Vii Emojis & Text

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i
(Autistic author)

"You know, Shel, just put yourself out 
there. You think to much! Just steal 
a patty from the krusty krab, and 
bring it back. No inventions, just 
believe. I'll wait out front." Karen says.

Sheldon Plankton, whose ambition 
often outstripped his grasp, took a 
deep breath and nodded. It was a simple 
enough plan, he thought, and maybe, just 
maybe, it would be enough. For years he'd 
been trying to outsmart Mr. Krabs, crafting 
ingenious contraptions and elaborate 
schemes to swipe the Krabby Patty secret 
formula. Yet here he was, standing in the 
shadow of the gleaming neon sign of the 
Chum Bucket, his own restaurant, contemplating 
the unthinkable: a straight-up heist. He tiptoed to 
the Krabby Krab, eye darting back and forth 
for any signs of movement.

Karen, ever the impatient one, was pacing back 
and forth outside the Chum Bucket. She had 
been waiting for what felt like an eternity. "What's 
taking him so long?" she murmured to herself, her 
frustration building.

Meanwhile, Plankton took a final 
shaky breath and slid open the 
kitchen window, his heart racing. 
The scent of greasy fryers and salty 
ocean air filled his nostrils. He reached 
out, his tiny hand trembling, and 
snatched the Krabby Patty that lay 
unguarded on the counter.

With the stolen patty in hand, Plankton's 
confidence grew. He had done it; the 
secret was within his grasp! He turned 
to leave, but his elation was cut short 
when a shadow fell over him. He looked 
up to find Mr. Krabs standing there, his eyes 
narrowed and his claw raised. "Plankton, I 
knew it was you!" he bellowed. Plankton froze.

Mr. Krabs lunged at him, but Plankton was 
quick. He dashed under the cash register, 
the Krabby Patty clutched to his chest like 
a football player crossing the finish line. 
"You'll never get me!" he yelled, his voice 
echoing in the quiet restaurant. But Krabs 
was persistent, his claws snapping shut 
just millimeters from Plankton's antennae.

With a cunning smile, Mr. Krabs stepped back 
eyeing the cash register. "Maybe not," he said 
reaching over the counter and hoisting the heavy 
metal contraption off its stand.

Plankton's eye went wide with horror as he 
realized what Krabs intended to do. He tried 
to dodge, but the space was too cramped, and 
the cash register came down on him like a 
guillotine blade. The sound of metal on metal 
reverberated through the kitchen, and the 
Krabby Patty went flying out of his grasp.

Mr. Krabs' victory roar filled the room as 
Plankton crumpled to the floor, stars 
dancing in his vision. The impact had been 
tremendous, and for a moment, he lay 
dazed and defeated. The cash register's 
heavy weight had not only knocked him 
out cold but also left a sizable dent in 
the floorboards.

Outside, Karen's pacing grew more erratic.
as "What's keeping him?" she groused. Just 
as she was about to storm inside, she hears 
the cash register, which hit Plankton's head.

Peering in she saw Plankton 
lying on the floor. "Plankton?" she 
shrieked, her voice cracking with 
panic.

Karen opens the door and goes 
to him.

"Plankton! Oh no!" she screamed, 
voice shaking the very foundation 
of the Krabby Krab. She rushed over 
to him, shaking with fear. Plankton's 
eye closed, and his body was 
completely still. The Patty lay forgotten.

Panic set in, and she began to pat his face.

"Plankton, wake up!!" she yelled, echoing 
through the deserted kitchen. She knew 
that Plankton could be dramatic, but this 
was unlike him. He'd always bounced back 
from Mr. Krabs' traps before, albeit with a 
bruised ego.

There was a pulse, faint but steady. "Thank 
Neptune," she whispered, her relief palpable. 

"Plankton, please," Karen begged, a mix of 
desperation and fear. She knew she had to 
do something, and fast. But what? Her 
medical expertise was limited to patching 
up her husband's bruises from past failed 
schemes, not dealing with a concussion 
from a cash register to the head.

She then managed to scoop up her 
unconscious husband and sprinted
to the Bikini Bottom Hospital.

Once inside the hospital, she explained 
what happened with the cash register. 
"We'll do a brain scan." They said.

Karen laid Plankton on the hospital bed.

Finally a doctor approached 
with a solemn expression. 
"The brain scan results are in."
Karen nodded for him to go on.

"It seems your husband has suffered 
significant brain damage from impact," 
the doctor continued, fidgeting with a 
clipboard. "The good news is that he 
will wake up, but... your husband has 
experienced severe brain trauma. While 
he will regain consciousness, it appears 
that he may have developed permanent 
autism."

"What does that mean?" she 
managed to whisper. The doctor 
explained that while Plankton 
would still be able to talk and/or 
communicate, his interactions 
and reactions to sensory would 
be significantly affected.

"But he'll still be the same Plankton?" 

The doctor nods. "In many ways, yes. 
His personality, his memories, they 
should all be intact. But his ability to 
process, to understand 
and respond appropriately... those 
might be altered. It's a complex 
condition, Mrs. Plankton. He can go 
home whence he wakes up."

Karen nodded numbly, mind racing 
with the implications.

As she sat by Plankton's bedside 
the hospital lights flickered, and 
the constant beeping of the heart 
monitor was the only company she 
had. The quiet was broken her 
husband's eye fluttering open. 
"Karen?" he croaked, his voice 
hoarse from the trauma.

Her heart leaped at the sound, and 
she took his hand, squeezing it 
tightly. "I'm here," she said, her 
voice cracking. "How do you feel?"

Plankton's gaze darted around the room. 
"Where am I?" he asked, his voice a mix 
of confusion and fear.

"You're at the hospital, sweetie," 
Karen replied, voice gentle and 
soothing. "You had hit your head 
on the cash register at the Krabby Krab." 
Karen said, her voice shaking 
slightly. "Mr. Krabs hit you."

Plankton blinked rapidly, trying to process 
her words. "Cash... register?" he murmured, 
voice sounding distant and confused. Karen 
nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The room 
was a cacophony of sounds: the beep of the 
monitor, the rustle of nurses' shoes, and the 
distant wail of a siren. Plankton's senses 
seemed to amplify, each noise stabbing at 
his brain like a thousand tiny needles.

"What happened to me?" he asked, voice 
small and scared. Karen took a deep breath 
preparing herself to explain the gravity of 
the situation. "You hit your head," she began, "and 
now, the doctor says you have... acquired a 
neurodisability."

Plankton stared at her, his eyes unfocused. "Neuro... 
what?" he repeated.

Karen took a deep breath, her heart heavy. "It's 
like your brain is wired differently now. You 
might see things, hear things, feel things more 
intensely. And sometimes, you might not understand 
people, or process differently."

"Does it... does it mean I'm broken?" he asked, voice 
barely a whisper.

"No, Plankton," she said firmly, "You're not 
broken. You're just... different. And we'll 
figure this out together."

new a life of diversity AI Story Generator neurodivergentcore karen plankton plaren plabsen braincore headcore i

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY v
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae twitched as he broke from recitation.

Patrick looked at Plankton with genuine curiosity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jellyfish interesting. Plankton like jellyfish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Patrick, still looking confused, shrugged and waited outside. 

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore v

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS iv

(Autistic Author)



With Chip's curiosity still piqued, Karen 
leads the way to Plankton's bedroom. 
She knows her husband needs time to 
process his own feelings, but she also 
knows that Chip's desire to understand 
is genuine. As they approach and crack 
open the door, they see Plankton in the 
bed on his back. He's asleep, the only 
sound in the room being soft snores.

The room is dimly lit, with only the glow 
of a nightlight casting a gentle hue 
across his face. His antennae still, and 
his body is relaxed, a stark contrast to 
the tension that had consumed him 
earlier. Chip looks at his dad with a mix 
of fear and curiosity, unsure of what to 
do or say.

Karen motions for Chip to come closer, 
her eyes never leaving Plankton's 
peaceful form.

"Look," she whispers, her hand hovering 
over Plankton's shoulder. "You can 
touch him like this."

Karen's hand lightly brushes against 
Plankton's arm, her touch as soft as a 
feather. Plankton's antennae twitched 
slightly, but he doesn't wake up. His 
snoring doesn't change, but she can feel 
the tension in his muscles ease slightly.  
"You see?" she murmurs. "Just a way of 
saying 'I'm here, and I love you' without 
overwhelming him."

Chip nods, his eyes glued to the 
demonstration. His small hand reaches 
out tentatively, mimicking the gentle 
strokes Karen had shown him. 
Plankton's body relaxes further, and 
Karen feels a glimmer of hope.

"Just like that," she whispers, her hand 
guiding Chip's. "It's all about being 
gentle and understanding. And when 
he's ready, he'll show you his love in his 
own way."

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping form. He's trying so 
hard to be strong, but Karen can see the 
fear and confusion in the way his little 
hands tremble.

"Ok, let's go," she whispers, leading 
Chip out of the room. "We'll give him 
some time to rest. And when he wakes 
up, we'll talk to him again."

In the hallway, Chip's questions come in 
a rush. "But what do we say? What do 
we do?"

Karen crouches down to meet his gaze, 
her expression serious. "We're going to 
keep trying, okay?" she says, wiping a 
tear from his cheek. "We'll learn together 
how to be there for Daddy without 
making him feel overwhelmed."

Chip nods, his voice a whisper. "I don't 
want to make him mad," he says, his 
eyes filling with fear.

"You didn't make him mad," Karen 
reassures him, her voice calm. "You just 
surprised him. And it's okay to be 
surprised. But now we know how to 
handle it better."

Later in the early evening, Karen hears 
Plankton's footsteps as he makes his 
way back into the living room.

The room is still, the only sound the soft 
ticking of the grandfather clock in the 
corner. Plankton’s antennae are still, his 
eye no longer flashing so much with 
anger. He looks at Karen and Chip, who 
are sitting on the couch.

“Hey, buddy,” Karen says, her voice 
tentative but hopeful. “How are you 
feeling?”

Plankton sighs heavily, his antennae 
drooping slightly. “Tired,” he admits, his 
voice gruff. “But somewhat better.”

Chip looks up at his father.
“Hey, Dad,” he says softly.

Plankton’s eye flicks to him, then back to 
the floor. “Chip,” he responds, his voice 
flat but almost sounding surprised.

Karen sees the opening she’s been 
waiting for and jumps in. “Why don’t you 
sit with us, Plankton?” she suggests, 
patting the cushion next to her.

After a moment's hesitation, Plankton 
lowers himself onto the couch, his 
antennae dropping slightly in defeat. He 
doesn’t look at either of them, focusing 
instead on the floorboards. Karen takes 
a deep breath, her heart racing with a 
mix of hope and trepidation.

Karen takes a deep breath, her hand 
reaching for Chip's. "Chip found a cool 
rock at the park today."

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, and 
he looks up at Chip. "A rock, huh?" he 
asks, his tone neutral.

"Yeah," Chip says, his voice small. "It's 
got all these cool colors, like the ocean." 
He holds out the rock, a silent peace 
offering.

Plankton looks at the rock, his eye 
narrowing slightly as he takes it. His 
antennae twitch, but there's a glimmer of 
something else in his gaze—interest, 
maybe, or a hint of softness. He turns it 
over in his hand, inspecting it. "It's... 
nice," he murmurs.

Karen squeezes Chip's hand, her heart 
swelling with hope. Maybe, just maybe, 
this could be the start of something new. 
"Why don't you tell him more about it?" 
she prompts gently.

"It's got these little specks that sparkle in 
the light," he says, his voice gaining a bit 
of excitement. "I think it's a special rock."

Plankton looks. "It is," he says, his voice 
a little less gruff.
He looks at Karen, his eye searching 
hers. She nods encouragingly.
“How was your day?” Plankton asks, his 
voice tentative.

“It was okay,” Chip replies, still 
focused on the rock.

“Just okay?” Plankton asks, his 
antennae lifting slightly.

Chip nods, his gaze shifting to his dad. 
Chip sniffs.

Plankton sets the rock down on the 
coffee table with a gentle thud, his 
antennae twitching with concern. “What, 
son?”

Karen’s heart skips a beat, hoping this 
small act of kindness is a step towards a 
more open conversation.
Chip's eyes dart between his parents, 
unsure how much to share. Karen gives 
him a nod of encouragement.

“It was just a bit... scary at the park 
today,” Chip admits, his voice shaky.

“Remember when we talked after the 
park?” Karen reminds him gently.

Plankton’s antennae droop, and he 
nods, visibly trying to control his 
emotions. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I 
remember.”

“Chip didn’t mean to upset you,” Karen 
says, her voice gentle. “He just wanted 
to understand what was happening. He’s 
curious, like all kids are. And when he 
saw you like that, he was scared. He 
just wanted to make sure you were okay 
and to help if he could.”

“Hm.” Plankton says neutrally.

Karen takes a deep breath and 
continues. “Chip’s been asking me a lot
of questions, and I think it’s important we 
talk to him about yo...”

Plankton sighs. "You know I hate talking 
about it."

Karen nods. "I know," she says, her 
voice soothing. "But Chip's worried 
about you. He loves you, and he wants 
to know how he can help."

Chip looks up at his dad, his eyes wide 
and earnest. "I just want you to be 
happy," he says, his voice trembling.

Karen squeezes Plankton's hand, her 
voice gentle. "Chip wants to know what's 
going on with you, Plankton," she says. 
"He's not trying to be nosy or annoying. 
He's trying to understand what to do or 
not do."

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he nods 
slowly. "I know," he murmurs. "It's just..."

Karen's eyes are filled with 
understanding. "It's hard to be 
vulnerable, I know," she says. "But we 
need to help our son understand."

Plankton looks at Chip, his expression 
unreadable. "Okay," he says finally. "I'll 
talk to him."

Chip's eyes light up, hope shining 
through his tears. "Really?"

"Really," Plankton says with a sigh, his 
antennae relaxing slightly. "But it's going
to be on my terms, okay?"

Karen nods. "Of course."

Plankton takes a deep breath, his 
antennae drooping slightly as he steels 
himself for the conversation. "So, Chip," 
he says, his voice a little softer. "You 
know how sometimes you get really, 
really tired and need to sit down and 
rest?"

Chip nods eagerly, his eyes fixed on his 
father's face. "Yeah, I know that feeling," 
he says.

"Well, it's 
kind of like that," he says. "But for me, 
it's not just about being tired. It's like my 
brain needs a little break sometimes. 
And when it does, I might not be able to 
talk or move for a bit."

Chip nods, his grip on Karen's hand 
loosening as he listens intently. "But why 
don't you tell us when you need a 
break?" he asks.

"Sometimes, it happens too fast for me 
to say anything," Plankton explains. "It's 
like my brain just decides to take a little 
vacation without asking permission."

Karen's filled with a mix of pride and 
sadness as she watches her son and 
husband finally discussing this openly.

"So, when you get like that," Chip says, 
his voice tentative, "is it like you're in a 
dream?"

Plankton glances at him, his antennae 
still. "In a way, yes," he says slowly. "It's 
like I'm not really here, but I can still 
sense."

Chip nods, his curiosity unabated. "What 
do you sense?"

Plankton takes a moment to consider his 
words. "I can still hear, but without 
comprehending," he says, "and feel 
things around me, but it's like... like 
everything's muffled, and I'm watching 
from far away."

Chip looks thoughtful. "Can you tell 
when it's happening?"

Plankton nods, his antennae lifting 
slightly. "Sometimes," he admits. "But 
not always."

new autismcore chip off the old talks

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iii
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounds can be really intense for him now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sponge Bob nods. 

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

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

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

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

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore iii

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vi
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a life of diversity jellycore vi

🇮🇻🇻🇮🇮

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣽⣹⢬⡂⣱⣾⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new vim neovim code vi emacs text editor unix ed linux vim logo dot art text art ascii art

      ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
     ™️

new vi invisible unseen

😷💯

new jjhjhjhj 37 42 vi

fg🇩

new fire vi burn

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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢉⣩⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠟⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢻⣿⡿⠃⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⠿⠇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠼⠿⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⡉⠍⣉⠉⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿⣷⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⣔⣒⣋⣟⣛⣖⠾⢦⡔⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢌⣑⣬⣖⣲⣒⣒⣖⣢⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠈⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢒⣯⣶⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠻⣷⣍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⣾⡟⢻⣿⣯⣿⣿⡟⠻⣮⣟⠦⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠲⠝⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠡⠔⠻⠟⠓⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡆⢴⠄⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠐⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡀⢻⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠹⠀⠰⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢰⠏⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⢀⠘⣧⢀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⣄⡘⠿⠋⠑⠀⠀⠀⠚⢿⠿⠁⣠⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠈⠄⠀⠙⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⡀⠀⠠⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⢂⠉⡄⣠⠠⢡⡐⡄⢲⣠⢌⠱⠤⣀⠈⢻⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠻⣟⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠓⠒⠖⠈⠁⠻⠟⠷⠿⢾⡷⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠢⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⢀⢀⡂⠼⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠐⠀⠂⠁⠂⠀⠁⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠑⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⠀⠀⠙⢢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⢯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢶⣄⡂⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢠⣱⡾⠋⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠷⣽⣶⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣰⣾⣷⠿⠋⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣾⢿⡿⣿⠾⠟⡛⠍⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⡐⢂⠐⠠⠘⠠⢁⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠁⠈⠐⠀⠂⠄⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⡀⣀⢀⡀⣁⠀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⣀⠀⣸⡄⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣼⣤⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
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new vi line editor computer printer a photo dot art text art ascii art

❌

new neovim vi

✅🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

yaurzz🫶😊

new yaur ewan ko vi star

ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ ඣ

new vi half a dozen digit amogus sus

i hope everyone at 
hazel glen college 
gets their eyeballs 
taken, throats snatched, 
limbs ripped, noses crushed, 
hair pulled, nipples twisted 
and elbows inverted kys 😘😘
>ᴗ<
-v

new loohcs eid wfsn erog aet amard iv evrats

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ii
(Autistic author)

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

"You ok?" she asked 
tentatively.

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

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

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

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

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

"You ok?" Karen asked, voice soft.

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

"What, the floor?" Karen asked.

"The floor," Plankton repeated.

"What about it?" Karen asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want for breakfast, Plankton?"

Plankton's eye didn't leave the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Walk after breakfast," Plankton echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi, Sponge Bob," she says.

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

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

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

Plankton stared at him, composing response.

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

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

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

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

new POV Karen a life of diversity plankarenbob ii

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS i

(Autistic Author)


Karen went to the park.
Her husband, Plankton, sat 
by her. Karen glanced over 
and saw the soft smile on 
his face, a smile that had 
greeted her every morning 
for the past twenty-five or so years.

The park was alive with laughter, 
the distant sound of a ball bouncing off the pavement 
and the occasional squawk from a seagull. Plankton's 
eye were closed, his 
breathing slow and steady. He was enjoying the 
warmth of the afternoon sun on his face.

Suddenly, their adopted son Chip burst into their 
peaceful scene, his cheeks flushed from running. 
He was holding a frisbee that had strayed from its 
intended path, and he called out to them with the 
enthusiasm of a young boy who had discovered 
something wonderful. "Look what I found!" he 
exclaimed, oblivious to the delicate moment 
he was interrupting.

Plankton jolts.

Karen's notices her husband's sudden movement. 
His eye open wide, and he stares into the distance 
unseeing, unblinking. She knows the signs all too 
well. Plankton is having one of his shutdowns.
But Chip's dart between the frisbee and his 
parents, sensing something amiss.

"Dad?" Chip says, tentatively.

Karen jumps up and grabs Plankton's arm, gently 
squeezing to bring him back. "It's ok, honey," she 
whispers, her voice steady.

Chip's smile fades as he sees his father's 
unresponsive state. He drops the frisbee, forgotten 
in his grip, and takes a cautious step closer. "What's 
happening?" he asks, his voice cracking.

Plankton's body remains eerily still, like a statue. The 
only indication that he's alive is the faint rise and fall 
of his chest as he breathes. Karen's eyes dart 
around the area, checking if anyone has noticed. 
She doesn't want to draw unwanted attention.

"It's ok, Dad's just taking a little break," she murmurs, 
setting the frisbee aside. He's never seen these 
before, nor knows the drill.

Chip takes in Plankton's unblinking gaze. Karen feels 
a pang of guilt for keeping this part of Plankton's 
condition hidden from their kid. But it's a dance 
they've been performing for years, trying to maintain 
a sense of normalcy amidst Plankton's condition.

Karen focuses solely on Plankton, willing him to 
come back to her. She feels the warmth of his hand 
under hers, but there's no response, no squeeze, no 
recognition of her touch.

Karen's gaze is fixed on her husband's face, 
searching for any hint of life, any flicker of 
consciousness. She whispers his name, a soft 
mantra, trying to anchor him to reality.

But Chip doesn't understand. His eyes are wide, full 
of fear and confusion as he watches his dad frozen 
in place. "What's a 'little break'?" he asks, voice 
trembling. Karen's heart tightens; she's always 
shielded Chip, hoping to spare him the worry and 
fear.

"It's like when you zone out," she explains gently, 
hoping to relate it to something he might have 
experienced. "Remember when you were playing 
video games and I had to call you for dinner three 
times before you heard me?"

Chip nods slowly, still glued to Plankton's unmoving 
form.

"It's like that," Karen continues, "But for Dad, it 
happens without warning."

Chip nods again, trying to process this new 
information. He's always known his dad was 
different, but seeing him like this is something he's 
never had to face before. He takes a deep breath 
and tries to hold back his tears, not wanting to scare 
Plankton when he wakes up.

"What do we do?" he whispers, his voice shaky.

Karen squeezes Plankton's hand gently, never 
leaving his face. "Just wait," she instructs Chip 
calmly. "These usually don't last long. But if you need 
to, you can tell anyone who asks that he's okay, just 
deep in thought."

Chip nods, trying to mimic his mother's calm 
demeanor, but his eyes betray his anxiety. He's 
never seen his dad like this, never knew that these 
moments of stillness were a part of him. Plankton's 
condition, a form of autism, can leave him with anger 
issues and overload.

Karen feels the weight of the secret they've kept 
from Chip all these years. Plankton's autistic 
neurodivergence had always been a part of their 
lives, but they had shielded their son from the full 
extent of it. They had hoped he would understand 
when he was older, but now the moment had come 
unplanned, and she wasn't sure if ready.

"Why does Dad zone out?" Chip asks, his voice 
small. Karen sighs, deciding it's time for the truth. 
She sits down next to Plankton, keeping her hand on 
his arm. "Dad has something called 
'neurodivergence', Chip. It's like his brain works 
differently than ours. Sometimes it helps him see the 
world in amazing ways, but it can also be hard for 
him. These little breaks are his brain's way of 
processing."

Chip stares at her, trying to grasp the concept. "So, 
he's not just ignoring us?"
"No, sweetie," Karen says. "He's not ignoring us. It's 
like his brain needs a time-out, like when you play for 
to long and your phone heats up and/or dies, but 
will still work eventually."

The wind picks up, rustling through the leaves above 
them, and a chill runs down Chip's spine. He nods 
slowly, watching his dad's chest rise and fall in the 
silence. It's strange to see someone so still, so quiet, 
yet so obviously alive.

"But why haven't you told me before?" he asks, his 
voice barely above a whisper. Karen's eyes well up 
with tears she quickly blinks away. "We wanted to 
protect you," she admits. "I didn't want you to be 
scared and he doesn’t want you to think of him 
differently."

"But it's okay to think differently," Chip argues, his 
voice growing stronger. "Dad's always been there for 
me, even if he doesn't hug me a lot."

Karen smiles sadly, stroking Plankton's arm. "It's not 
just about thinking differently, Chip. It's about how his 
brain processes things. Sometimes, too much 
sensory input can overwhelm him. That's why he 
might seem distant or not as affectionate as other 
dads. It's not because he doesn't like you," she 
reassures him. "It's because hugging or loud noises 
can be really intense for him."

Chip's eyes widen with understanding. "So, that's 
why he doesn't like it when I jump on him?"
"Yes," Karen nods. "But it doesn't mean he loves you 
any less. He just shows it in his own way. Like when 
he spends hours helping you build that Lego castle, 
or when he makes those amazing sea creature 
sculptures that you love so much."

Chip's shoulders slump, and he sits down on the 
bench beside his mother, staring at his dad with a 
newfound curiosity. "Does he know I know now?"
"I don't think so, honey," Karen says, her voice still 
low and soothing. "These episodes usually last just a 
few minutes. It's like he's somewhere else, but he'll 
come back to us."

The park's sounds swirl around them, muffled by the 
tension that has settled in the air. Karen watches 
Plankton's expression, waiting for the telltale twitch 
of his antennae that signals his return to the present.

Finally, Plankton blinks and looks at Karen, his gaze 
momentarily unfocused before recognition floods 
back into his eye. He looks around, startled by his 
surroundings, and then at Chip, who is staring at 
him.

"What happened?" Plankton asks, his voice groggy.

Karen releases a breath she didn't realize she'd 
been holding. "You had one of your zoning-out 
moments," she says, her voice calm and gentle. 
Plankton looks at her, then at Chip, who is watching 
him with a mix of curiosity and fear.

"I did?" Plankton's antennae twitch, and he rubs his 
head.

"Yes," Karen says, her hand still on his arm. "Chip 
found a frisbee, remember?"

Plankton's gaze shifts to the frisbee lying forgotten 
on the ground, then back to his son. He nods slowly, 
piecing the moments before together. "Ah," he 
murmurs, a hint of embarrassment crossing his face.

Chip's curiosity outweighs his fear as he looks at his 
father. "Can I ask?" he asks tentatively.

Karen nods, her heart swelling with pride at his 
bravery. "Of course, Chip."

Chip looks at his dad, filled with questions. 
"Why’d you zone out?" he asks, his voice still 
hushed.

"It's none of your business Chip," Plankton snaps, 
his eye flashing with a sudden fury that takes both 
Karen and Chip aback. His voice is harsh, the words 
cutting through the stillness of the park.

Karen's heart sinks as she sees the hurt on Chip's 
face. Plankton's anger, a common side effect of his 
overload, surfaces without warning. She knows he 
doesn't mean it, but the sting is real for their son.

new chip off the old talks karen plankton autismcore i

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iv
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
recites facts rapidly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yea Plankton who knew, easy as pie!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly at the compliment.

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore iv

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS iii

(Autistic Author)



With a deep breath, Plankton nods. 
Karen heads upstairs and returns with 
Chip, his eyes wide and hopeful. She 
sits beside Plankton, her arm around 
him, offering silent support. Chip takes a 
seat on the floor, his legs folded under 
him as he stares up at his dad.

"Don’t just stare at me like that!" 
Plankton yells, his voice echoing 
through the small room, causing Chip to 
flinch. Karen's grip on his hand tightens, 
a silent plea for patience.

Chip's eyes fill with tears as he looks up 
at his father, not understanding why he's 
being yelled at. "I'm sorry, Dad," he 
whispers, his voice trembling. "I just 
wanted to know if you're ok."

Karen's heart breaks as she sees the 
hurt on her son's face. She turns to 
Plankton, her voice firm but gentle. 
"Plankton, we need to talk to him. He's 
scared, and he loves you."

Plankton's eye softens at the sight of his 
son's tears. He takes a deep breath, 
visibly fighting the urge to retreat into his 
anger. "Okay," he murmurs. "Okay."

Karen squeezes his hand, her silent 
support a lifeline. She looks at Chip, her 
eyes filled with love and hope. "You 
remember when we talked about how 
everyone is different, and some people 
have challenges that others don't?"

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his 
father's face.

"Well, Dad has something called 
neurodivergence," Karen begins, her 
voice calm and steady. "It means his 
brain works differently than ours. 
Sometimes it's like he needs a little 
break, to reboot."

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's. "But why does he get so 
mad?" he asks, his voice small but 
earnest.

Plankton's antennae quiver with 
irritation. "Why do you think," he snaps. 
"You just don't know when to leave me alone."

Chip's eyes widen, his bottom lip 
trembling as he tries to hold back his 
tears. "I just want to understand," he 
says, his voice shaking.

But Plankton's anger is a storm that 
doesn't easily pass. "I don't have to 
justify myself to you," he snaps, his 
antennae quivering with agitation. "So, 
don't ask me about it again."

Chip's eyes well up with tears, his voice 
small and trembling. "But, Dad..."

Karen's heart breaks at the sight of their 
son's pain, but she knows that 
Plankton's anger is a defense 
mechanism, a way for him to cope with 
his fear and confusion. She tries to 
interject, but Plankton beats her to it.

“Well guess what Chip, the world doesn’t 
revolve around your curiosity,” Plankton 
snaps, his antennae standing tall with 
indignation. “Some things are just 
private, ok? Just like how I don’t ask 
you why you think you’re entitled!”

Chip cries. “But that’s not fair to me, I…”

Plankton's face contorts with 
annoyance, his antennae twitching 
erratically. “Fair? Life’s not fair, kid. Get 
used to it. You think you’re perfect? 
Maybe you should go live in a sitcom 
where everything’s wrapped up with a 
neat bow at the end of the day.”

Karen winces at the harshness of 
Plankton’s words, but she knows her 
husband’s bark is worse than his bite. 
He’s hurting, and his defense is to lash 
out. She opens her mouth to speak, but 
Chip beats her to it.

"Father," Chip says, his voice shaky but 
determined. "I’m trying..."

"Oh, I know you're trying," Plankton says 
with a sneer, his antennae waving in the 
air like he's swatting at an invisible fly. 
"But you're trying to make this about 
you. You wanna try something? Well 
how about you try to start understanding 
that sometimes people need space, 
huh? Maybe then you'd get it."

Karen sighs, her eyes never leaving 
Chip's face. "Plankton, please," she 
says, her voice a gentle reprimand. But 
Plankton's on a roll, his words coming 
out in a rush of bitterness and pain.

"You want me to sugarcoat it for you, 
son? Tell it's all rainbows and 
sunshine?" His antennae are a blur of 
agitation as he stands up. "You wanna 
know what it's like? Imagine the world's 
loudest, brightest, most obnoxious 
parade happening in your head all day, 
every day. And you can't turn it off, no 
matter how much you want to. That's 
what it's like for me. So, don't you dare 
make it about your feelings, Chip!"

Karen's chest tightens, her eyes 
flickering between her husband and son. 
She knows Plankton's frustration is a 
product of his condition, but the words 
are harsh, and the sting is real.

"You know what, Chip?" Plankton 
continues, his voice dripping with 
sarcasm. "Why don't you go live in a 
world where everyone is just like you? A 
perfect little bubble where everyone 
thinks the same, feels the same, and 
Neptune forbid, doesn't 'zone out'." He 
makes air quotes with his fingers, his 
antennae still twitching with agitation.

Chip's eyes are red-rimmed, his cheeks 
wet with tears, but his voice is steady. 
"But Dad, I just want to know why you 
get like this. I want to help.."

Plankton's sarcasm turns to a cold, hard 
edge. "Help? What can you do, huh? 
You think a pat on the back and a 'good 
job, Dad' is going to make everything ok? 
News flash, kiddo, it doesn't work 
like that, so stop acting like you know 
anything!"

