers. He's afraid to
move, to disturb the fragile
harmony of the moment.

But his body has other plans.
His muscles tense, his skin
prickling with the need for
space. He's not used to this,
the warmth, the weight. His
autistic brain screams for order,
for predictability. He tries to
swallow the rising panic, to push
it back down into the pit of his
stomach where it belongs. Plankton
can feel his own heart racing,
his antennas quivering with
the effort of holding still. His
body wants to recoil, to retreat
from the sudden assault of
sensation. But he can't, not with
his son's hand in his.

Karen notices the tension
in his body, the way his antennas
spasm slightly. She knows what's
coming, the inevitable retreat.
With a gentle touch, she whispers,
"It's okay, Plankton. You don't have
to handle it if it's too much."
Her words are a soothing balm,
but they're not enough to
calm the storm inside him.

Chip's hand tightens slightly
around his, and Plankton's eye
snap to his son's face. He sees
the trust there, the love.
It's a punch to the gut, a
reminder of all the moments
he's missed, all the times he's
failed to understand. His hand
shakes, the tremble traveling
up his arm.

He tries to swallow the
rising panic, his throat tight.
But it's too much, the weight
of his son's body, the heat,
the smell, the touch. His mind
whirrs, his senses overloading.
He needs space, to think, to breathe.
With a deep, shuddering inhale,
he starts to pull away, his
body fighting the instinct to
shove Chip off the bed.

Karen's hand is a gentle
weight on his shoulder.
"Take it slow," she whispers,
her voice a lifeline in the storm.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still quivering. He tries to
push the panic down, to
focus on the warmth of
Chip's hand, the steady beat
of their hearts. But the
pressure builds, a crescendo
of sensation threatening to
crush him. He can't breathe.

With a tremble, he starts
to pull away, his hand
sliding out from under
Chip's. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his voice strained.
"It's too much."

Karen's hand remains
on his shoulder, her eyes
filled with compassion.
"It's okay," she says, her voice
a soft whisper. "We're here."

The room spins around
Plankton, a whirlwind of
colors and shapes. His antennas
wave wildly, his grip on reality
slipping. He's lost in the chaos
of his own mind, the sensory
overload a tornado that
threatens to consume him.

Karen's voice is a beacon,
guiding him back to shore.
"Breathe," she whispers, her hand
still on his shoulder. "In, out,
slowly." Her words are a
lifeline in the tempest.

Plankton nods, his breaths
coming in ragged gasps. He tries
to focus on the sensation of
her hand, the gentle pressure
of her touch. But the world
keeps spinning, the colors
blurring together like a
watercolor painting left in
the rain.

He feels the bed shift as
Karen sits beside him, her
presence a grounding force.
"Just breathe," she says, her
voice a soft mantra. "You're
okay." His chest rises and falls in
quick succession, his body's
desperate attempt to regulate
itself amidst the chaos. His
heart races, each beat a
staccato in his ears. The room
spins, the walls closing in, the
ringing in his ears getting louder
to where it consumes him, now
impenetrable to any other sound.

Karen notices the sudden
pallor that sweeps over her
husband's face, the way his
body sags into the bed.
Her eyes fill with concern,
her hand tightening on his
shoulder. "Look at me," she says,
her voice firm but gentle.
"Take deep breaths."

But the ringing in his head is
too loud. It's consumed him
and impenetrable. He can't
hear her. He doesn't hear
anything.

Karen's voice is a distant
echo, the words swallowed by
the cacophony in his mind.
Her hand on his shoulder is
the only real thing, the
only anchor keeping him from
being swept away.

The room spins faster, the
colors bleeding into one
another until all Plankton
can see is a kaleidoscope of
sensory overload. The ringing
in his ears crescendos,
drowning out the world.
His chest feels tight, his lungs
desperate for air that won't
come. He's adrift in a sea
of panic, unable to find
his way back to the shore.

Karen's voice cuts through
the din, her hand a firm
reminder of reality. "Look
at me," she says, her eyes
locked on his, her voice a
steady lighthouse guiding
his way back. "Just me,
just us." But Plankton's not
hearing anymore.

The room is spinning, the
colors a whirlwind of chaos.
He's lost in the tornado
of his own making, the
sensory overload a prison
he can't escape. His hand
shakes, his body tense as
his mind begs for reprieve.
Karen's eyes widen with
concern.

"Plankton," she whispers, her
voice a gentle lullaby. "Look
at me." She moves closer, her
hand reaching for his face.
Her touch is a grounding force,
but it's not enough. He's
too far gone.

The room spins, a blur
of color and sound. Plankton's
eye is wide with panic, his
body trembling. The bed seems
to shift beneath him, the
walls closing in. His breaths
are shallow, his chest tight.
He's lost in the tornado of
his senses.

Karen's hand on his
shoulder is a lifeline, but
his mind is too far gone.
Her voice is a distant
whisper, the words unintelligible.
All he can feel is the
crushing weight of the
world pressing down on him,
the lights too bright, the
noises too loud. And then
Chip stirs in his sleep.

The movement sends a
shiver down Plankton's spine,
his body tightening like a
coiled spring. The ringing in
his ears reaches a crescendo,
drowning out everything else.
He tries to push the panic
back down, to find the calm
he desperately needs, but it's
like trying to hold back the
tide with a paper wall.

Karen's eyes are filled with
fear as she sees Plankton's
descent into overwhelm. She
knows the signs all too well.
Her hand on his shoulder is
now a firm grip, trying to
keep him tethered to the
here and now. "Look at me,"
she says, her voice a gentle
command. "Just me, just us."

But Plankton's gaze is unfocused,
his mind swirling with a
torrent of sensations that
make him feel like he's
falling into a bottomless pit.
The room seems to spin faster,
the light from the window a
piercing glare that slices through
his retina. He wants to
shield his eye, but his arm
feels like lead, too heavy to lift.

Karen's touch is the only
constant, her hand on his
shoulder the one thing that
feels real amidst the
sensory maelstrom. But even
that is slipping away as
his dizziness crescendos into
full-blown vertigo. His vision
blurs, the lines of reality
smearing into a nauseating
whirl of color and light.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
urgent. "Look at me."

The words echo in his
head, a distant call amidst
the chaos. He tries to focus
on her face, her eyes the only
constant in the whirlwind
of sensations. But the world
spins, faster and faster,
until all he can see is a
blur of color.

Her hand on his shoulder is
a lifeline, but it's slipping
away. He feels himself
falling, tumbling into the
void of his own mind. His
body is a marionette, his
strings cut by the storm.
The ringing in his ears
reaches a crescendo, a
symphony of panic that
consumes him.

Karen's eyes are wide
with fear, her grip on him
desperate. "Look at me,"
she repeats, her voice 
steady. "You're okay."
Her hand moves to his face.

But Plankton's gaze is
glassy, his pupil dilated.
He's trapped in the chaos of
his senses. The ringing
in his ears is a siren's
call, pulling him deeper.

Karen's hand moves from
his shoulder to his cheek,
the softness of her touch
a stark contrast to the
harshness of the world
invading his mind. "Look
at me," she repeats, her voice
a whisper. "You're safe."
Her thumb traces the line
of his jaw, a gentle guide.

But Plankton's eye is
glassy, lost in the storm.
Her words are gentle,
trying to soothe him. But the
flames are too high, too
strong. He's drowning in
his own senses.

With a tremble, Karen's hand
moves to his cheek, her
touch a soft caress. "Look at
me," she whispers, her voice
a lifeline thrown into
the tempest. "You're ok."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II ix

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON viii

(Autistic author)


The room grew quiet as they
all digested the information.
Sponge Bob's gaze never left
Plankton's, his expression
filled with a fierce loyalty.
He knew his friend was
different, but that didn't
change the love he had for
the tiny creature.

Sensing the tension, Sponge
Bob took a deep breath and
smiled his wide, welcoming smile.
"You know what, Plankton?" he
said, his voice a gentle rumble.
"You're still my best buddy, no
matter what."

Plankton's antennae perked
up, his eye focusing on
Sponge Bob's earnest expression.
The sponge's words were a
comforting lullaby, a gentle
reminder of their unbreakable bond.
He felt the warmth of their
friendship wash over him, a
comforting blanket against the
coldness of Hanna's accusations.

Sponge Bob's hand found its
way to his shoulder, the
touch a familiar comfort that
his overstimulated senses craved.
Plankton leaned into the warmth,
his body responding to the
soothing pressure. "Best buddies,"
he echoed, his voice a soft
affirmation.

The room grew quiet as
Sponge Bob's hand remained
steady on his shoulder, his
presence a calming force in
the storm of his emotions. Plankton
closed his eye, his body
relaxing into the gentle embrace.

"We're gonna get through this,"
Sponge Bob said, his voice a
soothing lullaby. "We'll figure
it out, buddy. I'm here for
you."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, the warmth of his friend's
words seeping into his soul.
Sponge Bob had always had
a way of making him feel safe,
but now, with this new
knowledge, their friendship
felt even more vital.

"Thank you," Plankton murmured,
his voice a soft echo of
gratitude. Sponge Bob's
thumb rubbed circles on his
back.

The two friends sat in
silence, the warmth of their
companionship a stark contrast
to the chill of Hanna's words.
Plankton felt the tension in
his body slowly melt away,
his breaths evening out. The
steady beat of Sponge Bob's
heart was a comforting lullaby
that helped him find peace.

Sponge Bob's thumb continued
its circular dance on his back, a
wordless communication of
his love and support. Plankton
sighed, his body growing
heavier with each comforting
pressure point. "Thank you," he
murmured, his voice a gentle
whisper.

Sponge Bob's eyes searched his
face, a flicker of understanding
dawning. "It's okay, Plankton,"
he said. "We'll get through this
together." His hand didn't
move, his touch a silent
promise of his unwavering
support.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, the comfort of his
friend's presence a warmth
against the coldness of his fear.
He knew Sponge Bob would
always be there for him, even
if he didn't fully understand
his condition. The sponge's
love was a constant, a beacon
of light in his otherwise
confusing world.

Sponge Bob's eyes never left
his friend's, his smile a gentle
reminder of the joy they
shared. "You know, Plankton,"
he began, his voice a soft
caress. "You're still
the same little guy I've
always known."

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
body leaning into the warmth of
Sponge Bob's embrace.

The steady beat of the sponge's
heart was a comforting metronome
that helped him find his rhythm
again. He felt the tension in
his body slowly melt away, each
breath growing deeper and more
even. The room, once a battlefield
of accusations and misunderstandings,
was now a haven of quiet comfort.

The rustling of pages grew
softer, the candle's glow dimming
as the minutes ticked by. Karen
and Hanna watched from afar,
heavy with regret
and hope. They saw the change in
Plankton, the way he leaned into
Sponge Bob's touch, the way his
body slowly relaxed.

Sponge Bob, ever the
comforting presence, began to
hum a gentle tune, a melody
that Plankton had heard a
thousand times. The familiar
notes were a lullaby that
soothed his frazzled nerves,
his antennae dropping to rest
against the sponge's shoulder.
The tune was a bridge to
his past, a time before the
accident, before the world had
shifted on its axis.

Plankton's breaths grew deeper,
his body swaying slightly with
the rhythm. His eye closed.
Sponge Bob's humming grew softer,
his hand never leaving Plankton's
back. The warmth of his
companion's embrace was a
soothing balm.

The room, once a prison
of accusations, was now a sanctuary
of friendship. The candle's
flame danced, casting shadows
that played across the walls,
their flickering a gentle reminder
of the warmth in their hearts.

Sponge Bob's hum grew softer,
his melody a gentle whisper that
lulled Plankton into a peaceful
reverie. His body molded
into the sponge's embrace,
his antennae drooping with
the weight of his eyelid. The
world outside faded away,
replaced by the safety of Sponge
Bob's arms.

Karen watched from the
distance, shimmering with
unshed tears. She knew the
importance of this moment, the
power of a friend who
understood without words. Her heart
swelled with gratitude for
Sponge Bob's unwavering support.

Hanna, too, felt the
weight of her own words, the
realization of her ignorance
heavy on her shoulders. She
longed to reach out, to be
part of this healing embrace, but
felt the boundary that she had
unwittingly created. Her screen
followed the tender scene, her
thoughts racing with a
desire to apologize, to explain.

But she knew that now was not
the time for words. Instead, she
sat quietly, watching the
dance of friendship unfold. The
steady beat of Sponge Bob's
heart, the gentle rustle of his
body against Plankton's, the
soothing hum that filled the
air—it was a symphony of care.

Hanna's gaze drifted to the
candle, its flame a flickering
reminder of the warmth that
was slowly seeping into the
room. She watched as Plankton's
body grew heavier, his breaths
deepening. The anger and fear
that had once dominated the
space were now replaced with a
comforting quietude.

Karen's hand found Hanna's,
squeezing gently. "He's ok,"
she whispered. "We're going
to be ok." Her voice was a
calm sea, offering a gentle
buoyancy to the storm of
emotions that had ravaged
them all.

Hanna's screen searched hers,
uncertainty warring with hope.
"I'm sorry," she murmured,
her voice a soft apology. "I
just didn't know."

Karen nodded, her gaze
compassionate. "It's a journey,"
she said. "We're all just
trying to understand."

The humming grew softer, until
it was only a faint echo in
the room. Plankton's antennae
twitched with the last
remnants of his anxiety,
before they too stilled. His
body grew heavy, his breaths
deep and even. The gentle
sway of Sponge Bob's embrace
was a lullaby that rocked him
into a peaceful slumber.

Sponge Bob felt the
change in Plankton's tension,
his friend's body becoming
a soft weight against his. He
smiled, his heart swelling
with love and relief. Carefully,
he adjusted his hold, cradling
the tiny creature against his
chest. His thumb continued its
comforting strokes, his eyes
never leaving the closed eye.

