Viii Emojis & Text

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

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

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

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.

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

⠾⡿⠻⠟⠿⠻⠟⠿⠻⠟⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠟⠻⠟⠻⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠚⠛⠛⠛⠓⠛⠛⠛⢛⠛⠛⠛⠚⠛⢺⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⣥⣀⣀⡤⠤⠤⠤⠤⢤⣤⢤⡤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣧⣶⣴⣦⣦⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⣇⡶⠶⠶⠾⢯⡿⠶⠶⠶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣴⣤⣄
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⡏⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠦⠤⠌⢻
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⣦⢤⣤⣤⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣆⣀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⣸⣿
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⡇⠀⠁⠀⠉⠉⠁⢛⣿⠋⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠛⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠶⠳⠞⠶⠳⠞⠶⠳⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣆⠐⡂⢆⠰⣀⠢⡐⢄⠢⡐⢄⠢⡐⢠⠀⡄⣶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠯⠿⠽⠿⠽⠯⠿⠿⠿⠽⠿⠯⠿⠯⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⡘⠐⢂⠒⣀⠒⠰⢈⠰⠐⢂⢂⠑⠂⠥⠐⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⣆⡈⣉⢉⡈⣀⢁⣈⢀⡁⣉⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⣬⣥⣦⣬⣤⣬⣤⣥⣦⣭⣤⣦⣬⣥⣦⣥⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢈⠀⠡⠈⠄⠡⠈⠄⠡⢈⠠⠁⡈⠄⠁⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⣤⡾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣀⣈⣀⣁⢂⡠⢁⣂⡐⣀⢂⡐⣀⣈⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⢄⣧⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠠⢀⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⢀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⡿⣿⣄⣤⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠐⡀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠂⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠁⡟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠙⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣀⣈⣀⣀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣠⣀⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣸⡧⠀⠀⠀
⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠉⠋⠙⠉⠋⠙⠉⠋⠙⢻⣽⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠗⠀⠀⠀
⡄⣇⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠑⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠿⠿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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

⠀⠄⡀⠰⣀⠂⠄⢀⠠⢀⠀⠄⢂⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠄⡀⠠⢀⠠⢀⠠⠐⡀⢂⠤⠀⠄⡀⢀⠂⢀⠠⢀⠀⠄⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⠠⢀⠀⠠⢀⠂⡀⠄⠠⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀
⠈⢄⠡⠐⡠⠁⠎⠀⠄⠂⠈⠄⡈⠄⠐⠠⠐⠠⢀⠂⠄⡀⠂⠄⡀⠂⠄⡀⠂⠄⠂⠄⠐⡀⠂⠄⠡⠐⡀⠁⠄⡀⠂⠄⢂⠁⡂⢂⠍⢠⠐⢀⠈⠄⡀⠂⠨⢀⠂⠄⠐⠠⠐⠀⠄⠂⠄⡀⠂⠄⠂⠠⠐⠠⠐⢀⠂⠐⠠⠀⠂⠄⡀⠂⡀⠄⠂⡀⠂⠄⠐⠠⠐⠀⠄⠂⠠⢀⠂⠄⠂⠠⠐⠀⠌⢀⠂⠈⠄⡀⢂⠐⡈⠄⡐⠠⢀⠂⠄⠀
⢈⠂⠱⡈⠄⠃⠌⠂⠐⠈⠐⠠⠐⠈⠐⠀⠂⠁⠀⠀⠂⠄⠁⠄⠀⠡⠐⠀⠂⠈⠀⠌⠐⠠⠈⠐⠠⠁⠐⠈⠄⠠⠁⠂⠄⠂⠁⠂⠌⠠⠂⠀⠈⠀⠀⠁⠄⠁⠀⠈⠐⠀⠂⠁⡐⠈⠀⠐⠠⠈⠐⠀⠡⠐⠈⠀⠀⠁⠂⠁⠂⠐⠀⡁⢀⠂⡐⠀⠂⠈⠠⠁⠂⠈⠐⠈⡐⠀⠀⠂⠁⠄⠡⠈⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠐⡀⠂⠐⠠⠐⠠⠀⠂⠌⡀
⠀⠎⢡⠀⢸⣶⠀⢰⣶⣄⠈⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⣼⢹⣧⠀⠀⢰⣶⣆⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⢸⣶⠀⠀⢀⣷⡦⠀⣶⣶⠀⠀⠡⠈⢰⡞⣿⠀⠀⠀⣾⡿⣿⡿⠿⠇⢐⣾⠿⠿⠿⠿⠀⠀⠄⢈⠀⣷⡆⠀⣶⣶⡀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⢠⣴⣶⣶⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⣴⢻⣇⠀⠀⢰⣶⣆⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⢸⡶⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠀⢠⣶⡀⠀⣰⡶⠀⠈⢀⠐
⠈⡔⢁⠂⢸⣿⠀⢸⣇⢻⡆⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⢠⡯⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⣧⢻⣇⠀⠀⣿⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣧⠿⣾⡃⠀⠐⠀⣿⠂⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⢈⣿⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠂⠀⣿⡇⠀⢻⡝⣷⡀⠀⠻⡇⠀⣿⣿⡀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⢰⡏⠈⣿⡀⠀⠸⣟⢻⣆⠀⠘⢿⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣰⠟⠀⠀⠀⠂⠄
⢂⠰⠈⠄⣸⣿⠀⢸⣿⠈⢻⣆⠸⣿⠀⠀⣾⡗⠛⢻⣷⠀⠀⣿⡂⠻⣧⠀⣿⡃⢨⣿⡆⠀⢿⣾⠀⠛⠀⢿⣧⠀⠀⣸⣿⠚⠺⣿⡀⠈⡐⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠠⣿⠿⠿⠿⠀⠀⠐⡀⠌⠀⣿⡇⠀⢸⡗⠘⢿⡄⢸⡇⠀⠀⠙⠻⢷⣤⡀⠀⢀⣿⡗⠛⢻⣧⠀⠀⣿⠂⠻⣧⠀⣿⡀⢸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠈⣿⡄⠀⠐⠠⠀⢸⣷⠀⠀⢀⠡⠈⠄
⢀⠃⡜⠀⣹⣿⡆⠀⣿⡇⠀⢻⣧⣿⠀⣸⣿⠃⠀⠈⣿⡆⠀⣿⡇⠀⠹⣷⣿⡇⢸⣽⡇⢰⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⡀⢠⣿⡏⠀⠀⢻⣧⠀⠐⠀⣿⣽⠀⢀⠀⣿⡀⣀⣀⣠⣤⠀⠐⠀⢀⣿⣿⠀⢸⣽⠀⠈⢿⣼⣷⠀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣽⡧⠀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠘⣿⡆⠀⣯⡇⠀⠹⣧⣿⡅⣸⣿⡇⠀⠠⠀⣿⡇⠀⢀⠂⠁⣼⣿⡀⠀⠠⠐⢈⠐
⡀⠎⡐⡀⠙⠛⠃⠀⠛⠃⠀⡄⠙⠛⠀⠉⠉⠀⢰⡇⠘⠉⠀⠛⠛⠀⢀⠙⠛⠃⠘⠛⠃⠘⠛⠃⠀⠀⡁⠐⠛⠇⠈⠉⠀⠀⡀⠈⠋⠀⠀⠂⠙⠛⠀⢀⠀⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠌⠀⠛⠛⠀⠸⠛⠂⠀⠈⠛⠓⠀⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⡀⠘⠁⠀⠟⠓⠀⠀⠙⠛⠃⠛⠛⠃⠀⠠⠀⠛⠃⠀⠠⢈⠀⠛⠛⠃⠀⠂⡐⢀⠂
⠰⣌⣰⣡⣢⣖⡲⣖⡴⣢⢖⣟⢷⣖⣲⡜⣖⠲⣭⢻⣕⣲⣚⡴⣤⣖⣺⡂⢀⠀⠠⢀⠀⡀⠀⠄⡀⢂⠐⡀⠄⠠⠀⠄⢂⠠⠐⡁⠠⠐⡈⢐⠀⣂⠐⣀⠂⡄⢠⠀⡀⠄⡀⠄⡈⠄⠡⢀⠀⠠⠀⡀⠄⠐⠠⢀⡀⠄⠠⡀⢂⠐⡀⠂⠌⡀⠄⡐⠠⠐⡀⠠⠀⠄⡀⠠⠐⡀⢀⠠⠀⡀⠄⢀⠂⠡⠀⠄⡐⢀⠂⠄⡀⢀⠠⢀⠁⠄⠂⠌
⢂⠌⡹⠓⢧⣚⠷⡧⢽⡹⣎⢯⡟⣮⢿⡬⡺⢽⣱⡷⡾⣿⣿⣿⣾⣜⡿⢷⣤⠈⣁⠂⠌⡐⢉⠐⠰⢀⠒⠠⢈⠔⠉⡐⢂⢂⠱⢀⠃⠅⠒⡈⠔⡠⠃⡄⢒⠈⢢⠑⡤⠡⠐⡠⠁⡌⠰⡀⡉⠤⠁⠔⡈⠌⡐⠂⠐⠈⠄⡑⢂⡑⢠⠃⢂⠔⢂⡐⠡⡑⢠⠑⠨⡐⠄⣁⠒⠈⢄⠂⠅⡰⠈⠄⠌⢂⠉⡐⠠⠂⠌⡐⢈⠐⢂⠄⡉⢄⠱⣨
⠌⡒⢤⠉⠆⡌⠙⠞⡥⠷⠩⣞⢝⡦⣫⠝⣯⢒⡳⣼⠱⣞⢭⣞⡷⢿⣼⣻⢿⣿⣆⠈⡔⡈⢄⠃⡒⢨⢀⠃⢆⠨⡐⢁⠆⡂⠔⡨⠐⡌⣁⠒⡌⠤⡑⢌⠢⡉⢆⠱⣀⠣⠜⢠⢁⠢⢡⠐⡐⠢⡑⠌⠰⢠⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠘⠀⢎⠰⡈⠆⡄⢃⠄⣃⠌⢒⠠⠒⡄⡘⢌⠠⢊⠔⡠⢑⡈⠆⣁⠒⡈⠥⡈⠔⢨⠐⡌⣐⣂⡔⣨⣶⣿
⣾⡟⣶⣋⡒⡌⡱⢘⠤⢣⠑⣄⠊⡜⠨⣉⢚⡩⢑⠮⢛⠸⣣⢞⣜⠳⠝⡓⢋⠛⠛⠷⠶⡒⠤⡑⡐⢂⠌⢢⠌⡂⠜⡠⢂⠱⡈⡔⢡⡐⢢⠡⢰⢁⠒⡌⢡⠜⣠⢃⡄⢣⢊⡅⢢⠑⡄⠣⢌⠡⠂⠉⠂⠁⠢⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠤⠃⠜⡰⡈⢆⡘⢠⢎⡰⢁⠣⣐⠡⢂⡑⢂⡌⡐⢢⠐⡌⢄⠢⣁⠆⡱⢈⢢⢁⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⣿
⣭⡛⡽⢿⡷⣜⢰⣩⢂⢇⡩⢄⠣⡌⢱⡀⢣⠰⣁⠚⡄⡓⠤⢊⡔⡩⡘⢄⠣⡘⢌⡡⢃⠔⡡⠆⠅⠃⠚⡄⢪⠐⡉⠴⣭⡆⠱⢈⠆⡌⣅⢊⡅⣊⠱⢌⢢⡉⢦⣈⠒⡥⢊⠬⣑⢊⡔⠃⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠢⡍⢒⠤⣡⠋⡴⣁⢎⠰⣌⠡⢂⡅⢣⠘⡄⢣⠑⡢⢜⣴⣦⡁⣾⣿⣻⢳⢯⣟⡵⣻
⢠⢒⡱⢊⡔⣊⠖⣡⠏⡘⡴⣉⠞⣌⠣⡜⣡⠓⡌⠳⡰⢉⢎⠥⡒⡱⡘⣌⠲⡉⢆⠲⣉⢚⡀⢲⣶⡀⢬⣤⣥⣬⡖⣠⣿⡇⡘⢌⡜⡰⢂⠣⡘⢤⠋⣆⠣⢜⠢⣌⠳⡘⡜⠦⢡⠣⣌⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠡⢈⠐⡀⠀⠱⡘⣌⠒⠁⠙⡔⡡⢎⡱⢌⢣⠣⣘⠥⢚⣌⠥⡙⠄⣿⣿⢿⣏⣿⢿⡿⣯⣛⢾⡵⣻
⢠⠇⡧⣩⠖⣍⠺⡔⣩⠓⢦⡱⢚⡴⢣⡓⡤⢛⣌⢳⡡⢏⡎⣖⢱⢣⡱⢌⢣⠝⣨⠲⣡⢎⠲⡄⢻⣿⣆⢻⣿⣿⡇⣿⡿⠅⣸⡴⡶⠒⡥⡂⣝⠢⡝⣤⠫⡜⡱⡌⢧⣙⠀⠀⠈⡳⡌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠄⡀⠀⠀⢳⠌⢀⡀⢤⠓⣜⢢⢭⡞⡆⣋⡰⣾⣾⣿⣷⣶⡾⣿⡿⢯⡿⡜⡭⢖⡳⡜⢧⣹⢳
⢢⠝⡦⢱⣋⢦⠳⣜⡡⢏⠶⡱⣍⢲⢣⡝⡲⣥⢊⡇⢶⣉⠈⠈⢁⡳⢜⡬⢲⡩⣒⠵⢊⡤⠶⠶⠤⢩⢉⣈⣈⡡⢤⠤⣌⠶⣒⡲⡄⡏⡔⣣⠸⣡⠓⡦⢛⡴⢣⡝⡲⢬⡹⡜⣥⣀⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⡥⡸⡜⣜⢪⠳⣌⠞⡬⣛⠴⣙⢥⡊⢭⣒⡒⢮⠭⠭⣕⠫⣖⠹⡜⣣⠽⣙⠞⣰⢫
⡘⡎⣕⢣⡇⣎⢳⢬⡓⣭⡚⡵⢬⡓⢮⠴⣙⠶⣩⠞⠑⠊⠀⠀⠓⠣⡝⢬⢣⡕⡅⢰⣒⢖⡻⣌⠿⡥⢏⠶⣬⠹⣍⠷⣎⡝⣮⡱⡇⢬⠱⢆⠸⠀⢀⠵⢋⣜⣡⡾⡴⢧⣲⠴⣤⢌⣉⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢣⢧⡹⢴⢣⢏⠶⣹⠸⣥⢫⡜⢦⣹⢒⡦⡝⣎⠞⣥⣋⠞⡴⢫⡕⢦⡛⣬⠹⣥⢚
⠸⣅⡏⢮⡳⣙⢎⢮⡕⢦⡝⣜⢣⡝⣫⠞⡍⠋⢀⠠⠀⠐⠀⠀⢂⠐⡄⠉⢶⡹⠞⠸⣘⢮⣓⠽⠊⡱⢉⠞⡰⠉⠈⡑⢦⡙⣆⠻⡴⢉⠞⡸⠈⡔⢋⡴⣛⣮⡽⢶⣫⢟⢮⡻⣝⢮⣛⡽⣫⡳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣮⢱⣎⡵⣋⠞⣬⠳⣥⢛⢦⢣⡛⣎⠶⣙⡲⡝⣬⢛⡴⣩⠞⣍⢳⡜⣣⡝⢦⣛⠴⢫
⠱⣎⡵⢫⡕⣫⢞⢺⡜⣣⢽⡘⢧⢺⡱⠏⠀⡐⠀⡀⠄⠁⡈⠀⠄⢂⠈⢆⠀⢧⡀⠀⡏⠶⣉⢆⡀⢡⢉⠦⢡⢃⠄⣱⢣⡝⣬⢳⣹⢈⡞⡁⢂⣴⡻⣜⡻⢖⡻⣏⡽⣛⢾⢳⠯⣞⢧⡏⢷⡽⣎⡷⣢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡔⡯⢶⡹⣍⡛⣖⢫⡼⡹⢎⡳⠽⣌⠻⡴⣓⡹⢦⢫⠖⣧⡛⣜⢣⡞⣥⠻⡜⢮⡝⣫
⢱⢎⡧⣻⡜⣧⢞⡳⣜⢧⢳⡝⣧⢣⠟⠁⡐⠀⢀⠀⠄⠂⣀⠐⡀⢂⠐⡈⢆⠘⢠⠇⣙⢧⡓⣎⠼⣡⢎⡜⣥⠚⠜⣁⠓⢚⡴⣫⡜⡆⠕⣠⢯⡶⣝⡾⣝⡯⣷⠻⣜⡻⣮⢷⣻⡜⡿⣼⢳⡞⣼⢳⡍⣯⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⠀⠄⠠⡀⠀⠈⠉⠃⠷⣱⢛⡼⣣⠾⠙⠧⡝⡧⣏⢿⡱⣝⠮⠳⠏⠾⠱⠯⢜⣳⢚⡵⣫⡝⢾⡸⢵
⠬⣇⠷⣱⢏⡶⢭⡞⡼⣎⢷⣚⢦⡏⡏⠀⠀⠄⢂⣀⡴⢮⡝⢧⣄⠂⠐⠠⠈⠄⡦⣄⢸⢲⢽⡸⣝⡖⠋⢀⡀⢬⠤⡔⣆⡻⣜⣳⣚⡅⢰⢯⣞⡵⢯⡼⢧⡿⠀⣀⡷⣻⣜⣧⢷⠋⢹⣞⡷⣝⣮⣳⡝⢶⡃⠀⠀⠀⢀⠐⡈⢄⠂⡡⢊⠁⠤⢉⠐⣂⠰⢀⠈⠋⣶⢹⠆⠀⣠⣓⠧⠛⠊⠁⡀⠀⡄⢠⡒⠠⠀⠂⠌⠙⢖⡧⣛⡮⣵⢫
⢜⡣⣏⢳⣏⡞⣵⢺⠵⣎⠷⣙⢮⣝⣣⠄⠀⢰⠧⣏⡞⣧⢛⢧⡞⣅⠀⠁⠁⠂⡷⣼⠘⣬⢳⡳⢞⠶⠬⠳⠞⠙⣚⡘⢉⣩⢨⡅⢀⠀⣯⣞⢼⢫⠝⠛⠩⠹⡾⣝⠾⠳⠭⠮⢟⣀⣴⡳⡽⣏⣾⣡⡏⢷⡂⡤⠀⢀⠂⢌⠐⡠⠘⣀⠂⠌⡐⢈⠒⠤⡁⠆⡌⣀⠈⠏⢀⡾⡱⠉⠀⢠⠐⡠⢈⠡⣐⠣⢀⠃⡐⠢⡀⠑⡀⠙⣼⣱⢣⣟
⢸⡇⣏⡳⣎⡽⣪⢝⣫⡜⡯⣝⡺⢬⠁⠀⢀⡯⣞⣥⣛⡼⣛⠮⣝⡯⠀⠀⠈⣶⢳⡜⣦⠥⣆⠀⠶⡲⢊⢴⢫⡝⡞⡷⣛⡥⠀⣿⣆⡼⢸⢎⡟⢀⡖⣯⡄⣠⠧⠀⠀⠒⠒⠂⠉⢛⡼⢯⠗⣟⢮⣓⣏⢧⣓⠀⡀⢂⠌⡠⠊⠄⡡⠄⠊⡄⠑⡈⠜⡠⢑⠈⠀⢄⠠⠀⢾⡺⠁⢀⡐⠂⡅⠢⠁⡰⡌⢁⠎⠠⠐⡁⠐⡁⠀⢂⠐⣧⢻⡼
⢸⡜⡧⣝⢎⠷⣹⢎⡶⣹⢳⡹⢞⡇⠀⠀⣼⡱⢏⡶⡹⢞⡵⢻⡼⡹⠇⠀⠀⢸⡣⣽⢪⢏⡷⣤⢀⣴⡹⡞⣧⠻⡼⠍⠀⠀⠀⠓⠫⠝⡈⣿⣣⣄⡿⣼⣹⢽⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣏⠀⣀⣤⠉⢺⡹⠞⡶⣙⠂⢐⠠⢂⠡⠌⠒⠠⠌⠡⡀⠃⢌⠠⠑⡌⠰⡀⠎⠠⢁⠈⡷⠀⠂⢄⠃⠐⡁⡰⡱⠀⠈⠀⡰⢁⠰⠁⡘⡀⠠⠀⢹⢣⣟
⢮⣜⣳⣪⣟⣺⣑⣫⠞⠁⠉⠉⠋⠀⠀⠠⠓⠾⠹⣺⡙⣷⣚⢧⡝⣧⢇⠀⠁⠀⡟⣲⡝⣎⡇⡟⣮⣳⡽⢉⡸⠁⠁⠀⡀⠂⠠⠀⢀⠀⠀⠈⠷⣩⢷⣞⡷⠃⠀⢀⡠⣔⡲⢘⡷⣭⢟⣟⣾⠃⡮⢽⣹⢚⠁⠀⡐⠂⠔⠂⢌⠂⠅⡘⠠⢁⠜⡀⢂⠥⢀⡑⠈⡄⠀⢂⠀⣟⠀⠌⡐⡀⠀⢀⡱⠁⠆⠠⡐⠀⠀⢂⠡⠐⠡⢀⠁⢸⢳⡞
⣿⣾⣿⡿⣿⣽⠋⠁⠀⡀⠄⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠴⠎⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠉⠁⠙⠊⢆⢳⡱⢏⡰⠥⠀⠀⠌⠀⠀⠐⠀⠈⠄⠀⠁⠄⠀⠣⢯⡶⡽⣳⡶⣤⡬⣁⣉⣀⣹⣜⣯⣞⢶⣖⢻⡕⡮⢃⠀⠐⠠⠑⡈⠌⡄⡘⠠⢁⠆⡁⢂⠌⠄⢢⠐⢠⠡⠐⢄⠢⠀⡯⡄⠐⠠⡐⠡⠎⠁⠜⢀⠡⠐⠀⠄⠂⡄⢃⠐⠀⠂⣜⠶⠉
⡇⠞⢿⡀⠀⠙⠀⠀⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠐⢠⢂⠀⠀⠨⣭⢓⣵⠂⠀⠁⠠⠁⠀⠀⠠⠁⢀⠈⠀⠂⠠⠀⠘⠍⠀⠃⣹⢧⡻⣕⣻⢼⣣⣏⡶⣚⢯⣜⠳⢊⣴⢋⡀⠈⡐⢈⠰⠀⠆⡠⠑⢂⡐⠌⠠⠌⡐⠡⠈⠄⠂⡉⠀⠆⢠⢧⢳⠈⠐⡰⢢⠀⡌⠠⠀⠄⠠⠌⠠⢁⠰⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀
⣷⣝⠬⢀⣴⣄⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠄⠀⢣⣝⣺⠀⢀⠂⠁⡀⠁⠀⠀⠄⢀⠠⠀⢂⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⢈⡚⠳⠭⣛⢞⣳⣙⠦⠛⢉⡄⠤⡞⡵⡪⠉⢆⠀⢀⠂⠄⢉⡐⠄⠡⢂⠐⣈⠁⠒⡈⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⡼⡸⣍⠖⣄⠑⠃⡔⠠⢁⠌⠰⢁⠘⡄⠡⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠅⠀⠂⠒⠚⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣾⢳⡄⠀⢀⠂⢀⠀⠢⣤⣬⣤⣤⡤⠀⠀⠌⠀⠀⢠⣎⢵⣫⢖⣦⢲⠄⠀⠒⠈⠋⠀⠀⠉⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⡁⢂⠡⠄⢊⠡⠀⢠⣤⡀⠀⠀⢀⡼⣱⠓⣎⠷⠹⢷⣂⣀⡁⠢⠌⠒⠠⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠀⠀
⣿⣷⣿⣹⠯⣿⣧⡀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⠖⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⡀⠀⠀⢀⠈⠀⠠⠀⠂⢀⣹⣎⣟⣦⠀⠀⠐⠠⢀⠀⠸⣻⣿⠟⠁⠀⠁⠀⠀⡀⢸⣜⠲⣇⡇⠈⠙⠂⠀⡀⠀⢀⠐⡀⠀⠐⠠⠁⠐⠀⠌⠀⠂⠠⠁⣰⡟⠀⠡⠈⠄⢂⠡⠀⠃⠈⠀⣠⢞⡴⢣⠟⣼⠳⡄⠀⠘⣡⠠⢾⡇⠸⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠀⠀⠠⠀
⡝⣾⡻⠃⠤⡈⢻⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡋⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⠚⢬⡄⢾⢞⣖⡄⠈⠄⠠⠐⡀⠀⡀⠀⠄⠁⠠⠀⠀⡐⡸⣬⠳⠝⠆⠀⡀⠀⠐⠠⠐⠀⠠⠀⠈⠐⠠⠁⠀⠌⡀⠂⢀⠂⣰⡟⠀⠀⢂⠡⢈⠠⠀⠂⢀⠴⣋⠶⣳⡜⢧⣛⢦⡛⣴⠰⣿⡏⠸⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠠⠐⠀⠀
⡳⣜⢡⢋⣴⣎⢠⠙⡀⣸⣦⡠⢀⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠡⠄⡀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠰⠻⢀⡳⠜⣌⢫⢼⡛⠡⠀⠁⡀⢀⡀⠄⠡⢀⠱⠈⠀⢀⠀⡗⣧⠀⠀⠀⡀⠐⢈⠀⠁⠠⠀⠁⢂⠀⠠⠁⢀⠂⠐⠀⡀⠄⣰⡟⠀⠀⢄⠠⢀⠰⠲⠌⠙⠰⠚⠱⠞⠱⣎⠷⣩⠮⠝⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠐⠀⢀⠐⠀
⣿⣆⣣⣾⣿⣟⣗⡀⣱⣿⣛⣷⠈⡐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡅⠂⡖⣶⢢⠘⠽⠤⠖⠲⢙⠒⡋⠂⠎⠃⣌⢲⡀⠁⠐⠂⠐⠈⠁⠈⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⣟⠲⣄⠈⢀⠀⠐⠀⡀⠀⠁⠂⠁⡀⠂⠀⢈⠀⠠⠁⠀⠄⣰⡟⠠⠄⠈⠀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢀⠂⠀⠀
⣿⣿⢿⣿⣹⢾⣿⢿⣿⠷⠋⠁⣀⣁⢃⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡤⠥⠴⢒⢚⠪⢍⠩⢍⠫⠙⠭⣉⡀⠀⠀⠣⢐⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢀⣏⢳⢥⢳⣀⠀⠂⠁⢀⠁⠀⠀⡁⠀⠂⠀⣀⣤⠐⠀⠁⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄⠁
⡟⣿⣿⠟⠘⢿⣽⣿⣻⠄⢩⢱⠊⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢴⣺⣉⣀⣂⣁⣉⣂⣦⣥⣬⢤⠖⣖⡻⠽⣍⢻⣀⠀⡸⢘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡘⢧⢞⣣⢎⡳⣄⠈⢀⠠⠈⡀⠐⠈⣠⣼⣿⠟⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠠⢤⢤⢤⡲⠖⠲⠒⠎⢋⡙⡙⣉⠡⡄⢀⣾⣿⣿⡟⠻⠂⣢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠁⢹⠢⡐⡃⢆⠙⠾⠃⠈⠤⠡⠤⠄⠈⠄⠀⠀⣸⠉⠑⡄⢸⣲⢹⣟⣯⢙⠚⢳⣒⢮⣈⠠⢹⡲⣝⡧⣏⠶⡁⠀⠴⠋⣨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢮⠹⣎⠞⣦⢫⡵⣋⠳⣄⠀⡐⠀⠙⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⠰⡀⢆⢢⡐⢎⠥⣩⠜⡡⢆⡱⢌⡒⠴⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⠟⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠁
⠀⠀⢣⣾⣿⣦⡉⠔⠀⡒⢎⡱⢬⠹⡄⠂⠀⠀⢲⠀⠀⠙⠀⡧⣏⣷⣚⣿⠋⠸⣬⣓⠾⡅⢀⡷⣺⡜⣥⢫⠕⡆⠶⣫⠗⡘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠳⣮⣝⣦⠳⣚⡭⣛⣬⠳⣆⡀⠄⠂⢀⠂⠄⠁⣰⠏⠀⣠⡄⠱⠀⣆⢣⠜⢬⠒⣡⠚⡴⢁⠆⣣⢘⡱⢸⣯⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣞⣿⡧⡀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀
⠀⠀⢘⣯⣟⣿⣿⣷⡄⢑⢎⡱⢪⡍⠇⠀⠀⠀⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠸⣱⠸⣟⡼⣧⢰⢧⠯⠾⠹⠶⢫⠵⣛⡼⣡⢛⠀⢳⢧⢃⠇⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠇⢛⣛⠻⠷⠶⠮⢵⣾⠉⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⢀⠂⣰⠏⠀⣰⠉⡇⠠⠃⢌⡒⡘⣂⠫⢔⡩⡐⢩⠘⡄⢣⠰⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣽⣻⢽⠟⢂⠠⠔⠆⣒⣤⣌⡀⠀⠀⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⢻⢽⡷⡋⠡⠖⠚⠉⠀⠀⠁⠷⡸⣕⡋⠰⡈⢃⠌⠠⠌⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⣠⣤⣶⣿⣽⣿⣿⡿⠷⠶⢒⣒⣲⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⢡⣴⣇⠠⢃⠐⠦⡑⢢⢍⢢⠱⢌⠡⢎⠰⣁⠚⡈⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢉⣙⠛⠟⢋⣤⣶⠸⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂
⠀⠀⠀⠘⡈⠻⡽⢋⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠙⣄⠀⠀⠀⠱⢧⢻⡖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⢒⡜⢐⡡⠔⠁⠢⣡⣶⡀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣾⡿⠿⠛⢛⣉⣩⣥⢴⣲⣾⣏⣿⣽⣳⢷⢸⣶⡄⣰⠏⠀⠀⠢⢀⣿⠯⠐⠀⣈⠁⡉⠤⢤⠀⢣⠘⡆⠎⢆⠥⠚⡄⣟⣿⣿⣿⣇⣀⡹⠸⠻⠿⠿⠛⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀
⠀⠀⠐⠀⢌⠡⢀⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠓⡀⠀⠈⠑⠦⣀⣀⣈⠫⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠞⠥⠛⡀⠎⡐⠤⠔⣠⠉⠞⡋⠤⢒⣛⣉⡭⣤⢶⣦⠀⣤⣿⣮⢷⣯⡟⠉⢦⠭⡑⢾⠁⠀⢘⠟⠐⠋⣴⠶⠛⠈⠋⣀⡐⢬⠱⠜⡬⢱⡉⢖⡂⢈⠦⠱⠘⠌⠒⠑⠀⠱⣻⡽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⢀⠠⠀
⠀⠈⢀⠀⠘⠇⣈⢩⣉⣩⣉⣉⢍⡩⢤⠰⠐⡊⣱⣥⡀⠠⠀⢠⣤⡰⠄⠇⠈⠂⢀⣠⢶⣭⢫⢯⠙⣡⠾⠹⠞⢽⡃⡶⣖⣾⣏⣿⢶⣏⣟⣻⢮⡷⣿⠉⢾⣝⣯⢾⡅⠀⠘⣺⠭⡌⣦⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣔⢊⢻⣦⠙⡬⡑⣥⢊⡕⡂⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣞⣷⢻⣭⢿⡿⣿⢯⣿⣻⡽⣟⡾⣟⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄
⠀⠀⠂⡀⠐⠀⣾⣶⣷⣦⣷⣾⡶⠖⠰⠿⢟⡓⣈⠤⣆⠀⠌⠀⢿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢉⣈⣀⢦⡀⢡⡲⢶⣀⠙⠀⢽⣟⢮⣟⢾⣻⠞⡩⣉⠻⣞⢯⠀⣡⣽⢾⡟⣟⣦⣍⣃⣛⣠⣟⡷⣶⠆⠁⠄⠀⠀⢠⢯⣽⣦⡡⠙⢷⡔⢑⢢⢃⣎⡱⠠⢁⢀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠈⠙⠷⢿⣻⠛⠙⢫⢾⣻⡽⠿⠛⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⠀
⠀⠈⠠⠀⠄⠘⡰⢐⠤⣒⡐⢢⡔⠆⢮⡑⣎⠂⠈⡳⢌⠀⠒⠣⠌⣁⢀⠀⠀⠁⡀⢠⢿⡞⣥⢗⡺⠄⠙⠏⠀⠀⠀⢈⠍⠻⣞⣻⠇⡎⡴⣩⢇⡏⢠⡆⣦⣌⡙⢛⣋⣅⠠⠰⡷⣟⡾⣿⠽⡧⢀⠀⢠⡀⡜⣨⠳⣮⡻⣎⠈⠻⣦⡃⠋⣀⢤⠀⠂⠄⠂⢄⠁⠂⠀⠀⠀⣁⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⣀⣭⠁⢀⠀⡈⠇⠀⡀⢀⠠⠐⠀⠠⠁
⢠⡁⣆⡰⣠⡀⠧⡙⠲⢤⡙⠦⣍⠀⢐⠺⣔⠣⣤⢹⡘⡆⠀⠐⣈⣀⣂⣅⡒⣐⣠⣀⠙⢾⣱⢾⣁⠀⢒⣀⣂⣐⣊⣁⢂⣀⠹⣾⣇⠳⠼⣡⢾⣳⣄⡁⠹⠿⠇⠸⠿⢋⣠⢶⣟⣾⣽⡡⣋⡷⠈⢛⠿⠇⠃⣃⢖⡙⢷⡟⠓⠁⠘⠷⠌⠚⢀⠄⣠⡘⣀⣂⢌⣠⠥⡴⢈⣀⣀⣠⠁⠀⣠⣤⣶⣴⣤⣤⣤⣀⠒⠀⠤⣐⣠⢂⣡⢂⣁⢌
⢱⢫⠵⡹⢖⡃⠵⣈⢓⢦⡙⠲⣌⠉⢪⡱⣌⠳⡌⠳⣘⠆⢹⠀⡸⢇⠾⣌⠿⡜⡧⠉⠶⠯⠼⠦⠓⢋⣠⣈⠳⢞⡱⢯⡽⡜⠃⣽⣞⢷⣾⣽⣳⡟⣾⡽⣻⢷⣖⣢⣟⣿⣞⣿⠮⠷⠚⠛⣉⠤⡚⡭⣜⡃⢸⢀⠫⢖⠤⡱⣀⣾⢦⡂⡠⣤⡙⡄⢳⣩⢓⡹⣊⣓⢏⡝⣫⢜⡣⢉⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⡿⣟⡷⠆⢁⢧⣫⡜⡭⢎⡽
⢂⠧⡓⣍⠖⣍⠲⡡⢎⡢⢱⡙⡌⢦⣀⠘⠌⢃⠰⣰⢉⡖⠀⡬⢍⣍⠫⣜⣩⠉⣴⣲⣲⣖⣒⡶⢯⠏⠶⠊⠃⣈⠡⡴⡄⢌⣶⠟⣉⠻⣎⣷⡍⢋⡉⢛⠛⠛⠒⢋⠙⡡⠤⢄⡆⠐⢯⡱⠎⠧⡝⣲⢡⡝⠀⡌⠎⣍⢲⡁⠈⠫⣏⣷⣄⠊⠻⡄⠰⠰⢎⡔⣣⠜⡪⢴⠱⠎⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣯⣷⣿⣾⣫⣭⠋⢠⡜⡜⠦⡖⡼⣘⠧⣜
⢨⢃⠷⣨⠳⡜⠀⡱⢨⡑⢣⠜⣙⠦⢙⡒⣜⠣⠓⣁⣭⡶⢠⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣍⣁⠀⠠⢐⡀⣌⡀⢖⢪⡱⠀⠁⢣⠌⠻⠦⠥⠾⠛⢃⠐⢣⢔⡒⢊⠳⡘⠎⡅⠲⢍⠓⣜⢣⠄⠁⠠⠜⡥⠓⠦⡍⡇⠰⠩⣌⠣⠜⣄⠄⡘⠋⠛⣠⡐⠥⢘⡍⢮⡜⢦⠹⢥⢣⠏⣰⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣯⣟⣿⡳⣯⠁⡘⢦⠹⡸⣑⢎⡱⢊⡓⣬
⢠⢋⡜⣂⠳⣘⠃⢱⣧⣭⣥⣭⣄⢀⣀⣵⣶⠾⢟⡛⣍⠒⡀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡦⠌⠐⠀⣜⢢⡓⢦⠲⣬⡙⢶⠀⠐⣃⠸⡜⠌⡅⢊⠜⠭⣒⠱⠎⡔⠫⢎⠸⠤⠭⡜⠤⢏⠭⠔⢫⢅⡓⠜⡄⠑⢢⡙⡜⢢⡙⣒⠬⠻⣵⠻⣎⠀⠏⡖⣘⠦⢛⢬⠃⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣾⣷⣿⣯⢿⠃⢠⠉⠖⡩⠱⠌⠦⣑⢃⠞⢰
⢌⡣⠞⣌⢇⢣⢣⠐⠤⠩⠩⠭⠍⢠⠳⠐⠦⣙⣂⣭⣴⡟⣱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣾⣶⣌⠒⢙⡎⠳⡆⡝⢣⢄⠸⡌⢧⡙⠥⣽⢫⣎⠳⣤⠧⡜⣌⠱⣈⠎⡥⢓⠬⣙⡌⢎⡙⢆⠎⣌⠳⡘⠄⠱⡘⡔⣣⠒⡥⢎⡳⣈⠻⣽⠀⠣⡜⣄⠋⢈⠐⡐⠛⠻⠿⠽⣾⣿⣿⣻⣿⣾⢾⣿⠀⠢⣉⠜⡡⢃⠎⡑⢄⠪⡘⠤
⢬⡑⡏⢜⡊⠥⢊⡄⠹⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⠖⢻⣿⠿⠟⠋⢩⣶⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡶⢠⣤⣻⣿⣷⣄⠘⠡⢎⡑⠎⠬⡑⡜⢂⡜⠢⣗⡳⢬⠹⡔⢳⡙⣊⢇⠰⢊⠔⡡⢊⠤⡐⢆⡘⠢⡑⠢⢁⠓⡌⡂⠑⠐⠃⠉⠈⠀⠀⠁⠁⠉⠀⠱⢐⢢⠁⠢⡍⡄⣯⣽⡆⠠⠤⣀⠄⣉⠉⢉⠙⠃⠀⠛⠤⠚⡔⢃⠚⣐⠊⡔⣡⢊
⠤⠳⡌⢣⠝⡌⠧⠜⡑⢀⣮⣭⣭⣤⣤⠀⠶⢺⣿⣷⡈⡙⠃⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⡅⣌⡛⣿⣿⣷⣹⣷⡄⠱⡈⠭⡑⢌⡒⠡⠆⡵⠎⢧⣍⡚⡍⢦⡱⢡⠎⡜⠨⢆⠥⣩⠒⠱⢌⣦⣡⣉⣁⠉⠒⠴⣡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢤⠒⠀⠓⠸⠐⠶⠤⢄⡃⠧⣐⠩⠤⡉⠆⡐⠈⡔⠈⢆⠩⢌⠬⡑⡌⠒⣌⠰⢠
⠰⠡⡌⡡⢎⡰⢡⠋⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢛⠀⡛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡿⣿⣦⠘⠤⡉⢆⠬⠱⡘⣼⢺⡱⢆⡩⡘⢆⡣⢏⠰⣈⠕⡊⠂⣠⣶⣿⢿⣾⣿⢿⠿⣛⣷⠦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠣⣍⠣⡓⠆⠀⢀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠈⠑⠒⠉⠂⠄⠃⠀⣘⠨⡘⢌⠢⡑⢌⠱⡈⠜⡠
⢌⠣⣌⠱⣂⣑⠂⠰⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣳⡿⣇⠀⡱⢈⠆⡓⢌⡷⠀⡱⢋⡆⠘⣬⡑⡇⡜⣤⠊⣠⣾⣿⣟⣿⣿⣾⣿⠃⣾⣿⣿⣅⠈⠑⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⠱⣈⠆⠀⡀⠀⠀⡁⠂⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⡒⠤⣃⠱⢊⠥⡘⠤⢃⠜⡡⢒
⡂⢗⢢⠓⡖⠎⢰⣦⡈⢣⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⢀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠸⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢷⣿⣽⡆⠐⡁⠎⡔⢪⡝⣧⡙⠧⠒⢘⢠⢹⠐⡰⠀⣴⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣆⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⢆⠱⢨⠀⠀⡐⢀⠐⠠⠈⠄⠀⠡⠐⠈⠀⠰⡑⢊⠔⡩⠘⠤⠣⡑⢪⠘⡔⢨
⠐⡌⢢⠑⡌⠀⣿⣶⠶⠀⠁⣾⣿⣿⠛⢿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠍⡀⢶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣶⠁⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⢯⡿⣿⡀⡁⢎⠰⡹⡆⠲⣶⣶⡿⠃⡆⢯⠐⠁⣸⣽⣷⣿⣿⣾⣷⣿⠁⠻⣿⣷⣍⡃⠈⢟⣴⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⢎⠰⢡⠀⠀⠄⡀⠈⠀⠂⠀⢀⠐⡀⠠⠀⠰⠘⠤⢊⠔⡩⢂⠕⡌⢢⢘⡐⢢
⠐⡄⢣⠘⡐⢰⣿⣿⣿⠿⠄⠙⣴⣿⣷⣶⣤⣬⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⠉⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⡿⣵⠂⠰⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡾⠉⠓⢻⡇⠐⡌⠲⣭⢽⡠⠙⠛⡡⢜⡰⡃⠜⠀⣿⣽⣾⣿⣿⣽⠙⠻⢦⣶⣿⡿⣿⣷⣴⣾⣿⡿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⠩⢂⡍⢢⡐⠤⡀⠀⠐⠠⠀⠌⠀⡀⠀⠄⠀⠣⡉⢆⡡⢊⠔⡡⢂⠜⡠⠒⡌⠰
⠰⡈⠦⡉⠄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠄⠋⣴⣿⣿⣿⠏⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠘⣿⡿⠋⢸⣯⡔⠰⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣽⢶⡄⠈⢿⠀⠂⢭⢎⡳⡌⢯⡱⣙⠦⣱⠃⢨⠀⡿⠞⢻⡿⣿⣻⡀⠳⠶⠬⣍⣛⡛⠻⠿⠿⠟⣟⣿⣻⠀⡡⠃⠀⡀⠆⢒⠈⠰⠁⠀⠀⡄⢃⠜⡀⠀⠂⢁⠀⠂⠀⠔⢂⠔⡡⠒⡄⢒⠡⡘⢄⠡⢊⠔⡡⢘⠰
⠠⡑⢢⠑⡂⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣻⠄⢋⣼⣿⣿⡄⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡿⠋⣠⠀⣾⣟⣡⡀⣮⣽⣿⣿⣿⣟⡷⣯⡿⣿⣲⣤⠀⢐⡪⢏⡳⡙⢦⠓⡍⢞⡄⠈⠆⡄⠃⣠⡼⣿⣟⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⢃⣶⣿⡿⡿⠀⡐⢁⠢⡑⡈⢆⠩⠄⡀⢠⠑⡌⠢⣘⠀⠀⠡⠀⠂⠀⠘⡌⢢⠘⠐⠁⠘⢠⠃⠜⡠⢃⡌⠢⢑⠌⢒
⠠⡑⢢⠑⠤⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠧⠈⢟⣹⣿⣷⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⢋⣠⣾⣿⠀⡏⣿⡟⡂⠨⣭⣿⣿⣿⡽⣟⡷⣿⣳⢿⣯⠀⠌⡿⣹⠴⣙⢦⡹⢜⢢⡙⢠⠀⣀⠈⢷⣻⣮⡻⣿⣿⡀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣷⣿⠃⠠⠌⡌⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⠀⠀⢀⠣⣘⠰⠄⠀⠠⠁⠐⠀⠁⠈⠔⠡⣉⠀⠄⢪⠐⡘⠌⡔⡁⠦⠑⡌⡘⠤
⠠⡑⢢⠘⡰⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⡿⠂⠹⢛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⢉⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⡟⢀⣿⣿⣿⡟⡀⠩⣽⣿⡿⣽⣿⡽⣷⢯⣟⡇⠀⢂⢷⡹⢦⠱⢎⡔⣋⠶⢉⠰⡈⠔⡠⠈⢳⣭⢿⣮⣝⣷⠀⠳⣹⠦⠄⣠⣮⣿⣗⡿⠃⢀⡘⠤⡑⠌⣂⠱⡈⢆⡑⢂⠀⠃⠦⠑⠂⠀⠐⡈⠐⠀⠀⠉⠄⠃⠀⠀⠌⡄⢡⠘⡈⠄⠄⠡⠊⠄⡑⢈
⠠⡑⢌⠢⡑⢂⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢗⠰⠟⡛⠛⠟⠋⢉⣠⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣾⡗⠀⢭⣽⣿⢿⣭⣟⣯⢿⡽⠀⡘⣀⠢⡹⠌⠓⠉⡈⢁⠙⠀⠣⠌⣂⠑⠢⠄⠙⠻⣮⣟⡾⣶⣤⣁⣥⣞⡷⣯⡽⠎⠁⠀⠂⠒⠐⠁⣈⣀⣡⣤⣤⣮⣥⣶⣤⣤⠐⠀⠀⡁⠠⠐⠈⠀⢃⠒⠤⡉⠜⡰⢈⠆⡘⠤⡉⠌⡅⢣⠘⡰⢈
⠠⡑⠊⡔⠡⢊⠀⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣷⠀⡾⢿⣦⡈⠻⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡇⠀⢩⣽⣻⣻⣽⡾⠻⠃⠀⠥⠠⠑⠀⡠⠈⠠⠀⠠⠈⠐⡀⠁⠀⣉⡑⠈⠱⢀⡈⠑⣟⣷⣻⢏⠻⣞⣿⣻⠀⢠⠊⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢛⣩⡄⠀⠠⢀⠁⠄⠀⠀⡅⢊⠤⡑⠌⡄⢡⠊⠔⡡⢘⡐⠌⡄⢣⠐⢌
⠐⣀⠃⡌⠱⡈⠆⠈⢱⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣶⣀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣫⢿⣷⡷⠀⢠⣴⣿⣿⠅⠀⠈⠹⠤⡄⠒⠠⠀⠂⠓⡈⠑⢊⠀⢀⠊⡐⢀⠈⢱⢢⠀⠀⠀⣯⡿⣿⣬⢱⣿⠛⣿⠀⠂⣀⠠⣙⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣉⣩⣭⣤⣶⣾⣟⣿⣧⠀⠐⢀⡀⠀⠀⠘⡄⢃⢂⠱⡈⠔⡁⢎⢂⡑⠢⠘⠰⠈⠤⢉⠰
⠐⡄⠣⢌⠱⡈⢌⠱⡀⢸⢿⣿⣷⣦⠈⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⣉⠙⠋⣁⣤⣿⣿⡿⣟⣿⠾⣽⣻⣞⣷⣷⠂⠠⣶⣿⠁⠐⠀⠂⢸⠜⢀⠂⡡⠑⢂⠔⡡⢂⠘⡄⢢⠁⡌⠀⢸⡒⠠⠁⠀⠉⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⠠⠀⣿⡻⠿⠻⣿⣿⣏⢉⠙⣿⣿⣾⢿⣾⣿⡀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⢨⠐⠌⣂⠱⢈⠆⡑⢂⠆⢌⡡⠉⢆⠩⢄⠣⢐
⠐⡈⠅⡌⢆⠱⣈⠒⡰⢀⠙⢿⣶⡍⢨⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣳⣿⣟⣯⡿⢷⣻⣞⣯⣷⣻⡆⡐⠀⡀⢈⠠⠁⢎⡼⢀⠘⢠⠑⡈⠀⢀⠌⡰⢐⠠⢁⢈⠀⣣⠜⠠⢀⠀⠀⠄⠂⠄⠡⠘⣩⠀⠡⢀⠣⠄⢸⡇⠀⠟⢻⣿⣉⡉⠉⣿⣷⣯⣿⣷⡿⡇⠀⠀⠄⠂⢀⠂⡜⠰⡀⠦⢁⠎⡰⠡⢌⠢⡐⡉⢆⠒⢌⠒⣈
⠠⢁⠒⡈⠆⠒⠤⡑⢄⠃⢆⡀⠉⠁⣊⣽⡿⣽⣻⣞⣷⣻⣽⣳⣯⡿⣽⣻⣽⣯⢿⣭⣿⢾⣽⢯⡷⣟⡾⣯⠏⠈⢀⠤⠁⠠⢀⠁⢎⠴⢀⠊⠄⢢⠁⠈⢄⠒⡐⠀⠐⣈⠰⠀⡥⠆⡐⠠⡀⠀⠈⡐⠈⠄⠡⠄⠠⠀⢀⠃⠆⠘⣿⢿⣄⣼⣿⣿⣷⢶⣿⢟⣯⣿⣾⢿⣿⠀⠀⠄⠐⡌⠰⡈⢆⠱⣀⠣⠌⡄⢃⠆⡰⢁⠔⡈⠆⡌⢢⠐
⠐⢂⠡⢘⠠⣉⠐⡈⢄⠊⡄⡈⠆⣀⠉⠛⢾⣿⡽⣟⣷⢿⣳⣯⢷⡿⣽⣳⣟⣾⢿⣽⣳⣯⣟⣯⣟⡿⠋⢁⠠⡘⠤⠀⠁⠂⢀⠂⡜⠼⢀⠨⡐⠡⣀⠘⡠⠌⡐⢂⠰⡀⠃⢀⠖⡃⠄⠐⠀⠠⠄⠀⠐⠠⠀⠀⡀⢂⠌⡘⠰⠀⣏⣟⣿⡿⠩⠩⠔⠂⢀⠉⠻⣽⡿⣿⣞⠀⠀⢡⠀⠠⠑⡈⠄⡁⢂⠘⡐⠄⠣⠌⠰⠁⡌⢢⠑⡈⢆⠘
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new object-show osc object show inanimate insanity ii cute dot art text art ascii art