With that, Plankton storms out of the 
room in frustration. The door to his 
bedroom slams shut with a resounding 
thud, leaving Karen and Chip in the 
quiet wake of his anger.

Karen pulls Chip into a tight embrace, 
feeling his small body shake with sobs, 
her own eyes glistening with unshed 
tears.

"Chip, honey," she says, her voice soft 
and warm as she strokes his back. 
"Daddy's condition isn't something he 
chose. It's called Autism."

Chip looks up at her with wide, 
questioning eyes. "What's that?"

"It's a way his brain is," Karen 
says, her voice gentle and calm. "It's 
something he's had since he was born. 
It makes it harder for him to deal with 
certain things, like noise and touch. And 
sometimes, it's like his brain goes on a 
little vacation without him knowing it."

Chip looks up at her with a frown. "But 
why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes 
misting over. "Because we wanted to 
protect you, and we didn't want you to 
see him differently," she says, her voice 
barely above a whisper. "Plankton was 
diagnosed after we'd already fallen in 
love. We didn't want to define him, or for 
you to think of him as anything less than 
the amazing person he can be when 
happy."

Chip sniffs, his grip on her tightening. 
"But why does he get so mad?"

Karen's gaze follows Plankton's 
retreating form, her heart heavy with the 
weight of their conversation. "His 
condition can make him feel 
overwhelmed," she explains, her voice 
gentle. "Sometimes, it's hard for him to 
control his emotions. When that 
happens, he says things. It's not 
necessarily you personally, honey, it's 
about him trying to deal with his own 
frustrations."

Chip pulls back from the embrace. "But 
why doesn't he like to be touched by me, 
but meanwhile hugs you the same way I 
tried to?" he asks, his eyes searching 
hers for answers.

Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find 
the right words to explain something so 
complex to a young mind. "Daddy's love 
is different, Chip," she says, her voice 
gentle. "He shows it in his own way. 
When I know he's had a hard day, I don't 
just come up and hug him. I look for 
signs, like if he's been more quiet than 
usual, or if his antennae are drooping. 
That's how I know he might need a hug 
or just some space."

Chip's frown deepens. "But how do you 
know…"

"I've learned to read him," Karen says, 
her voice filled with understanding. 
"When he needs a hug," she adds with a 
sad smile, "his eye gets this soft look, 
like he's asking for it without saying the 
words."

Chip nods, trying to process this new 
information. "But what about me?" he 
asks, his voice small. "How do I know?"

Karen sighs. "When he's about to get 
irritated," she begins, "it can be like he's 
bracing for something. That's a way I 
can tell."

Chip nods, his curiosity piqued. "How 
does his face look?"

Karen takes a moment, her eyes 
reflecting on her years of experience. 
"When Daddy's about to get irritated," 
she says, "his eye tends to narrow, just 
a bit."

Chip looks confused. "But why does he 
have only one eye?" he asks, his voice 
innocent and curious.

"It's a condition called cyclopia, which 
runs in his family."

new chip off the old talks autismcore planktonkin

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ii

(Autistic Author)



Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he looks 
away, trying to hide his emotions. "I just 
want to understand," he says, his voice 
small.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," 
he snaps, his eye cold and distant.

But Chip is undeterred. He's seen his 
mother's gentle touch work wonders on 
his father during his seizures, so he 
decides to try it. He reaches out and 
places a small hand on Plankton's 
shoulder. "It's ok, Dad," he whispers. 
"You can tell me."

Plankton flinches at the touch, his 
antennae stiffening. "I said it's not your 
business," he repeats, his voice a low 
growl. Karen can see the internal 
struggle playing out on his face, the 
effort it takes to maintain his anger when 
all he really wants is to retreat into 
safety.

"Plankton," Karen says softly, placing 
her hand over Chip's. "It's ok."

Her voice is a gentle reminder of the 
love that exists between them all, a love 
that has grown and adapted to 
Plankton's condition over the years. But 
anger in Plankton's eye doesn't fade. He 
stares at his son, his jaw tight, his 
antennae quivering with barely 
restrained frustration. Karen can feel the 
tension in his arm, the way his muscles 
are taut under her touch.

"It's ok," she repeats, her voice a 
soothing balm. "Chip just wants to 
understand."

But Plankton's anger doesn't dissipate. 
He sits there, his eye still cold and 
distant, his body rigid with tension. "I 
don't need to justify myself," he says, his 
voice a knife slicing through the air. 
Karen's heart sinks further. This was not 
how she had hoped the conversation 
would go.

"Dad," Chip starts, his voice trembling. "I 
just want to know why-"

"I SAID it's not your business," Plankton 
barks, his eye flashing. Plankton's anger 
is a storm that needs to pass before 
they can talk it out, and Karen doesn't 
want to force the issue here.

Karen nods at Chip, signaling for him to 
give his father space. With a sad smile, 
she stands up and takes the frisbee 
from his hand. "Why don't you go play 
for a little while?" she suggests, her 
voice gentle. "Give Dad and me some 
time to talk."

Chip nods, his eyes brimming with 
unshed tears. He takes a few steps 
away before turning back to look at his 
dad. "I'm here if you need me," he says, 
trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. 
Then he runs off, the frisbee clutched 
tightly in his hand.

Plankton's anger lingers like a fog 
around him, thick and heavy. Karen can 
see it in the way he sits, his shoulders 
hunched and his antennae flat against 
his head. She knows he needs a 
moment to compose himself, to come 
down from overstimulation.

The silence stretches between them, 
taut with unspoken words and fear. 
Plankton's gaze follows Chip as he 
disappears into the playground, the 
frisbee a small beacon of hope in his 
hand. Karen waits, her heart aching for 
the pain she knows her son is feeling, 
the pain she feels herself.

When Plankton's breathing finally starts 
to slow, she decides to break the 
silence. "It's okay, Plankton," she says 
softly. "Chip just doesn't understand."

Karen sighs, her eyes filled with a mix of 
love and sadness. "You're just wired 
differently. And Chip loves you for who 
you are."

Plankton shakes his head, his antennae 
still flat against his skull. "He doesn't 
know like."

Karen's eyes never leave his face, her 
expression a mask of patience and love. 
"You're right," she says. "He doesn't 
know. But that doesn't mean he doesn't 
love you. He's just scared. And 
confused. We all are sometimes."

Plankton's jaw tightens, and he looks 
away, not meeting her gaze. "I don't 
need his pity party," he mutters.

Karen sits next to him, her hand resting 
on his knee. "It's not pity, Plankton. It's 
just love and curiosity. He wants to know 
so he can help, so he can be there for 
you."

Plankton stays silent, his eye on the 
distant playground where Chip is trying 
to fit in with the other kids. The anger is 
still there, a palpable presence that 
makes the air around them feel charged.

"I know you're mad," Karen says, her 
voice calm and soothing. "But you know 
we can't keep this from him forever. He's 
growing up, and he needs to 
understand."

Plankton's eye still on Chip, but the 
anger is slowly fading, replaced by a 
heavy sadness. "I don't want him to tell 
I'm a monster," he murmurs, his voice 
barely audible over the rustling leaves.

Karen's heart breaks a little more. 
"You're not a monster," she says firmly. 
"You're a wonderful father, Plankton. 
And Chip loves you. He just doesn't 
understand."

Plankton's gaze finally shifts to her, his 
eye glistening. "I don't know how to handle this," 
he admits, his voice 
strained. "I don't know how to explain it 
to him. I don't even understand it half the 
time."

Karen reaches up and places a hand on 
his cheek, turning his face to hers. "You 
don't have to explain it all at once," she 
says gently. "We'll do it together, ok?"

Plankton nods, his expression still taut 
with tension. He takes a deep breath 
and finally relaxes a bit, his antennae 
rising slightly. "Ok," he murmurs.

Karen stands up, her hand still on his 
shoulder, and together, they walk over to 
the playground to collect Chip. His eyes 
light up when he sees them 
approaching, and he runs over, the 
frisbee abandoned in his excitement. 
"Dad, are you ok?" he asks, throwing 
his arms around Plankton.

Plankton stiffens and gasps as Chip 
embraces him in a hug.

Karen's heart clenches at the sight, 
knowing how much her husband 
despises sudden physical contact.

"Come on, let's go home," she says 
gently, her hand on Chip's shoulder 
guiding him away from Plankton.

The walk home is quiet, each step 
punctuated by the thump of Chip's 
sneakers against the pavement. Karen's 
on her husband, his shoulders slumped 
and his gaze cast downward.

As they enter the house, the familiar 
creaks and groans of the floorboards 
welcome them home. Plankton heads 
straight for his workshop, the place 
where he finds solace in the chaos of 
the world. Chip trails behind, his eyes 
glued to his father's retreating back.

"Dad?" he calls out tentatively. Plankton 
pauses, his antennae drooping slightly, 
but doesn't turn around. Karen can see 
the turmoil in her son's eyes, the 
unanswered questions weighing him 
down.

"Why don't you go to your room, Chip?" 
she suggests softly. "I'll talk to Dad."

With a nod, Chip heads upstairs, his 
footsteps echoing through the house. 
Karen watches him go before turning to 
Plankton. "Let's go sit down," she says, 
leading him into the living room. She 
knows he'll need some time to recover 
from the onslaught of emotions that 
come with it.

In the dim light of the room, Plankton 
slumps into the worn armchair, his eye 
avoiding hers. Karen takes a seat on the 
couch opposite him, her hands folded in 
her lap. "We need to talk about this," she 
says gently. "You can't just push Chip 
away when something like this 
happens."

He's silent for a long moment, his 
antennae twitching nervously. "I know," 
he says finally, his voice gruff. "It's just... 
I don't know how to deal with it. With him 
seeing me like that."

Karen's heart goes out to him. She 
knows the fear that comes with the 
unknown, the fear of being judged, of 
losing the ones you love because they 
don't understand. She takes a deep 
breath and speaks softly. "You don't 
have to deal with it alone, Plankton. 
We're a family. We're in this together."

Plankton doesn't respond immediately, 
his gaze still fixed on the floor. But 
slowly, his antennae start to rise, a sign 
that he's listening, that he's starting to 
come out of his shell. Karen waits, 
giving him the space he needs.

Finally, he looks up, his eye meeting 
hers. "I've always tried to be a good 
father," he says, his voice barely above 
a whisper.

"You are," Karen reassures. "You're the 
best father Chip could ask for."

Plankton nods, his antennae relaxing 
slightly. "But I don't know how to explain 
it to him," he says, his voice tight. "I 
don't want him to..."

"To what?" Karen prompts, her tone 
gentle.

"I don't want him to think of me as... less 
than," Plankton murmurs, his gaze 
flickering towards the stairs where Chip 
had disappeared. "To gawk, nor to 
prompt.."

Karen crosses the room and takes his 
hand, her touch a comforting presence. 
"He doesn't think that," she says firmly. 
"He just wants to know so he can help. 
And so he doesn't have to be scared."

Plankton sighs, his shoulders slumping 
further. "I know," he admits. "But it's 
hard, Karen."

Karen nods, her grip on his hand 
tightening. "I know it is, but we can't 
keep this from him forever. He's going to 
have questions, and he deserves 
answers. I’ll let him back now."
With a deep breath, Plankton nods.

new chip off the old talks autismcore

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY x
(Autistic author)

"Jellyfish... help Plankton think."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The group walked back to the Chum Bucket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

new a life of diversity x

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ix
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a life of diversity plabsen ix

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS v

(Autistic Author)



Karen watches the exchange, her heart 
heavy with the weight of their 
conversation. "Plankton," she says 
gently. "What can Chip do to help you?"


"Just be
patient," he says. "And maybe don't 
touch me to much."

Chip's eyes widen at the admission, and 
he nods solemnly. "Okay," he says. "But 
what if you don't look okay?"

Plankton's antennae twitch in what 
Karen recognizes as a sign of 
discomfort, but he answers. "Inform 
Karen, I mean uh ‘Mommy’, but just wait 
for me to come back I guess," he says. 
"Don't call panicked attention to it."

Chip nods, his eyes searching 
Plankton's face. "But what if you fall 
down or something?"

Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Well, 
if that happens," he says, his voice gruff 
but gentle, "you can offer to help me up, 
yet also same thing. But then just 
remember to give me some space, 
okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's face. "I will, Dad," he says, 
voice earnest.

Karen feels a knot in her throat, 
watching the two of them. Plankton's 
vulnerability is a rare sight, but she 
knows it's a step in the right direction. 
She decides to push the conversation a 
bit further.

"Chip," she says softly. "Do you have 
any more questions?"

Chip looks at Plankton, his eyes 
searching. "Why’d you get so mad when 
asking you questions?"

Plankton's antennae twitch again, a hint 
of frustration in his eye. "It's just... it's 
hard to explain," he says, his voice tight.
"I know you're trying to help, but 
sometimes it feels like you're poking at a 
sore spot."
Chip's expression falls, his lower lip 
trembling. "But I didn't mean to hurt you, 
Dad," he says, his voice a whisper.
Plankton sighs, his antennae dropping 
to his side. "I know you didn't," he says, 
his voice softer. "It's just that sometimes, 
when people ask questions about it, it 
feels like they're not accepting me the 
way I am."

Karen's heart breaks a little at her 
husband's words, but she knows this is 
a breakthrough. "Chip," she says, her 
voice gentle. "What Daddy's trying to 
say is that sometimes, it's hard for him 
to talk about."

Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. 
"But you're still my dad," he says, his 
voice firm. "I'll always love you, no 
matter what."

Plankton's antennae twitch as he nods 
and for a 
moment, Karen sees a flicker of emotion 
in his eye. The room is silent, the air 
thick with unspoken words. Karen's 
heart is racing, knowing this is a pivotal 
moment. Plankton has always struggled 
with expressing his emotions, especially 
with their son. The words "I love you"
are as foreign to him as the surface 
world.

"I know you do, buddy," Plankton says, 
his voice gruff. He clears his throat, 
looking down at the rock on the coffee 
table. "But for me, it's not always easy to 
say those words." He looks up at Chip, 
his eye filled with something Karen can't 
quite place—pain, perhaps, or regret. 
"But just because I don't say it, doesn't 
mean I don't feel it, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his 
dad's face. "But why can't you say it?" 
he asks, his voice small.

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
looks away, his eye avoiding contact 
with both Karen and Chip.

"I just want to make sure you know that I 
love you," Chip says, his voice a mix of 
hope and desperation. "Isn't that what 
families do?"

The room seems to shrink around them, 
the air charged with anticipation. 
Plankton's antennae shoot straight up, 
and his eye narrows into a glare. Karen 
can almost see the cogs turning in his 
mind, the struggle to find the right 
words.

"Why do you keep asking?" Plankton 
snaps, his voice sharp as a knife.

Chip flinches, but Karen squeezes his 
hand, giving him the courage to keep 
asking. "I just want to understand," Chip 
whispers.

Plankton's eye flashes with irritation. 
"Why does it matter so much?" he 
snaps, his antennae quivering. "Why do 
you have to know everything?"

Chip shrinks back, his voice trembling. 
"Because I don't want you to be sad," he 
says, his eyes brimming with tears.

Plankton processes Chip's words. His 
antennae quiver, his eye flitting between 
his son and Karen, who's watching with 
a silent plea for patience.

"Why do you keep asking?" Plankton 
repeats, his voice rising slightly. "What's 
so important about me saying it?"

Karen's eyes are filled with a silent 
apology as she sees the confusion and 
hurt on Chip's face. She knows 
Plankton's words are a defense 
mechanism, a way to keep his own fears
at bay. But she also knows how much 
their son needs to hear those words.

"Plankton," she says gently, her voice a
soft reminder of the love in the room. 
"Chip just wants to understand."

Plankton sighs, his antennae dropping in 
defeat. "I know," he murmurs. "I just... I 
don't know how to explain it so he gets 
it."

Karen nods, her heart aching for both 
her son and her husband. "Chip," she 
says, her voice soft. "Daddy's trying, okay?"

But Chip's eyes are on Plankton, 
searching for answers that Plankton 
seems unwilling to give. Plankton's 
antennae are a blur of movement, his 
frustration palpable in the air. "I don't 
know how to explain it so you'll get it!" 
he snaps, his voice echoing off the 
walls.

Chip's eyes widen, and he withdraws 
further into himself, clutching the rock 
tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice 
shaking.

Karen's grip on Plankton's hand 
tightens, a silent plea for calm. 
"Plankton," she says gently, "you don't 
have to explain everything right now. We 
just want to help."

But Plankton's antennae are a blur of 
agitation, his eye darting around the 
room as if searching for an escape. "I 
don't know what you want from me," he 
says, his voice tight. "I'm trying to be 
honest, but it feels like no matter what I 
say, it's not enough."

Karen can see the frustration in her 
husband's movements, his antennae 
waving erratically. "You don't have to 
have all the answers right now," she 
soothes, her voice a gentle reminder of 
the love in the room.

Plankton's eye narrows, his antennae 
stiff with tension. "But Chip expects me 
to," he murmurs, his voice filled with a 
hint of accusation. "You want me to just 
lay it all out, like it's simple."

Karen can feel the frustration rolling off 
of him, and she knows that pushing him 
further won't help. "I know it's hard," she 
says, her voice soothing. "But we can 
take it slow, okay?"

Plankton's antennae quiver, and he 
nods, his eye still narrowed in irritation. 
"Fine," he grumbles. "But don't expect 
me to be good at it."

The tension in the room is thick, but 
Karen refuses to let it linger. She takes a 
deep breath, her eyes on Chip. "Why 
don't we start by talking about what 
happened today?" she suggests, her 
voice calm and even.

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
nods, his eye flicking to Chip before 
looking away again. "Ok," he says, his 
voice tight.

"Do you remember what happened at 
the park today?" Karen asks, keeping 
her voice gentle and steady.

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he nods 
stiffly. "Yes," he says, his voice tight. "I 
had one of my... moments."

Chip looks at him, his eyes wide with 
concern. "Is it okay with Dad…"

"I'm right here, buddy," Plankton 
interrupts, his antennae still, his eye 
fixed on the floor. "And I'm okay."

But Chip isn't convinced. "But you 
weren't okay at the park," he says, his 
voice quivering. "You were scared I 
think.."

Plankton's antennae shoot up in 
frustration. "I was not scared!" he snaps, 
his voice echoing through the room. "It's 
just... it's hard to explain!"

Karen's heart squeezes, watching her 
husband's distress, but she knows they 
need to keep the conversation going. 
"Chip," she says gently, "why don't you 
tell us what you felt when you saw 
Daddy's moment?"

Chip looks at Karen, his eyes glistening. 
"I was scared," he admits, his voice 
shaky. "I didn't know what to do, and 
everyone was looking."

Plankton's antennae droop, his eye 
flicking to the floor. He's visibly upset, 
and Karen can see the anger bubbling 
beneath the surface.

"I just want to know," Chip says, his 
voice trembling, "I wanna know why 
you…"

But before he can finish, Plankton's 
antennae shoot up in anger, his eye 
flashing with a fury. "Why do you keep 
poking at me like that?" he yells, his 
voice echoing through the room. "Can't 
you just leave me alone?"

Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he jumps 
back, his small body trembling. Karen's 
heart sinks as she sees the fear in her 
son's eyes, and she knows that 
Plankton's outburst isn't helping.

"Plankton," she says firmly, her voice 
cutting through the tension.

new chip off the old talks familycore

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vi

(Autistic Author)



"Plankton," she says firmly, her voice 
cutting through the tension. "Let's take a 
breathe."

He glares, his antennae vibrating with 
agitation. But he does as she says, 
taking a deep, shaky breath. Chip 
watches him, eyes wide and full of 
tears.

"Chip," Karen says, her voice calm. 
"Why don't you go to your room and play 
for a bit?"

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's face. He slips off the couch, 
clutching the rock to his chest. But doing 
so, Chip accidentally touches Plankton 
when he passes, and Plankton yelps in 
alarm when Chip brushes his shoulder.

"Sorry," Chip whispers.

Plankton flinches, his antennae shooting 
straight up as he jolts back from the 
contact. "I told you, no touching!" he 
snaps, his voice a thunderclap in the 
tense silence.

Chip's eyes widen with fear and 
confusion, his lip quivering as he backs 
away, holding the rock protectively. "I 
didn't mean to," he stammers, his voice 
barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennae wiggle in an 
exaggerated fashion, his eye rolling 
dramatically. "Oh, I'm so sorry," he says 
in a high-pitched mockery of Chip's 
voice. "I didn't mean to touch you and 
make everything about me."

Karen's face falls, and she knows 
they've taken a step backward. But she 
also sees the hurt in Plankton's eye, the 
pain that he's trying to hide with anger.

"Dad," Chip says, quivering. "That's not 
fair, I..."

But Plankton doesn't let him finish.

"You know what's not fair?" Plankton 
spits, his antennae whipping back and 
forth in fury. "Is having a son who thinks 
he knows everything about me!"

Chip's eyes fill with tears as he stumbles 
back, clutching the rock tighter. "I just 
wanted to help," he whispers, his voice 
breaking.

Plankton's in a sarcastic imitation of 
Chip's movements. "Oh, the great 
helper," he says, his voice dripping with 
sarcasm. "You think you can just fix me 
with your questions and your pity?"

Chip's eyes fill with hurt as he watches 
his father mock his innocent concern. 
Karen feels a mix of anger and sadness, 
but she knows she must tread carefully.

"Daddy," Chip says, his voice shaking as 
he puts the rock down, "I'm sorry if I 
made you mad."
But Plankton isn't listening. He picks up 
the rock and with a sudden, violent 
movement, he throws it against the wall. 
It shatters into a hundred pieces, the 
sound echoing through the room.
"Son, I’m sorry if I made you mad!”
Plankton's sarcastic tone cuts through 
the silence like a knife, his antennae 
flailing wildly. Chip flinches at the 
sudden outburst, his eyes wide with 
shock.

"That's what you want, right?" Plankton 
continues, his voice rising. "To fix 
everything? Sorry doesn't cut it," 
Plankton snaps, his antennae trembling 
with rage.

"No, Dad," Chip says, his voice barely 
audible, "I just wanted to understand."

But Plankton isn't done.

"Oh, I'm sorry, little genius," Plankton 
says, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Is 
that what you want to hear?"

Chip stares at him, his eyes brimming 
with tears. "No," he whispers. "I just 
want you to be okay, I love you!"

But Plankton's anger is a living, 
breathing thing, swirling around him like 
a storm.

"Love isn't enough, Chip!" Plankton 
yells, his antennae quivering with rage. 
"You can't just love away my problems! 
You don't get to decide that for me!"

Karen's heart is in her throat, but she 
forces herself to speak calmly. 
"Plankton, please," she says, her voice 
shaking. "You're scaring him."

Chip nods. “I just…”
But Plankton's fury is unrelenting.

"You think a simple game of 'I love you' is going 
to make everything okay?" Plankton 
interrupts, his voice a roar that shakes 
the walls of their tiny underwater home.

Chip's eyes fill with confusion, and he 
takes a step backward, trembling. "But, 
Dad," he whispers.

"But nothing!" Plankton's antennae whip 
around, and he stands, his whole body 
vibrating with anger. "You think you can 
fix me? You think you can just love me 
and everything will be fine?"

Karen tries to interject, but Plankton's 
rage is like a tidal wave, crashing over 
everything in its path.

"You think you gotta have the last word 
just to show how great and special you 
are Chip. But in the real world No means 
No so BACK OFF."

Chip's eyes widen, and he stumbles 
backward, the shattered rock on the 
floor a stark reminder of Plankton's 
outburst.

"Daddy," he whispers, his voice 
trembling.

Plankton's antennae only stiffen 
further.

"I'm sorry, Chip," Karen says, her voice a 
thread of calm in the storm. "Let's go to 
your room, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton, who's still standing with his 
antennae flailing. Karen can see the hurt 
in her son's gaze, and it breaks her 
heart. She helps him off the couch, and 
together, they navigate the shards of 
rock on the floor.

As they leave the room, Karen casts a 
sorrowful glance at Plankton, who's now 
slumped into the couch, his antennae 
drooping. The anger seems to have 
drained out of him, leaving behind a 
tired, defeated creature.

In Chip's room, Karen helps her son sit 
on the bed, the soft glow from the 
glowfish lamp casting a warm light on 
his tear-stained face. She sits beside 
him, her hand gently rubbing his back in 
comforting circles. "You didn't do 
anything wrong, sweetie," she whispers. 
"Daddy just has a hard time with his 
feelings."

Chip's eyes are glued to the floor, his 
chest heaving with quiet sobs. "But 
why?" he asks, his voice cracking.

Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find 
the right words. "Sometimes, when 
people are upset or scared, they don't 
know how to show it," she says gently. 
"Daddy's just trying to deal with his own 
stuff, and it can be hard for him to talk 
about."

Chip nods, his eyes still on the floor. 
"But why does he have to get so mad?" 
he asks, his voice trembling.

"It's not that he's mad at you," 
she says softly. "It's just that he doesn't 
know how to express himself without 
getting upset."

"But why?" Chip asks, his voice muffled 
by the pillow he's buried his face in.

Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes 
misting over. "Daddy's brain works 
differently, Chip," she says, her voice 
cracking. "Sometimes, when we're sad 
or scared, we get mad instead."

Chip lifts his head, his eyes red and wet. "But why 
doesn't he just tell me he loves 
me?" he asks, his voice a broken 
whisper.

Karen sighs, sad but 
understanding. "Some people show love 
in different ways," she says. "Daddy 
might not say it out loud, but he does it 
every day. Like when he takes you on 
adventures or when he makes you 
laugh."

"But why can't he just say it?" he asks.

Karen's throat tightens. "Sometimes, it's 
hard for Daddy to say the words," she 
explains gently. "But that doesn't mean 
he doesn't feel it."

Chip sniffles, his eyes never leaving 
hers. "But why can't he just tell me?"

Karen sighs, her hand still rubbing 
soothing circles on his back. "It's 
complicated," she says. "Daddy's brain 
is like a treasure chest with lots of locks. 
Some days, the right words just can't 
find the key."

Chip looks at her, his eyes searching for 
a simple truth amidst the complexity. 
"But I want him to feel happy with me," 
he murmurs.

Karen nods, her voice soft. "And he is, 
sweetie," she says. "Just in his own 
way."

They sit in silence for a moment. Then 
Karen stands, her movements slow and 
deliberate. "Let's leave Daddy alone for 
now," she suggests. "He needs some 
space to sort through his feelings."

Chip nods, his eyes still glistening with 
unshed tears. Together, they leave the 
room, closing the door softly behind 
them.

As they walk down the corridor, Karen's thoughts are 
a tumult of emotions. She's angry at Plankton for his 
outburst, but she also understands his pain. He's 
been dealing with his condition alone for so long, 
and now he's forced to confront it with their son's 
innocent curiosity.

They enter the living room, and she can see 
Plankton sitting on the couch, his antennae 
drooping. He looks up as they come in, his 
expression a mix of guilt and defiance. Karen takes a 
deep breath, trying to keep her own emotions in 
check. "Why don't we watch a movie?" she 
suggests, her voice gentle. "Something to help us relax?"

Chip nods, still sniffling, and Plankton's antennae 
perk up slightly. It's a small victory, but it's 
something.

They settle on the couch, Chip curled up in the 
middle with a blanket. Karen chooses a movie 
they've watched together before, a silent gesture of 
comfort and familiarity. Plankton's eye is on the 
screen, but his antennae are still twitching with 
leftover anger.

new chip off the old talks familycore autismcore

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new xi xi dot art xi text art xi ascii art dot art text art ascii art

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM i

(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a journey to autism headinjuryposting autismcore plaren i

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ii

(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a journey to autism plaren memorycore ii

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix

(Autistic Author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore ix

CATCH IN MY CHIP xi
(Autistic author)

Karen leans in closer to
Plankton, her voice a gentle
whisper. "It's okay," she says,
her eyes filled with warmth.
"You're okay." Plankton's breaths
are shallow, his chest rising
and falling with effort as he
shakes.

The room is a cocoon of
quiet, the outside world
muted by the thick walls
of their sanctuary. Karen's
hand is a constant, her
touch a reminder that he's
not alone. Plankton's gaze
flits to Chip, the question in
his eye unspoken.

"Chip," Karen says, her voice
a balm to Plankton's raw
nerves. "Your dad is in need
of some quiet time, okay?"
Her words are a gentle nudge,
guiding them through the
delicate dance of recovery.

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's face. "I
understand," he murmurs, though
his heart feels like it's been
tied in knots. He swallows
his questions, his fear for
his dad a lump in his throat.

Plankton's antennas twitch
slightly, his breathing
easing a fraction. He nods, the
gesture almost imperceptible. "Thank
you," he whispers, his voice
raspy with exhaustion. The
relief in his eye is palpable.

Chip watches, his own
emotions a tapestry of confusion
and concern. He wants to
reach out, to hold his dad close,
but he knows it's not the time.
Instead, he squeezes Karen's hand,
his silent promise to be
patient and understanding.

Plankton's eye closes, his body
slowly relaxing into the pillow.
The ringing in his ears
fades, the world coming back
into focus like a camera
lens slowly adjusting to the light.
The warmth of Karen's hand
on his forehead is a comfort,
his anchor in the sea of
sensation.

Her voice is a gentle lullaby,
guiding him back to shore.
"You're okay," she repeats,
each word a wave lapping
against the shore of his mind.
The room stops spinning, the
colors coalescing into
distinct shapes.

Plankton's gaze darts around
the room, seeking solace.
His eye lands on a spot on the
wall, a patch of
unblemished white. He focuses
on it, his breaths coming
slower, deeper. It's a sanctuary,
a place of peace amidst
the chaos. The spot becomes
his beacon, the world around
it a blurry periphery.

Karen's hand on his forehead
is cool, a balm to his racing
thoughts. "Look at the spot,"
she whispers, her voice a
soothing melody. "Just the
spot." He nods, his eye
locking onto the white, his
breaths syncing with hers.

The spot is a lifeline in the
storm, a beacon of calm in
his sensory chaos. Plankton
stares at it, willing the
world to recede. The colors
around it blur, the sounds
of the room dull to a
whisper. It's just him and
the spot, a silent pact
between them to conquer
the tempest.

Karen's voice is a gentle
wave, lapping at the edges
of his mind. "When you're
ready, take a deep breath.
In, out. Slowly." She
guides him through the
exercise, her tone soothing.
Plankton tries to focus,
his body responding to the
familiar rhythm.

The spot on the wall
becomes clearer, the edges
sharper. The world around it
softens, the colors bleeding
back into the fabric of the
room. His breathing slows,
his chest rising and falling
in time with Karen's gentle
prompts. The spot is his
sanctuary, a bastion of
calm in the overwhelming
storm.

But then, it starts. The
tic, a twitch of his antenna.
A reminder that his mind
is not entirely his own,
his body a marionette to the
whims of his neurodiversity.
Plankton's antennas begin to
still, his body gradually
relinquishing the tension
that had held it hostage. The
tic in his left antenna, a
quick spasm that had
become more frequent.