Karen stepped forward, her
movements graceful and silent.
Her hand rested on Sponge
Bob's arm, her screen a gentle
thank you. Hanna quietly left.

The room was now bathed in
the soft glow of the candle,
its flicker the only sound.
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly in his sleep, his
breaths deep and even. Sponge
Bob held him tight, his
heartbeat a gentle rhythm that
soothed the tiny creature's
slumber.

Karen watched the two,
aching with love and
gratitude. She knew that
Sponge Bob's simple act of
comfort was a powerful
statement of friendship and
support. It was moments like
this that reminded her of the
strength in their bond.

The candle's flame danced
gently, casting shadows that
played across Plankton's sleeping
face. His antennae, once a
whirlwind of anxiety, were now
still, resting against Sponge
Bob's chest. His breaths were
even and deep, a testament
to the peace he had found
in his friend's embrace.

Sponge Bob looked down at
his sleeping companion, his
face a picture of quiet contentment.
He knew that Plankton was
safe here, that his slumber was
a reprieve from the storm of
emotions that had ravaged
his day. The room was a
sanctuary of calm, the candle's
warmth a gentle guardian.

The sponge's heart swelled with
love as he watched his friend's
tiny chest rise and fall, each
breath a whispered promise
of support. He knew that
Plankton's world was now
different, that the ASD had
brought with it challenges that
neither of them could have
foreseen. But in this moment,
their bond was stronger than
ever, a beacon of understanding
in a sea of uncertainty.

Karen's eyes searched
Sponge Bob's, her own heart
heavy with the weight of what
Plankton had endured. "Thank
you," she murmured, her voice a
soft wave of appreciation.
"For being there for him."

Sponge Bob's gaze never left
Plankton's sleeping form, his
thumb still tracing comforting
patterns. "Always," he said, his
voice a gentle promise. "No
matter what."

new neurobehavioral plankton plankbobs viii

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

SHELF IMPROVEMENT viii
(Autistic author)

The next day, Karen got
up out of bed. Plankton's
still asleep. She wondered
how she's to wake him with
his new sensory sensitivities.

Gently, she opened 
the blinds, letting in 
the soft morning light. 
The room was peaceful, 
the silence only broken by 
the steady hum of 
his breathing. She took 
a moment to just watch 
his sleeping form, the 
covers rising and falling 
with each breath.

Karen approached the 
bed, careful not to wake 
him. Plankton's antennae 
twitched slightly as 
she reached out to 
stroke his forehead. 
He mumbled something 
unintelligible in his 
sleep, and she 
smiled sadly.

"Good morning, 
Plankton," she whispered, 
keeping her voice 
soft. His eye fluttered 
open, and he blinked 
at her, his gaze 
slightly unfocused.

"Karen," he mumbled, 
his voice groggy.

"How are you 
feeling?" she asked, 
concern etched on her 
screen.

Plankton blinked a few 
times, his antennae 
slowly raising. "Tired," he 
finally said, his voice 
raspy.

"It's okay," Karen 
soothed, sitting on the 
edge of the bed. "We'll 
take it easy today. I told
Chip about your new
neurodisability.."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched slightly as he 
took in her words. "Chip 
knowing?" he murmured, 
his eye searching hers.

"Yes, sweetie," Karen 
nodded. "We talked about 
how we need to be 
gentler with you now."

Plankton's antennae 
stilled, his gaze 
unreadable. Then, slowly, 
his eye found hers. "Thank... 
you?" he whispered, the 
words a gentle caress.

Karen felt a tear 
roll down her screen. 
"Of course," she said, 
smiling softly. "We're 
in this together." It's
the first time since the
accident that he used
an actual pronoun.

Plankton's antennae 
quivered as he 
absorbed her words. 
"Together," he echoed, 
his voice gaining 
strength. Karen 
wiped her screen, trying 
not to let her emotions 
overwhelm them as Chip
came into their room.

"Morning, Dad," Chip 
said, his voice 
tentative. He had 
spent the night 
thinking about his 
father's condition, 
his young mind racing 
with questions.

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, and he offered 
a small smile. "Chip," he 
mumbled.

Chip cautiously 
approached the bed, 
his eyes wide with 
concern. "You okay, Dad?"

Plankton nodded, 
his antennae still. 
"Chip," he murmured. 
"Chip loves Plankton."

Chip climbed 
up onto the bed, 
his movements slow 
and deliberate. "I love 
you too, Dad," he said, 
his voice trembling as
he crawled closer to 
Plankton.

Plankton's antennae 
flinched as Chip approached, 
his body tensing 
instinctively. Karen had 
explained about personal 
space the night before, 
but she wasn't sure if 
he'd remember.

"Chip," she said 
softly, placing a 
hand on her son's 
shoulder. "Let's 
not get too close 
just yet, okay?"

Chip nodded, his 
screen a picture of 
understanding. He 
sat at the edge of the 
bed, giving Plankton 
enough space. Karen 
could see the effort 
it took for him to 
control his instincts.

Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he took 
in the new dynamics, 
his eye flicking between 
Karen and Chip. "Space," 
he murmured, his voice 
still weak. "I need... 
space."

Karen nodded, 
swallowing hard. "Of 
course, Plankton. We'll 
make sure to give you 
your space." She reached 
for Chip's hand, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. "Remember, 
buddy, let's not 
overwhelm Dad."

Chip nodded, 
his eyes serious. 
He slowly slid off the 
bed, his movements 
careful. But as he 
stood up, his elbow 
accidentally brushed 
against Plankton's 
arm. The reaction was 
instant.

Plankton's antennae 
shot up, his 
body jerking away 
from the touch. "No!" he 
yelped, his eye 
widening in discomfort. 
Karen lurched 
as she saw Plankton's 
expression. She had 
tried to prepare Chip, 
but it was clear that 
their new reality was 
going to be a learning 
experience for them all.

Chip's screen filled 
with tears. "I'm 
sorry, Dad," he whispered.

Karen's seeing her son's 
upset face. "It's okay, 
Chip," she said quickly. 
"It's an accident. Let's 
give Dad some more 
space, okay?"

But Plankton's 
expression had 
shifted. His antennae 
were vibrating rapidly, 
his eye flashing with 
anger. "Too much," he 
snapped, his voice 
harsher than Karen had 
ever heard it. "Chip, too 
much!"

Chip's eyes 
watered, and he took 
a step back, 
his hand hovering. "I'm 
sorry, Dad," he stuttered, 
his voice barely above 
a whisper.

Plankton's antennae 
whipped around, his 
whole body vibrating 
with agitation. "Out!" he 
bellowed, the word 
exploding from his 
tiny body. "Chip, go out!"

Chip's eyes grew 
large with shock. He had 
never heard his dad 
speak to him like that 
before. His shoulders 
slumped, and he 
turned to leave, his 
steps slow and heavy. 
Karen watched 
her son retreat.

"Plankton," she began, 
her voice shaky. "It's 
okay, he didn't mean..."

But Plankton's 
anger was palpable. 
"No!" he shouted, his 
eye flashing. "Chip, no 
more!" His voice was 
loud, a stark contrast 
to the gentle whispers 
of their previous 
interactions.

Chip hovers by the door.
"Dad, I di-"

"OUT!" Plankton's 
shout reverberated through 
the room, cutting him 
off mid-sentence. His 
body was rigid with 
tension, his antennae 
quivering angrily. Karen felt 
a pang of fear and sadness 
seeing her husband like 
this. But Chip wants to
reconcile with his father.

Chip looked back, 
his eyes brimming with 
unshed tears. "Dad, ca--"

"OUT!" Plankton's voice 
was a thunderclap in the 
stillness of the room. 
Chip flinched, his 
small body visibly trembling.

"Dad," 
Chip tried again, his 
voice shaking. "Can't
you li—"

"OUT!" Plankton 
shouted, his antennae 
whipping around like 
tiny storm clouds. 
Karen saw the fear in 
Chip and knew 
she had to intervene.

"Chip, go to your 
room," she said firmly, 
trying to keep the 
emotion out of her 
voice. "Let's give Dad 
some time to calm down."

Chip nodded. 
With one last 
longing glance at 
Plankton, he left 
the room, the door 
clicking softly behind 
him.

new shelf improvement neurodisability viii

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

CHIP IN MY BOX viii
(Autistic author)


The room is quiet as they wait for
Plankton to stir. Chip's mind
is racing.

Suddenly, Plankton's body
twitches, a small movement
under the velvet shroud.
Karen's hand flies to her mouth,
her eyes wide with anticipation.
Her heart is a wild animal in
her chest, thumping against
her ribs as she watches her
husband slowly come back to
them.

Under the curtain, Plankton's
eye opens slightly, the pupil
dilated with confusion. His
limbs move sluggishly, his mind
trying to make sense of the
world that's rushing back in.

Karen's hand reaches out to
his, her eyes brimming with
relief and fear. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her voice a gentle
breeze in the quiet room. "You're safe."

"Wh... wha... whale...?" Plankton's voice
slurs, his eye flickering behind
the velvet curtain. 
Karen's grip on her son's hand
tightens as she watches her
husband struggle to find his
footing in the murky waters
of consciousness.

"It's okay," she whispers, her
voice a lifeline in the storm
of his confusion. "You're home,
you're safe."

Plankton's eye blinks, his
brain trying to piece together
the shards of reality. "Whale?"
He mumbles again, his voice
slurred with sleep.

Karen's heart squeezes, her
hand still in Plankton's, her voice
even softer now. "No, honey,
it's not a whale," she says,
forcing a gentle laugh. "It's
me, Karen. You're at home."
Her words are a soft
caress, a beacon in the fog
of his sensory overload.

Chip watches, his eyes
wide with fear and hope.
He wants to call out, to tell
his dad everything's okay,
but he remembers Dr. Kelp's
instructions. He stays quiet,
his hand tightening around the
new fidgets, his knuckles
white with tension.

Plankton's mumbling becomes
more pronounced, his eye
darting around under the velvet
cover, as if searching for
something he can't quite see. 
"Bubble...box," he murmurs,
his voice a distant echo.

Karen's heart races, her mind
racing to keep up with his
scattered thoughts. She knows
his brain is trying to make
sense of the world, to find
the familiar in the chaos. "A box is here,"
she whispers, her voice soothing.
"It's new, and right beside you."

Her words seem to resonate
somewhere in the fog of
Plankton's mind. His hand
twitches, reaching out. Chip's
breath hitches as he sees
his father's hand hover over
the new box of sensory
items.

"Bubblebox," Plankton murmurs,
his voice a soft breeze through
the room. The words are
meaningless, but the tone
conveys a desperate search.
Karen's eyes fill with tears as
she nods. "It's here," she whispers,
guiding his hand to the box.

His fingers graze the velvet
curtain, his movements clumsy
and unsure. Chip watches, his
heart in his throat, as his
father's hand trembles over the
box's edge. "Bubba," Plankton
says, his voice a whisper
of confusion.

Karen's eyes are glued to
his face, her heart breaking
at his distress. She tries
to think of something to
say, to bring him back to
them fully. But she knows
better than to push too hard.

Plankton's eye blinks rapidly,
his hand fumbling with the
box's contents. "Fishy," he
mumbles, his voice a
disjointed symphony of
half-thoughts. "Fishy, fishy."
Karen's heart squeezes.

He's talking to his mind,
she knows, to the jumble of
thoughts that have overtaken
his reality. The words are
nonsense, a random assortment
of sounds.

"Fishy?" He murmurs again,
his hand patting the floor.
"Fishy, bubblebox." His voice
trails off, lost in the fog
of his own thoughts.

Karen's heart is racing,
her mind trying to decode
his ramblings. She knows
his mind is searching, trying
to find the safety net of
his sensory world. "Yes, honey,"
she whispers, her voice a
soothing lullaby. "You're okay."

Plankton's eye rolls
back into his head, his
body going slack again.
The silence in the room is
deafening, a stark contrast
to the tumult inside her.
Karen's hand is a tremor
against his, willing him
back to reality. Chip watches,
his own thoughts racing, as
his mother's eyes dart to
Dr. Kelp for guidance.

The doctor's tentacles
move with a quiet
assurance, placing more
items around Plankton. "It's
normal," he whispers, his
voice a lifeline in the
storm of their fear. "His
mind is trying to find
his bearings."

"Where's," he mumbles, his
voice a distant whisper.
"So... many... Karen..."
His antennae twitch erratically,
his hand flailing in the
air as if trying to catch
invisible orbs. Karen's
heart is in her throat, her
eyes brimming with tears
as she watches his struggle.

"I'm here," she says, her
voice a soft caress, reaching
for his hand. "You're safe."
Her eyes plead with Dr. Kelp,
desperation etched in her
features. The doctor nods
reassuringly, his tentacles
moving with a gentle rhythm.
"We're home."

Plankton's eye moves
beneath the velvet, searching
for familiarity. "Home?"
He whispers, his voice
scratchy from disuse. "Where
am I?" The fear in his tone
makes Karen's heart ache.

"You're home, Plankton,"
she whispers back, her voice
soothing. "You're safe."
Her words are a gentle
reminder, a beacon in the
storm of his senses.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii viii

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

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM viii

(Autistic author)


Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly. "Game," he 
whispers, his voice 
shaking. "Just game."

Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow, 
his claws tense. "If it's 
just a game, then why 
are you acting so 
strange?" he snaps at
Plankton.

Plankton's antennas 
wobble with effort 
to maintain control.

"Because," he starts, his 
voice shaky, "Plankton... 
different."

Mr. Krabs stares at 
Sponge Bob, his 
expression unyielding. 
"Different?" he echoes, 
his eyes darting to 
Plankton, then back to 
his employee.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
voice trembling. "Yes, 
Mr. Krabs, Plankton's 
been through something 
that's changed him."
He looks at Karen for 
support, but she stays 
silent, her eyes 
reflecting a mix of 
concern and hope.