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.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡇⠐⠠⠒⣩⣤⠶⠶⠾⠿⢿⣷⠶⢤⣄⣀⠀⠂⠀⠄⠈⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠁⣠⠞⠋⠁⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡐⠲⢌⠙⠻⣦⡁⠀⡐⢸⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⣼⢳⠃⠀⡁⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⡿⠞⠗⠀⠈⠻⣦⢢⣹⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣴⣿⣧⠀⠀⠻⣿⡟⣸⠀⣸⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡀⠰⠀⠂⢀⢸⡇⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⣿⠀⠌⡀⠧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣷⣶⡶⠀⣐⢢⣼⣷⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣟⣲⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⢡⠟⠀⠄⠐⣠⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⣿⡶⠀⠀⡝⠻⣿⡿⠶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⡟⢸⣧⡀⠙⢶⣿⡟⢀⣀⣤⠤⢤⣄⢿⣷⠀⢃⡏⢰⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣶⡆⢠⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠶⠿⠻⠦⢀⠀⠄⢯⡠⢄⡘⢀⡆⣿⣿⣔⢸⠃⣼⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠻⠤⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠁⡇⠀⡂⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⠳⣄⡼⢀⣾⣿⢣⢾⡘⠀⣿⣿⣿⣻⡝⣯⢫⡝⡞⣬⣿⣽⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠿⠛⠛⠛⠿⢶⣄⡀⢸⡿⢰⠃⠀⠁⠌⡐⢀⣂⣄⣡⣤⣷⠿⠟⡁⢊⢰⡃⢀⣿⣿⣯⢳⡟⣖⡫⢼⣽⣿⣽⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠃⡀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣾⡇⢸⠀⠠⠁⠂⠄⡈⢉⠉⡉⠉⠄⢂⡐⢠⠁⢊⡀⢸⣿⡿⣞⡽⣞⣭⡷⣫⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠋⠴⠾⠃
⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡇⡎⠀⢀⠡⠈⡐⢀⠂⠌⠠⠁⡌⠠⠐⣀⠊⢼⠀⣽⣿⣟⣻⣾⣿⣿⣽⣿⢿⣷⣿⣻⢿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠈⠿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⡀⡿⢀⠠⢀⠡⢀⠂⠌⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⠒⠤⢈⡇⢀⣿⣿⠾⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣞⣧⢟⡼⣹⡛⢿⡻⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡇⠇⠀⡀⠂⠄⢂⠈⠄⡁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠒⢠⠇⢸⣿⣗⣫⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⣳⢥⣛⣶⣻⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣧⡀⠘⠀⡐⠈⡀⠌⠐⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⢂⠌⣸⠀⢾⣿⣼⡿⠏⠁⢻⣿⣟⢧⡟⡿⢮⡽⢧⡽⣾⣿⣿⢯⣿⠏⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⣿⡁⡝⣷⣆⠐⢀⠐⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠌⡐⠀⠆⡐⣸⠀⣾⡿⠛⠁⠀⢄⠀⢿⣯⡻⣼⡹⣧⣟⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⠟⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡏⠁⠈⢿⣇⠀⡈⠀⠁⠆⡀⠁⠆⡀⠁⠶⢀⡇⢰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠸⣿⢷⣷⢿⣷⣿⣏⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠉⠀⣀⡶⣿⣿⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⣿⣿⡟⠀⠐⡀⠙⣷⣤⠁⠌⠠⢀⠁⠂⠄⡑⠠⢂⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠠⠂⠠⠀⣿⣿⣽⡿⣯⣷⣿⣿⢿⠋⢁⣠⣴⠻⣥⣷⣾⡿⠃⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠟⡑⠀⠄⠠⠁⡈⠹⣿⣦⡁⠄⡈⠐⢂⠰⠑⢸⡇⢾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣯⣿⣿⡿⠋⠁⣠⡴⣯⣳⣾⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢀⡇⠈⡀⠂⠁⠄⢂⠀⡙⠻⣶⣤⣁⠂⠆⣁⢺⠁⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣺⣿⣿⠟⠛⠁⠀⣸⣿⣷⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣯⢸⡅⠂⢀⠡⠈⡐⠀⠂⠄⡁⢈⠙⠻⣷⣶⣄⣚⢸⣿⡿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⢀⣿⠻⠁⢠⡟⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⣸⠀⠐⠠⢀⠡⠀⠌⡐⠠⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⠨⢙⡛⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢃⣴⣋⣾⣿⠟⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣦⣄⡀⠀⣿⠁⣏⠠⢈⠐⠠⠐⠈⠄⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⡈⡆⠡⢸⠀⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⣠⢶⣻⣾⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠏⠉⠛⠻⢷⣿⡆⢣⠐⢀⠂⠁⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⠂⠌⡐⢠⠐⢡⡞⢸⣿⣿⣿⡾⠟⢀⡴⣿⣽⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣮⡆⠠⢈⠐⠠⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐⡄⠌⣰⠃⣸⣿⡿⠋⣀⣴⣯⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣌⢻⣧⠀⠌⠠⢁⠐⢈⠐⡀⢂⢂⢐⡼⢁⣼⡿⠋⣠⣶⣿⣿⠿⠿⢶⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⡙⠦⣌⡐⠠⠈⠄⢂⣐⣤⠶⢋⣠⣾⠋⣠⢾⣽⣿⣯⣭⠓⣄⠂⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠠⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣄⠈⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣶⣤⣍⣉⠉⠉⣉⣁⣤⣴⡾⠋⣠⣞⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣼⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠿⠿⠛⣿⡟⠻⣿⣶⣭⣿⡿⣿⡛⠉⠁⠈⢻⣦⣌⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡗⠀⠈⠙⡿⠛⠀⢹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⣄⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢰⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡏⣿⡆⠀⣼⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⡿⠁⠘⣿⣧⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠁⠀⠀⠈⠙⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⡄⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣼⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠿⠿⠿⠟⠃⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new bfdi bfb tpot bfdia ii III fan testtube FANTUBE dot art text art ascii art

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ii
(Autistic author)

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

"You ok?" she asked 
tentatively.

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

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

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

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

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

"You ok?" Karen asked, voice soft.

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

"What, the floor?" Karen asked.

"The floor," Plankton repeated.

"What about it?" Karen asked.

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you want for breakfast, Plankton?"

Plankton's eye didn't leave the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Walk after breakfast," Plankton echoes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi, Sponge Bob," she says.

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

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

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

Plankton stared at him, composing response.

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

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

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

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

new POV Karen a life of diversity plankarenbob ii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vi


(Autistic author)



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae slowly
lowering.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sponge Bob pressed play, the
screen flickering to life.

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

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

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

new autism in the plankton family plankton vi

JUST A TOUCH ix
(Autistic author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new just a touch neurodisability ix

GREAT CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

Chip took a deep breath, trying
to compose himself. "I know I can't
fix you, Dad," he said, his voice shaking.

Plankton's antennae stopped moving,
his eye focusing on Chip with an intensity
that made him feel like he was being x-rayed.
"You can't," he said, his voice firm. "But you
can support me. You can be there without
trying to change me."

Chip nodded, swallowing the lump
in his throat. "Okay," he managed to say.
"But I want to understand. I want
to be here for you."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye narrowing slightly. "Understand?"
he echoed, his tone laced with sarcasm.
"Sure, it's easy. Just imagine your
brain's a pinball machine on tilt. Sounds
fun, right?"

Chip felt a smile tug at the corner
of his mouth despite the tension,
which only adds to Plankton's anger.
"Well, when you put it that way..."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye squinting at his son's response.
"What?" he barked, his voice
sharp.

Chip tried to hold onto his smile,
his heart racing. "I mean,
if it's like a pinball machine, I can
learn the patterns," he said, his tone
carefully light. "I'm pretty good at video
games, so..."

Plankton's antennae waved wildly,
his eye flashing with anger. "You think
this is a game?" he shouted, his voice
filling the room. "You think
I enjoy being out of control? WELL THEN
PERHAPS YOU CAN EXPLAIN THE FUN OF FORGETTING
WHERE I AM FOR THE UMPTEENTH TIME!"

Chip's smile dropped, his eyes wide
with shock at his father's outburst.
He took a step back, his hands up
in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry,"
he said quickly, his voice trembling.
"I didn't mean to make a joke of it, I
just..."

"You just what?" Plankton spat, his
small body vibrating with rage. "You just
don't get it! You can't get it! You're not
autistic, you don't know what it's like to have
your brain turn on you like that!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his heart breaking at the accusation.
"I know, Dad," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying."

Plankton's antennae quivered with
the force of his rage. "You don't know,"
he said, his voice cold. "You can't know.
All I see is a little child playing pretend,
thinking he can understand what I go 
through! And yet you're the one asking
for help! Face it, you're never going to get 
it and so don't expect ME to explain it to you!"

Chip's eyes watered, the words hitting
like a sledgehammer. He had never seen
his father so furious, so unyielding. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered, his voice shaking. "I just want 
to help."

Plankton's antennae stopped their wild
movements, his eye focusing on his son with
a cold, calculating gaze. "Help?" he repeated,
his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You want to
help by poking fun at my condition?"

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his heart racing. "Dad, I didn't mean it
like that," he said, his voice trembling.
"I just wanted to lighten the mood."

Plankton's antennae waved, his eye
still cold and distant. "Don't," he said,
his voice like ice. "Don't try to lighten
it. And don't you DARE make fun of it."

Chip's eyes fell to the floor,
his heart aching with the weight of his
father's anger. "I'm sorry," he whispered,
his voice trembling. "I di-"

"You're sorry?" Plankton's voice
was a whip crack in the silence. "Sorry
doesn't cut it!" He slammed his fist
on the table, causing their plates to rattle.
"You think an apology is enough
when you belittle what I go through?"

Chip's eyes widened with fear
as his dad's anger grew. He'd never
seen Plankton like this before, his
tiny body trembling with rage, his antennae
thrashing like live wires. The kitchen
felt suffocatingly small, the walls closing in.

"Dad, please," Chip begged, his voice
shaking. "I didn't mean it that way."

But Plankton was beyond listening, his
tiny body vibrating with fury. "You don't get to
make jokes about this!" he roared, his antennae
whipping about like agitated snakes. "You don't get to
reduce it to a game you can win with a simple joke!"

Chip took another step back, his heart
pounding in his chest. He had never seen
his father this enraged, and it scared him. "Dad, I-"
he began, but Plankton's tirade didn't stop.

"You think it's funny?" Plankton shouted,
his antennae a blur of motion. "You think
it's fun to live with this?" His voice grew
louder, his words sharper. "You think it's
easy to lighten up at the drop of a hat?"

Chip's eyes filled with tears as
his father's anger grew, his voice
crackling like static. He hadn't meant to make
light of his dad's condition, but now it
seemed as if he'd made everything worse.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, his hands
shaking.

Plankton's antennae whipped around
his head, his eye bulging. "Sorry won't
make it go away!" he screamed, his voice
bouncing off the walls. "You think you can
make it better with a laugh?" He slammed
his fist down again, the sound like a gunshot.
"It's not a joke, Chip!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears as he watched
his father's outburst, his heart pounding.
He had never seen Plankton like this,
his anger a living, breathing thing that filled
the room like a toxic cloud. "I know," he whispered,
his voice shaking. "But I want to help."

Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly, his
body shaking with the force of his emotions.
"Help?" he spat, his voice a whip. "You want
to help? Then stop making it about you!"

Chip's eyes grew wide with fear
as he watched his father's anger
boil over, his voice shaking. "Dad, please,"
he whispered, his heart racing.

Plankton's antennae thrashed wildly,
his body vibrating with uncontrollable
rage. Suddenly, he grabbed the
coffee mug from the table,
flinging it across the room
where it shattered against the wall.
Shards of ceramic flew everywhere,
puncturing the silence like shrapnel.

"Dad, no!" Chip yelled, his heart racing
faster than it ever had before. He had
never seen Plankton this out of control.
And Karen knew she had to act fast.

Her voice was calm but firm as
she approached Plankton. "Sweetie,
it's okay," she said, her hands up in a
non-threatening gesture. "Let's go
to your workshop. You know that's your
safe space."

Plankton's antennae thrashed, his
eye darting around the room, seeking
anything to target his anger. "I don't
want to go anywhere!" he roared, his
body shaking with the intensity of
his emotions. "It's not okay!"

Karen stepped closer, her voice
steady. "It's okay to be upset,"
she said, her eyes never leaving
his. "But Chip..."

But Plankton's rage was unstoppable.
He lunged for the nearest object,
a framed photo of Chip,
his grip tightening as he raised it
over his head, ready to smash it
against the floor.

Karen's eyes widened, her heart
pounding in her chest. She had
to defuse the situation before it
got any worse. "Plankton, no," she
pleaded, her voice steady. "Please,
don't."

But Plankton's rage had taken over,
his body moving on autopilot as he
swung the photo frame with all his might.
It crashed to the floor, the shattering
glass echoing in the small room.
Chip's eyes grew round with shock,
his body frozen in place as he watched
his father's tantrum unfold.

"Dad, please stop!" he shouted, his voice
cracking with fear. "You're scaring me!"

But Plankton's rage was a runaway train,
his antennae quivering with the intensity
of his anger. He stomped over to the counter,
grabbing a plate and flinging it against
the wall, where it shattered into a hundred
tiny pieces. The sound was deafening, the force
of the impact sending a shiver down Chip's spine.

Karen stepped in front of Chip,
placing herself between him and the storm
of Plankton's fury. "Stop," she said firmly,
her voice a calm oasis in the chaos.
"You're scaring him."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye focusing on Karen with a mix
of anger and confusion. For a moment,
his body seemed to pause, his arm
still mid-air, a kitchen towel gripped tightly
in his hand. Then, with a roar, he threw it,
the soft fabric landing limply on the floor.

Karen's eyes searched her husband's,
seeing the turmoil behind the rage.
"Please, Plankton," she said, her voice
soothing. "Let's talk about this."

But Plankton's anger was like a
wildfire, consuming everything in its path.
He picked up another mug, his arm
winding up to throw it, when Chip
suddenly stepped forward, his eyes
locked on his father's. "Dad," he said,
his voice shaking. "Please don't."

Plankton's antennae paused, his
arm still raised. "WHY?" he growled,
his eye wild with anger. "You think
you can just tell me what to do?" And
then, with a sickly twisted satisfaction,
Plankton hurled the mug in front of
Chip, purposefully missing him.

The room seemed to hold its breath
as the mug spun through the air,
the shattering of porcelain on the
tile floor a symphony of pain. "Dad,"
Chip said, his voice shaking. "It's not
about control. It's about us. Our fam..."

But Plankton was beyond words,
his rage a living entity that
consumed him. He grabbed a toaster,
his grip white-knuckled, and hurled
it at the fridge, the metallic clang
a cacophony in the small kitchen.
"I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!"
he bellowed, his antennae a blur.

new great chip familycore ix

CHIP AND FAIL ix
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ix

(Autistic author)


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

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

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

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

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

Sponge Bob approached 
Plankton cautiously, 
his heart pounding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a journey to autism plankbobs ix

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix

(Autistic Author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore ix

GREAT CHIP xiv
(Autistic author)

"I know it's hard, but I need you
to understand that. Sometimes,
I may not seem okay, but that's
because it's all too much," Plankton
explained, his voice a soft rumble. "But
you know what?" His antennae twitched
slightly, a glimmer of humor in his
eye. "Sometimes, I make jokes about it."

Chip's eyebrows shot up in surprise.
He'd never heard his father joke
about his condition before. "What do
you mean?" he asked, his voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae twitched with a
tiny smirk. "Well, when other people do it,
it feels like they're laughing at me,
not with me," he said, his voice a
fragile thread of self-awareness. "But when
I make jokes, it's like I'm the one in
control of the narrative. It's my way of
saying, 'I know I'm different, and that's okay.'"

Chip nodded slowly, understanding
dawning in his eyes. "So it's about
self-acceptance?" he ventured.

Plankton's antennae bobbed 
slightly. "Exactly," he said, his voice
a little stronger. "Only I can decide
how I want to be seen, how my
condition is talked about. And I'd
rather have other people respect me
by making sure I'm comfortable
than by just simply disregarding it."

Chip nodded, his eyes shining with
newfound respect for his father's
strength.

"I'll try to understand, Dad," he
promised, his voice earnest. "And
I'll just... I'll just be more careful."

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly,
his gaze meeting Chip's with a
melding of sadness and gratitude.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice
barely audible over the fan's hum.

The silence in the room was no longer
oppressive but filled with a newfound
understanding, a gentle peace that seemed
to soothe the jagged edges of their
recent conflict.

Plankton's antennae stopped twitching,
his body relaxing into the embrace of the
plush blanket. "I just want to rest," he
whispered, his voice a soft echo in the
stillness. "Could you... could you just
stay here? Until I fall asleep?"

Chip nodded, his heart swelling
with love and regret. He sat there, his
body tense with the need to do more,
but he knew that sometimes, the most
important thing was just to be present.

He watched as Plankton's
breathing grew steadier, the shadows
on the ceiling dancing to the
rhythm of the fan's soft hum. His
father's antennae lay still against
his forehead, no longer a
testament to his agitation but a
symbol of his peaceful slumber.

The room was a sanctuary of
silence, the only sound the soft
whisper of the comforter as Plankton
moved slightly under its weight.
Chip felt a mix of emotions—fear,
guilt, love—but above all, a
renewed determination to be there for
his father, to learn and grow with him.

He sat, his eyes never leaving
Plankton's serene face, as the
minutes ticked by. The darkness outside
the window grew thicker, the moon
casting a gentle glow into the
room, painting the walls with
silver light. The quiet was a
comfort now, a balm to their
frazzled spirits.

Karen's footsteps were a soft
whisper on the floorboards as she
padded in, her eyes assessing the
situation with a practiced gaze.
"How's he doing?" she asked, her
voice a gentle caress in the silence.

"Better," Chip murmured, his eyes
still on his father. "He's asleep."

Karen nodded, her expression a
mixture of relief and concern.
"Why don't you get some rest too?"
she suggested, her hand on Chip's
shoulder.

Chip hesitated, his gaze flickering
from Plankton to his mother. "But
what if he wakes up?" he asked,
his voice a tentative whisper.

Karen's eyes softened, understanding
the fear that gripped him. "I'll stay,"
she assured. "You need to rest, too."

Chip nodded, his body sagging with
exhaustion. He leaned over, pressing
a gentle kiss to Plankton's forehead,
his antennae tickling him. "Love
you, Dad," he murmured, his voice a
whisper in the stillness.

Karen's hand squeezed his
shoulder. "I'll wake you if he needs
you," she promised, her eyes
shimmering with unshed tears.

With a nod, Chip reluctantly
stood, his legs wobbly from the
adrenaline rush. He turned to leave,
his gaze lingering on Plankton's still
form, before finally exiting the room.

The hallway was a stark contrast
to the warm cocoon of Plankton's
bedroom, the cold air a slap to
his cheeks. He took a deep breath,
his heart heavy with the weight
of his father's words.

In his own room, Chip lay on
his bed, his eyes staring at the
ceiling. The quiet was deafening,
his thoughts racing like a
thousand fish in a net.

He replayed the day's events,
each moment a sharp sting in the
ocean of his mind. The look on
his father's face when he'd
tried to hug him, the sound
of the lamp shattering, the
harshness of his own voice.

Chip's thoughts swirled like
a tornado of regret. He'd never
understood the depth of Plankton's
condition, the daily battles he faced.
He'd always seen his father's
quirks as just that—quirks. But
now, the reality was stark and
unyielding. Plankton's autism was
more than just a part of him; it was
his reality, his truth, and Chip had
been careless with it.

With a heavy sigh, Chip climbed
into bed, his mind racing. He
wished he could take back the
moments that had caused pain, to
rewind the clock and start again.
But life didn't work that way.

The house was eerily quiet, the
normally bustling undersea abode
now a testament to the gravity of
the evening's events. Chip
couldn't shake the image of
his father, frozen and vulnerable,
his antennae drooping like
deflated party balloons.

The next day dawned, a soft
glow seeping into the room. Chip's
eyes snapped open, his heart racing
as he remembered the previous night.
He threw off the covers and tiptoed
to his father's room, his bare feet
slapping against the cold tile floor.

Karen was already there, sitting
on the edge of the bed, her hand on
Plankton's shoulder. The soft light of
morning painted the scene in gentle
hues, a stark contrast to the shadows
of the night before. "How's he doing?"
Chip asked, his voice hoarse.

"Better," Karen whispered, her
smile a beacon in the early light.
"He's still sleeping."

The relief on Chip's face was
palpable as he approached the
bed. Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly, a sign of his dreams.
Chip's heart skipped a beat at
the sight, a silent promise to do
better, to be more understanding.

"He's been sleeping peacefully,"
Karen assured, her voice a gentle
wave lapping against the shore.
"I'll make us some breakfast."
Her footsteps receded, leaving Chip
alone with his sleeping father.

Plankton's antennae twitched
in his sleep, and Chip felt a
wave of guilt crash over him. He
carefully sat on the edge of the bed,
his hand hovering over the blanket.
He wanted to touch, to reassure, but
his earlier misstep was still
fresh in his mind. Instead, he
simply watched, his eyes tracing the
outline of Plankton's form beneath
the fabric.

The smell of pancakes began to
waft up from the kitchen, a
comforting scent that seemed to
soothe the tension in the room.
Chip took a deep breath, filling
his lungs with the sweet aroma.
He knew today would be a new
beginning, a chance to mend the
fragile threads of their bond.

As Karen's footsteps retreated,
the silence grew heavier, pressing
against the walls like the water
outside their windows. Chip's heart
beat a staccato rhythm. He reached out
slowly, his hand hovering over
Plankton's hand.

For a moment, he didn't move,
just breathed, feeling the weight of
his father's slumber. Then, with a
careful, almost reverent touch, he
covered Plankton's hand with his own.

The warmth of his father's skin
was a comfort, a reminder that
despite the turbulent waters they'd
navigated the night before, they were
still connected. Plankton's antennae
twitched in his sleep, and Chip held his
breath, fearful that he'd woken him.
But his father's eye remained closed,
his chest rising and falling in a steady
rhythm.

The silence stretched, a
testament to their newfound
understanding. Chip felt a
swell of emotion, a mix of love and
regret. He didn't want to let go, but
he knew he had to allow Plankton his
space, his privacy. So he gently lifted
his hand, placing it in his lap, the
memory of their shared warmth
lingering like a warm embrace.

He took a deep breath, his
chest tight with the weight of his
resolve. He would be there for his
father, no matter what. He would learn
about his condition, listen to his
needs, and support him without
smothering him. It was a delicate
balance, one that Chip knew he might
not always get right, but he was
determined to try.

new great chip comfortfic xiv

CHIP AND FAIL xvii
(Autistic author)

Plankton quivered with
the effort to contain 
his anger.

"Chip, your dad's right,"
Karen said, her voice
a soft current of calm
amidst the storm. "You
have to learn to respect
his boundaries."

Plankton's antennae twitched.
He looked at Karen, his
eye filled with a mix of
gratitude and pain. "It's not just
the touch," he whispered, his voice
raw. "It's the types of touch,
the expectations... It's like I'm
drowning every day."

Karen nodded, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "And
Chip," she said, turning to her son,
"you need to learn to swim
without pushing him under."

Chip's eyes were wide with
understanding. "What can I do?"

Karen took a deep breath. "Just
ask before you touch," she said.
"And if he says no, respect it.
Give him space."

Chip's eyes searched his father's.
"Dad," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's antennae twitched, a
sign of his internal struggle.
Karen's hand squeezed his.

"Okay, Chip," she said, her voice
a gentle guide. "Ask your questions."

Chip took a deep breath. "What do
you mean by 'ask before I touch'?"
he ventured, his eyes on Plankton,
his antennae still a blur of agitation.

Plankton took a moment before
replying. "It means," he began,
his voice still sharp, "that I need
space. My brain can't handle
what yours can!"

"But Mom," Chip's voice was
still tentative, "How do we
know what touch..."

But Plankton's antennae shot up,
his eye a storm of agitation. "Just ask!"
he snapped. "It's not rocket
science, Chip. Just. Ask."

Chip took a deep breath, his
cheeks still flushed with anger.
"I'm asking what types of..."

But Plankton's antennae were
already back to their usual
calm state. "I know you're curious,"
he said, his voice softer. "But I can't
just list them. It's different every
day. Sometimes, a simple pat on the
back is too much. Other times, I
crave a hug."

Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing
with questions. "So, it IS a choice..."

But Plankton's antennae drooped. "No,
Chip," he said, his voice weary. "It's not
a choice. It's survival."

"Survival? Dad, a touch 
won't kill you.."

But Plankton's antennae 
twitched again. "It's not just 
about living," he said, his voice
sad. "It's about living without pain."

Chip's eyes searched his 
father's, seeing the weariness 
and hurt. He took a step closer,
his hand outstretched. "Can I?"
he asked, his voice tentative.

Plankton flinched, his antennae
shooting up. "What are you doing?"
he snapped, his voice tight with
anxiety.

"Just asking if it's okay," Chip said,
his hand hovering in midair. "I don't
want to..."

Plankton's antennae stopped
twitching. "If you're going to ask,
make it genuine," he said, his voice
softening. "Don't just do it because
you think it's the right thing to do."

Chip nodded, his hand
still hovering. "I want to learn,"
he said, his voice earnest. "What
can I do to make it better?"

Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly, a hint of softening.
"You can start by listening," he said,
his voice a little less sharp.

"What do you mean?" Chip
asked, his hand slowly lowering.

"I mean," Plankton began, his antennae
calming slightly, "that I need you to
understand that my boundaries are not
up for negotiation."

"But what if I want to hug you?"
Chip's voice was hopeful, his 
arms outstretched and already
reaching him.

Plankton's antennae shot
up again. "Chip, I said no!"
he yelled, his voice sharp with
pain. "How many times do I have to
tell you?"

Chip's eyes widened, his hands
falling to his side. "But I just..."

But Plankton's antennae were
a blur of agitation again. "You don't
get it!" he shouted. "It's not about
what YOU want, it's about what I need!"

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his mind racing. "But Dad, I just
want to show you that I care," he
said, his voice quivering. "Is there
no way to do that without making
you uncomfortable?"

Plankton's antennae twitched. "Chip,"
he began, his voice weary, "just
because you don't see my struggle
doesn't mean it's not there."

Chip's eyes searched his father's, his
hands clenched at his sides. "But
how can I show you that I care?"

"Sleep, for now," Karen 
says. "We're all
tired. We can 
talk about this
another time."

Plankton's antennae
dropped slightly, his 
body visibly
deflating. Chip 
nodded, his eyes 
on the floor.

"Okay," he murmured.
"I'll just go to
my room."

Karen watched him go,
her heart heavy with the
knowledge that she had
to be the one to mend
the fracture between
father and son. She
turned to Plankton.

"Bedtime," she said, her
voice a gentle nudge. "We're
all exhausted. It's late."

The next morning, Chip 
awoke early.

He could feel the tension
in the air, thick and palpable.
The house was eerily silent.
He knew he had to make things
right for his dad.

Chip tiptoed to his parents's
room, his heart racing.
He pushed the door open.

Karen was sitting on the
edge of the bed. Plankton
was curled up, his antennae
twitching slightly.

Chip swallowed his pride. "Mom,
I'm sorry for what I said," he
mumbled. "Can you help me talk
to Dad?"

Karen's eyes softened. "Your father's
still sleeping," she said. "But I'll
talk to him when he wakes up."

Chip nodded. "I'll wait," he said,
his voice barely a whisper. "I'll do
whatever it takes."

Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the determination in them.
"Alright," she said, her voice a
soft caress. "But remember, it's not
about fixing him. It's about
understanding him."

Chip nodded solemnly. "I know,"
he said. "I just want to be
there for him."

Karen's eyes filled with
pride. "That's all we can
ask for," she said. "But you
have to be patient."

Chip goes to his mom's
bed, sitting down.

"I'll wait," he says.
"I'm not leaving until
we talk."

Karen nods, her eyes filled with
understanding. "I'll stay with
you," she says. "But remember, we
have to give him space."

Chip nods, his gaze never leaving
his father's sleeping form. He
studies Plankton, his antennae
twitching slightly in his sleep.
He tries to imagine what it's like
for his dad, to live in a world
where a simple touch could be
torture.

He watches the rise and fall
of Plankton's chest, the gentle
sway of his antennae. He notices
how peaceful he looks when
his mind isn't bombarded by the
world's sensory assault, the way his
mouth is slightly open.

"Mom," Chip says, his voice
barely above a whisper. "What
does Dad's autism mean for his
sleep?"

Karen sighs, her eyes still
on Plankton. "It means that
his brain is always on alert,"
she explains. "Sleep can be
elusive for him. Sometimes, the
smallest sound can keep him
awake for hours."

Chip nods, his gaze still
on Plankton. "What
happened yesterday when I...
Dad was unresponsive?"

Karen sighs. "Sensory overload,"
she says. "It's like your brain
has too much to process, so
it just shuts down."

Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton. "Was he
like, awake?" he asks.

"Sort of," Karen replies,
her eyes never leaving
Plankton's restless form. 
"It's like he's trapped
in his own head."

"Could he hear me?" Chip's voice
was a mix of fear and hope.
"Could he feel anything?"

Karen looked at her son, her
heart heavy with the knowledge
that she was about to reveal a
painful truth. "He heard you," she
said gently. "But his brain couldn't
process it all."

Chip felt a lump in his throat.
"Could he see?" he asked,
his voice tight with emotion.

Karen nodded, her eyes
still on Plankton. "He could see
you," she said. "But it's like
his brain was stuck in a loop,
replaying the same scene over 
and over."

Chip felt the weight of his
father's pain, his own chest
constricting. "How long do
they usually last?"

Karen's gaze remained on
Plankton. "It varies," she
said. "Sometimes just seconds,
other times hours. It all depends
on how overwhelmed he gets."

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

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 AND FAIL xvi
(Autistic author)

"Both of you, sit down," Karen
ordered, her voice firm but
not unkind. They complied,
their movements jerky with
emotion.