Karen's eyes don't leave his
face, her gaze a silent
support. She knows the
dance of his tics all too
well, a choreography
that they've lived with
for years. She squeezes his
hand, her touch a silent
promise to stand by him
through the storm. It's
his body's way of releasing
the tension that builds
up like pressure in a volcano.
The tic is a tide, rising
and falling, unpredictable and
uncontrollable.

Plankton's head jerks to
the side, the sudden
movement a stark contrast
to the stillness of the
room. Chip's eyes go wide
with concern.

"It's okay," Karen murmurs,
squeezing Plankton's hand. "It's
just your body. It's okay."
Her voice is a lullaby, a gentle
reminder that he's not alone.
The tic subsides, his
antennas returning to their
usual state.

Chip's eyes dart from his
dad to his mom, his mind
whirring with questions. "What
was that?" he asks, his voice
quiet, afraid to disturb the
fragile peace.

Karen's hand moves to
Plankton's antenna, her thumb
tracing the line of his twitch.
"It's just his body's way
of dealing with the
overstimulation," she
explains, her voice calm
but tinged with sadness. "It's
a tic, Chip. It's part of
his autism."

Chip nods, his eyes wide
with understanding. "Will
he be okay?" he asks, his
voice small in the face of his
father's struggle.

Karen's grip on Plankton's
hand tightens, her voice a
steady stream of comfort. "Yes,
he will," she says with
confidence. "This happens
sometimes. We just need to be
patient and give him time."

Plankton's antennas still
slightly, the tremor a
reminder of the storm
that had passed through
his mind. His breaths come
more evenly now, the spot on
the wall his silent companion
as he finds his way back
to the world.

Chip's eyes are full of
questions, his heart heavy with
concern. He watches as his
dad's body relaxes, the tension
easing like a retreating tide.
"I'll get him some water,"
Karen says, her voice a
whisper. She squeezes Plankton's
hand once more before rising,
leaving the two of them
alone in the quiet.

Plankton's eye meets Chip's,
his gaze apologetic.

Chip swallows his fear.

"Daddy?" he whispers, his
voice cracking. Plankton's
eye flutters open, the panic
gone, replaced by a
fatigue that seems to
weigh down his very soul.

"I'm okay," he manages,
his voice a rasp. "Just tired."

Chip nods, his hand
tentatively reaching out to
touch his dad's arm. The
contact is tentative, a
question and a comfort all
in one. Plankton's antennas
twitch again, but this time
it's with the beginnings of
a smile. "Thanks, buddy," he
says, his voice hoarse.

The room is a cocoon of
silence, the air thick with
unspoken words. Plankton
swallows hard, the weight
of his own emotions pressing
down on his chest like a
leaden blanket. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his gaze never
leaving Chip's.

Chip's eyes are pools of
concern, the question in his
eyes unspoken but potent.
"For what?" he asks, his
voice barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennas droop
slightly, his eye reflecting the
shame he feels. "For scaring
you," he says, his voice
hoarse. "For not being
able to control it."

Chip's hand tightens around
his dad's arm, his eyes
brimming with tears he's too
proud to shed. "It's okay,
Daddy," he says, the words a
soft whisper. "You don't have
to be sorry."

Plankton's smile is weak,
his antennas still. "I know," he
replies, his voice a
whisper. "But it's hard not
to be." He swallows, his
throat dry from the battle
his body has just endured.

Karen returns with a
glass of water, her steps
silent on the soft carpet. She
hands it to Plankton, who
gratefully takes a sip, the
cool liquid soothing his
parched throat. The tension in
the room is a palpable
entity, a third person in
their silent conversation.

"What happened?" Chip asks,
his voice small, the question
a balloon of curiosity
floating in the heavy air.

"It's just part of who
I am," Plankton says, his
voice still hoarse from his
episode. He takes another
sip of water, the coldness
of it a stark contrast to
his fevered skin. "My
autism, it makes my brain
work differently."

Chip's hand is still on
his arm, a silent
offer of comfort. "But
you're okay now," he
says, his voice hopeful.
Plankton nods, the
motion almost imperceptible.

"Thanks to Mom," he murmurs, his
eye swiveling to Karen, who
smiles at him with a mix of
relief and love. "She's the
reason I made it through."

Chip looks at Karen with a newfound
respect, his young mind trying to
comprehend the gravity of what he's
just witnessed. "You're both
strong," he says, his voice
steady, the fear momentarily
pushed aside by admiration.

Karen's smile is a soft glow,
the pride in her eyes unmistakable.
"We all have our moments," she
says, her hand resting on
Plankton's shoulder. "It's
how we face them that makes
us who we are." She glances
at the clock, the ticking a
reminder of the time they've lost
to the sensory storm. "Why don't
you go play for a bit, Chip?
Your dad needs some rest, and I
think we could all use a
moment to process."

Chip nods, his eyes
still filled with unspoken
questions. But he trusts
his mom, and he can see the
exhaustion etched into
Plankton's face. He slides off
the bed, his feet silent on
the floor. With one last look
at his dad, he heads for the
door, the weight of the
moment heavy on his
shoulders.

Karen watches him go,
her heart aching for the
fear he must be feeling.
But she knows that with
time and patience, he'll
understand. He'll grow to
see his dad not as a
mystery to be solved, but as
a person to be loved and
supported, just like anyone
else.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II xi

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 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 xi
(Autistic author)

After a moment, she turned and walked
towards the workshop door, her steps slow
and deliberate. She paused, her hand
on the doorknob, looking back at Chip with a
mixture of pain and resolve. "I'll check
on your father," she said, her voice a whisper.
"You... you clean up here."

Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving
his mother's. He knew she was hurting too,
but she was putting on a brave face for him.
As she disappeared into the workshop,
his heart felt like it was in a vice. He'd never
seen his parents like this before.

The kitchen was a mess of shattered
dishes and splattered jelly, a stark
contrast to the usually pristine space.
He took a deep breath and began to
collect the broken pieces, his mind racing
with thoughts of his father's pain.

Karen's footsteps were quiet
as she approached the workshop,
the door slightly ajar. She could
hear Plankton's muffled sobs from
inside, his tiny body hunched
over his workbench. She took a
deep breath, steeling herself for
what she might find.

The room was a whirlwind of
half-finished inventions, wires
and gadgets scattered about.
Her heart broke at the sight of her
husband, the usually stoic and
resourceful Plankton, reduced to a
tiny, shaking figure, his antennae
drooped like the wilted leaves of
a forgotten houseplant.

"Plankton?" Karen's voice was a soft
whisper, cutting through the quiet.
He didn't look up, his sobs the
only sound in the cluttered room.
Slowly, she approached, her eyes
taking in the chaos around them.
"Honey," she began, her voice
trembling. "I know you're upset, but..."

Plankton's sobs grew louder,
his body shaking with the force of
his emotions. Karen reached out,
her hand hovering over his shoulder,
uncertain whether to touch him.

Finally, she decided that in this moment,
space was what he needed most. She
stood there, a silent sentinel, her presence
a gentle reminder that she was there
for him. "Plankton," she said softly,
her voice a balm in the storm of his
rage. "Can I get you anything?"

Plankton's sobs grew quieter,
his tiny frame heaving with the
weight of his emotions. "No,"
he said, his voice muffled.

Karen took a step closer,
her hand still hovering. "Do you
want me to stay?" she asked, her
tone gentle.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his head nodding slightly. It was the
barest of movements, but it spoke
volumes to Karen. She stepped
forward, wrapping her arms around
his shoulders, careful not to press
too hard. He stiffened at first, but
then, ever so slightly, leaned into her.

Her embrace was gentle, her touch
like a soft breeze, offering comfort without
smothering his pain. "I always love you."

The words hung in the air,
their quiet strength a stark contrast
to the chaos of the kitchen. Plankton
felt his body begin to relax, his sobs
easing as Karen's warmth seeped in.

He took a deep, shuddering breath,
his antennae drooping. "I'm sorry,"
he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.
"I didn't mean to... I don't know..."

Karen's grip tightened, her hand
sliding up to cradle his head. "It's okay,"
she soothed, her voice a gentle lullaby.

Plankton's antennae twitched
nervously against her, but he didn't pull away.
He knew she was there for him, even when
his own mind was a tempest of confusion.

"You don't have to apologize," Karen
whispered.

Her words were a balm to Plankton's
raw nerves, and he leaned into her
embrace. She knew he was
sensitive post-episode, his emotions
like a tightly wound spring, ready to snap.
Her heart ached for him, for the fear
and frustration he felt in those moments.

Karen's eyes scanned the room,
noticing the chaos of Plankton's
workshop, his mind's refuge.
Usually, the disarray was organized,
each gear and wire in its place. Now,
it was as though a tornado had swept
through, leaving a trail of half-finished
inventions in its wake.

Plankton's sobs grew quieter, his
body still tense under her touch.
"I just... I don't want you to look
at me and see something broken
and unlovable.."

Karen's eyes filled with tears.
"You are you, and that is all 
I've ever loved."

The words hung in the air,
a gentle rebuttal to the harshness
of the earlier scene. Plankton's
sobs grew quieter, his breathing
evening out. Chip hovered at the
entrance, his heart a tumultuous
sea of regret and fear. He'd hurt
his father, and he didn't know
how to fix it.

He took a tentative step into
the workshop, his eyes scanning
the room. The mess was a stark
reminder of the turmoil Plankton
was feeling, and it only served
to amplify Chip's own guilt.
He watched his mother's careful
movements, her gentle touch,
and he desperately wanted to do
the same.

new great chip familycore xi

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

GREAT CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

Chip took a deep breath, trying
to compose himself. "I know I can't
fix you, Dad," he said, his voice shaking.

Plankton's antennae stopped moving,
his eye focusing on Chip with an intensity
that made him feel like he was being x-rayed.
"You can't," he said, his voice firm. "But you
can support me. You can be there without
trying to change me."

Chip nodded, swallowing the lump
in his throat. "Okay," he managed to say.
"But I want to understand. I want
to be here for you."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye narrowing slightly. "Understand?"
he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm.
"Sure, it's easy. Just imagine your
brain's a pinball machine on tilt. Sounds
fun, right?"

Chip felt a smile tug at the corner
of his mouth despite the tension,
which only adds to Plankton's anger.
"Well, when you put it that way..."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye squinting at his son's response.
"What?" he barked, his voice
sharp.

Chip tried to hold onto his smile,
his heart racing. "I mean,
if it's like a pinball machine, I can
learn the patterns," he said, his tone
carefully light. "I'm pretty good at video
games, so..."

Plankton's antennae waved wildly,
his eye flashing with anger. "You think
this is a game?" he shouted, his voice
filling the room. "You think
I enjoy being out of control? WELL THEN
PERHAPS YOU CAN EXPLAIN THE FUN OF FORGETTING
WHERE I AM FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME!"

Chip's smile dropped, his eyes wide
with shock at his father's outburst.
He took a step back, his hands up
in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry,"
he said quickly, his voice trembling.
"I didn't mean to make a joke of it, I
just..."

"You just what?" Plankton spat, his
small body vibrating with rage. "You just
don't get it! You can't get it! You're not
autistic, you don't know what it's like to have
your brain turn on you like that!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his heart breaking at the accusation.
"I know, Dad," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying."

Plankton's antennae quivered with
the force of his rage. "You don't know,"
he said, his voice cold. "You can't know.
All I see is a little child playing pretend,
thinking he can understand what I go 
through! And yet you're the one asking
for help! Face it, you're never going to get 
it and so don't expect ME to explain it to you!"

Chip's eyes watered, the words hitting
like a sledgehammer. He had never seen
his father so furious, so unyielding. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered, his voice shaking. "I just want 
to help."

Plankton's antennae stopped their wild
movements, his eye focusing on his son with
a cold, calculating gaze. "Help?" he repeated,
his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want to
help by poking fun at my condition?"

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his heart racing. "Dad, I didn't mean it
like that," he said, his voice trembling.
"I just wanted to lighten the mood."

Plankton's antennae waved, his eye
still cold and distant. "Don't," he said,
his voice like ice. "Don't try to lighten
it. And don't you DARE make fun of it."

Chip's eyes fell to the floor,
his heart aching with the weight of his
father's anger. "I'm sorry," he whispered,
his voice trembling. "I di-"

"You're sorry?" Plankton's voice
was a whip crack in the silence. "Sorry
doesn't cut it!" He slammed his fist
on the table, causing their plates to rattle.
"You think an apology is enough
when you belittle what I go through?"

Chip's eyes widened with fear
as his dad's anger grew. He'd never
seen Plankton like this before, his
tiny body trembling with rage, his antennae
thrashing like live wires. The kitchen
felt suffocatingly small, the walls closing in.

"Dad, please," Chip begged, his voice
shaking. "I didn't mean it that way."

But Plankton was beyond listening, his
tiny body vibrating with fury. "You don't get to
make jokes about this!" he roared, his antennae
whipping about like agitated snakes. "You don't get to
reduce it to a game you can win with a simple joke!"

Chip took another step back, his heart
pounding in his chest. He had never seen
his father this enraged, and it scared him. "Dad, I-"
he began, but Plankton's tirade didn't stop.

"You think it's funny?" Plankton shouted,
his antennae a blur of motion. "You think
it's fun to live with this?" His voice grew
louder, his words sharper. "You think it's
easy to lighten up at the drop of a hat?"

Chip's eyes filled with tears as
his father's anger grew, his voice
crackling like static. He hadn't meant to make
light of his dad's condition, but now it
seemed as if he'd made everything worse.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his hands
shaking.

Plankton's antennae whipped around
his head, his eye bulging. "Sorry won't
make it go away!" he screamed, his voice
bouncing off the walls. "You think you can
make it better with a laugh?" He slammed
his fist down again, the sound like a gunshot.
"It's not a joke, Chip!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears as he watched
his father's outburst, his heart pounding.
He had never seen Plankton like this,
his anger a living, breathing thing that filled
the room like a toxic cloud. "I know," he whispered,
his voice shaking. "But I want to help."

Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his
body shaking with the force of his emotions.
"Help?" he spat, his voice a whip. "You want
to help? Then stop making it about you!"

Chip's eyes grew wide with fear
as he watched his father's anger
boil over, his voice shaking. "Dad, please,"
he whispered, his heart racing.

Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly,
his body vibrating with uncontrollable
rage. Suddenly, he grabbed the
coffee mug from the table,
flinging it across the room
where it shattered against the wall.
Shards of ceramic flew everywhere,
puncturing the silence like shrapnel.

"Dad, no!" Chip yelled, his heart racing
faster than it ever had before. He had
never seen Plankton this out of control.
And Karen knew she had to act fast.

Her voice was calm but firm as
she approached Plankton. "Sweetie,
it's okay," she said, her hands up in a
non-threatening gesture. "Let's go
to your workshop. You know that's your
safe space."

Plankton's antennae thrashed, his
eye darting around the room, seeking
anything to target his anger. "I don't
want to go anywhere!" he roared, his
body shaking with the intensity of
his emotions. "It's not okay!"

Karen stepped closer, her voice
steady. "It's okay to be upset,"
she said, her eyes never leaving
his. "But Chip..."

But Plankton's rage was unstoppable.
He lunged for the nearest object,
a framed photo of Chip,
his grip tightening as he raised it
over his head, ready to smash it
against the floor.

Karen's eyes widened, her heart
pounding in her chest. She had
to defuse the situation before it
got any worse. "Plankton, no," she
pleaded, her voice steady. "Please,
don't."

But Plankton's rage had taken over,
his body moving on autopilot as he
swung the photo frame with all his might.
It crashed to the floor, the shattering
glass echoing in the small room.
Chip's eyes grew round with shock,
his body frozen in place as he watched
his father's tantrum unfold.

"Dad, please stop!" he shouted, his voice
cracking with fear. "You're scaring me!"

But Plankton's rage was a runaway train,
his antennae quivering with the intensity
of his anger. He stomped over to the counter,
grabbing a plate and flinging it against
the wall, where it shattered into a hundred
tiny pieces. The sound was deafening, the force
of the impact sending a shiver down Chip's spine.

Karen stepped in front of Chip,
placing herself between him and the storm
of Plankton's fury. "Stop," she said firmly,
her voice a calm oasis in the chaos.
"You're scaring him."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye focusing on Karen with a mix
of anger and confusion. For a moment,
his body seemed to pause, his arm
still mid-air, a kitchen towel gripped tightly
in his hand. Then, with a roar, he threw it,
the soft fabric landing limply on the floor.

Karen's eyes searched her husband's,
seeing the turmoil behind the rage.
"Please, Plankton," she said, her voice
soothing. "Let's talk about this."

But Plankton's anger was like a
wildfire, consuming everything in its path.
He picked up another mug, his arm
winding up to throw it, when Chip
suddenly stepped forward, his eyes
locked on his father's. "Dad," he said,
his voice shaking. "Please don't."

Plankton's antennae paused, his
arm still raised. "WHY?" he growled,
his eye wild with anger. "You think
you can just tell me what to do?" And
then, with a sickly twisted satisfaction,
Plankton hurled the mug in front of
Chip, purposefully missing him.

The room seemed to hold its breath
as the mug spun through the air,
the shattering of porcelain on the
tile floor a symphony of pain. "Dad,"
Chip said, his voice shaking. "It's not
about control. It's about us. Our fam..."

But Plankton was beyond words,
his rage a living entity that
consumed him. He grabbed a toaster,
his grip white-knuckled, and hurled
it at the fridge, the metallic clang
a cacophony in the small kitchen.
"I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!"
he bellowed, his antennae a blur.

new great chip familycore ix

GREAT CHIP viii
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new great chip arguecore viii

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iii

(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sponge Bob steps into the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a journey to autism plankarenbob iii

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iv

(Autistic author)

"Let's play again," Plankton 
says, his voice eager. Sponge 
Bob nods, his smile 
genuine. "Ok, Plankton
pick a board game."

Karen watches as Sponge 
Bob sorts through the 
disarray of their game 
collection, his spongy 
fingers touching each box 
before finally settling on 
a card game.

"Go Fish!" Sponge Bob 
exclaims, holding up the 
battered cards. Plankton's 
face lights up at the 
familiar phrase, his antennas 
waggling with excitement. 
"Fish, fish, fish," he 
repeats, his voice echoing 
the words.

The two sit cross-legged on 
the floor, the cards spread 
out in front of them. Plankton's 
hands tremble slightly as he 
picks up his cards, but his 
concentration is intense. 
"Fish," he whispers, holding 
his hand out to Sponge Bob.
Sponge Bob nods, understanding 
the game despite Plankton's 
simplified request.

"Go Fish," he responds, 
placing a card into Plankton's 
outstretched palm. Plankton's 
eye brightens, and he repeats 
the action, placing a card 
into Sponge Bob's hand. "Fish," 
he says again, his voice 
slightly more confident.
"Plankton you gotta take a card
from the pile.."
Sponge Bob starts to explain,
but Plankton's antennas shoot 
up, and he interrupts. "Fish 
from the pile," he repeats, 
his voice eager. He reaches for 
the deck and draws a card, 
his eye never leaving 
Sponge Bob's.

Sponge Bob nods. 
"That's right, Plankton," he 
says, his voice gentle. "Go Fish."

Plankton repeats the phrase, 
his antennas bobbing with each 
word. "Go Fish," he murmurs, 
his eye scanning the cards.

Sponge Bob nods, a gentle 
smile playing on his lips. 
"Good job, Plankton," he 
encourages. "Your turn to ask 
for a card."

Plankton's antennas wiggle as he 
thinks, his eye darting to 
his hand. "Sponge Bob," he says, 
his voice a mix of excitement 
and focus. "Got any...?" He 
pauses, his brain searching 
for the right word. "Got any...?"

"Got any fish?" Sponge Bob 
prompts, his smile never 
wavering.
"Fish," Plankton repeats, 
his antennas bobbing. "Got any 
fish?"

Sponge Bob nods, 
understanding dawning. 
"Do you have any twos?"

Plankton's antennas 
twitch in excitement. "Two," 
he echoes, his voice 
triumphant. "Do you have any 
twos?"

Sponge Bob's smile falters 
slightly as he nods, looking 
at his own cards. He's not sure 
how to proceed. He 
decides to keep the game 
simple. "I don't have any twos," 
he says. "Now it's your turn 
to Go Fish."

Plankton nods, his 
concentration unbroken. He 
scans his cards again. "Got any 
fish?" he asks, his voice 
determined.

Sponge Bob's smile widens, 
his eyes sparkling with 
understanding. "No fish 
here," he says, placing a card 
face down. "Go Fish."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch rapidly as he 
processes the new 
information, his brain 
working to keep up with 
the game's flow. "Go Fish," 
he repeats, his voice 
gaining confidence with 
each exchange.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen slightly but 
he nods along, playing 
his part. "Okay, Plankton," 
he says, placing a card 
on the pile. "Your turn."

Plankton's antennas 
wobble as he considers 
his next move. "Got any 
fish?" he asks again, his 
voice a mix of excitement 
and challenge.
Sponge Bob's smile 
becomes a bit forced. 
"Nope," he says, 
his voice still cheerful. 
"Go Fish."

Plankton's eye dart 
to the cards in his 
hand, then back to 
Sponge Bob. His antennas 
wave erratically as he tries 
to formulate his next 
question. "Got any...?"

Sponge Bob waits 
patiently, his heart 
aching for his friend. 
He's never seen Plankton like 
this before, for SpongeBob
doesn't know about the accident
nor the diagnosis.
"Got any fish?" Plankton's 
words echo in the 
silence of the room. 
Sponge Bob's confusion 
mounts as he looks into 
his friend's eye, searching 
for a clue to what's 
going on.
"No, Plankton," Sponge 
Bob says, his voice 
strained. "I don't have any 
fish." Plankton's antennas 
drop slightly, his 
expression one of 
disappointment.
"Go Fish," he murmurs, 
his gaze drifting to the 
card pile.
Sponge Bob's heart 
aches as he watches 
his friend, trying to 
understand this new, 
strange behavior. "Do you 
want to play something 
else?" he asks, hoping to 
distract Plankton from his 
obsession with the game.
But Plankton's antennas 
spring back to life. "More 
fish," he insists, his voice 
almost a command. Sponge 
Bob nods, his mind racing 
to comprehend what's 
happening. He knows 
Plankton's mind is sharp, so 
why the repetition?

"Got any fish?" Plankton 
asks again, his voice 
growing more urgent.

Sponge Bob's smile falters.
He's never seen Plankton act 
this way before. The urgency 
in Plankton's voice, the 
repetition of words, it's all so 
strange and disconcerting. "I don't 
understand," he says, his voice 
small and unsure. "What's going 
on with you?"
Plankton's antennas quiver 
slightly at Sponge Bob's 
question, but his eye 
remains fixed on the cards. 
"I don't understand," he says, 
voice soft but firm. "What's
going on with you."
Sponge Bob's smile falters,
his eyes searching Plankton's 
face for answers. "It's just a 
game, Plankton," he says, 
his voice filled with 
concern. "You don't have to 
keep asking for fish."

This isn't the Plankton he 
knows, the cunning and 
scheming arch-nemesis who 
always has a plan up his 
sleeve. This is someone 
else entirely, someone 
lost and confused.
But Plankton doesn't 
seem to hear him. "Fish," he 
whispers, his antennas 
twitching in time with 
his words. "Got any fish?"
Sponge Bob feels a knot 
form in his stomach. Is
Plankton trying to annoy him?

"Plankton, are you ok?" 
he asks gently, his voice 
filled with concern.
Plankton's antennas stop 
twitching for a moment, 
his gaze meeting Sponge 
Bob's.
"Plankton are you ok," 
he echoes, his 
eye searching Sponge 
Bob's for a clue. "Fish."
Sponge Bob's brow furrows 
deeper, his confusion 
growing.
"You don't have to keep 
asking for fish, Plankton," he 
says again.
But Plankton's mind is 
stuck on the pattern, his 
voice insistent. "Fish," he 
repeats.

Sponge Bob's now getting irritated. 
The echoing of his words, the intense 
stare, and the persistent demand 
for "fish" are unlike anything he's 
ever seen.
"Plankton, please," he says, 
his voice tight with frustration. 
"I don't have any fish. Let's play 
a different game."
But Plankton's antennas 
only wiggle more rapidly. 
"Fish," he insists. "Got any fish?"
Sponge Bob's patience is 
wearing thin, his cheery 
demeanor slipping away. 
"I said no!" he snaps, 
his voice a little too loud.

Plankton recoils at the 
sudden change in tone, 
his antennas drooping. 
"Fish?" he whispers, his 
voice filled with uncertainty.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen 
with regret at his 
outburst. "I'm sorry," he 
says quickly, his voice 
softening. "I didn't mean 
to yell. But Plankton, I 
don't have any more fish!"

Plankton's antennas 
sag, and his eye 
becomes unfocused. "No 
fish," he murmurs, his 
voice barely above a 
whisper.
Sponge Bob's never seen 
Plankton like this, his 
behavior so repetitive 
and unresponsive to 
his words. It was as 
if the game had become 
the center of Plankton's 
entire world, and Sponge 
Bob's refusal to play 
along had shattered it.

"I'm sorry, Plankton," 
Sponge Bob says, his voice 
trembling with frustration. 
"I just don't understand 
why you're so obsessed 
with fish."
Plankton looks up, his 
eye meeting Sponge 
Bob's, a hint of 
hurt flickering across 
his expression. "Fish," he 
says again, his voice 
smaller this time. "Need fish."

Sponge Bob sighs, 
his hands going to 
his face. "Ok," he says, 
his voice muffled. "Let's 
just finish this game." 

new a journey to autism gamefic iv

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vi

(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's heart 
swells with compassion. 
"It's ok, Plankton," he 
says, his voice gentle. "We 
don't have to play anymore."

Plankton's antennas 
drop, and he nods slowly. 
"No fish," he repeats, 
his voice a sigh of 
relief.

Sponge Bob's hand 
freezes in mid-air, 
his eyes searching 
Plankton's face for 
any sign of anger or 
disappointment. But all 
he sees is a glimmer of 
understanding in his 
friend's eye.

"Thank Sponge 
Bob for being patient."
Plankton says to him.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
eyes still filled with 
concern. "I'll be patient, 
Plankton," he promises. "Can
I ask how you hit your head?"

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly. "Pan," he 
murmurs, his voice 
barely above a whisper. 
"Fry pan, Mr. Krabs. Only
Karen and SpongeBob know."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with shock. "What?!"
he exclaims. "Mr. Krabs 
hurt you?"

Plankton nods, his antennas 
still low. "Pan," he repeats, 
his voice shaking. "Pan," he 
says again, his voice 
softer. "Krabs hit on head."
Sponge Bob's anger 
towards Mr. Krabs is 
immediate and intense. 
"I can't believe he'd do 
that to you," he says, 
his voice low and 
teary.

"Mr. Krabs did to protect
the krabby patty." 
Karen interjects quickly, 
sensing the tension. 
"He doesn't know how
badly he hurt Plankton."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, 
his thoughts racing. He can't
believe Mr. Krabs could 
do something like that, even 
in the heat of the moment.

"I'll talk to Mr. Krabs," 
he says firmly, his voice 
laced with determination. 
"He needs to know what..."

"No!"

The sharpness of Plankton's 
voice cuts through the 
air like a knife, his 
antennas shooting up in 
alarm. "Mr. Krabs no," he 
says, his eye wide with fear. 
"No tell."

Sponge Bob's anger 
fades slightly, replaced 
by confusion. "Why not?" 
he asks, his voice 
gentle. "He needs to know 
so he can understand.."

Plankton's antennas 
quiver anxiously. "Krabs 
not know," he whispers, his 
eye pleading with Sponge 
Bob. "Safe here."

Sponge Bob's 
confusion deepens. "But 
Plankton, if Mr. Krabs 
doesn't know, how will he 
make it up to you?"
Plankton's antennas 
droop, his eye darting 
back and forth between 
Karen and Sponge Bob. "No 
make up," he murmurs. "Just 
no satisfaction for Krabs."
Sponge Bob's mind 
spins with the implications. 
He knows Mr. Krabs 
would never hurt 
anyone that much 
intentionally, even Plankton;
but the thought of his 
boss not knowing the 
extent of his actions 
troubles him.
"I won't tell him," 
Sponge Bob says, his voice 
soft with reassurance.
But of course, Mr. Krabs
comes in. "What in the
name of Neptune are
ye doing? I gave ye the
day off yesterday!"
"The Krusty Krab is closed on
Sunday, and it's Sunday today."
SpongeBob reminds his boss.
"Oh, right." Mr. Krabs looks
at Plankton and his eyes narrow.
"What's going on here?" he asks,
suspicion heavy in his voice.
Plankton's antennas droop even
lower, and he looks down at the
floor.
Plankton speaks first. "Go 
fish," he whispers, his 
eye darting up to meet 
Mr. Krabs'. Sponge Bob steps in 
quickly, trying to cover 
for his friend. "We were 
just playing a game," he 
says, forcing a smile.
Mr. Krabs eyes them 
both skeptically.
"Well, I hope it wasn't 
about stealing me secret 
formular," he says, his 
claws tapping 
nervously.
"No, Mr. Krabs," Sponge 
Bob says quickly, "just a 
friendly game."
Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly at the 
mention of the Krabby 
Patty formula, but he 
remains silent.
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
narrow further.
"What's wrong with 
you, Plankton?" he 
asks, his voice filled 
with concern and a 
touch of irritation.
"You're acting strangely
quiet even for you."
Plankton's antennas 
quiver.
Sponge Bob's heart 
paces. He doesn't want 
to betray Plankton's trust.
"It's nothing," Plankton 
says, his voice 
forced. "Just a little 
game, Krabs wanna play."
"Fine I'll play, but I got my
eye on ye, Plankton."
Mr. Krabs says, his tone 
still suspicious as he 
sits down to join them. 
Sponge Bob's eyes dart to 
Karen, who gives a 
nod of understanding. 
They'll keep the secret and
hope Mr. Krabs doesn't figure
it out.

"Let's play Uno!" Sponge
Bob says, getting out the new
card game, dealing the cards.
Plankton's antennas 
perk up at the mention 
of a new game, and he 
eagerly takes his cards. 
Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
plays along, eyeing Plankton 
carefully.
Then, it happens.
Mr. Krabs slaps a card 
down on the pile and 
excitedly yells, "Uno!"
Plankton's antennas shoot 
straight up, and his eye 
widen with sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob's concerned, 
but Mr. Krabs 
is too busy gloating to 
notice. "Yee-haw!" he 
crows. "I win again!"
Plankton's antennas 
quiver as he tries to 
process the sudden 
loudness and change in 
the atmosphere. 
Mr. Krabs looks at him, 
his expression puzzled.
"What's the matter, 
Plankton?" he asks, 
his voice laced with 
disdain. "Lost your 
competitive spirit?"
Sponge Bob's eyes widen.
"Plankton's just 
excited, Mr. Krabs," he 
says quickly. "Isn't that right, 
Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
wave erratically, and 
his voice is a mix of 
fear and confusion. 
"Yes, Krabs," he stammers, 
his eye darting around 
the room. "Uno. Fish. Yes."
Mr. Krabs looks at him 
oddly but shrugs it off, 
his attention already 
returning to the game. 
"Alright, let's keep playing," 
he says, dealing out 
more cards.
But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, 
his antennas twitching with 
the effort to keep up.
"Fish," he murmurs to 
himself, trying to find 
a familiar 
word. His hands 
shake as he holds 
his cards, the 
world around him a 
cacophony of sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob notices 
Plankton's distress and 
quickly changes the 
topic. "Hey, Mr. Krabs, 
have you ever played 
Chess?"
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
light up. "Chess? The 
game of kings and 
conquers!" he exclaims. 
"I'd love a round!"
SpongeBob gets
the chess game.