Mr. Krabs crosses his 
arms, his eyebrow 
quivering with skepticism. 
"What do you mean, 
changed him?" he asks.
"Is he trying to steal 
the Krabby Patty formular 
again?"

Sponge Bob's 
frustration rises. "No, 
Mr. Krabs," he says, 
his voice steady. "It's 
not like that. Plankton 
has... a condition."

Mr. Krabs' 
skepticism turns to 
curiosity. "Condition?" 
he repeats, his voice 
softer.

Sponge Bob nods, 
swallowing the lump 
in his throat. "He's 
been diagnosed with acquired
autism," he explains, 
his voice barely above 
a whisper.

Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, 
his mouth dropping open
as the words sink in.
He turns to Karen, his gaze 
demanding confirmation.
"Is it true?" he asks, 
his voice gruff.

Karen nods solemnly, 
her circuits flickering 
with a mix of 
sadness and hope.
"Yes," she says gently. 
"Plankton has 
an acquired 
form of autism."

Mr. Krabs' expression 
shifts from skepticism 
to shock. He looks 
at Plankton. 
"Autism?" he repeats, 
his voice barely above 
a murmur. "But... but 
how?"

Karen's LED lights 
dim slightly. "I don't
think he'd like to answer
that question" she says, 
her voice clinical. "It's 
caused a significant 
shift in his neural 
functioning."

Mr. Krabs' gaze 
remains on Plankton, 
his expression one 
of dawning 
understanding. "Was 
me fry pan..." he starts, 
his voice trailing off.

Plankton's antennas 
drop, and he 
nods slowly. "Yes," he 
whispers. "Krabs pan."

Mr. Krabs' face 
crumbles, his 
claws clenching into 
fists. "I didn't mean to," 
he stammers, his voice 
choking with regret. "I 
was just trying to keep 
me formular safe."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, his single eye 
welling with unshed 
tears.

Mr. Krabs' guilt is 
palpable, his eyes 
swimming with 
remorse. "I'm sorry, 
Plankton," he says 
hoarsely. "I had no idea."

But Plankton's gaze 
doesn't soften. His 
stare is unyielding, 
his voice cold.

"Sorry not enough," he says, 
his words clipped. 
"Hurt, Mr. Krabs 
hurt Plankton bad."

Mr. Krabs' heart squeezes 
at the accusation in 
Plankton's voice. He's 
never heard him speak 
like this before, with such 
raw emotion.

"I know," he says 
remorsefully, his 
voice cracking. "I know 
I hurt you, Plankton. I'm 
so, so sorry."

But Plankton's 
unforgiving gaze 
doesn't waver. "No," 
he insists, his voice 
still cold. "Not just sorry.
Mr. Krabs must understand."

Mr. Krabs nods, 
his eyes brimming with 
tears. "I do," he 
chokes out. "I understand.
What can I do to help?"

Plankton's antennas 
still don't move, his 
expression unreadable.

Mr. Krabs' reaches for
Plankton's shoulder.
That's the last straw.
With a burst of 
energy, Plankton 
pushes away the 
clawed hand. "No 
touch," he snaps, his 
voice cold. "Mr. Krabs 
not understand." His 
words are like shards of 
ice, each one cutting 
deeper into Mr. Krabs' 
guilt.

Mr. Krabs' face falls, 
his hand retreating 
quickly. "But I do," 
he insists, his voice 
desperate. "I swear, 
Plankton, I do."

But Plankton's 
expression remains 
stony, his antennas 
rigid. "No," he says 
simply. "Krabs don't." His 
voice is a knife, slicing 
through the tension 
in the room.

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
water, his heart 
heavy with regret. "I 
swear, Plankton," he 
pleads. "I'll do anything 
to make it right."

But Plankton's 
gaze remains 
steady, his 
unforgiving gaze 
bearing into Mr. 
Krabs' soul. "Make right?"
he echoes. "Cannot make 
right. Cannot change. Krabs
fault."

Mr. Krabs' shoulders 
sag with the weight 
of Plankton's words. 
He knows his rival is 
right; he can't reverse 
what's been done, 
no matter how much he 
wishes it. "But I want 
to help," he says 
desperately. "Please, tell 
me how..."

But Plankton's 
expression is a 
mask of coldness, 
his antennas unyielding. 
"Help?" he echoes, his 
voice dripping with 
skepticism. "Krabs 
can't help." His gaze 
slides to the 
discarded chessboard, 
his eyes lingering 
on the scattered 
pieces. "Too late."

Mr. Krabs' shoulders 
sag with the weight 
of Plankton's rejection. 
"Please," he says 
desperately. "I didn't 
know. I just want to 
make it better."

But Plankton's 
unforgiving gaze 
doesn't falter. His 
stare is a mirror 
reflecting Mr. Krabs' 
own guilt and regret. 
"Better?" he repeats, 
his voice devoid of 
emotion. "Cannot be.
No cure. Just stop."

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
well with tears, his 
heart aching with 
the pain of his 
mistake. "But I want 
to fix it," he says 
pleadingly. "I want to 
make it right."

But Plankton's gaze 
doesn't soften. "No fix," 
he says flatly. "Cannot 
change what is." His 
single eye seems to 
bore into Mr. Krabs, 
his voice unyielding.
"Krabs hurt Plankton. 
Krabs must live with."

Mr. Krabs hangs 
his head, his 
shoulders heaving with 
sobs. "I'm sorry," he 
whispers, his voice 
breaking. "I'll do anything."

But Plankton 
simply shakes his 
head, his antennas 
still. "Cannot change," 
he murmurs. "Must live 
with." His eye are 
empty, devoid of the 
malicious spark that 
once fueled his quest 
for the Krabby Patty 
formula. Normally
Plankton would love to 
cause such a reaction
out of Mr. Krabs.

Mr. Krabs' 
sobs grow louder, his 
guilt consuming him. 
"But I didn't mean 
to," he wails. "It was 
just a mistake."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly. "Mistake," 
he echoes, his voice 
still cold. "Mistake 
not enough." His eye 
are unrelenting, his 
stare piercing through 
Mr. Krabs' soul. "You hurt 
me," he says, his 
words a quiet thunder 
clap in the tense silence. 
"Mistake changed me."

Mr. Krabs looks up, 
his eyes red with tears. 
"I know," he says, his 
voice thick with regret. "I 
know I hurt you, Plankton. 
Yet I didn't know how bad..."

But Plankton's 
expression is one of 
resentment, his antennas 
twitching with anger. 
"Hurt," he says, his 
voice cold. "Krabs hurt 
Plankton. Krabs must 
understand." His gaze 
doesn't waver from Mr. 
Krabs, his accusation 
hangs in the air like a 
heavy fog.

Mr. Krabs' sobs 
quiet, his eyes 
swimming with regret. 
He opens his mouth to 
speak, but the words 
catch in his throat. 
"I do underst--"

"No," Plankton 
interrupts, his 
voice like a whip. "You 
don't." His antennas 
wave with agitation, 
his eye flashing with 
a cold fire. "You don't 
understand pain." His 
words are sharp, 
cutting through Mr. 
Krabs' protests.

Mr. Krabs' 
expression falls, his 
claws trembling. "I 
see that now," he 
whispers, his voice 
racked with emotion. "But 
what can I do?" His 
desperation is clear, 
his eyes searching Plankton's 
face for any sign of 
forgiveness. "I'd even give
you a krabby patty.."

But Plankton's 
expression doesn't 
change. His antennas 
remain rigid, his eye 
still cold. "Krabby 
Patty not fix," he says 
simply. "Cannot fix 
brain." His voice is 
matter-of-fact, his 
tone unyielding.

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
widen, his hope 
dashed. "But I'll do 
anything," he insists, 
his voice desperate.

But Plankton's 
unforgiving gaze 
remains unmoved. 
"Anything?" he repeats, 
his tone mocking. "Can 
you give me back my 
mind?" His antennas 
wave in frustration.
"Do leave, Krabs. Can
leave."

Mr. Krabs' 
expression falls, his 
claws hanging limp at 
his sides. "But Plankton," 
he begs. "We can work 
together, I can help 
you get better."

But Plankton's 
face is a wall of 
coldness, his antennas 
waving with anger. 
"No better," he says 
firmly. "Only live 
now." His words are a 
reflection of the stark 
reality that Mr. 
Krabs had ignored.

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
fill with tears, his 
claws clutching at 
his chest. "I hurt you 
so badly, Plankton. But I 
can't live with this," 
he sobs.

"I know Krabs sorry now.
Yet I last registered Krabs
laughter as I fainted from
the impact. Even if Krabs
didn't mean to, Krabs did.
So goodbye, Eugene Krabs."

The room grew silent as
the gravity of Plankton's words
settled heavily upon Mr. Krabs.
He hadn't considered that his
foolishness could lead to such
a profound change in his rival.

Mr. Krabs looked at Plankton,
his eyes brimming with
desperation. "If I can go back
and sacrifice my life to..."

"Can't. Perhaps can find peace
but for now, goodbye."

The finality in Plankton's voice
was a slap to Mr. Krabs' face,
his hope crumbling like
sand through his claws.
He staggered back, his
eyes wide with shock.

Sponge Bob's heart ached,
his hands clenched into fists
at his sides as he watched
the exchange unfold.
He knew Mr. Krabs was 
suffering, but he couldn't 
ignore the pain in 
Plankton's voice either.

Mr. Krabs' sobs grew 
louder, his body 
shaking with the weight 
of his guilt. "Please, 
Plankton," he begged.

But Plankton's gaze 
remained on the 
chessboard, his 
hands tracing the 
pattern of the 
squares, his antennas 
were still, his body 
a statue of cold 
resolve.

Mr. Krabs' sobs 
turned to sniffs as 
he took in Plankton's 
unyielding stance. He 
knew his rival well 
and he could see 
the deep-seated pain 
that lay beneath the 
surface of his words. 
With a heavy heart, he 
nodded. "I'll let ye
space then. I never wanted
to lose ye."

Plankton turns away.

Mr. Krabs' eyes grew 
large with sadness, his 
body quivering with 
the weight of his 
mistakes. "SpongeBob 
I'll give ye time off work as
long as you need to when for
Plankton. Goodbye, 
Plankton," he choked out.
He left the chum bucket.

new a journey to autism plabscore viii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY viii


(Autistic author)



Just as quiet settled, 
Krabs' booming voice filled
the room. "Plankton,
where are ye!"

Plankton's eye flew open.
Sponge Bob and Karen exchanged
a worried look, knowing that
Mr. Krabs' presence could
easily overwhelm him, not to
mention Krabs caused this.

Krabs marched in, his
beady eyes searching the room.
"Ah, there ye be," he said,
spotting the small figure on
the couch.

Plankton's antennae shot
up, his body tensing. "K-Krabs,"
he stuttered, his voice
shaking with fear and anxiety
despite trying to appear strong.

Mr. Krabs' eyes
twinkling with mischief. "What's
this, Plankton? Too tired to
scheme today?"

Plankton's antennae twitched
nervously. "Just... resting," he
managed to murmur. 

"Resting?
In the middle of the day?
Pish-posh!" He waved a dismissive
claw in the air. "More
like plotting! I know your
tricks, Plankton!"

Sponge Bob stepped in, his
spongy body blocking Krabs'
view. "Hey, Mr. Krabs," he said.
"Plankton's had a rough day. He's
just taking it easy."

Krabs' claws click together. "Rough
day, eh?" he sneered. "I'll give
ye rough!"

Plankton's antennae drooped as
his heart raced. The familiar
threat of his enemy was like
a knot in his stomach, a
reminder of the harsh world
outside his sanctuary, and
what happened last time.

Sponge Bob's voice grew firm.
"Mr. Krabs, can we maybe talk
about this later?"

Mr. Krabs' eyes widened slightly
at the unusual assertion.
"Later? What's the matter with
now?"

Sponge Bob's gaze never left
Plankton's trembling form.
"Plankton's off the clock.."

"Off the clock?" he scoffed.
"There's no 'off the clock'!"

Sponge Bob stepped closer to
his friend, his spongy body a
barrier between the two
adversaries. "Mr. Krabs," he said,
his voice firm, "Can we
reschedule the... uh...
brainstorming session?"

Mr. Krabs' expression grew
skeptical. 

Karen stepped forward, her voice
calm but firm. "Krabs, please.
Plankton's been through a lot."

Mr. Krabs' eyes flicked to
Karen. "Pah!
Plankton's always had boundaries,
but that's never stopped before!"

Plankton's antennae quivered
desperately, tensing
even further. "Please, Krabs,"
he murmured, his voice barely
above a whisper. "Can't."

Mr. Krabs' eyes narrowed, his
claws coming to rest on his
hip. "What do you mean, 'can't'?"
he demanded.

Sponge Bob's voice was firm but
kind. "Mr. Krabs, Plankton's
been diagnosed with something.
It's like a... a... special
condition," he stumbled.

Mr. Krabs' beady eyes narrowed,
sneer remaining. "Special condition?
I'll give ye a special condition!" 

The room grew tense, the
energy palpable. Plankton's antennae
twitched rapidly, his body shrinking
under the weight of Mr. Krabs'
aggression. The memories of the
fight and the subsequent meltdown
flashed through his mind, a painful
reminder of his vulnerability.

Mr. Krabs' shadow loomed over the
couch, his eyes gleaming with
malice. Plankton's breathing grew
shallow, his heart racing. He felt
like a tiny creature trapped under
the gaze of a giant predator. "Please,"
he whimpered, his voice barely
audible.

Sponge Bob stepped in front of
Plankton, his spongy body taut with
tension. "Mr. Krabs," he said, his
tone firm, "Plankton's not ok.
You need to back off."