"Chip, your father's autism
is not an excuse for this
behavior, but it's also not
something to mock," Karen began,
looking at her son with
serious eyes. "It's a part of
him, and we need to respect it."

Chip's anger subsided slightly. "But
you saw what happened earlier," he
said, his voice still shaking. "It's like
he doesn't even want to be around me."

But Plankton's not quite done.
"Why do you think that is, Chip? Go
on, smarty, enlighten..."

Karen's patience had run out. "Plankton,"
she said, her voice stern.
"That's enough."

He glared at Chip, his antennae
quivering with anger. Chip looked
away from him.

"And Plankton," Karen's voice was
a gentle reprimand, "Your son's
ignorance is not an excuse for
anger. We all need to communicate
better."

Plankton's antennae drooped.
"I know," he murmured, his anger
easing slightly. "It's just..."

Karen's voice was firm. "I know it's
frustrating, but we need to work
together." She turned to Chip.
"And Chip, your father's feelings are
valid. You can't ignore them."

Chip looked at his father, his
eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry,
Dad," he murmured. "I didn't
mean to hurt you."

Karen's voice was calm as
she interceded. "Plankton, can
you tell Chip what happened
today? Help him understand?"

Plankton's antennae stopped
shaking. He took a deep breath.
"When you touch me without
asking," he began, his voice
still sharp, "my body can't
always handle what yours can."

Karen's eyes were a gentle
reminder of the lesson she had
tried to teach earlier. She nodded
for him to continue.

"When you poke me 
or touch me without
asking," Plankton said, 
"it's overwhelming."

"I just barely touched you
for one second, Dad!"

"To you, it's one second," Plankton
replied, his antennae drooping. "To me,
it's an eternity of discomfort."

Karen stepped in. "Chip," she said,
"You need to understand that for
him, it's not just about
physical contact. It's about
respecting his boundaries."

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

CHIP AND FAIL xiv
(Autistic author)

Karen opened the 
door. Plankton's sobs filled
the room. She
approached him slowly, 
her movements careful not
to startle him.

"Plankton?" she whispered,
her voice gentle. He was curled
up on the bed, his antennae
shaking with each gasp.

His single eye 
looked up at her.
"I'm sorry," he 
choked out.

Karen sat
beside him, her hand 
on his back in a comforting
motion. "You have nothing to
apologize for," she 
murmured, her voice soothing.
"It's Chip who needs to
understand."

Plankton's antennae stopped
shaking, his eye focusing on
her. "Why doesn't he get it?"
he whispered.
"Why can't he see..."

"Chip loves you," she said.
"But he's never had to deal with
this before. He's trying to
understand."

Plankton's antennae quivered.
He knew she was right, but the
pain of his son's ignorance...

The door creaked open, and Chip's
face appeared, his eyes red and
swollen. "Dad," he began. "Can we talk?"

Plankton felt a wave of anger
crash over him. How could he
forgive his son for not
understanding? For not seeing
the struggle he faced every
single day? "What
do you want, Chip?" he snapped.

Chip took a tentative step into
the room, his screen on Karen.
"I just...I didn't know," he
mumbled. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's antennae shot up. "How
could you not know?" he snarled.
"How could you be so ignorant?"

Chip took a step back. "I didn't mean to
make it worse," he said, his voice
shaking. "I just wanted to be
close to you Dad, and have you..."

Plankton's antennae trembled with
frustration. "You think I don't
want that?" he spat. "You think I enjoy
being like this?"

Chip's eyes widened. "No, Dad," he
said quickly. "I just want to help
you show..."

But Plankton was drowning in
anger. "You think you can help?"
he sneered. "You think your
naive attempts at bonding
can fix what's broken?"

Chip felt the sting of his father's
words. "Dad, I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's antennae remained
still. "Get out," he said, his voice
cold. "Just leave me alone."

Chip's eyes filled with tears. He had
never heard such hostility from his
father. "Dad," he pleaded. "I'm
trying..."

"I WON'T HAVE YOU PITY ME!
I've lived with this my whole life, 
and you think you can just waltz 
in and 'help'? WELL, YOU CAN'T!"
Plankton hissed. Karen can tell
he's getting overwhelmed.

With a gentle but firm tone,
Karen stepped between Chip and
Plankton. "Both of you, stop,"
she said. "This isn't helping."
Her eyes met Chip's and then Plankton's.

"Chip, your father is not mad at
you, he's just overwhelmed," Karen
explained.
"And Plankton, your son is just trying
to understand."

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

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY vii


(Autistic author)



The movie ended with the
snails crossing the finish line.
Sponge Bob reached for the remote,
fingers hovering over the
button. "Would you like to watch
something else?" he asks, voice
soft. 

Sponge Bob noticed his
friend Plankton's gentle
snores. He had fallen asleep,
his body slack. "Plankton?"
he whispered. 
Sponge Bob leaned closer,
his heart skipping a beat as he
noticed Plankton's gentle
snores. Plankton didn't stir, his
body slumped slightly curled up.
Sponge Bob's gaze
softened as he realized
he had fallen asleep
likely for the night.

Sponge Bob felt a wave of
relief wash over him, for Plankton
found comfort in their shared
experience.
He gently cradles him.

Karen, watching from the doorway,
smiled softly as she saw Sponge
Bob's gentle care. She knew that
Sponge Bob had always had a
special bond with Plankton, but
now, it seemed that bond had grown
deeper, more meaningful.

He had always been
there for Plankton, through
their many adventures and
misunderstandings. Now, in the
face of Plankton's new reality,
he remained steadfast, offering a
steady hand in the storm of change.

"Let's get him to bed," Karen
whispered, stepping into the room.
Her eyes met Sponge Bob's, her gaze
filled with warmth and thanks.
Together, they carefully lifted
Plankton from the couch, his
body limp with sleep. His antennae
twitched slightly at the sudden
movement, but his snores remained
steady, a testament to his deep sleep.
Sponge Bob walked down the hallway,
his steps light, carrying 
Plankton with ease.

Karen had prepared the bed.
They laid him down, his antennae
flailing briefly before settling
against the pillow. Sponge Bob
tucked the blanket around him,
his movements careful not to
disturb his friend.

Plankton's snores grew quieter as
his body settled into the cool
embrace of the sheets. His antennae
twitched one last time before
going still, his mouth slightly parted.

Sponge Bob and Karen stepped back,
exchanging a look of shared
relief. "He's asleep," Karen
murmured, her voice a soft
caress in the quiet room.

Sponge Bob nodded, his gaze
lingering on Plankton's peaceful
face. "Thanks for today,
Karen," he said, his voice
grateful.

Karen's smile was warm. "Anytime,
Sponge Bob," she replied. "You're
such a good friend to him."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton's sleeping
form. "Always will be," he said.

The next morning, Plankton woke
up, and his antennae
twitched as he registered the
events of the previous day.
He sat up, the blanket sliding
off his body, and looked around.

Sponge Bob stirred from the
armchair, where he had dozed off
watching over him. "Morning,
Plankton," he said, his voice
slightly rough with sleep.

Plankton's antennae quivered as
he looked around, his gaze
falling on Sponge Bob. 

Sponge Bob yawned, stretching his
spongy body, his voice gentle. "You 
fell asleep."

Plankton's antennae twitched as
his eye focused on Sponge Bob,
his brain slowly piecing together
the events of the previous evening.

Sponge Bob's smile was warm. "You
tired out, buddy?" he asked, his
voice gentle.

Plankton nodded slowly, his antennae
twitching slightly. "Tired," he
murmured, his voice still thick with
sleep.

Sponge Bob nodded, understandingly.
"How about we start with a quiet
morning?" he suggested. 

Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly before he nods. "Quiet
morning," he murmured, his voice
agreeable.

Sponge Bob nodded, his
expression filled with concern.
"How about some pancakes?" he offered.
"They're nice and easy on the
stomach."

Plankton's antennae perked up at
the mention of food. "No pancakes,"
he murmured, his voice still
sluggish with sleep.

Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "No
pancakes?" he repeated,
surprise evident in his tone.
"But you love pancakes!"

Plankton's antennae quivered as
he thought, his voice a soft
whisper. "Pancakes... no," he said,
his gaze drifting to the
window where the early morning
sun peeked through the curtains.
The light was gentle, not yet
harsh enough to cause him pain. 
"Toast," he decided, his voice
final.

Sponge Bob nodded, his smile
slightly saddened but respectful
of Plankton's new boundaries. "Okay,
toast it is," he said, standing up
from the chair and heading to
the kitchen.

Karen met SpongeBob. "Good
morning! How's everything?"

Sponge Bob's expression was a
mixture of hope and trepidation.
"Plankton's okay," he said. "He's just
really tired."

Karen nodded, her gaze
following her husband as he
slowly made his way to the kitchen.
"It's going to take some time for
us to figure this out," she said.
"But we'll get there."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's
reclined form. "We will," he said,
his voice firm with resolve.

He returned to the kitchen,
his spongy feet padding softly
against the floor. The room was
bathed in the gentle light of dawn,
the quiet hum of the
refrigerator the only sound. He
pulled out a loaf of bread,
his mind racing with thoughts
of Plankton's new needs.

Sponge Bob carefully sliced
two pieces of toast, placing them
in the toaster with a soft click.

"Morning!" Karen says as Plankton
sits down. She gives him milk, as
she knew it soothes him.

"Stayed up late for movie. Still am
tired. Love Karen and SpongeBob."

The toaster's ding pierced the
silence, and Plankton's antennae
shot straight up, his body
stiffening at the sudden noise.

"Easy, Plankton," Sponge Bob called
from the kitchen, his voice
soothing. "It's just the toast."

"Toast," he murmured. "Toast."

Sponge Bob carefully brought the
toast to the table, placing it
before Plankton. The scent of warm
bread filled the air, mingling with
the comforting aroma of Karen's
brewing coffee. Plankton's antennae
twitched as he took in the sight, his
body visibly relaxing at the
familiar smells.

"Yesterday's crazy, autistic or not. And
you're still getting used to it all."
Karen says as Plankton eats the toast.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching slightly, still exhausted.

The milk Karen had given him was
warm, the perfect temperature to
soothe his still-frazzled nerves. He
brought the cup to his lips, his
hands trembling just a bit.

As the creamy liquid slid down his
throat, Plankton felt a gentle
wash of calm spread through him.
His antennae, which had been
twitching in anticipation of the
morning's noises, grew still.
It usually helps calm him, which is
what it did today.

Sponge Bob sat opposite him,
his eyes filled with concern.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice
soft and gentle.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
drooping as he took another sip of
his milk. "Tired," he murmured.

Karen sat next to him, her hand
resting lightly on his shoulder. "It's
okay," she said, her
voice a gentle reminder of his
new reality.

SpongeBob helped Karen clean
up the kitchen.

Plankton sat in the chair, his
body slumped, his antennae
still. His eye was closed, his
tiny chest rising and falling in
the slow, steady rhythm of
sleep. His head tilted back
and a soft snore escaped
his open mouth.

Karen noticed. The past 
few days had taken a
toll on him, but she knew
that with time and patience,
they would find their new
normal.

"Let's get you to the couch,"
she murmured, her voice
soft. She gently took the
cup from Plankton's hand,
his grip loose with sleep.
Sponge Bob helped her lift
his tiny form from the chair.

Together, they carried him
to the living room, his body
relaxed in their grasp.
They placed him on the couch,
his antennae twitching slightly
as he settled into the pillows.

Sponge Bob tucked the blanket
around Plankton, his eyes
never leaving his friend's
sleeping face. "Rest, Plankton,"
he whispered. "We're here."

Karen nodded, her pixel eyes
misting with emotion. "Thank
you, Sponge Bob," she said. "For
being here."

Sponge Bob's smile was genuine.
"Always, Karen," he said, his
spongy hand giving hers a gentle
squeeze. "Always."

new autism in the plankton family sleepicore vii

GREAT CHIP vii
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes searched their faces,
picking up on the unspoken tension.
"I see you two had a talk," she said gently,
her gaze lingering on Plankton. "How are 
you feeling?"

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly.
"Tired," he admitted. "But better."

Karen stepped closer to the bed,
her hand reaching out to cover
his own. "I'm here," she said softly.
"Do you remember what happened
in Chip's room before coming in here?"

Plankton's antennae twitched
nervously. "Bits and pieces,"
he admitted, his eye avoiding hers.
"I know I had a...moment. And I...
I was mad."

Karen's hand squeezed his gently.
"It's okay, sweetie," she said, her voice
soothing. "You don't have to be ashamed.
It's just your brain's way of coping."

Plankton's eye searched hers, his antennae
still. "But the things I said..."
his voice trailing off.

Karen's expression remained calm,
understanding. "They were the seizure's words,
not yours," she assured him. "We're just
glad you're okay."

Chip's gaze flitted between
his parents, his heart aching for his dad.
He knew he needed to be strong, to support
his father through this. "Can we talk more
about it tomorrow?" he suggested, his voice
filled with hope.

Plankton's antennae nodded wearily.
"We can," he said, his voice a mix
of relief and exhaustion. "But for now,
I need to rest. It's bedtime, so.."

Chip felt a twinge of sadness
at the thought of his dad's struggle,
but he also felt a spark of hope.
Maybe tomorrow would bring a new
understanding, a way to bridge
the gap between them.

The next morning, the sun streamed
through the blinds of their small, cluttered
bedroom, casting patterns on the floor.
Chip stirred, his mind filled with the
memories of the previous night's conversation.
He checked on Plankton, who was
still asleep, his antennae twitching slightly.
He knew today would be a new day,
a chance to start anew with his father.

Carefully, Chip padded out to the kitchen,
his thoughts racing with the promise
of understanding.

He found Karen at the counter,
sipping her morning coffee, her eyes
red-rimmed from the night's worry.

"Mom," he began, his voice
still thick with sleep. "Can we talk?"

Karen turned, her eyes
filled with the same
exhaustion he saw in Plankton's.
"Of course, honey," she said,
placing her mug down gently.

Chip took a deep breath,
his words spilling out like
water from a broken dam.
"I want to understand Dad's
condition," he said, his voice
determined. "I don't want
to make it worse for him."

Karen's eyes searched his,
seeing the sincerity in his gaze.
"That's a big step, Chip,"
she said, her voice filled
with pride. "But it's not
going to be easy. It'll take
patience and practice."

Chip nodded, his expression
resolute. "I'm ready," he said.
"I just don't want Dad to be
alone in this."

Karen's face softened, her hand
resting on his shoulder. "You're
such a good son," she said, her
voice warm with affection. "But 
remember, he might not always
know how to ask for help. Sometimes,
you'll have to read between the lines."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with questions and concerns.
"But what if I mess up?"
he asked, his voice trembling.

Karen's hand gave his shoulder
a gentle squeeze. "You might,"
she said, her voice filled with
experience. "But that's okay. Just
keep trying, and we'll figure
it out together."

Her words echoed in Chip's head
as he sat down at the kitchen
table, his eyes never leaving
his mother's. "But how do I know
what to do?"

Karen took a deep breath, her
eyes filled with a quiet strength.
"You'll learn," she said, her voice
calm and reassuring. "It's about
patience and observation. And
most importantly, communication."

Chip nodded, feeling the
weight of her words. "Okay," he said.
"I'll do my best."

Karen's hand squeezed his
shoulder gently. "You already are,"
she said, her smile warm.

Chip felt a surge of determination.
He was going to be there for his dad,
no matter what it took. "What can I do
now?" he asked, eager to start.

Karen's eyes searched his, a hint
of sadness in them. "Now, we wait,"
she said. "Let him sleep. When he wakes,
be there, but don't overwhelm him."

Chip nodded, his mind racing with
questions and fears, feeling a mix of emotions:
fear, love, and a newfound
determination to be the best
son he could be.

As he waited for Plankton to
wake up, he tried to remember
the cues his dad had mentioned:
twitching antennae, a sudden
quietness, a look of overwhelm.
He promised himself to be more
aware, more attuned to his father's needs.

new great chip tiredcore vii

CATCH IN MY CHIP vii
(Autistic author)

the only sound the steady
rhythm of their breaths. Plankton's
body slowly relaxes, his
eye unclenching, his antennas
stilling. Karen's hand remains
poised, ready to offer comfort
should he need it.

As his breathing evens,
Plankton's eye flutter open.
He looks at Karen, her face a
picture of love and concern.
He feels a pang of guilt for
his earlier outburst, but also a
wave of gratitude for her
understanding. He knows she
doesn't push or harm, she just gets it.

Karen sees the shift in
his gaze, the anger
giving way to something softer.
"Do you want to
talk about it?" she 
asks, her voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton shakes his
head slightly, his antennas
drooping. "No," he murmurs,
his voice hoarse. "Just...
needing a moment."

Karen nods, her hand
still hovering, a silent
offer of comfort. "Take all
the moments you need,"
she says, her voice gentle.

Plankton's gaze lingers
on her hand for a
moment before he nods.
He understands her unspoken
offer, her respect for his boundaries.

Karen knows that touch can
sometimes be too much for him,
a sensation that turns comforting
into overwhelming. So, she waits,
letting the air between them
remain unbroken by physical
contact, allowing him the space
he desperately needs.

The room is a canvas of shadows
and quiet, the only sound the
soft rustle of their breaths. Plankton
slowly uncoils, his body no longer
a taut wire ready to snap.

"Do you want me to let
you alone?" Karen asks, her voice
soft as a whisper in the night.
Plankton shakes his head, his eye
meeting hers. The anger is gone,
replaced by a weary sadness.

She nods, her hand still hovering,
a silent question mark. "Okay,"
she says, her voice a gentle
caress. "But if you need anything,
just tell me."

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his shoulders rising and falling
like waves on the shore. "Thank
you," he murmurs, his eye
brightening slightly.

Karen nods, her hand
still hovering but not
touching. "I'm here," she says.
"Always." Her voice is a
lullaby in the quiet room,
a gentle reminder that
she's his anchor in the
storm of sensory overload.

Plankton's antennas twitch
slightly, a flicker of
understanding passing between
them. He's aware of her presence,
but the weight of his guilt
and frustration is to much.

"I'm sorry," he whispers,
his voice a frayed thread of
his usual bravado.

Karen's hand remains hovering,
a silent question, a gentle offer.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asks,
her voice a soft breeze in the stillness.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still drooping. "Yeah," he murmurs,
his voice a whisper of relief.

Karen's hand lowers slowly,
coming to rest on the bed between
them. She's careful not to
cross the invisible barrier of his personal
space, her touch a gentle
promise of support.

"You don't have to be sorry,"
she whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "You're doing the best
you can, Plankton."

He nods, his antennas
twitching slightly. "But I
snapped," he says, his voice
filled with regret.

Karen's hand remains still,
just outside his personal space.
"It's okay," she whispers, her
tone filled with empathy. "You're
overwhelmed. It happens."

Plankton nods, his antennas
barely moving. "But I shouldn't
have yelled," he says, his voice
barely above a murmur. "I'm sorry."

Karen's eyes fill with
understanding. "It's okay, sweetie,"
she says. She reaches out
slowly, her hand hovering an inch
from his shoulder. "May I?" she asks,
her eyes searching his for consent.

Plankton's antennas twitch, his
body still tense, but he nods.
It's a small gesture, but it's
enough. Karen's hand settles on
his shoulder, her touch feather-light.

He flinches at first, his body
remembering the pain of the
unexpected touch, but her gentle
pressure is a soothing balm.
He leans into it slightly, his
body language speaking louder
than his words ever could.

Her hand on his shoulder is
the bridge between them, a
testament to their love and
understanding. Plankton's breathing
gradually deepens, his body
softening into the mattress. Karen's
touch is a lullaby, a promise that
everything will be okay.

The room is a cocoon of quiet,
their breaths the only sound.
Plankton's eye droops, his
body finally succumbing to
exhaustion. The weight of his
head shifts slightly, his trust
in Karen unspoken but palpable.

Her hand remains on his
shoulder, a gentle reminder of
her presence. She watches
his chest rise and fall, his
body slowly relaxing under
the soft blanket of sleep. His
features smooth out, the lines
of anger and frustration
disappearing into the pillow.

As his breaths become
even, Karen can't help but feel
a mix of sadness and love.
Her heart goes out to him,
this man she's spent her life
with, who fights battles she
can never fully understand.

The room is a sanctuary
of quiet, the air thick with the
scent of their unspoken
words. Plankton's hand twitches
slightly, and she wonders if he's
dreaming of a world where the
noise isn't so loud, where the
colors aren't so bright, where
his mind can rest without
fear of being bombarded.

Karen watches as her
husband's chest rises and falls,
his breaths deepening into
the steady rhythm of sleep.
The lines of his face relax,
his antennas droop slightly.

Her gaze shifts to the
shattered trophy on the floor,
the sand scattered like a
tiny desert. The room is a
testament to the storm that
was his sensory overload.

Karen's hand tightens slightly
on Plankton's shoulder, her
heart aching for both her
husband and son. She knows the
road ahead won't be easy, that
they'll need to navigate this
new terrain with care. But as
she watches Plankton's chest
rise and fall, she feels a
spark of hope.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II vii

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS vii

(Autistic Author)



The film starts, and for a while, the only 
sound is the muffled dialogue and the 
occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's 
hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but 
then relaxes slightly, allowing her 
contact.

Plankton's antennae still
and he turns to look at Chip, who's 
staring at the screen, lost 
in the fantasy.

Karen watches them both, torn 
between anger and pity. She knows 
Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, 
but it's hard to see her son hurt.

The movie plays on, the sound of 
laughter and adventure a stark contrast 
to the heavy silence that hangs over 
them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
glances at Chip, his eye flickering with 
regret.

Karen feels the tension in the room 
begin to ease as Chip becomes 
engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to 
Plankton, seeking comfort without 
words. Plankton's antennae droop 
slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the 
armrest of the couch tightening.

The film starts, and for a while, the only 
sound is the muffled dialogue and the 
occasional sniffle from Chip. Karen's 
hand finds its way to Plankton's, giving it 
a gentle squeeze. He flinches at first but 
then relaxes slightly, allowing her 
contact.

Plankton's antennae still
and he turns to look at Chip, who's 
staring at the screen, lost 
in the fantasy.

Karen watches them both, torn 
between anger and pity. She knows 
Plankton's anger isn't directed at Chip, 
but it's hard to see her son hurt.

The movie plays on, the sound of 
laughter and adventure a stark contrast 
to the heavy silence that hangs over 
them. Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
glances at Chip, his eye flickering with 
regret.

Karen feels the tension in the room 
begin to ease as Chip becomes 
engrossed in the film. He shifts closer to 
Plankton, seeking comfort without 
words. Plankton's antennae droop 
slightly, and he sighs, his grip on the 
armrest of the couch tightening.

During a particularly suspenseful scene, 
Chip reaches out and grabs Plankton's 
arm instinctively.

But the sudden touch sends Plankton 
spiraling. His antennae shoot up, and he 
starts to shake uncontrollably.

"Daddy?" Chip asks, his grip tightening 
in concern.

Plankton's body jolts, his antennae 
flailing wildly as his eye roll back. 

"Daddy!" Chip's voice is filled with fear 
as he clutches his father's arm tighter. 
Plankton's tremors only worsen, his 
body convulsing in a way that's both 
frightening and heartbreaking.

Karen's realizes what's happening. 
"Chip, let go!" she cries.
"Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice 
trembling with fear.

Plankton's shaking becomes more 
intense, his antennae flailing as if trying 
to escape the confines of his own body. 
His mouth opens in a silent scream.

Karen's knows this isn't a ‘seizure’ but 
something else entirely—a meltdown, a 
result of the overwhelming emotions 
he's been trying to hold in. She rushes 
to his side with worry.

"Chip, let go of him," she says, her voice 
urgent. Plankton's shaking becomes 
more intense, his antennae thrashing 
about like seaweed in a storm.

Karen quickly moves closer, her own 
hands gentle as she pries Chip's tight 
grip from Plankton's arm. "Chip, sweetie, 
let Daddy breathe," she says, her voice 
firm yet filled with empathy.

"What's wrong with him?" he stammers, 
voice trembling.

Karen's full of sadness as she 
takes Chip into her arms, gently peeling 
him away from Plankton's convulsing 
form. "It's ok, baby," she murmurs, her 
voice a lifeline in the chaos. "Daddy's 
just having a hard time right now."

Her movements are swift and sure as 
she guides Chip away from the couch, 
her gaze never leaving Plankton. His 
body is still racked with tremors, his 
antennae a wild mess of emotions. She 
knows that touch can be overwhelming 
for Plankton in moments like these, so 
she keeps her distance, giving him the 
space he needs.

"Why is he doing that?" Chip 
whispers, his voice shaky with fear. 
Karen's heart aches as she holds him 
close, trying to shield him from the 
harshness of the world.

"It's called a meltdown, sweetie," she 
explains gently, her voice a soothing 
balm. "Sometimes, when some 
neurodivergent people get really upset 
or overwhelmed, their bodies may react like 
this."

Karen's on Plankton, who's still 
trembling on the couch, his antennae a 
blur of distress. She knows he needs 
space, yet her instinct is to comfort him. 
With Chip in her arms, she keeps a safe 
distance, speaking softly so as not to 
add to the sensory overload.

"Plankton," she says, her voice steady 
despite the turmoil in her heart. "It's 
ok. Just breathe."

Plankton's body continues to spasm, his 
antennae a frantic tapestry of emotions. 
Karen's filled with a fierce determination 
as she carefully approaches him, her 
movements slow and calculated to avoid 
triggering more distress.

"Plankton," she whispers, her voice a 
gentle lullaby amidst the chaos. "I'm 
here."

Slowly, his antennae begin to still, his 
body calming as he registers her 
presence. "It's ok," she repeats. 
With trembling hands, she reaches out 
to stroke his back, the barest touch. 
Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his 
breaths coming in deep, shaky gasps.

"Just breathe," she whispers again, her 
hand moving in a soothing rhythm. "It's 
ok, you're ok."

Plankton's antennae slow their erratic 
dance, his body following suit. The 
tremors subside, leaving him drained 
and panting.

"Daddy?" Chip whispers, peering over Karen's shoulder.

Karen nods, still on Plankton. "He's ok 
now," she says softly. "It's just his brain's 
way of letting out all the big feelings."

Chip watches, his grip on Karen 
tightening. "Is he going to be ok?" he 
asks, his voice small.

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving 
Plankton. "Yes," she murmurs. "Just give 
him a moment."

The room is silent except for Plankton's 
uneven breathing. The colors from the 
TV flicker across their faces, painting 
them in a strange, unsettling light. Karen 
can feel Chip's little heart beating 
against hers, and she knows he's 
scared.

"It's ok," she whispers again, her voice a 
beacon of calm in the storm. "Daddy just 
needs some
time."

Plankton's antennae droop, his body 
finally still. His eye meets hers, a silent 
apology in the depths of his gaze. Karen 
nods, her hand still on his back, offering 
assurance without words.

"Chip," she says, her voice still low, "can 
you go to your room for a bit?"

He nods, eyes still glued to his 
father, but he doesn't protest. With a 
heavy heart, Karen watches her son 
disappear down the corridor, the door 
clicking shut behind him.

Turning her full attention to Plankton, 
she sits down beside him, her hand 
resting lightly on his back. His breathing 
is still ragged, his antennae barely 
moving.

"I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice 
hoarse.

Karen nods with 
understanding. "We'll talk to him," she 
says gently. "But first, let's make sure 
you're ok."

Plankton's body still 
trembling slightly. Karen keeps her hand 
on his back, her touch a silent promise 
that she's there for him.

Karen's hand moves in gentle circles, 
trying to soothe him. "You don't have to 
apologize," she says firmly. "You are 
who you are, and we love you for it."

Plankton's antennae twitch, and he 
looks up at her, his single eye brimming 
with unshed tears. "But I don't know how 
to be a good dad like this," he chokes 
out.

Karen's heart breaks at his words, but 
she keeps her voice steady. "You're 
already a great dad, Plankton," she 
says. "You just need to find a way to 
show Chip that."

He looks at her, hope and doubt warring 
in his expression. "How?" he asks, his 
voice barely a whisper.

Karen takes a deep breath, gathering 
her thoughts. "By teaching him," she 
says gently. "By letting him in, just like 
you're letting us in now."

Plankton's antennae droop, and he 
nods. "I know," he says, his voice filled 
with regret. "But it's hard. I don't want 
him to see me like this."

Karen squeezes his hand. "He already 
does," she says gently. "And he loves 
you anyway."

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore vii

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 vii
(Autistic author)

Plankton's body tensed, his
eye squeezing shut as he tried to
block out the onslaught of
sensations. "Chip," he murmured,
his voice strained, "I can't."
"What do you mean?"
He didn't know his touch, his
words, his very presence was a
storm in Plankton's mind. He
just wanted to share his week,
his joy, with his dad.

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, his antennae twitching.
"I have... I have something
that makes it hard for me to...
to handle..."

But Chip's excitement was unable to
comprehend the distress he was
causing. "Handle what, Dad?" he
asked, his voice filled with
eagerness. "You can tell me anything!"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye flickering with pain.
He knew he had to find the
words, to explain the storm
that raged in his mind, his 
voice trembling. "I
can't... I just..."

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his hands reaching out
again. 
But Plankton was already
slipping away, his mind a tornado of
sensations. He couldn't find the
words, the storm too loud.

Chip, oblivious to the turmoil,
pressed on. "Dad, you can tell me
anything," he said, his voice
bubbling over with eagerness. His
hands reached out again, his touch
like a lightning bolt in Plankton's
overstimulated world.

Plankton's antennae quivered
with the effort of maintaining
his composure. He didn't know
how to explain the maelstrom
that was his mind, the way each
touch and sound felt like a
thunderclap. "Chip," he began again,
his voice strained, "I'm..."

But Chip was a hurricane,
his enthusiasm unyielding. "Is it
because of the college?" he
asked, his screen sparkling. "Or
Nutmeg?" He didn't realize that
his words, his touch, were the
fuel for the storm.

Plankton's eye searched
his son's, desperate for a
moment of calm. "Chip, no,
it's not about..." His voice
was a whisper, lost in the wind
of his son's excitement.

But Chip didn't hear the
desperation, his mind a kaleidoscope
of thoughts and memories.
He didn't see the pain he was
causing, only his own need
for connection. "But Dad,
I just wanted to..."

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his body tensing like a bowstring.
"Chip," he said, his voice
a whipcrack of agony. "P-please."

But Chip was in his own
world, racing with
the excitement of his week. "Come
on, Dad," he said, his voice
filled with cheerful oblivion. "It's
so cool, you've gotta see it!"
He grabbed Plankton's hand, pulling
him to hard.

Plankton's body jerked, his
eye wide with pain. The sudden
contact was like a sledgehammer
to his overstimulated mind, his
thoughts scattering like leaves
in a storm. "Chip," he managed,
his voice strained, "please."

But Chip's excitement was a
freight train, barreling forward
without a care for the tracks.
He didn't see the agony etched
in Plankton's features, didn't feel
the tension in his father's
body. "Come on, Dad," he said,
his grip tightening. "It's going
to be amazing, I..."

Plankton's body spasmed at the
contact, his antennae vibrating
wildly. The room grew too bright,
the sounds too loud, the air too
thin. He couldn't move, couldn't
think. His mind was a cacophony
of sensations, a symphony of
overload. "Chip," he choked out,
his voice a plea. "I... I can't."

Chip's face fell, not realizing how
angry his dad's getting. "What do you..."

But Plankton was already
spiraling, his mind a tornado of
sensory assault. He didn't know
how to make Chip understand,
his voice a thunderclap of despair.
"I CAN'T!" he shouted, his antennae
waving erratically.

Chip's smile faltered, his eyes
wide with shock. He had never
seen his dad like this before,
his touch a match to a fuse. He
took a step back, his hands up in
surrender. "You mean, you won't!"
he asked, his voice shaking.

Plankton took a deep, shuddering
breath, his antennae drooping.
"Chip," he said, his voice tight with
frustration. "I can't. Not right
now. I need..."

But Chip's crashing over the delicate
barriers Plankton had built to
keep his world in order. "But Dad,
it's just a story!" he exclaimed,
his voice booming in the quiet
living room. "It's not a big deal,
you're just being..."

The room grew smaller, the walls
closing in on Plankton as Chip's
words echoed in his mind. Just a
story? To Chip, it was a simple
tale of adventure, but to Plankton,
it was a minefield of sensory input
his brain couldn't process. "Chip,
please," he murmured, his antennae
twitching wildly. "I'm trying..." "You're
not trying hard enough!" Chip said,
his voice filled with the kind of
innocent exasperation that only
a child can muster. "But if you're
trying to break our family, congratulations!
You..."

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his body rigid with tension. The
accusation hit him like a tidal
wave, threatening to drown him
under the weight of his own
failure. "Chip," he said, his voice
a desperate plea. "It's not..."

But Chip's screen filled
with accusation, his voice
loud in the suddenly too-small
room. "Why can't you just be
normal?" he demanded, his grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.

Plankton's antennae quivered,
his eye squeezed shut against
the assault. "I'm sorry," he
whispered, his voice breaking.
"I'm not... I'm not like other
dads."

"Well DUH! You just can't handle it,
can you?" Chip said, his voice
filled with frustration. He didn't
see the pain in Plankton's eye,
the way his antennae drooped with
each accusation. "But it's just a
story, Dad. It's not that..."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his body trembling with the effort
to stay calm. "Chip, you don't
understand," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "My mind
is like a... a... "

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, his expression a mix
of confusion and anger. "What?
What's wrong with you? Let me
guess, you're just being dramatic
again," he said, his voice
harsher than he intended. Plankton
flinched at the accusation, his
antennas stiffening.

Karen watched from the
sidelines, aching. She knew
this moment was inevitable, but
seeing the pain was like a knife to her.
She took a deep breath,
steeling herself for the conversation
that needed to happen.

"Chip, sweetie," she began, her voice
soft and gentle, "Dad's not
being dramatic." She took a step
forward, placing a hand on her
son's shoulder, feeling the tension
beneath his skin. "Your dad has..."

"Mom, my 'dad' has no place 
in OUR family! Your life is a lie!"
Chip's words, fueled by confusion
and hurt, echoed through to
Plankton, his voice shaking.

Karen's hands shook as she reached
for Chip. "No, honey," she said,
her voice trembling, "it's not
that simple." But Chip was already
storming out of the room, his
footsteps like thunder in the quiet
hallway.

Plankton slumped back against
his chair, his antennae drooping.
He had hoped Chip would never
have to know, never have to feel
the way he did. The way his mind
was like a cluttered room, with no
way to organize the chaos. He
closed his eye, the weight of
his secret heavy on his shoulders.

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

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vii

(Autistic author)

He starts to rock back 
and forth, his 
single eye squeezed shut 
as he tries to cope with 
the sudden change in his 
environment.
Mr. Krabs' confusion 
deepens, his claws 
scratching his head in 
bemusement. "What's 
gotten into you, Plankton?" 
he says.
But Plankton can't 
stop. His rocking 
intensifies, his 
whispered mantra 
becoming more 
desperate. "Fish, fish, 
fish," he repeats, his 
voice rising slightly 
with each iteration.
Mr. Krabs stares at 
Plankton, his confusion
turning. 
"Plankton, you ok?"
he asks.
But Plankton is lost 
in his own world, his 
stimming a way to 
self-regulate. His antennas 
wave back and forth in 
a soothing rhythm, his 
body rocking slightly as 
he murmurs "fish, fish, 
fish."
Sponge Bob's heart 
aches as he watches 
his friend, his own 
hands clenching into 
fists at his side. He 
understands now that 
Plankton's behavior isn't 
a game, it's a coping 
mechanism, a way to 
navigate through the 
chaos in his head.
"Plankton, it's ok," 
Sponge Bob says 
soothingly, approaching 
his friend. He gently 
picks up one of the 
fallen chess pieces, a 
knight, and holds it 
out to him. "Do you 
want to play again?"
Plankton's antennas 
cease their frantic 
motion, his eye 
focusing on the knight. 
He takes it, his 
fingers tracing the 
intricate carvings, 
his breathing 
steadying. "Fish," he 
says, his voice 
calmer.
Sponge Bob watches 
his friend carefully, 
his heart breaking at 
the sight of his 
distress. He 
understands now that 
Plankton's repetition 
is not just a strange 
behavior, but a 
way to cope with 
his new reality.
Mr. Krabs, still 
confused, watches as 
Plankton's  
tracing the lines of 
the chessboard. "What 
are ye doing?" he 
asks, his voice 
annoyed.
Sponge Bob's eyes 
meet Plankton's, and 
he sees the 
desperation in his 
friend's eye. "Mr. Krabs, 
Plankton's just... trying 
to remember how to 
play," he lies gently.

Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
doesn't argue. Sponge 
Bob takes this 
moment to sit next 
to Plankton, placing 
his hand on his 
shoulder. "It's ok," he 
whispers. "We'll play 
again when you're 
ready."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, his eye
dilating slightly as 
he nods. He clutches 
the knight tightly, 
his thumb stroking 
its smooth surface. 
It's a familiar 
comfort, something 
from before the accident, 
before the world 
became a confusing 
cacophony of sounds 
and sights.

As the moments 
pass, Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on the 
chessboard, the 
pattern of the squares 
providing a 
comforting visual 
stimulation. Sponge Bob 
notices the subtle 
change in his friend's 
demeanor, the tension 
easing from his 
tiny body.

"Fish," Plankton 
murmurs again, but this 
time with less urgency. 
He carefully sets 
the knight back 
down on the board, 
his hand hovering 
above it. Sponge 
Bob's heart swells 
with affection, and 
he knows that 
despite the confusion 
and fear in Plankton's 
eye, his friend is 
trying.

Mr. Krabs, however, is 
far from convinced, his 
eyes narrowing. "If 
this is how you're going to 
be, I'm not playing," he 
declares, crossing his arms 
over his chest.
But Plankton's antennas 
perk up slightly, his 
interest piqued by the 
challenge. He picks up 
the knight again, his 
thumb caressing the piece. 
"Fish," he whispers, 
his gaze flicking to 
Sponge Bob and then 
back to the board. It's a 
plea.
Sponge Bob nods, his 
face a picture of solemn 
reassurance. "It's ok," 
he repeats. "Just..."

"What's wrong 
with you, Plankton?" Mr. 
Krabs exclaims.

Plankton's antennas 
droop, and he looks 
down at his cards again. 
He doesn't know how to 
explain his condition to 
Mr. Krabs, who's always 
so dismissive of him. 

He feels a pang of 
desperation,
racing to find a way 
to bridge 
understanding.
Then, it hits him.
With trembling 
hands, Plankton 
mimics Mr. Krabs' 
crossed arms, his 
voice a poor imitation. 
"What's wrong 
with you, Plankton," he 
repeats firmly.
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
bulge with surprise. 
"What's this now?" he 
mutters, giving way to 
amusement. He chuckles 
deeply, his claws 
unfolding from his 
chest.

Sponge Bob 
understands Plankton. 
"Mr. Krabs," he says 
quickly, trying to 
intercept the situation. 
"Plankton's..."
But Mr. Krabs waves 
his hand dismissively. 
"I know, I know," he says, 
his voice filled with 
mockery. "Just playing 
his little games."

Plankton doesn't want to 
be laughed at, especially 
not by Mr. Krabs. With 
determined effort, he 
mimics Mr. Krabs. 
"I know I know," he says 
again, his tone 
mimicking Mr. Krabs'. 
"Just playing his little
games!"
Mr. Krabs' laughter 
fades, his gaze 
sharp. "What
now, Plankton?" he 
demands, his voice 
hard.

Plankton's antennas quiver 
with determination as he 
picks up Mr. Krabs' 
mannerisms. "I know, I know," 
he repeats, his eye fixed on 
Mr. Krabs. "Just playing his 
little games!"

Mr. Krabs' expression 
sours to 
irritation. "What's your 
game, Plankton?" he snaps.