The chess pieces are set 
up, and Mr. Krabs 
begins to play, his 
claws clacking against 
the board as he moves 
his pieces. Plankton 
watches, his antennas 
still, his eye 
focused.
"Your move, Plankton," 
Mr. Krabs says, his 
claws tapping the 
edge of the board 
impatiently.

But Plankton doesn't 
move. He just sits there, 
staring at the 
chessboard, his cards 
forgotten in his hand. 
"What's with you?" 
Mr. Krabs asks, 
his voice filled with 
exasperation. "You're 
taking forever!"

Sponge Bob's heart 
skips a beat. He knows 
he can't let Mr. Krabs 
see how much Plankton's 
been affected by the 
accident. "It's ok 
Mr. Krabs," he says 
quickly. "Plankton's just 
thinking of his next 
move."

Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
doesn't push the issue. 
He's too focused on 
his own strategy, his 
claws moving pieces with 
calculated precision.
But Plankton remains 
frozen, his gaze 
unwavering on the 
board. His antennas 
twitch slightly, a 
sign of his racing 
thoughts.

After several moments of 
silence, Mr. Krabs 
finally snaps. "Plankton,
it's your turn!" he says, 
his patience wearing 
thin.

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, and his eye 
flits to the board. 
"Fish?" he asks, his 
voice unsure.
Mr. Krabs stares at 
Plankton, his eyes 
narrowing. "What do 
fish have to do with 
chess?" he asks, 
confusion etched 
deeply on his face.

Sponge Bob's heart 
sinks as he sees the 
puzzlement in Mr. 
Krabs' eyes. He 
quickly jumps in. "Oh, 
Plankton was just 
thinking out loud," he 
says, trying to 
lighten the mood.

Mr. Krabs grunts, 
but his suspicion 
doesn't fade. "You've 
always been a weird 
little fellow, Plankton, but 
this is something else," 
he says, his tone a mix 
of curiosity and 
exasperation.

Sponge Bob's heart 
thumps in his chest 
as he tries to 
diverge the conversation. 
"Why don't we talk 
about something else?" 
he suggests, his eyes 
darting back to the 
chessboard.

Mr. Krabs' gaze 
remains on Plankton, 
his eyes narrowed. 
But Plankton's antennas 
remain still, his 
expression vacant.
"Fish," he murmurs, 
his voice distant.

Mr. Krabs' patience 
thins to a thread. 
"Fish?" he repeats, his 
confusion palpable. 
"What's going on with 
you, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennas 
wobble, his eye
still fixated on the 
board. "Fish," he says 
again, his voice 
uncertain.

Mr. Krabs leans 
forward, his eyes 
studying Plankton 
closely. "You okay, 
tiny fry?" he asks, 
hinting concern 
despite the 
sarcasm.

Plankton's antennas 
quiver slightly. "Fish," 
he says, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper. Sponge Bob's 
heart clenches at the 
word, understanding 
now that it's not just 
a game for Plankton; it's 
his way of trying to 
make sense of the 
world around him.

Mr. Krabs, however, 
simply sighs and shakes 
his head. "You always 
have to make everything 
so complicated," he 
mumbles, his voice 
tired. "Why can't you just 
play the game like 
everyone else?" He yells
tipping the board over to
where the chess pieces
fall to the ground by Plankton.

Plankton's antennas 
shiver at the sound, and 
his eye dart to the 
upset board, his 
expression one of deep 
distress. "No fish," he 
whispers, his voice 
breaking.
Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, 
his suspicion growing. 
"What's going on with 
you?" he asks again.

"Fish, fish, fish!" 

new a journey to autism gamefic vi

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 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

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

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

THE LIFE OF UNITY i        (A LIFE OF DIVERSITY → THE LIFE OF UNITY)
(Autistic author; make sure to read A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i - x first!)

Sheldon Plankton wasn't born with autism
but acquired neurodisability after a theft
gone wrong. Despite interacting differently
he's still an intellectual scientist inventor.
             (A LIFE OF DIVERSITY → THE LIFE OF UNITY)
It's perfect day for jellyfishing. 
SpongeBob, ever eager to help 
a friend, had been up early 
preparing the jellyfish nets. 
When he arrived at the Chum 
Bucket, he found Plankton 
reading about jellyfish, his 
antennae quivering.

"Plankton, are you ready to go jellyfishing?" 
Sponge Bob's voice filled with excitement.

Plankton looked up from his book. "Jellyfish 
fields?" he murmured, his one eye lighting up.

"Yeah, jellyfish fields," Sponge Bob said 
with a grin. "It's going to be amazing. 
We're going to see jellyfish like never before!"

Plankton carefully put his book away.

"Let's go," he murmured, his monotone voice 
filled with an unusual sense of anticipation.

As they arrived, the water grew clearer, revealing 
a breathtaking sight: a vast meadow of jellyfish, 
their gelatinous bodies pulsing gently in the 
current, their tentacles trailing like a ballet. 
Plankton took in the mesmerizing display.

But, Sponge Bob's eyes widened in recognition. 
"Kevin!" he exclaimed. Kevin the sea cucumber, 
Sponge Bob's long-time rival, surfaced with a smirk. 
"What's going on here?" he sneered, eyes flicking 
between them "You guys playing jellyfish keep-away?"

Plankton's antennae twitched, monotonous voice tight. 
"No," he murmured. "Plankton... jellyfish expert."

Kevin's smirk grew wider. "Expert, huh?" he sneered. "I bet 
I know more about jellyfish than you ever will."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow. "Why don't we have a little trivia 
showdown?" He suggested. "Just a friendly competition to 
see who knows more."

Kevin's smirk grew into a full-blown grin. "You're on," he says
cracking his knuckles. "But if I win, you leave the 
jellyfish fields and don't come back."

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly, but his eye remained 
focused on the sea cucumber. "If wins," he murmured steady, 
"Kevin leaves. And brings jellyfish back to Chum Bucket."

Kevin's grin faltered, but he quickly regained his composure. 
"Fine," he said, his voice dripping with confidence. "But if I win
you both leave and never come back to these fields."

The stakes were set. 

"Alright, let's get started," Kevin said, his smugness palpable. 
"First question: What is the scientific name for the jellyfish 
you're so fond of, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as he thought for a moment. 
"Medusozoa," he murmured with certainty.

Kevin's smirk faltered, his confidence visibly shaking. 
"What? How do you even know that?"

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he 
replied, "Jellyfish," his monotone voice calm. 
"Plankton studied."

Kevin scoffed. "Fine, then what's the most 
venomous jellyfish in the sea?"

Without missing a beat, Plankton 
murmured, "Chironex fleckeri."

Kevin laughs. "Wrong; it's a Box Jelly!"

But Plankton's antennae don't waver. 
"Chironex fleckeri," he repeats, his 
monotone voice unshaken. "Box jellyfish, 
Kevin. Chironex fleckeri."

Kevin's eyes widen in surprise, his 
smugness dissipating. "Alright, show
off," he stammers, visibly thrown off 
his game. "But you don't know this 
one: What's jellyfish can grow up 
to 16 inches in diameter?"

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly 
as he considers the question. 
"Moon jellyfish," he murmurs unshaken. 
"Aurelia aurita."

Kevin's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his 
grin faltering. "What? That's... that's right," he 
admits, his voice trailing off.

"Good job, Plankton," SpongeBob cheers.

Kevin's smirk turns into a grimace as he tries 
to regain his footing. "Alright, fine," he says 
through gritted teeth. "But I've got one more 
question that'll stump you for sure."

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly, his one eye 
focused intently on the sea cucumber. "Go on," he 
murmurs, his monotone voice filled with quiet confidence.

Kevin's eyes narrow, his mind racing for the ultimate 
question to outsmart Plankton. "Ok then," he says, 
his voice dripping with challenge. "What's the most 
rare jellyfish species known to Bikini Bottom?"

Plankton's antennae twitch as he thinks, his monotone 
voice measured. "The Bikini Bottom Glowing Jellyfish," 
he murmurs. "It's not rare everywhere, but here, yes."

Kevin's grin fades into a scowl.

"Fine," he says, his voice tight. "What's the average lifespan 
of a jellyfish?"

Plankton's antennae quiver as he considers the question. 
"Depends on species," he murmurs, his monotone voice 
unwavering. "Some live weeks, others years."

Kevin's smugness returns, his grin stretching wide. "Ah, but 
I'm not talking about any jellyfish," he says, eyes gleaming. 
"I'm talking about the Jellyfish of Legend, the one that even 
SpongeBob can't catch. What's the average lifespan of that one?"

Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, eye narrowing 
in thought. "Rare. Long lifespan."

Kevin's smug expression wavers as he realizes Plankton 
might actually know the answer. "You're bluffing," he accuses, his 
voice rising. "There's no way you know that!"

But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver as he murmurs, 
"The average lifespan of a type jellyfish known as Turritopsis dohrnii
is... indefinite."

Kevin's eyes widen in shock, smugness evaporating. "What? 
That's impossible!"

But Plankton's antennae keep quivering with confidence. 
"Immortal jellyfish," he murmurs. "Turritopsis dohrnii."

Kevin's smugness turns to astonishment. "But that's not 
possible!" he stammers, his bravado slipping away. "No jellyfish 
can live forever!"

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly as he calmly explains, 
"Turritopsis dohrnii," his monotone voice unshaken. "It's 
unique. Can revert to polyp stage, start life cycle again."

Kevin stammers, his usual bravado gone. "But... but?"

"Plankton studied," Plankton murmurs, his antennae 
waving slightly. "Jellyfish... interesting."

SpongeBob steps forward, eyes glinting with excitement. 
"I've got one," he says, turning to Kevin. "What's the main 
diet of jellyfish?" Kevin snorts. "Phytoplankton," Kevin says 
with glee. "And zooplankton, like your little friend here. Some
times other jellyfish."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with excitement. "Kevin 
wrong," he murmurs. "Jellyfish eat... everything."

Kevin's smirk falters. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice wary.

Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he elaborates. "Jellyfish 
diet... diverse," he murmurs. "Phytoplankton, zooplankton, even 
small fish and shrimp. Some, yes, eat other jellyfish. But not all."

Kevin's grin turns into a scowl. "That's what I just said!"

"But you didn't say everything," Plankton murmurs, his monotone 
voice filled with a hint of satisfaction. "Jellyfish... adaptable."

Kevin's confidence is visibly shaken, his smugness gone. "Fine," he 
grumbles. "But I bet you don't know their natural predators."

Plankton's antennae wiggle slightly. "Natural predators," he murmurs. 
"Turtles, some fish, sea anemones."

Kevin's scoff turns into a growl. "Turtles, sure," he says, his voice 
mocking. "But what about the big bad..."

"Leatherback sea turtles," Plankton murmurs, his antennae quivering 
slightly. "They love jellyfish."

Kevin's smirk fades, his bravado slipping away like sea foam 
on the shore. "Fine," he says, his voice tight. "What's the most... I don't know, 
the most useless jellyfish fact you know?"

Plankton's antennae quiver slightly as he murmurs, "Usefulness... subjective."
His monotone voice is calm, unruffled by the challenge.

Kevin's scowl deepens. "Alright, then," he says, his voice tight 
with frustration. "But surely you don't know this one: What's the 
jellyfish that's immune to its own venom?"

Plankton's antennae twitch, his monotone voice unfazed. "Turritopsis nutricula," 
he murmurs. "Immune to own sting."

Kevin's eyes narrow. "Alright, then," he says, his voice tight with frustration. 
"What's the most bizarre jellyfish fact you can think of?"

Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his monotone voice contemplative. 
"Bizarre," he murmurs. "Some jellyfish have bioluminescent glow."

Kevin's eyes light up with a spark of hope. "That's it," he says, voice smug. 
"Everyone knows that. I've got a better one: jellyfish don't have brains, just 
nerve nets. So, what's the point of all this studying?"

Plankton's antennae quiver as he considers the question, his monotone voice 
calm. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, "have complex behaviors. Complex. Have nerve 
nets. Plankton studied. Brain not necessary for intelligence."

new the life of unity a life of diversity plankton i

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 xi
(Autistic author)

Karen made chum for dinner and
they all sat at the table.

"Thanks," Plankton says to Karen
as she hands him his plate.
She sits down with her own
plate after serving Chip his.

"Hi, Dad," Chip said tentatively, 
his voice a whisper in the 
stillness of the room.

Plankton's antennae twitched, but
his eye remained fixed on his
plate. The silence was a wall
between them, thick as seaweed and
just as impenetrable. Chip's heart
felt like it was sinking into his
stomach, the weight of his father's
silence heavier than any words
could have been.

Karen's screen darted between them,
a silent plea for peace. She knew
this was Plankton's way of dealing
with his overwhelm, but it was
torture for Chip, who craved
understanding and connection.

"So, how's your friends?" Karen
asks Chip.

Chip shrugs, his screen
darting to Plankton, who remains
silent, his antennae still. "They're
okay," he says, his voice
lacking its usual enthusiasm.

Karen sighs internally, the
tension at the dinner table
a heavy fog that seemed to
smother their usual banter. 

"Karen, can you pass the napkins?"
Plankton says. "Sure," she says
as she puts them in the middle.

"Dad, how do you feel about
the food?"

Plankton's antennae twitched but
his gaze remained on his plate,
his mouth a tight line. The silence
was a thick stew that no one knew
how to digest. Chip's eyes were
filled with hope, searching for
any sign of his father's usual
playfulness, but all he found
was a wall of quiet.

Chip's voice was a feeble
ripple in the vast ocean of their
silence. "Dad, can I get you a drink?"
he offered.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, but he remained silent,
his eye never leaving his plate.
The air was thick with tension, like
seawater saturated with the
weight of their unspoken words.

Chip churned with
anxiety, each bite of chum a
reminder of the gap that had
suddenly widened between him and
his father. 

"Please, Dad," he murmured, his
voice barely audible above the
clink of their forks. Plankton's
antennas remained still, his eye
focused on the food before him.

Karen's heart was a tight knot in
her chest, her eyes darting
between her husband and son.
The silence was a living creature,
a Kraken of tension coiled around
them, squeezing the joy from the
room. She took a deep breath,
forcing a smile. "So, Chip, tell us
about your week," she said, her
voice too bright, too forced.

Chip took a tentative bite of his
chum, his eyes on Plankton's
unmoving antennae. "Well, I had a
good time at the carnival," he
began, his voice a sad echo of
his usual excitement. "I won
at the ring toss."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, but he said nothing, his
silence a thick, unspoken wall. Chip
felt like a deflated balloon,
each of his words a futile attempt
to pierce the silence.

"And I met a new friend," Chip
continued, his voice a feeble thread
trying to weave through the
stillness. "She's a dolphin. She
was really cute." 

Plankton's antennae twitched again,
just a little, but it was enough to
keep Chip's hope afloat. 

Chip's voice grew stronger,
his words a lifeline thrown into
the turbulent sea of silence.
"Her name's Daisy," he said, a
tiny smile tugging. "We
played in the bubbles."

But Plankton's antennae remained
still, his eye on his plate. It
was as if Chip's words were bouncing
off an invisible shield, unable to
penetrate the fortress of his father's
mind. Chip's smile faltered, his screen
filling with unshed tears. He
wanted so badly to share his joy
with Plankton, but the wall of
silence was too high, too thick.

He took a deep breath, his
hands clenching around his fork.
"Dad, I know you're mad at me,"
he said, his voice trembling. "But I
just want to understand."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, but he said nothing, his
face a mask of indifference.

The silence grew heavier
with each passing moment,
weighing down on Chip like an
oversized sponge soaked in
regret. He knew he had to
try again, to bridge the gap.

"Dad," he began, his voice
shaky but determined. "I know
I messed up today, but I want to
make it right." He took a deep
breath, willing the words to come.
"Can you tell me more about
your...about what happened to
you?" His voice was a tiny
bubble of hope rising in the
deep sea of their dinner.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye flickering up to meet
Chip's for a brief moment before
dropping back to his plate. The
silence stretched on like a tight
rubber band, threatening to snap.

Karen's screen a tempest of
concern, torn between her love
for her husband and her
desire to help her son. She knew
Plankton needed his space, but
seeing the pain in Chip's screen was
like watching a piece of coral
being slowly eroded by the sea.

Chip's words hung in the air,
like a message in a bottle lost
at sea. Plankton's silence was a
reef that Chip's words couldn't
navigate around. He took a
deep breath, his heart a conch shell
echoing with hope. "Dad, I know
it's hard for you," he tried again,
his voice a gentle wave. "But if
you don't tell me, how can I
understand?"

The room was a pressure
cooker of unspoken emotion,
the tension rising with each
passing second. Karen's screen
pleaded with Plankton, willing him
to respond. But he remained
still, his antennae unmoving, his
eye a storm cloud over their meal.

Chip's heart felt like it was
being crushed in a vice, his words
falling on deaf antennae. "Dad,
please," he whispered, his voice
desperate. "I just want to help."

But Plankton's antennae remained
motionless, his eye averted.
The silence was a deep-sea trench
between them, vast and unbridgeable.
Chip's shoulders slumped, his hope
leaking away like water through
a sieve. He took another bite of
his chum, the taste of it suddenly
bitter on his tongue.

The clock on the wall ticked
loudly, each second a tiny hammer
on the anvil of his heart. Chip
forced a swallow, his throat tight
with emotion. "Dad," he said again,
his voice a tiny ripple in the vast
ocean of quiet. "I'm sorry." The room
held its breath, waiting for a
response, but none came. The
silence was a thick kelp that
choked, suffocating any
attempt at conversation.

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

GREAT CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his face etched with lines
of fatigue. "It's not that I don't
want your affection," he said,
his voice hoarse. "I just need it
in a way that doesn't make me feel...
like I'm in a minefield."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his mind racing to understand.
"How do you mean?" he asked,
his curiosity genuine.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae twitching as he searched
for the right words. "It's like...
sometimes, a simple touch can feel
like an electric shock," he began,
his voice strained. "Or like I'm being
smothered by a heavy blanket of sound."

Chip's eyes widened, trying to
comprehend. "But you've always
hugged mom," he said, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly.
"It's different with your mother,"
he explained, his voice a little
less strained. "She knows me,
she knows my limits. And she's...
patient." He paused, his eye
flickering with something
resembling sadness. "But others,
it's..."

Chip leaned in, his curiosity
piqued. "What about others?"
he asked gently.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his expression tightening.
"With others, it's... unpredictable,"
he said, his voice a mix of
frustration and resignation.
"Some days I can handle a pat
on the back, and others, it's like
being stabbed."

Chip's eyes widened, his hand
instinctively moving to his chest.
"It's that intense?" he whispered.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving slightly. "Some days are
worse than others," he said, his voice
soft. "But when it's bad, it feels like
I'm being bombarded from all sides.
It's...overwhelming."

Chip's brow furrowed as he
tried to imagine the intensity
his dad described. "What can I do
to make sure I don't hurt you?"
he asked, his voice earnest.

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly, his eye searching Chip's
face. "Just be mindful," he said,
his voice softer than before. "Watch
for my cues. If I look overwhelmed,
if I flinch, just...give me space."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's. "What are
the cues?" he asked, eager to learn.
"How do I know when you're in that
'minefield'?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching for the right words.
"Well, my antennae might twitch a lot,
I might get really quiet, or I might
get louder. It's different
every time."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's face.
"So, if you're in that 'minefield',
I should just...?"

"You can be there,"
Plankton finished for him,
his antennae still. "But not too close.
Make sure to get your mother."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with the new information.
He'd always known his dad
was special, but this was
a new kind of understanding.

"What about sounds?" he asked,
his voice tentative. "What noises
set you off?"

Plankton sighed, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's not just
about the loudness," he began,
his eye searching the ceiling
as if for an answer. "It's more about
the pitch, the suddenness. Like when
you scratch or drop something.."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
realization. "Oh," he murmured.
"So, it's like a surprise attack?"

Plankton's antennae nodded.
"Exactly," he said, his voice
sounding a bit less strained.
"But it's not just about the
sounds themselves. It's about
how my brain interprets them."

Chip leaned in, his eyes
filled with curiosity.
"But how did you get it, Dad?"
he asked, his voice soft.
"Was it from something you caught
or something that happened?"

Plankton's antennae waved
in frustration. "It's not like that,"
he said, his voice sharp. "I was born
with it. It's just the way
my brain is developed, and it's not
like getting a cold!" His eye
was intense, his voice rising.

Chip's eyes widened, taking
in his father's outburst.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae dropping slightly.

"I know you didn't mean it like that,"
he said, his voice softer. "But it's
important to understand that it's
not something I can just get over.
It's a part of how I am."

Chip nodded, feeling the weight
of his father's words. "I'm sorry,"
he said, his voice barely audible. "I..."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his eye softening. "It's okay," he said.
"I know you didn't mean to upset me.
It's just...it's a lot to explain."

Chip nodded, feeling a pang
of guilt. He knew his dad
wasn't mad at him, but it was
still hard to see him so upset.

Plankton's eye searched his son's
face, the anger slowly fading
into something softer. "Look," he said,
his voice low. "I know it's a lot to take in,
but I need you to know that I l-love you."

Chip felt a tear slide down
his cheek. "I love you too, Dad,"
he managed to say, his voice
choking with emotion. "But I don't
want you to be in pain."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his expression a mix of love and
sorrow. "I know," he said. "And that's why
we're talking about this. So you can
understand, so you know."

Chip sniffled, trying to hold back
his tears. "But why didn't you tell
me sooner?" he asked, his voice
small.

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his face etched with regret.
"I was afraid," he admitted.
"Afraid that you'd think
I was broken. That you'd...
not love me the same. And
I don't usually like to talk
about it to much."

Chip felt his heart ache.
"Dad," he said, his voice
steady despite his emotions.
"I could never think of you
as broken. You're the smartest
person I know. And you're
my hero."

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly at the words, his eye
filling with warmth. "But you don't
see me like that when I'm...
in that state," he said, his voice
barely a whisper. "You stared at me like I'm
to be feared."

Chip's eyes widened, a look
of horror crossing his face. "Dad, no!"
he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to!"

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his expression one of defeat.
"It's okay, Chip," he said, his voice
resigned. "It's hard to explain. It's not
like I can control it."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with questions and fears. He knew
his dad wasn't broken, but he wished
there was something he could do to ease
his pain. "What happens when
you're in that state?" he asked, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye closed as he tried to
explain. "It's like my brain's in a
whirlwind, and I can't get out,"
he said. "Everything's spinning,
and I can't focus on anything."

"But why do you get so upset
when it happens?" he pressed.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae stilling. "Because
I don't know what's happening,"
he said, his voice strained. "And when
it's over, I don't remember."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his heart breaking for him. "But
why don't you remember?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye opening slightly. "It's like
waking up from a deep sleep,"
he murmured. "I know I've been
somewhere, but the details are
always fuzzy."

Chip nodded, trying to imagine
his dad's world. "What do you see?"
he asked, his voice filled with awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye focusing on a spot on the wall.
"It's like...colors and shapes,"
he said, his voice distant. "They're all
swirling around, so fast that I can't
make sense of them."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
wonder. "Is it like a kaleidoscope?"
he asked, his voice filled with
awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly,
his eye opening a bit wider. "In a way,"
he murmured. "But it's more...
dis..."

The door to the room creaked open,
interrupting his thought. Karen stepped in,
her eyes darting between Chip and Plankton.
The tension in the air was palpable,
but she offered a small smile of encouragement.
"Chip, Plankton; how long have you been up?"

Chip glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
"A while, Mom," he said, his voice thick
with the weight of their conversation.

new great chip learncore vi

CHIP AND FAIL xv
(Autistic author)

"But Dad," Chip began, his voice
trembling, when Plankton
interrupts. "BUT DAD," Plankton
mimics, his voice high-pitched
and mocking. "You think you know
how I feel, but you have no
idea!"

Karen stepped back. 
She knew Plankton needed to
express his anger, and Chip needed
to learn from it.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Chip whispered,
his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to
make it about..."

But Plankton's antennae were a
flurry of agitation. "You think your
stupid need to touch me can just
make everything okay? WELL
GUESS WHAT, CHIP? IT CAN'T!" He
was shouting now, his voice echoing
through the room.

Chip's eyes filled with hurt. "Dad,
I just wanted to tell you about my
week," he said, his voice quivering.
"I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's just starting. "You
think your convenience more important
than my comfort?" he snapped.

"Dad," Chip says. "I just wanted 
to be close..."

But Plankton's anger was a raging
storm. "YOUR VERSION OF CLOSE IS 
Suffocation!" he yells, his antennae
shaking violently. "You're nothing
but a child. All you know is your
own need for attention, yet 
you expect me to be
fine with your constant 
poking and prodding?"

Chip's cheeks burned with 
shame. "That's not fair," he
managed to say, his voice 
barely above a whisper. "I'm trying
to understand..."

But Plankton's antennae 
were a blur of anger. "Understand?
You can't even begin to understand
what it's like!" he spat. "You live
your life in a bubble, Chip. You've
always had everything you've ever
wanted, and now you want to 'understand'
me? And don't come crying about
fairness..."

"PLEASE Dad..."

But Plankton's anger was 
unstoppable. "You think 
you're so clever," he sneered 
with rage. "With your fancy 
friends and your easy life. 
You wouldn't know what it's 
like to have to fight for every 
little thing."

Chip felt the sting. 
"Dad," he choked 
out, "That's not..."

But Plankton's words were a
tidal wave, crashing down. "You're 
selfish," he accused. "Always
thinking of yourself."

Now Chip's getting upset.
"I'm selfish? At least I'm
not the one who's too busy being a
drama queen to see how much I
care!" he retorts, his voice a mix
of pain and anger.

Plankton's antennae shot up.
"You dare call me that?" he roared.
"You have no idea what it's like to
drown in sensory overload, to have
your brain betray you every single
day!"

Chip took a step back, his
cheeks red with anger. "You think
because I don't understand, I don't
care?" he yelled back. "You're the
one who's never there for me because
of your 'condition'! You're just a shallow, 
spoiled little..."

"ENOUGH! Both of
you, stop it right 
now!" Karen says.

Her voice cuts through the
argument like a knife,
silencing the room. She
could feel the anger, the
frustration, the hurt in
each of their voices.

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

JUST A TOUCH vi
(Autistic author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae
still, his breathing
evening out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the door
bell rings. It's
Sandy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new just a touch sandarenton vi

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iii


(Autistic author)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hanna nodded, her eyes wide
with unspoken questions.

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

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

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

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

Karen sat by the bed.

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

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

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

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

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

"Where's Hanna?"

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new autism in the plankton family plaren karen plankton iii

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

We only have one shot at life, make it count. Here are some bible verses about loving your enemies. Follow the word of god :) * Matthew 5:44: "Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you"  || * Luke 6:27-28: "But I say to you: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you || Please stop this drama, it is not of god. Drink water, eat food, prioritize your mental health, and have a great day everyone ✝️🙏🏻❤️

new akemi akemi avatar ranking ari lottie xi blair !loving 4_Lauren lauren hazel rion

CATCH IN MY CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip,
his eye filled with regret, but 
the words won't come. Despite
his leftover anger, he felt a bit
bad about it. He just wanted to
show Chip what it meant to be
bombarded! He didn't have it in
him to say he's sorry, and he's
still tense.

Karen feels the weight of the
moment, her eyes moving
between her husband and her son.
"Why don't you sit with Daddy,
Chip?" she suggests, her voice
soft. "Give him some space,
but let him know you're here.
I'll be downstairs."

With a nod, Chip approaches the
bed, his eyes still filled with
uncertainty. He sits down gingerly
beside Plankton, who's staring
at the shattered mess of their
evening. The room is a silent testament
to their unspoken words and the
battle that raged within Plankton.

For a moment, neither of them
moves, the air thick with unspoken
regret and confusion. Then,
slowly, Chip reaches out with
his small hand.

Plankton looks at him, his
eye reflecting a tumult of
emotions—anger, guilt, fear,
frustration.

Chip's hand hovers over
his dad's, unsure if he'll
flinch or pull away. "I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
barely above a breath.

Plankton's antennas droop, his
eye still cast down at the
wreckage of their evening. 
"I know," he says, his voice
still tight with anger.

Chip's hand hovers 
over his arm. "Ca--"

But Plankton cuts him off.
"Don't," he says, his voice
raw with emotion. "Just don't."
He turns away, his body a wall
of tension.

Chip's hand falls to his side,
his eyes wide with hurt. "But Dad,"
he says, his voice breaking.
"I di-"

"I said don't," Plankton snaps,
his voice harsh. "I can't do this
right now." His antennas twitch,
his body language a clear
indication that he needs space.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his hand retreating to his
lap. "But Dad," he starts again,
his voice shaking.

Plankton's eye snaps up,
his anger a living flame. "I said
don't!" he shouts, his voice
echoing in the small room.

"But I'm just 
trying to-"

"I SAID DON'T!"
The words are a thunderclap,
silencing Chip's protests. He pulls
his legs up to his chest, hugging
his knees tightly, as if to shield
his heart from the pain.

"Dad I promise I won't 
overwhelm you again," 
Chip whispers. Plankton's 
antennas quiver, his 
shoulders hunched. But
Chip takes that as a green
light.
Remembering how his mom
put her hand on his back, he
tries to replicate it. So
with a trembling hand, Chip
reaches out and touches Plankton's
shoulder with hope..

But Plankton's reaction is
not what he expects. With a
shriek of overstimulation,
Plankton jumps away, his
body convulsing as if he's
been electrified. "Don't touch
me!" he yells.

The room seems to tilt, and
Chip's eyes widen with shock.
He's never seen his dad like
this before, so raw and exposed.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispers,
his hand retreating as if burned.

Plankton's face contorts, his
body wracked with a tremor
that shakes him to the core.

Chip's eyes widen in horror,
his hand hovering in the space
between them, frozen.

Karen steps back into the
room, her gaze taking in the
snapshot of pain and regret.
Her heart aches for both her
husband and son. She knows
Plankton didn't mean to scream,
that his senses are still on
high alert. And she knows
Chip is just trying to bridge
the gap with his love.

Her eyes lock onto Plankton's,
and she can see the desperation
behind the anger. He's scared
and overwhelmed, and she
understands that feeling all too
well. She moves towards the bed,
her steps measured and calm.
"Plankton, sweetie," she says,
her voice a soothing melody as
she reaches out to touch his
back. But the moment her hand
makes contact, Plankton's
body tenses further, his eye
squeezing shut. "No!" he yells.