Mr. Krabs' sneer faltered, his
claws pausing mid-air. He took a
step back, his eyes widening
slightly as he took in Plankton's
state. The small creature's
eye was wide with fear, his
body trembling beneath the
thin blanket.

Sponge Bob watched, his heart
breaking for his friend. "Mr.
Krabs," he said, his voice firm but
not unkind. "What happened
between you two really affected
Plankton. He's been diagnosed
with autism because of it."

Mr. Krabs' expression shifted,
his eyes going wide with shock.
He took another step back, his
claws dropping to his sides. "What?
Autism?" he echoed, his voice
filled with disbelief.

Karen stepped closer. "Yes
Krabs," she said, her voice calm
and patient. "The doctor said
it's a result of the head
injury he sustained during
your fight."

Mr. Krabs' face paled, his
claws dropping to his sides.
"I... I," he stammered, bravado gone.

The room was silent, the weight
of his words hanging heavy in the
air. Karen's unforgiving. Sponge 
Bob watched, his heart heavy with 
hope that his boss might understand.

Mr. Krabs' eyes grew wide with horror
as the realization sank in. The
thought that he could have
caused such harm to his longtime
nemesis was to much to bear. He
swallowed hard, his chest
constricting with guilt.

He looked at Plankton, really
looked at him, for the first time
seeing the fear and pain in
his eye. Plankton
was trembling, his antennae
quivering with each shallow
breath he took.

Mr. Krabs took another step
back, his chest heaving. "Autism?"
he repeated. "Because
of me?"

The room was a silent
witness to the crab's
self-realization. The booming
voice that had so often
filled the Chum Bucket with
threats and taunts was now
just a faint echo of
regret.

Mr. Krabs stared at
Plankton, his beady eyes
shimmering with a
mixture of horror and guilt.
He had never seen the tiny
plankton look so vulnerable,
so broken. It was a stark
contrast to the scheming
genius he had always known.

"I-I..." he
stuttered, his claws
trembling as he struggled
to comprehend the gravity of
his actions.

Karen stepped forward, her
voice firm but measured. 
"The doctor said it's
because of the trauma to his
brain you inflicted. It's all
because of you! You did it."

Mr. Krabs' eyes widened even
further, and he took another
step back. "But... but, I
was just defending the Krabby
Patty!" he protested weakly.

Sponge Bob's gaze was steady
on his boss. "It's more than
that, Mr. Krabs. It's
irreversible with no cure."

Mr. Krabs' face fell, the
implications of his actions
finally sinking in. The
magnitude of his recklessness
was clear, and he couldn't help
but feel a pang of remorse. "What
can I do?" he asked, his voice
small and desperate.

Karen's gaze was steely. "You
can start by giving him space.
And maybe, just maybe, by being
kind for once in your life."

Mr. Krabs looked down at his
claws, which had been poised
for battle, now hanging limply at
his sides. He nodded slowly,
his eyes still on Plankton.

"I'm sorry, Plankton," he said,
his voice gruff. "I never
meant to hurt ye like this."

Plankton's antennae stilled. He
wasn't sure what to make of
Mr. Krabs' sudden apology. His
eye searched the crab's face.

"Mr. Krabs," he began, his voice
still small but growing stronger.
"I know Krabs didn't mean to... to
make me like this." His antennae
twitched slightly as he spoke.

Mr. Krabs' expression grew
soft, his eyes misting with tears.
"But I can't take it back," he
whispered, the weight of his
guilt heavy on his shoulders.

Suddenly, Plankton's tiny hand
reached out, tentatively taking
Mr. Krabs' large claw in his grip.
The gesture was unexpected,
his antennae quivering with the
effort of reaching out despite
his fear. It was a silent
offering of peace, a bridge
over the chasm of their rivalry.

Mr. Krabs looked down at their
joined hands with
surprise. The warmth of
Plankton's touch was a stark
contrast to the coldness of his
own heart, a reminder that
despite their differences, they
were all just creatures trying
to navigate a complex world.
The room held its breath as
Mr. Krabs felt the tremble in
Plankton's grip, a silent
plea for understanding and
compassion. It was a moment of
unexpected connection, a
reminder that even the most
bitter of enemies could find
common ground in pain and
suffering.

Mr. Krabs' eyes grew wet with
tears, his hardened exterior
cracking like a shell under the
pressure of his guilt. "I'm sorry,"
he murmured, his voice thick
with emotion.

Plankton's antennae twitched as
he processed the crab's words.
He knew Mr. Krabs was capable of
empathy, but rarely did it show.
This was a side of him he had
never seen before, and it was as
overwhelming as it was comforting.

"Thank you," he murmured, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Mr. Krabs nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton's hand in
his claw. He took a deep
breath, the weight of his
apology heavy on his chest. "I'll
leave you be," he said, his
voice gruff with emotion.

Plankton's antennae remained
still, his grip on Mr. Krabs'
clawed hand lingering in the
air for a moment before he
slowly withdrew it, his mind
reeling from the exchange.
Sponge Bob and Karen watched,
their expressions a mix of shock
and hope.

Mr. Krabs nodded, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's. He knew
that words alone wouldn't
erase the pain he had caused,
but it was a start. He took a
step back, his shoulders
slumped with the weight of his
newfound understanding. "I'll
leave you to rest," he said,
his voice gruff but sincere.

Plankton's antennae quivered with
relief, and he nodded slightly.

Mr. Krabs turned to leave, his
steps heavy as he moved
toward the door. But before
he could exit, Plankton's voice
stopped him. "Mr. Krabs," he
called out, his tone firm but
not unkind.

Mr. Krabs paused, his claw
on the doorknob. He looked back
over his shoulder, his expression
a mix of hope and fear.

Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly as he gathered his
thoughts. "I... I forgive you," he
managed to say, his voice
surprisingly steady.

Mr. Krabs' eyes widened in shock,
his claw frozen on the
doorknob. He had never expected
such words to come from
his enemy's lips, especially not
now, in the aftermath of such a
life-altering revelation.

He turned to face Plankton, his
expression a tumult of emotions.
"You... forgive me?" he whispered,
his voice hoarse with
disbelief.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. "If you can change,"
he said, his voice firm but not
unyielding. "Be better."

Mr. Krabs' gaze searched
Plankton's face, his own
expression a mirror of the
plankton's. "I'll try," he said,
his voice thick with emotion.

Plankton's antennae drooped in
a gesture of defeat. "Just try,"
he murmured. "That's all I ask."

new autism in the plankton family plabscore viii

CHIP IN MY BOX x
(Autistic author)


Plankton's gaze shifts to
his son, the weight of his
own fear reflected in Chip's
wet eyes. "You
have to understand," he
says, "my box is special."

Karen's eyes are filled with
love as she looks at her
husband, her heart breaking
for the pain he's in. "It's
his safe place," she explains,
her voice gentle. "When the
world gets too much for
his brain, it's his way of
finding calm."

Chip nods, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's face.
He can see the exhaustion
etched in his father's features,
a stark contrast to the usual
energy that fuels his inventions.
"I didn't know," he whispers,
his voice thick with regret.

"I know, buddy," Plankton says,
his antennae drooping slightly.
"But it's important you do now."
He takes a deep breath, his
body visibly relaxing as he
reaches for the new fidgets.
"This box," he says, his voice
weak but determined, "it's what
keeps me grounded."

He picks up a small, indestructible
worry stone, his eye focused
on the smooth surface.
"When I'm overwhelmed, when
the world's too loud, too bright,
this is where I need." He shows
Chip the stone, his eye meeting
his son's with a silent plea
for understanding.

Chip nods, his hand reaching
for the stone. "I'll be more
careful," he whispers, his voice
a promise. "I won't mess it
again." His eyes are wide with
sincerity, a silent vow to protect
his father's sanctuary.

Plankton's antennae twitch, a
tiny smile playing on his lips.
"Thank you," he murmurs, his
voice a gentle wave. "It's not
just about the box, though.
It's about understanding
how my brain works."

Karen nods, her hand
squeezing his gently. "We'll
learn together," she says, her
voice a soft promise. "We'll
make sure it doesn't happen again."

The room is a tableau of
understanding and regret,
each person feeling the
weight of the moment.
Chip's eyes are glued to
his father's, the gravity
of the situation sinking
in. "I'm sorry," he whispers,
his voice a gentle ripple.

Plankton's smile is a small
wave of forgiveness. 
He looks at Karen, his eye
shimmering with gratitude.
"Thank you," he murmurs, "for
always being there."

The doctor's tentacles move
slowly, placing the final
item in the sensory box.
"We're all learning," he says,
his voice a gentle reminder.
"It's a journey, not a
destination." He looks at
Chip, his gaze filled with
understanding. "And you're
doing a good job, buddy. I'll
be going. He might seem to
regress this week, which is
normal. I also gave you multiple
sets of the same box just in case."

Karen nods, her eyes
following the doctor's
movements. "Thank you,
Dr. Kelp." She says. The doctor
nods before exiting, the door
clicking shut behind him.

The room feels smaller
now, the air thick with
understanding and love.
Plankton's hand shakes as
he places the worry stone
back into the box, his
eye visibly tired.

"Let's get you back to bed,"
Karen says. She helps
Plankton to his feet, his
body leaning heavily into
hers. Chip watches, his own
guilt heavy.

"I want to stay with Dad,"
he says, his voice a soft
plea. Karen looks down at him,
her eyes filled with love and
understanding. "Of course,"
she murmurs, her hand on his
head. "Let's go."

They help Plankton into
his room. Chip climbs into
his father's bed.
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye searching for the
comfort of his son's presence.

"I want to stay with you,"
Chip whispers. "To make sure you're okay."
Plankton's expression is a
storm of emotions, but he
nods. "You can,"
he murmurs, his voice a gentle
wave. "But no more peeking
or prodding."

Karen helps Plankton into
his bed. Chip climbs
in too.

The bed dips with their
combined weight, but Plankton
doesn't protest. He's too tired
to fight. Karen tucks
them both in, the blanket a
comforting pressure.

Chip's eyes are on his
father.
"Dad," he whispers, his voice
a soft ripple. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's eye closes. "It's
okay, buddy," he murmurs.
"But you need to understand,
my box is my sanctuary."

Chip nods. "I won't do it
again, I just wanted to know
what it was."

Plankton's antennae twitch, a
sign of his own internal struggle.
"I know," he says, his voice
weary. "But it's important that
you respect my space."

Karen watches them from
the doorway, her heart
swollen with love and a
tiny sliver of sadness. She
knows the journey ahead won't
be easy, but she's determined
to make it better for her
family.

"Goodnight, you two," she says,
her voice gentle. She
bends down to kiss Plankton
on the forehead, her hand
resting on Chip's shoulder. "If
you need anything," she adds,
looking at Chip, "you know
where to find me."

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving his father's face. He
understands now, the gravity
of Plankton's condition
sinking in. "I won't," he
promises, his voice a quiet
wave of determination. "I'll be
right here."

Karen's eyes fill with
gratitude as she watches
her son, his bravery a
testament to their bond. "Good
night," she murmurs, her
voice a soft caress as she
closes the door.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii x

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY viii
(Autistic author)

After SpongeBob and Patrick left
Plankton settled for his usual movie 
night. Karen took this time to call 
Sandy, her best friend, a gal pal.

"Sandy, it's Karen," she said, her voice trembling 
slightly. "I need to talk to you about something."

On the other end of the line, Sandy's voice was 
warm and concerned. "Howdy! What's going on
Karen?"

"It's Plankton," Karen began. "He's... changed."

Sandy's voice grew serious. "What happened
Karen?"

"Plankton had an accident," she said, her voice 
shaking. "He hit his head and... well, the doctors 
say he has autism now, and I thought I'd let you know."

Sandy's voice was calm and understanding. "Oh
Karen," she said. "I'm so sorry to hear that. How's 
he handling it?"

Karen sighed heavily. "It's been... a lot," she admitted. 
"He's so focused on jellyfish now, and it's like nothing 
else matters. It's his whole world."

"Wow, that's quite a change," Sandy said, her voice filled 
with empathy. "How's he been with social interactions?"

"Well, that's the thing," she said. "He's been... different. Sometimes, 
it's like he's in his own little world. And other times, like with Patrick, 
he's just... really sensitive."

"Patrick?" Sandy's voice was incredulous. "Patrick made fun of him?"

"Well, not exactly. He just didn't understand," she explained. 
"He said jellyfish were boring, and it really hurt Plankton's 
feelings. The neurodivergence is irreversible, and he's still Plankton."

Sandy's voice was filled with understanding. "But it sounds like he's 
found something that brings him a lot of joy."

"Yeah," Karen agreed, her tentacles relaxing slightly. "But it's hard 
to watch him struggle, you know?"

Sandy's voice was gentle. "I can imagine, Karen. But remember
he's still the same Plankton at heart."

The next day, Sandy arrived at the Chum Bucket, her burly squirrel 
arms holding a treasure trove of various miniature jellyfish figurines. 
She'd spent hours scouring the deepest parts of the ocean for the 
rarest and most detailed jellyfish models she could find. "Hi, Karen!" 
she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

Karen's eyes lit up at the sight of her friend. "Sandy, what's all this?" 
she asked, her tentacles waving in curiosity.

"I heard about Plankton's newfound love for jellyfish," Sandy said 
with a grin, her cheeks red with the excitement of her discovery. "And 
I thought these might help him feel more connected. Where is he?" 
Sandy comes in.

Plankton's sitting in the corner, his jellyfish book open on the floor 
in front of him, surrounded by a sea of scribbled notes and diagrams. 
His gaze didn't leave the page, but his posture straightened at the sound of a 
new presence in the room.

"Plankton," Karen called gently, "Look who's here!"

Plankton's antennae shot up as he looked over at Sandy, his 
eye widening at the sight of a box.