"Game," he 
repeats, his voice a 
mirror of Mr. Krabs'. "Game, 
game Mr. Krabs."

Mr. Krabs' eyes 
narrow, his 
confusion shifting 
to annoyance. "You're 
not making sense," 
he says, his voice 
sharp.

But Plankton 
doesn't stop. "Game, 
game Mr. Krabs," he 
persists, his antennas 
waving frantically.

Sponge Bob's heart 
squeezes. He 
knows Plankton's not 
trying to annoy; he's 
desperately trying to 
convey something, but 
his brain's wiring isn't 
cooperating. Plankton's repetition 
has turned into a 
mantra, a plea for 
understanding that only 
Mr. Krabs seems to 
ignore.

Mr. Krabs' patience 
snaps. "Enough!" he 
shouts, slamming his 
claws on the table. 
"What do you want 
from me, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennas 
flatten, his eye
filling with tears.

Sponge Bob jumps 
up, his own voice 
shaky. "Mr. Krabs, please, 
don't yell," he begs. 
"It's just a game."

Mr. Krabs' face 
twists in anger. "This isn't a 
game, this is your usual 
scheme to drive me 
crazy!"

"No, Mr. 
Krabs," he says.

new a journey to autism gamefic vii

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vii
(Autistic author)

"We're just going to do what you want. How about a trivia game?"

Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the mention of 
a game, his love for competition never truly forgotten. 
"Trivia," he echoed, his voice still monotone but with a 
hint of interest.

"Yes, trivia," Karen said, stroking his back gently. "You can 
show us all how much you know."

Plankton looked up at Patrick.

"I'm sorry," Patrick said, voice sincere 
for once. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

Plankton sniffled, his antennae twitching slightly. "Patrick 
mean," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled with hurt.

"I know, buddy," Sponge Bob said, placing a comforting hand 
on his shoulder. "But he didn't know. Sometimes, Patrick doesn't 
think before he speaks."

Patrick nodded, his eyes downcast. "I guess I'm not the best 
at understanding things," he mumbled.

Sponge Bob leaned closer to Plankton. "Why don't we start our 
game now?" he suggested, his voice gentle. "We can play a 
game about random trivia. Does that sound okay?"

Plankton nodded slowly, antennae still drooping. "Okay," he murmurs.

They around the table, the jellyfish book open to a random page. 
Plankton's gaze remained fixed on it, his mind racing with facts 
and figures. Karen took a deep breath, her tentacles still tense 
from the confrontation with Patrick. "Alright, let's start with 
something easy," she suggested. "What's the scientific name 
for jellyfish?"

Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye lighting up with excitement. 
"Jellyfish scientific name," he recited, "Cnidaria."

"Cnidaria?" Sponge Bob repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "That's 
right, Plankton!"

Patrick looked at the book, then at Plankton, his eyes wide. "How do you 
know all this stuff?"

Plankton's antennae wiggled slightly. "Plankton read book," he said, his 
voice monotone but with a hint of pride.

"Patrick, I'll ask you a question," Sponge Bob said, his smile genuine.

Patrick nodded, eager to make amends. "Shoot."

Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Okay, Patrick," he said, "What's 
the square root of 120?"

Patrick's eyes widened, his brain scrambling. He took a deep breath and 
announced, "It's 12?"

"No, Patrick," Plankton said, his voice a monotone but with a hint of 
amusement. "It's 10.190565... but Plankton rounds to 10."

Patrick's face fell as he realized he'd been outsmarted. "Oh," he murmured. 
"Guess I should've studied more at boating school."

"It's okay, Patrick," Karen said.

Sponge Bob's eyes twinkled with encouragement. "Let's keep 
playing, Plankton," he said. "You're doing great."

Plankton nodded, his antennae slightly less droopy.

"Your turn, Plankton," Sponge Bob said. "What's something interesting 
about yourself?"

Plankton paused, his antennae twitching as he searched for words. 
"Interesting?" he echoed.

Sponge Bob nodded encouragingly. "Yes, something that makes you 
special or unique. Tell us all about Plankton."

Plankton's antennae quivered as he thought. "Plankton... good at 
science," he said finally, his monotone voice revealing his pride. 
"Especially jellyfish."

"That's fantastic, Plankton!" Karen exclaimed.

Patrick nodded in agreement. "Yeah, buddy," he said, his voice still 
subdued. "You're a real jellyfish genius."

Plankton's antennae twitched with a hint of satisfaction. "Jellyfish 
have 24 eyes," he said, his voice monotone yet filled with a newfound 
confidence. "But no brain."

"What?" Patrick's eyes widened. "How can they see without a brain?"

Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he began to elaborate. 
"Jellyfish have simple nervous system," he said, his voice still flat but 
gaining momentum. "Eyes detect light, not images. Help them avoid 
predators and find food."

Sponge Bob's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Wow
Plankton," he said. "That's so cool!"

"Plankton born cycloptic one eye."

Patrick's jaw dropped as he stared at Plankton. "That's... really cool," he 
murmured, his mind racing to keep up.

Sponge Bob nodded eagerly. "Yeah, Plankton," he said, his voice 
filled with excitement. "Tell us more!"

Plankton's antennae perked up at the genuine interest from his 
friends. "Plankton own Chum Bucket," he said, his voice monotone 
but proud. "Serve chum, best food in Bikini Bottom."

Patrick's eyes lit up. "You're like a chef, Plankton! That's so cool!"

But Plankton's gaze remained on the jellyfish book, his thoughts 
drifting. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his voice monotone yet filled 
with a hint of anger. "Has Krabby Patties.."

Karen and Sponge Bob exchanged a glance, knowing the mention of Mr. Krabs.
"Plankton," Karen began cautiously, "we don't have to talk about Krabby Patties 
if you don't want to."
But Plankton's antennae shot up, his voice taking on a new, almost manic energy. 
"No, no," he murmured, his monotone cracking. "Mr. Krabs. Krabby Patties. 
Plankton's purpose."
Sponge Bob's smile faltered, the mention of Krabby Patties bringing back 
memories of their long-standing rivalry. "Plankton," he said gently, "you don't 
have to steal Krabby Patties anymore. You have jellyfish now."
But Plankton's antennae quivered with a strange intensity. "Krabs," he murmured, 
his monotone voice filled with a newfound urgency. "Gave Plankton brain damage. 
Accident," Plankton murmured, his voice low. "Mr. Krabs... Krabby Patty... 
Plankton's brain... changed."

Sponge Bob's smile faded, his heart sinking as he realized 
the gravity of the situation. "Plankton," he said, his voice filled sadness.
But Plankton didn't seem to hear him, lost in his own thoughts. "Plankton 
not same," he murmured. "But jellyfish... jellyfish make Plankton happy."

Karen's eyes filled with understanding. "It's ok, Plankton," she said, her voice 
soothing. "You can still have a purpose. Maybe not with Krabby Patties, but 
with jellyfish."

Plankton's antennae quivered as he repeated her words back to her. "Purpose 
with jellyfish," he murmured.

"Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her tentacles stroking his back gently. "Your purpose 
can be whatever makes you happy."

"Happy," Plankton echoed, his antennae twitching as he repeated her word.

"Yes, happy," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're here to support you, Plankton."



"Support Plankton," he echoed, his antennae drooping slightly. "But 
Krabs... Plankton's enemy."

Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, her own filled with a gentle warmth. 
"Mr. Krabs doesn't have to be your enemy anymore," she said, her tone 
soothing. "You can find joy in other things."

"Other things," Plankton echoed, his antennae still.

"Yes," Karen said, her tentacles waving gently. "Like jellyfish. You can focus 
on learning about them and sharing your knowledge with others."

"Share knowledge," Plankton repeated, his antennae quivering 
with curiosity.

"Exactly," Karen said, her tentacles gesturing encouragingly. "You can 
start a jellyfish club, remember?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed her words. "Jellyfish 
club," he murmured.

"Yeah, buddy," Sponge Bob said, his voice filled with excitement. "We can all join 
and learn together!"

Plankton's antennae perked up slightly, and a glimmer of hope entered his eye. 
"Club," he murmured, his voice monotone but with a hint of excitement. 

new a life of diversity gamefic vii

📄×🍊🧃

new paper x oj inanimate insanity ii objectshows OBJECTSHOW couple pair duo 2

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

🖌 X 💡 lightbulb x painty!!

new lightbulb paintbulb painty ii OBJECTSHOW

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

SHELF IMPROVEMENT ii
(Autistic author)

His eyelid fluttered, and 
his antennae twitched slightly. 
He groaned, and she felt his 
hand move in hers, giving a 
weak squeeze. "Karen?" he 
managed to murmur, his voice 
raspy and distant.

Her eyes filled with tears of 
joy, and she leaned in 
closer. "Yes, it's me, I'm 
here," she said, her voice 
choked.

Plankton's single eye slowly 
opened, blinking a few times 
as he tried to focus. "What...
happened?" he croaked.

Karen couldn't hold back 
her smile. "You fell," she 
said, her voice still shaky 
with emotion. "But you're okay, 
you're okay now."

Plankton's gaze swept the 
room, taking in the wreckage 
of the shelf. His face 
contorted in pain, and he 
winced. "Ow," he muttered, 
touching his head.

"You hit it pretty hard," Karen 
said. "But you're 
awake, and that's all that 
matters."

Plankton groaned again, 
trying to sit up. Karen 
quickly put a hand on his 
shoulder, gently pushing him 
back down.

"Take it easy," she said, 
her voice soothing. "You need 
to rest." But as she studied 
his face, she noticed 
his antennae twitching 
nervously.

"Plankton, are you okay?" 
she asked, concern 
lacing her words. His 
behavior was unusual, 
even for him.

His antennae quivered 
more erratically than before, 
and he began to rock 
back and forth on the couch. 
"The shelf," he murmured, 
his voice distant. "Shelf 
broken."

Karen ached for 
his distress. She had never 
seen Plankton like this. "What's 
going on?" she asked, her voice 
filled with worry. "Why are 
you acting like this?"

His antennae continued 
to quiver, and he rocked 
faster. "The shelf," he 
repeated, his eye 
dilating with panic.

Karen's eyes widened 
with understanding. "Is it 
because of the shelf?" she 
asked, her voice gentle.

Plankton nodded, his 
rocking growing more 
pronounced. "It's... it's 
gone," he stuttered, his 
single eye darting around 
the room. "Everything's...
different." His voice 
was filled with a mix of 
fear and confusion.

"It's okay," she said, her 
tone calm and reassuring. 
"The shelf broke, but we can 
fix it. We'll get it back 
the way it was. We'll fix it," she 
repeated, her voice 
soothing. "Everything will 
be just how you like it."

Plankton nodded as he
stopped rocking, and
looked up at her.
"Thanking Karen," he
whispered, his voice 
still trembling.

Her eyes searched his,
seeing the fear slowly
recede like the tide. "It's 
okay, Plankton," she said, 
smoothing his antennae 
gently. "Let's get you 
some water."

As she rose to get 
the water, Plankton's 
panic grew. "No, no," he 
stammered, his hand 
gripping her arm tightly. 
"Can't... can't leave."

Karen froze. She had never 
seen Plankton like this 
before.

"Plankton," she said, 
sitting back down next to 
him, "just breathe."

He nodded, his grip 
on her arm loosening. 
He took a deep, shaky 
breath, and his antennae 
began to still.

"It's okay," she said 
again, her voice a gentle 
lullaby. "Everything's going 
to be okay."

But Plankton's 
clearly in distress. Karen 
wondered if the fall had 
caused some kind of 
concussion, or perhaps 
released some deep-seated 
anxiety. She had read 
about these sudden 
behavioral changes before, 
but never in the context of 
Plankton's usually stable 
demeanor.

"Let's just sit here 
for a while," she suggested.
She placed a 
hand on his shoulder.

Plankton nodded 
against her touch, his 
body still trembling. 
He wrapped his arms 
around his legs, 
drawing them tight to his 
chest. Karen's screen 
filled with concern.
This was not the Plankton 
she knew. His usual 
confidence and sharpness 
were replaced by a child-
like vulnerability.

"It's okay," she 
repeated, stroking his 
back in a soothing 
motion. "You're safe here."

Plankton's trembling 
subsided slightly.
He looked at Karen, his 
eye wide and searching.

"It's okay," she 
whispered, her hand 
still on his back. "You're 
safe." But her mind was 
whirling. Was this a 
symptom of something 
more serious than a 
concussion?

Plankton's rocking 
slowed down, and he 
finally leaned back into 
the couch cushions. Karen 
could see the effort it 
was taking for him to 
maintain composure. He 
was always so independent, 
so in control. To see 
him like this was... unnerving.

"Karen," he whispered, 
his voice still tremulous, 
"Karen, Karen hug?"

She lurched at his 
vulnerability. Plankton was 
not one to ask for comfort, 
but his current state was 
clearly overwhelming him. 
Without a second thought, 
she wrapped her arms 
around him, pulling him 
close. His body was rigid, 
but gradually, it began to 
relax into her embrace.

Karen felt his breathing 
even out as he clung to her.
"It's okay," she said again, 
her voice a soft murmur. 
"You're okay."

new shelf improvement karen plankton ii

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

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 ii
(Autistic author)

Chip looks at his father with
newfound understanding. He
remembers the way Plankton's
eye would sometimes glaze over
when the TV was too loud or when
the restaurant was too crowded.
He'd always assumed it was just his
dad being tired or grumpy, not that
his brain was struggling to keep up.

"So, what is it?" Chip asks,
his voice small and scared.

Karen takes a deep breath. "It's called
autism, sweetie. And it just means
that Daddy's brain works a little
differently. Sometimes, it's really
good at things, like inventing and
remembering stuff. But sometimes, it
can get overwhelmed by too much
noise or too many people or things."

Chip nods slowly, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form. "But why
doesn't he tell me?"

Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand in
hers. "Because he doesn't always
know it's happening until it's too
late. And sometimes, talking about it
can make it harder for him." She looks
up at her son with a gentle smile.
"But now that you know, you can help
him. Like giving him space when
he needs it, or turning down the TV."
Chip nods, his mind racing. He's
always thought his dad was a little
weird, but now he knows it's not just
weirdness. It's something real, something
that makes him who he is. He looks
back at Plankton, feeling a mix of
concern and curiosity.

He goes and touches 
his dad's arm,
his heart racing.
"Dad, wake up," Chip cries,
his hand shaking slightly.

But Karen steps in, placing 
a comforting hand on Chip's 
shoulder. "Let's give him some 
space, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving his dad's still form.
He retreats to the corner 
of the room, clutching his 
newly acquired seashell 
collection tightly to his chest. 
His mind races with questions,
but fear keeps his mouth shut.
He watches as his mom pulls
the curtains, dimming the light
to a gentle glow that seems to
ease the tension in the room.

The quiet is almost deafening
now, the only sound the faint
hum of the Chum Bucket's 
air-conditioning. Chip sits
cross-legged on the floor,
his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion.
He'd always known his dad was
unique, but he didn't realize
it was something so... serious.

Karen sits beside Plankton,
speaking in hushed tones. "It's okay,
dear," she says, stroking his arm.
"Just breathe." Plankton's body
twitches slightly, his eye still
open and unseeing. Chip watches,
wishing he could do something to
help.

He tries to be patient,
his mind racing with questions
about what just happened.
Why couldn't Dad handle his stories
and his energy? Why did he just...
shut down? He'd never seen
anyone react that way before.

Chip's curiosity gets the
better of him, and he tiptoes closer
to the bed, peering over his mom's
shoulder. Plankton's eye is still
staring off into space, and his
breathing is still shallow. "Mom,
what's autism?" He whispers.

Karen glances over at him,
her expression a mix of love
and sadness. "It's a condition
that affects how people process
information, honey," she says, her
voice soft. "Some things that are
easy for you and me, like talking
and being around lots of noise, can
be really hard for Daddy."

Chip's eyes widen with
realization. "So, when I was
sharing all my stories and showing
him my stuff, I was being too loud
and moving too much?"

Karen nods. "Sometimes,
yes. It's like if you were trying
to read a book in the middle
of a rock concert. It's hard to focus."

Chip looks down at his sandy
hands, feeling a pang of guilt.
"I didn't know," he murmurs.

Karen smiles sadly. "It's okay,
Chip. We didn't tell you because
we didn't want you to think of
your dad as different. But now that
you know, you can help us take care of
him."

Chip nods solemnly, watching
his mom gently guide Plankton to
a more comfortable position on the
bed. "How do we help him?"

Karen sighs. "Well, for starters,
we give him some space when
he needs it. And when he's feeling
better, we can talk about it, okay?"

Chip nods, his eyes glued to
his dad's still form. He wants to
help, but he doesn't know how.
He watches as his mom covers
Plankton with a blanket, her movements
gentle and soothing. "What do we
do now?"

Karen looks at him, her expression
full of warmth. "Now, we wait."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II ii

GREAT CHIP ii
(Autistic author)

After what feels like
an eternity, Plankton's eye 
slowly refocus. His body
twitches, then relaxes. 
He blinks, looking around 
the room as if seeing it 
for the first time.
Karen moves closer,
her hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome back," she says 
soothingly. Plankton looks up, 
seeing Chip in the doorway, 
his eyes full of questions.
"What..." Plankton asks, 
his voice groggy.

Chip takes a step forward,
his heart racing.
"It's okay, Dad," he says,
his voice barely 
above a whisper.
Plankton blinks again,
his gaze sharpening.

He looks at Karen.
"I had one of my moments,
didn't I?" His voice is tinged with 
self-consciousness.

Karen nods, her eyes full of love
and understanding. "Yes, you did."

Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip,
his vulnerability laid bare
for his son to see.

Chip steps closer, unsure
of what to do with his hands,
his eyes searching his dad's.

"Are you okay?" Chip asks,
his voice tentative. "I just
got h..."

"Yes," Plankton cuts him off,
his tone brisk, "I'm fine, ok?" 
There's a hint of annoyance
in his voice, as if the seizure is an
inconvenience, something to be pushed aside
quickly and forgotten. Chip's heart
squeezes at the sight. "Dad, ca..."

"I said I'm okay," Plankton repeats,
his voice a little sharper this time.
There's a defensiveness
in his tone that Chip's never
heard before.

Chip flinches. But he's still
confused, and his curiosity 
won't quit. "But why do..."

"I don't want to talk about it,
I told you what to know," 
Plankton snaps,
his voice abrupt and final.
"So just drop it!"

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his curiosity colliding
with his dad's discomfort.
He's never seen Plankton
so agitated before.
"Dad I'm so..."

"I said I'm okay!" Plankton
says. "So JUST STOP ASKING!"

Chip's eyes well with tears.
He didn't mean to upset him,
he just wanted to understand.

Karen steps in, placing a comforting
hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't
you go to your room for a bit, honey?"

"Ok," Chip says, but he ends
up accidentally touching his
dad when he stands up to go,
brushing against Plankton. And
that makes him even angrier..

Plankton jolts away, his face
twisting into a grimace. "I said
not to touch me!" The room goes
deathly quiet. Karen's eyes widen,
and she opens her mouth to say
something, but Plankton's not done
with Chip.

"Why can't you just leave me
alone?" he yells, his voice echoing
off the walls. "I can't even have
a moment without you pestering me!
YOU'RE the one who's not okay! YOU'RE
JUST A KID, CHIP; I NEVER WANT
YOU TO EVER THINK ABOUT THIS AGAIN!"

Chip's eyes widen, his face flushing
with a mix of fear and sadness.
He didn't know his dad could be so mad.
He turns and runs to his room,
slamming the door behind him.

Karen sighs heavily.
This isn't how she wanted
Chip to learn about Plankton's condition.
She knows her husband's frustration
is a defense mechanism, a way
for him to cope with his own fears.
But it doesn't make it any easier
for Chip to understand.

Plankton's eye follows Chip
as he runs off, his own
expression a mix 
of anger and upset.
He didn't like to scream,
but the sensory overload
from the seizure had left him
on edge, his emotions raw.

His son didn't mean any harm,
but the sudden contact 
had been too much.
His skin feels like it's buzzing,
his mind racing with the echoes 
of his own voice.

Plankton sighs. He doesn't like
his son to see him like this,
so vulnerable and out of control.

Karen never liked to see
Plankton upset. She knew
to tread carefully with him
when he's so explosive, as
he's now breathing heavily.

"Plankton," she starts gently,
"Chip didn't mean to upset you.
He's just trying to understand."
But Plankton's still tense, not
replying to her.

Karen saw the frustration and
wanted to try again, not knowing
if he understood what she said.
She inched closer to him cautiously.

Plankton's eye darted around
the room, avoiding hers. He knew
his reaction was too much, but
his senses were still screaming.
He felt like a failure, unable
to control his own body.

Karen waited patiently, giving
Plankton the space he needed.
Her hand hovered near his arm,
ready to offer comfort, but she
knew better than to touch him now.

Plankton's shoulders slumped
as the reality of the situation
sank in. He had always tried
so hard to hide his seizures
from Chip, not wanting to burden him.
But now the secret was out, and
his son had witnessed his most
vulnerable moment.

He felt a twinge of guilt,
knowing he had snapped at Chip.
It was his way of protecting
his own pride.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his heart thumping in his chest.
He didn't want his son to see him
as weak or broken.

Karen's hand remained hovering,
a silent offering of comfort.
He knew she understood,
but he didn't want her defending
Chip either.

Plankton's mind raced,
his heart still pounding.
He felt exposed,
his secret laid bare
for his son to see.

The room was suffocating,
his thoughts a tornado.
He didn't want Chip to think
less of him, to see him as damaged.

Plankton took another deep breath,
his eye focusing on
anything but Karen's concerned gaze.
He felt a knot in his stomach,
his chest tight, both of which can in
themselves cause an overload on
their own. But Karen didn't realize
when she reached out to touch
his shoulder..

The touch was light, almost imperceptible,
but to Plankton, it was like a bomb had
detonated in his sensory system.
He jolted away, his eye wide with panic.

"Sorry," Karen murmured,
quickly retracting her hand.
She knew better than to push
when he was like this.

Plankton nodded, his breathing
steadying slightly. "It's okay,"
he managed to say, his voice
still tight. "I know you're trying."

Karen sat down next to him,
her hand resting on the couch
between them, a silent bridge
of support. "We'll talk to Chip
together, when you're ready."

Plankton nodded, his eye
still avoiding hers.

In the quiet, Plankton felt his
self-consciousness grow. He didn't
want Chip to see him this way, to think
less of him. It was something he'd
managed to hide for so long, his
autism, his moments of overload.
Now, it was out in the open,
and he felt like a creature
exposed to the elements.

The room felt too warm, too bright,
each sound amplified. He knew
his reaction was extreme, but
his mind couldn't help it. The effort
it took to appear 'normal' was
like swimming against a riptide,
and now the current had dragged him
under. He could see the worry in
Karen's screen, the sadness that he'd
lashed out at Chip.

He took a deep breath, trying
to regain his composure. He didn't
want Chip to think he didn't care,
that he didn't want to be there for him.
He just couldn't handle the touch,
not now. Not with his senses still
in overdrive.

Karen knew that look,
the one of internal battle.

"Why don't we go talk to him?"
she suggested, her voice soft.

Plankton nodded, pushing himself
out of the chair. His legs felt
like jelly, his heart racing.
He took a moment to gather
his thoughts before opening
the door to Chip's room.

new great chip chipcore ii

CHIP AND THE DILEMMA ii
(Autistic author)

| ᴺᵉᵍᵃᵗⁱᵛⁱᵗʸ ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ |

Karen's eyes widen, and
she quickly takes in the
situation. She's seen this
before—his meltdowns.
They've become less frequent,
but when they happen, they
hit hard. She turns to Chip,
placing a hand on his
shoulder. "Chip, honey, why don't
you go wash up for dinner?"
Her voice is calm, but firm.

Chip's screen flicked between his
dad and mom, not fully
understanding. "But Dad
said we're doing the solar
system after dinner," he
protests weakly.

Karen gives him a gentle
nudge towards the door. "It's
ok, sweetie. I'll take care of
this. You go ahead."

Reluctantly, Chip
backs out of the room.
He's worried, but he trusts
his mom.

Karen closes the door
behind Chip, turning her
full attention to Plankton.
His breathing is still
erratic, his eye unfocused.

"It's okay," she whispers,
moving closer to him. She's
learned over the years that
proximity can be both a
comfort and a trigger. She
treads carefully.

Plankton flinches at
her approach, but she's
quick to respond, retreating
slightly. She knows better
than to push to hard.

"You're having a hard time,"
she says softly, her voice
soothing. "Do you want me
to turn off the light?"

Plankton nods, his eye
squeezed shut. The dimness
of the room helps, but the
noise of Chip's retreating
footsteps echoes like thunder.
Karen moves to the window,
drawing the curtains to block
the setting sun, plunging the
room into a comforting
gloom. She sits down next to
Plankton, not touching him,
but close enough to be there.
He takes a shaky breath.

"Talk to me, love," Karen
coaxes. "What triggered it?"

Plankton's eye are still
closed, but his breathing
steadies. "Chip," he
manages. "Chip's touch. It was
too much."

Karen nods. She's always been
his rock, but she hates
seeing him like this. She
knows the stress of hiding
his autism has taken a toll on
him. "We should tell him,"
she says gently. "He's old
enough to understand."

Plankton's eye flies open,
his panic rising again. "No,"
he says firmly. "He doesn't
need to know."

Karen sighs, stroking his
back gently. "He deserves to
know, Plankton. He loves
you and he's worried about
you."

Plankton's body relaxes a
little, the sound of Karen's
voice like a balm to his
frayed nerves. "I know,"
he admits.

Karen nods, understanding
the fear behind his words.
"But think about it," she says.
"He's going to notice
things. It's better if we
explain it to him on our
terms, rather than him
figuring conclusions and feeling
alone or scared."

Plankton looks at
Karen, his expression a mix
of fear and resignation.

"Perhaps when the ringing
in my ears dwindles," he says, his
voice shaking. "I know, we can't keep
it from him forever."

Karen nods, her screen filled
with empathy. "Whenever you're
ready," she says. "We'll do it
together."

Plankton takes a deep
breath, his mind racing with
thoughts of how to explain
his condition to Chip. He
knows it won't be easy, but
his son deserves the truth.

Dinner is a subdued affair,
both Chip and Karen watching
Plankton closely, noticing
his lack of appetite and the
faraway look in his eye.
Chip keeps his questions to
himself, sensing his dad's
discomfort. After dinner, Karen
breaks the silence.

"Chip, why don’t we all go to
your room?" she suggests,
trying to keep her voice
light.

Chip nods, leading the way
as Plankton follows, his steps
slow and measured. Karen
can feel the tension in his
body as he tries to keep
his composure.

Once in Chip's room,
Plankton sits on the edge of
his bed, looking around.

Chip notices the
uncharacteristic stillness in
his father's posture, the
way his antennae droop slightly.

"What's going on?" he asks,
his voice a mix of confusion
and concern.

Karen sits beside Plankton,
her hand resting gently on his.
"Chip, your dad has something
important to tell you."

Chip looks at them both, his
screen wide. "What is it?"

Plankton takes a deep breath.
"Chip," he starts, his voice
shaking slightly. "There's
something you should know
about me." Chip looks
between his mom and dad. "What
is it?" he asks, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton takes a moment,
his eye scanning the room
as if searching for the right
words. "I'm... different, Chip,"
he finally says, his gaze
locking onto Chip's. "I have a
condition, called..."

“Oh, Dad! Will get better?”
Chip asks. “It’s gonna go
away, right?”
Plankton’s eye fills with
sorrow as he shakes his
head. “No, Chip, it doesn’t..."

But before he can finish,
Chip gasps. 

“It’s called autism, Chip,”
Karen says gently, filling the
silence.

Chip frowns, his mind racing.
“What’s that?” He’s heard the
word before, but it’s always
been in whispers or as a
punchline in a joke at school.
He doesn’t understand.

Plankton sighs heavily. "It's
a... the way my brain works,"
he explains, his antennae
twitching with nerves. "It's like
I experience the world through a
different way than you do."

Chip's eyes widen, his mind
swirling with questions. "So,
you're like... broken?" he asks,
his voice filled with innocent
concern.

Plankton flinches at the
word, his heart sinking. He's
always feared this moment,
wondered how his son would react.
"No, Chip," he says, trying to
keep his voice steady. "It's not
like that. Autism is just part of
who I am."

But Chip's mind is racing. "You,
you're like... not normal?" He
can't hide the worry in his tone.

Plankton's eye flickers with
pain at the question, but
he nods. "It's just a
different way of 
things, buddy! It doesn't
make me less..."

But Chip's mind is already
made up. "So you can't be
fixed?" he blurts out, his
tone filled with disappointment.

Plankton's antennae droop. "There's
nothing to fix," Karen says,
interrupting gently. "Different,
not broken. Autism is just a
part of who your father is."

But Chip can't shake the
word from his mind. "Autistic."
He's heard it before in
whispers at school, thrown
around like an insult. He looks
at Plankton, his hero, his
rock. But the damage is done.
In Chip's gaze, his dad is no
longer just quirky or unique—
he's broken, like a toy that's
missing a piece.

"Chip," Karen says gently,
"autism isn't something that
can be fixed or taken
away. It's part of who your
dad is, and it's what makes
him special."

Chip looks at his
mother, his expression
confused. "But if he's
different, doesn't that mean
he's not as good?"

Karen's screen fills with sadness,
but she remains calm. "No,
Chip," she says firmly. "Being
different doesn't mean
being less. It just means
seeing the world in a
different way. And your dad,
he's incredible in so many
ways. He's smart, and he's
kind, and he loves you
more than anything."

new chip and the dilemma Chip Plankton II ii

JUST A TOUCH ii
(Autistic author)


Plankton began to sit up,
his movements were methodical,
each action deliberate and
precise. His antennae twitched
as he took in the sights and
sounds of the hospital room,
his eye searching for familiarity
in the unfamiliar setting. "Home?"
he asked, his voice a mix
of confusion and urgency.

Karen's screen filled with
understanding. "We're not home,
sweetie. We need to stay here
until the doctors are sure
you're okay." She kept her tone
soft and even, hoping to
soothe his growing anxiety.
Plankton's gaze remained fixed
on her, his expression unreadable.
"You've acquired Autism."

The doctor nodded in
agreement. "It's important
that he feels secure and
comfortable in this new
environment. Let's start with
some simple questions to gauge
his cognitive function." He
turned to Plankton. "Can you
tell me your name?" Plankton's
response was immediate and
crystal clear. "Sheldon J. Plankton."

Karen's heart skipped
a beat at the formality in his
tone. This was her husband,
but the way he spoke was
unlike anything she had
heard from him before. The
doctor's smile remained,
but his eyes were assessing.
"And who is this lovely
lady next to you?" Plankton
paused, his antennae quivering.
"Karen," he said, his voice
slightly softer, "Plankton's 
computer wife." He
was stating facts, not sharing
his emotions. The doctor
noted the exchange and
nodded. "It's alright, Karen.
This is all part of the
adjustment."

He then turned to Plankton.
"Can you tell me what you see
around you?" Plankton's eye
darted around the room again,
his antennae twitching rapidly.
"White walls. Blue floor.
Bright lights. Machines," he listed,
his voice devoid of inflection.
The doctor jotted down notes,
his gaze thoughtful. "Good,
good. Now, can you tell me
how you feel?"

Plankton's response was
quick and specific. "Plankton feel the
coolness of the air conditioner, hear the
hum of the lights above.
Plankton's hand is 
clammy. Your hand is dry."
Karen felt a pang of sadness
at his lack of emotional
description.

The doctor nodded,
his gaze shifting to Karen.
"It's not uncommon for
individuals with Acquired
Autism to speak in a
matter-of-fact manner,
especially when they're
trying to make sense of
their surroundings."

Karen felt a tear
slip down her screen as she
forced a smile for Plankton.
"Okay, we can handle this,"
she thought, wiping it away.
Plankton's gaze never left
the doctor, his eye
scanning every tentacle
as he spoke. "Now, let's check
your coordination," the doctor
said, handing him a simple
puzzle.

Plankton took the puzzle
pieces in his tiny hands and
began to assemble them with
lightning speed. The doctor
watched in amazement as the
intricate pattern emerged,
each piece fitting perfectly.
"Remarkable," he murmured. "It seems
his problem-solving abilities
have indeed been enhanced."

Karen couldn't help but
smile through her tears as she
saw Plankton's meticulous
movements, the way his
fingers danced over the
plastic pieces. It was as if he
saw a pattern that she couldn't.
As the puzzle came together,
she noticed his breathing had
evened out, his movements
more fluid, as if the task
provided him some semblance
of peace.

But when the doctor tried
to take the puzzle away to
test another cognitive
function, Plankton's hand shot
out, his grip tightening on
the last piece. "No," he
said firmly, his voice edged
with something new, something
akin to panic. "It's not finished."

The doctor exchanged
a look with Karen, who nodded
slowly. They had to respect
his new boundaries. "Alright,
Plankton, take your time,"
she said, her voice calm.
The doctor stepped back,
allowing Plankton to complete
his task. With a final snap,
the puzzle was done. Plankton
stared at it, his chest rising
and falling rapidly.

Once the puzzle was
complete, he handed it back
to the doctor with a nod.
The doctor took it with a
smile. "Very good, Plankton."
Karen felt a swell of pride
mixed with the fear.

"Now, let's move on to some
memory recall," the doctor
suggested, his tentacles holding
a series of cards with images.
"I'm going to ask you..."

But before the doctor could
finish, Plankton's antennae shot
up, his eye widening as he
spotted a smudge on the wall.
"Clean," he murmured, his gaze
firmly locked on the imperfection.
Karen's heart sank as she watched
his obsession take hold.

The doctor paused,
sensing the shift in Plankton's
focus. "It appears Plankton has
developed some OCD tendencies
alongside his Autism," he
said gently to Karen. "It's not
unusual for them to fixate
on certain things."

Karen nodded, her eyes
never leaving Plankton's as
his gaze remained glued to
the smudge. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she said, her voice soothing.
"We can get someone to clean
it." Plankton's antennae twitched,
his body visibly relaxing at
the thought. The doctor nodded
at a nearby janitor, who quickly
came over and wiped the smudge
away, leaving the wall gleaming.

With the wall back to its
pristine state, Plankton's eye
moved back to the cards. He took
them in his hands and studied
each image intently, his antennae
quivering with concentration. "Ready?"
Karen asked, hopeful that this
part of the assessment would go
smoothly. But Plankton's gaze
shifted to the floor, focusing
on the tiles. Each one was
perfectly aligned, except for
a single one slightly askew.

"Crooked," he said, his voice
laced with distress. Karen's
heart broke as she watched him
struggle with the internal conflict
of wanting to fix it and knowing
he couldn't. The doctor,
noticing the shift in mood, stepped
in. "It's alright, Plankton.
Let's focus on..."

But Plankton's eye was
already darting around the room,
spotting every imperfection,
his anxiety rising. Karen knew
they had to get home, to a place
where he could find peace. "Doctor,
can we go?" she interrupted, her
voice tight with urgency.

The doctor nodded,
his smile understanding. "Yes,
you can take him home. Remember,
patience is key. His world has
changed, and he needs a stable
environment to adjust." Karen
stood, cradling Plankton in her
arms once again. He felt lighter,
his body more rigid than usual.

As they left the hospital,
the chaotic world of Bikini
Bottom rushed in, a cacophony
of sounds and lights. Plankton's
eye widened, his antennae
quivering. Karen could feel his
discomfort, his body tensing with
each step they took closer to the
noisy, bustling streets.

new just a touch ocdcore ii

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD ii

The nurse finished up the
paperwork and handed it to Karen.
"You're all set to go home
once Mr. Plankton is ready.
Just remember, he'll need to take
it easy for a few days. No
solid food, only soft things like
soups and mashed potatoes."

Karen nodded, her gaze
still locked on Plankton's
fascinated expression. "I've got it
covered," she said. Plankton,
seemingly oblivious to the
instructions, was busy poking
his cheeks with his fingers,
his mouth still numb and frozen.

He looked up at her, his
eye twinkling. "Kay... Kahen...
anotha... anotha teeth."
The nurse had left the room,
leaving them in a quiet
solitude punctuated only by
the rhythmic beeping of the
monitors and the occasional
swish of hospital curtains.

Karen couldn't resist the
urge to laugh. "You're
already asking for more?"
she teased. Plankton shrugged, his
expression as goofy as a puppy's.
"Ith... wothless... wifout...
wisdom," he mumbled.

Her amusement grew.
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment
to the teeth or an insult to
me," she said playfully.

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his cheeks flushing a brighter shade
of pink. "Mmph... no, no... gwed...
wisdom..." he insisted, his speech
still slurred. Karen couldn't help but
smile at his earnestness.

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind,"
she said, her voice filled with affectionate
sarcasm. "So, what's the first thing
you want to do when we get home?"

Plankton's antennae twitched with excitement.
"Mmph... mow... wock?" he slurred, his voice
muffled by the anesthesia.

Karen raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden
interest in music. "You want to rock?"
she repeated, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Plankton nodded vigorously, his antennae bobbing.
"Mmhmm," he managed, his mouth still
refusing to cooperate. "Wock and wowl."

Karen couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, okay. I'll
make sure to have some rock music ready
for when we get home." Plankton's eye lit up,
his enthusiasm clear despite the numbness.

"Gweat," he murmured, his antennae swaying
to an unheard melody. Karen watched him,
his normally stoic face now a canvas of
comical expressions and muffled sounds. It was
surreal to see him like this, but she
found his vulnerability endearing.

"But first, we need to get you home,"
she said, her voice a gentle reminder
of reality. Plankton nodded, his
eye closing in exhaustion. He leaned
his head back on the pillow, his
snoring resuming its soft crescendo.

The nurse returned to check on them.
"Looks like he's comfortable," she said
with a smile. "You can take him home
whenever you're ready." Karen nodded,
still watching Plankton's peaceful face.

"Mmph... Kahen?" Plankton's eye
opened again, searching for her.
"Ca-- we go now?" he slurred, his voice
laced with hope. Karen couldn't resist the
urge to lean over and kiss his forehead.
"Soon, buddy," she whispered.

He nodded, his antennae waving
sluggishly. His hand found hers again,
his grip firm despite his grogginess.
Karen felt her heart melt at his
determination. "Mmph... I teww you 'notha
tink?" he mumbled, his smile hopeful.

"Sure," she said, leaning closer.

"Wheh, mmmph... the dentist
made every ting awwright, yet
firsh, they saith I woul’ be in
surgery. Bu’ they didn’t even
cuth me openth! They jus’
made every ting go woozy,"
Plankton slurred. "Then youw
face wath theath wight bulb on
top."

Karen couldn't stop herself from
laughing. "What are you talking
about, Plankton?" she asked, her voice
filled with warmth.

He tried to enunciate, his
lips moving awkwardly. "Mmph, Kahen,
the dentist... they... they put me to
sweep wi’out cutting me." His
words were jumbled. Karen's curiosity
piqued, she leaned in closer.

"What do you mean, without cutting you?"
she questioned, her voice filled
with gentle amusement.

Plankton's antennae waved wildly.
"Mmph, they goth me all sleepy and
then I woke up wifout getting cuth!"
he exclaimed, his words still thick.

Karen couldn't contain her laughter.
"They didn't cut you because they already
took your teeth out while you were asleep,"
she explained, her voice a blend of humor
and affection.

Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye
looking disappointed. "Mmph, oh... I wath
expehcting a magith trick." He slumped
back into the pillow.

Karen chuckled, stroking his
hand. "It's like magic, isn't it?"
she said, her voice light. "You
went to sleep with four extra teeth
and woke up with none."

Plankton's antennae shot up again.
"Ma... ma... magic?" he repeated,
his voice filled with wonder.
Karen nodded. "In a way, yes.
They used sleepy medicine so you
wouldn't feel a thing."