Karen's hand retreats as if
she's been burned, her eyes
filled with a mix of sadness
and concern. "Plankton," she
whispers, her voice barely
audible above Chip's sniffles.

Plankton's body is a coil of
tension, his eye squeezed
shut as if trying to block
out the world. The room
seems to spin around him,
each sound and sensation a
needle prick in his overloaded
brain. "K-Karen, I...," he gasps, his
voice strained. "I-I-I-I… can't..."

Karen's realizes the gravity
of the situation. She
understands that her husband
has hit a point of no return,
where even the gentle touch
of her hand is too much.

With a deep sigh, she sits
down on the bed, her eyes on
Plankton's trembling form.
Her heart is torn between
concern for him and the
knowledge that Chip is
watching, trying to make
sense of the chaos. "Okay, honey,"
she says, her voice a soft
whisper. "It's okay. We'll give
you some space."

Chip looks up at her, his
face a question mark. "But
Dad?" he says, his voice
small.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "It's okay,
Chip," she says, her voice steady.
"Daddy needs some alone time."

With a heavy heart, Chip slides
off the bed, the shattered
pieces of his trophy crunching
under his feet. He looks at
his dad one last time, his eyes
filled with a mix of fear and
longing. "Okay," he whispers,
his voice thick with unshed tears.

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton. "I'll come
find you when Dad's feeling
a bit better."

Chip's eyes dart to his
dad, who's still shaky, his
body curled into a tight ball.
The sight breaks Karen's heart,
but she knows that this is
the best they can do for now.

Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton,
understanding the silent
cry for help in his eye. She's seen
this before, the way his autism
can consume him during moments of
overwhelm. She nods gently, her eyes
conveying her love and patience.

Plankton's breathing starts to
even out, his body slowly
unwinding from the tight coil
of tension. He's aware of her
presence, the steady rhythm of
her breathing a comforting metronome
in the chaos of his thoughts. Karen
knows that space is crucial for him,
but she also understands that a quiet
companion can be just as healing.

"It's okay," she whispers, her
hand hovering close but not
touching him. "You can take your
time." Her voice is a gentle
reminder that he's not alone.

Plankton's eye flickers to her,
his breaths still ragged. Karen's
understanding is a lifeline in
the storm of his emotions.

Karen knows that pushing him
now would only make things worse,
so she sits quietly beside him,
offering her silent support.
Her love for him is a balm to
his soul, even if he can't
express it in words.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II vi

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS xi

(Autistic Author)


The wind whispers through the leaves of 
the nearby trees, carrying with it the 
scent of fresh-cut grass and the distant 
sound of seagulls. It's a simple pleasure, 
but one that Plankton has often missed 
in his quest to protect his son from the 
storms in his own mind.

Suddenly, the serenity is shattered as a 
ball comes hurtling through the air, 
narrowly missing Plankton's head. He 
flinches, his antennae shooting straight 
up in alarm. Chip's swing comes to an 
abrupt halt, his eyes wide with fear. The 
children playing nearby laugh, unaware 
of the chaos their game has brought to 
the quiet corner of the playground.

Plankton's eye darts around, trying to 
process the sudden assault of sound 
and movement. His breath comes in 
quick, shallow gasps, and Karen can 
see the beginnings of a panic attack 
forming on his face. "Daddy!" Chip 
shouts, jumping off his swing and racing 
to his side.

With surprising speed and grace, Chip 
leaps into action, catching Plankton just 
as he starts to topple off the swing.

"Daddy!" Chip says, his voice filled with 
urgency as he gently guides Plankton's 
unresponsive body to the soft grass 
below. The love rock still clutches in his 
small hand.

Karen rushes over, her eyes wide with 
concern. "Is he ok?" she asks, kneeling 
beside them.

Chip nods, his chest heaving. "He has 
an absence seizure thing," he says, his voice 
shaking slightly. He looks up at Karen, 
his eyes filled with fear and confusion. 
"What do we do?"

Karen's eyes fill with a mix of panic and 
love as she takes in the sight of 
Plankton, his body frozen in mid-swing, 
his antennae limp. She's been here 
before, but it never gets easier. "It's ok," 
she says, her voice calm despite her 
racing heart. "Just give him a moment. 
He'll come back to us."

Chip nods, his grip on the love rock 
tightening as he watches his father. The 
world seems to slow down around them, 
the laughter of the other children fading 
into a distant memory. Plankton's 
breathing is shallow, his body stiff. Karen 
reaches out, placing a gentle hand on 
his back, feeling the rise and fall of his 
chest.

The seconds tick by like hours, each 
one filled with the weight of uncertainty. 
Chip clutches the love rock, willing his 
dad to come back. He's seen this 
before, but it never gets easier. He 
remembers the first time it happened, 
the fear that had gripped him, the feeling 
of helplessness as his dad's eye glazed 
over. But now, he knows what to do. 
He's not as scared; he's prepared.

With trembling hands, Chip takes out the 
love rock, its smoothness a comforting 
reminder of their conversation. He 
places it gently in Plankton's palm, 
curling the slender fingers around it. 
"You're ok," he whispers, his voice 
steady despite the storm of emotions 
inside. "We’re here."

Plankton's body remains still, a stark 
contrast to the vibrant world around 
them. The squeaks of the swings, the 
laughter of the children, the distant 
crash of waves, all seem to fade into the 
background as they wait for him to 
return from his brief retreat.

Karen sits beside Chip, her hand on his 
shoulder, offering silent support.

Time seems to stand still as they wait, 
the rock in Plankton's hand a silent 
testament to their newfound bond. The 
park's vibrant sounds muffle into a 
distant symphony, the world holding its 
breath for Plankton's return. Above 
them, the sun casts a warm, gentle light, 
the shadows dancing as if in a silent 
ballet of concern.

The seconds stretch into eternity, each 
one a heartbeat of hope. Chip's eyes 
never leave his father, willing him back 
with all his might. The rock in Plankton's 
palm is a symbol of love and 
understanding, a bridge connecting 
them through the stormy seas of his 
mind.

As Plankton's body remains frozen, the 
world around them seems to hold its 
breath. The rustling of the leaves above, 
the distant laughter of children, even the 
crash of waves in the background seem 
to hush in respectful silence. It's as if the 
universe itself is offering a quiet 
sanctuary for Plankton's return.

Chip's eyes never leave his father's 
face, his grip on the love rock in 
Plankton's palm unwavering. His heart 
races with fear, but he squeezes the 
rock tighter, trying to channel the love 
and support he feels into his dad's 
unresponsive hand. Chip decides to 
whisper comforting words.
"Daddy, it's ok," he says softly. "You're 
safe here with me and Mom."

Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of fear 
and admiration for her son's courage. 
She watches as Chip decides to 
continue.

"Remember the rock, Daddy?" Chip 
whispers. "It's my way of saying I love 
you."

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, a 
glimmer of recognition in his eye. The 
world around them seems to hold its 
breath, the very air thick with 
anticipation. Chip's voice is the only 
sound, a gentle lullaby in the cacophony 
of the playground.

The rock in Plankton's hand feels warm, 
almost alive, as if it's absorbing the love 
Chip is whispering into it. Chip watches 
as Plankton's antennae slowly start to 
wiggle, a sign that he's coming back to 
them. "I'm here," Chip says, his voice 
barely audible. "I'll always be here."

Karen's hand moves to cover Chip's, her 
eyes glistening with tears she's trying 
hard to hold back. The sight of her son's 
unwavering support is both 
heartbreaking and awe-inspiring. 
Plankton's chest rises and falls more 
steadily, his breathing evening out.

The rock in Plankton's hand seems to 
pulse with a gentle warmth, a silent 
acknowledgment of Chip's words. Karen 
sees the tension in Plankton's features 
begin to ease, his antennae drooping 
slightly as he starts to come back to 
them. It's a delicate process, like waking 
a sleeping dragon. Any sudden 
movement could send him back into the 
storm.

Chip's voice is a beacon, guiding 
Plankton through the fog. 
"It's ok," Chip repeats, his voice 
soothing, "You're with us." Plankton's 
antennae twitch again, and Karen can 
see the spark of understanding in his 
eye.

Slowly, Plankton's body starts to relax. 
The tension in his shoulders eases, and 
his antennae twitch in a way that tells 
Karen he's listening, that he's with them 
again. His breathing evens out, and his 
eyelid flickers closed.

For a moment, Chip is afraid. But then, 
Plankton's hand tightens slightly around 
the rock, giving him a squeeze that says 
'Thank you'. Karen smiles, her eyes 
shimmering with relief. "Looks like he’s 
asleep," she whispers, her voice filled 
with a mix of humor and love.

Chip nods, his own eyes never leaving 
Plankton's peaceful face. They stay like 
that for a while, the three of them, in the 
quiet sanctuary of the park bench. The 
storm in Plankton's mind has passed, 
leaving them in a gentle lull.

The playground's sounds slowly start to 
filter back in, the chatter of children, the 
distant hum of the city, the rustling of 
leaves in the breeze. Chip keeps 
whispering, his voice a gentle caress in 
the stillness. "It's ok, Daddy. You're 
safe."

Karen watches her son with a mix of 
love and sadness, knowing the weight 
he now carries. He's growing up too fast, 
she thinks, but he's handling it with more 
grace than anyone could ask for. 

Plankton's hand relaxes around the 
rock, his breathing deep and even. The 
storm inside him has passed for now, 
leaving them with a quiet, precious 
moment.

Chip leans into her, his voice a whisper. 
"Is he going to be ok?"

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving 
Plankton's peaceful face. "He'll be fine," 
she says. "Rest is sometimes the best 
thing for him after an episode."

Chip nods, his grip on the rock in 
Plankton's hand loosening slightly. He 
looks around the park, the world coming 
back into focus. The other kids are 
playing, their laughter a gentle reminder 
of the life that goes on outside their little 
bubble of concern.

"Should we go home?" Chip asks, his 
voice still hushed.

Karen nods. "Let's get him into the 
shade," she says, gesturing to a nearby 
tree. "The fresh air and quiet will do him 
good."

Together, they gently lift Plankton and 
carry him to the cool, shaded spot. Chip 
is careful not to jostle him too much, his 
little hands supporting Plankton's head.

Under the tree, Karen lays a blanket on 
the ground and they place him down. 
His antennae are still now, no longer 
dancing with the stress of the seizure. 
His breath is deep and even, his 
features relaxed in sleep.

Chip watches him intently, his thumb 
tracing the smooth surface of the love 
rock. "He's going to be ok, right?" he 
asks, his voice a barely audible whisper. 
Karen nods, her eyes filled with a fierce 
protectiveness. "Of course, sweetie," 
she says. "Daddy just needs some rest."

new chip off the old talks familycore xi

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton holds up the science book
he had been clutching, the
pages fluttering in his excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick to the book,
then back to Plankton's face.
"You're acting
different."

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stilling momentarily. "No bad,"
he insists, his voice a bit too
cheerful. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search Plankton's,
trying to read the truth behind
his words. "But you've never
been this... affectionate before,"
he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's smile widens. "Sponge
Bob," he says, his voice a sing-song.
"You are good friend." He leans
in closer, his antennas quivering.
"Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen further,
his spongy cheeks reddening. "Plankton,
what's going on?" he asks, his
tone filled with confusion. "You've
never said that before."

Plankton's smile only grows
broader. "No bad," he repeats,
his voice still monotone. "Good
day. Happy." He starts to rock
back and forth on the bed, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
seems almost... happy?

Sponge Bob's confusion
deepens. Plankton had never
been one to show affection,
let alone so openly. "What's
going on?" he asks again, his
voice laced with concern.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his eye
locked on Sponge Bob's
face. "Good day," he says, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
matches his words. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in
surprise. Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Very happy,"
he says, his voice high and
excited. "Best friend happy."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "Plankton, are you
okay?" he asks, his voice gentle.

Plankton's giggle turns to a
laugh, a sound Sponge Bob rarely
hears from him. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Happy."

Sponge Bob watches his
friend, his heart racing. "What
happened to you?" he asks, his
concern growing with each passing
moment.

Plankton's laughter fades into
a grin. "No bad," he says, his
hands still fluttering in the
air. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry. "What's really going on?"

Plankton's grin turns into a
frown, his hands stopping their
motion. "Sponge Bob," he says,
his voice dropping to a whisper.
"No bad. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he
can't ignore the desperation
in Plankton's tone. He reaches out,
his hand resting gently on
Plankton's arm. "But why are you
so happy?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Plankton's frown deepens,
his mind racing to find the
right words. "Because,"
he says, his voice strained. "I
have friend. Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his hand still on Plankton's
arm. "But we've always been
friends," he says, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's smile is wide, his
eye unblinking. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Best
friends. Happy."

Sponge Bob's mind races.
Something is clearly different about
Plankton, but he doesn't know
what. "But, Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "What happened to
make you so... so...?" He struggles
for the right word.

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his gaze dropping to the book
in his lap. "Book," he says, his
voice flat. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, trying to
follow the conversation. "Yeah,
it looks interesting," he says,
his eyes searching for a clue.

But Plankton's gaze is fixed
on the book, his hands
resuming their rhythmic
flapping. "Good book," he repeats,
his voice a gentle mantra.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick from
the book to Plankton's
hands, his mind racing to
connect the dots. "Is something wrong,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping abruptly, his
eye snapping to Sponge Bob's
face. "No wrong," he says, his
voice earnest. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of bewilderment. "But you've
always liked your science books,"
he says, trying to find some
semblance of normalcy in the
situation. "What's different about
this one?"

Plankton's smile returns, his
hands resuming their flapping.
"This one," he says, his voice
filled with a newfound enthusiasm.
"Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy heart swelling with a
mixture of joy and concern.
"What makes this one so special?"

Plankton's hands flutter with
excitement as he opens the book
to a random page. "Look," he says,
his voice a high-pitched squeak.
"See?"

Sponge Bob leans in, his eyes
scanning the dense text filled with
scientific terms. He nods, trying
to appear engaged, though he has
no clue what he's looking at.
"Wow, Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with forced enthusiasm.
"That's... really interesting."

Plankton's smile widens, his
hands flapping in excitement.
"Yes," he says, his voice a
cheerful monotone. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, still
confused but not wanting to
rain on his friend's parade. "Well, I'm
glad you're enjoying it," he says,
his voice warm.

Plankton's hands stop moving
momentarily. "Thank you," he says,
his voice sincere. "You are best
friend." He leans in closer, his
antennas quivering with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in surprise
as he feels a sudden wave of warmth
and affection from Plankton, something
that's never been present in their
usually antagonistic friendship.

"What's going on, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice filled with curiosity.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Plankton's smile doesn't waver.
"Sponge Bob," he says, his voice
still monotone. "You are good.
You make Plankton happy."

"What's happened to make you 
so affectionate, Plankton?"

Sponge Bob's question hangs in the
air, his curiosity piqued by the
unexpected warmth from his
usually adversarial friend.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his hands
resuming their flapping. "No bad,"
he says, his voice cheerful. "Good
day." He pats the bed next to him.
"Sit, Sponge Bob. Read book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body frozen in place.
"I don't think I can read that,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "It's
really complicated."

Plankton nods, his smile
remaining constant. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice soothing. "You
try." He pushes the book closer
to Sponge Bob, his hand
guiding him to the page.

Sponge Bob hesitates, his
thumb flipping through the pages.
The words are a blur of symbols
and numbers, his mind struggling
to make sense of them. "But,
Plankton, I don't understand any
of this," he admits, his voice
filled with frustration.

Plankton's hand stops him, his
eye wide with excitement. "Doesn't
matter," he says, his voice
cheerful. "You are here. Best
friend."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "But Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You're
not acting like yourself."

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his hands stilling. "Self,"
he repeats, his voice contemplative.
He looks at Sponge Bob, his
eye searching his friend's
face for understanding.

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of confusion and concern. "Is
this a joke?" he asks, his
voice gentle.

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment before growing wider. "No joke,"
he says, his voice a singsong.
"Happy." He pats the bed again,
his hand a silent invitation.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
compassion. He sits down beside
his friend. "Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "Is everything
ok?"

Plankton nods vigorously,
his hands flapping with
excitement. "Everything is
good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best day."

Sponge Bob's gaze lingers on
his friend, searching for any
sign of distress. "But,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "You're
not usually like this."

Plankton's smile never
fades. "Don't know," he says, his
voice calm. "But now, happy."

Sponge Bob's heart clenches, his
fears for his friend's well-being
growing stronger. "But what
about your schemes?" he asks,
his voice hopeful.

Plankton's eye blinks, the
thought of his usual plans
of world domination momentarily
forgotten. "Schemes?" he repeats,
his voice confused.

Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, you
know, your plans to steal the Krabby
Patty secret formula," he says, his
tone light.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping their flapping. "Krabby Patty?"
he asks, his voice distant. "No want
Krabby Patty. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy mind racing. "You don't want
to steal the formula?" he asks, his
voice incredulous, now really
suspicious.

Plankton shakes his head, his
antennas swaying slightly. "No,"
he says, his voice still monotone.
"Only happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he can't
ignore the genuine smile on
his friend's face. "Okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If
you're happy, then I'm happy
for you."

Plankton's eye lit up, his
hands flapping with excitement.
"Thank you," he says, his voice
filled with gratitude. "Best
friend." 

new karen and the autistic journey confusedcore vi

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vi


(Autistic author)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae slowly
lowering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sponge Bob pressed play, the
screen flickering to life.

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

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

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

new autism in the plankton family plankton vi

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vi
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Plankton's eye 
closed slowly, his 
breathing evening out 
under her calming 
touch. His body 
relaxed into the 
cushions of the couch, 
his mind still racing 
but his body succumbing 
to the siren call of 
sleep. The smoothie 
and Karen's comforting 
presence had 
worked their magic.

Karen sat beside 
him, 
wrapped protectively 
around his small 
form. She watched 
his chest rise and 
fall with each 
breath, her heart 
heavy with the weight 
of the day's events. 
The Chum Bucket 
was quiet now, the 
silence a stark 
contrast to the 
shouts and sobs that 
had filled it moments 
before. Karen's
heart breaks for Plankton
yet she knows Hanna's
never met him, never heard
of the accident nor diagnosis.

With a sigh, she 
picked up the phone 
that lay on the 
end table and 
dialed Hanna's number. 
The line rang once, 
twice, three times 
before Hanna's 
voice filled the 
line. "Hello?"

Karen took a 
deep breath, 
steeling herself for 
the conversation 
she had to have. "Hanna, 
it's me," she 
said, her voice 
calm despite the 
whirlwind inside her.
"I need to talk to 
you about what 
happened."

Hanna's tone 
shifted immediately, 
concern lacing her 
words. "Is Plankton 
okay?"

Karen's grip 
on the phone 
tightened. "No," she 
admitted, her voice 
a whisper. "He's 
asleep now, but he's 
not okay."

Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
shock and 
disbelief. "What do 
you mean?"

Karen took 
another deep 
breath, her eyes 
never leaving 
Plankton's peaceful 
face. "There was 
an accident," she 
began, her voice 
steady. "He hit his 
head and..." She 
swallowed the lump 
in her throat. "Acquired 
Autism Spectrum Disorder."

The line was 
silent for a 
moment before 
Hanna's voice 
came back, filled 
with horror. "Oh 
Neptune, I had 
no idea!"

Karen's tentacles 
trembled slightly 
as she recounted 
the doctor's words, 
the diagnosis that 
had turned their 
world upside down. "It's 
permanent," she 
whispered. "They said 
his corpus callosum 
and cerebellum were 
damaged. He's...he's 
not the same, Hanna."

On the phone, 
Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
sympathy and 
confusion. "But 
why didn't you tell 
me sooner?"

Karen's sigh 
was heavy with 
regret. "We've 
been dealing with 
this alone," she 
explained, her tentacle 
tracing patterns 
on the couch cushion. 
"It's so new, so 
overwhelming."

Hanna's voice 
was gentle now, 
understanding in a 
way that made Karen 
feel less alone. 
"I'm so sorry, Karen," 
she said, her 
concern genuine. "I 
had no idea."

Karen's 
eyes remained 
locked on Plankton's 
face, his chest rising 
and falling with 
each breath. "It's 
been a rollercoaster," 
she admitted, her 
voice tight. "But 
we're trying to 
make the best of it."

Karen hangs up and
turns her focus back to
Plankton, his small 
body curled tightly 
under the blanket.
She notices 
the way his 
antenna twitches 
as if he's dreaming.

Her hands 
gently adjust the 
blanket, her touch 
feather-light against 
his skin. Plankton's 
face is a mask of 
peace in sleep, a stark 
contrast to the 
turmoil of the 
waking world. His 
snores are faint, a 
soothing rhythm 
that fills the 
otherwise silent room.

Just as Karen 
begins to relax, 
the door to the Chum 
Bucket bursts open, 
letting in a rush 
of sunlight and 
SpongeBob's 
unmistakable 
laughter. "Plankton?" 
he calls out, his 
voice high and 
cheerful.

Sponge Bob's 
entrance is a 
whirlwind of 
energy, a stark 
contrast to the 
heavy silence that 
hangs over the 
laboratory. He 
doesn't notice the 
tension in the 
air as he bounds 
towards the couch, 
his eyes widening 
in surprise when he 
sees Plankton's 
unusual position.

"Whoa, Plankton," 
Sponge Bob says, 
his voice a 
chirp of curiosity. 
"Looks like you're 
taking a siesta!" 
He laughs, not 
comprehending the 
depth of emotion 
that has just 
played out in 
the room.

Karen looks 
up from her 
watchful vigil, 
her eyes tired but 
determined. "Sponge 
Bob," she says, 
keeping her voice 
steady, "Plankton's 
not feeling well."

Sponge Bob's 
face falls, his 
cheerfulness 
dimming. "Oh no," 
he says, his 
concern genuine. 
He approaches 
the couch with 
caution, his eyes 
fixed on Plankton's 
peaceful form.

"What happened?" 
he asks, his 
voice hushed. 
"Is he okay?"

Karen's eyes 
meet Sponge Bob's, 
full of a sorrow 
he can't quite 
comprehend. "It's 
been a...difficult 
day," she says, her 
tentacles tightening 
slightly around 
Plankton. "He had 
an accident."

Sponge Bob's 
expression shifts 
from confusion to 
alarm. "Is he 
going to be okay?" 
he asks, his voice 
filled with 
concern. Karen 
sighs, her tentacle 
stroking Plankton's 
forehead in a 
soothing motion. 
"He's just...different 
now," she says, her 
voice tight.

Sponge Bob 
frowns, his 
bubbles popping 
with worry. "What 
kind of different?"

Karen's 
expression is 
guarded, her 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
form. "He's been 
diagnosed with... 
autism," she 
whispers, the word 
sounding foreign 
even to her.

"Hey, I was born with
idiopathic Autism!" 
Sponge Bob says.

"Well Plankton's got
an acquired form, it's
a rarity," Karen 
explains to Sponge
Bob, her voice 
barely a murmur so 
as not to disturb 
the sleeping Plankton.
Sponge Bob nods 
slowly, his 
understanding of 
the situation 
deepening with 
each word.

"So his accident gave
him autism; when?"

"Yesterday, when he hit 
his head on an invention."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with realization. 
"Oh," he says, 
his voice filled with 
sympathy.

He sits down 
on the floor 
beside the couch.

"It's okay, Karen," 
Sponge Bob says 
softly, his eyes 
full of 
understanding. "We'll 
figure this out 
together."

Plankton stirs 
beneath the 
blanket, his 
small form 
shifting slightly.

Karen's gaze 
snaps to him.

"Plankton?" she 
whispers, her 
tentacles poised 
to comfort him if 
his distress 
resurfaces. But his 
eye remains closed, 
his breathing even.

Sponge Bob's 
expression is 
thoughtful as he 
looks at the 
sleeping Plankton. 
"You know, Karen, 
being different isn't 
so bad," he says 
gently. "I mean, 
look at me."

Karen's tentacles 
relax slightly 
as she looks at 
Sponge Bob, his 
optimism a balm 
to her weary 
spirit. Karen smiles.
"Tell that to Hanna,"
Karen mutters to
herself.

"Who's Hanna?"

"A friend," Karen
explained, her 
voice still tight. 
"She came over 
today, didn't know 
about Plankton's 
diagnosis. She said 
things she shouldn't 
have."

Sponge Bob's 
frown deepens. 
"What kind of 
things?"

"She said 
he's a burden, 
that maybe I should 
put him in an 
institution," she 
whispers, her voice 
shaking with anger.

Sponge Bob's 
face falls in shock. 
"That's not 
right, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You 
don't have to 
listen to her. What's an
institution?"

"It's a place where 
clinically crazy people
are sent to rehabilitation
be 'taken care of.' But 
it's not like that 
really for neurodivergent
people. It's more like 
a...a prison where they 
deprive them, and 
often...never make it.
But mostly it's for people
who are violent, which isn't
the case for..."

Her voice trails off as
Plankton stirs again, 
his antennae twitching 
slightly.

Sponge Bob looks at 
Plankton, his eyes 
filled with 
compassion. "He's not 
going anywhere, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You guys 
are like family to 
me. I'll help you 
take care of him."

Plankton's single 
eye opens slightly, 
his gaze unfocused.

"Shh, it's okay," 
she whispers, her 
voice a soothing 
caress.

Plankton blinks 
slowly, his eye 
coming into focus 
as he sees Sponge 
Bob.

A smile 
spreads across his 
face, a rare 
expression of pure 
joy that lights up 
his features. His 
body uncoils from 
its tense curl, 
his antennae 
perking up with 
excitement.

"Sponge Bob," 
Plankton whispers, 
his voice filled with 
a warmth that 
surprises Karen. 
He sits up slowly, 
his movements 
calculated to 
avoid any jolts 
to his sensitive 
system.

Sponge Bob's face 
splits into a 
beaming smile, 
his eyes 
shining with 
joy. "Hey, Plankton!" 
He says.

Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on 
Sponge Bob, his 
expression a 
mixture of 
gratitude and 
comfort. "You're 
here," he says 
simply, his voice 
a rough whisper.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his smile never 
wavering. "Of course 
I am," he says, 
his voice gentle. 
He reaches out 
a hand tentatively, 
his movements 
slow and deliberate.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, then he 
reaches out, 
his grip firm but 
not too tight. 
The two of them 
sit there, 
the silence 
comforting rather 
than oppressive.



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

new neurobehavioral plankton comfortfic vi

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⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠄⠈⡀⠭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿
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⣿⣿⣿⣇⣼⣿⣿⠿⠶⠙⣿⡟⠡⣴⣿⣽⣿⣧⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿
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new china xi xi jinping republic of china

⠀݂⠀🦪⠀֯⠀ ᮫⠀ ⛤⠀ׄ⠀ 𓍢ִ⠀܄⠀ʬ  ⭑  ˙  𓍯⠀ׄ⠀🦋﹔ 
𝓭ₒₙ'ₜ 𝓬ₒₚᵧ 𝔀ₒᵣₖ ᵳᵣₒₘ ₐₙₒₜₕₑᵣ, ₜₕₑ ₛₐₜᵢₛᵳₐ𝓬ₜᵢₒₙ ₒᵳ ₛᵤ𝓬𝓬ₑₛₛ ᵢₛ ₒₙₗᵧ ᵳₑₗₜ 𝔀ₕₑₙ ᵧₒᵤ 𝓭ₒ ᵧₒᵤᵣ ₒ𝔀ₙ 𝓭ᵤₜᵧ.

new vex xi quote elegant.

8ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁☾

new march eight viii month mars march 1 coquette

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

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY x


(Autistic author)



The extraction was swift and
skillful, the wisdom teeth
removed with the care of the
surgeon. Plankton's tiny body
was a testament to the doctor's
expertise, not even a flinch
disturbing his peaceful slumber.

Plankton was wheeled into
recovery, where Karen and
SpongeBob were.

"He's fine," Delfina assured,
her voice a soft lullaby. "The
surgery went well. He'll just
need to sleep it off."

Dr. Doolittle nods. "He did
fantastic and is doing so
great."

The anesthesia
kept him blissfully unaware
of the world around him, his
tiny body relaxed in a way
it rarely was.

Karen and Sponge Bob sat
on plush chairs, their eyes
never leaving Plankton's
slumbering form. Karen held his
hand, her thumb rubbing small
comforting circles on the back of
his palm. 

Sponge Bob leaned forward in
his chair, his eyes never leaving
Plankton's still form.

"How long will he be out?" he
asked, his voice a whisper in the
quiet room.

Delfina, the dolphin hygienist,
smiled kindly. "It's hard to say,
exactly. But he'll wake up when
his body's ready," she assured,
patting Sponge Bob's arm with a
flipper.

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's peaceful
face. The room was bathed in a
soft light, designed to be as
soothing as possible for those
recovering from surgery. 

As Plankton slept, his mouth
was open hung slightly
apart, his breathing deep and
even, a testament
to the deep, anesthesia-induced
slumber that had taken hold.
The gentle rise and fall of
his chest was the only indication
of life amidst the sea of blankets
and medical equipment that
surrounded him. His antennae
were still, a stark contrast to
their usual frenetic dance.

But as the minutes ticked
by, a small pool of drool began
to form at the corner of his
mouth. It grew larger, a silent
testament to his relaxed
state, trickling down his cheek
and onto the pillow beneath
his head.

Sponge Bob couldn't help but
smile at the sight. It was
oddly endearing, 
with a strange mix of pity
and affection.

Karen chuckled softly. "Looks
like he's out cold," she whispered.

Sponge Bob leaned in closer, his
expression a mix of amusement
and concern. "Is that normal?"
he asked, pointing at the drool.

Delfina's smile grew wider. "Perfectly
normal," she assured him, her
flippers moving with the grace
of a ballerina as she wiped
Plankton's chin with a soft
cloth. "He's just really out of it.
and his mouth's numbed."

His antennae twitched slightly
as the anesthesia began to
wear off, but he didn't wake yet.

As if on cue, Plankton's eye
twitched, and a faint whine
escaped his lips. His antennae
twitched, and he stirred
slightly. The sedative's grip
was loosening, allowing him to
surface from the depths of sleep. 

Karen's screen snapped to his face,
her hand tightening around his.
"You're ok," she whispered, her
voice a gentle current. "You're just
waking up."

Plankton's antennae began to
quiver again, his eye
flickering open. The world was
still a blur, his thoughts a
tangle of confusion. He blinked
slowly, trying to focus on the
figures around him, eye fluttered
open to reveal the blurred
outlines of his friends'
concerned faces.

"Hey there, buddy," Sponge Bob
whispered, his voice a soft
caress.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, his eye focusing on
his friend's smiling face. He
tried to speak, but his mouth
was heavy and uncooperative.
"W...what happened?" he mumbled,
his voice a slurred echo.

Karen leaned in, her smile gentle.
"You had your wisdom teeth
removed, sweetie," she said, her
voice a soothing lilt. "You're
just waking up from the
anesthesia."

Delfina, approached with gauze.
"Bite down on this," she instructs,
her voice a soft melody. "It'll
help with any bleeding."

Plankton's mouth still
numb from the surgery but
did as he was told.