"These are for you," Sandy said, setting the box down in front of him.

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he looked up, his 
monotone voice cracking slightly. "For Plankton?"

Sandy nodded, her smile genuine. "I thought they might make you happy," she 
said, her voice gentle. "They're all different types of jellyfish. Each is unique 
and special, just like you."

Plankton's antennae twitched with excitement as he reached for the box, his 
eye scanning its contents. "Jellyfish," he murmured, his monotone voice filled 
with wonder. "Thanks"

Sandy watched as Plankton carefully removed each figurine, his eye lighting 
up with each new discovery. "You're welcome," she said, her voice warm. "I 
wanted to do something to support you in your newfound passion."

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he examined each jellyfish.
"These are... amazing," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with awe.

Sandy chuckled, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "I'm so glad 
you like them," she said, watching him closely. "They're from all over 
the ocean. Some of them are pretty rare."

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he examined each 
figure. "Rare," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a new
found enthusiasm. "Rare jellyfish."

Sandy nodded, her eyes bright. "Yeah, 
some of them are," she said, her 
voice filled with excitement. "Do you 
have a favorite type?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as he thought. "Turritopsis dohrnii," he 
murmured. "The immortal jellyfish. It can revert back to its polyp stage 
and start its life cycle again."

Sandy's eyes widened. "Wow, Plankton," she said, impressed. "That's 
really cool."

Plankton looked up from the box, his antennae waving slightly. "You know 
jellyfish?" he asked, his voice monotone yet filled with hope.

Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "A bit," 
she said, her tail swishing with 
excitement. "But I'd love to learn more 
from an expert like you."

Plankton's antennae quivered with a hint of pride. "Expert," he murmured, his 
monotone voice cracking slightly.

Sandy sat down next to him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell me more 
about them," she urged, her voice gentle.

Plankton's antennae perked up, and he began to speak with a newfound 
energy. "Turritopsis dohrnii," he recited, his monotone voice cracking with 
excitement. "It's a jellyfish that can live forever. If it's injured or stressed, it 
goes back to being a polyp. It's like a rebirth."

Sandy leaned closer, her eyes wide with fascination. "Really?" she said, her voice 
filled with wonder. "That's incredible!"

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "Yes," he murmured, his monotone 
voice growing more animated. "Immortal jellyfish can survive forever. 
Plankton read in book."

Sandy's eyes grew wide with amazement. 
"That's so fascinating, Plankton," she 
said, her voice filled with 
genuine interest. "How do they do that?"

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "When Turritopsis dohrnii is 
hurt, it goes back to polyp," he said, holding up a tiny figurine of the species. 
"Polyp is like jellyfish baby, but it's not baby. It's just jellyfish in different shape."

Sandy nodded, her eyes glued to the miniature figures as Plankton spoke. "That's 
so amazing," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "I've never heard of anything 
like that before."

"Jellyfish are fascinating," Plankton murmured, his antennae waving slightly as 
he picked up another figurine. "This one," he said, holding up a mini model of a 
clear jellyfish, "is called a Burgessomedusa phasmiformis."

Sandy's eyes lit up. "It's like a ghost jellyfish," she said, her voice filled 
with excitement. "I've read about these!"

"Yes," Plankton murmured, his monotone voice cracking with pride. "They're 
very rare and very beautiful."

Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. 
"They are," she agreed, reaching for one of 
the figurines. "How did you learn 
so much about jellyfish?"

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly 
as he paused in his examination 
of the ghostly jellyfish. "Plankton read 
book," he murmured.

Sandy nodded, her eyes still 
on the delicate figurine. "What 
else?" she 
asked, her voice filled 
with genuine curiosity.

Plankton's antennae quivered as he searched his memory. "Book say... that 
jellyfish are ancient creatures, with some species over 500 million years old."

Sandy's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Wow, Plankton," she said, her voice 
filled with admiration. "You really know your stuff. Can I ask a question?"

Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with excitement. "Question," he 
murmured.

Sandy took a deep breath, her eyes 
on the book. "What was the accident, 
Plankton?" she asked gently. "How 
did you hit your head?"

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly, 
the excitement draining from 
his voice. "Krabs," he murmured, his 
monotone cracking. "Mr. Krabs. Angry."

"What happened, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as he looked up at Sandy, his 
eye wide with the memory. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his 
monotone voice filled with a sudden urgency. "Mr. Krabs 
slammed cash register on Plankton's head, then Plankton 
woke up in hospital."

Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes filled with concern. "Oh
Plankton," she said, her voice gentle.

"Woke up," he murmured. "In hospital. Everything different."

Karen looked at him, her expression gentle. "What do you remember?"

Plankton paused, antennae quivering 
as he tried to piece together 
the jumbled memories. "Car," he 
murmured finally. "Long ride."

"The hospital," Karen said, stroking his back gently. "You were in a 
hospital for a bit after the accident."

Plankton's antennae twitched as he nodded, his monotone 
voice cracking. "Yes, hospital," he murmured. "Doctors talked, 
but Plankton didn't understand."

Sandy leaned in, her eyes filled with sympathy. "They told you 
about your autism?" she asked softly.

Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Karen said it's why 
Plankton thinks differently," he murmured.

Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with empathy. "It's okay to think 
differently, Plankton," she said.

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "Different," he murmured, his 
monotone voice filled with a hint of confusion. "But... Plankton good 
at jellyfish."

Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "You are," she 
said, her voice firm. "And that's something amazing. Your brain 
works in ways that let you understand jellyfish better than anyone 
else."

Plankton looked at her, his antennae perking up slightly. "Better 
than anyone?" he asked, his monotone voice 
filled with a hint of doubt.

"Absolutely," Sandy said, her voice firm. 

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore viii

︵⁹🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️︵⁹

new 9 ⁹ nueve nine ninth ix

⟢⸝ﾒ

new sparkle shine x combo cute twinkle dazzle

❌🎭

new x mask

JUST A TOUCH x
(Autistic author)


SpongeBob rushes over, his
face a mask of worry. "You okay,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.
But Plankton can't answer. His
body is rigid, his eye unfocused.

Squidward's tentacle retreats,
his expression a mix of shock
and confusion. "What's going
on?" he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob's eyes are wide
with concern. "Hello?"
Plankton doesn't
even blink, his eye
remains unseeing, his body a statue
to the chaos around him.

Squidward, still holding
the dish, watches with a mix of
fear and confusion. "What's
happening to him?"

Sponge Bob's heart races as he
sees his friend frozen. "Hey,
Plankton," he says. "It's just a party."
But the words fall on deaf
ears—or rather, one deaf eye.

Plankton's antennae remain
still, his body rigid. The room's
chaos has ceased to exist for
him, lost in the vacuum of his
seizure.

Sponge Bob's voice, usually
so boisterous, is now a gentle
whisper. "Plankton?" he says,
his hand hovering over his
friend.

Squidward, his eyes wide,
stammers. "Is he...? Is he
okay, or?"

It's something that
has to run its course,
which of course neither
Squidward nor Sponge
Bob realize.

Squidward's tentacle
shakes Plankton gently,
his voice filled with
concern. "Plankton?" he
repeats, his tone softer
now. Plankton's antennae
remain still, his body a
statue in the bustling
kitchen. The dish clatter
fades to background
noise, the laughter from
the party a distant echo.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes,
his eyes never leaving
Plankton's unseeing gaze.
He's seen his friend in
tough spots before, but
this... this is something
new, something scary.
He takes a deep breath, his
thumbs tucked into his
pockets as he tries to
think. What do you do?
What helps when someone
you care about is stuck in
this kind of loop or what
ever this is...

Squidward, usually so quick
to snap and complain, is
silent, his tentacles
poised but not moving.
He watches, his eyes flicking
between the unmoving Plankton
and SpongeBob.

The room's cacophony fades
away as the realization hits
them—Plankton's in trouble.
Sponge Bob's smile is gone,
replaced with a furrowed brow
and a quivering bottom lip.

Squidward, still holding the
now forgotten plate, feels a
pang of guilt. He'd seen the
stress in Plankton's antennae,
heard the urgency in his
voice, but had dismissed it.
Now he's not sure what to do.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body tense with
worry. He's seen Plankton
upset before, but never like
this. "I think we should set him
down," he suggests, his voice
barely a whisper. "On the floor.."

They gently lower Plankton
to the cool tiles, his body
unyielding. Squidward sets the
dish aside, his tentacles
shaking slightly. "What do we do?"
he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, his heart
pounding in his chest. He's seen
his friend in tough spots before,
but this... this is something
else entirely.

Squidward, his tentacles still
shaking, stammers. "What do we do?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.
They both know Plankton isn't okay.

Sponge Bob takes a deep breath,
his eyes never leaving Plankton's
motionless form. "Get Karen. Now."

Squidward nods, his tentacles
moving in a blur as he rushes
to find her. The party's music
thumps in the background, a stark
contrast to the silence of the kitchen
where Plankton sits. Sponge Bob
kneels beside him, his hand hovering
over Plankton's shoulder, unsure of
what to do next. His heart races
as he watches his friend's chest
rise and fall in the rhythm of a silent
symphony only Plankton can hear.

Karen looks up at the sound
of Squidward running in.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her
voice filled with alarm.
Squidward's tentacles flap
wildly. "It's Plankton! He's...
he's just... not moving!"

Karen's eyes widen, and she
rushes into the restaurant,
Squidward's words echoing in
her mind. Plankton sits on
the floor, his body unnaturally
still, his antennae drooping.
Her heart skips a beat as she
sees his vacant gaze. She
recognizes the signs—this is
the second time she's seen
an absence seizure take hold
of him.

She kneels beside Sponge Bob,
whose expression is a mix of
fear and confusion.

"He's having a seizure," Karen
whispers, her voice a calming
breeze in the chaotic kitchen.
Her hand, now gentle and firm,
guides Plankton's head to the
floor. "He'll wake up.
We've got to keep him safe."

Sponge Bob nods, his eyes
wide with concern. He's seen
his friend in tough spots before,
but this... this is something
beyond his usual quirks. Plankton's
tiny body is a stark contrast
to the monstrous fear gripping
his heart.

The kitchen is a blur of
movement around them, but Karen's
calm presence brings a semblance
of order. She takes over,
her movements precise.

"Don't touch him," she says,
her voice a gentle command. "Just
let it run its course."
Squidward nods, his tentacles
still, his eyes on Plankton.
Sponge Bob's face is a mask of
worry, his eyes never leaving
his friend's unresponsive form.

Mr. Krabs' beady eyes narrow,
his voice a gruff whisper.
"What's going on?"

Karen's voice is calm,
but her heart races. "It's okay,"
she says, her hand resting
on Plankton's back. "It's just
a part of his new... condition."

Mr. Krabs' expression
softens, his eyes flicking
from Plankton to Karen. "Is
he going to be okay?"

"Yes," Karen says firmly,
her hand still on Plankton's
back. "It's just a seizure.
They can happen with... his
autism..."

Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, but
his expression quickly morphs
into something more thoughtful.
"I see," he says, his voice
lowered. "I had no idea."

"He got a brain injury,
Mr. Krabs," Karen says.
"Yesterday, in an accident.."

Mr. Krabs nods, his gaze
on Plankton's unmoving form.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice
genuine. "What happened?"

Karen swallows, her eyes
welling with tears. "They said it's
Acquired Autism. It's like
his brain got... rewired."
Her hand strokes Plankton's back
soothingly. "He's the same, but
different."

Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his
claws clenching. "Well, we'll
make do," he says gruffly. "This
is still the same Plankton who
tried to steal the Krabby Patty
formula, right?"

Karen's eyes flash with a
mix of anger and protectiveness.
"Yes," she says firmly. "But
now he needs our help. And our
understanding. He hasn't mentioned
it once since.."

Her voice trails off as Plankton's
eye flickers.

Slowly, his antennae
unfreeze, twitching slightly.
The world starts to come back into
focus, the colors and sounds
gradually seeping back into his
consciousness. Sponge Bob's hand
is still hovering over him, his
face a canvas of relief and
uncertainty.

"Plankton?" Sponge Bob
whispers, his voice tentative.
Plankton's eye blinks once,
twice, and he looks around,
his gaze landing on Squidward.

Squidward's tentacles are
still, his expression a mix
of fear and confusion. Plankton
slowly sits up, his antennae
twitching as he takes in the scene.
The dish is forgotten, the
need for order lost in the fog
of his seizure.

"Welcome back," Sponge Bob
says, his voice a mix of relief
and anxiety. Plankton's antennae
wave slightly as he looks around,
his gaze settling on the plate
still in Squidward's tentacle.
"It's okay," Karen says gently,
her hand resting on his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae twitch as
his brain reboots, trying to
process the scene before him.
"Dishes," he murmurs, his voice
still flat.

Squidward watches him, his
tentacle hovering over the sink.
"Let me handle this," he says,
his voice apologetic. "You... you just
take it easy."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. The chaos of the kitchen
fades away as he focuses on
his friend's kindness. "Thank you,"
he whispers, his voice a soft
echo of its former self. "All of you.."

new just a touch neurodisability x

petition to make this an app!!
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

❌

new x letter

／　　𝓷ame　　、        name　　𝜗𝜚
initials/extra　　✦ 𓂃        extra.      ノ
𓏵　　link/carrd/rentry/xtra     

new 6lueblaze discord bio star layout about me ribbon x supernova night sky nova sun

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY x
(Autistic author)

"Jellyfish... help Plankton think."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The group walked back to the Chum Bucket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

new a life of diversity x

CATCH IN MY CHIP x
(Autistic author)

♡. ᴏᴠᴇʀsᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀs ..

Plankton's gaze is
unfocused, lost in the
storm. His body is rigid, his
muscles tense like coils
ready to spring. The room
spins, the colors a blur
Karen's fear a tangible
entity in the room.