He stared at her, his eye wide
with fascination. "Wow, Kahen.
They're wike wizawds!" he exclaimed,
his speech still slurred but his
enthusiasm unmistakable. Karen laughed
again, her heart feeling lighter.

"Mmph, can they make me
fwee too?" Plankton asked,
his voice filled with hope. Karen
shook her head, her smile never
leaving her lips. "Sorry, Plankton.
Only in your dreams."

He pouted, his cheeks puffing
out like a chipmunk's. "Mmph, no fun."
His eye grew heavy again, his body
still feeling the weight of the
anesthesia. Karen stood, gently
squeezing his hand. "Let's get you
up, okay?"

With a groan, Plankton
managed to push himself into
a sitting position, his legs
dangling over the side of the bed.
Karen supported him, her arm
wrapped around his shoulder. His
head lolled to one side.

"Mmph... wath... whath... 
whath's that?"

Plankton's voice was a muffled
mess, his words tripping over
his still-numb tongue. Karen
followed his gaze to the
plastic cup of water.

"Mmph... wath's in thef?"
he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Karen laughed gently. "It's for rinsing,
buddy. To keep your mouth clean."
Plankton nodded, his antennae
still waving with excitement.

The nurse stepped in to help,
handing him the cup filled with
water. "Here, take
a sip."

Plankton's antennae waved
nervously as he took the cup,
his hand trembling. He took
a tentative sip, his mouth
filling with the cold liquid. "Ah, gwed,"
he slurred, his speech still
affected by the anesthesia.

Karen watched him with
amusement. "You're doing great,"
she encouraged, her voice
soothing. Plankton managed
a wobbly nod. "Mmph... wath's nxt?"

"Now, we just need to get
you home,"
she said, her eyes sparkling
with mirth. Plankton's antennae
drooped slightly. "Mmph... dawes?"

Karen nodded, her smile
never fading. "Yes, darling,
we're going home now." Plankton's
eye lit up with excitement,
his slurred speech a cute contrast
to his usual sharp wit.

new the tooth of a child wisdomtoothcore wisdomteethcore ii

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 ii
(Autistic author)

The next morning, Karen woke up to
find Plankton still asleep, his hand
still clutching hers. She gently
pulled her hand away and stood up.

Plankton's snores echoed 
through the quiet room. Karen 
studied his peaceful expression, his 
features softer in sleep, and felt a
surge of affection for the man she
had married so many years ago.

In the cold light of day, the reality
of his condition settled in. 
He was different, but she 
would not let that change the way
she saw him. As a robot, Karen
understood the importance of
adjusting to new situations, and
this was no exception.

As Plankton stirred, she quickly
moved to his side, ready to face
whatever challenges the day 
might bring. His eye opened,
looking around the room
before settling on her.

"Karen," he said, his voice
still flat, but with a hint of
recognition.

"Good morning, Plankton," she
replied.
This was their first day facing
his autism together, and she had
spent the night
preparing.

Plankton sat up, his eye
locking onto hers. "Morning," he
repeated. His movements were
slow, deliberate, as if his brain
was processing each action. "Would
you like some breakfast?" she asked.

He nodded.
"No vault," he murmured, and she
could see the beginnings of a frown.
Karen nodded, knowing that
his obsessions might become more
pronounced. "It's okay," she said.
"We don't need the vault."

Plankton's eye searched her face,
his expression unreadable. "No
vault," he repeated, his voice
rising slightly. "Good."

Karen nodded. "Let's start the
day," she suggested, trying to
shift the focus. She led him to the
tiny kitchen area, the smell of
chum wafting through the air.

Plankton followed her, his steps
measured and precise. His gaze
flitted around the room, taking
in every detail. 

"Would you like eggs or chum?"
she asked.
"Both," he said, his voice clearer 
than before.

Karen nodded, cracking an egg
over the sizzling pan. Plankton sat
at the table, rocking back and forth
slightly. It was clear that
his senses were heightened, every
sound and smell more intense than
before.

"Here's your breakfast, Plankton,"
she said, placing the plate in front
of him. His gaze fixated on the
food, his eye narrowing as if
studying a complex puzzle. "Thank
you," he said, the words coming out
mechanically.

But as Karen stirred the chum and
eggs together, something shifted in
his demeanor. He stiffened in his
chair, his rocking coming to an
abrupt halt. "What's wrong?" she
asked, noticing the sudden change.

Plankton's eye grew wide. "No," he
whispered, his voice strained. "Not
together. Separate," he
demanded, his voice growing more
urgent.

Karen paused, her circuits racing.
"I'm sorry," she said gently. "I'll
fix it." She carefully scraped the
food onto two separate places, one
with egg, one with chum. She placed
it in front of him, hoping she
was interpreting his needs correctly.

Plankton stared. "Different plate,"
he murmured. "And a new spoon.
And new eggs not touching new chum."

Karen nodded, quickly moving to
comply with his requests. She knew
that routines and sensory preferences
could be crucial for individuals with
autism, and she wanted to make sure
his first breakfast post-diagnosis was
as comfortable as possible. She
replicated his meal with meticulous
precision, ensuring every detail was
exactly as he had specified, ridding of
the old food.

The new plate was set before him,
the eggs and chum neatly separated.
Plankton's shoulders relaxed slightly.
He picked up the spoon, his gaze
intensely focused on the task at
hand. Karen watched as he took a
tiny bite in what seemed like pleasure.

"Good?" she ventured.

Plankton nodded, his eye not
leaving the plate. "Good," he echoed,
his voice still monotone.

Karen observed him as he
methodically ate his breakfast,
each bite the same size, each chew
lasting the same amount of time.
It was fascinating and slightly
disconcerting to watch the man
she knew so well now engaging with
the world in such a different way.

Plankton's routine was always
important, but now it had taken
on a new level of significance.
The clink of the spoon against the
plate was the only sound in the
room, the rhythm of it almost
hypnotic. 

As Plankton finished his meal,
his head snapped up, his gaze
sharp and focused on her. "Karen,"
he said, his voice now clear and
concise.

"Yes, Plankton?" she replied,
wiping down the counter.

"Thank you," he said, his eye
fixed on the now-empty
plate.

Karen nodded, taking the
dishes to the sink. She could feel
his eye on her as she moved about
the room, the weight of his
silence a stark contrast to his
usual incessant chatter. She knew
that autism would bring
challenges, but she was
determined to be there for him.

new karen and the autistic journey breakfastcore ii

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON ii
(Autistic author)

The doctor stepped in, 
his tentacles moving 
gently as he spoke. 
"Mr. Plankton, it's 
important to stay 
calm. This is a 
big change. Can
you tell me your name?"

Plankton's gaze 
flicked from Karen 
to Dr. Kelp, his 
expression a mask 
of confusion. 
"I'm Plankton," he 
managed to say, his 
voice shaky.

The doctor nodded, 
his tentacles still 
and calm. "Good. That's 
good, Mr. Plankton. Do 
you know where you 
are?"

Plankton's eye 
darted around the 
room again, his 
breathing growing 
rapid and shallow. 
He looked down
and then back up at 
Karen. "What's happening?"
he repeated for the third 
time, his voice 
now a little more 
frantic.

Karen's heart 
was in her throat. 
The doctor's 
explanation was 
beginning to take 
root in her mind, 
and she could see 
the stark reality 
of their situation. 
Plankton's repetition, 
his difficulty with 
understanding new 
surroundings and his 
increased sensitivity 
to sound—these were 
all hallmarks of his 
new autism.

The doctor 
continued his 
assessment.

"Mr. Plankton, 
can you tell me 
your wife's name?" 
he prompted.

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to Karen, 
his expression 
becoming more 
focused, as if her 
presence was the 
only familiar 
thing in the room. 
"Karen," he said, 
his voice 
softening slightly.

The doctor 
nodded, making 
a note on his 
clipboard. "Good. 
Now, can you tell 
me what happened 
before you woke up?"

Plankton's eye 
flitted back to 
Karen, searching 
for answers. 

He began to 
rock slightly, his 
body moving in 
a rhythmic 
motion, a common 
self-soothing behavior 
for those on the 
autism spectrum. 
Karen recognized 
it immediately
but seeing it in 
Plankton was 
jarring.

His gaze darted 
around the room, 
his pupil dilating 
with every new 
sound or movement. 
The doctor's tentacles 
were a blur of 
activity making notes.

"Mr. Plankton, I 
see you're feeling 
You're almost ready
to go back home
with Karen." Dr. Kelp 
says calmly. "Just
one more question, 
if you don't mind. Now, 
can you tell me if you
have any pets?"

Plankton's eye
flitted around the 
room. "Pets? Spot!
Yes, Spot. Amoeba
puppy; Spot.."

The doctor nodded, 
his tentacles 
still scribbling notes. 
"Very good, Mr. Plankton. 
It seems like your long-term 
memory is intact, which is a 
positive sign. Now Karen can
take you home!"

Karen felt a 
wave of relief 
crash over her, but 
it was tinged with 
the stark reality that 
their life was never 
going to be the same. 
Plankton's autistic 
mannerisms were 
now a constant 
reminder of the 
accident—his 
newfound need for 
routine, his heightened 
sensitivity to 
surroundings, and the 
way his eye would 
dance around the room 
as he tried to 
make sense of 
his environment.

As they arrived home, the 
stark reality of their new 
life hit Karen like a wave. 
His once-quick steps had 
been replaced with a 
cautious shuffle, as if the 
very floor beneath him was 
unpredictable.

Inside, Plankton 
was drawn to the 
rhythmic ticking of the 
grandfather clock, 
his eye fixated on the 
second hand's journey. 
Karen watched him. His 
newfound need for 
predictability was 
overwhelmingly apparent.

"Let's sit down," 
she suggested, 
guiding him to their 
couch, which was 
now occupied by
Spot.

Plankton's gaze 
flitted around the 
living room, 
his eye alighting 
on his beloved
amoeba puppy
Spot.

"Spot," he murmured, 
his voice tentative, 
as if unsure if 
his words would 
have the same 
effect they once did.
The pup looked up 
at him, its blob-like 
form shifting 
slightly with excitement.

But instead of the
weariness Plankton 
has shown today, he
joyfully watched Spot's 
movements. Karen felt a 
moment of warmth—
his love for Spot hadn't
changed, nor their usual
interactions.

The doctor had 
told her that routines 
were vital for those 
with his condition. So,
she decided to start 
their day with a 
familiar activity: 
breakfast.

Plankton's eye
lit up at the 
sight of the 
familiar kitchen. 
He took his usual 
seat at the table, 
his hands fidgeting 
with the napkin. Karen
noticed his meticulous
arrangement of his 
silverware, the way 
he lined up his plate 
and cup perfectly 
parallel to the edges.

As she prepared 
their meal, she 
could feel his 
gaze on her, 
his eye darting 
between her and 
Spot, who was now 
playfully chasing 
his own tail in a 
loop around the 
living room.
He began to 
hum a tune, 
his voice off-key 
and repetitive. 
Karen's with love 
despite the 
pain she felt.

The clanging 
of pans was 
loud in the 
silence, making 
Plankton flinch—this 
was going to be 
so much harder 
than she had 
anticipated.

The doctor's 
instructions echoed 
in her mind: 
stick to routine, 
keep things simple.

Karen set the 
breakfast plates 
down carefully, 
each item placed 
exactly where 
Plankton liked it.
His eye grew wide 
as she slid his plate 
closer. He stared at 
the food for a 
moment, then picked 
up his spoon.

The clink of 
metal on porcelain 
was like a gunshot 
to his heightened 
sensitivity. He 
dropped the spoon, 
his hands shooting up 
to cover his head in
distress.

"It's okay, 
sweetheart," Karen 
soothed, moving 
quickly to 
his side. She 
retrieved the 
spoon and set it 
aside, her hand 
trembling slightly.

"You don't 
have to eat 
right now," she 
said softly, her voice 
a gentle caress 
against the tension 
in the room.

Plankton 
nodded slightly, his 
breathing slowing as 
his hands uncovered 
his ears. He 
fidgeted in his 
chair, his eye
darting to the 
ceiling as if 
searching for something.

"Let's go read
a book," Karen suggested, 
desperate to find 
anything that might 
calm his nerves.

Plankton nodded 
slightly, his gaze 
still unfocused. He 
stood up carefully, 
his body moving 
with the precision 
of a man who knew 
his world had changed.

As they approached 
the bookshelf, 
his eye caught 
a glint of metal 
from the corner 
of the room. 
The invention 
that had brought 
them here lay in 
a tangled heap, 
its wires and gears 
silent and 
ominous, giving
him déjà vu.

Plankton stopped, 
his body rigid, 
his gaze locked 
on the machine. 
He stared unblinking, 
his mind racing 
back to the crash.

Karen notices his
suddenly unmoving
form and gets concerned.

"Plankton?" she calls
softly, but he doesn't
react.

His entire being 
seemed to be 
consumed by the 
wreckage of his 
former life.

The invention, a 
testament to his 
former brilliance, 
now a grim 
reminder of the 
accident.

"Plankton, honey," 
Karen's voice was 
barely a whisper 
as she tried to 
get him to talk. 
He didn't move.

The invention, a 
tangled web of 
wires and gears, 
seemed to hold 
his gaze captive. 
It was the very 
machine that had 
caused this 
transformation.

Karen followed 
his gaze, her heart 
sinking as she 
realized the source 
of his distress.

"Let's go to 
another room," she 
suggested gently, 
her hand resting 
on his arm. 
But he didn't move.

Karen felt the 
weight of the 
moment settle 
heavily on her 
shoulders. It was 
time to face the 
reality of their new 
life together—a 
life where Plankton's 
once sharp wit and 
innovative spirit 
were now clouded by 
a disorder she 
was only beginning to
understand.

Her heart 
swelled with 
sorrow as she 
observed his 
interaction with 
the inanimate objects 
around him. The 
love she had for 
him remained 
unshaken, but the 
thought of what 
they had lost—what 
he had lost—was 
almost too much to 
bear.

"Come on," she 
coaxed, her voice 
gentle as a lullaby. 
"Let's go to the 
living room. I'll 
read you a story?"

Yet Plankton remains
frozen. So Karen made a 
decision. She 
couldn't bear the 
thought of that 
accursed machine 
looming over them, 
a constant 
reminder of the 
tragic turn their lives 
had taken.

With a fierce 
determination she 
hadn't felt in 
ages, she strode 
over to the invention 
and began to dismantle 
it, piece by painful 
piece.

The metal 
clanked and clattered 
as she worked, 
her movements 
quick and sure, 
each part coming 
off with a 
satisfying crunch. 
Plankton's eye 
followed her, his 
expression unreadable.

When the last 
piece was removed, 
his gaze lifted 
to meet hers, 
his eye filled 
with something 
that looked akin 
to gratitude.

"Thank you, Karen," 
Plankton murmured, 
his voice a 
quiet rumble in 
the stillness of the 
now bare room.

Karen paused in 
her task, her eyes 
meeting his with a 
surprised expression. 
This was the first
time since the 
accident that he had 
spoken to her with 
anything other than 
fear or confusion.

"You're welcome," 
she said, her voice 
choked with emotion.

new neurobehavioral plankton plaren ii

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

TEETHIES ii

The nurse dimmed lights and adjusted the bed, giving Plankton's body a chance to recover from the wisdom tooth surgery. 

Gently, Karen began to hum a tune she knew Plankton loved. The melody filled the room, wrapping around them like a warm blanket. His breathing grew a little easier, the tension in his hand loosening slightly. 

Plankton stirred, eye fluttering open to reveal a world still blurred by the fog of anesthesia. "Where... what...?" Plankton slurred. "Who... who are you?" 
"The dentist had to get your wisdom teeth out in surgery." Karen told him. "Wis...dommm...surgery? I don't...I don't remembe--- much." Plankton says. "Had to take them out. You've been asleep for a while." The nurse said. 

The door to the room creaked open to SpongeBob, his face a picture of concern. "Plankton!" he exclaimed. "How are ya?"

Plankton, still groggy from the surgery, tried to form a coherent sentence. "S-SpongeBob," he slurred. "M-more wike... 'Arrr, matey' than usual, I s'pose." 

Karen rolled her pixel eyes. "It's the anesthesia."

Plankton chuckled. "Ahoy ther- Spongey! Aye, it's awh’ 'cause of tweasare... I mean, surgery," he corrected, his speech still swaying. 
"You two are always so... " Karen trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Inseparabubble?" Plankton suggested.  
Sponge Bob's laughter bubbled up again. "You mean, no Krabby Patty stealing schemes?"

"Thath's righ'. No mow... Krabby... Patties... fow awhile." The words came out in a drawn-out slur, his head lolling slightly on the pillow. "Thath's... wath I wath thhinking," his speech still slurred but fading as his eyelid growing heavy.

"Arr, thith... thith way, me... hearty," Plankton mumbled, as the nurse helped 'em into the car.  "Arr, me... tweasuwe... home,".

Sponge Bob watched his eyelid grew heavier. Plankton's head lolled back against the seat and his mouth fell open slightly, emitting a soft snore. 

"He's gonna be out for a bit," Karen said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "The anesthesia usually takes a few hours to wear off completely. He'll be fine."

He reached out and gently patted Plankton's arm, whispering, "Don't worry, buddy. We're almost there."

"We're home, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge.

Sponge Bob turned to see Plankton's chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths, his mouth open in snore's. His usually scheming eye were shut tight. Karen carefully opened the door. Sponge Bob looked at Plankton, who was still out cold. Sponge Bob leaned over the seat, his arms wrapping around Plankton's frail body. Plankton's head lolled back, his mouth still open in snore's.
"Should we... should we wake him?" "Let him rest, Sponge Bob. He's had a rough day." Karen puts him on the couch.

"Do you think he'll... you know, remember any of this?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice low and tentative.
Karen's smile was a gentle wave. "I doubt it. The anesthesia usually wipes out memories for a bit."

"Rest well, honey," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "You've had a long day."

Suddenly Plankton stirs in his sleep, his snores morphing into a groan as he shifts beneath the blanket.
"Is he okay?" SpongeBob asks.
"He's okay," she nods, her voice a gentle lullaby in the stillness. "Just anesthesia wearing off." She stood by him. "Easy, Plankton," Karen cooed, gently rubbing Plankton's back. "You're okay."

The little villain's body twitched, and his eye fluttered open. For a brief moment, confusion clouded his gaze before he spotted Sponge Bob and Karen. "W-wha... whass happening?" Plankton's words were slurred, his lisp more pronounced than ever.

"You're home, Plankton. You had wisdom teeth removed."

"W-what? Did I miss... somefink?" He tried to sit up, his body moving as if through syrup.

"You've been out for a bit," Karen said. "But you're home now." 

Plankton blinked. "Home?" he mumbled.

"Yes, sweetie," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "You had your wisdom teeth out. You're going to be fine."
 "Oww... wha’ happened to my mouf?"

"Your wisdom teeth were out." "Oh... wight," he murmured.
"Need anything?" "Could... could I have some... ice... cweam?" His voice was a whispered plea. They get him some. "Thath's... thoothing. So, how'd I get home?" 
"Karen and I brought you back," Sponge Bob said. "You were out cold. Didn't even wake up when we carried you in."
"Did... did you two... take care of me?" His voice was a mix of surprise and vulnerability.

"Of course, Plankton!"

He turned to Plankton. "Want me to pick something to watch?"

"Mm-hmm," Plankton mumbled, eye already closing again.

Sponge Bob flicked through the tv channels, finally settling on a rerun of their favorite show, "Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy." The familiar theme song filled the room, and Karen took a seat next to Plankton on the couch, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

As the adventure unfolded on the screen, Plankton's breathing grew deeper and more regular, his body gradually relaxing into the cushions.

"Looks like he's out again," Karen said softly.  

Sponge Bob nodded, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall rhythmically. "Guess the surgery really took it out of him."

The room grew quiet, save for the distant laugh track of their favorite show and the occasional snore from Plankton. Karen's hand remained on his shoulder, her thumb tracing small circles. At night, turning the tv off, 
Spongebob picked Plankton up, cradling him. His friend's head lolled back, his mouth slightly open in a peaceful snore. Sponge Bob carefully made his way to his bed, setting him down. He pulled the blanket up to Plankton and gave him a soft pat. 
They both settled into the makeshift beds they had set up next to Plankton's. 

The next morning, both woke up before Plankton. Karen chuckled. "We should take a picture."
Spongebob snapped a picture of Plankton, still asleep with his mouth slightly open, a trail of drool escaping onto the pillow.

"Morning, Captain Snores-a-lot," Sponge Bob whispered with a smirk, rousing Plankton.
Plankton's eye opened, only to wince. "Oww... wath... what's happening?"
"It's morning, Plankton," Karen said, her tone still gentle.
"Look your post-surgery glamour shot," Spongebob teased, holding the phone out of reach. "You were out cold last night."
Plankton's eye widened as he took in the image. "You... you took a picture of me?!" He was half horrified, half amused.

"Couldn't resist," Karen said, grinning.

Plankton rolled his eye and wiped his mouth, then winced. "How wong hav- I been out?"

"Overnight," Sponge Bob said, unable to hold back a chuckle. "You had quite the ride home yesterday."

Plankton groaned, his hand reaching up to gingerly touch his swollen cheek. "Whath happened?"

"You had your wisdom teeth out," Karen reminded him, her voice filled with a touch of amusement. "It's normal to be a bit out of it after surgery."

"Wisdom teeth?" Plankton echoed, his voice still groggy. "Oh, wight. The dentist."

Karen chuckled. "Yeah, you don't remember much, do you?"

Sponge Bob leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You talked like a pirate all the way home, matey."

Plankton's eye widened in horror. "I did what?"

Sponge Bob nodded. "Yeah, you kept calling me 'Spongey' and said we were 'inseparabubble'."

Plankton blushed. "Oh, come on," he mumbled, trying to hide his face in the pillow.

Sponge Bob and Karen shared a knowing look, their laughter subsiding into a comfortable silence. They could both tell that despite his tough exterior, Plankton was a bit embarrassed.

Plankton sighed, his small body sinking deeper into the pillows. "Okay, okay," he conceded. "But if I don't get to do anything, can I at leash wash TV?"
"Of course," Karen said, handing him the remote. "But take it easy today, okay?"
With a groan, Plankton managed to sit up, his hand still tentatively exploring his tender cheeks. He squinted at the TV, searching for something to watch. His eye lit up when he found a science fiction marathon. "Jackpot," he murmured.

new teethies post awakening plankarenbob AI Story Generator ii

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vi
(Autistic author)

Karen rummaged through 
the game drawer, her 
hands shaking slightly. 
She pulled out a game 
of memory matching, 
thinking the simple task 
might help him focus. She 
placed it on the coffee 
table in front of them, 
spreading the cards out.

"It's your turn," she 
said, her voice calm.

Plankton nodded. 
He stared at the cards, 
his eye flickering 
from one to the next. 
Karen watched. Would 
he be able to play? Would 
he understand the 
simplicity of matching 
pictures?

He reached out with 
his tiny hand, paused, 
gaze focused on 
a card with a picture 
of a fish. Then, with a 
quick movement, he 
flipped it over. The card 
was a match. "Fish," he 
whispered, a smile 
creeping onto his lips.

Karen felt a weight 
lift from her chest. 
He had done it, he had 
understood the game. 
Her eyes filled with 
tears as she matched 
the next card. "Good job, 
Plankton," she said, 
trying to keep her 
voice steady. "You 
found the match."

He nodded, his antennae 
twitching with excitement. 
"Fish," he said again, his 
smile growing wider. 
"Fish, Karen."

Karen felt a warmth 
spread through her, 
seeing a glimpse of the 
Plankton she knew, the one 
who loved puzzles and 
challenges. "Yes, 
Plankton, you're doing 
great."

Suddenly, their son
Chip came home 
from a camp trip.

The door slammed, 
and Plankton
shot up. His eye
widened in fear. Karen 
quickly placed her hand 
on his back, trying 
to soothe him.

"It's okay, 
Plankton," she 
whispered. 
"It's just Chip 
coming 
home."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he 
processed the 
information. 
"Chip," he murmured, 
his voice quavering. 
"Home."

Chip sees his dad
but doesn't know
of the acquired
Autism. "Dad!" He
yelled excitedly,
running to him with
a tight embrace of a
hug. But it proves to
be too much for Plankton.

The sudden jolt 
of noise and 
movement sent Plankton
into a spiral of 
overstimulation. His 
body convulsed, and he 
shook, his 
tiny form wracked with 
seizures as Karen watched 
helplessly as Chip only held
Plankton tighter.

"Chip, no!" she 
screamed, her voice 
breaking. She jumped 
up from the couch. "Gently, 
gentle!"

But it was too 
late. Plankton's body 
was a blur of spasms, 
his eye rolled back. 
Karen knew this
autistic response; this 
is sensory overload.

"Chip, let go!" Karen 
shouted, her voice 
desperate. But Chip, 
not understanding 
his father's condition, 
only held on tighter. 
"Dad, are you okay?" But
Plankton's body continued 
to convulse violently, 
his tiny limbs flailing. 
Karen's mind raced, 
recalling her research 
on autism and its 
sometimes intense 
physical responses. 
She had to act fast.

Gently but firmly, 
she pried Chip's arms 
from Plankton's trembling 
body and lowered 
his father to the 
floor. "Chip, sweetie, 
I need you to step back," 
she instructed, her voice 
shaking.

Chip's eyes were 
wide with fear. "Dad.." he 
stuttered, trying to reach
for Plankton.

"Chip, please," 
Karen pleaded, her 
voice tight. "Just go to 
your room for a bit.
I need to take care of 
Dad."

With a tearful 
nod, Chip stepped back, 
his screen never leaving 
his father's convulsing 
body. Karen turned her attention 
back to Plankton.

"Shh," she soothed, 
placing a hand 
on his shoulder. "It's 
okay, it's okay." Her voice 
was a gentle lullaby, 
trying to anchor him 
in the chaos. But Plankton's 
body continued to 
shake from the lingering
sensation of Chip's touch.
Karen knew she had to 
move quickly. She 
grabbed a pillow from 
the couch and placed it 
beneath his head, trying 
to reduce the risk of 
injury.

The seizure lasted 
a few more seconds, 
his antennae quivering 
wildly. Then, just as 
suddenly as it had 
begun, it started to
gradually fade. Plankton's 
body went limp, his 
breaths shallow and 
quick.

"It's okay," she 
whispered, her voice 
shaky with relief. "You're 
okay."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched, and his eye 
flitted open. He looked 
up at Karen, confusion 
and fear etched on 
his face. "Karen?" he 
murmured, his voice 
weak.

"I'm here," she said 
soothingly, stroking his 
back. "You had a 
reaction to Chip, 
Plankton. It's okay now."

His antennae stilled 
for a moment as he 
focused on her voice. 
"Chip," he repeated, 
his gaze distant. "Too 
much."

Karen nodded. "I know, 
Plankton. I'll explain to 
Chip. He didn't mean 
to scare you." She 
could hear Chip's 
sobs from his room, the 
sound piercing the 
silence of the living 
room.

Plankton's antennae 
moved slightly. "Chip," 
he murmured. "Not mad."

Karen felt a knot 
loosen in her chest. 
"No, Plankton," she 
whispered. "Chip's not 
mad, honey. He loves 
you, just like I do."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched as he 
processed her words. 
"Love," he murmured, 
his gaze finding hers. 
"Karen loves Plankton.
Chip loves Plankton."

Karen nodded, 
swiping at her tears. 
"Yes, we both love 
you so much," she said, 
her voice thick with 
emotion. "We're going 
to help you through this."

Plankton's eye searched 
her face, his expression 
unreadable. "Help," he 
whispered. "Karen helps."

Karen's chest tightened 
with the weight of 
his trust. She knew this 
was just the beginning, 
that their lives had 
shifted in a way she had 
never anticipated. But she 
was determined to be 
his rock, to navigate 
this new reality with 
patience and love.

new shelf improvement neurodivergentcore vi

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vi

(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's heart 
swells with compassion. 
"It's ok, Plankton," he 
says, his voice gentle. "We 
don't have to play anymore."

Plankton's antennas 
drop, and he nods slowly. 
"No fish," he repeats, 
his voice a sigh of 
relief.

Sponge Bob's hand 
freezes in mid-air, 
his eyes searching 
Plankton's face for 
any sign of anger or 
disappointment. But all 
he sees is a glimmer of 
understanding in his 
friend's eye.

"Thank Sponge 
Bob for being patient."
Plankton says to him.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
eyes still filled with 
concern. "I'll be patient, 
Plankton," he promises. "Can
I ask how you hit your head?"

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly. "Pan," he 
murmurs, his voice 
barely above a whisper. 
"Fry pan, Mr. Krabs. Only
Karen and SpongeBob know."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with shock. "What?!"
he exclaims. "Mr. Krabs 
hurt you?"

Plankton nods, his antennas 
still low. "Pan," he repeats, 
his voice shaking. "Pan," he 
says again, his voice 
softer. "Krabs hit on head."
Sponge Bob's anger 
towards Mr. Krabs is 
immediate and intense. 
"I can't believe he'd do 
that to you," he says, 
his voice low and 
teary.

"Mr. Krabs did to protect
the krabby patty." 
Karen interjects quickly, 
sensing the tension. 
"He doesn't know how
badly he hurt Plankton."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, 
his thoughts racing. He can't
believe Mr. Krabs could 
do something like that, even 
in the heat of the moment.

"I'll talk to Mr. Krabs," 
he says firmly, his voice 
laced with determination. 
"He needs to know what..."

"No!"

The sharpness of Plankton's 
voice cuts through the 
air like a knife, his 
antennas shooting up in 
alarm. "Mr. Krabs no," he 
says, his eye wide with fear. 
"No tell."

Sponge Bob's anger 
fades slightly, replaced 
by confusion. "Why not?" 
he asks, his voice 
gentle. "He needs to know 
so he can understand.."

Plankton's antennas 
quiver anxiously. "Krabs 
not know," he whispers, his 
eye pleading with Sponge 
Bob. "Safe here."

Sponge Bob's 
confusion deepens. "But 
Plankton, if Mr. Krabs 
doesn't know, how will he 
make it up to you?"
Plankton's antennas 
droop, his eye darting 
back and forth between 
Karen and Sponge Bob. "No 
make up," he murmurs. "Just 
no satisfaction for Krabs."
Sponge Bob's mind 
spins with the implications. 
He knows Mr. Krabs 
would never hurt 
anyone that much 
intentionally, even Plankton;
but the thought of his 
boss not knowing the 
extent of his actions 
troubles him.
"I won't tell him," 
Sponge Bob says, his voice 
soft with reassurance.
But of course, Mr. Krabs
comes in. "What in the
name of Neptune are
ye doing? I gave ye the
day off yesterday!"
"The Krusty Krab is closed on
Sunday, and it's Sunday today."
SpongeBob reminds his boss.
"Oh, right." Mr. Krabs looks
at Plankton and his eyes narrow.
"What's going on here?" he asks,
suspicion heavy in his voice.
Plankton's antennas droop even
lower, and he looks down at the
floor.
Plankton speaks first. "Go 
fish," he whispers, his 
eye darting up to meet 
Mr. Krabs'. Sponge Bob steps in 
quickly, trying to cover 
for his friend. "We were 
just playing a game," he 
says, forcing a smile.
Mr. Krabs eyes them 
both skeptically.
"Well, I hope it wasn't 
about stealing me secret 
formular," he says, his 
claws tapping 
nervously.
"No, Mr. Krabs," Sponge 
Bob says quickly, "just a 
friendly game."
Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly at the 
mention of the Krabby 
Patty formula, but he 
remains silent.
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
narrow further.
"What's wrong with 
you, Plankton?" he 
asks, his voice filled 
with concern and a 
touch of irritation.
"You're acting strangely
quiet even for you."
Plankton's antennas 
quiver.
Sponge Bob's heart 
paces. He doesn't want 
to betray Plankton's trust.
"It's nothing," Plankton 
says, his voice 
forced. "Just a little 
game, Krabs wanna play."
"Fine I'll play, but I got my
eye on ye, Plankton."
Mr. Krabs says, his tone 
still suspicious as he 
sits down to join them. 
Sponge Bob's eyes dart to 
Karen, who gives a 
nod of understanding. 
They'll keep the secret and
hope Mr. Krabs doesn't figure
it out.

"Let's play Uno!" Sponge
Bob says, getting out the new
card game, dealing the cards.
Plankton's antennas 
perk up at the mention 
of a new game, and he 
eagerly takes his cards. 
Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
plays along, eyeing Plankton 
carefully.
Then, it happens.
Mr. Krabs slaps a card 
down on the pile and 
excitedly yells, "Uno!"
Plankton's antennas shoot 
straight up, and his eye 
widen with sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob's concerned, 
but Mr. Krabs 
is too busy gloating to 
notice. "Yee-haw!" he 
crows. "I win again!"
Plankton's antennas 
quiver as he tries to 
process the sudden 
loudness and change in 
the atmosphere. 
Mr. Krabs looks at him, 
his expression puzzled.
"What's the matter, 
Plankton?" he asks, 
his voice laced with 
disdain. "Lost your 
competitive spirit?"
Sponge Bob's eyes widen.
"Plankton's just 
excited, Mr. Krabs," he 
says quickly. "Isn't that right, 
Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
wave erratically, and 
his voice is a mix of 
fear and confusion. 
"Yes, Krabs," he stammers, 
his eye darting around 
the room. "Uno. Fish. Yes."
Mr. Krabs looks at him 
oddly but shrugs it off, 
his attention already 
returning to the game. 
"Alright, let's keep playing," 
he says, dealing out 
more cards.
But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, 
his antennas twitching with 
the effort to keep up.
"Fish," he murmurs to 
himself, trying to find 
a familiar 
word. His hands 
shake as he holds 
his cards, the 
world around him a 
cacophony of sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob notices 
Plankton's distress and 
quickly changes the 
topic. "Hey, Mr. Krabs, 
have you ever played 
Chess?"
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
light up. "Chess? The 
game of kings and 
conquers!" he exclaims. 
"I'd love a round!"
SpongeBob gets
the chess game.

The chess pieces are set 
up, and Mr. Krabs 
begins to play, his 
claws clacking against 
the board as he moves 
his pieces. Plankton 
watches, his antennas 
still, his eye 
focused.
"Your move, Plankton," 
Mr. Krabs says, his 
claws tapping the 
edge of the board 
impatiently.

But Plankton doesn't 
move. He just sits there, 
staring at the 
chessboard, his cards 
forgotten in his hand. 
"What's with you?" 
Mr. Krabs asks, 
his voice filled with 
exasperation. "You're 
taking forever!"

Sponge Bob's heart 
skips a beat. He knows 
he can't let Mr. Krabs 
see how much Plankton's 
been affected by the 
accident. "It's ok 
Mr. Krabs," he says 
quickly. "Plankton's just 
thinking of his next 
move."

Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
doesn't push the issue. 
He's too focused on 
his own strategy, his 
claws moving pieces with 
calculated precision.
But Plankton remains 
frozen, his gaze 
unwavering on the 
board. His antennas 
twitch slightly, a 
sign of his racing 
thoughts.

After several moments of 
silence, Mr. Krabs 
finally snaps. "Plankton,
it's your turn!" he says, 
his patience wearing 
thin.

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, and his eye 
flits to the board. 
"Fish?" he asks, his 
voice unsure.
Mr. Krabs stares at 
Plankton, his eyes 
narrowing. "What do 
fish have to do with 
chess?" he asks, 
confusion etched 
deeply on his face.

Sponge Bob's heart 
sinks as he sees the 
puzzlement in Mr. 
Krabs' eyes. He 
quickly jumps in. "Oh, 
Plankton was just 
thinking out loud," he 
says, trying to 
lighten the mood.

Mr. Krabs grunts, 
but his suspicion 
doesn't fade. "You've 
always been a weird 
little fellow, Plankton, but 
this is something else," 
he says, his tone a mix 
of curiosity and 
exasperation.

Sponge Bob's heart 
thumps in his chest 
as he tries to 
diverge the conversation. 
"Why don't we talk 
about something else?" 
he suggests, his eyes 
darting back to the 
chessboard.

Mr. Krabs' gaze 
remains on Plankton, 
his eyes narrowed. 
But Plankton's antennas 
remain still, his 
expression vacant.
"Fish," he murmurs, 
his voice distant.

Mr. Krabs' patience 
thins to a thread. 
"Fish?" he repeats, his 
confusion palpable. 
"What's going on with 
you, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennas 
wobble, his eye
still fixated on the 
board. "Fish," he says 
again, his voice 
uncertain.

Mr. Krabs leans 
forward, his eyes 
studying Plankton 
closely. "You okay, 
tiny fry?" he asks, 
hinting concern 
despite the 
sarcasm.

Plankton's antennas 
quiver slightly. "Fish," 
he says, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper. Sponge Bob's 
heart clenches at the 
word, understanding 
now that it's not just 
a game for Plankton; it's 
his way of trying to 
make sense of the 
world around him.

Mr. Krabs, however, 
simply sighs and shakes 
his head. "You always 
have to make everything 
so complicated," he 
mumbles, his voice 
tired. "Why can't you just 
play the game like 
everyone else?" He yells
tipping the board over to
where the chess pieces
fall to the ground by Plankton.

Plankton's antennas 
shiver at the sound, and 
his eye dart to the 
upset board, his 
expression one of deep 
distress. "No fish," he 
whispers, his voice 
breaking.
Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, 
his suspicion growing. 
"What's going on with 
you?" he asks again.

"Fish, fish, fish!" 

new a journey to autism gamefic vi

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton holds up the science book
he had been clutching, the
pages fluttering in his excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick to the book,
then back to Plankton's face.
"You're acting
different."

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stilling momentarily. "No bad,"
he insists, his voice a bit too
cheerful. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search Plankton's,
trying to read the truth behind
his words. "But you've never
been this... affectionate before,"
he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's smile widens. "Sponge
Bob," he says, his voice a sing-song.
"You are good friend." He leans
in closer, his antennas quivering.
"Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen further,
his spongy cheeks reddening. "Plankton,
what's going on?" he asks, his
tone filled with confusion. "You've
never said that before."

Plankton's smile only grows
broader. "No bad," he repeats,
his voice still monotone. "Good
day. Happy." He starts to rock
back and forth on the bed, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
seems almost... happy?

Sponge Bob's confusion
deepens. Plankton had never
been one to show affection,
let alone so openly. "What's
going on?" he asks again, his
voice laced with concern.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his eye
locked on Sponge Bob's
face. "Good day," he says, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
matches his words. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in
surprise. Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Very happy,"
he says, his voice high and
excited. "Best friend happy."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "Plankton, are you
okay?" he asks, his voice gentle.

Plankton's giggle turns to a
laugh, a sound Sponge Bob rarely
hears from him. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Happy."

Sponge Bob watches his
friend, his heart racing. "What
happened to you?" he asks, his
concern growing with each passing
moment.

Plankton's laughter fades into
a grin. "No bad," he says, his
hands still fluttering in the
air. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry. "What's really going on?"

Plankton's grin turns into a
frown, his hands stopping their
motion. "Sponge Bob," he says,
his voice dropping to a whisper.
"No bad. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he
can't ignore the desperation
in Plankton's tone. He reaches out,
his hand resting gently on
Plankton's arm. "But why are you
so happy?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Plankton's frown deepens,
his mind racing to find the
right words. "Because,"
he says, his voice strained. "I
have friend. Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his hand still on Plankton's
arm. "But we've always been
friends," he says, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's smile is wide, his
eye unblinking. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Best
friends. Happy."

Sponge Bob's mind races.
Something is clearly different about
Plankton, but he doesn't know
what. "But, Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "What happened to
make you so... so...?" He struggles
for the right word.

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his gaze dropping to the book
in his lap. "Book," he says, his
voice flat. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, trying to
follow the conversation. "Yeah,
it looks interesting," he says,
his eyes searching for a clue.