The ride home was a
blur of gentle swaying, the
motion of the boat lulling
his overstimulated senses.
The soft hum of the engine
was a comforting white noise
that drowned out the cacophony
of the world outside.

Karen steered the boat with
extra care. Plankton was snuggled 
into the crook of SpongeBob's
arm, his antennae drooping with
exhaustion, eye fluttering closed as
the waves whispered a gentle
lullaby beneath them.
Plankton's breathing grew
even, his body relaxing into the
soft embrace of sleep.

Eventually the arrived back home,
Karen parking. 
"We're back home, Plankton.." says
SpongeBob, his voice a gentle
reminder of reality.
Yet Plankton didn't stir, his
body still lost in the depths.
"Should we wake him?"
he asked, his voice a soft
mumble.

Karen gets out and goes to
where they're seated.

"Come on, Plankton," Karen's
voice was a gentle nudge, her
hand on his shoulder. "Time to
wake up."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye fluttering open to
reveal a world that was still
hazy and unreal. He blinked
slowly, trying to focus on
Karen's face above him. "Home?"
he murmured, his voice a
distant echo.

Karen nodded, her smile
soft. "Yes, we're home," she said,
her voice a gentle caress. "You
slept through the whole ride."

Plankton blinked groggily,
his antennae quivering slightly. 
He sat up slowly.

Karen helped him to his
feet, her touch gentle as
sea grass brushing against
his skin. "Let's get you inside,"
she said, her voice a gentle
wake-up call.

Sponge Bob hovered nearby,
his eyes filled with worry as
he watched Plankton wobble slightly,
his body still adjusting to
being upright. "You okay?" he
asked, his voice a gentle ripple
in the calm of the moment.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still limp with sleep. "Jus’
tiwed," he mumbled, his voice
raspy from the surgery. Karen
guided him to the bed, the
softness of the pillow a
welcome embrace for his head.
Sponge Bob hovered nearby. his
"Do you need anything?"
he asked.

"I'm fine," Plankton murmured,
his eye drifting closed again.
"Jush... quiet."

The quiet hum of the
air conditioner and the distant
lapping of waves against the
shore created a serene symphony
for his heightened senses.

Plankton lay in bed, his
antennas still, his body
recovering from the ordeal.
The pillows were piled high,
a fortress around him, and the
sheets were pulled tight, a
comforting cocoon.

Karen sat beside him, her
hand on his arm, her voice
a gentle hum of reassurance.
"You're doing so well," she
whispered. "Just rest."

The room was bathed in
dim light, the curtains drawn
to block out the harsh
daylight that could cause him
discomfort. The sounds of the
ocean outside were muffled, a
soothing backdrop to his
recovery.

Karen hovered nearby, her
screen never leaving his sleepy
form. She had set up a small
station with ice ready to offer
comfort at a moment's notice.

Sponge Bob sat in the armchair
across the room.

He watched his friend
sleep peacefully, his antennae
finally at rest. The quiet of
the room was a stark contrast to
the chaos of the dental office,
but Plankton seemed to be
comfortable, his breathing
even and deep.

The hours passed with a gentle
rhythm, the soft sounds of the
ocean outside the only
company to their vigil.
Karen checked on Plankton
frequently, her movements
silent as a ghost as she made
sure he was okay.

Sponge Bob's eyes never
left Plankton's sleeping
form. He got books and an
entertainment system for
Plankton to.

Plankton stirred in his sleep,
his antennae twitching.

Karen's gaze was quick to
find him, her eyes full of
concern. "You okay?" she
whispered, her voice a gentle
wave lapping at the shore of
his consciousness.

Plankton nodded slowly, his
antennas rising slightly.

"Th...thank you," he mumbled,
his mouth still numb from
the surgery. "I'll...I'll be okay."

new autism in the plankton family doolittle x

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

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM v

(Autistic author)

SpongeBob picks up his cards 
and looks for any 
twos. "Got any twos?"
he asks, trying to 
keep the peace.

But Plankton's focus 
has shifted, his 
eye no longer on the 
game. "Fish," he says 
again, his voice 
desperate.
Sponge Bob's patience 
snaps like a dry 
twig. "Plankton, enough 
with the fish!" he 
exclaims, tossing his cards 
down onto the floor. 
The sudden movement 
startles Plankton, and 
his antennas retract 
slightly.
"What's wrong with 
you!" Sponge Bob asks, 
his voice shaking with 
frustration. "You're not 
the same, Plankton."
Plankton's antennas 
wobble, and his 
eye darts around the 
room, unable to 
meet Sponge Bob's gaze. 
"Fish," he whispers, his 
voice lost.

SpongeBob's frustration was 
palpable in the tense air of the 
Chum Bucket, his eyes wide with 
confusion. He had always known 
Plankton to be a master of 
manipulation and cunning wit, so 
seeing him in such a repetitive state 
was unsettling. He didn't understand 
why his friend's world had narrowed 
down to a simple game of Go Fish 
and the repeated question for more 
of the same card.

"Plankton, I don't get it," Sponge 
 said, his voice tight with the 
effort to stay calm. "What's 
with all the fish?"

Plankton's antennas 
drooped further, his 
eye cast downward. "Fish," he 
mumbles again, his voice 
deflated. "Need more fish."

Sponge Bob's mind races to 
understand the change 
in Plankton's behavior.

He's known Plankton for so 
long, they've had countless 
battles over the Krabby Patty 
formula, but this, this is 
different. The way Plankton's 
voice echoes his own words, 
how he can't seem to let 
go of the word "fish," it's 
almost as if he's a different 
person entirely.

"Plankton, please," Sponge 
Bob pleads, his voice 
cracking. "Why do you 
keep saying that?"

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly, his 
expression a mix of 
confusion and sadness. 
"Fish," he repeats, his 
voice a mere whisper. 
"Need fish."
"I told you Plankton," Sponge 
Bob says, his voice strained 
with patience, "I don't have 
any more twos, so I can't give 
you any fish."
Plankton's antennas droop, 
his eye sad. "No fish," he 
whispers.
Sponge Bob's at his wit's end. 
"Look, Plankton," he says, 
his voice firm.
"This isn't fun anymore. 
Why do you keep asking for 
fish when I don't have any?"
Plankton's antennas shoot 
up again, his eye 
widening in surprise. 
"Fish?" he asks, as if 
the concept has just 
been introduced.

Sponge Bob's patience 
snaps like a rubber band. 
"Yes, fish!" he yells, 
his spongy body trembling 
with frustration. 
"But I don't have any!"

Plankton flinches at the 
loudness of Sponge Bob's 
voice, his antennas 
retreating into his body. 
"Fish?" he whispers, his 
eye wide with fear.
Sponge Bob's frustration remains. 
"Why do you keep asking 
for fish?" he asks.
"What's happening to 
you, Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
twitch erratically, his 
expression a mix of 
pain and confusion. 
"Don't know what's
happening to you
Plankton." Plankton
says.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill 
with tears, his voice 
shaking. "I just want 
my friend back," he 
whispers. "I don't know 
what happened to you."
Plankton's antennas 
drop, his eye filling with 
sorrow. "Friend," he 
repeats, his voice 
small. "Sponge Bob friend."
Yet Sponge Bob doesn't 
understand. He only sees 
his friend acting strange 
and distant, and he can't
stay calm anymore.

"Why can't you just be 
normal!" Sponge Bob 
exclaims, his voice 
shaking with emotion. 
Plankton's antennas 
tremble, and his 
eye fills with 
uncertainty. "Fish?" he 
whispers, his voice 
shaking.

But SpongeBob's frustration 
was only growing.

"I can't do this," he says, 
his voice shaky. "You're not 
my friend like this, Plankton.
I don't know what happened to 
you, but I need you to snap 
out of it!"

Plankton's antennas 
wilt at Sponge Bob's anger, 
his eye filling with a 
sorrow that seems to 
mirror Sponge Bob's own.
"Fish," he whispers, his 
voice trembling. "Need fish."

Sponge Bob's heart 
aches as he watches his 
friend's distress. He's 
so tired of the echoing 
words, the endless loop 
of "fish." 

With a sigh, Sponge 
Bob gathers the 
scattered cards, 
his movements 
deliberate and 
careful. "I'm sorry," he 
says, his voice 
gentler now. "But we can't 
keep playing this way."

Plankton's antennas 
droop as he watches 
Sponge Bob clean up. "Fish?"
he asks, his voice 
small and hopeful.

Sponge Bob turns, his 
face a mask of anger and 
hurt. "No, Plankton," he 
says firmly. "We're not 
playing anymore; I'm tired
of it!"

Plankton's antennas 
wobble at the harshness 
of Sponge Bob's tone. "No 
fish?" he asks, his voice 
small and trembling. 
Sponge Bob cannot hold
back anymore, as his 
frustration won't let 
up.

"Plankton," he says, 
his voice tight with 
emotion, "I don't have 
any more fish! Can't you 
understand that?"

Plankton's antennas 
quiver, his eye 
welling up with tears. 
"Fish," he whispers, 
his voice shaking.

That's the last straw.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with 
tears of anger and 
frustration. He's had 
enough of Plankton's 
strange behavior, his 
incessant echoing of words. 
"You're not listening!" 
he yells, slamming the 
cards down on the floor. 
"I don't have any more fish
Plankton, so just stop it!"

Plankton's antennas 
shiver at the harshness 
of Sponge Bob's words, his 
body shrinking under the 
weight of the accusation. 
"Fish?" he asks again, 
his voice cracking.
Sponge Bob's fists clench, 
his knuckles turning 
white. "No more fish!" 
he says, his voice 
shaking with anger. 
"I've had enough of you
and your fish!"

Plankton stops but
Sponge Bob's anger still burns 
bright. He doesn't know 
what's happening to 
Plankton, but he can't 
tolerate this strange 
behavior any longer.

"What's wrong with 
you?" Sponge Bob yells, 
his eyes wide with 
desperation. "Why 
can't you just play 
normally, huh? How
hard is it to just ask 
for a card without 
all the fish nonsense?
I didn't come here to 
play your weird games!"
Plankton's antennas 
quiver, his eye 
swelling with unshed 
tears. "Fish," he whispers, 
his voice barely audible.

Sponge Bob's anger 
continues to build, 
his frustration 
spilling over like 
boiling water. "You're 
not even trying!" he 
accuses, his voice 
rising. "What happened 
to you, Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
droop, his body 
slumping. "Fish," he 
mumbles, his voice 
broken.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
fill with tears, his 
heart aching for his 
friend. "I don't 
understand," he says, his 
voice cracking. "What's 
wrong with you?"
Plankton's antennas 
barely move, his 
expression a mask of 
sorrow. "Fish," he whispers, 
his eye searching 
Sponge Bob's.

Sponge Bob's anger 
grows, his voice 
raised. "You're just 
saying the same 
thing over and over! 
Why can't you talk to me 
normally?"
Plankton's antennas 
flatten against his 
head, his eye 
welling up with tears. 
"Fish," he says again, 
his voice shaking.

Sponge Bob's fists 
clench tighter, his 
knuckles white with 
frustration. "I don't 
know what's going on 
with you," he says, 
his voice thick with 
emotion. "But this isn't 
how we talk to each 
other. We're friends!"
Plankton's antennas 
barely twitch, his 
expression lost. "Fish," 
he whispers, his voice 
desolate.

Sponge Bob's anger 
reaches its peak, his 
eyes flashing. "I don't 
have any fish!" he yells, 
his spongy body 
quivering with rage. 
"Why can't you just 
talk to me?"
Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly, his eye 
wet with unshed tears. 
"Fish," he murmurs, 
his voice a plea.
Sponge Bob feels like 
his patience has been 
stretched to its 
breaking point. "I can't 
do this," he says, his voice 
shaking with the effort to 
control his emotions.
He turns away, his 
back to Plankton. "We're 
not playing anymore," he 
declares. "We're not playing 
anything until you start 
making sense! So you can
either stop acting weird 
and talk to me like a normal 
being or, I'm leaving!" He
kicks the cards, and then
Karen decides to intervene.

Her voice is firm but 
kind. "Sponge Bob," she says, 
placing a hand on his 
shoulder. "Plankton's not 
doing this on purpose. 
Plankton can I tell Sponge
Bob?"

Plankton nods slowly, his 
eye never leaving Sponge 
Bob's back.

"Sponge Bob," Karen 
continues, her voice 
soothing, "Plankton had a
bad accident, and..."

Her words hang in the 
air, but Sponge Bob 
doesn't turn around. "What?"
he asks, his voice 
small and defeated.

Karen's voice is soft but 
steady. "Plankton hit his 
head and it affected 
his brain," she 
explains. "He has 
something called Autism 
now."
Sponge Bob turns, his 
eyes wide with shock. "What's 
that?" he asks, his 
voice trembling.
"It's a condition," Karen 
says gently, her gaze 
meeting Sponge Bob's. "It 
makes it hard for him 
to understand certain things, 
like how to play games 
without getting stuck 
on one word." She gestures
to Plankton, who's shedding
tears rolling down his cheeks.

Sponge Bob's anger 
evaporates, replaced by 
sympathy. "Oh, Plankton," 
he says, his voice 
full of sadness. He 
steps towards his friend, 
his hand reaching out. 
"I'm sorry, I didn't know."
Plankton's antennas 
wobble as he looks 
up at Sponge Bob, his 
single eye brimming with 
tears. "I'm 
sorry," he says again, his 
voice thick with emotion.
"I didn't mean to get 
so mad."

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly, his eye 
meeting Sponge Bob's with 
gratitude. "Fish," he 
whispers, but it's not a 
demand this time. It's 
more of a statement of 
understanding.

new a journey to autism fishcore auties v

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

CATCH IN MY CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

With grace of a dancer, Chip 
slides into the bed beside
his dad, his movements calculated
and precise. Each inch closer feels
like a victory, a step to
reconciliation. He's careful not
to disturb. His hand reaches
for Plankton's, his touch a
whisper in the quiet.

Plankton's breathing steady and rhythmic.
Chip swells with hope, clutches the
hand tightly, feeling the
strength in the slender fingers.
It's a silent declaration of love,
an unspoken apology.

Karen watches, her screen
shimmering with unshed tears.
The sight of her son and
husband finding their way
back to each other fills her
heart with a warmth that
chases the shadows from the
room. She knows this isn't a
moment to interrupt, so she
simply observes, her hand
on Chip's back in silent
support.

Chip's eyes drift shut, and he lets
his body mold to the warmth
of his dad's side. The scent of
his dad's pillow, a mix of
saltwater and something
uniquely Plankton, fills his
nose, lulling him into a
sense of safety.

Time seems to stand still in the
quiet embrace, each tick of the
clock a gentle reminder that
moments like these are rare. But
eventually, the world outside
their sanctuary calls, and Plankton
stirs.

His antennas twitch, his
eye blinking open .
He's disoriented at first, his
brain still wrapped in the
cotton wool of sleep. Then he feels
the warmth beside him, the
weight of a small hand in his.

Plankton's heart stutters,
his body tense. His eye find
Chip's peaceful face, his son's
cheek pressed against his arm.
The room is a tableau of quiet,
the air thick with the unspoken.
He's torn between emotions and fear,
his mind racing.

He doesn't remember falling
asleep, the anger and frustration
of last night a distant memory.
But here's Chip, a living proof
of their unspoken reconciliation.
Plankton's antennas quiver,
his hand hovering over their
entwined fingers. He's afraid to
move, to disturb the fragile
harmony of the moment.

But his body has other plans.
His muscles tense, his skin
prickling with the need for
space. He's not used to this,
the warmth, the weight. His
autistic brain screams for order,
for predictability. He tries to
swallow the rising panic, to push
it back down into the pit of his
stomach where it belongs. Plankton
can feel his own heart racing,
his antennas quivering with
the effort of holding still. His
body wants to recoil, to retreat
from the sudden assault of
sensation. But he can't, not with
his son's hand in his.

Karen notices the tension
in his body, the way his antennas
spasm slightly. She knows what's
coming, the inevitable retreat.
With a gentle touch, she whispers,
"It's okay, Plankton. You don't have
to handle it if it's too much."
Her words are a soothing balm,
but they're not enough to
calm the storm inside him.

Chip's hand tightens slightly
around his, and Plankton's eye
snap to his son's face. He sees
the trust there, the love.
It's a punch to the gut, a
reminder of all the moments
he's missed, all the times he's
failed to understand. His hand
shakes, the tremble traveling
up his arm.

He tries to swallow the
rising panic, his throat tight.
But it's too much, the weight
of his son's body, the heat,
the smell, the touch. His mind
whirrs, his senses overloading.
He needs space, to think, to breathe.
With a deep, shuddering inhale,
he starts to pull away, his
body fighting the instinct to
shove Chip off the bed.

Karen's hand is a gentle
weight on his shoulder.
"Take it slow," she whispers,
her voice a lifeline in the storm.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still quivering. He tries to
push the panic down, to
focus on the warmth of
Chip's hand, the steady beat
of their hearts. But the
pressure builds, a crescendo
of sensation threatening to
crush him. He can't breathe.

With a tremble, he starts
to pull away, his hand
sliding out from under
Chip's. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his voice strained.
"It's too much."

Karen's hand remains
on his shoulder, her eyes
filled with compassion.
"It's okay," she says, her voice
a soft whisper. "We're here."

The room spins around
Plankton, a whirlwind of
colors and shapes. His antennas
wave wildly, his grip on reality
slipping. He's lost in the chaos
of his own mind, the sensory
overload a tornado that
threatens to consume him.

Karen's voice is a beacon,
guiding him back to shore.
"Breathe," she whispers, her hand
still on his shoulder. "In, out,
slowly." Her words are a
lifeline in the tempest.

Plankton nods, his breaths
coming in ragged gasps. He tries
to focus on the sensation of
her hand, the gentle pressure
of her touch. But the world
keeps spinning, the colors
blurring together like a
watercolor painting left in
the rain.

He feels the bed shift as
Karen sits beside him, her
presence a grounding force.
"Just breathe," she says, her
voice a soft mantra. "You're
okay." His chest rises and falls in
quick succession, his body's
desperate attempt to regulate
itself amidst the chaos. His
heart races, each beat a
staccato in his ears. The room
spins, the walls closing in, the
ringing in his ears getting louder
to where it consumes him, now
impenetrable to any other sound.

Karen notices the sudden
pallor that sweeps over her
husband's face, the way his
body sags into the bed.
Her eyes fill with concern,
her hand tightening on his
shoulder. "Look at me," she says,
her voice firm but gentle.
"Take deep breaths."

But the ringing in his head is
too loud. It's consumed him
and impenetrable. He can't
hear her. He doesn't hear
anything.

Karen's voice is a distant
echo, the words swallowed by
the cacophony in his mind.
Her hand on his shoulder is
the only real thing, the
only anchor keeping him from
being swept away.

The room spins faster, the
colors bleeding into one
another until all Plankton
can see is a kaleidoscope of
sensory overload. The ringing
in his ears crescendos,
drowning out the world.
His chest feels tight, his lungs
desperate for air that won't
come. He's adrift in a sea
of panic, unable to find
his way back to the shore.

Karen's voice cuts through
the din, her hand a firm
reminder of reality. "Look
at me," she says, her eyes
locked on his, her voice a
steady lighthouse guiding
his way back. "Just me,
just us." But Plankton's not
hearing anymore.

The room is spinning, the
colors a whirlwind of chaos.
He's lost in the tornado
of his own making, the
sensory overload a prison
he can't escape. His hand
shakes, his body tense as
his mind begs for reprieve.
Karen's eyes widen with
concern.

"Plankton," she whispers, her
voice a gentle lullaby. "Look
at me." She moves closer, her
hand reaching for his face.
Her touch is a grounding force,
but it's not enough. He's
too far gone.

The room spins, a blur
of color and sound. Plankton's
eye is wide with panic, his
body trembling. The bed seems
to shift beneath him, the
walls closing in. His breaths
are shallow, his chest tight.
He's lost in the tornado of
his senses.

Karen's hand on his
shoulder is a lifeline, but
his mind is too far gone.
Her voice is a distant
whisper, the words unintelligible.
All he can feel is the
crushing weight of the
world pressing down on him,
the lights too bright, the
noises too loud. And then
Chip stirs in his sleep.

The movement sends a
shiver down Plankton's spine,
his body tightening like a
coiled spring. The ringing in
his ears reaches a crescendo,
drowning out everything else.
He tries to push the panic
back down, to find the calm
he desperately needs, but it's
like trying to hold back the
tide with a paper wall.

Karen's eyes are filled with
fear as she sees Plankton's
descent into overwhelm. She
knows the signs all too well.
Her hand on his shoulder is
now a firm grip, trying to
keep him tethered to the
here and now. "Look at me,"
she says, her voice a gentle
command. "Just me, just us."

But Plankton's gaze is unfocused,
his mind swirling with a
torrent of sensations that
make him feel like he's
falling into a bottomless pit.
The room seems to spin faster,
the light from the window a
piercing glare that slices through
his retina. He wants to
shield his eye, but his arm
feels like lead, too heavy to lift.

Karen's touch is the only
constant, her hand on his
shoulder the one thing that
feels real amidst the
sensory maelstrom. But even
that is slipping away as
his dizziness crescendos into
full-blown vertigo. His vision
blurs, the lines of reality
smearing into a nauseating
whirl of color and light.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
urgent. "Look at me."

The words echo in his
head, a distant call amidst
the chaos. He tries to focus
on her face, her eyes the only
constant in the whirlwind
of sensations. But the world
spins, faster and faster,
until all he can see is a
blur of color.

Her hand on his shoulder is
a lifeline, but it's slipping
away. He feels himself
falling, tumbling into the
void of his own mind. His
body is a marionette, his
strings cut by the storm.
The ringing in his ears
reaches a crescendo, a
symphony of panic that
consumes him.

Karen's eyes are wide
with fear, her grip on him
desperate. "Look at me,"
she repeats, her voice 
steady. "You're okay."
Her hand moves to his face.

But Plankton's gaze is
glassy, his pupil dilated.
He's trapped in the chaos of
his senses. The ringing
in his ears is a siren's
call, pulling him deeper.

Karen's hand moves from
his shoulder to his cheek,
the softness of her touch
a stark contrast to the
harshness of the world
invading his mind. "Look
at me," she repeats, her voice
a whisper. "You're safe."
Her thumb traces the line
of his jaw, a gentle guide.

But Plankton's eye is
glassy, lost in the storm.
Her words are gentle,
trying to soothe him. But the
flames are too high, too
strong. He's drowning in
his own senses.

With a tremble, Karen's hand
moves to his cheek, her
touch a soft caress. "Look at
me," she whispers, her voice
a lifeline thrown into
the tempest. "You're ok."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II ix

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON viii

(Autistic author)


The room grew quiet as they
all digested the information.
Sponge Bob's gaze never left
Plankton's, his expression
filled with a fierce loyalty.
He knew his friend was
different, but that didn't
change the love he had for
the tiny creature.

Sensing the tension, Sponge
Bob took a deep breath and
smiled his wide, welcoming smile.
"You know what, Plankton?" he
said, his voice a gentle rumble.
"You're still my best buddy, no
matter what."

Plankton's antennae perked
up, his eye focusing on
Sponge Bob's earnest expression.
The sponge's words were a
comforting lullaby, a gentle
reminder of their unbreakable bond.
He felt the warmth of their
friendship wash over him, a
comforting blanket against the
coldness of Hanna's accusations.

Sponge Bob's hand found its
way to his shoulder, the
touch a familiar comfort that
his overstimulated senses craved.
Plankton leaned into the warmth,
his body responding to the
soothing pressure. "Best buddies,"
he echoed, his voice a soft
affirmation.

The room grew quiet as
Sponge Bob's hand remained
steady on his shoulder, his
presence a calming force in
the storm of his emotions. Plankton
closed his eye, his body
relaxing into the gentle embrace.

"We're gonna get through this,"
Sponge Bob said, his voice a
soothing lullaby. "We'll figure
it out, buddy. I'm here for
you."

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, the warmth of his friend's
words seeping into his soul.
Sponge Bob had always had
a way of making him feel safe,
but now, with this new
knowledge, their friendship
felt even more vital.

"Thank you," Plankton murmured,
his voice a soft echo of
gratitude. Sponge Bob's
thumb rubbed circles on his
back.

The two friends sat in
silence, the warmth of their
companionship a stark contrast
to the chill of Hanna's words.
Plankton felt the tension in
his body slowly melt away,
his breaths evening out. The
steady beat of Sponge Bob's
heart was a comforting lullaby
that helped him find peace.

Sponge Bob's thumb continued
its circular dance on his back, a
wordless communication of
his love and support. Plankton
sighed, his body growing
heavier with each comforting
pressure point. "Thank you," he
murmured, his voice a gentle
whisper.

Sponge Bob's eyes searched his
face, a flicker of understanding
dawning. "It's okay, Plankton,"
he said. "We'll get through this
together." His hand didn't
move, his touch a silent
promise of his unwavering
support.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, the comfort of his
friend's presence a warmth
against the coldness of his fear.
He knew Sponge Bob would
always be there for him, even
if he didn't fully understand
his condition. The sponge's
love was a constant, a beacon
of light in his otherwise
confusing world.

Sponge Bob's eyes never left
his friend's, his smile a gentle
reminder of the joy they
shared. "You know, Plankton,"
he began, his voice a soft
caress. "You're still
the same little guy I've
always known."

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
body leaning into the warmth of
Sponge Bob's embrace.

The steady beat of the sponge's
heart was a comforting metronome
that helped him find his rhythm
again. He felt the tension in
his body slowly melt away, each
breath growing deeper and more
even. The room, once a battlefield
of accusations and misunderstandings,
was now a haven of quiet comfort.

The rustling of pages grew
softer, the candle's glow dimming
as the minutes ticked by. Karen
and Hanna watched from afar,
heavy with regret
and hope. They saw the change in
Plankton, the way he leaned into
Sponge Bob's touch, the way his
body slowly relaxed.

Sponge Bob, ever the
comforting presence, began to
hum a gentle tune, a melody
that Plankton had heard a
thousand times. The familiar
notes were a lullaby that
soothed his frazzled nerves,
his antennae dropping to rest
against the sponge's shoulder.
The tune was a bridge to
his past, a time before the
accident, before the world had
shifted on its axis.

Plankton's breaths grew deeper,
his body swaying slightly with
the rhythm. His eye closed.
Sponge Bob's humming grew softer,
his hand never leaving Plankton's
back. The warmth of his
companion's embrace was a
soothing balm.

The room, once a prison
of accusations, was now a sanctuary
of friendship. The candle's
flame danced, casting shadows
that played across the walls,
their flickering a gentle reminder
of the warmth in their hearts.

Sponge Bob's hum grew softer,
his melody a gentle whisper that
lulled Plankton into a peaceful
reverie. His body molded
into the sponge's embrace,
his antennae drooping with
the weight of his eyelid. The
world outside faded away,
replaced by the safety of Sponge
Bob's arms.

Karen watched from the
distance, shimmering with
unshed tears. She knew the
importance of this moment, the
power of a friend who
understood without words. Her heart
swelled with gratitude for
Sponge Bob's unwavering support.

Hanna, too, felt the
weight of her own words, the
realization of her ignorance
heavy on her shoulders. She
longed to reach out, to be
part of this healing embrace, but
felt the boundary that she had
unwittingly created. Her screen
followed the tender scene, her
thoughts racing with a
desire to apologize, to explain.

But she knew that now was not
the time for words. Instead, she
sat quietly, watching the
dance of friendship unfold. The
steady beat of Sponge Bob's
heart, the gentle rustle of his
body against Plankton's, the
soothing hum that filled the
air—it was a symphony of care.

Hanna's gaze drifted to the
candle, its flame a flickering
reminder of the warmth that
was slowly seeping into the
room. She watched as Plankton's
body grew heavier, his breaths
deepening. The anger and fear
that had once dominated the
space were now replaced with a
comforting quietude.

Karen's hand found Hanna's,
squeezing gently. "He's ok,"
she whispered. "We're going
to be ok." Her voice was a
calm sea, offering a gentle
buoyancy to the storm of
emotions that had ravaged
them all.

Hanna's screen searched hers,
uncertainty warring with hope.
"I'm sorry," she murmured,
her voice a soft apology. "I
just didn't know."

Karen nodded, her gaze
compassionate. "It's a journey,"
she said. "We're all just
trying to understand."

The humming grew softer, until
it was only a faint echo in
the room. Plankton's antennae
twitched with the last
remnants of his anxiety,
before they too stilled. His
body grew heavy, his breaths
deep and even. The gentle
sway of Sponge Bob's embrace
was a lullaby that rocked him
into a peaceful slumber.

Sponge Bob felt the
change in Plankton's tension,
his friend's body becoming
a soft weight against his. He
smiled, his heart swelling
with love and relief. Carefully,
he adjusted his hold, cradling
the tiny creature against his
chest. His thumb continued its
comforting strokes, his eyes
never leaving the closed eye.

Karen stepped forward, her
movements graceful and silent.
Her hand rested on Sponge
Bob's arm, her screen a gentle
thank you. Hanna quietly left.

The room was now bathed in
the soft glow of the candle,
its flicker the only sound.
Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly in his sleep, his
breaths deep and even. Sponge
Bob held him tight, his
heartbeat a gentle rhythm that
soothed the tiny creature's
slumber.

Karen watched the two,
aching with love and
gratitude. She knew that
Sponge Bob's simple act of
comfort was a powerful
statement of friendship and
support. It was moments like
this that reminded her of the
strength in their bond.

The candle's flame danced
gently, casting shadows that
played across Plankton's sleeping
face. His antennae, once a
whirlwind of anxiety, were now
still, resting against Sponge
Bob's chest. His breaths were
even and deep, a testament
to the peace he had found
in his friend's embrace.

Sponge Bob looked down at
his sleeping companion, his
face a picture of quiet contentment.
He knew that Plankton was
safe here, that his slumber was
a reprieve from the storm of
emotions that had ravaged
his day. The room was a
sanctuary of calm, the candle's
warmth a gentle guardian.

The sponge's heart swelled with
love as he watched his friend's
tiny chest rise and fall, each
breath a whispered promise
of support. He knew that
Plankton's world was now
different, that the ASD had
brought with it challenges that
neither of them could have
foreseen. But in this moment,
their bond was stronger than
ever, a beacon of understanding
in a sea of uncertainty.

Karen's eyes searched
Sponge Bob's, her own heart
heavy with the weight of what
Plankton had endured. "Thank
you," she murmured, her voice a
soft wave of appreciation.
"For being there for him."

Sponge Bob's gaze never left
Plankton's sleeping form, his
thumb still tracing comforting
patterns. "Always," he said, his
voice a gentle promise. "No
matter what."

new neurobehavioral plankton plankbobs viii

TRUTH AND NAIL vi

Karen couldn't believe
the transformation.
This was not the Plankton
she knew, not the one who
was always scheming
or complaining. This was
a Plankton who was loose,
free from his usual
inhibitions, and it was
both endearing and a little
unnerving. But mostly,
it was just funny.