Her hand on his cheek is a
plea, a gentle reminder that
she's there, that he's not alone.
"Look at me," she whispers, her
voice a soft mantra. "You're safe."
But he doesn't hear her, not
really. He's too lost in the
sensory hurricane that
engulfs him.

Karen races as she
watches the man she loves
drift further away, his mind
trapped in the labyrinth
of his own making. She's
seen this before, the way his
autism can swallow him whole,
leaving only the shell of a man
behind. But this time is
different. This time, there's
Chip, waking up to
his dad's struggle.

Her eyes dart from Plankton's
panicked gaze to their son's
sleepy face, the innocence
in his expression a stark
contrast to the chaos in her
husband's eye. She knows
she must act fast, to
protect them both from
the storm.

With a gentle touch, she
lifts Chip's hand from Plankton's
arm, her movements as soft as
a leaf landing on a pond.
Chip stirs, his eyes fluttering
open to meet hers. The
concern in her gaze is a
question he doesn't understand,
but he accidentally brushes his
dad's shoulder as he sits up..

Plankton's body jerks, his
single eye rolling back in his
head. The room goes dark, the
colors swirling into a void.
The ringing in his ears is
deafening. Karen's hand is a flash,
catching him.

Her arms wrap around him,
supporting his weight as
his body goes limp. Chip's eyes
are wide with fear, his hand
suddenly empty. "Daddy?"
he whispers, the word a
prayer in the quiet.

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, her hand
checking for a pulse. She
feels the steady throb of
life beneath her fingertips,
relief flooding her veins.

"Daddy?" Chip's voice is a
whisper of fear, his hand
reaching out to touch his 
father's arm, but Karen
stops him.

"Let him be," she says, her
tone firm. "He needs space."
Her eyes are on Plankton,
watching for any sign of
returning consciousness.
The room is a tomb of
silence, the only sound
their mingled breaths.

Chip nods, his eyes wide
with worry. He can see the
fear in his mother's gaze,
feel the tension in the
air. But he trusts her. He
has to. Plankton is his
dad, and she knows him
better than anyone.

Chip watches, his own
breaths shallow with fear.
He opens his mouth to
speak, to ask what's wrong,
but Karen's hand is swift,
silencing his words with a
single finger to her screen.
The gesture is a soft
whisper, a command that
he understands without
explanation.

Plankton's body is limp in
Karen's embrace, his antennas
still quivering with the
aftershocks of his overload.
Her eyes are filled with
determination, her love
for her husband a fiery
beacon in the dark room.
With gentle care, she lowers
his head to the pillow,
his body trembling with
the last vestiges of panic.

Chip's eyes are wide with
uncertainty, his hand
poised in the air. "Is he
okay?" he whispers, his voice
small in the vastness of the
moment. With gentle
firmness, Karen takes Chip's
hand, leading him out of the
room.

"We need to give him some
space," she murmurs, her screen
never leaving Plankton's
form. "He'll come to when he's
ready. This only happens when
his overwhelm gets him dizzy
to the point of passing out,
which in itself has only happened
twice before. It's part of his
autism, Chip."

Chip nods solemnly, his
fear for his dad mingling with
his curiosity about this
new aspect of Plankton he's
never seen. "What can we do?"
he asks, his voice barely audible.

Karen squeezes his hand,
her screen never leaving
Plankton. "For now, we wait.
And when he wakes up, we
make sure to give him time
to recover. No loud noises,
no sudden movements." She
speaks with a calmness
that belies the storm
raging in her own heart.

They sit together on the
edge of the bed, their screens
locked on Plankton.

Karen's grip on Chip's
hand is tight, her knuckles
white. She's seen this before,
but it never gets easier. "Just
wait," she whispers, her voice
shaky. "Just wait."

They sit in silence,
the air thick with unspoken
emotions. The sun peeks
through the blinds, casting
slanted bars of light across
Plankton's unconscious form. Karen
aches as she watches
the man she loves, the man
who's been her rock, reduced to
this trembling shell. But she
knows he's strong. He's survived
worse storms than this.

Minutes tick by, each one
longer than the last. The room
seems to hold its breath,
waiting for Plankton to stir.

And then, slowly, his antennas
cease their trembling. His
eye flickers open, focusing
on the two figures beside
his bed.

The world is still a blur,
his thoughts scattered like
leaves in the wind. But Karen's
face is a beacon, her eyes
a port in the storm. He tries
to speak, his mouth dry as
sandpaper, but only a croak
escapes.

"I'm sorry," he manages, the
words a feeble whisper. His
eye meets Chip's, filled with a
swirl of emotions he can't
quite name. Regret, fear,
love. All fighting for
supremacy.

Chip's grip on Karen's hand
tightens, his own eyes
reflecting the same tumult of
feelings. He opens his mouth,
but no words come out. Instead,
he reaches out with his free
hand when Karen stops him.

"Let him recover," she says,
squeezing his hand reassuringly.
"He needs to process, Chip. Let
me talk to him first." With a nod,
Chip withdraws his hand, his
heart pounding in his chest.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II x

⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⡚⠗⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⢰⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠉⣷⠁⠀⠀⠘⣿⣟⡲⠛⠀⠀⠆⣰⡟⣷⡀⠀⠑⡗⠀⠀⠀⣠⡗⠁⠀⢀⡿⠋⠛⠷⠎⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⠁⠀⠀⢈⣿⣼⡤⣤⣤⠂⡸⡏⠀⢧⣃⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⢲⣶⣖⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣞⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⡆⢠⠇⣾⡟⠉⠛⠛⠹⡄⠀⠀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣷⣧⣤⣤⣤⣤⡞⠛⠉⠉⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⡄⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣢⣔⢍⢗⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(please)⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⢤⣠⠴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠉⠙⠋⠙⠛⠋⠉⠉⠙⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠋⠉⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⡤⠖⠒⠒⠒⠲⠤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡖⠒⠂⠂⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⢣⠈⠉⠂⠂⠀⠠⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⡇⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠇⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠒⠦⠴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠦⠤⠤⠤⠼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⣠⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠸⣷⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠒⠒⠋⠉⠉⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⡃⠀⠀⠈⡀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⡆⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠒⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new introvert shyness sigma RIZZ fyp cool aethetic timid leave me alove a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z. LEAVE. dot art text art ascii art

𖣂₉⁹₉𖣂

new x Good/Evil poison tree

HI GUYS IF YOU LIKE CARETAKER LIKE THIS :) (keep scrolling)

keep scrolling its worth it!!!

KEEP GOING

almost there…

here’s your treasure :)
𝔸𝔹ℂ𝔻𝔼𝔽𝔾ℍ𝕀𝕁𝕂𝕃𝕄ℕ𝕆ℙℚℝ𝕊𝕋𝕌𝕍𝕎𝕏𝕐ℤ
𝕒𝕓𝕔𝕕𝕖𝕗𝕘𝕙𝕚𝕛𝕜𝕝𝕞𝕟𝕠𝕡𝕢𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕧𝕨𝕩𝕪𝕫
𝐀𝐁𝐂𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐆𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐊𝐋𝐌𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐐𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐕𝐖𝐗𝐘𝐙
𝐚𝐛𝐜𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐣𝐤𝐥𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐪𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐯𝐰𝐱𝐲𝐳
𝙰𝙱𝙲𝙳𝙴𝙵𝙶𝙷𝙸𝙹𝙺𝙻𝙼𝙽𝙾𝙿𝚀𝚁𝚂𝚃𝚄𝚅𝚆𝚇𝚈𝚉
𝚊𝚋𝚌𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚐𝚑𝚒𝚓𝚔𝚕𝚖𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚚𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚟𝚠𝚡𝚢𝚣
ᵃᵇᶜᵈᵉᶠᵍʰⁱʲᵏˡᵐⁿᵒᵖᵠʳˢᵗᵘᵛʷˣʸᶻ
𝔞𝔳𝔠𝔡𝔢𝔣𝔤𝔥𝔦𝔧𝔨𝔩𝔪𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔮𝔯𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔳𝔴𝔵𝔶𝔷
𝓐𝓑𝓒𝓓𝓔𝓕𝓖𝓗𝓘𝓙𝓚𝓛𝓜𝓝𝓞𝓟𝓠𝓡𝓢𝓣𝓤𝓥𝓦𝓧𝓨𝓩
𝓪𝓫𝓬𝓭𝓮𝓯𝓰𝓱𝓲𝓳𝓴𝓵𝓶𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓺𝓻𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓿𝔀𝔁𝔂𝔃
♚♛♜♞♝♔♕♖♘♗↫⏎✎ᴥ︎↺☏ꕥ✾✑◉𖨆☊✈☘︎︎𓁹♧︎✇¶
⌖𓇽«✞☾☼™シ༄❝❞»◌【∞】』꧁『꧂ꕤ꧂
Σ∫𖣘❃᯽☢︎︎𖣔۞✫𓆉𓃱𓃰𓃗𐂃𓃮𓆈𓃟𐂂𓅓𓃒
𓀡𓀿𓅷𓂻𓆏𓅿𓄁𓃠𓆙𓂉𓆡𓃹𓆤𓆧𓅨𓆨𓃵𓆦

♡✘

new x heart

GREAT CHIP x
(Autistic author)

Chip flinched, his eyes wide
with fear as the toaster bounced off
the fridge, landing on the floor with
a clatter. "Dad, please," he begged,
his voice trembling. "You're scaring me."
"Good," Plankton says. "Then maybe you'll
understand that this isn't a joke!" He
picks up another object, a jar of jellyfish
jelly, and hurls it across the room.
It explodes on the wall, the sticky
substance oozing down like a rainbow
of pain.

Karen steps closer, her voice calm
but firm. "Plankton, enough," she says,
her eyes never leaving his. "This isn't helping
anyone."

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
body still shaking with anger. "How
can you say that?" he says, his voice
shaking the room. "How can you sit there
and act like everything's fine, when your
'son' thinks he can just 'fix' me?"

Chip felt his heart plummet, the
weight of his father's anger a heavy
rock in his chest. "Dad, I never said..."
he began, but Plankton talked over him.
"You think you can just waltz in here
and tell me what I need?" His antennae
thrashed wildly. "You don't know
anything about..."

Suddenly, Chip's frustration boiled
over, the words leaving his mouth before
he could stop them. "You're right," he spat.
"I don't know what it's like to be a failure
who can't even take care of himself! I don't
know what it's like to be so weak that you
have to hide behind your condition! I don't
know what it's like to be unlovable and
broken!"

Karen's eyes went
wide with disbelief, 
her heart aching
for her husband, as
Chip's harsh words
echoed through the room.
The room fell silent, the
sting of Chip's accusation
lingering in the air like
a noxious fume.

Plankton's antennae
drooped, his body
slumping slightly. "Fine,"
he said, his voice
devoid of emotion. "If that's
what you think, then I guess
I don't need you."

The words hung in the
air, heavier than the
shattered mug at their feet.
Chip felt as if he'd been
punched in the gut, the
breath knocked out of him.
"Dad," he whispered, his voice
cracking. "I didn't mean..."

But Plankton was already
turning away, his antennae
drooping as he shuffled towards
his workshop. The slamming
of the door reverberated through
the house, leaving only the
steady drip of jellyfish jelly
to break the silence.

Karen looked at Chip, her eyes
swimming with unshed tears. She
could see the regret etched on his
face, the pain of his own words
reflecting back at him.

"Chip," she said gently, her voice
trembling with held-back sobs. "You didn't
mean that." It was a statement, not
a question, but her eyes searched his
for any sign of disagreement.

He looked at her, his eyes red-rimmed
and glossy with unshed tears. "But I don't
know how to help him," he said, his voice
cracking. "I just want to be there for him,
Mom. But he won't let me in."

Karen's expression was a mix of
sadness and anger. She took a deep
breath, her eyes never leaving Chip's. "You
don't help someone by making them feel
smaller," she said, her voice firm. "You
don't fix someone by calling them broken."

Chip's shoulders slumped, his eyes
falling to the floor. "I know," he murmured,
his voice filled with regret. "But he's just...
so... I just wanted to make him feel better."

Karen's gaze was stern, her voice
a gentle rebuke. "And you thought hurting
his feelings would do that?" She sighed heavily,
her eyes filling with tears she refused to shed.
"You have to be more careful, Chip. Your
words are like bombs when you don't understand
how powerful they are."

Chip's eyes dropped to the floor, the weight of
his mother's disappointment crushing him. "But
I just..." he began, his voice trailing off as he
fought to find the right words.

"I know you're trying," Karen said, her voice
softening. "But you can't fix your dad's seizures
with a hug or a joke, sweetie. They're a part of
who he is, and he's scared. And you, calling him
'unlovable'...that's not you, Chip." Her screen searched
his, willing him to understand the gravity of his words.

Chip felt his throat tighten, the weight of his mother's
disappointment heavy on his shoulders. He knew she
was right, that his words had been a knee-jerk reaction
to Plankton's outburst, but the pain in his father's
eye lingered, a stark reminder of the hurt he'd caused.
"I'm sorry, Mom," he murmured, his voice barely audible
above the sound of his own breathing.

Karen's face softened, the anger in her eyes
giving way to a sadness that was even more
heartbreaking. She reached out, placing a gentle
hand on Chip's shoulder. "I know you didn't mean
it, honey," she said, her voice quivering. "But you have
to understand that words can cut deeper than any weapon.
And I always love your father, no matter what. That's what
you need to do too."

Chip felt his eyes sting with the truth of her words.
He knew she was right, but the anger and frustration
he'd felt in the moment had overridden his usual
compassion. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, the weight
of his apology feeling heavier than any burden he'd ever
carried. "I just..."

"Sorry isn't enough," Karen said, her voice
trembling with a mix of sadness and anger. "You hurt
your father, deeply. And you hurt me." Her hand
slid from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake.