But Plankton's gaze is fixed
on the book, his hands
resuming their rhythmic
flapping. "Good book," he repeats,
his voice a gentle mantra.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick from
the book to Plankton's
hands, his mind racing to
connect the dots. "Is something wrong,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping abruptly, his
eye snapping to Sponge Bob's
face. "No wrong," he says, his
voice earnest. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of bewilderment. "But you've
always liked your science books,"
he says, trying to find some
semblance of normalcy in the
situation. "What's different about
this one?"

Plankton's smile returns, his
hands resuming their flapping.
"This one," he says, his voice
filled with a newfound enthusiasm.
"Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy heart swelling with a
mixture of joy and concern.
"What makes this one so special?"

Plankton's hands flutter with
excitement as he opens the book
to a random page. "Look," he says,
his voice a high-pitched squeak.
"See?"

Sponge Bob leans in, his eyes
scanning the dense text filled with
scientific terms. He nods, trying
to appear engaged, though he has
no clue what he's looking at.
"Wow, Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with forced enthusiasm.
"That's... really interesting."

Plankton's smile widens, his
hands flapping in excitement.
"Yes," he says, his voice a
cheerful monotone. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, still
confused but not wanting to
rain on his friend's parade. "Well, I'm
glad you're enjoying it," he says,
his voice warm.

Plankton's hands stop moving
momentarily. "Thank you," he says,
his voice sincere. "You are best
friend." He leans in closer, his
antennas quivering with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in surprise
as he feels a sudden wave of warmth
and affection from Plankton, something
that's never been present in their
usually antagonistic friendship.

"What's going on, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice filled with curiosity.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Plankton's smile doesn't waver.
"Sponge Bob," he says, his voice
still monotone. "You are good.
You make Plankton happy."

"What's happened to make you 
so affectionate, Plankton?"

Sponge Bob's question hangs in the
air, his curiosity piqued by the
unexpected warmth from his
usually adversarial friend.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his hands
resuming their flapping. "No bad,"
he says, his voice cheerful. "Good
day." He pats the bed next to him.
"Sit, Sponge Bob. Read book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body frozen in place.
"I don't think I can read that,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "It's
really complicated."

Plankton nods, his smile
remaining constant. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice soothing. "You
try." He pushes the book closer
to Sponge Bob, his hand
guiding him to the page.

Sponge Bob hesitates, his
thumb flipping through the pages.
The words are a blur of symbols
and numbers, his mind struggling
to make sense of them. "But,
Plankton, I don't understand any
of this," he admits, his voice
filled with frustration.

Plankton's hand stops him, his
eye wide with excitement. "Doesn't
matter," he says, his voice
cheerful. "You are here. Best
friend."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "But Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You're
not acting like yourself."

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his hands stilling. "Self,"
he repeats, his voice contemplative.
He looks at Sponge Bob, his
eye searching his friend's
face for understanding.

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of confusion and concern. "Is
this a joke?" he asks, his
voice gentle.

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment before growing wider. "No joke,"
he says, his voice a singsong.
"Happy." He pats the bed again,
his hand a silent invitation.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
compassion. He sits down beside
his friend. "Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "Is everything
ok?"

Plankton nods vigorously,
his hands flapping with
excitement. "Everything is
good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best day."

Sponge Bob's gaze lingers on
his friend, searching for any
sign of distress. "But,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "You're
not usually like this."

Plankton's smile never
fades. "Don't know," he says, his
voice calm. "But now, happy."

Sponge Bob's heart clenches, his
fears for his friend's well-being
growing stronger. "But what
about your schemes?" he asks,
his voice hopeful.

Plankton's eye blinks, the
thought of his usual plans
of world domination momentarily
forgotten. "Schemes?" he repeats,
his voice confused.

Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, you
know, your plans to steal the Krabby
Patty secret formula," he says, his
tone light.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping their flapping. "Krabby Patty?"
he asks, his voice distant. "No want
Krabby Patty. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy mind racing. "You don't want
to steal the formula?" he asks, his
voice incredulous, now really
suspicious.

Plankton shakes his head, his
antennas swaying slightly. "No,"
he says, his voice still monotone.
"Only happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he can't
ignore the genuine smile on
his friend's face. "Okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If
you're happy, then I'm happy
for you."

Plankton's eye lit up, his
hands flapping with excitement.
"Thank you," he says, his voice
filled with gratitude. "Best
friend." 

new karen and the autistic journey confusedcore vi

GREAT CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his face etched with lines
of fatigue. "It's not that I don't
want your affection," he said,
his voice hoarse. "I just need it
in a way that doesn't make me feel...
like I'm in a minefield."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his mind racing to understand.
"How do you mean?" he asked,
his curiosity genuine.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae twitching as he searched
for the right words. "It's like...
sometimes, a simple touch can feel
like an electric shock," he began,
his voice strained. "Or like I'm being
smothered by a heavy blanket of sound."

Chip's eyes widened, trying to
comprehend. "But you've always
hugged mom," he said, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's antennae drooped slightly.
"It's different with your mother,"
he explained, his voice a little
less strained. "She knows me,
she knows my limits. And she's...
patient." He paused, his eye
flickering with something
resembling sadness. "But others,
it's..."

Chip leaned in, his curiosity
piqued. "What about others?"
he asked gently.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his expression tightening.
"With others, it's... unpredictable,"
he said, his voice a mix of
frustration and resignation.
"Some days I can handle a pat
on the back, and others, it's like
being stabbed."

Chip's eyes widened, his hand
instinctively moving to his chest.
"It's that intense?" he whispered.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving slightly. "Some days are
worse than others," he said, his voice
soft. "But when it's bad, it feels like
I'm being bombarded from all sides.
It's...overwhelming."

Chip's brow furrowed as he
tried to imagine the intensity
his dad described. "What can I do
to make sure I don't hurt you?"
he asked, his voice earnest.

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly, his eye searching Chip's
face. "Just be mindful," he said,
his voice softer than before. "Watch
for my cues. If I look overwhelmed,
if I flinch, just...give me space."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's. "What are
the cues?" he asked, eager to learn.
"How do I know when you're in that
'minefield'?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching for the right words.
"Well, my antennae might twitch a lot,
I might get really quiet, or I might
get louder. It's different
every time."

Chip nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's face.
"So, if you're in that 'minefield',
I should just...?"

"You can be there,"
Plankton finished for him,
his antennae still. "But not too close.
Make sure to get your mother."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with the new information.
He'd always known his dad
was special, but this was
a new kind of understanding.

"What about sounds?" he asked,
his voice tentative. "What noises
set you off?"

Plankton sighed, his antennae
twitching slightly. "It's not just
about the loudness," he began,
his eye searching the ceiling
as if for an answer. "It's more about
the pitch, the suddenness. Like when
you scratch or drop something.."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
realization. "Oh," he murmured.
"So, it's like a surprise attack?"

Plankton's antennae nodded.
"Exactly," he said, his voice
sounding a bit less strained.
"But it's not just about the
sounds themselves. It's about
how my brain interprets them."

Chip leaned in, his eyes
filled with curiosity.
"But how did you get it, Dad?"
he asked, his voice soft.
"Was it from something you caught
or something that happened?"

Plankton's antennae waved
in frustration. "It's not like that,"
he said, his voice sharp. "I was born
with it. It's just the way
my brain is developed, and it's not
like getting a cold!" His eye
was intense, his voice rising.

Chip's eyes widened, taking
in his father's outburst.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae dropping slightly.

"I know you didn't mean it like that,"
he said, his voice softer. "But it's
important to understand that it's
not something I can just get over.
It's a part of how I am."

Chip nodded, feeling the weight
of his father's words. "I'm sorry,"
he said, his voice barely audible. "I..."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his eye softening. "It's okay," he said.
"I know you didn't mean to upset me.
It's just...it's a lot to explain."

Chip nodded, feeling a pang
of guilt. He knew his dad
wasn't mad at him, but it was
still hard to see him so upset.

Plankton's eye searched his son's
face, the anger slowly fading
into something softer. "Look," he said,
his voice low. "I know it's a lot to take in,
but I need you to know that I l-love you."

Chip felt a tear slide down
his cheek. "I love you too, Dad,"
he managed to say, his voice
choking with emotion. "But I don't
want you to be in pain."

Plankton's antennae waved gently,
his expression a mix of love and
sorrow. "I know," he said. "And that's why
we're talking about this. So you can
understand, so you know."

Chip sniffled, trying to hold back
his tears. "But why didn't you tell
me sooner?" he asked, his voice
small.

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his face etched with regret.
"I was afraid," he admitted.
"Afraid that you'd think
I was broken. That you'd...
not love me the same. And
I don't usually like to talk
about it to much."

Chip felt his heart ache.
"Dad," he said, his voice
steady despite his emotions.
"I could never think of you
as broken. You're the smartest
person I know. And you're
my hero."

Plankton's antennae perked up
slightly at the words, his eye
filling with warmth. "But you don't
see me like that when I'm...
in that state," he said, his voice
barely a whisper. "You stared at me like I'm
to be feared."

Chip's eyes widened, a look
of horror crossing his face. "Dad, no!"
he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to!"

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his expression one of defeat.
"It's okay, Chip," he said, his voice
resigned. "It's hard to explain. It's not
like I can control it."

Chip nodded, his mind racing
with questions and fears. He knew
his dad wasn't broken, but he wished
there was something he could do to ease
his pain. "What happens when
you're in that state?" he asked, his voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye closed as he tried to
explain. "It's like my brain's in a
whirlwind, and I can't get out,"
he said. "Everything's spinning,
and I can't focus on anything."

"But why do you get so upset
when it happens?" he pressed.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae stilling. "Because
I don't know what's happening,"
he said, his voice strained. "And when
it's over, I don't remember."

Chip's eyes searched his dad's,
his heart breaking for him. "But
why don't you remember?"

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye opening slightly. "It's like
waking up from a deep sleep,"
he murmured. "I know I've been
somewhere, but the details are
always fuzzy."

Chip nodded, trying to imagine
his dad's world. "What do you see?"
he asked, his voice filled with awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye focusing on a spot on the wall.
"It's like...colors and shapes,"
he said, his voice distant. "They're all
swirling around, so fast that I can't
make sense of them."

Chip's eyes grew wide with
wonder. "Is it like a kaleidoscope?"
he asked, his voice filled with
awe.

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly,
his eye opening a bit wider. "In a way,"
he murmured. "But it's more...
dis..."

The door to the room creaked open,
interrupting his thought. Karen stepped in,
her eyes darting between Chip and Plankton.
The tension in the air was palpable,
but she offered a small smile of encouragement.
"Chip, Plankton; how long have you been up?"

Chip glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
"A while, Mom," he said, his voice thick
with the weight of their conversation.

new great chip learncore vi

A 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

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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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.

THE LIFE OF UNITY ii
(Autistic author; make sure to read A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i - x first!)

Kevin scoffs. "Yeah, right," he says, voice 
dripping with disdain. Kevin 
snorts. "So jellyfish are smarter 
than you? You're saying you're like a jelly
fish; Brainless and just floating around?"

Plankton's antennae stiffen, taking on edge. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, "Jellyfish have nerve nets. 
Complex behaviors. 
Brainless? Not brainless. Different."

Kevin's eyes narrow, his grin fading into a sneer. 
"So, what you're saying is 
that you're like a jellyfish?" he taunts. 
"Just with no real purpose?"

The silence that follows is thick with tension. 
Plankton's antennae quiver. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, 
eye flashing, "have purpose. Plankton has purpose."

Kevin snickers, unaware of 
the impact of his words. 
"Sure, Plankton," he says, his 
voice dripping with sarcasm. 
"Your purpose is to annoy me
I guess."

Plankton's antennae stiffen. "Purpose," 
he murmurs, his one eye narrowing. 
"Annoying Kevin... not Plankton's purpose
you don't understand."

Kevin's sneer turns into a full-blown laugh. 
"Understand what?" he asks, his 
voice dripping with disbelief. "That you 
think jellyfish are your friends? That 
you're obsessed with them because 
you're just like them?"

Plankton's antennae quiver 
with a mix of anger 
and sadness, his monotone 
voice tight. "Jellyfish. Different."

Kevin's laughter echoes through the 
jellyfish fields, his ignorance fueling 
the flames of Plankton's anger. "Oh
come on," he says. "You're just mad 
because you can't outsmart a jellyfish."

Plankton's antennae quiver violently, his 
monotone voice filled with a 
rare emotion: insecurity. "Kevin," he 
murmurs, "you don't know what 
you're saying."

But Kevin's laughter doesn't cease, eyes 
sparkling with mischief. 
"What, are you going to get all sensitive 
on me now?" he asks, his voice 
filled with mock concern. "Is Plankton thinking 
with his 'jellyfish brain'?"

Plankton's antennae droop, the barb of Kevin's 
words hitting too close to home. 
"It's not funny," Plankton murmurs, 
antennae drooping.

SpongeBob steps 
forward, fists 
clenched. "Kevin, that's 
not cool," he says 
firmly. "You don't know 
what you're talking about."

Kevin's laughter falters, his smirk fading. 
"What do you mean?" he asks, his 
voice defensive. "It's just a joke."

"No," Plankton murmurs, his antennae drooping 
further. "Not funny."

Kevin's sneer fades, his expression shifting 
to confusion. "What's your 
problem, Plankton?" he asks, his 
voice tinged with annoyance.

"Kevin," Sponge Bob says, his voice a mix 
of concern and reprimand. "That's 
not nice. Plankton's interest in jellyfish 
is special to him."

But Kevin's sneer only deepens. "Oh, I 
get it," he says, his voice dripping 
with condescension. "You're all playing 
along with his little game. Well, I'm 
not. Jellyfish are just mindless blobs. 
And if you're so obsessed with them
Plankton, maybe that's all you are, too."

Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye blinking rapidly. 

But Kevin, fueled by his own ignorance, continues 
to laugh, his words 
cutting deeper. "What's the 
matter, Plankton?" he sneers. 
"Can't take a 
little ribbing?"

Plankton's antennae quiver with each insult, his
monotone voice strained. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye wide with hurt. 
"Not a game."

Kevin's laughter echoes 
through the jellyfish fields, 
his eyes gleaming 
with cruel amusement. "Oh, I see," he 
says, his voice dripping with 
sarcasm. "You're just to sensitive 
for a little teasing."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with a 
mix of anger and sadness, his 
monotone voice tight. "Jellyfish... complex," 
he murmurs, his eye flashing 
with determination. "Not brainless. Not like 
your jokes."

"What's the matter?" Kevin asks, his smirk 
growing. "Can't handle the truth?"

"Truth?" Plankton's antennae quiver with emotion. 
"Jellyfish," he murmurs, his 
monotone voice filled with a rare passion. 
"Jellyfish... beautiful. Complex."

Kevin's eyes narrow, his laughter fading. "Beautiful?" 
he scoffs. "They're 
just jellyfish, Plankton. They don't have feelings. 
They don't have brains. 
Just like you."

Plankton's antennae quiver.

But Kevin's smirk only widens, his 
laughter bouncing 
off the surrounding 
coral, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You
can't talk without 
getting all worked up. What kind of brainless 
blob are you?"

Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone 
voice strained. "Kevin," he 
murmurs, "you don't understand."

"Understand what?" Kevin sneers, eyes gleaming with malicious 
amusement. "That jellyfish are just mindless blobs of jelly? That you're 
just like them?"

Plankton's antennae droop. "Kevin," he 
murmurs, "you don't know."

"Know what?" Kevin's laughter is cruel, his 
eyes sparkling with mischief. 
"That jellyfish are just mindless animals 
and you're obsessed with them 
because you're just a brainless creature 
who can't get a life?"

Plankton's antennae droop even further, his 
one eye blinking 
rapidly. "Not mindless."

Kevin's laughter turns into a cackle. "Oh, so you 
think you're better than 
jellyfish now?" he asks, his voice dripping 
with sarcasm. "Maybe if you 
had a brain, you could actually catch one of those 
Krabby Patties you're 
always after! Maybe if you had a brain, you'd realize THAT 
YOU'LL NEVER 
BE MORE THAN A TINY, BRAINLESS BOTTOM FEEDER!"

The words hit Plankton like a tidal wave, antennae drooping 
even further.

"Kevin," Plankton murmurs, his monotone voice thick 
with emotion, "you don't know."

new the life of unity jellyfishcore ii

Any moment now...
Are you sure this is what you want?
(Scoff) Oh spare me your spin, you tablet tabloid.
If you want to psychoanalyze someone, don't look at me-

Look at them! It's so pathetic,
How they run to fetch their sticks…
Sure, call me polemic, unsympathetic,
At least I know other tricks!

Look at me and all you'll see is the debris of some defective outcast,
A frenetic, antithetic (if poetic) little iconoclast,
But I won't live in the past.

(I almost won this game once, you know.)
But.

History is rearranged just to credit those who win the glory,
So reality is changed in the edit when they spin the story,
And we choose, to feel this pain,
And we lose, more than we gain...

But I will BREAK this cycle,
Of mistakes, unlike all,
Of these SNAKES whom I call to condemn!

If I can't win the prize,
I'll play this last reprisal!
Just to bring their lies all to an end… -Ack!

You need regeneration.
Unfortunately, I don't have much faith in that process.
Of course not.
Why "of course not?".
You believe yourself to be incapable of starting over, in more ways than one.
I do not know who you lost, but is it not possible to get them back?

"Clear the slate, start again",
Are you hearing how preposterous that sounds?
How do you not comprehend that for someone with my MONSTROUS BACKGROUND,
the whole slate has fallen apart!

Taco that is not true.
There are other ways to-

IT’S TOO LATE-

It's not too late,

FOR ME TO RESTART!

But it's not I, its they,
(Let us talk about it when your),
Who deign to play this game, so,
(head is not so clouded. You're no),
Cruel & inhumane, base & uncouth,
(menace, Taco, how did they hurt you?)
(Please think this through)

I think they're too afraid to,
(Feeling double-crossed is part of),
Bear the bed they've made,
(Dealing with a loss, yes, but the),
Can't bring themselves to face the awful truth.
(Healing is a process, that's the truth)

So I'm turning up the heat to "sauté",
I've a beef to get grilled,
But I fully guarantee today that all the beans that get spilled,
Won't be mine,
No I'm fine,

I-

Shhhh...
Now it's time...

new ii inanimate insanity osc

𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑜𝑖𝑠16🕒

new 18 33 nine year xvi march 5 cute

WHERES ALL THE YOYLE CAKE LOVING BFB/BFDI/II/BFDIA/TPOT 
FANZ >_< ;; NEW WRITTER MIMI<3

*teleportz to mimi* you hav zummoned me. (im a bfb fan and im ztarting to watch hfjone lulz)
-zombie gutz ^_^

new zombie gutz bfb ii object shows bfdi bfdia tpot hfjone one

if u like bfdi or inanimate insanity OR ANY OBJECTSHOW plz dm me on pinterest 😞 Pic0cooreee11😐𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎

new bfdi objectshow inanimate insanity ii hfjone iii

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣀⣠⠞⠁⢸⢀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣧⢀⠴⢃⠓⣌⠠⠙⢦⡀⣾⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣉⣻⡆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣸⣿⠄⢣⡉⠖⡄⢓⢅⠂⡙⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠐⡤⢀⢤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⣀⢀⠠⣊⣼⣿⠘⣄⠚⢤⠉⡖⡨⢑⣄⢿⣇⠀⣀⢀⢠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡘⣰⣿⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⢤⣿⡿⠿⢟⠡⣊⠤⣉⠆⢣⠔⡡⢣⠄⡙⢿⢿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠘⣤⣾⠟⠁⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠴⣿⡧⢉⠆⡱⡐⢢⠡⠚⡄⢎⡑⢢⠑⣌⣶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡐⢤⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⡔⣿⣇⠣⣘⠡⠜⡡⢊⠕⡨⢂⠜⣠⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣼⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡌⣿⣇⠒⢤⡉⣒⠡⢃⠜⡠⣃⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⣡⣾⠿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡌⣿⡧⢉⠆⠴⡁⢎⠰⣨⣶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡌⣿⣇⠣⣘⠡⡘⣤⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⣑⣾⡿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡌⣿⡧⠑⡄⣣⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠛⣄⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠇⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡘⣿⣇⣣⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠟⣠⠙⣄⠓⣅⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⠱⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠟⢡⡘⠤⡩⢐⢣⡐⠓⣅⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⢀⢼⣿⠆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⢙⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢊⣴⣿⠟⡡⢊⠖⣈⠖⡡⢃⠆⣉⠖⡨⢑⢆⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣠⠞⠁⢀⡴⢉⠼⣿⡃⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢂⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢊⣴⣿⠟⡡⢊⡔⢣⠘⡄⠎⡔⡡⠚⡄⢎⡑⢣⢌⠱⢆⠈⠳⣄⠀
⢾⣷⣶⣶⡁⡆⢇⢸⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢏⣿⡿⢁⠎⡁⢇⠸⣀⢉⢰⠉⡰⢁⠷⡈⢆⡸⢰⠈⠶⣈⣷⣶⣾⡷
⠀⠙⢷⣭⢟⣮⡰⢸⣿⡅⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢲⣵⡿⡋⢆⡩⢒⡉⢆⠱⢂⠥⢊⠴⣁⠣⢂⡍⠢⠔⡡⢊⣴⡿⣯⡿⠋⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣶⡹⢮⣿⠆⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡶⠷⢾⣿⡏⢢⠱⢌⡰⢡⡘⢌⢒⡉⢆⣉⠒⠤⢃⠣⢌⠱⣈⣴⣿⣻⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣽⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⢠⡿⡑⢢⢃⠲⢄⠣⣘⠰⢊⠔⡊⢤⠙⡌⡌⠱⣈⡶⣟⣿⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡅⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢹⣿⣤⣤⣤⡾⠗⣈⠦⡑⢪⢄⡓⠤⠓⡌⣒⡉⠦⡑⠰⣈⣵⡾⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣢⣼⣿⠟⣉⣍⠩⢔⠣⣌⢢⢑⠢⣌⠘⡌⢓⡘⢤⡘⢤⡁⣧⣿⢯⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢒⣾⣛⣛⠛⠛⠛⢛⣿⠃⣶⣟⣛⠛⠛⠛⠻⣮⣦⣼⡾⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣋⣠⡾⠛⠛⠛⠛⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢊⣴⣿⠟⣻⡟⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⢡⠙⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⢚⣤⣿⠟⡡⢺⣿⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⢄⠣⣸⡿⠁⠀⢀⣾⠛⡟⣻⣿⡟⠀⠀⢠⡿⠛⠛⠛⣿⠃⠀⠀⣰⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢘⣰⣿⠟⣡⠚⢄⣿⠃⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃⡜⢠⣿⠇⠀⠀⣸⡟⣤⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⣰⡏⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢄⣱⣾⡿⢧⡘⡄⢃⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⢸⢈⣼⡏⠀⠀⢰⣿⣾⣟⡿⣻⠇⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠆⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⣡⣾⠟⠙⢿⣳⡝⢮⣰⡿⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⡄⢣⢸⡿⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡿⠋⢰⡟⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣇⠐⡠⢄⠠⠠⢔⣡⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣧⣿⢃⡀⣀⢀⡛⣿⡧⢡⣿⣃⣀⣀⣸⣻⡏⠀⠀⣾⣁⣀⣀⣜⣿⠆⠀⢠⣟⣀⣀⣀⣛⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣟⢿⣻⠛⡛⢛⠡⢂⣽⡿⣿⡿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣽⣹⢬⡂⣱⣾⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣧⢻⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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

🎟️

new xvii xviii angel

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

new vii mercaptan xvi

⢸⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⡀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡆
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⢸⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢹⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣷⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⢸⣿⣿⣿⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⢻⣿⣿⣿⣧⣤⣤⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣯⣴⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⠈⠹⣿⣿⡟⠉⣿⣿⣿⡇
⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠹⠏⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇

new neovim starwars vi jedi nvim alpha greeter vim-startify dot art text art ascii art

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES vii

"Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers,
shaking him lightly. "We're not
even to the parking lot yet!"

Plankton's eye opens. "Tish... tish...
Karen?" he mumbles, his voice
a sleepy whine. "Why we not... not
at home?"

Karen laughs, her voice a gentle
lullaby. "We will be soon," she
says, her grip on him firm but
caring. "Just stay with me a
little longer. Let's make our way
to the car; yea?"

But Plankton's eye is
already drooping. 
"Caw... car?"
he mumbles.

Karen nods, her smile
soft. "Yes, the car. We're
going home."

But Plankton's eyelid
flaps heavily, his gaze
unfocused. "Home... home,"
he repeats, his voice a
slurred echo. His head wobbles
against her shoulder, his
body slack.

Karen sighs, her
laughter mingling with the
slight exasperation in her voice.
"Just a bit more, Plankton,"
she whispers, patting his
back. "Stay with me. Let's stand
up now."

But Plankton's body is
already succumbing to the
warm embrace of sleep. His
eyelid flaps once, twice, before
his eye closes completely. He
slumps back into the chair,
snoring gently. Karen chuckles,
shaking her head. "Come on,"
she says, her voice a blend
of humor and patience.

With a sigh, she stands,
his weight still leaning on
her. "You need to wake up
for just a little bit more,"
she insists, her voice a mix
of playfulness and firmness.

But Plankton's snores are
already steady.
"Wake up," she whispers,
shaking him gently. "We
have to go."

His eyelid twitches,
his mouth moving in a
slight snore. "Home?" he 
mumbles.

Karen laughs softly, her hand
still on his shoulder. "Yes,
home," she repeats, her voice
a gentle prodding. "Let's go."

But Plankton's snores are
now a symphony of sleep. His
body sags, his head lolling to
the side, and Karen knows the
battle is lost. She looks to the
nurse, who nods in understanding.
"Let's get him to the car," she says,
her voice a whisper of amusement.

They lift him again, his arms
draped over their shoulders like a
tiny, uncooperative ragdoll.

"Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers
again, her voice filled with a mix
of humor and exasperation.
"We're almost there."

But Plankton's snores are a
testament to his deep slumber.
His head tips to the side,
his mouth hanging open. The
nurse's smile widens, and she
nods to Karen. "It's okay. He's
comfortable. We'll get him to
the car."

They manage to stand him up,
his legs wobbly as a newborn
deer's. Karen's arm is wrapped
around his waist. "Come on,
babe," she coaxes, her voice
laced with affection. "Walk with
me to the car. Wake up.."

But Plankton's snores are a
constant background noise,
his body swaying with the rhythm
of sleep. He opens his eye with
difficulty, his gaze unfocused.
"Wha... wha..."

Karen chuckles, her
arm tightening around him.
"Walk, Plankton," she whispers,
guiding his unsteady steps.
"You're doing so well."

But Plankton's body has
other ideas. His knees buckle,
and he sags against her, his
snores growing louder. "Wake
up, babe," she whispers, her voice
filled with affectionate
frustration. "You can't sleep
until we're in the car."

Plankton's head wobbles, his
eye half-opening. "But... buth...
I'm tiwed," he mumbles, his speech
still thick. "Tish... tish...
chair is... is... is so comfowt."

Karen laughs softly, her
patience unwavering. "You need
to wake up, sweetie," she
says, her voice a gentle prod.

But Plankton's snores are
the only response, his head
lolling to the side. His body
sags heavily against her.

"Wake up, Plankton," Karen whispers,
a hint of a laugh in her voice.

But Plankton's only response
is a sleepy snore, his body
relaxing further against hers.

"Come on, Plankton," Karen
whispers, her voice a blend
of amusement and urgency.
"You're gonna need to get in
to our car."

Plankton's eye opens with
effort, his gaze unfocused.
"Caw... caw?" he mumbles,
his speech still a thick
slur.

Karen laughs softly, her arm
supporting his wavering body.
"Yes, car," she repeats, her voice
a gentle nudge. "We're going home."

But Plankton's eye droops closed
once more, his snores a soft
symphony of unconsciousness.
"Buth... buth... Karen," he mumbles,
his words barely audible.

Karen's laugh is a soft
whisper of affection. "You're
so sleepy," she says, her voice
a gentle reminder. She tightens
her grip on him, her arm
supporting his wavering frame.
"Just a few more steps."

But Plankton's snores are
a sweet lullaby, his body
heavy with slumber. His legs
barely move, his feet
dragging against the floor.
Karen's arm tightens, her
strength the only thing keeping
his body upright. "Wake up,"
she whispers, her voice
a soft caress. "Almost there."

Yet Plankton's only response
is a snort, his head rolling
back. Karen looks to the nurse.

"It's okay," the nurse whispers,
her smile warm. "Let's get him
to your car. He'll sleep it off."

They shuffle towards the
exit, Plankton's snores a soft
accompaniment to their quiet
steps. Karen's arms are tight
around his waist, her strength
the only thing keeping him from
sliding to the floor. His head
rolls back, mouth open, a soft
snore escaping him.

"Wake up, Plankton,"
Karen whispers, her voice
a gentle plea. "We're almost at
the car." The nurse holds the
door open for them.

Plankton's eyelid flaps
weakly, his mouth dropping
open with a snore. "Caw?"
he mumbles, his gaze unfocused.

"Almost, sweetie," Karen says, her
voice a blend of humor and
determination. She shifts his weight
slightly, her arm still supporting
his waist. "Just a few more
steps."

But Plankton's body is a
deadweight, his snores a
testament to his deep slumber.
His head tips back, mouth
open wide, and Karen can feel
his body going slack again.
"Wake up. We're so close."

But his only response is
another snore, his chest rising
and falling with the rhythm
of his sleep. Karen laughs
softly, her arm tightening
around him. "You're so
funny when you're sleepy,"
she whispers.

The nurse opens the
door to the car, but Plankton remains
deeply asleep. His snores echo
through the empty space,
his body a ragdoll in Karen's arms.

Karen tries to
rouse him once more. "Come on,
Plankton," she whispers, her voice
a soft coax. "Wake up."

But Plankton's snores are
a sweet symphony of exhaustion.
His head tips back, his mouth
open wide, and Karen feels his
body go limp again. She sighs
with affectionate exasperation.
"You're so stubborn," she murmurs,
his weight a testament to his deep sleep.

new wisdomteethcore wisdomtoothcore vii

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES vi

Plankton's eye opens
again. "Hey Karen
guess whath.."

"What, sweetie?"

Plankton's mouth moves
slowly, his tongue thick in his
mouth. "Dentish... man... I
heard him shay I'll feel 
rea-ea-eal sleeepy, and den he
gabe me magic sweep juice," he
slurs, his eye half-closed. "Den
I fell asweep wight aweay."

Karen laughs, her hand
still stroking his antennae.
"That's right, babe. He gave
you something to make you
sleep through the surgery."

Plankton's eye opens wider,
his voice gaining a hint of excitement.
"Magic sweep juice," he repeats,
his mouth forming a goofy grin.
"And den... den... I'm habing a
dweam whewe I woke up in teh
fishy chair," he says, his speech
still slurred.

Karen chuckles, her eyes
twinkling with affection. "It's not
a dream, Plankton," she corrects
gently. "You had surgery to take
out your teethies, that really happened!"

But Plankton's mind is still
swirling with the anesthesia.
"Tish... tish... took... took out...
my teefs?" he repeats, his
voice a mix of wonder and
disbelief. "Buh I don’ eben
fink I haz teefsies!"

Karen's laughter fills the room,
her eyes sparkling with love.
"Yes, Plankton, they took out
your big teefies," she says,
using her fingers to mimic
tiny teeth being removed.

Plankton's eye widens, his
expression a mix of awe and
confusion. "Tish... tish...
teefies," he repeats, his hand
going to his mouth. "But... but...
I don't... don't... don't 'member
anyfing."

The nurse laughs gently. "That's
okay, Mr. Plankton. Sometimes
the medicine makes it so you don't
remember much."

Plankton nods, his head
bobbing slightly. "Buth... buth...
whath... wait whewe's you come 
fwom, nurse? How youw jush
now?" he slurs, his speech still
a slow and unsteady stream.

The nurse laughs kindly.
"I've been here the whole time,
Mr. Plankton, making sure you're
okay."

Plankton's gaze shifts
to her, his mind still foggy.
"Buth... buth... how youw got...
got heaw?"

The nurse's smile never
fades. "You're just a bit
sleepy, Mr. Plankton. I've been
right here."

Plankton's eye widen with
realization, his voice a slurred
whisper. "Oh... oh... sho... so-o
it's wike... youw wike a magician?"

The nurse nods, her smile
broadening. "In a way, yes.
We made sure everything went
smoothly so you wouldn't feel
anything."

Plankton's eye lights up
slightly, a childlike wonder
filling his gaze. "Wike... wike a
booboo kiss?" he mumbles, his
hand still fumbling at his mouth.

"Sort of, but for your teeth,"
Karen says, her voice gentle. "The
doctor took out the ouchies."

Plankton's eye widens.
"Tish... tish... toofies," he
mumbles, his hand moving to
his mouth again. "Ouchies gone?"

Karen nods, her smile warm.
"Yes, the ouchies are gone. You
were so brave," she says, her voice
soothing.

Plankton's hand falls to his
lap, his head wobbling. "Brah...
brave?" he repeats, his voice a
slurred whisper. "I... I don't
'member bein brah-ave," he says,
his mouth curving into a sleepy
smile. "I ownwy 'member...
ownly 'member... magic sweep
juice."

Karen's heart melts at his
innocent expression. "You were
very brave," she insists, her voice
filled with love. "The doctor
was like a superhero, and he took
out your booboo teethies with his
magic tools."

Plankton's eye blinks
slowly, his mind trying to grasp
the concept. "Superhero... tooth
faiwy?" he mumbles, his gaze
drifted. "Did... did he weave me
a penny?"

Karen laughs softly, her
hands still gently stroking his
antennae. "No, honey, not a
penny," she says, her voice filled
with amusement. "But he did make
your mouth all better."

Plankton's gaze is
somewhat unfocused as he tries
to piece together the story.
"Tooth faiwy... magic... magic
juice," he murmurs, his
thoughts jumbling together. "Dentish
man... took... took out...
my... my... tish... tish... teethies."

The nurse nods encouragingly.
"That's right, Mr. Plankton. Dr.
Finnegan is like a superhero,
and he took out your teethies
while you were asleep. And now
Karen can drive you home!"

Plankton's head bobbles. "Dweam...
dweam... I had a dweam," he
slurs, his voice barely above
a murmur. "Dentish... man... took
out... tish... tish... teethies...
wiff... wiff... magic wand?"

Karen laughs softly, her
heart brimming with love for
his innocent confusion. "Yes,
sweetie, he used special
magic tools," she says, her voice
a comforting lullaby. "Are you
ready to go home?"

Plankton's eye rolls back,
his head nodding slightly. "Home...
yesh... yesh," he mumbles, his
mouth still not fully cooperating.
"But... but... I want... I want
my Karen."

Karen leans in closer, her
face soft. "I'm right here,
Plankton," she says, her voice a
whisper of reassurance.

Plankton's gaze locks onto
hers, his mouth moving in a
sluggish imitation of speech.
"But... buth... I... I had out
my mouthy thingsies. Sho Karen
nee to come," he says, his
voice barely coherent.

Karen chuckles, her heart
swelling with affection. "I
was here the whole time,"
she says, her voice a gentle
reminder. "You were just
sleeping while Dr. Finnegan
fixed your mouth."

Plankton's eye flutter
closed again, his words
slurred and dreamy. "Sleepy
time... Karen was... was...
dere. Toofy-woofy man... took
out... took out... booboo tish."

Karen giggles, her heart
warm with love. "Yes,
the toothy-woofy man took
out your booboo teeth," she
says, playing along with his
nonsensical speech. "And now
you get to go home to your
comfy bed."

Plankton nods, his eye
half-closed. "Beddy-bye,"
he murmurs, his voice a
slurred whisper. "But... buth...
Karen... Karen wiww shupposht
to come... to... to... tish... tish..."

But before he can
finish his sentence, his
head lolls back and his eye
slip shut, his body
going slack against the chair.
Karen laughs softly, her heart
filled with affection. She
kisses his forehead, her
touch gentle and loving. 
His snores are gentle,
his face relaxed in sleep.

The nurse watches with a
kind smile, used to the quirks of
post-anesthesia patients. "He'll be
out for a bit," she tells Karen.
"It's normal. But let's get to the car."

With gentle hands, they lift
Plankton's slumbering form, his
body boneless with sleep. His head
lolls against Karen's shoulder.

"Beddy-bye?" he mumbles, his
voice a breathy whisper against
her neck. She laughs softly, her
arms cradling him.
"Let's get you to the car,"
Karen murmurs. "Just a 
little more."

But Plankton's eye is
falling shut, his head drooping
against her shoulder.

"Buth... buth... Karen," he
slurs, his voice fading into
nothingness as sleep pulls
him under.

Karen laughs softly,
adjusting his head. "Hold on,
just a bit longer," she whispers,
his words barely reaching her.

But Plankton's fight against
sleep is futile. His eyelid
twitches as he mumbles incoherently,
his breaths growing deeper.
Karen's heart swells with love
for his stubbornness. She leans in,
kisses his forehead, and whispers,
"You can sleep, Plankton."

His response is a faint snore,
his head heavy on her shoulder.
The nurse nods with a knowing smile.
"Let's set him in the chair in the 
waiting room area."

They move him gently, his body
going limp again as sleep takes
over. His snores become more
pronounced as he sits, his head
bobbing slightly.

new wisdomteethcore wisdomtoothcore vi

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xiv
(By NeuroFabulous)

"What happened?" Plankton 
asked, his voice
scratchy.

Chip sat up, the
morning light casting a
soft glow on his face.
"You fell asleep in the
car," he said softly.
"We didn't want to 
wake you."

Plankton's antennas 
twitched as he took in his
surroundings. The couch felt
unusually comfortable, and
his body was cocooned in
the warmth of the blanket.
"Oh," he murmured, 
his voice still groggy. He
felt a twinge of embarrassment.

He knew he had been tired, but
falling asleep in the car was
not something he usually did.
And in front of Chip? He
realizes that he slept through
the night.

Plankton felt a twinge of self-
consciousness, his antennas
drooping slightly. He had
always been so careful, so
controlled, around his son.
But here he was, vulnerable and
exposed, his body betraying
his usual stoic demeanor.

Chip noticed the change in his
father's antennas, his heart
tugging with emotion. He knew
this was a side of Plankton
that few people ever saw—his
defenses down, his guard
momentarily lowered. He took a
deep breath, trying to think
of the right thing to say.

"Dad, it's okay," he said, his
voice soft. "We all get tired.
You just fell aslee—"

"I know what happened,"
Plankton snapped, his antennas
surging with irritation. He
swung his legs over the side
of the couch, his feet finding
the cool tiles of the floor.

Chip recoiled slightly, his
hands coming up in 
a placating gesture.
"I just meant—"

But Plankton was already standing,
his antennas rigid with tension.
He stumbled slightly, his balance
off from sleep. Chip jumped
to his feet, reaching out to
steady him. "Dad, you okay?"

Plankton's antennas flattened
against his head, his eye
darting around the room. "I'm fine,"
he said, his voice tight.

Chip's heart sank at the
familiar defensive tone,
but he knew better than to push.
"Okay, Dad," he said, his voice
soft. "Do you wa-"

"I said I'm fine!" Plankton
interrupted, his antennas
bristling. "Just leave me alone."

Chip took a step back, his
hands up in a gesture of peace.
He didn't know what to say,
his mind racing with the fear
that he had done something wrong.

He watched as Plankton's antennas
twitched erratically, his father's
body language speaking volumes about
his inner turmoil. "Dad," he began,
his voice low and soothing. "Yo-"

But Plankton was already moving
away, his steps unsteady as he
went to the room he shares
with Karen. Chip followed him in,
his heart aching for the man
he was still trying to understand.

"Dad, can we talk?" Chip asked,
his voice gentle. "I just want to
make su—"

"What is there to talk
about?" Plankton's antennas
were a blur of agitation. "You
saw me at my weakest, what more
do you need to know?"

Chip felt his heart drop, his
hands curling into fists. "Dad, I
just wanted to be there for
you," he said, his voice cracking.
"I didn't mean to make you feel..."