He poked Sponge Bob's side
again, his giggle a strange
sound in the quiet
living room. "Still squishy,"
he murmured.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was like a bubble bursting.
"Plankton, you're
loopy!" he exclaimed.

Plankton's eye fluttered
open, his gaze
unfocused. "Loopy?"
he repeated, his voice
slurred. "I'm not a loop,
I'm a...a...a...sea creature!"
He giggled, the sound
like a leaky faucet.

Sponge Bob couldn't
help but laugh harder,
his eyes watering with
mirth. "You're right,
Plankton," he said, his voice
shaking with amusement.
"You're a sea creature.
A very loopy one."

Plankton giggled, his
body jerking with each
laugh. "Loopy, loopy,"
he murmured, his hand
still on Sponge Bob's side.
His eye lit up with
an idea. "Peekaboo!"
he exclaimed, hiding his
eye behind his hand.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was like a symphony of
bubbles, filling the room
with joy. "Oh, Plankton,
you're a riot," he said,
his voice a delighted
chuckle. He played along,
covering his eyes. "Where
did you go?"

Plankton's giggle was
a strange, wobbly sound.
"I'm still here," he slurred,
his voice muffled by
his hand. "I'm...I'm right here."
He peeked through
his fingers, his eye
twinkling with mischief.

Sponge Bob chuckled,
his voice warm and welcoming.
"Where'd you go, Plankton?"
he asked, playing along.

Plankton's eye peeked
out from behind his hand,
his grin wide and goofy.
"Boo!" he exclaimed,
his voice a sloppy whisper.

Sponge Bob's laughter was
a delightful sound, echoing
in the quiet room. "You got me,
Plankton!" he said, his voice
filled with surprise.

Encouraged by the reaction,
Plankton's hand dropped to
his lap, his gaze turning
to Karen. "Wanna...wanna play?"
he asked, his voice still thick
with anesthesia.

Her eyes danced with
laughter. "What game, love?"

Plankton's smile grew, his
voice a sleepy whine. "Pat-a-cake?"

Karen's laugh was a gentle
surprise. "Pat-a-cake?"
she echoed, her hand
moving to his. "Okay, darling."

Their palms met with a
slap, Plankton's movements
slow and awkward.
"Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,"
he murmured, his voice
slurred. They played the
game, their hands moving
in a clumsy dance, a silent
reminder of his groggy
state.

Sponge Bob watched, his
laughter a gentle wave in
the background. "Looks
like someone had a bit too
much fun at the dentist,"
he teased, his voice a
soft caress.

Plankton's gaze found his,
his smile a sleepy grin. "Dentith?"
he slurred, his hand
waving vaguely. "No, no,
not dentith...."

Sponge Bob nodded, his
laughter subsiding to
a gentle chuckle. "Alright,
not the dentist," he said,
his voice understanding.
"What game do you
want to play then?"

Plankton's head lolled to
the side, his eye half-closed.
"You know...the one with...
the animals," he murmured,
his words thick and slow.
But Plankton's head
was already lolling back,
his snores a soft rumble
in the quiet room.
Sponge Bob looked at
Karen, his expression
a mix of concern and
amusement. "Should we...?"
he began, his voice trailing off.

Plankton's snore was his
only reply, his mouth
open wide and drool
spilling onto the couch.
Karen chuckled, patting
his hand. "He's just tired,"
she said, her voice a gentle
excuse. Karen
covered him with a soft
blanket, his snores growing
louder as he sank deeper
into sleep. “You can sleep
on the other couch across
by him,” Karen told Sponge
Bob.

The anesthesia worn off over
night, and Plankton only woke
up the next morning on the
couch at the same time as
SpongeBob.

Plankton sat up with a
start, his eye wide.
"Wha... where...what...?"
his words tangled in a
slurry mess.

Sponge Bob stirred on
the couch across from him,
his eyes blinking sleepily.
"Morning, Plankton," he
said.

Plankton's eye focused on
his friend, his mind racing.
"Sponge Bob?" he said, his voice
sharp and clear. "Wath...what's
going on here?!"

Sponge Bob stretches
his limbs. "Well, good
morning to you too, Plankton,"
he said, his voice filled with
cheerful energy. "You had
your wisdom teeth out, remember?"

“I know I went to the dentist
but, what happened after I
came home?” He said, mostly
to himself.

Sponge Bob sat up, rubbing
his eyes. "Well, you were
pretty out of it," he said,
his voice still a bit groggy
from sleep. "But you were also
pretty funny."

Plankton's gaze darted
around the room, his mind
spinning. "What...what do you
mean?" His voice was
sharp, his usual snappiness
creeping back in.

Sponge Bob chuckled,
his body still relaxed
from his nap. "You don't
remember?" he asked, his
voice a tease. "You were
so affectionate, calling
me your best buddy and all."

Plankton's eye narrowed,
his confusion morphing
into suspicion. "I did no
such thing," he said, his voice
a firm rebuttal. "I'm not
that...that..."

Karen stepped in, her
laugh light. "You don't
remember?" she asked, her
voice a gentle tease. "You were
so lovely and affectionate
last night."

Plankton's face scrunched
up in disbelief. "Affectionate?"
he repeated, his voice rising.
"To him?" His thumb jerked
towards Sponge Bob, who
was now watching him with
a knowing smile. "I...I can't
have said that."

Sponge Bob shrugged, his
laugh bubbly. "You sure did,
Plankton. You were poking
me and calling me your
best buddy."

Plankton's disbelief grew,
his eye wide with shock.
"I...I did not!" he protested,
his voice a high-pitched
squeak. "That's...that's not
me!"

Karen couldn't hold back
her laughter, her eyes
twinkling with mirth. "Oh,
it was definitely you, darling,"
she said, her voice a sweet
contrast to his indignation.

Plankton's expression
shifted from shock to
outrage. "But...but why?"
he sputtered, his face
flushing a deep shade
of red. "I don't...I don't
do that sort of...that sort
of thing!"

Karen's laugh was like
a melody, light and
playful. "You did, love,"
she said, her voice a soft
reminder. "You were just a
little...loopy."

Plankton's hand flew to
his mouth, his eye
wide with horror. "No, no, no,"
he murmured, his voice
muffled by his palm. "That
can't be right." He looked
at Sponge Bob with an
accusatory glare. "Who
put me up to this?"

Sponge Bob's laugh was
like a burst of bubbles.
"You don't remember?"
he asked, his voice full
of delight. "It was all
you, buddy. You were
feeling the med..."

"The medicine!"
Plankton exclaimed, his
face paling as realization
hit him. "The anesthesia
made me say those
things.." His voice was
a mix of relief and horror.

Sponge Bob's chuckle
was infectious. "Don't
worry, Plankton," he said,
his voice warm. "We all
have our moments."

But Plankton was not
to be swayed. "That's not
like me," he insisted,
his voice a mix of
dismay and irritation.
"I'm not...I'm not like
that!"

Sponge Bob's chuckles
turned into a full-blown
laugh. "Well, you were
last night," he said,
his voice a gentle ribbing.
"You were all warm
and fuzzy. But you did
eventually fall asleep 
and started snoring.."

Plankton's face was a
picture of disgust. "Snoring?!"
he said, his voice a mix
of outrage and embarrassment.

Karen's laugh was like a
small wave on the shore.
"It's okay, honey," she said,
patting his leg. "You were
just really tired."

"I...I don't snore," he
asks, his voice firm.

Sponge Bob couldn't help
but chuckle, his laugh
bubbly. "Well, you did
last night," he said, his voice
a gentle reminder.

Plankton's eye narrowed,
his usual snappiness returning
with full force. "I...I
snored?" he asked, his voice
skeptical.

Karen's smile was
sympathetic. "You did, darling,"
she said, her voice soothing.
"But it's all right. It's just
what happens when you're
tired."

Plankton's eye shot to hers,
his expression a mix of
disbelief and irritation. "But
I...I never snored," he insisted,
his voice a protest. “Right, Karen?”

Her laugh was a gentle tide,
washing over his protests.
"You do snore, Plankton,"
she said, her voice a warm
caress. "But it's nothing to be
embarrassed about."

Plankton's face was a mask
of disbelief, his voice
a tight knot of denial. "I
snore?" he repeated, as if
the word was foreign to
his vocabulary.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was a delightful sound, his
body shaking with mirth.
"Yes, Plankton," he said,
his voice full of affection.
"But don't worry, it's
not so bad. I mean, you're
not as loud as Patrick."

Karen's giggle joined
his, the two of them
laughing gently at Plankton's
expense. But their laughter
wasn't cruel, it was the
kind that comes from knowing
someone so well that their
quirks become endearing.

"I...I do?" Plankton
asked, his voice barely
above a murmur.

Sponge Bob nodded,
his laughter subsiding
into a knowing smile.
"But hey, we all have
our little quirks, right?"

Karen's eyes sparkled
with amusement. "It's
part of who we are, love,"
she said, her voice a gentle
reminder of the truth.

new truth and nail plankbobs vi

uℐ𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 <3ℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾ℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾❦˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ᰔᩚβִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐R☆ckstar୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. 🎀˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ᰔওᰔᩚ>ᴗ<₊˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ 🤎౨ৎ˖ ࣪⊹˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚୨୧˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)ఌ︎.C⋆

new close back rounded vowel xi alphabetical latin alphabet girly

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY v


(Autistic author)



Sandy had always known him as
quick-witted and sharp-tongued,
now he was a shell of his
former self, retreating at the
slightest touch.

Plankton's antennae twitched.
Karen stepped in, her voice firm
but gentle. "It's ok, Sandy.
We're all still learning."

Sandy looked at the plate of
cookies on the floor, regret
flooding her features. She
knew Plankton had liked her
cookies before, but now...

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her
voice thick with emotion. "I had
no idea." She reached for him
again, but Karen stepped in,
shaking her head gently.

"It's okay," Karen said, her tone
soothing. "But remember, he's not
the same Plankton anymore."
Sandy's hand hovered in the
air, her eyes pleading with
Karen for guidance.

Plankton's antennae continued to
twitch as he stared at the
floor, his body a tightly coiled
spring. Karen stepped closer to him,
placing a hand on his shoulder.
"It's okay," she whispered to him.

Sandy looked at him, her eyes
filled with a mix of pity and
confusion. "Come on, Plankton,"
she said, her voice softening.

But Plankton's antennae remained
still, his gaze fixed on the
floor. Karen knew he was lost
in his own world, unable to
process Sandy's words through the
sensory overload.

Sandy tried again, her voice a
soft coo. "Look at me, Plankton,"
she said, her hand reaching out
once more. But Plankton flinched,
his antennae flattening against
his head.

"No," he murmured, his voice
trembling. "No."

Sandy's face fell, her eyes
wet with regret.

"I didn't mean to scare him,"
she murmured, her voice barely
above a whisper.

"It's ok, Sandy," Karen said,
her hand still on Plankton's
shoulder. "You just need to be
patient with him."
Karen took a deep breath, her
thoughts racing. "It was a fight
with Mr. Krabs," she said, her
words measured. "It...
changed how his brain works."
Plankton's more
sensitive to sounds, lights,
and touch," she explained. "And
his communication is different
now."

Sandy looked from Karen to Plankton,
her eyes filled with
understanding. "I'm sorry," she said,
her voice gentle. "I didn't know."

Hanna, who had been quietly
observing from the corner,
approached the trio, her gaze
filled with empathy. "It's okay,
Sandy," she said. "We're all still
learning."

The door burst open again, and
SpongeBob bounded in, his usual
cheerfulness a stark contrast to
the solemn mood in the room.
"Hi, everyone!" he exclaimed, his
spongey body bouncing with
energy. "What's all the hub..."

"SpongeBob," Plankton 
exclaimed, his antennae
perking up slightly.

SpongeBob's eyes widened in
surprise at the rare display of
joy from Plankton.

The sudden change in Plankton's
demeanor was like a switch had
been flipped. His antennae
stopped twitching, his body
uncoiled slightly. "Sponge Bob,"
he said again, his voice a little
louder this time.

Sponge Bob looked at him with
wonder. "Hi, Plankton!" he said,
his eyes wide. "How are you
feeling?"

Plankton's gaze locked onto
Sponge Bob, and a tentative smile
spread across his face. "Sponge Bob,"
he murmured, his voice filled with
longing.

Sponge Bob's eyes widened with
surprise. "Plankton!" he exclaimed,
his usual cheerfulness amplified.
He moved closer to his friend, his
body language open and welcoming.

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly
as he watched Sponge Bob give
him a gentle pat on the back.
But Plankton didn't flinch this
time. Instead, his antennae curled
forward slightly, as if reaching out for
contact.

Sponge Bob, noticing the subtle
change in his friend, took a seat
beside him. "You okay, buddy?"
he asked, his voice a gentle
whisper.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
quivering with the effort to
stay still. "Sponge Bob good," he
murmured, his eye focusing
on the familiar figure.

Sponge Bob's touch was
comforting, a gentle reminder of
times when the world wasn't so
overwhelming. Plankton's
body slowly relaxed under the
warmth of the friendship.

Sandy and Hanna watched in
silence as Sponge Bob's gentle
presence seemed to soothe Plankton.
His antennae stilled, his body
unfurling slightly from its tight
coil of anxiety.

Sponge Bob, ever the optimist,
beamed at Plankton. "I brought
you some jellyfishing nets," he
offered, holding up a small
sack. "Thought we could go for a
catch, like old times!"

Plankton's antennae shot
straight up, his excitement palpable.
"Jellyfishing?" he asked, his voice
filled with hope.

Sponge Bob's grin grew wider.
"You bet, Plankton!" he exclaimed.
"Just like the good old days!"

Plankton's antennae quivered with
excitement. "Good," he murmured,
his eye lighting up. The mention
of jellyfishing brought back
memories of simpler times, before
his world had been turned upside
down. "Yes," he murmured, his voice
eager. "Jellyfishing."

Karen watched the interaction
between Sponge Bob and Plankton,
relief washing over her. She knew
how much Sponge Bob had always
meant to Plankton, and seeing
his positive effect was a
comforting balm.

Sponge Bob's presence had
calmed the storm of emotions and
sensory overload that had been
building within Plankton. He was
now sitting up straight in his
chair, his antennae waving slightly
with excitement.

Karen watched them, her heart
swelling with gratitude for Sponge
Bob. She knew that Plankton
needed friends who understood him,
who could navigate the choppy
waters of his new reality. She took
a deep breath, her eyes meeting
Sponge Bob's.

"Sponge Bob," she began, her
voice shaky. "There's something
important I need to tell you."

Sponge Bob looked at her with
concern. "What's up, Karen?"

Karen took a deep breath,
preparing to share the news. "Plankton's
been diagnosed with autism,"
she said softly.

Sponge Bob's smile faltered for a
moment, but he quickly regained
his composure. "What's that, Karen?"
he asked, his voice filled with
curiosity rather than fear.

Karen took a deep breath, her eyes
welling with tears. "It's a condition
that makes his brain work
differently," she explained. "It's like
his senses are on overload, and
sometimes, the world is just too
much for him to handle."

Sponge Bob's eyes grew wide with
concern. "Too much?" he echoed.
"But Plankton's always been so...
so...spirited!"

Karen nodded, her eyes
moist with unshed tears. "It's not
his spirit, Sponge Bob," she said.
"It's just that now, his brain needs
more time to process things.
And some things that didn't bother
him before are really hard for
him now."

Sponge Bob's gaze drifted to
Plankton, who was now playing with
a jellyfishing net, his antennae
still quivering with excitement.

"It was an accident," Karen
continued, her voice thick with
emotion. "A fight with Mr. Krabs."

"A fight?" he echoed, his
spongy body stiffening.

Karen nodded, her gaze
firm. "Mr. Krabs hit him really
hard," she said. "And it changed
his brain."

Sponge Bob looked at Plankton,
his eyes filled with a new
understanding. He reached out
his hand, and Plankton took it,
his antennae relaxing slightly.
"I'm here for you, buddy," he said,
his voice gentle.

"You can stay, but perhaps save
jellyfishing for another day." Says
Karen, as Sandy and Hanna left.

Sponge Bob nodded, his grip
on Plankton's hand firm. "Whatever
you need, Plankton," he said.

new autism in the plankton family plankarenbob v

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS xii

(Autistic Author)


The tree above them provides a gentle 
canopy, casting dappled shadows on 
Plankton's sleeping form. The leaves 
rustle in the breeze, creating a natural 
lullaby that soothes not only him but 
Chip and Karen as well. The world 
outside the shade seems to melt away, 
leaving them in a quiet cocoon of peace.

Karen watches her son with a mix of 
admiration and sadness. He's growing 
up so fast, she thinks, having to learn 
about things most kids his age don't 
have to. But Chip's strength is 
undeniable, and she knows that 
together, they'll navigate the storms that 
come with Plankton's condition.

The park's cacophony slowly starts to 
fade into the background, replaced by 
the rhythmic sound of Plankton's deep, 
even breathing. Chip sits next to him, 
the love rock still in his hand, his thumb 
tracing the smooth surface. The 
shadows from the tree above dance 
across their faces, creating a 
mesmerizing pattern of light and dark 
that seems to mirror the complexities of 
their lives.

Karen pulls out a small blanket from 
their bag and covers Plankton gently, 
tucking it around his small body. She 
looks at Chip, her eyes filled with a mix 
of love and sadness. "Why don't you sit 
with him for a bit?" she suggests. "I'll 
grab the car."

Chip nods solemnly, taking a seat 
beside his father. He places the love 
rock in Plankton's palm, curling his 
slender fingers around it. The park's 
sounds seem to fade away as he 
focuses on Plankton's peaceful face, the 
only indication of life the steady rise and 
fall of his chest. Chip's eyes drift over to 
the swings, now silent, the chains still 
swaying slightly from their earlier use.

While Karen walks to get the car, Chip 
sits in quiet contemplation, feeling the 
weight of their conversation from the 
night before. He's learned so much 
about his dad, about the storms in his 
brain that make him different. But 
instead of fear, Chip feels a newfound 
respect and love, a bond stronger than 
any storm could break.

Plankton's eye flutter open, the sleepy 
confusion fading as he sees Chip sitting 
beside him, the love rock still clutched in 
his hand. He looks around, the park 
coming back into focus. His antennae 
twitch slightly, searching for the source 
of comfort.

"Hey, buddy," Plankton says, his voice 
groggy. "What happened?"

Chip's eyes light up, his grip on the rock 
tightening. "You had a seizure," he 
explains, his voice steady. "But you're ok 
now. We're just waiting for Mom to bring 
the car."

Plankton nods, his gaze drifting to the 
rock. He opens his palm, revealing the 
smooth, shimmering stone. "Thank you," 
he murmurs, his voice thick with 
emotion.

Chip looks up, his eyes meeting 
Plankton's. "It's our love rock," he says 
simply, his voice filled with the weight of 
their new understanding.

Plankton's antennae twitch, a hint of a 
smile playing on his lips. "I remember," 
he says, his voice a little stronger. "It's a 
good rock."

The two sit in companionable silence, 
the rock a tangible symbol of their bond. 
The park's sounds slowly filter back in, 
the laughter of children, the squeak of 
the swings, the distant bark of a seagull. 
Life goes on around them, but in this 
moment, their world is small and 
focused.

As Karen pulls up with the car, she sees 
them sitting under the tree, the love rock 
in Plankton's hand. She parks and walks 
over, her eyes filled with concern. 
"Ready to go home?" she asks gently.

Plankton nods, his antennae rising 
slightly. "Yeah," he says, his voice still 
shaky. "Let's go."

They carefully help him into the car, the 
love rock still nestled in his hand. The 
drive home is quiet, the weight of the 
day's events hanging heavy in the air. 
Chip watches his dad, his heart aching 
for the silent struggle he knows he's 
facing.

As they pull into the driveway, Karen 
looks back in the rearview mirror.

"Remember, Chip," she says, her eyes 
meeting her son's in the reflection, 
"today was a learning experience. We all 
need to be patient with each other."

Chip nods solemnly, his gaze never 
leaving Plankton's face. He sees the 
exhaustion etched into his father's 
features, the quiet strength that hides 
beneath the storm. "I know," he 
whispers, his voice filled with 
understanding beyond his years.

The house is a welcome retreat from the 
overwhelming sensory assault of the 
park. Inside, everything is familiar and 
comforting, a bastion of predictability in 
a world that often seems too loud and 
too bright for Plankton. Karen helps 
Plankton into bed, tucking him in with 
the care of a lighthouse keeper guiding 
a ship to safety.

Chip sits on the edge of the bed, holding 
the love rock out to Plankton. "Do you 
still want this?" he asks, his voice 
tentative.

Plankton's hand reaches out, his eyes 
never leaving the rock. He takes it, his 
grip firm. "Yeah," he says, a hint of a 
smile playing on his lips. "It's 
comforting."

Karen gives them both a soft smile 
before leaving the room, closing the 
door gently behind her. The room is 
filled with the hum of the fish tank, the 
calming blue light casting a soothing 
glow. Chip sits with his father, the love 
rock nestled in Plankton's hand, a silent 
sentinel of their bond.

For a moment, they just breathe 
together. Then, Chip decides to speak. 
"Daddy," he says, his voice gentle and 
soothing, "I'm here for you. No matter 
what happens, ok?"

Plankton's eye flicker with 
understanding, and he squeezes the 
rock in his hand. "Thank you, Chip," he 
murmurs, his voice filled with more 
emotion than Chip has ever heard from 
him. "I'm lucky to have you."

The words hang in the air, heavy with 
meaning, as Chip nods, his own eyes 
brimming with tears. He leans in to offer 
Plankton his hand to hold. Plankton 
takes it, his grip firm, his eye searching 
Chip's for reassurance. The love rock 
remains a silent witness to their 
conversation, a physical representation 
of the unspoken affection that flows 
between them.

Slowly, Plankton's eye grow heavy, the 
lid drooping as sleep claims him once 
more. His hand relaxes around Chip's, 
the rock still cradled in his other palm. 
Chip watches his father's chest rise and 
fall with each deep, even breath, the 
storm of the day finally abating.

Eventually, Plankton's eye opens, a 
glimmer of understanding piercing the 
tempest. His antennae still, his body 
going rigid with the effort of speaking. 
He draws in a deep breath, his eye 
locking onto Chip's and also Karen’s, the 
love rock a bridge between them. "Lo..." 
he manages to murmur, the word a 
tremor in the quiet room. Karen's eyes 
widen, her heart skipping a beat. "Lo..." 
he tries again, the syllable a whisper of 
hope. The room feels like it's expanding, 
the walls stretching with the weight of 
his effort. "Lo...ve," he finally says, the 
word a shaky but clear declaration.

The air shimmers with the power of the 
spoken word, the love rock in Chip's 
hand feeling like it's vibrating with joy. 
Karen's eyes overflow with tears as she 
squeezes Plankton's hand, her voice 
choking with emotion. "Oh, honey," she 
says, her voice a gentle caress, "we 
know." Chip's own eyes sparkle with 
unshed tears, his voice trembling as he 
speaks. "We love you too, Daddy."
 "Lo...love," he manages to repeat, the 
word a treasure pulled from the depths
of his mind. Chip feels a tear slide down 
his cheek, the love rock in his hand a 
warm emblem of victory.

"You don't have to say it, Daddy," Chip 
says, his voice shaky but earnest. "We 
know." But Plankton's eye
determined, the word 'love' a beacon he 
needs to reach. With a Herculean effort, 
he whispers, "Chip...Karen...love...you." 
The room is suffused with a warmth that 
feels like a sunrise, the shadows 
retreating to the corners.

Karen stands with 
love for her family. She knows that this is 
just the beginning of their journey, that 
there will be more storms to weather. 
But with Chip by his side, she feels a 
glimmer of hope that Plankton's world 
will be a little less overwhelming.

new chip off the old talks familycore xii

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

༆

new vi pp w sexual reproduction

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iv


(Autistic author)



The front door clicked open, and
Hanna poked her head in, expression
uncertain. "Hi! Is he ok?" she asked,
her voice barely a whisper.

"Come in," Karen called out softly, 
noticing Hanna's worried features.

Hanna stepped into the room, her
movements cautious.

Plankton rocked
slightly in his chair, a subtle
motion that Karen recognized as
his way of self-soothing. It was a
stimming behavior, something he
does now.

Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton,
her gaze questioning. Karen nodded
reassuringly. "He's okay," she
whispered. "He just needs a
moment."

Plankton sat in his chair, his
body moving gently in a rhythmic
rock. It was a new behavior, one
he'd developed since the
diagnosis. Karen had read about
stimming in her research and knew
it helped him to regulate his
sensory input.

Hanna, who had returned with a
cautious hopefulness, took a seat
across from them, curious
as she watched Plankton's
movements.

"What's he doing?" Hanna asked
softly, her voice filled with
concern.

Karen glanced at Plankton,
his body swaying gently in the chair.
"It's called stimming," she explained
calmly. "Plankton, Hanna's here. Do
you want to tell her about what's
happened with you?"

He stopped rocking, his antennae
twitching. He took a deep breath
and nodded slightly.

Hanna leaned in, her eyes full of
sympathy. "What happened, Plankton?"
she asked gently.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae still. "Plankton...
autistic," he murmured, his voice
barely audible.

Hanna's expression shifted from
confusion to concern. "What does
that mean?" she whispered.

Karen took a deep breath,
preparing to explain. "It means
his brain works differently now.
He's more sensitive to sounds,
textures, lights, everything. And
sometimes, it's just too much."

Hanna's eyes widened, her grip
on the chair tightening. 
He swallowed hard, his gaze
dropping to his trembling hands.
"Fight," he began, his voice
still a whisper. "With Krabs."

Her screen filled with
understanding, the pieces
falling into place. "The fight
gave you...this?" she asked, her
voice tentative.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching slightly. "Krabs hit
head," he murmured. "Too much."
The words were simple, but clear.

Hanna's eyes filled with tears
as she looked from Karen to
Plankton. "Oh, Plankton," she
whispered. "I had no idea."

Plankton nodded slightly, his gaze
fixed on his hands. Karen watched
his struggle to communicate, her
heart breaking for him. She knew
autism was a part of him now.

Hanna reached out tentatively,
her hand hovering over Plankton's
shoulder. "Can I...?"

But Plankton flinched, his antennae
shooting up.

"No," he murmured, his voice
strained.

Hanna's hand hovered in midair,
uncertain. She looked to Karen for
guidance. Karen's expression was
sad, but firm. "He's touch averse now,
Hanna," she said gently. "It's part of
his condition. But thanks for asking."

Hanna nodded, her eyes never leaving
Plankton's. She could see the fear
in his eye, the way he shied away
from her touch. She felt a pang of
regret for her earlier behavior.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice
filled with sincerity. "I'd never hurt you.."

Plankton's gaze remained on the
floor. "No touch," he said firmly, his
voice shaky but determined.

Hanna nodded, her hand dropping
back to her side. "Okay," she whispered,
respect in her tone. "I'll remember." 

The doorbell rang, a sharp
intrusion into the quiet of their
makeshift sanctuary. Plankton's
head snapped up, his antennae quivering
with the sudden noise. Karen
stood quickly, moving to the door.

"I'll get it," she murmured to
Plankton, her hand on the doorknob.
"Remember, it's okay."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. The door swung open to reveal
Karen's gal pal Sandy, face lit up 
with a smile. "Surprise!" she
exclaimed, her voice too loud for
Plankton's heightened hearing.

Sandy didn't notice the tension
in the room, her eyes bright with
excitement. "I brought cookies!"
she chirped, holding out a plate of
sugary goodies.

Plankton flinched at the sound of
her voice, the sudden change in
environment jolting his senses.
He felt his heart rate spike, his
body preparing for fight or flight.

Sandy saw Karen and Hanna sitting
in front of Plankton.
Sandy knew Plankton's always a
loner, so she didn't catch on, nor
does she know about what
happened to him this week.

"Hi Plankton!" she said cheerfully,
completely unaware of the
sensory minefield she'd just
stumbled into.

Plankton's antennae twitched with
discomfort, the sudden burst of
sensory input overwhelming him. He
swallowed hard, trying to
maintain composure.

"Hi, Sandy," Karen said, her
smile forced. She took the plate
of cookies, hoping to diffuse the
situation. "Thanks for the surprise."

But Sandy's gaze was on Plankton,
who sat stiffly in his chair. "Howdy," 
she said, her voice a little
too bright. "How are you?"

Plankton didn't look up, his
body tense.

"Why ain't ya talking?" Sandy
asked, her cheerfulness fading.

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
body tightening. "Sandy," he murmured,
his voice barely audible.

Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes
narrowing. "What's with you?" she
snapped, her voice sharp. "You're
acting weird!"

Plankton flinched at the harsh
tone, his antennae drooping. He
couldn't explain, not with words
that made sense to him. "No."
He says.

Sandy's smile disappeared, replaced
by a scowl. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
she demanded. "I don't get it,
why are you being so rude, even for you?"
Her voice was loud.

Plankton's eye darted around the
room, searching for an escape from
the confrontation. He felt the
familiar panic rising, his heart
beating faster.

But Sandy wasn't having it. "You
usually got a lot to say, Plankton,"
she said, her tone accusatory.
"What's wrong with you?"

Plankton's antennae flattened
against his head, his eye darting
nervously around the room. He
could feel the pressure building,
his ability to communicate slipping
away under the weight of her
frustration. "Sorry," he murmured,
his voice a mere whisper.

Sandy's frown deepened. "Sorry?
What for? You're acting like a
sulfur-brain, Plankton!"
Her words were a slap to his face,
each syllable a jab at his already
fragile state.

"Can't ya at least say hi back‽"
She demanded.

"Hi back." Plankton replied.

Sandy thought he's trying to
be rude. "You're
always so full of it, but now you
can't even bother to talk?"

Her words cut through the
tension like a knife, slicing
into the quiet sanctuary they
had built. Plankton's antennae
twitched erratically, a silent
testament to his rising anxiety.

But Sandy was
on a roll, her frustration with
his lack of response fueling
her accusations.

"You know what? Forget it," she
huffed, throwing the cookies down
right in front of Plankton.

The sharp clatter of the plate
was like a gunshot to his
overstimulated senses. He
flinched, his antennae shooting
straight up. "It's like you're not even
trying!" Sandy's voice was a
whirlwind of accusation.

Plankton felt his control slipping,
his thoughts racing. "Sandy,"
he tried again, his voice strained.
"Plankton not good now."

But Sandy's irritation had turned
to anger. "What's your problem,
Plankton? You've always been a
tiny troublemaker, but now
you can't even have a simple
conversation?"

The room grew tense, and 
Plankton started rocking
trying not to let the tears
in his eye fall.

Sandy's eyes narrowed, her
frustration with Plankton's new
behaviors growing. "What's with
the rocking?" she snapped.

Plankton's rocking grew more
pronounced, his antennae
twitching rapidly.

Sandy got even more annoyed.

Her voice grew louder.

"Stop that!" she barked, startling
Plankton more. He stopped rocking  
but he starts shaking.

Sandy's fury was a storm, her 
words stinging like hailstones. "Why
are you acting so crazy?" she
demanded, her voice laced with
disgust.