Chip's eyes snapped up to meet hers,
his own filled with a blend of shock and
remorse. "I didn't mean it," he said, his voice
small and lost. "I just..."

Karen's expression was a thundercloud
of disappointment. "You didn't mean it?"
she echoed. "But you said it, Chip. And those
words are like a knife in the heart, and you
know his amplified emotional response is part
of his condition. How do you think that makes
him feel when he's already so sensitive?"

Chip's eyes dropped to the floor,
his cheeks burning with shame. "I know,"
he whispered, his voice tight with regret. "I just...
I didn't know how else to help, he's..."

"Chip, you're old enough to understand
that sometimes, there's nothing you can do
to take someone's pain away," Karen said, her voice
firm yet filled with sadness. "But you can't make
it worse. You have to be there for him, without
making it about you."

Her words hit Chip like a slap in the face,
his cheeks burning with the sting of truth.
He'd never thought about it that way before,
his own hurt feelings overshadowing the gravity
of his father's condition. "But what can I do?"
he asked, his voice small and defeated.

Karen took a deep breath, her eyes still
full of sadness. "You can listen," she said,
enunciating each word carefully. "You can be
there for him without expecting anything in return.
You can respect his boundaries and understand
that sometimes, he just needs space."

Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. "But I want to
make it better," he said, his voice small. "I don't
want him to feel like he's alone."

Karen's eyes searched his, her expression
softening. "I know you do," she said gently.
"But you can't fix everything, and you can't
make his condition go away. Sometimes, the
best thing you can do is just be there."

Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing.
How could he be there for his father without
causing more harm? The silence in the kitchen
was deafening, the only sound the distant
hum of Plankton's workshop. Karen's voice
was a gentle guide in the quiet, her words
sinking into his soul like a warm embrace.

new great chip angercore x

SHELF IMPROVEMENT x
(Autistic author)

Plankton's 
body finally 
stilled, his breathing 
evening out. The room 
was now quiet, the only 
sounds their combined 
exhales and the distant 
hum of the house. Karen 
could feel the weight 
of his fear slowly 
lifting, his body 
becoming less rigid 
under her touch.

"Gentler," he 
murmured, his 
eye looking up 
at her.

Karen's hand 
trembled slightly 
as she brushed 
his antennae, 
trying to give him 
comfort. "We're going 
to get through this," 
she promised, her 
voice firm.

Plankton's antennae 
twitched in response, 
his gaze searching 
hers. "Together?"

Karen nodded, 
a warm smile spreading 
across her screen. "Together, 
Plankton. We're a 
family."

Plankton's antennae 
quivered with 
relief, his body 
slumping into the 
pillows. "Together," 
he echoed, his voice 
weak but steady.

Karen felt a 
weight lift. "Yes, 
together," she said.

They sat in silence 
for a moment, the 
tension in the 
room slowly dissipating. 
Plankton's antennae 
twitched, and he 
reached out to 
grasp her hand, and
Karen squeezed back.

"Karen," he 
murmured, 
his voice still 
weak from 
his meltdown. 
"Thank you."

Karen's eyes 
watered as she 
squeezed his hand 
back. "Always," she 
whispered. The room 
was still, the only 
sounds the soft 
sighs of relief 
from both of them.

Plankton's antennae 
slowly relaxed, 
his grip on her hand 
loosening. "Tired,"
he murmured, his eye 
half-closed.

Karen nodded, 
wiping her own tears 
away. "Why don't we 
get some rest?" she 
suggested, her voice 
still a whisper. She 
helped him lay down 
properly, adjusting 
his pillows and 
covering him with 
the blanket.

Plankton's antennae 
nodded slightly. "Rest,"
he murmured, his voice 
fading. Karen sat 
beside him, her hand 
still in his, watching 
his chest rise and 
fall with each 
breath. She felt his 
grip tighten briefly, 
a silent plea for her 
not to leave.

As the minutes 
ticked by, the 
tension in the room 
began to unravel. The 
steady rhythm of his 
breaths grew deeper, 
his body relaxing into 
the embrace of the 
soft mattress.

Plankton's antennae 
twitched one last 
time before going 
still, and Karen heard 
the telltale rumble 
of his snores. They 
were faint, almost 
imperceptible. It was 
the sound of his 
body letting go of 
the fear and anger, 
surrendering to sleep.

With a sigh of 
relief, she gently 
released his hand, 
placing it by his side. 
Her heart ached as 
she took in the sight 
of him, so small 
and vulnerable. This 
was their new 
normal, and she had 
to be strong for both 
of them.

new shelf improvement familycore x

🌍💔💡❗♡☠︎︎༒︎✞︎🕸𖤐

new 1000 x

⚠︎

new goth emo punk rock x bio

3( • ̀ω•́ )✧( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧🩷˚.🎀༘⋆(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)(ง ˃ ³ ˂)ว ⁼³₌₃⁼³9️˚ ༘ 🦕𖦹⋆｡˚˚ ༘ 🦕𖦹⋆｡˚

new 10 build 17 year x tenner

♱·.༝

new cross point ping separate x mark dot spot

⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡠⠖⠉⠁⠒⠠⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⡠⠔⠐⠂⠒⠐⠂⠒⠂⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣀⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡔⠃⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠄⠤⠄⠄⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀
⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⠤⠤⠤⡀⢂⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠋⠉⠁⠁⠂⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠁⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀
⠀⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢀⡔⠢⠠⠄⣀⠀⠐⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⣢⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀
⠀⠀⠙⢄⠀⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠃⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢆⡀⠁⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠒⡂⡃
⠀⠀⠀⠈⠣⡀⠀⠀⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠗⠀⠀⠀⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢆⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠣⡀⠀⠈⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⣄⡀⡀⣀⡀⠔⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡄⠀⠀⠀⠂⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⡄⠀⠀⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡅⠀⠀⠀⠐⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠠⠄⢀⠀⡀⡀⡀⡀⡀⠄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠤⠒⠂⠂⠒⠐⠒⠒⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⡀⣀⠔⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡏⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡀⠔⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠁⠉⠈⠈⠁⠁⠁⠈⠈⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠒⠤⠤⠄⠤⠀⠂⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new x p 10 sos dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣄⣄⣀⣀⣠⣄⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡾⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠻⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣴⠿⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠛⠻⠶⣄⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣴⡾⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣏⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢴⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣶⣀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣽⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣽⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡾⠛⠋⠛⠛⢳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠟⠛⠛⠛⠳⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣷⣥⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣷⣴⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠹⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡿⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢾⡝⢦⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⣦⡄⠀⠀⢻⣍⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⠙⢶⡄⠀⣠⣠⣴⣦⣄⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡾⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠶⠶⠶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠒⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣧⡈⠻⠿⠛⠉⠀⣸⣟⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠟⢉⣶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⠂⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣾⠟⠛⠛⠳⣧⣿⠟⠁⢠⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣤⣄⣀⣤⣤⣴⠶⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡇⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⢦⣄⡀
⠀⠀⠛⣧⣀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣼⡿⠁
⠀⣠⣾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠁⢀⡀⠀⠈⣿⡏⠀⠀
⠠⣿⠃⠀⢀⣠⡄⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠿⠟⠉⠹⠷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣏⣠⡿⠿⡦⣴⣿⠃⠀⠀
⠀⠻⢧⣼⣿⠿⣿⠀⠀⣠⡘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⠿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠟⠛⠛⠘⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⢧⣴⣿⠟⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣾⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠋⠳⢶⣤⣄⣀⣀⣠⣀⣀⣤⣶⠿⠋⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⠟⢶⣤⣄⣀⠀⣀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠈⠉⠉⢿⡟⠛⠁⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠋⠛⣿⡛⠛⠉⠁⠀⢸⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⡿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠿⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⢾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢷⢶⠤⣤⢶⠶⣶⠾⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⠻⠷⠿⠛⠋⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new bfdi x x from bfdi dot art text art ascii art

I  𝓕o®🇬⚬t  ♄⚬ω  t⚬  𝐬୧🅰®c♄  𝐬†∪fƒ in ୧𝓂oj𝒾ℂo𝐌b⚬

🅰 🇦 𝓐 ⩜ 𝛂 𝖆 𝒶
ß 🅱 🇧 В ₿ 𝑏 𝓫
© 🇨 𝐂 € ☾
🇩 𝐃 𝒟 ძ 𝒅 
𝑬 🇪 𝔼 ୧ 𝑒 
🇫 𝓕 𝒥 𝓯 ƒ 
🇬 ɢ 𝓖 ℊ 𝓰 
Ⓗ 🇭 ℋ |-| 𝓗 ♄ ℌ 
🇮𝑰 ┃ 𝒾 ﹗ 
𝓣 🇯󠁄 𝐣  ʝ
🇰 𝒦 🅺 ʞ 𝒌 
𝑳 🇱 ℒ ʟ | 
𝓜 🇲 Ⓜ 𝐌 ᙏ 𝓂 𝐦
🇳 𝓝 Nྀི nྀི 𓎆 И 
🇴 𝒐 ⚬ 𝟎 ♡ ☺
𝓹 🇵 𝐏  ℘
🇶 𝕢  𝓺 𝖖
® 🇷 ℛ Ʀ 𝐫 
🇸 🆂 𝓢 𝐒 𝐬 𝓼 
🇹 𝓣 т ✝ ⚚ 𝓽
🇺 ∪ 𝓾 𝕦 𝖚
𝓥 𝐕 \/ Ⓥ 🅥 🇻 
🇼 🆆 𝓦 ω 𝕨 ш
🇽 ✗ ﾒ 𝕏  ༝ × ㄨ 𝓍 א
🇾 𝓨 Ｙ ꪗ  𝕪  ყ
🇿 ☡ 𐰁 ᶻ 𝗓 𝐙 

ᴀ ʙ ᴄ ᴅ ᴇ ғ ɢ ʜ ɪ ᴊ ᴋ ʟ ᴍ ɴ ᴏ ᴘ ǫ ʀ s ᴛ ᴜ ᴠ ᴡ x ʏ ᴢ 
𝓪 𝓫 𝓬 𝓭 𝓮 𝓯 𝓰 𝓱 𝓲 𝓳 𝓴 𝓵 𝓶 𝓷 𝓸 𝓹 𝓺 𝓻 𝓼 𝓽 𝓾 𝓿 𝔀 𝔁 𝔂 𝔃 
𝕒 𝕓 𝕔 𝕕 𝕖 𝕗 𝕘 𝕙 𝕚 𝕛 𝕜 𝕝 𝕞 𝕟 𝕠 𝕡 𝕢 𝕣 𝕤 𝕥 𝕦 𝕧 𝕨 𝕩 𝕪 𝕫 
ᗩ ᗷ ᑕ ᗪ E ᖴ G ᕼ I ᒍ K ᒪ ᗰ ᑎ O ᑭ ᑫ ᖇ ᔕ T ᑌ ᐯ ᗯ ᙭ Y ᘔ 
🇦‌ 🇧‌ 🇨‌ 🇩‌ 🇪‌ 🇫‌ 🇬‌ 🇭‌ 🇮‌ 🇯‌ 🇰‌ 🇱‌ 🇲‌ 🇳‌ 🇴‌ 🇵‌ 🇶‌ 🇷‌ 🇸‌ 🇹‌ 🇺‌ 🇻‌ 🇼‌ 🇽‌ 🇾‌ 🇿‌ 
🅰 🅱 🅲 🅳 🅴 🅵 🅶 🅷 🅸 🅹 🅺 🅻 🅼 🅽 🅾 🅿 🆀 🆁 🆂 🆃 🆄 🆅 🆆 🆇 🆈 🆉 
𝔞 𝔟 𝔠 𝔡 𝔢 𝔣 𝔤 𝔥 𝔦 𝔧 𝔨 𝔩 𝔪 𝔫 𝔬 𝔭 𝔮 𝔯 𝔰 𝔱 𝔲 𝔳 𝔴 𝔵 𝔶 𝔷 
ᵃ ᵇ ᶜ ᵈ ᵉ ᶠ ᵍ ʰ ⁱ ʲ ᵏ ˡ ᵐ ⁿ ᵒ ᵖ ૧ ʳ ˢ ᵗ ᵘ ᵛ ʷ ˣ ʸ ᶻ 

new rookiewika alphabets a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z fonts letter

 .
⚬<𝟑

new . j o i love you 100% g english language x

☒

new ballot box with x

(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა rawr!😊

new hi hijcutjgxcul x alphabet

 .
⚬<𝟑ˎˊ˗١٥٧٤♡

new . j o i love you 100% g english language x

वेरिफाई ब्लू टिक🇽

new twitter blue tick w s x

can yall stop putting "creds" at the 
bottom of bios? like everyone here 
is anonymous and stuff are free to
use. if you dont want people using
your bios w/o creds maybe this 
web just isnt for you boo

anyways thanks for reading xoxo
(づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡

new bios kawaii dont like this is just so people stop x cuteness

☓༝.⚔︎.༝☓

new sword x dot combo aesthetic samurai katana

yall stfu already.