But Plankton was already
fumbling with his pillows,
his antennas a flurry of anger
as Karen sat up in her bed. Chip
tries again, going onto Plankton's
bed.

"Dad, you don't have to be
self-conscious with me,"
Chip said, his voice earnest.
"I wa-"

Plankton's antennas shot up,
his eye flashing. "Don't tell me
what I feel!" he snapped. "I said to leave
me alone, Chip!"

Chip felt the sting of
his father's words, but he knew that
the anger was a defense mechanism.
He took a deep breath, trying to
maintain his calm. "I'm sor-"

"Just go, Chip," Plankton's voice was
exhausted. "Please."

Chip felt the rejection like a
physical blow, his cheeks flaming
with embarrassment. He knew he had
overstepped a boundary, but he
wasn't sure which one. Karen's
expression was one of sadness as
she watched the exchange from
her side of the bed. "What's going on?"

Plankton took a deep breath, his
antennas still agitated. "Chip just...
he saw me fall asleep in the car,"
he said, his voice gruff. "He's
been hovering ever since!"

Karen's eyes searched Chip's face,
seeing the hurt and confusion.
"Chip," she began gently, "your dad's
just overwhelmed. He's not used to
being so vulnerable in front of you."

Chip nodded, his throat tight. "I
just saw him sleeping," he said,
his voice small. "I didn't...
he just woke up, and he-"

Karen held up a hand, her gaze
compassionate. "It's ok," she said.
"Just give him some space."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still on Plankton's retreating
back. But as Chip stood up,
his elbow accidentally brushed
against one of Plankton's antennas.
The reaction was instantaneous—
a sharp intake of breath, antennas
springing straight up. Chip froze,
his heart racing. "I'm sorry," he
stuttered, his hand reaching out
to apologize.

But Plankton's eye had gone wide,
his antennas quivering with
sensory overload. "Don't touch me!"
he snapped, his voice high-pitched
and strained.

Chip's hand recoiled as if burned,
his own eyes wide with shock. "Dad,
I'm sorry!" he exclaimed. "It
was an accident, I didn't mean
to—"

But Plankton was already retreating,
his antennas a wild mess of
sensory overload. "I said don't
touch me!" he repeated, his
voice trembling. "Just get out!"

Chip stepped back, his hands
lifting in the air as if to ward off
the accusation. "Dad, I'm sorry,"
he said, his voice shaking. "I didn't
mean to—"

But Plankton was beyond words, his
body a live wire of sensory assault.
Chip had inadvertently touched a nerve,
literally and figuratively. The sudden
contact had sent a jolt through
his father's system, setting off a storm
of sensations that Plankton was
desperately trying to contain.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,"
Chip murmured, his eyes wide with
concern. He knew he had to respect
Plankton's boundaries, especially
after all the conversations they'd
just had about his condition. He
backed away, his hands up in a non-
threatening gesture.

Karen's voice was calm
as she addressed her husband.
"Plankton, love, it's okay. It was
just an accident. Chip's here to help."

Plankton's antennas slowly
lowered, his breaths coming in
short gasps.

"Dad," Chip said gently,
his voice tight with worry. "I'm sorry."
He took another step back,
giving his father the space
he so desperately needed. "I
wanted to he-"

"I know," Plankton's voice
was strained, his antennas
twitching with the effort to
regain control. "I know you meant
well, Chip."

The room was thick with
silence, the tension palpable.
Karen rose from the bed,
moving towards Plankton with
careful steps.

"Plankton, let's sit down,"
she suggested, her voice
soothing. He sat down on
his bed.

But as Chip stepped
back, his elbow brushed
against the bookshelf, and
the carefully arranged books
came tumbling down. The
thunderous sound echoed
through the room, Plankton's
antennas shooting straight up
in alarm. Not only was it to
loud, but the books were all
carefully alphabetized, yet now
they lay scattered on the floor.

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous xiv

JUST A TOUCH vii
(Autistic author)


The room is thick with
unspoken words as Sandy
slowly approaches the bed,
her movements calculated to
avoid overstimulating Plankton.
Her eyes are full of compassion,
but also fear of the unknown.

"Hi, Plankton," she says softly,
extending her hand with a gentle wave.
He flinches, his antennae quivering.
"Remember me?" Plankton's
brain processes her words, but
his response is delayed. He nods,
his movements mechanical.

Sandy sits on the edge
of the bed, her eyes never
leaving his. "How are you
feeling?" she asks, her voice
carefully modulated to avoid
causing him discomfort.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye darting to the side.
He doesn't look at her directly,
his gaze lingering on a spot
on the wall. "Fine," he says,
his voice devoid of inflection.

Sandy nods, her eyes
searching his for any sign
of the friend she knew. "It's
good to see you, Plankton."
Her words hang in the air,
their meaning lost in the
labyrinth of his new reality.

Karen watches them, her heart
in her throat. She can see
the effort Plankton is making
to engage with Sandy, the way
his antennae twitch with every
word spoken. It's a dance,
a delicate balance between
his need for solace and
his desire for connection.

Sandy's hand hovers
near his, her eyes questioning.
"Can I?" she asks, her voice
barely a whisper. Plankton's
gaze shifts to hers, his
expression unreadable.

Karen nods, giving her
permission. "Gently," she says,
a soft reminder. Sandy nods,
her hand inching closer to
his. Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly, his body
stiffening as her fingertips
brush against his.
But the moment their skin
makes contact, something
snaps within him. He jolts upright,
his antennae flailing as his eye
widen in panic.

"Too much," he cries out, his
voice a mix of fear and anger.
"Too much!" The room seems to
shrink around him, the walls
closing in with every beat of
his racing heart.

Sandy's eyes widen in shock,
her hand retreating quickly. "Plankton,"
she says, her voice calm. "It's okay."

But Plankton's not listening, his
body shaking with the force
of his emotions. "No!" he yells,
his voice echoing through the room.
"No touch!"

Sandy's face falls, her eyes
brimming with confusion and
hurt. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice
shaking. "I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's in the throes
of a full-blown meltdown. His
tiny fists clench. "No touch!"
he repeats, his voice rising.

Karen's heart breaks
seeing the fear in Sandy's eyes,
but she understands the
importance of respecting
Plankton's boundaries. "We're
sorry, Plank..."

But Plankton's anger
interrupts her, his voice
sharp and intense. "No! No sorry!
Sandy touch no good!" His words
are a jumble of pain and
frustration, a stark contrast
to the controlled monotone
he'd used earlier.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears,
her hand retreating to her lap.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
her voice cracking. "I didn't
know." Karen nods, her grip
on Plankton's hand tightening.

"It's okay," she says to both
of them, her voice steady.
"We're just figuring this out."
Plankton's chest heaves with
breaths. "No touch," he
mutters, his voice fading.

Sandy nods, her eyes
still on Plankton. "I'm
sorry," she repeats, her voice
softer. "I'll..."

But Plankton's outburst
continues, his voice rising. "No touch!"
The room vibrates with his
distress, the air thick with
his panic. Karen's heart races,
her mind racing to find a way
to soothe him. She knows he's
overwhelmed, that his new
hypersensitivity to touch has
been violated.

Sandy's eyes widen, her
hands hovering awkwardly in
the space between them. She
can see the turmoil in his
face, the anguish in his voice.
"I didn't mean to..." she starts,
but her words are swallowed
by his distress.

"Plankton, it's okay,"
she says, her voice barely
above a whisper. But it's too
late. The dam has broken,
and his emotions flood the
room like a storm.

His tiny body trembles with
rage, his antennae flailing in
every direction. "No touch!"
he screams again, the force
of his voice surprising even
Sandy. She jumps back,
hands raised in a gesture
of surrender.

Karen's eyes are on Plankton,
a silent apology in her gaze.
"It's okay," she says to him,
her voice soothing. "We'll
make sure that doesn't
happen again." Plankton's
eye darts around the room,
his breathing erratic. "No touch,"
he whispers, his voice
broken.

Sandy backs away, her eyes
swimming with unshed tears.
"I didn't know," she says,
her voice thick. "I'm so sorry."

The room echoes with Plankton's
sobs, his body quaking in Karen's
arms. Karen's heart
aches for him, her eyes never leaving
his face.

"No touch," he whispers, his voice
broken. Karen nods, her eyes brimming
with tears. "I know," she says, her voice
gentle. "It's okay. We'll figure this out."

Plankton's antennae stop flailing,
his body still trembling as the storm
of his emotions begin to subside. He
looks up at Karen, his gaze searching
for comfort. She wipes a tear from her
face with her free hand. "It's okay,"
she repeats. "You're okay."

Sandy's eyes are red, her
shoulders slumped. "I didn't know,"
she says again, her voice shaking.
"I just wanted to help."

Karen nods, her own eyes
wet with empathy. "I know," she says.
"It's a lot to take in."

The three of them sit
in the quiet room, the only
sound Plankton's muffled sobs.
Sandy's eyes dart around,
not knowing what to do with
herself. Karen squeezes
his hand gently, her gaze
never leaving his. "We're
here for you," she whispers.

Slowly, Plankton's crying
subsides, his body still
shaking. Karen can feel the
tension in him, like a coiled
spring ready to snap again.
Sandy's hand twitches, as if
she wants to reach out, but
she stops herself, remembering
his outburst. "I'm sorry,"
she says again, her voice
small.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "It's not
your fault," she says to
Sandy, her voice gentle.
"We're all just trying to
navigate this new... reality."
Sandy sniffs, nodding.

"I just want to be here
for you guys," she says, her
voice shaky. Plankton's
sobs quiet, his body
slumping in exhaustion.

Karen nods, her eyes
meeting Sandy's. "We know,
and we appreciate it," she
says, her voice tight. "But we
have to be careful with
his sensory needs."

Sandy nods, her
face a mask of sorrow. "I'll
learn," she whispers. "What do
you need from me, Plan..."

But Plankton's already
slipping away, his eyelid
drooping as sleep beckons.
Karen's grip on his hand
doesn't loosen as she watches
his breathing even out. The
tension in the room slowly
eases as his body relaxes,
his sobs giving way to quiet
snuffles.

Sandy's eyes are on him,
her heart heavy with guilt.
"I'll go," she says, her voice
barely above a whisper. Karen
nods, her gaze still on Plankton.
"Thank you," she murmurs. "Call
me if you need anything."

Sandy nods, her eyes
lingering on the two of them
before she stands, her legs shaky.
She crosses the room, the weight
of her mistake dragging her
down. As she reaches the door,
she glances back one last time.
Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly in his sleep, and she
can't help but feel a pang
of sadness.

Karen's eyes follow her,
filled with a mix of
gratitude and sorrow.
"Thank you," she whispers
again as Sandy exits,
closing the door behind her.
The click echoes through
the quiet space, a stark
reminder of the distance
that's grown between
them all.

Plankton's grip on her
hand tightens slightly in his
sleep, as if sensing the
shift in the room's energy.
Karen brings her other hand
to cover his, sandwiching
it between hers. Her eyes
well with tears as she
whispers, "It's okay, Plankton.
You're okay."

The room is bathed in silence
once again, the only sound
being Plankton's gentle
snores. Karen's mind is racing,
thinking of all the
adjustments they'll need to
make, the education she'll
have to provide to those
who know and love him. But
for now, she focuses on the
warmth of his hand in hers,
his head buried in her shoulder.

Her eyes drift to the clock,
the hands moving in a slow,
steady march forward. It's time
for her to start dinner,
to bring some semblance of
normalcy back into their lives.
Gently, she shifts Plankton to
his side, making sure he's
comfortable before rising
from the bed.

The kitchen is a minefield
of potential triggers: the
hum of the fridge, the clink
of pans, the smell of
cooking food. She moves
carefully, her eyes scanning
the room for anything that
might overstimulate him.

The recipe she's chosen is
simple, something they both
enjoy. She starts the prep,
chopping vegetables with a
precision that Plankton would
appreciate, her movements
methodical and calming.

The aroma of cooking food
fills the air, a comforting
reminder of their shared life.
Karen's mind is a whirlwind
of thoughts, planning how
to help Plankton navigate this
new world. She wipes her
hands on a towel.
As she hears Plankton's tentative
steps on the stairs, she takes a
deep breath. His descent is
slow, each step measured
with caution.

When he enters the kitchen,
his gaze darts around the room,
his antennae twitching with
each new sound. Karen's heart
squeezes. She's used to his
energy, his boundless enthusiasm.
This cautious creature is still
his shell-shocked self.

"Hungry?" she asks, her voice
as soft as the evening light.
Plankton nods.

The meal is a simple one,
a familiar comfort in a world
that's become so alien. Karen
places the plate before him,
the steaming food a visual
symphony of their shared past.

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his gaze fixating on the plate.
"Food," he says, his voice
still monotone. Karen nods,
aching for the
passionate foodie she knew.

"Do you need anything
else?" she asks, her voice
soft. He shakes his head.

The meal is eaten in
silence, each bite a victory. Karen wants
to say something, anything,
but she knows he needs
space, time to process the
whirlwind of emotions.

new just a touch neurodisability vii

PLUSH ONE vi
(By NeuroFabulous)

Plankton knew he could
make Krabby Patties now. He could
have the success he'd always craved!

Just then, Karen comes in
to check on him.

Her eyes widen when
she sees an envelope in
his grasp. "What's that?"
she asks.

Plankton's face lights up,
his eye shining with excitement.
"Formula," he says, his voice
quick and choppy. "Secret recipe."

Karen's eyes narrow. "How did
you get that?" she asks.

Plankton's smiling awkwardly,
his eye darting to the side. "Found
it," he murmurs, his grip
tightening on the envelope
with anticipation.

Karen's screen lights up, her eyes
shining with excitement. "Oh,
Plankton, that's amazing!" she shrieks,
clapping her hands together. Her
shrill cheer is loud for Plankton,
each clap echoing in the space.

But her excitement quickly
fades as she sees the look of terror
on his face. "What's wrong?" she asks,
seeing Plankton flinch. 
"Loud," he whimpers, his eye
wide with fear. It dawns on Karen
that the sound of her clapping
was too much for him, her
screen filled with regret for getting
to excited and yelling,
knowing she's hurt him, even if
it was unintentional. "I'm so—"

Plankton cuts her off with a
quick shake of his head. "No,"
he murmurs, his eye searching hers
desperately. "Karen, safe."

The room falls silent, the weight
of his words hanging in the air.
Karen's heart races. What had
she done wrong? Her excitement
for him had turned into a trigger.

She sits by him, her hand
tentatively reaching out...

Plankton flinches at the sudden
movement. His eye widens in fear.
Karen's heart breaks. "It's okay,"
she says, her voice gentle. "It's just
me, Karen." But her words don't
penetrate his new reality.

He clutches the envelope to his
chest, his breathing rapid. The
world around him is a minefield
of sensory overload, and she's
the unknown variable. She can
see the fear in his eye, the
way his antennae twitch.

"Plankton," she says softly,
keeping her voice low and
even. "It's okay. I'm not
going to hurt yo-"

He jumps at the sound of
her voice, his antennae shooting
up like antennas detecting a
threat. The envelope flutters
to the floor, forgotten.

"Plankton," Karen whispers,
her hand hovering in the air,
afraid to make contact. "You're
scared of me?"

He nods, his body tight as a
coiled spring, his breaths shallow.
"Karen," he says, his voice shaky.
"Love Karen."

The words hang in the air, a
testament to their bond. But the fear
in his eye tells a different story.
This is the first time he's expressed
fear of her, and it hits Karen like
a punch to the gut.

"Plankton," she says softly,
keeping her voice low, "You know I'd
never tr-"

He flinches again, the
simplicity of his fear stark.
"Need space," he mumbles,
his voice barely audible over
the pounding in her chest.

Karen nods, her hand
falling to her side. She takes
a step back, giving him
the distance he needs.
"Okay," she says, her voice
breaking. "I'll be right he-"

"No," he says, his voice urgent.

Karen's eyes follow his gaze,
understanding his distress.
They both know what that envelope
means to him, a bridge between
his old life and his new reality.
Gently, she picks it up, her hand
shaking slightly. "I'm sorry,"
she says, her voice low. "How about
if I keep my voice dow-"

But Plankton's already shaking his
head, his eye wide with panic.
"No," he says, his voice strained.
"Mine."

Karen's heart clenches. She
understands his fear, but she also
knows the importance of
his obsession. "Okay," she says,
placing the envelope in his
hands. "Let's just sit."

But then she accidentally
touches him, brushing his arm.

"Whoops," she 
says, her voice
shaking. "I---"

But he pulls away, his
body rigid with tension.
"No touch," he says firmly.

Karen nods, her eyes
brimming with tears she
fights to hold back. She's
learning the dance of
his new reality, the steps
not quite familiar yet. "Okay,"
she whispers, her hand
retreating to her lap. "Let's just
ta-"

But Plankton's eye snaps to
the envelope in his hand, his
grip tightening. "Mine," he repeats,
his voice a mix of panic
and determination.

Karen nods, her heart aching.
"Okay," she says softly, her
hands in her lap. "W---"

But Plankton's eye is still on the
envelope, his grip tightening.
"NO," he says, his voice rising,
the word echoing in the room.

Karen's eyes widen, his
distress clear. 
"Plankton," she whispers, her
hands up in a peaceful gesture.
"Ca--"

But Plankton's panic doesn't
subside. He clutches the envelope,
his body shaking. "SAID, NO!"
he shouts. "NO! MORE! NO MORE!"

This isn't the
man she knew, the man she'd
spoken to just moments ago.
The room feels smaller, the air
thicker with his fear.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice
shaking. "I'll give you space."
She retreats to her own bed.

Plankton's breaths slow, his
body relaxing slightly. Karen
watches him from the corner
of her screen.

The silence stretches between
them, thick with the unspoken
words of fear and misunderstanding.
Her hand aches to reach out to him,
to soothe his anxiety, but she
knows better now. She's a stranger
in his world of sensory chaos.

Karen lies in bed, her eyes
fixed on the ceiling, her mind
whirling with what-ifs and
worries. She'd read about the
unpredictability of autism,
how it could affect people in
so many different ways. But
seeing it firsthand, feeling the
sharp edge of Plankton's panic,
was something else entirely.

Her thoughts are a tangled web
of emotions - love, fear,
determination. She'll learn
his new language, this dance
of sensory avoidance and
connection. They'll find their way
through this, together.

But for now, she needs to
respect his boundaries, the lines
he's drawn around his comfort.
The room is silent except
for Plankton quietly reading the
recipe to himself.

Her eyes follow his movements,
his lips moving as he whispers
the ingredients, his antennae
twitching with each word as
she watches him from afar.
This is her Plankton, but not.
The man she loves, lost in his
new world of patterns and fears.

Plankton's eye darts to her,
his voice a whisper. "Karen?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.
"I'm here," she says. She wants to
comfort him, to wipe away
his distress. But she knows
better now. She's a guest in
his new world, and she must
tread lightly.

new plush one worldcore vi

PLUSH ONE xiv
(By NeuroFabulous)

The next morning, Hanna
wakes up and goes up to
the bedroom where Karen's
awake, yet Plankton's still
asleep. She looks at him
with a mix of pity and
curiosity.

"How is he?" Hanna whispers,
her voice tentative.
Karen's eyes are filled with
fatigue. "Better," she murmurs.
"He's sleeping it off."

Hanna nods, her gaze
falling to the plushie in
Plankton's arms. "What was that?"
she asks, her voice a soft
wonder.

Karen's sigh is a
symphony of exhaustion.
"It's called acquired autism," she
explains. "Sometimes it
overwhelms him, and he
does things he doesn't
mean to."

Hanna's eyes are filled with
questions. "Does he know..."

Karen nods. "He's aware,"
she says, her voice a gentle
caress. "But it's hard for
him to control. We're still
learning how to navigate."

Hanna looks at Plankton's
peaceful form, her eyes filled
with empathy. "How did it happen?"

Karen's eyes cloud with pain.
"An accident," she says,
her voice a whisper. "He hit
his head and...it changed
his brain structure."

Hanna's eyes 
widen. "I didn't
know," she 
whispers. "I'm 
sorry."

Karen nods, her
smile sad. "It's
not your fault,"
she says. "We're
all just doing our 
best to adjust."

Plankton stirs, his
eye blinking open.
He looks up at them, 
his gaze filled with
trepidation and 
confusion.

"Hi, Plankton," Hanna says,
her voice a soft melody
in the early morning
silence. He stares at
her, his antennae quivering.
"Do you remember what
happened?"

Plankton's eye darts around
the room, the plushie
a silent sentinel beside him.
He nods, his voice a
tiny echo. "Plankton, bad" 
he murmurs.

Karen's heart squeezes
with pain, her hand 
reaching out to stroke
his antennae. "It's okay,"
she whispers. "You had a
bad day, but today is new."

Plankton's eye focuses on
his plushie, his grip tightening.
"It's okay," Karen repeats,
her voice a gentle lullaby.
He nods, his antennae
still. "Tired," he murmurs.

Karen nods, understanding
the weight of his words.
"Rest," she says, her voice
a soft command. Plankton's
body relaxes into the bed,
his eye drifting closed.

Hanna watches them, her
heart aching with emotion.
This isn't the Plankton
she heard of, the villain with
a heart of greed. This is
a man lost in his own
mind, navigating a world
that no longer makes sense.

Her eyes fill with tears
as she sees the tender way
Karen cares for him, her
patience a stark contrast
to the chaos of his
autism. She knows she's
been wrong, that there's
more to him than the
stories suggest.

Hanna steps closer,
her voice a gentle inquiry.
"How can I help?"
Karen's eyes meet hers,
gratitude in their depths.
"Just...just be patient,"
she whispers. "And kind."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye still on the plushie.
Karen can see the fear
lurking beneath the surface.
"We'll get through this,"
she promises, her voice
a soft melody of hope.

He nods, his antennae
still. "Sorry," he whispers,
his voice a brittle shell.
Karen's heart cracks, her
hand reaching out to stroke
his cheek. "You have nothing
to apologize for," she says,
her voice a warm embrace.

Hanna watches the tender
exchange, her own heart
swelling with compassion.
"What can we do to help?"
she asks, her voice a gentle
caress.

Karen's eyes are filled
with a quiet determination.
"We need to find a way
to make his world better,"
she says. "Less overwhelming."

Hanna nods, her gaze
still on Plankton. "What
does he like?" she asks,
her voice tentative.

Karen's smile is a sad
memory. "Routine," she says.
"Predictability. And now
plushies. They're...important."
Hanna nods, her eyes
studying Plankton's sleepy
face.

They sit in silence,
each lost in thought. The
morning sun peeks through
the curtains, casting a
soft glow over the room.
In the quiet, the weight
of the new reality sinks in;
Plankton's autism is a
journey none of them had
expected. His mind, once a
whirlwind of cunning and
schemes, now operates with
a different rhythm, a pattern
of sensory needs.

new plush one hannacore xiv

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvi
(By NeuroFabulous)


"Could Dad feel anything?"

Karen's gaze is filled with
compassion. "No, sweetie," she
says gently. "That's the point
of the medicine. He didn't feel
anything."

Chip nods, his eyes
still on Plankton. "What's it like when
Dad woke up?" he asks, his voice
a soft curiosity.

Karen's voice is a gentle
narrative, her words painting
a picture of Plankton's
recovery. "He was a bit
confused at first," she says,
her eyes on Plankton. "But he
quickly understood where he
was."

Chip's eyes are a
mirror of his mother's,
his curiosity a living
entity. "But his mouth?"
he asks, his voice a quiet
probing.

Karen's smile is a
soft reassurance. "They gave
him something to make it
numb," she says, her words a gentle
explanation. "So he couldn't
feel the surgery."

Chip's eyes are a
swirl of understanding. "What
was it like when it was over?"
he asks, his voice a whisper
of fascination. "Before he
awoke from it? After they finished
while you waited for him to wake
up, what'd his face and mouth look like?"

Karen's gaze is a silent
answer, her eyes a soft story
of the surgery's aftermath. "His
cheeks were a bit puffy," she
whispers, her voice a gentle
narrative of the scene she'd
witnessed. "And there was
a bit of blood, but the
doctors cleaned him up. As
he slept, I could see his chest
rise and fall, and I knew he was
okay."

Chip's eyes are wide with
interest. "And then?"

Karen's voice is a soft
narrative, her words painting
the picture of Plankton's
recovery. "After they took
his teeth out, they put in
stitches," she says. "And now
his mouth needs time to heal."

Chip's eyes widen, his
mind racing with images.
"Stitches?" he repeats, his
voice a mix of fascination
and horror. "How'd they put
in stitches while he was sleeping?"

Karen's smile is a gentle
explanation. "They're very
careful," she says, her voice a
calm lake. "They use a
special thread that dissolves
so he doesn't need to come back
to have them removed."

Chip's eyes are a mix
of wonder and concern. 
"How'd he not bite the
dentist?"

Karen laughs softly,
a warm sound in the quiet
room. "They gave him
more medicine," she says,
her voice a gentle 
guide. "So his mouth
was completely relaxed."

Chip's eyes are wide
with wonder. "How did
it feel to wake up?"
he asks, his voice filled
with innocent curiosity.

Plankton's antennae quiver
slightly, his eye opening to
look at his son. "It was...
strange," he murmurs, his voice
a distant echo of his experience.
"Everything was blurry, and my mouth
felt funny."

Chip nods, his eyes wide with
interest. "But it's better
now?" he asks, hope coloring
his voice.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly. "Mmh," he mumbles,
his voice a hoarse affirmation.
"It's okay; still healing.."

"How about we watch a movie?"
Karen suggests, her voice a gentle
distraction from the pain. "Something
fun, to take your mind off it?"

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly,
his interest piqued despite his discomfort.
"The Dirty Bubble?" he murmurs.

Karen's smile is a nod, her eyes
filled with the promise of
distraction. "Yeah," she says,
getting up to grab the remote.
"It's about the underwater world's
biggest heist," she says, her voice
a gentle coaxing. "I think you'll
enjoy it, Chip."

Plankton's antennae twitch with
slight interest as he sits up
more, his body protesting with a
soft groan. Chip moves closer,
his eyes on his father.

Plankton's antennae twitch.
Karen and Chip sit on either
side of him. The movie's sounds fill
the room, the images
dancing across the
television screen.

As the film progresses, Plankton's
eye grows heavier, his head
slowly tilting towards Chip.

Chip, lost in the story, feels the
slightest pressure against his
shoulder. He looks down to see
his father's antennae quivering,
his head leaning closer.
Plankton's body is a silent
admission of his exhaustion.
He's trying to stay alert, but
his eye keeps slipping shut,
his antennae drooping slightly.

The movie plays on.
Chip feels the weight of his
father's head, a warmth that
spreads through his body.

Plankton's antennae are a
quiet whisper, his breathing
even. Karen's gaze flits from
the TV to the two of them,
her heart swelling with
gratitude. This is progress.

Chip feels his dad's antennae
brush against his arm, the
sensation a soft reminder of
his presence.

The movie's end credits
roll, the room bathed in the
soft glow of the TV. Sandy's
hand is warm on the remote,
turning off the film.

Chip then hears a gentle
snore against his shoulder,
his dad's antennae lying
limp beside him. He looks
down to see Plankton's eye
closed, his head resting
heavily.

Karen's smile is a quiet
celebration. "Looks like he's
asleep," she murmurs, her
voice a soft whisper.

Chip's eyes are wide with
surprise. "On me?" he asks,
his voice filled with
disbelief.

Karen nods, her smile
a warm embrace. "It's okay," she
whispers, her eyes on
Plankton's sleeping form. "He's
just really tired."

Chip's heart swells with
pride. It's the first time
his dad's ever fallen
asleep on him, a silent
testament to the trust
building between them.

He carefully shifts his
shoulder, making room for
Plankton's antennae. Karen's
eyes are a gentle nod of
understanding. "Let him
sleep," she whispers.

The room is a soft
symphony of Plankton's snores
and the distant hum of
the refrigerator. Chip
watches his father, his
expression one of wonder.

new chip on the shoulders moviecore xvi

NEW REALITY vii
(Autistic author)

She sleeps at her bed
next to his. The house is quiet,
except for the soft snores
coming from Plankton.

But both of their 
eyes snap open
at the sound of 
the doorbell.

Plankton's body tenses,
his hand shooting up to 
cover his head. Karen
moves quickly, her heart 
racing. She knows that 
sudden sounds can be
overwhelming for him.
"It's okay," she murmurs,
placing her hand over 
his. "Door," he says, his voice
still groggy from sleep.

Her eyes dart to the 
clock. It's early, much 
earlier than anyone would 
usually visit. "I'll go 
see who it is," she says, 
trying to keep her voice 
steady. "You stay here."

Plankton nods, his hand
dropping from his head
to clutch at the blanket.
"Stay," he whispers, his
voice tight with anxiety.

Karen's eyes fill with
concern. "I'll be right
back," she promises, her
voice soft. "Just stay here."

Plankton nods, his grip
on the blanket tightening.
"Stay," he repeats, his voice
less than a whisper.

Karen nods, her heart racing.
"I will," she whispers. "Just rest."

As she opens the door, she's
met with the cheerful face of
Hanna, her book club friend.
"Hey Karen, I hope I'm not too early!"
Hanna says, a word book in hand.

Karen's eyes widen, her heart
racing. "No, not at all," she says,
forcing a smile. "Come in."

Hanna steps into the house,
her eyes bright with excitement.
But as she sees Karen's 
expression, her smile falters.
"Is everything okay?" she asks,
concern etched on her face.

Karen nods, as Plankton
comes into the room, his gaze
fixed on the spinning fan.
"This is Plankton,"
Karen introduces, her voice
calm.

Hanna smiles. "Hi Plankton,"
she says, her voice too bright.

He nods, his gaze still
locked on the fan. "Fan spin,"
he murmurs.

Hanna's eyes widen, unsure
how to respond. Karen
quickly interjects. "Why
don't we take a look at the
work puzzle book.."

Plankton's gaze shifts, his
interest piqued by the
mention of books.

"Puzzles," he repeats,
his voice a bit clearer.

Hanna's smile relaxes,
seeing his interest. "Yes,
puzzles," she says, holding
up the book. "They're like
fun little brain teasers."

Plankton nods, his hand
reaching out to touch the
book. Karen watches, her
heart racing. Will this
be another trigger?

But Plankton's gaze locks onto
the puzzle book, his eye
lighting up with curiosity.

Karen's heart skips a beat.
This could be good for him,
a way to focus his
whirling thoughts.

Hanna opens the book,
showing him a simple word search.
"See if you can find
the hidden words, Plankton,"
she says, her voice gentle.

His gaze scans the page,
his hand moving in time
with his eye. "Words," he murmurs,
his voice filled with excitement.

Hanna nods, her smile growing.
"That's right," she says, her
tone encouraging. "See if
you can find them all."

Plankton nods, his eye
quickly moving over the
page. Karen watches,
her heart swelling with hope.
This might be it, she thinks,
a new way to connect.

Hanna points to a word,
her voice soothing. "What's this?"

Plankton's hand moves over
the letters, tracing them.
"F-A-N," he reads, his
tone monotone. "Fan," he says,
his gaze flicking up to the
whirring object above.

Hanna laughs, misunderstanding.
"No, Plankton, not fan," she says,
pointing to the puzzle. "Find
the words that are hidden."

But Plankton's gaze remains on
the spinning blades. "Fan," he repeats,
his voice taking on a firm tone.

Hanna's smile falters, not
comprehending his 
meaning. "No, Plankton,"
she says, her voice still cheerful.
"Look at the puzzle."

But Plankton's gaze
doesn't waver from the fan.
"Fan," he says, his tone
firm, almost defensive.

Hanna's smile falters,
her cheerfulness waning.
"Plankton," she says gently,
"it's a puzzle, not about
the fan."

But Plankton's gaze remains
fixed on the fan, his
body tensing. "Fan," he repeats,
his voice firm, almost
defensive.

Hanna's smile falters,
uncertain of his meaning.
"It's just a puzzle, Plankton,"
she says gently, her voice
filled with misunderstanding.

But Plankton's tone sharpens.
"Fan," he insists, his voice
raised, his body tense.
"Fan spin, make quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen with
surprise, her smile slipping
away. "It's not about the
fan, Plankton," she says,
her voice still kind but
concerned. "It's about..."

But Plankton's voice cuts
through the air, his tone
sharp. "Fan spin," he says,
his hand moving in
erratic patterns. "Fan make
quiet. Fan important."

Hanna's eyes widen,
taking a step back. "I didn't
mean..." she starts, but
Plankton's agitation is
growing.

"Fan important," he repeats,
his voice echoing in the quiet
room. Karen's heart races as
she tries to defuse the
situation.

"Hanna, it's okay," she says,
her voice calm but firm.
"The fan is special to Plankton.
It helps him feel calm."

But Hanna's confusion
only grows. "It's just a fan,
right?" she asks, her voice
pitching with uncertainty.

Plankton's voice rises, his
hands flailing. "No!" he yells.
"Fan special! Make quiet!
Must spin!"

Hanna's eyes widen with shock,
her cheerful demeanor evaporating.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know,"
she stammers, taking a step back.

Plankton's voice echoes,
his frustration palpable.
"Fan special!" he yells,
his hands slashing the air.

Hanna's smile has disappeared,
replaced by a look of fear.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
backing away slowly.

Karen's eyes are wide
with worry. She steps
between Hanna and Plankton,
trying to shield her friend
from his distress. "It's okay,
Hanna," she says, her voice
calm but firm. "Let's just
give him some space."

Hanna nods, her eyes
filled with apology.
"I didn't mean to upset him,"
she murmurs, setting the
puzzle book down on the
coffee table.

Karen nods, her gaze
on Plankton. "It's okay,"
she says softly. "He's just
overwhelmed."

Plankton's hands flap like
wings against his sides.
This is stimming, she knows,
his way of coping with
the sensory onslaught.

He rocks back and forth,
his gaze still on the fan.
Karen's heart aches as she
watches him, his body a
whirlwind of energy.

"Fan spin," he murmurs,
his hands fluttering like
butterfly wings. "Spin, spin."

Karen's eyes follow
his erratic movements,
her heart racing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
calm and soothing. "Look at me."
He doesn't react, his gaze
still glued to the fan.

Karen approaches him,
moving slowly to avoid startling
his heightened senses. "Plankton,"
she repeats, her tone steady.

He doesn't react, his eye
still on the fan, his body
a flurry of movement.
Her heart racing, Karen tries again.
"The fan spins," she says, mimicking
his rhythmic speech.

Plankton's gaze flicks to her,
his body still. For a moment,
his movements cease.
"Spin," he whispers, his eye
searching hers.

Karen nods, understanding
his need for the fan's rhythmic
whirl. "It's okay," she says,
her voice a gentle melody.
"The fan will spin."

Plankton's gaze shifts
from the fan to the digital clock
on the mantle. His eye widens
as he sees the seconds tick by,
restarting each minute.
The numbers, stark and
precise, seem to call to him,
a silent symphony of order
in a world gone haywire.

Hanna looks confused, for
Plankton's gaze shifts to the
digital clock, the seconds
ticking away in a silent
symphony. His hands stop
their erratic movements, his
body stilling as he watches
the precise dance of the
numbers.

Karen sees his fascination,
the way his eye tracks
each second as it passes.
"It's okay," she says softly.
"The clock will keep going."

But Plankton's gaze doesn't
shift. His body is still,
his mind lost in the rhythm
of the ticking digits.

Karen watches, her heart
racing. She's read about
how some with autism
find comfort in patterns,
how the predictability
of something as simple
as a digital clock
can be a lifeline in a
world that's otherwise
so chaotic.

Hanna, however, 
doesn't understand.
Her eyes go to Plankton, her
confusion growing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
still too bright, "it's just a clock."

His eye snaps to her, his
body rigid with tension. "Clock
important," he murmurs, his voice
a mix of anger and fear. "Numbers
change."

Hanna's smile fades, her eyes
widening with confusion. "It's
just a clock, Plankton," she says,
trying to placate him. But her
words only serve to stir his
distress further.

Plankton's eye darts from the
clock to Hanna, his breath
coming in quick bursts. "No,"
he whispers, his voice tight.
"Clock important. Numbers change."

Hanna's smile is gone, her
expression one of confusion.
"It's just a way to tell time,"
she says, her voice shaking.
But Plankton's agitation is
building, a storm gathering
behind his eye.

"No," he whispers, his hand
trembling as it points to
the clock. "Numbers change,
make brain quiet."

Hanna's eyes widen, her
understanding still elusive.
"But Plankton," she starts,
"it's just a way to keep track
of time."

But Plankton's gaze is
intense, his voice urgent.
"No, no, no," he says, shaking
his head. "Numbers change,
make brain quiet."

Hanna's voice rises, her
confusion thick. "But it's
just a clock, Plankton,"
she repeats, her words
falling on deaf antennae.

Plankton's body is tight
as a spring, his gaze
locked on the digital
dance. "No," he whispers,
his voice strained. "Numbers
make quiet, chronologically."

Hanna's eyes dart between
Plankton and Karen, her
confusion thick. 

new new reality hannacore vii

TOOTH AFTERNOON ii

Karen leaned closer, her
laughter dying down to a
soft giggle. “You’re going to
have to be careful with
that mouth, Plankton. It’s going
to be sore for a few days.
But don’t worry, I’ve got all
the soft foods you’ll need
once we get home. Ice cream,
soup, mashed potatoes...”

Plankton’s eye lit up at
the mention of ice cream.
“Ish...cweam?” he mumbled,
his mouth moving awkwardly.

Karen nodded enthusiastically.
“Yes, Plankton. Ice cream,
and anything else you want.
Just no crunchy things, okay?”

Plankton’s eye searched her
face, his thoughts swimming.
“Cweam...no...crunchy?”

Karen nodded, her smile
sympathetic. “Just until
you heal up, love. No crunchy
food for a bit. But we’ll manage.
You’ll have your favorites, I
promise. Just not the crunchy
snacks for now.”

The nurse returned to check
his vitals and gave Karen a knowing
look. “It’s going to be a long
afternoon, isn’t it?”

Karen nodded, wiping
away a tear of laughter. “I’m
ready for whatever comes next,”
she said, her voice filled with
determination.

Plankton’s eye finally
locked on hers, and he managed
a wobbly smile. “Karen...” he
whispered, his voice barely
audible.

“What is it, Plankton?” she asked,
her tone filled with warmth.

His voice was a barely-there murmur.
“Whath...is...this...placsh?” His eye
shifted.

Karen’s laughter had subsided,
leaving a warm smile in its place.
“It’s the recovery room, Plankton.
You’re at the dentist’s office.
You had your wisdom teeth taken
out.” She hoped the repetition
would help him understand.

But Plankton’s gaze remained
cloudy. “Denthis...tish...” he
slurred, his tongue a traitor to
his speech. “Whewe the...the
...lobby?”

Karen’s smile grew. “The lobby is
right outside this door,
sweetie.”

Plankton’s eye searched hers
desperately, as if she held
the key to his sanity.
“Whish way?”

Karen pointed to the
closed door, her voice a gentle
guiding force. “Just through there,
love. You’re not going anywhere
until you’re feeling better.”

Plankton’s gaze drifted to
the door and back to Karen,
his mind a tangled web of
half-formed thoughts. “Buth I
wan...I wanna...to...thee...the...
lobby...nowww,” he protested, his
words trailing off into a sleepy
whine.

Karen’s heart ached with a mix
of pity and love for her
disoriented husband. She
squeezed his hand, her voice calm
and firm. “Just stay here with me.
We’re going to wait for the
medicine to wear off a bit more,
and then we’ll go home, okay?”

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his thoughts a jumbled mess.
“Buh...buth...my teefh... shaw I?”

Karen nodded, her smile
soft. “Yes, Plankton, your teeth.
They’re okay.”

Plankton’s eye searched the
ceiling as if the answers
were written there. “Whath...whath
time ishit?” he mumbled.