Plankton's antennae drooped, his
body trembling. The room was too
loud, too bright, too much.

Sandy's tone grew sharper, her
frustration palpable. "What's gotten
into you, Plankton?" she snapped.
"You're acting like you're not even
here!" Plankton's eye darted to Karen,
his silent plea for help evident.
Karen took a deep breath,
stepping into the fray. "Sandy, I
need to tell you something," Karen 
began, her voice steady 
despite the storm of emotions 
swirling within her. "There's
something we need you to know."

Sandy's scowl didn't fade. "What
could possibly be more important
than a simple hello?" she spat out.

Karen took a deep breath, her
hands clenched into fists at her side.
"It's not simple, Sandy," she began, her
voice tight. "Plankton had an accident.
A really bad one."

Sandy's expression morphed from
anger to confusion. "What do you mean,
an accident?" she asked, her voice
softening slightly.

Karen's screen was a mix of
sadness and determination. "He
got into a fight with Mr. Krabs,"
she said, her voice measured. "And
he hit his head. Hard.
It... changed him. Plankton's been
diagnosed with autism,
Sandy," she said gently.

Sandy's expression went from
confusion to shock. "What?" she
whispered, her anger forgotten.

Sandy looked at Plankton,
his antennae drooping, his body
shaking.

Her eyes filled with horror as
she took in the scene before her.
"Oh my stars," she breathed, her
hands reaching out.

But he shrank away from her.
"No touch," Plankton murmured, his
body curling inward, antennae 
quivered with anxiety.

Her heart sank. "Oh, Plankton,"
she murmured, her voice filled
with regret.

new autism in the plankton family gal pals iv

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 i


(Autistic author)


Karen's husband, Plankton, was 
arguing with Mr. Krabs as usual. 
They've had their fair share of 
disputes over the years, but this 
one seemed to be escalating 
fast. Without warning, Mr. Krabs 
swung the stove from his kitchen 
with all his might. It connected 
with a sickening thud against 
Plankton's head. Karen gasped 
as her husband crumpled to the 
ground. Plankton's eye had rolled 
back and closed, his body going 
still as Mr. Krabs left back.

Karen knelt beside Plankton and 
gently tapped his cheek. "Wake up," 
she murmured, voice trembling. No 
response. She tried again, her voice 
a little louder. "Honey, can you hear 
me?" Plankton's eye remained 
closed, his antennae limp. Panic 
began to creep in.

Her mind raced with 
possibilities, each more 
frightening than the last. What if 
his tiny brain had been damaged? 
What if he was in a coma? What 
if he never woke up? She cradled 
his minuscule form.

The room grew 
silent as the gravity of the 
situation sank in, willing Plankton 
to stir. A tear trickled down her
screen.

Karen felt for a pulse. It was 
there, faint but steady. She let 
out a sigh of relief and picked 
his tiny body up, cradling him 
carefully. "I've got to get him to 
a doctor," she thought.

She held Plankton's hand as they
performed a brain scan.

Karen sat by her husband's side as the
machines around Plankton beeped and
whirred. The sterile smell of the
hospital filled, and the cold
white walls seemed to press in around
them. Plankton's lying still
on the hospital bed. A thick bandage
was wrapped around his head, and
various tubes connected him to
monitors that displayed a symphony
of lines and numbers, none of which
meant anything to her. She squeezed
his hand gently, willing him to wake
up.

The doctor walked into the room,
his lab coat fluttering slightly as
he moved. He held a clipboard
carefully in his tentacles, studying
the information with a furrowed
brow.

"Mrs. Plankton," he began, his voice
soft, "We've finished scans. The good
news is that it's not life-
threatening. However, we've noticed
some sustained atypical brain activity."

Karen's eyes widened. "What does that
mean?" she asked, her grip on
Plankton's hand tightening.

The doctor sighed, his expression
sympathetic. "Autism. His behavior may
change. He might become more focused
on his routines, have difficulty with
social interactions, and exhibit sensory
sensitivity. It's permanent, and no cure.
We expect him to wake up soon. We'll
ask him some questions to assess and
then you can take him home."

Karen felt her heart drop. She knew
about autism, had read about it in
magazines, but never thought it would
affect her own family. The doctor
left the room, and she was alone with
her thoughts, watching Plankton's chest
rise and fall as they remove the bandage.

The hours ticked by in agonizing
slowness as she sat there, praying
for him to wake up. The only sounds
were the rhythmic beeping of the
monitors and the occasional muffled
conversations from the hallway.

Finally, Plankton's eyelid fluttered.
He groaned softly, and his hand
twitched in hers. Karen leaned in,
hope surging through her. "Plankton?"
she whispered, her voice thick with
emotion as she smiled through her tears. 
"I'm here," she said, voice shaky. "You're in
the hospital, but you're ok."

Plankton's eye opened, squinting in the
bright lights. He looked around the room,
confusion etched on his tiny face.
Slowly, his gaze landed on Karen. "What
happened?" he croaked, his voice weak.

"Mr. Krabs hit you with a stove," Karen
explained, her voice a mix of relief
and sadness. "They diagnosed you with
acquired Autism."

The doctor approached with a gentle nod.
"Plankton, can you tell me your name?" he
asked, ready to jot down notes.

Plankton's eye searched the room, finally
settling on Karen. "Sheldon Jay Plankton."
Karen's grip on his hand tightened
offering silent encouragement.

The doctor nodded and proceeded with
questions. "Tell me
when you're born?"

"July 31, 1999 10:16.08 am ET!"

Karen felt a twinge of pride at her
husband's precise answer. The doctor
nodded, scribbling something on his
clipboard. "Tell me more about yourself.."

"More about yourself." Plankton echoed.

The doctor's offering 
a gentle smile. "Echolalia. It's a trait 
that's common in individuals with 
autism. It can help him process 
information. Well Plankton has no
need for therapy, yet you may want
to adjust your daily lives to 
accommodate. You're free to go!"

The drive back to the Chum Bucket was
silent, the weight of the diagnosis 
pressing down on Karen's shoulders. He
was quiet too, his eye fixed on the 
passing scenery. He didn't seem to 
notice the difference in himself, but 
Karen knew their lives were changed.

Once home, Karen helped Plankton into 
his favorite chair, surrounded by 
his inventions and gadgets. The room
was a mess, but it was his sanctuary, 
and she didn't want to disturb it. He 
seemed more at ease, his eye
flicking from one object to another 
with a sense of familiarity.

Would Plankton be the same? Would he
still laugh at her jokes, or get 
angry at the Krabby Patty secret 
formula?

Plankton remained silent, his gaze
still locked on his surroundings.
Karen felt a pang of worry. Would 
his obsessive nature become more
pronounced?

"It's getting late, Plankton."
Karen's voice was soft as she
guided him to their bedroom. He
followed without protest, his
movements mechanical. She helped
him into bed, pulling the blankets
up to his chin with a gentle
tuck.

Plankton lay there, staring at the
ceiling, his thoughts a swirl of
confusion. "Do you need anything?"
she asked, her voice a gentle hum in
the quiet room.

"Stay, Karen stay." He says.

Karen nodded, taking a seat
on the edge of the bed.

"Of course, I'll stay," she assured him,
trying to keep her voice steady. She took
his hand again, feeling the warmth of
his palm against hers. She didn't know
what the future held, but she knew she'd
be by his side.

As Plankton's breathing evened out into
the rhythm of sleep, Karen sat there,
watching him. She noticed how his grip on
her hand had loosened, but didn't dare
move.

The next day, Karen woke before
Plankton did.

She hovered over him, watching the
steady rise and fall of his chest.
How was she going to wake him up
without startling him?

She knew that sudden noises could be
overwhelming for him now. Karen took
a different approach. She stroked his 
arm with a feather-light touch. His eye
brow flinched.

Next, she tried speaking his name,
starting with a whisper and gradually
getting louder. "Plankton," she called,
"It's time to wake up." His eyelid
twitched, and he blinked his eye open.

He looked around. "Karen?" he 
asked. She nodded with a
smile.

"Good morning, honey," she said softly.
"How are you feeling?"

Plankton sat up slowly, his antennae
twitching as he took in his surroundings.
"Different," he murmured, rubbing his
temple.

"We're home,
Plankton. Remember what happened?"

He nodded, his eye glazed over
for a moment. "Krabs. The stove."

"Yes, but you're ok now," Karen
reassured, stroking his cheek with
her finger.

Plankton nodded again, his antennae
twitching nervously. Karen noticed that
his movements were more deliberate,
his gaze more intense. She decided to
keep things simple to avoid
overwhelming him with too much
information at once.

"Let's get breakfast," she
suggested. Plankton followed
her into the kitchen, his steps slower
than usual. The clanking of pans and the
sizzle of oil had always been a familiar
symphony in their home, but today it
felt alien, like a disturbance to his
newly heightened senses. Karen moved
around the kitchen with precision,
keeping the noises to a minimum.

As she prepared their meal, Plankton
stood by the counter, his gaze fixed.

"Breakfast is ready," she said, sliding
a plate of chum flapjacks in front of
him. The smell usually brought him
joy, but today it was overwhelming. 
Plankton took a step back.
Karen's smile faltered, realizing she
would have to adjust their meals.

"Would you like something else?" she
asked, her voice a soothing melody.

Plankton nodded, his gaze not
leaving the plate. "Different," he
whispered.

Karen knew she had to find
foods that wouldn't overstimulate. 
She placed the flapjacks aside
and found a jar of pureed peas and plain
yogurt. She hoped the blandness would
be more soothing.

Plankton's antennae twitched as he
came closer. He stared at the bowl
intently, then took a tentative spoonful.
The texture was soothing, and the color 
was calming. He ate slowly, each bite 
measured and deliberate.

Karen watched him
with love and concern. She
wanted to ask if he liked it, but she
knew better than to interrupt his focus.

Once Plankton had finished, he looked
up at her with a hint of a smile. "Good," 
he said. It was the closest thing to praise 
she had heard from him since the incident.

Karen cleared the table, her mind racing
with questions about what the future held.
How would Plankton's new autism affect
their daily lives?

"Now what would you like
to do, Plankton?" She asks.

He looks at her. "Read." 
The old spark seems to flicker back
to life, albeit with a different
intensity. Karen nods, leading him
back to his lab.

The room is a mess of wires and
gadgets, but Plankton moves through
it with purpose. He selects a
book from the shelf, a manual on
quantum physics that had been
collecting dust. His gaze flits
over the pages, absorbing
the information with fervor.

Karen watches him from a distance.
This was her Plankton, but also new. His
obsession with the Krabby Patty
formula had always been intense, but
now his focus was lasered in on
the book, his mind racing through
equations and theories.

The room was silent except for the
soft rustle of pages turning.
Plankton didn't look up from his
book, lost in a world of science and
theories. Karen knew she had to let
him be, to find his new normal.

new autism in the plankton family braincore headinjuryposting karen plankton neurodivergentcore i

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY ii


(Autistic author)



Karen's friend Hanna came
over unexpectedly. Hanna never met
Plankton personally, nor did she hear
of his diagnosis.

"Oh, Plankton, it's good to finally
meet you!" Hanna exclaimed, voice
bubbly. Plankton looked up from his
book, his gaze unwavering. He didn't
move or speak. Yet Hanna was
oblivious.

Karen stepped in, her smile forced.
"Honey, this is Hanna," she said,
hoping for a response.

Plankton studied Hanna with a
curiosity that was both intense and
slightly unnerving. He tilted his head,
his antennae vibrating slightly. "Hello,"
he said, his voice monotone.

"I'll go get some refreshments," says
Karen.

Hanna took a seat right up by
Plankton, unaware of his 
aversion to touch.

"So, Karen tells me you're quite the
inventor," Hanna said with a
chuckle, reaching out to pat him
on the back. Plankton flinched at the
unexpected contact, antennae
twitching.
"What are you working on?" she asked,
picking up a gadget.

Plankton's antennae snapped to attention,
eye widening in horror. "That's not
for touching!" he snapped, his voice
sharp and urgent.

"Oh, sorry," she stuttered,
quickly returning it to the bench. "I didn't
know."

Plankton's gaze didn't leave.
He took a deep breath.
But she didn't
give him space, didn't understand him.
Plankton felt tense,
antennae quivering.
"Could I see what you're reading?"
Hanna leaned closer, trying to peer
at the book. Plankton
flinched, his grip tightening around the
pages. His eye 
flitted to the book and back to her, 
his antennae pulsing rapidly.
But Hanna was
unaware of the discomfort she was
causing.

"It's just a book," she said with a
wave of her hand. "Don't be so
secretive." She leaned in even closer,
trying to make eye contact.

The room grew hotter, his antennae
twitching uncontrollably. He felt his
heart racing in his chest, the thump-
thump echoing in his ears. He wanted to
yell at her to go away, but he knew
that would only make things worse.

"Could you not talk so much?" 
Plankton's voice was tight, his
desire for quiet clear. But Hanna, in 
her ignorance, just laughed, 
thinking it was a quirky part of
his personality.

"I've got so much to tell you about!"
she babbled, her hands animated as
she talked.

Plankton's seeking an escape from the
onslaught of sensory input. 
Hanna, oblivious to his distress,
rattled on. Each word she spoke
was a new pinprick on his already
frayed nerves. He couldn't focus on the
conversation.

"So, what do you think?" Hanna
asked, her eyes bright with
expectation. Plankton blinked,
pulled from his thoughts.

"Think about what?" He replied,
his voice flat.

Hanna's smile wavered. "I said,
what do you think about the new
fashion trend in Bikini Bottom?"

Plankton blinked again, trying to
process her words. His mind was a
whirlwind of thoughts, and the effort
it took to engage in small talk was
exhausting. He shrugs.
It was the only response he could
muster. His brain felt like it was
short-circuiting, trying to keep up.

Hanna was unfazed.
"It's all the rage!" she exclaimed,
grabbing his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae shot up, his
body stiffening. The touch was like a
shock to his system, and he had to
fight the urge to pull away.
"Mm," he murmured, not really
listening. The effort to maintain
his composure was Herculean.

Hanna didn't seem to notice, her
laughter bubbling over,
taking Plankton's lack of engagement
as shyness. "You know, Patrick's
even started a jellyfishing club!"

Plankton nodded again, his eye
flicking towards the doorway,
willing Karen to return.
Plankton felt his head
throbbing. He tried to focus
on her words, to find some semblance
of meaning in the chaos. 
Plankton realized she was
waiting for him to speak, but he can't.
He wanted to scream, to tell her to
just leave him alone.

"You know, Plankton," Hanna said, her
voice softer now, "Karen tells me
you're quite the genius." She leaned
forward. Plankton's antennae
twitching erratically. 
She reached out to pat
his arm again, but that 
was the straw that broke
the camel's back.

Plankton's eye widened with panic. He
twitched abruptly, knocking over
his chair. 

"I'm sorry. Did I do
something wrong?"

Plankton didn't answer. He couldn't.
The words were trapped in his
throat, a tangled mess of frustration
and anxiety. He took a step back,
his chest heaving with shallow
breaths. The room spun around him,
his senses on overload.

Hanna noticed his distress. "Plankton?" she
whispered, her hand outstretched.

But Plankton was beyond words.
He couldn't form a coherent
response, couldn't explain.

Karen rushed into the room, alerted
by the sound of the chair falling.
Her screen searched her husband's face,
seeing the distress he couldn't voice.

"What happened?" 

Hanna stuttered, her hands up in
defense. "I don't know! I was just
talking to him, and he...he..."

But Karen had already
assessed the situation. She saw the
fear in Hanna and the panic
in Plankton. She knew he was
overwhelmed. She stepped in
quickly, her voice a soothing balm.
"It's ok Plankton," she said, her
tone calm and reassuring. "You're safe.
It's just Hanna. She's a friend."

Plankton's antennae stopped quivering,
his breaths coming in slightly more
even. But he didn't look at Karen,
his gaze still locked on the wallpaper.
Hanna watched, her expression
mixture of concern and confusion.

But Plankton couldn't find words.
His mind was a maelstrom of thoughts
and sensory input. He felt his body
shaking, breaths coming in
quick gasps.

Hanna took a tentative step. "What's
going on?" she asked, her voice
barely a whisper.

Plankton's body remained
rigid, his eye still fixed on the wall.

Hanna tried to reach out to him
like Karen did. "NO!" he yelled,
his voice echoing through the
lab, the first time he'd raised it
since his diagnosis.

Hanna took a step back, her face
falling. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

But Plankton couldn't hear her
apology, couldn't process anything
anymore, couldn't move nor speak.

The world was too much, too loud,
too bright, too everything. He retreated
into himself.

Karen watched as Hanna took in
the scene before her, her own hand
freezing in mid-air. The room was
silent except for Plankton's ragged
breaths, his tiny body trembling.

"I didn't mean to upset him," Hanna
whispered, her voice trembling. "I just
wanted to be friendly."

Karen's gaze never left
Plankton. She knew he couldn't help it.
The diagnosis was new, and they were
both learning to navigate this
uncharted territory. Karen didn't want
to go into details about Plankton's
autism with Hanna, not yet.

Hanna looked from Plankton to Karen.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked him,
shaking.

Plankton didn't respond, his gaze
still locked on the wallpaper. His
body was a statue, but inside, he was
a tempest of overstimulation and fear.
Hanna's words, her touch, her very
presence was too much for him to handle.

Karen stepped closer, placing her hand
on Hanna's arm. "He's just overwhelmed."

Hanna looked at her, the
confusion clear in her screen.

"Can you give us a moment? He
needs space."

Hanna nods.

Approaching Plankton, Karen knelt before
his frozen form. "It's ok," she
whispered, her voice a gentle lullaby.
"You're safe here." She took his
hands, guiding them to her shoulders,
his grip tightening reflexively.

Hanna hovered, unsure of what to do,
but Karen's gaze was firm. "I'll take
care of him," she assured.
Karen sat with him, her
heart pounding in her chest. She knew
what he needed.

"You're ok," Karen whispered,
repeating it like a mantra. Plankton's
body was rigid, but his grip on her
shoulders began to loosen. She stroked
his arm, her touch gentle and
rhythmic. "It's just you and me, Plankton."

Slowly, the tension in his body
began to ease, his breathing evening
out. Karen remained
a constant, calming presence.

"I'm here," she murmured, her eyes
meeting his, which were now brimming
with unshed tears. "You're ok.
It's just us."

Plankton's antennae stopped
twitching as he focused on Karen's
face. Her eyes were filled with love
and understanding, a beacon in the
storm of his overwhelmed senses.

"You're ok," she repeated, her voice
a lullaby that seemed to resonate with
his racing heart. He nodded slightly,
his gaze never leaving hers.

Sensing his comfort with her
proximity, Karen carefully wrapped
her arms around him. He didn't resist,
instead leaning into her embrace. She
could feel his body relaxing, his
breaths growing deeper.

The room was quiet now. She rocked
him gently, the motion soothing to
them both. His antennae stilled, and
his eye began to droop.

Plankton's body grew heavy, his
muscles finally relaxing. The storm
of his thoughts began to calm, the
sensory overload slowly abating.

Karen felt his grip loosen, his
breaths deepening as he leaned into her
embrace.
The weight of his head grew
heavier against her shoulder. His
breaths grew slower, deeper.
Karen felt Plankton's grip on her
shoulders loosen until his arms
were draped over her, his breathing
deep and even. She knew he was
exhausted. Plankton's
head lolled against her neck, and
she felt the tension in his body
ease away, his limbs going slack.
Her hand stroked his back, the
rhythmic motion a comforting
reminder that he was safe.

Karen noticed Plankton's
breathing had turned into a gentle
snore, his body finally at ease.

Hanna, who stood in the doorway,
came closer to the couple. "I
am so..."

Karen turned to her, her expression
firm but gentle. "Shh," she hushed, raising
a finger. "He's asleep."
She didn't want to explain
his condition, not yet. The words
were still too fresh, too raw.

Hanna nodded, brimming
with unshed tears. She looked at
Plankton, then back to Karen. "What
can I do?" she asked softly.

Karen took a deep breath,
composing herself. "Just give us
some space for now. I can explain
later."

Hanna nodded, her screen never
leaving Plankton. "Ok," she
whispered, retreating.

new autism in the plankton family ii

CHIP AND FAIL vi
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes searched Plankton's,
looking for the spark that
meant he was coming back to her.
Slowly, the panic in his gaze
faded, replaced by the familiar
look of love and confusion. "I'm
here," she said, her voice barely
above a whisper. "It's okay."

Plankton's body finally
unclenched, his muscles relaxing
under her gentle touch. The storm
in his mind was receding, leaving
behind a quiet beach of clarity.
He didn't know what had
happened, only that it was bad.

Karen knew the routine, the
dance of calming Plankton after
a meltdown. But Chip didn't know.
He was just trying to share his
excitement, to reconnect with
his father after a week apart.
He didn't know that his touch, his
laughter, his stories, were all too
much for Plankton to handle.

As Karen worked to bring
Plankton back to reality, she
couldn't help but feel a pang of
sorrow for Chip. He had no idea
how his love was received, no way
to understand that his actions
could cause such pain. She had to
find a way to explain, to help
both her husband and her son find
a way to connect without setting
off the sensory bombs that lurked
just beneath the surface.

"K-Karen?" Plankton murmurs
as he slowly returns to himself.
The room stops spinning, the noises
dulling to a gentle hum. He looks
around, confusion etched in every line
of his face.

"You're okay," she whispers.
Her heart breaks for her husband,
for the silent battles he fights
every day. She knows Chip
doesn't understand, that his love
and excitement are a minefield
for Plankton's sensitive mind.

But she also feels a pang
of anger. How could she have
let this happen? She had hoped
that Chip's visit would be a
celebration, a chance for them
to bond. Instead, it had become
a reminder of the chasm that
sometimes separated them, a stark
reality of Plankton's condition.

Chip's sobs from the next room
were a constant reminder of the
pain he had inadvertently caused.
Karen knew she had to talk to
him, to explain.

"Chip, sweetheart," she called,
her voice carrying a gentle
authority. "Can you come out
here, please?"

Chip's heart was still racing,
his eyes red and puffy from crying.
He wiped his nose with the back
of his hand and stepped out of
his room, his gaze flickering to
his dad, then back to his mom. "Is he
okay?" he asked, his voice
small and unsure.

Karen nodded, her screen filled
with a mix of love and
exhaustion. "He's okay," she said,
"Honey, it's time we tell Chip. Can
I help you sit up, so you can tell him?"

Plankton nodded weakly, his body
still feeling like it was made
of lead. Karen helped him into
a sitting position, her eyes
never leaving his. "You're okay,"
she repeated, her voice a gentle
reminder.

Chip stared at
Plankton. "Dad?"
he asked, his 
voice tentative.

Plankton looked up at him,
his eye still clouded with the
aftermath of the storm.

"Chip," he began, his voice
weak, "I'm sorry." But Chip was
already there, kneeling beside
his dad, his screen wide with
relief and confusion.

"What happened?" Chip asked, his
voice trembling. "Why didn't you
answer me? You just ignored me!"

Karen's screen filled with
compassion as she placed a
comforting hand on Chip's shoulder.
"Your dad's not ignoring you,"
she said gently. "He has something
to tell you."

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, the words sticking in his
throat. He had always been
afraid of this moment, of the
day Chip would find out. "I...
I, I just..."

Karen squeezed his hand, her
gaze filled with understanding. "It's
okay," she said softly. "You can
tell him."

Plankton took another deep
breath, his voice trembling as
he began. "Chip, I'm... I..."

"Dad?" Chip leaned in, his screen
filled with hope and concern.

Plankton swallowed hard, the
weight of his secret heavy
on his shoulders. "I have...
I've got..."

"Tell me, Dad," Chip said, his
hands going to clutching his dad's 
arm. 
Plankton winced at the sudden
contact, his body tensing again.

Karen saw it, the brief
flicker of pain in his eye. She
quickly stepped in, placing a hand
on Chip's arm. "Give him a
moment, honey," she said, her
voice filled with gentle guidance.

Chip's screen searched hers. He
slowly removed his hand,
backing away slightly.

"Dad, tell me," he said, his voice
desperate. "What's wrong?"

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae drooping. "Chip," he
managed, "I've..."

But Chip was already there, his
hands on his father's shoulder.
"Dad, tell me," he said, his voice
filled with urgency. Plankton's
body tensed at the touch.

Karen stepped in quickly,
guiding Chip's hand away. "Let him
speak, honey," she said softly.

Plankton took another deep
breath, his antennae quivering
as he gathered his thoughts. "I have
a..."

"Dad, if it's something bad..."

Plankton's antennae quivered, his
face a mask of pained effort. "Chip..."

Chip's eyes were glued to his dad,
his mind racing with questions.
Why can't Dad just tell me?
He's always been so strong, so
independent. Why is this so hard
for him?

Plankton took a moment, his
eye searching for the right
words. "It's just..."

Chip leaned in closer. All he 
knew was that his
father was in pain and he needed to
fix it. "Just tell me, Dad!" he said,
his voice earnest. "Whatever it is..."

But Plankton was lost again, his
mind swirling with sensations. He
could feel Chip's screen on him,
hear his desperate pleas, but the
words remained trapped. He
closed his eye, trying to gather
his thoughts.

"Chip," he finally managed,
his voice a mere whisper. "I'm not..."

"You're not what?" Chip's voice
was filled with concern and a hint
of impatience.

Plankton opened his eye with a
sigh, his gaze meeting Chip's. "Son..."

"Dad, please, tell me!" Chip's
excitement was palpable, his
body vibrating with the need
for connection.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae drooping slightly.
"Chip, I'm..."

But Chip, fueled by his
eagerness to connect, didn't
give him the space. "Come on, Dad,"
he said, his hands landing on
Plankton's shoulders again.

Plankton flinched, his eye
squeezing shut as the touch sent
a shockwave through his body. "Chip,"
he groaned, his voice strained.
"Please..."

But Chip's enthusiasm didn't
wane, his voice growing more
desperate. "Dad, tell me!" He didn't
understand the pain he was causing,
his need for a response only adding
to the pressure on Plankton, irritating
his frustration as he squeezed his
shoulders harder. "Just..."

Plankton's eye snapped open,
his body recoiling from the
intensity of his son's touch.
The words he had been trying
to form shattered like glass
under the weight of his sensory
overload. "Chip, STOP!" he
yelled, his voice cracking with
frustration and pain.

The sudden outburst shocked both
Karen and Chip into stillness. His dad had
never talked to him like that before. "What..."

But Plankton's agony was like a
dam bursting. He pushed Chip away,
his voice a shout of desperation.
"I CAN'T, CHIP!"

Chip staggered back, his
expression a mix of shock and
hurt. "But why?" he asked, his
voice trembling.

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, his body still reeling,
his voice strained. "I have...
I have..."

Chip's eyes searched 
his father's. Why couldn't
his dad just tell him what was
going on? "What, Dad?"

But Plankton was retreating
back into himself, his mind a
whirlwind of sensation and
frustration. "It's too much,"
he managed, his voice barely
above a whisper. "Your..."

"What's too much?" Chip
interrupted, his voice rising
with confusion. "My what?"

Plankton's antennae drooped
as he searched for a way to explain.
He had always kept his condition
to himself, fearful of the
misunderstanding it might bring.
"Chip," he began, his voice
trembling with the effort of
finding the words. "You..."

But Chip's excitement was a
wave, crashing over the delicate
barriers Plankton had built. "You're
not telling me something," he said,
his voice filled with accusation.
"What is it!" His touch was
like sandpaper on sunburned skin,
each word a jab at Plankton's
already overwhelmed mind.

Plankton's eye darted around the
room, his antennae twitching
wildly. The pressure was too
much, the noise of Chip's voice
like a siren. He
could feel the beginnings of a
panic attack, his chest tightening.

"Chip, please," he managed, his voice
barely above a whisper. "I need a
moment." But Chip's excitement
was a force of nature, unyielding
and relentless. "But I just
want to tell you about my week,
about the robot and Nutmeg!"
He didn't know that his words,
his touch, were like a tornado in
Plankton's mind, a storm he couldn't
weather.

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

raneem🧿

new xi zeta tau roman alphabet latin alphabet

x×ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶

new alphabet xi

𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐦

new neovim text dot ascii art vi

Xi please shut the fuck up, ur being so immature and bitchy js shut up and sort it out with toad instead of posting like 10 post on emoji combos, like girl - active akemi members ✨️

new akemi 4_lauren xi

ok I have no clue whats happening but I feel like toad is being impersonated like what lunar said and who the he'll is Xi or whatever is sounds weird - active akemi member 🤫🧏‍♀️

new huh xi hi 4_lauren

𓁹 ✖

new dead eye xi red dead redemption

♡¢нℓσє уαρριηg ⋆˚࿔ ¢нℓσє 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸¢нℓσє ιѕ ∂σηє ησω вує!! ♡🍓♡♡..........♡.........🍓................😉🍏🍇ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶

new xi 11

⠀݂⠀✉️⠀֯⠀ ᮫⠀ ⛤⠀ׄ⠀ 𓍢ִ⠀܄⠀ʬ  ⭑  ˙  𓍯⠀ׄ⠀🌿﹔ 
ₜᵢₘₑ ᵢₛ ₛₚₑ𝓬ᵢₐₗ ᵳₒᵣ ₕᵤₘₐₙₛ, ₛᵢₙ𝓬ₑ ₜₕₑᵧ 𝓭ₒₙ'ₜ ₕₐᵥₑ ₐ ₗₒₜ. ᵢᵳ ₐ ₕᵤₘₐₙ ₛₚₑₙ𝓭ₛ ₜᵢₘₑ 𝔀ᵢₜₕ ᵧₒᵤ, ᵧₒᵤ ₐᵣₑ ₛₚₑ𝓬ᵢₐₗ ᵳₒᵣ ₜₕₑₘ.

new vex xi xixi banner discord bio star sparkle beef drama elegant universe diamond

.ᐟ㊙

new letter xi gimel

︵⁹🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️︵⁹

new 9 ⁹ nueve nine ninth ix

𓆩🇭I🇲🅰🇻Ʀɪ፝֟𓆪

new english alphabet greek alphabet heth mu a l devil vowel xi

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩☆✮✮⋆˙ִ ࣪𖤐๋࣭ ⭑─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓💭💭✡

new d letter delta alphabetical gamma aramaic xi

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒‧₊˚✩彡⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🕊ᰔᩚ

new latin alphabet xi cornish language

u🇺🕊ℹ️🇨🇺🇨🇺🕸️🇬🇧🇬🇧®🇫Ⓜ󠁑🇨🇺🕊️🚭🏊🏾‍♂️🇲🇺󠁫🇶

new ou heth an uraninite samekh aramaic xi omicron nucleotide pitchblende ne

kawaiicore, kitten,
cute! 🦴,🎧,🍥.✩,ılıl

new xi deciliter syllabary zayin polyphone discord bio template

Zᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟᝰ.ᐟᝰ.ᐟ⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸ᶠᶸᶜᵏme𓀐𓂸

new xi psi

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡆⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣧⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⣛⣋⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣿⣷⡌⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣧⣿⣗⡆⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠉⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀
⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁

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