≽^- ˕ -^≼

new stfu stop drama x kaomoji cute

𖣂

new xxxtentaction x xxx tree tree of life poison tree

💩😳c  ᡣ𐭩  
      𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄
     
      𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄
     ١٥٧٤♡١٥٧٤♡(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

new carbon sigma x

ʚ x ɞ

new angel x guardian angel angel falls

⠠⠄⠄⠄⠤⠤⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠄⠀⠀⡀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠠⠤⠄
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠈⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀

new seven x bar 7X- dot art text art ascii art

this NEEDS to be an app౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚≽^•༚• ྀི≼ 
                    (reposted🔁)>ᴗ<🐼🧸

new j e o q g disaccord petitions requests letter discord alphabet k f h l n b roman alphabet palatal approximant french language u ayin omicron d r yodh v p english language z latin alphabet x s c w

𓏴 × ： name . 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ . prns ⋆⭒˚｡

new name cute display name x cross out stars f2u unisex coquette nickname title label

If you see any link(especially discord servers) in this
website,𝐃𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 click them! !(spread this)⚠️
⚠️☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★‧₊˚ ┊⚠️₊ ⊹★

💀🇰
      𐙚
     〽️

new x s latin alphabet

︶︶︶︶︶

00  dateㅤ  ͏ ͏ ͏ㅤ＼ㅤ  ͏ ͏ ͏ㅤ20XXㅤ ͏ ͏ ͏  𓇼
𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥ㅤ  ͏ ͏ ͏ㅤ:ㅤ  ͏ ͏ ͏ㅤur mood

୭     enter text here! how was your day? 
add extra stuff here... >_<

𓏵ㅤ  ͏ ͏ ͏ㅤ:ㅤ  ͏ ͏ ͏ㅤ7   /   𝟭𝟬

︶︶︶︶︶

By cwream on discord! search up ' bwunny ' for more! 🪐.ೃ࿔*:･

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

⛌﹜ name ︴

new name display name user x bracket nickname pseudonym label

⊗x

new x circle overlapping overlay letter round

𖦹☆⨉⋆✮

new star sparkle swirl x cute sparkly starry space milky way star cluster galaxy

|\   /|   
( ˙◠˙) ✖

new angry cat x rage aggression angered pet kitten

〇 name                                                                                            (  follow  )      ... 
     @username
 

10:00 PM •  14 jun 24  • 24 Views

2 Reposts            4 Quotes               5 Likes                1 Bookmarks
_____________________________________________________________________
       💬                        ⥯                           ♡                               🔰                         🔁𝕏 

new twitter x sosials microblogging internet website

ˣᴗˣ

new smile x x-smile x smily tommo smiling eyes laugh

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS x

(Autistic Author)


Karen's heart squeezes as she sees the 
vulnerability in her husband. She 
reaches out and takes Plankton's hand, 
giving it a comforting squeeze. "We're all 
learning here," she says. "And we'll keep 
figuring it out together." Then, Chip speaks 
up again, his voice a little stronger. 
"Daddy," he says, "I still want to show 
you affection."

Plankton looks up, his antennae 
twitching with a hint of sadness. "I know, 
buddy," he says. "And I appreciate that. 
But sometimes, my brain needs a 
different kind of love."

Chip frowns. "But I 
don't know how," he says.

Plankton's antennae wiggle as he thinks. 
"How about this?" he suggests, his eye 
brightening slightly. "You can make me a 
'love rock'."
Chip's eyes light up with excitement, and 
Karen nods encouragingly. 

"You can 
pick out a rock from the beach or the 
yard, and every time you feel like giving 
me a hug but know I might not be able 
to handle it, you can give me the rock 
instead. That way, I'll always know 
you're thinking of me."

Chip nods eagerly, already imagining the 
perfect rock in his mind. "I'll find the 
biggest, smoothest rock," he says, his 
eyes shining with purpose.

Plankton's antennae rise slightly, and he 
manages a smile. "That's my boy," he 
says, his voice a little less strained.

“I’ll go look in our backyard right now,” 
Chip says as he does so.

Karen watches him run off and looks at 
Plankton, her eyes filled with emotion. 
"You ok?" she asks, squeezing his hand.

Plankton nods, his antennae still. "I think 
so," he murmurs. "Thank you, Karen."

Karen squeezes his hand in return, her 
eyes filled with understanding. "You're 
doing great," she whispers.

As Chip rummages outside, the sound 
of his little feet pattering on the ground, 
Karen and Plankton sit in the quiet 
kitchen, the weight of their conversation 
still hanging in the air. Plankton's 
antennae droop slightly, but there's a 
newfound openness in his gaze.

"Do you think he'll understand?" 
Plankton asks, his voice still raw from 
the previous night's emotions.

Karen squeezes his hand, her eyes filled 
with warmth. "He's a smart kid," she 
reassures him. "And he loves you. He'll 
get it."

They sit in silence for a moment, 
listening to the distant sounds of Chip's 
exploration. Then, Plankton speaks up, 
his voice tentative. "What if I have 
another meltdown?" he asks.

Karen squeezes his hand, her gaze 
unwavering. "We'll be there for you," she 
says. "We'll help you through it."

The sound of the back door opening and 
closing echoes through the house, and 
Chip returns, holding a rock that fits 
perfectly in the palm of his hand. It's 
smooth, with a slight shimmer in the 
light. "Here it is!" he exclaims, holding it 
out to Plankton. "It's your love rock!"

Plankton's antennae lift, and a genuine 
smile spreads across his face as he 
takes the rock. "It's perfect," he says, his 
voice filled with emotion. He can feel the 
warmth from Chip's hand still lingering 
on the stone. "Thank you, buddy."

Chip beams, his earlier fears forgotten in 
the excitement of the moment. "Can we 
go to the park now?" he asks, hopeful.

Karen looks at Plankton, who nods 
wearily. "Sure," she says, pushing her 
chair back. "But let's take it slow, okay?"

The park is a familiar place, filled with 
the sounds of children's laughter and the 
distant hum of the city. As they walk, 
Chip chats away, his voice a balm to 
Plankton's nerves. Karen notices the 
subtle changes in her husband's gait, 
the way his antennae twitch with every 
new sound or sight. She knows he's 
trying hard to stay present, to not get 
overwhelmed by the sensory onslaught 
of the outside world.

When they reach the playground, Chip 
runs off to the swings, his love rock 
clutched tightly in his hand. Plankton 
watches him, his gaze a mix of pride 
and concern. He knows his son's energy 
can be too much for him sometimes, but 
he doesn't want to miss out on these 
moments.

Plankton takes a deep breath, his 
antennae wiggling as he gathers his 
courage. He approaches the swing set, 
his eye scanning the area for any 
potential triggers. The chains of the 
swings glint in the sun, and he can 
almost feel the sway of the seat beneath 
him. He hasn't swung in years, not since 
before Chip was born.

Plankton sits on the swing by Chip.

The metal is cold and hard beneath him, 
but as he starts to push off with his foot, 
the chains begin to squeak a comforting 
rhythm. The motion is familiar, almost 
soothing, reminding him of a time when 
the world was simpler, less stormy. He 
watches Chip, his heart swelling with 
love as his son's laughter fills the air.

As they swing side by side, Plankton's 
antennae twitch with every movement of 
the breeze, every giggle that escapes 
Chip. The wind rushes through the 
playground, and he feels the rock in his 
pocket, a reminder of their newfound 
understanding.

The rhythmic motion of the swing starts 
to work its magic, and Plankton's 
beginning to relax. The gentle sway 
feels like a lullaby for his overstimulated brain. 
Plankton smiles, his antennae waving in a way that 
says everything is ok.

They swing in silence for a while, the 
steady back and forth a comforting 
metronome to the chaotic symphony of 
the playground around them. Plankton 
can feel the tension in his body slowly 
uncoiling, the squeak of the chains 
becoming a familiar melody that soothes 
his frazzled nerves.

new chip off the old talks familycore x

CHIP AND FAIL x
(Autistic author)

Plankton's antennae quivered, his
body trembling. "You want to help?"
he demanded, his voice a thunderclap.
"Then LISTEN!" His antennae shot
straight up, his body rigid with
tension. "Just because I freeze
up, it doesn't mean you get to
paw at me like a sea urchin
without a care in the world!"

Chip's screen filled with hurt, his
hands dropping to his sides. "But
Dad," he began, his voice trembling.
"I just wanted to make it better, seeing
you're not acting like an adult or even
a good dad with your dramatically fitful
tantrum." His words were like salt on
an open wound, but he didn't know
better, his innocence a blunt weapon.

Plankton's antennae snapped back,
his eye narrowing. "Out," he said, his
voice a glacial wind. "You don't get
to be in here right now."

Chip's eyes filled with shock, then
hurt, as the reality of his father's
words sank in. "But Dad, I didn't
mean..."

But Plankton was a wall of ice,
his antennae stiff and unyielding.
"No, get out," he repeated, his voice a
chilling wind that sliced through
Chip's protests. "I want you out of
my sight, Chip. Just go." His eye was
a storm cloud, threatening rain.

Chip felt the sting of his dad's
words, the coldness of his rejection.
He took a step back, his hand
dropping to his side. "But Dad,
I just want to..."

But Plankton's antennae remained
stiff, his voice unyielding. "Out," he
repeated, his eye a storm cloud
ready to burst. "You don't get to
stay here after saying that."

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his own filled with a mix of hurt
and bewilderment. "But Dad," he
whispered, "I don't..."

But Plankton's antennae remained
rigid, his voice like ice. "I said,
OUT." His anger was a palpable
thing in the room, a force that
pushed Chip backward, despite
his father's physical stillness.

With a final look of hurt and
disbelief, Chip turned and left,
his footsteps echoing down the
hallway like the ghosts of all
the moments he had hoped to
share with his father. Plankton
watched him go, his heart a leaden
weight in his chest. Those words 
Chip used might as well be
unforgivable.

Karen's eyes were wide with
concern, but she knew better than
to push him in that moment. She
knew his triggers, and how Chip
inadvertently said the wrong thing.
She knew he actually doesn't want
to bring attention, and
being told his pleas for boundaries
have been called tantrums, by his
own son, in his own room...

Karen knew how his moments of
'twitching' and 'freezes' and 'mishaps'
and 'venting' as he preferred to call
them, being called tantrums...

Plankton closed his eye,
his body trembling with the effort of
holding back his own tears.

Karen approached him cautiously,
her screen filled with worry. "Honey,
are you okay?" she asked, her voice
gentle as a summer breeze.

Plankton's antennae drooped, his body
slumped in the chair. "No," he murmured,
his voice thick with pain. "But I will be."
He took a deep, shuddering breath,
his chest rising and falling like the tides.

Karen watched him, her heart in her
throat. She knew the storm would
pass, but the wreckage it left
behind was always the same. She
reached out a tentative hand, her touch
feather-light on his shoulder. "Do
you want me to explain to Chip?"
she offered, her voice a whisper.

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
body still trembling. "No," he
managed to say, his voice a rasp. His
eye remained closed, his breaths
coming in shallow gasps.

Karen's hand hovered for a
moment before retreating, her
heart breaking for her husband.
"Okay," she murmured, giving him the
space he needed. She knew the
importance of respecting his boundaries
now more than ever. "He just didn't know
how much his wording hurt you.."

"I know," Plankton said, his voice
barely audible. "But that doesn't
make it sting any less." He took
another deep breath, his antennae
twitching with the effort of calming
his racing thoughts.

Karen's hand hovered over him,
wanting to comfort but knowing
not to push. "If he asks, can I tell
him? You know, so he doesn't..."

Plankton's antennae twitched again,
his eye finally opening. "Only if he
specifically asks about it," he said,
his voice stronger now. "Otherwise he 
needs to understand for himself and
figure it out if he wants to help so bad."

Karen nodded, her screen filled with
understanding. She knew her husband's
pride and the importance of their
son coming to terms with his condition
without being forced to. She gave him
a gentle squeeze. "I'll be here," she said.
"For both of you."

The room remained silent
for a long moment, the only sound the
soft ticking of the clock on the wall.
Plankton took another deep breath,
his antennae slowly unfurling. "Thank
you," he murmured, his voice a whisper.

Karen's eyes searched his, her hand
still on his shoulder. "Do you want
to talk about it?" she asked, her voice
a gentle caress.

Plankton took a moment to
consider. The storm in his head
was beginning to abate, the pain
lessening with each passing
second. "I'd just like some
time to myself."

Karen nodded, her screen
filling with love and sadness.
"I'll make sure he doesn't bother
you," she promised, her voice a
soft whisper. She knew how
important it was for Plankton to
have space.

Chip stood in his room, the
closed door a barrier between him
and his father's pain. He felt like
a sea urchin thrown onto the
sharp rocks of misunderstanding,
his spikes no match for the
storm of emotions that had just
erupted. He couldn't help but
wonder if he had made things
worse. He had wanted to connect,
but instead, he had hurt the one
person he loved most.

His mind raced, trying to
piece together the puzzle of his
father's behavior. The words "autism
spectrum" echoed in his thoughts,
a mysterious code he hadn't
known existed. He had heard the
term before, but it had always
been a distant concept, not
something that could affect his
own life. 

He sat down on his bed, his
hands shaking. He felt like he had
just been handed a treasure map
without knowing how to read it. His
dad's condition was a treasure, a
key to understanding the man he
idolized, but the map was written
in a language he hadn't learned.

With each passing second, the
weight of his father's words grew
heavier. He had never thought
about the world from Plankton's
perspective, had never considered that
his touch could be anything but
comforting. The realization hit him
like a tidal wave, knocking the
wind out of him.

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

x
✗✗

new x eyes x

✘-✘

new kidcore x dead

🤍lʟL ֶָྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི֢|.ᐟŁ۶ৎּ ֶָ֢.
      𐙚
     
      ᡣ𐭩
     ʞ^᪲᪲᪲ϻ୨ৎnྀི.☘︎ ݁˖αL♡©¹¹¹
      ᥫ᭡.
     ࣪ ִֶָ☾.˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ω°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･౨ৎ-`♡´-˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗Y ♡ྀི
      𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄
     
      𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄
     🇱(¬`‸´¬)(๑>؂•̀๑)🇭Ⓜ🏤🇷🇧

new letter d omicron kappa fifty x upsilon

(,,⩌ _ ⩌,,) ..? ( ,,● ̮ ●,,)♡ (//_ ///)

new unmoving cold unemotional unresponsive uninviting expressionless imveyhappy1234 strawb_mxlks kaomojj kaomojis a b c d e f h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z emotionless unenthusiastic

﹒➜ ★ ❰﹒

new a b c d e f g star arrow cute k l s x q v z o p j n w h roman alphabet latin alphabet

Copy & Paste Shockfic Emojis & Symbols

Related Text & Emojis