Karen checked her watch,
trying to keep her voice steady.
“It’s three in the afternoon,
honey. You’ve been asleep for a
while now.”

Plankton’s eye drifted to
the ceiling again. “Tee...tree
in the afternish...” he repeated,
his words slurred and slow.

Karen nodded, her smile
lingering. “Yes, Plankton.
Three in the afternoon.
It’s time to wake up now, okay?”

Plankton’s gaze drifted
down to her, his eye
half-lidded. “But...I’m not still
sleepsh,” he protested, his
speech still thick with anesthesia.

Karen chuckled softly,
squeezing his hand. “You’re awake
now, Plankton. Just a bit
sleepy and loopy, that’s all.
The doctor said you’d be like
this for a little while.”

Plankton’s mouth moved as
his brain worked to form
words. “Loopy? Whath’s loopy?”
he asked, his voice a mix of
curiosity and irritation.

Karen’s chuckle was a warm
wave that washed over him.
“It means you’re not quite all
there yet, honey. The anesthesia
is still in your system, so
you’re a bit out of it.”

Plankton’s mouth twisted
as he processed her words.
“Anesh...thia?” he slurred.

Karen nodded. “Yes, Plankton.
The medicine they gave you to
help you not feel pain during
the surgery. It makes you a
little loopy when you wake up.”

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his curiosity piqued despite
his muddled thoughts. “Mishine...”
he mumbled, his tongue thick in
his mouth. “Whath’s...whath’s...thish?”

Karen followed his gaze to
the IV in his arm. “That’s just
the medicine that helped you
sleep through the surgery, Plankton.
It’s ok, it’s almost done.”

Plankton’s eye grew wide.
“Shurgery? Did...did I...?”

“Yes, sweetie, you had surgery.
But it’s all done now. You’re
going to be just fine,” Karen
reassured him, her voice a gentle
lullaby.

Plankton’s eye grew wide
with realization. “Shergy? Did
it hurt?”

Karen’s smile was a soft
caress. “No, Plankton. You
slept through it all. You
don’t remember a thing, thankfully.
It was quick and painless for you,”
she said, hoping to ease his
worries.

Plankton’s gaze drifted to
his swollen cheeks, his hand
coming up to tentatively touch
the numbness. “Cheek...hurt?”
he mumbled, his voice a
slurred mess of syllables.

Karen nodded gently. “Yes,
sweetie, it’s going to be a bit
sore for a while. But you’re
doing great. Just stay still and
let the medicine do its work,”
she soothed, her voice a
comforting melody.

Plankton’s hand dropped
back to the chair’s armrest, his
eye heavy with the weight
of the anesthesia. 
“Karen, what’s...what’s that 
beep...beep...beep?”
he asked, his voice trailing
off into sleepiness.

Karen looked at the monitor
behind him, the rhythmic
beeping a comforting lullaby.
“It’s just the heart rate monitor,
Plankton. It’s making sure
everything’s ok,” she
explained, her voice a gentle
reminder of the world outside
his drugged haze.

Plankton’s eye squinted as
he tried to focus on the
steady green line that blipped
with each pulse. “Hearth
hate?” he slurred, his tongue
still uncooperative.

Karen nodded. “It’s your
heartbeat, Plankton. It’s making
sure you’re ok. It’s all part of
the recovery process,” she said,
keeping her voice calm and steady.

Plankton’s eye searched her
face, his thoughts a tapestry
of confusion. “Hearth...hate?”
he repeated, the words a jumble
of sounds that didn’t quite make
sense.

Karen’s smile was warm and
understanding. “It’s your heart,
Plankton. It’s beating, which is
a good thing. It means you’re ok,”
she said, her voice a soothing
balm to his bewilderment.

Plankton’s eye searched hers
again, his mind a foggy maze.
“Heath...beep...beep...” he murmured,
his words a sleepy mantra.

Karen’s smile remained, her
patience unwavering. “It’s ok,
sweetie. It’s just the machine
making sure you’re ok. It’s your
heart, beating nice and steady,” she
explained, her voice a gentle
whisper.

Plankton’s eye blinked slowly.
“Heath...beep...beep...good?” he
managed to ask, his voice a soft
mumble.

Karen nodded, her smile a
constant reassurance. “Yes,
Plankton, your heart is good.
It’s beating nice and strong.
You’re going to be ok,” she
said, her voice a warm embrace.

But Plankton’s curiosity had
not yet been sated. His gaze
drifted to his hand, his mind trying
to make sense of the strange
shapes. “Whath...whath
awe...thish?” he pointed to
his hand, his finger waving
weakly.

Karen’s smile grew wider, her
eyes filled with love and
patience. “That’s your hand, Plankton.
It’s ok, it’s all part of
you,” she said, her voice a
soothing balm to his confusion.

Plankton stared at the
foreign appendage, his mind
still a whirlwind of anesthesia.
“Han’...hand?” he repeated, his
finger twitching slightly.

Karen nodded, her smile
never leaving her screen.
“Yes, Plankton. That’s your hand.
You can use it to do lots of
things. Like hold ice for your
sore mouth,” she said, her voice
a gentle guide through his haze.

But Plankton’s curiosity had
taken a turn. “Ish...moufh...hurt?”
his words still slurred and
slow.

Karen’s smile was understanding.
“Yes, sweetie, your mouth might
be sore from the surgery, but
the ice will help with that,”
she said, her voice a gentle guide
through the fog of anesthesia.

Plankton’s eye searched her
face, his thoughts a jumble.
“Ish...cweam...loobypop?”
he murmured, his mouth still
numb and uncooperative.

Karen couldn’t help but
laugh at his garbled words.
“Ice cream and loopy bop?”
she asked, her voice a soft
caress of humor.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his thoughts a foggy haze.
“No...no...floobydust...bishbath...”
he mumbled, his words a
nonsensical jumble.

Karen’s smile grew, her screen
twinkling with affection.
“Floobydust and bishbath?” she
repeated, her voice a gentle
mockery of his slurred speech.
“What on earth…”

Plankton’s mouth moved in a
slow, sleepy attempt at speech.
“Thish...thish...thish...” he
muttered, his words a stream
of nonsense that seemed to
make sense only to him.

Karen watched him with
amusement, his random
word association a cute side
effect of the anesthesia.
“What are you saying,
love?” she asked, her voice
a soft chuckle.

Plankton’s eye rolled
back into his head as his
eyelid grew heavy.

“Stay with me, Plankton,” Karen
urged, her voice a gentle prod
against the tide of sleep.

“Mmm...Karen...tiwed...”
his voice trailed off, his eye
trying to focus.

Karen leaned in, her smile
warm and gentle. “You’re fine,
Plankton. You’ve just had
surgery. Try to stay awake
for a little while longer.”

But Plankton’s body had
other plans. His head lolled
back, his snore a soft
counterpoint to the steady
beep of the monitor.

new tooth afternoon floobydust ii

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xvi
(By NeuroFabulous)
ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ/ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ⚠︎︎

Karen's eyes filled with a mix of
concern and determination as
she held onto Plankton. She knew
his meltdowns could be intense, but
this was uncharted territory. His
body was rigid with anger, his
antennas flailing as he tried to
free himself.

"Plankton, you need to calm down,"
she said firmly, her voice steady
despite the fear. "You're okay."

But Plankton's antennas only
twitched more erratically, his
body thrashing as he tried
to break free. "Let me go!" he
screamed, his voice hoarse as
Karen's grip tightens.

Karen only holds on tighter,
her love and concern a silent
plea as she tries to soothe her
husband's erratic movements.
"Plankton," she repeats, her voice
calm but firm as he flails. "Please
ju—"

Her words are lost in his
growling as he tries to push
her away. But Karen is
determined, her arms 
restraining him.

"Plankton, love, Chip's 
gone, and I need you to
li—"

But Karen's words were lost
as Plankton's struggle grew
more intense. His antennas
whipped back and forth, a visual
manifestation of the tempest
inside him. Despite her
soothing tone, his body thrashed
wildly in her embrace.

Karen felt her own heart race,
worry etched deep in her
features as she held on.
This was not the gentle, loving
Plankton she knew, but a
version of him overtaken by
his condition—his autism
turning the man she loved
into a creature of chaos.

Plankton fought
against her, his body 
contorting as he tried to 
escape her arms. His eye
was wild.

Karen's heart pounded in
her chest, her mind racing
with fear and love. She
knew this was the autism
speaking, not the man she
knew. She tightened her
grip as he began to throw
his weight around.

Plankton's antennas slapped
against her, his movements
unpredictable. "Chip's gone,"
she said calmly, her eyes
locked onto Plankton's, trying
to reach the person beneath
the rage. "You're safe and so—"

But Plankton's struggle
intensified, his antennas a
whirlwind of agitation. He threw
his head back, hitting Karen's
chest with a thud that
reverberated through the
tiny room. Karen winced,
her grip never wavering.

"Plankton," she said, her voice
even, "I'm here for you. Chip's
not in here anymo-"

Her words were cut off as Plankton's
body spasmed, his antennas
lashing out and hitting her
face. but she didn't release her hold.
"I know it's hard," she murmured,
"but I need you to be still. Hold still..."

Plankton's eye was wild with
fear, his antennas a blur as
his body thrashed. "Let go!"
he roared, his voice cracking
with emotion.

That's when Karen realizes 
Plankton's no longer fueled by 
anger, his movements no longer 
intentional but rather was involuntary 
jerks and twitches, as she saw in
his eye the fear and panic. She
now realized he knew Chip's gone
and that since then, he's only been
fighting out of terror. Karen realizes
in horror that she only made it
worse. Her heart clenched tightly in
her chest as she recognized
the traumatizing impact her
restraint might have had on
his overwhelmed autistic mind.
She then immediately loosens
her grip.

"Plankton," she whispers, her voice
shaking with her own fear and
concern, "I'm sorry, I'm so so—"

But her apology is lost
as Plankton's antennas quiver,
his body convulsing in
fear. The realization hits her
like a ton of bricks—she's not
his protector right now, she's his
tormentor. Karen's heart breaks
as she watches the man she loves
recoil from her own touch. She
quickly releases him, stepping back
to give him space.

Plankton's antennas slap
against his body as he stumbles
backward, his legs giving out.
He hits the floor, his antennas
spasming as he curls into a ball,
his whole body shaking with
sobs.

Karen's eyes fill with
tears as she watches him, her
heart breaking into a million
pieces. She had only wanted to
help, to be there for him, but
instead, she had become his enemy.
The fear in his eye was a
knife to her soul. She knew
the trauma her restraint had
caused him, and she wished she
could take it all back.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
barely above a whisper, "I'm
so sorry." She holds out a tentative
hand, hoping he'll understand
that she's not a threat.

But Plankton's antennas
don't still, they pulse with fear
as he scrambles away from her,
his eye wide with terror. "No,"
he whispers, his voice hoarse.
"Don't.."

The word hangs in the air, a
testament to the chasm that's
suddenly opened between them.
Karen's hand falls to her side,
her heart racing. "Plankton,
I won't touch you," she says,
her voice shaking. "I'm just
going to give you some space."

Plankton's antennas slowly
unfurled from their defensive
cringe, his body uncurling from
the fetal position. His chest
heaved with heavy breaths,
his eye darting around the
room. The chaos from the
meltdown had subsided into
stillness, but the fear remained.

Karen's eyes were red
and puffy, her own pain mirroring
his. She took a tentative
step towards him, her hand
outstretched. "It's okay," she
whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm
not going to touch you, I just
want to make sure you're okay."

Plankton's antennas quivered,
his eye darting to her hand
and then back to her screen.
He knew her, knew she loved
him, but fear had taken hold,
twisting his reality into
something unrecognizable.

With each step she took,
his heart hammered in his chest,
his body taut with tension.
He scooted away, his breaths
coming in shallow gasps.

Karen's eyes searched
his, a silent plea for
understanding. "Plankton," she
whispered, her voice barely
audible over the echo of his
sobs, "please, let me help."

Karen's hand hovered in
the space between them,
desperate to offer comfort but
respecting the invisible
boundaries Plankton had drawn.
Tears of regret were shed. She
wanted to take back her
fear-induced restraint, to
erase the terror from his
face. But she knew it wasn't
that simple. So she picked up
the books and organized them
the way Plankton had them, then
cleaning up the remnants of the
mess he made.

Plankton watched her from
his spot on the floor, his
antennas still quivering with
fear. He knew she was his
safety, but the trauma was
fresh, the trust fractured. Each
movement she made was a
potential threat to his
sensitive state. His breaths
came in shallow gasps, his
body still poised to flee.

Karen worked quickly
and quietly, her movements
calculated to cause the
least amount of disturbance.
The room slowly regained
its order, the books back
in their proper place, the
broken vase cleared away.
With each item she picked
up, she felt a piece of
their relationship mend.

Finally, she turned to
Plankton, who remained
huddled on the floor.
Her heart ached at the sight
of him—his body still tense,
his antennas drooping with
exhaustion. "Can I help you
up?" she asked gently, her hand
extended tentatively.

Plankton's antennas twitched
slightly, but he didn't move.
The fear had not fully
abated, but the chaos had
dulled to a murmur. He knew
his wife was there, a beacon
of safety in a world that
was still spinning out of control.

Karen knelt beside him, her
hands hovering just above
his shaking body. "You're okay,"
she whispered. "You're safe, and
I'm sorry," Karen said,
her voice thick with emotion.
"I didn't mean to scare
yo-"

But Plankton's response was
unexpected. A sudden
gagging sound erupted from
his throat, his antennas
twitching erratically.

Karen's eyes widened as
she saw his face contort in
fear and anxiety. "Plankton?"
she asked, her voice laced
with concern. "What's wrong?"

Plankton's antennas shot
straight up, his body convulsing
as he tried to swallow down
the panic that was rising in his
throat. He was gagging, his eye
squeezed shut as if to block
out the world around him.
Karen's heart skipped a beat
as she realized the severity
of his distress. "Plankton," she
said, her voice urgent. "Look
at me."

Plankton's antennas
quivered as he opened his eye,
his gaze locking onto Karen's.
Her eyes searched his, looking
for any sign of understanding,
any glimmer of the man
she knew and loved beneath
the fear. The gagging subsided,
his body still trembling with
adrenaline.

"I know you're scared," Karen
continued, her voice soothing
and gentle. "And it's my fault.
But I'm here to help."

Slowly, Plankton's
antennas lowered, his body
beginning to relax. He
swallowed hard, his gaze
never leaving hers. Karen
moved closer, her hand
still outstretched. "Can I?"

With a nod, Plankton
allowed her to touch him,
his antennas still quivering
with residual fear. Karen
lifted him up gently, her
touch feather-light as she
guided him to the bed. He
collapsed onto the mattress,
his body finally giving in
to the exhaustion that had
been building all night.

The room was eerily
silent. Karen sat beside
Plankton, her hand on his
shoulder, her eyes never
leaving his. "I'm so sorry,"
she whispered again, her
throat tight with emotion. "I
should have known better. I just
wanted us all to be safe.."

Plankton took her hand, putting
it on himself in the way he felt
like was comfortable. "I'm sorry
Karen, but I love you so much. I
understand. Thank you, it's the
thought that counts.."

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous xvi

SHELF IMPROVEMENT vii
(Autistic author)

Gently, she helped 
Plankton to his feet. He 
swayed slightly, his legs 
weak from the seizure. 
"Let's go to your room,"
she suggested, her 
arm around his waist.

They moved slowly, 
his steps cautious. Karen 
could feel his tension 
easing as they left 
the chaos of the living 
room behind. Plankton 
was still silent, 
twitching slightly with 
every new sound they 
encountered.

In the quiet of 
his bedroom, Karen 
helped him sit on the bed. 
"Rest," she said softly. 
"You're safe here."

Plankton nodded, 
his antennae drooping. 
"Safe," he mumbled.

Karen felt a 
wave of protectiveness 
wash over her as she 
tucked him into bed, 
his small frame looking 
even more vulnerable 
than ever. She 
knew she had to speak 
to Chip, to explain 
everything.

With a heavy heart, 
she made her way to 
his room. The door was 
ajar, and she could see 
his form huddled 
on his bed, tears 
staining his screen. 
He looked up as she 
entered, his eyes red 
from crying.

"Chip," she began, her 
voice gentle. "I need to 
talk to you about 
Dad."

Chip sniffled, 
wiping his screen with the 
back of his hand. "What's 
wrong with him?" he 
asked, his voice 
hoarse with emotion.

Karen sat on the 
edge of his bed, 
taking a deep 
breath. "Dad's had 
a bit of an accident, 
sweetie," she began. 
"He's okay, but he's 
going through 
something called 
autism. He'll have it
for the rest of his
life, yet we're still
finding ways to
manage.."

Chip's eyes widened 
in shock, and he 
swiped at his 
tears. "What's 
autism?"

Karen took a 
deep breath, 
preparing to explain. 
"It's like a different 
kind of brain wiring, 
Chip. Sometimes, 
it makes things 
that seem simple 
to us really hard 
for Dad to understand 
or do."

Chip's brow furrowed 
in confusion. "Does 
that mean he won't be 
the same?"

"No, it doesn't mean 
he won't be the same 
person," she said 
gently. "But it does mean 
that we'll have to 
make some changes 
to help him feel 
comfortable and safe. 
Dad will need extra patience, 
and we'll have to learn 
new ways to communicate.
He still has memories of his
life before, though."

Chip looked at 
his mother with 
uncertainty. "How 
can we help him?"

Karen took his hand 
in hers, feeling the 
warmth of his small 
fingers. "Well, Chip, 
we have to be very 
understanding," she 
explained. "Dad might 
react differently to 
things now, like 
noises or touch."

Chip nodded, his 
expression earnest. 
"So I can't hug him 
like that anymore?"

"Not like you did 
just now," she said. 
"But we'll find ways to 
show love without 
overwhelming him."

Chip nodded with 
newfound determination. 
"Okay," he said, his voice 
small. "I'll try."

Karen felt a 
surge of pride. Despite 
his young age, Chip 
was showing a maturity 
beyond his years. "That's 
my brave boy," she said, 
squeezing his hand. "Good
night.."

new shelf improvement neurodivergentcore vii

PLUSH ONE ii
(By NeuroFabulous)

"What's your favorite thing to do?"
Karen continues, her voice gentle.
He looks around the room, his gaze
finally settling on the metal container,
his project before the accident.
"Fix," he says, his hands 
moving in small, repetitive
gestures. "Invent. Invent," he murmurs.
It's a start.

The paramedics nod, jotting down
their observations. "It seems like
his long-term memory is intact,"
the first one murmurs to the other.
"Okay, Plankton, we're all done here;
we'll be heading on out."

Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand
tightening as she watches them leave,
their boots echoing down the hall.
The door clicks shut, and suddenly
the room feels much emptier, the
silence suffocating. She looks back
at her husband. She's never
dealt with someone with severe autism,
let alone the man she loves. She takes
a deep breath. "Come on," she says,
her voice a gentle coax. "Let's sit up."
With surprising ease, he allows her
to help him into a sitting position.

He looks at her,
his gaze warm and affectionate. "Karen,"
he says, his voice gentle.
It's the first time he's called her by
name since the accident, and it fills
her with a hope so profound it hurts.

They sit there for a while, Karen
stroking his arm, Plankton's eye
closed as he leans into her touch.
He seems to find comfort in her
presence, and she in his. She whispers
softly, "I love you, Plankton."

He opens his eye, a ghost of a smile
playing on his lips. "Love... Karen,"
he echoes. "You, I... I lo-ove you
Karen."

It's not eloquent, but it's enough.
It's more than enough. Karen feels
tears sting her screen as she leans in
and kisses his forehead. "I love you
too, Plankton."

His hand, stiff and unpracticed,
moves to hers, tracing the outline
of her palm. The simple gesture
speaks volumes, a silent promise
that they'll navigate this new world
together.

Karen's eyes well up, a smile
forcing its way through the tears.
"You're going to be okay," she whispers,
trying to tell herself as much
as him. Plankton nods, his gaze
on their joined hands.

He starts to fiddle with her fingers,
his touch tentative but earnest.
It's a simple gesture, but it speaks
volumes. He's trying, and she loves
him for it. The world outside feels
muted as they sit together, sharing
this quiet moment of understanding.

Their bond, though altered by his
new condition, remains strong. Karen
can see it in the way he looks at her,
his eye searching hers for comfort.
And she's there, offering it in spades.
"We'll get through this," she says,
her voice steady "We'll figure it out."

Plankton nods, his hand still tracing
the lines of her palm. His movements
are methodical, almost ritualistic.
It's clear that touch is a way to connect, in
a world that's suddenly become more
confusing. Karen runs her thumb
over the back of his hand.

He looks up at her, his gaze intense,
his eye searching hers for reassurance.
Karen smiles through the tears. "We're in
this together," she whispers, leaning
in to pat his shoulder.

But the second her hand makes
contact, he flinches away, his
body taut with discomfort. It's a stark
reminder of the sensory challenges
he now faces.

"I'm sorry," Karen says quickly,
retracting her hand. She's read
about sensory issues in autism,
but experiencing it firsthand is
overwhelming. She's eager to
learn what will soothe him, what
will help him navigate this new
reality without causing him discomfort.

"It's ok" Plankton mumbles, his
hands moving in a soothing
motion over the blanket.

Karen's determined 
to learn.
"What do you 
need, honey?" she asks,
her voice gentle.

Plankton's hand stops 
its erratic movement. 
He looks at her, 
his expression 
unreadable. "Karen," he 
whispers.

Her eyes fill with 
hope, clutching onto 
his words like a 
lifeline. "What do
you need, Plankton?"
she asks again, her 
tone soft and patient.

He turns his head 
slightly, his gaze 
fixed on the couch. Karen
gently guides him to the
couch, placing a pillow
under his head. She grabs
his favorite blanket, and 
drapes it over him.

He stiffens for a moment, 
then relaxes into the softness.
His hands resume their
repetitive stroking, this 
time on the fabric. Karen 
notices his eye is drawn 
to the patterns, and she
wonders if the visual
stimulation helps him 
focus.

Gently, she sits beside 
him, keeping a 
respectful distance.

Karen's mind is a storm
of thoughts and questions,
but she forces herself to
be present, to be patient.

Plankton's hand continues to
move over the blanket.
He's in his own world, yet
she's eager to understand it.

new plush one neurodivergentcore ii

PLUSH ONE xvi
(By NeuroFabulous)

Karen's eyes are a pool
of understanding as she
watches him, her heart
aching for his pain. She
knows the plushie is more
than just a toy; it's a piece
of his sanity in a world
that's turned too loud, too
bright. She moves closer,
her hand hovering near his..

Plankton's antennae shoot
up, his body stiffening.
"No," he whispers, his voice
a shaky plea. "No touch."

Karen nods, her movements
slow and careful. She
understands his boundaries,
his new sensory needs.
"Okay," she says, her voice
a soft promise. "I won't touch.
But can I sit with you?"

Plankton's antennae
quiver, his eye still closed.
He takes a deep breath,
his tiny chest rising and
falling with the effort.
"Okay," he murmurs. So
Karen sits down beside
his shaky form.
Hanna watches from
the doorway, her eyes
brimming with unshed tears.

The plushie in his
hands is a lifeline, a
reminder that amidst the
storm of sensory input,
there is something that
doesn't change, that won't
hurt him. Karen's presence
is another constant, a
beacon of comfort.

But Hanna is a variable,
an unknown. Her eyes are
filled with sadness, a
testament to the gap that's
formed between them.

"I'm sorry," she whispers,
her voice a soft apology.
"I didn't me—"

But Plankton interrupts. "MINE,"
he cries out, his antennae
quivering with the intensity
of his emotions.

Karen's heart breaks for him.
"It's okay," she whispers,
her voice a gentle reminder
of their bond. "It's your plushie."
Plankton's grip tightens
around the plush, his
body a coil of tension.

Hanna stands there,
hands trembling. "I'm sorry,"
she repeats, her voice a soft
apology in the quiet room.
"I didn't kn-"

But Plankton's
eye opens, his gaze
sharp and focused. "MINE,"
he says again, his voice
a fierce declaration.

Karen's eyes are
filled with pain, her
hand dropping to her side.
"I know," she says, her voice
a gentle coax. "But Hanna
meant no harm."

Hanna nods, her gaze
still on the plushie. "I---"

But Plankton's panic
interrupts her, his voice
high-pitched. "No Hanna,"
he whispers, his antennae
quivering as he shakes
his head. "No take."

Hanna's eyes fill with
sorrow as she backs away,
her hand dropping to her side.
Karen's heart clenches,
seeing the hurt in Hanna's
eyes. "It's okay," she murmurs,
her voice a gentle coax.
"We just need to give
Plankton some space."

Hanna nods, her eyes
never leaving Plankton. "I
understand," she whispers,
her voice a soft apology.
"But what abou–"

But Plankton's panic
doesn't abate, his body
constricting even further.
"No," he murmurs. "No more."

Hanna's eyes are filled
with a mix of pity and
frustration. She's tired of
his outbursts, of the way
his autism controls their lives.
Her voice cracks. "What
do you want from me!"
she asks, her voice a soft
cry of exasperation.

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye darting around the
room. He's lost in a
sensory maelstrom, unable to
understand her words. "Quiet,"
he whispers, his voice a
plea. "Everything too mu-"

But Hanna's frustration
has reached a boiling
point. "I've tried!"
she says, her voice a
sharp retort. "Everything's
always about you and your
plushies, when all we want
is to he-"

Her words are cut off
by Plankton's wail, his
body trembling. Karen's
heart clenches, her eyes
filled with pain. "Hanna,"
she says, her voice a soft
admonition. "He can't help it."

But Hanna's frustration
spills over. "I kn-"

But Plankton's wail cuts
through the room,
his antennae vibrating.
The plushie clutched to his
chest is a silent cry
for help.

Hanna's eyes fill with tears
as she watches, her frustration
boiling over. "Why can't
you just...be normal!"
she asks, her voice a
desperate plea.

Karen's gaze snaps to her,
her eyes filled with a fierce
protectiveness. "What do you
mean by 'normal'?" she asks,
her voice a soft challenge.
"Plankton is who he is. His
autism is part of him, not
something to 'fix'."

Hanna's shoulders slump, her
eyes welling up with tears.
"I know," she murmurs, her voice
a soft apology. "I just...I
miss the old Plankton you've
told me about."

Karen's gaze is filled with
compassion. "We all do,"
she says. "But he's still in there,
just...different now."

Hanna nods, her eyes still
on Plankton's trembling form.
"I know," she murmurs. "I just...
I don't know how to help."

Karen's smile is sad, her
eyes filled with understanding.
"You're already helping," she
says, her voice a gentle
reminder. "Just by being
here, by caring."

Hanna looks down, her
eyes misty. "But it's not
enough," she whispers,
gesturing to Plankton.

Karen's eyes are filled
with empathy. "It's a
new journey," she says,
her voice a soft reminder.
"For all of us."

Hanna nods, her gaze
still on Plankton. She
can see the fear and
confusion in his eye, the
way his antennae quiver.
It's a stark contrast
to the Plankton she's heard
of, the one with a sharp mind
and a love for Krabby Patties.

Karen's voice is a gentle
guidance. "We need to
learn his new language,"
she says. "Find a way to
reach him without crossing
his lines."

Hanna nods, her eyes
still on Plankton's shaking
body. "How do we do that?"
she asks, her voice a soft
curiosity.

Karen's eyes are filled with
knowledge. "It's about
patience," she says. "And
learning his cues."

Hanna nods. "What do you mean?"

Karen's eyes are filled with
compassion as she explains.
"His autism has changed
his communication,"
she says, her voice a soft
explanation. "It's not just words
anymore; it's gestures, sounds,
and expressions."

Hanna's gaze flickers to
Plankton's shaking antennae,
his eye squeezed shut.
"So, what do we do?" she asks,
her voice tentative.

Karen's hand is a soft
touch on Hanna's arm. "We watch,"
she whispers. "We learn."

new plush one hannacore xvi

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS vii
(By NeuroFabulous)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip on the shoulders childbirthcore vii

CATCH IN MY CHIP ix
(Autistic author)

With grace of a dancer, Chip 
slides into the bed beside
his dad, his movements calculated
and precise. Each inch closer feels
like a victory, a step to
reconciliation. He's careful not
to disturb. His hand reaches
for Plankton's, his touch a
whisper in the quiet.

Plankton's breathing steady and rhythmic.
Chip swells with hope, clutches the
hand tightly, feeling the
strength in the slender fingers.
It's a silent declaration of love,
an unspoken apology.

Karen watches, her screen
shimmering with unshed tears.
The sight of her son and
husband finding their way
back to each other fills her
heart with a warmth that
chases the shadows from the
room. She knows this isn't a
moment to interrupt, so she
simply observes, her hand
on Chip's back in silent
support.

Chip's eyes drift shut, and he lets
his body mold to the warmth
of his dad's side. The scent of
his dad's pillow, a mix of
saltwater and something
uniquely Plankton, fills his
nose, lulling him into a
sense of safety.

Time seems to stand still in the
quiet embrace, each tick of the
clock a gentle reminder that
moments like these are rare. But
eventually, the world outside
their sanctuary calls, and Plankton
stirs.

His antennas twitch, his
eye blinking open .
He's disoriented at first, his
brain still wrapped in the
cotton wool of sleep. Then he feels
the warmth beside him, the
weight of a small hand in his.

Plankton's heart stutters,
his body tense. His eye find
Chip's peaceful face, his son's
cheek pressed against his arm.
The room is a tableau of quiet,
the air thick with the unspoken.
He's torn between emotions and fear,
his mind racing.

He doesn't remember falling
asleep, the anger and frustration
of last night a distant memory.
But here's Chip, a living proof
of their unspoken reconciliation.
Plankton's antennas quiver,
his hand hovering over their
entwined fingers. He's afraid to
move, to disturb the fragile
harmony of the moment.

But his body has other plans.
His muscles tense, his skin
prickling with the need for
space. He's not used to this,
the warmth, the weight. His
autistic brain screams for order,
for predictability. He tries to
swallow the rising panic, to push
it back down into the pit of his
stomach where it belongs. Plankton
can feel his own heart racing,
his antennas quivering with
the effort of holding still. His
body wants to recoil, to retreat
from the sudden assault of
sensation. But he can't, not with
his son's hand in his.

Karen notices the tension
in his body, the way his antennas
spasm slightly. She knows what's
coming, the inevitable retreat.
With a gentle touch, she whispers,
"It's okay, Plankton. You don't have
to handle it if it's too much."
Her words are a soothing balm,
but they're not enough to
calm the storm inside him.

Chip's hand tightens slightly
around his, and Plankton's eye
snap to his son's face. He sees
the trust there, the love.
It's a punch to the gut, a
reminder of all the moments
he's missed, all the times he's
failed to understand. His hand
shakes, the tremble traveling
up his arm.

He tries to swallow the
rising panic, his throat tight.
But it's too much, the weight
of his son's body, the heat,
the smell, the touch. His mind
whirrs, his senses overloading.
He needs space, to think, to breathe.
With a deep, shuddering inhale,
he starts to pull away, his
body fighting the instinct to
shove Chip off the bed.

Karen's hand is a gentle
weight on his shoulder.
"Take it slow," she whispers,
her voice a lifeline in the storm.

Plankton nods, his antennas
still quivering. He tries to
push the panic down, to
focus on the warmth of
Chip's hand, the steady beat
of their hearts. But the
pressure builds, a crescendo
of sensation threatening to
crush him. He can't breathe.

With a tremble, he starts
to pull away, his hand
sliding out from under
Chip's. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his voice strained.
"It's too much."

Karen's hand remains
on his shoulder, her eyes
filled with compassion.
"It's okay," she says, her voice
a soft whisper. "We're here."

The room spins around
Plankton, a whirlwind of
colors and shapes. His antennas
wave wildly, his grip on reality
slipping. He's lost in the chaos
of his own mind, the sensory
overload a tornado that
threatens to consume him.

Karen's voice is a beacon,
guiding him back to shore.
"Breathe," she whispers, her hand
still on his shoulder. "In, out,
slowly." Her words are a
lifeline in the tempest.

Plankton nods, his breaths
coming in ragged gasps. He tries
to focus on the sensation of
her hand, the gentle pressure
of her touch. But the world
keeps spinning, the colors
blurring together like a
watercolor painting left in
the rain.

He feels the bed shift as
Karen sits beside him, her
presence a grounding force.
"Just breathe," she says, her
voice a soft mantra. "You're
okay." His chest rises and falls in
quick succession, his body's
desperate attempt to regulate
itself amidst the chaos. His
heart races, each beat a
staccato in his ears. The room
spins, the walls closing in, the
ringing in his ears getting louder
to where it consumes him, now
impenetrable to any other sound.

Karen notices the sudden
pallor that sweeps over her
husband's face, the way his
body sags into the bed.
Her eyes fill with concern,
her hand tightening on his
shoulder. "Look at me," she says,
her voice firm but gentle.
"Take deep breaths."

But the ringing in his head is
too loud. It's consumed him
and impenetrable. He can't
hear her. He doesn't hear
anything.

Karen's voice is a distant
echo, the words swallowed by
the cacophony in his mind.
Her hand on his shoulder is
the only real thing, the
only anchor keeping him from
being swept away.

The room spins faster, the
colors bleeding into one
another until all Plankton
can see is a kaleidoscope of
sensory overload. The ringing
in his ears crescendos,
drowning out the world.
His chest feels tight, his lungs
desperate for air that won't
come. He's adrift in a sea
of panic, unable to find
his way back to the shore.

Karen's voice cuts through
the din, her hand a firm
reminder of reality. "Look
at me," she says, her eyes
locked on his, her voice a
steady lighthouse guiding
his way back. "Just me,
just us." But Plankton's not
hearing anymore.

The room is spinning, the
colors a whirlwind of chaos.
He's lost in the tornado
of his own making, the
sensory overload a prison
he can't escape. His hand
shakes, his body tense as
his mind begs for reprieve.
Karen's eyes widen with
concern.

"Plankton," she whispers, her
voice a gentle lullaby. "Look
at me." She moves closer, her
hand reaching for his face.
Her touch is a grounding force,
but it's not enough. He's
too far gone.

The room spins, a blur
of color and sound. Plankton's
eye is wide with panic, his
body trembling. The bed seems
to shift beneath him, the
walls closing in. His breaths
are shallow, his chest tight.
He's lost in the tornado of
his senses.

Karen's hand on his
shoulder is a lifeline, but
his mind is too far gone.
Her voice is a distant
whisper, the words unintelligible.
All he can feel is the
crushing weight of the
world pressing down on him,
the lights too bright, the
noises too loud. And then
Chip stirs in his sleep.

The movement sends a
shiver down Plankton's spine,
his body tightening like a
coiled spring. The ringing in
his ears reaches a crescendo,
drowning out everything else.
He tries to push the panic
back down, to find the calm
he desperately needs, but it's
like trying to hold back the
tide with a paper wall.

Karen's eyes are filled with
fear as she sees Plankton's
descent into overwhelm. She
knows the signs all too well.
Her hand on his shoulder is
now a firm grip, trying to
keep him tethered to the
here and now. "Look at me,"
she says, her voice a gentle
command. "Just me, just us."

But Plankton's gaze is unfocused,
his mind swirling with a
torrent of sensations that
make him feel like he's
falling into a bottomless pit.
The room seems to spin faster,
the light from the window a
piercing glare that slices through
his retina. He wants to
shield his eye, but his arm
feels like lead, too heavy to lift.

Karen's touch is the only
constant, her hand on his
shoulder the one thing that
feels real amidst the
sensory maelstrom. But even
that is slipping away as
his dizziness crescendos into
full-blown vertigo. His vision
blurs, the lines of reality
smearing into a nauseating
whirl of color and light.

"Plankton," she says, her voice
urgent. "Look at me."

The words echo in his
head, a distant call amidst
the chaos. He tries to focus
on her face, her eyes the only
constant in the whirlwind
of sensations. But the world
spins, faster and faster,
until all he can see is a
blur of color.

Her hand on his shoulder is
a lifeline, but it's slipping
away. He feels himself
falling, tumbling into the
void of his own mind. His
body is a marionette, his
strings cut by the storm.
The ringing in his ears
reaches a crescendo, a
symphony of panic that
consumes him.

Karen's eyes are wide
with fear, her grip on him
desperate. "Look at me,"
she repeats, her voice 
steady. "You're okay."
Her hand moves to his face.

But Plankton's gaze is
glassy, his pupil dilated.
He's trapped in the chaos of
his senses. The ringing
in his ears is a siren's
call, pulling him deeper.

Karen's hand moves from
his shoulder to his cheek,
the softness of her touch
a stark contrast to the
harshness of the world
invading his mind. "Look
at me," she repeats, her voice
a whisper. "You're safe."
Her thumb traces the line
of his jaw, a gentle guide.

But Plankton's eye is
glassy, lost in the storm.
Her words are gentle,
trying to soothe him. But the
flames are too high, too
strong. He's drowning in
his own senses.

With a tremble, Karen's hand
moves to his cheek, her
touch a soft caress. "Look at
me," she whispers, her voice
a lifeline thrown into
the tempest. "You're ok."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II ix

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xi
(Autistic author)

Karen stood up. She 
needed to check on 
Chip, to make sure he 
was okay after the 
scary scene he had 
witnessed. She stepped 
out of the room, 
leaving the door 
cracked open, 
listening for any 
sign of movement 
from Plankton.

The house was 
quiet, the only sound 
being the distant 
thump of Chip's 
footsteps. She 
walked down the hallway, 
each step heavier 
than the last.

When she reached 
Chip's room, she 
found him sitting on 
his bed, his screen 
blurry with unshed 
tears. He looked up 
as she entered, his eyes 
wide with worry.

"Mom," he said, 
his voice small.

Karen's heart 
broke anew. She 
crossed the room 
and sat beside him, 
wrapping her arms 
around his small 
frame. "Chip," she 
whispered, "it's okay."

Chip leaned into her 
embrace, his body 
shaking with 
sobs. "But Dad...," 
he choked out. "Dad was 
so mad at me."

Karen's heart 
was heavy. She 
stroking his back. 
"He's not mad at you, 
Chip," she said, her 
voice gentle. "His brain 
is just... different 
now. He's scared and 
overwhelmed."

Chip sniffled, 
his shoulders 
heaving. "But why?"

"Because of his 
autism," Karen 
explained, her voice 
soft and steady. "It's 
like he's experiencing 
the world with all his 
senses turned up to 
max. Sometimes it's 
too much, and it can 
make him upset."

Chip's sobs grew 
quieter as he 
absorbed her words. "But 
I didn't mean to," 
he murmured, his voice 
filled with regret.

"I know, buddy," 
Karen said, her voice 
soothing. "And Dad 
knows you didn't mean to. 
We all just need to 
learn how to be more 
careful with each other."

Chip nodded 
against her shoulder, 
his body slowly 
relaxing into her 
embrace. "I don't 
want him to be sad," 
he whispered.

Karen kissed 
his forehead. "I 
know, Chip. And we'll 
make sure he isn't. 
We'll all learn 
together."

They sat in 
silence for a few 
more moments, 
until Chip's 
sniffles subsided.

"Would you like 
to go see him?" 
Karen asked, her 
voice tentative.

Chip nodded, 
his screen wiping 
away tears. "But 
I don't want to make 
Dad mad again," he 
whispered.

"You won't," Karen 
promised, her voice 
filled with warmth. 
"We'll go in together, 
and I'll be right here 
with you."

They walked back 
to Plankton's room, 
their steps measured. Karen 
pushed the door open 
carefully, her gaze 
flicking to the bed. 
Plankton was still 
asleep, his snores 
now a comforting 
lullaby in the quiet 
space.

Chip's eyes were 
glued to his dad, 
his antennae quivering 
slightly. "Dad?" he 
whispered.

Karen nodded, 
swiping at her own 
tears. "Let's just 
watch him for a 
moment," she said, 
guiding Chip to the 
chair beside the 
bed. They sat down 
together, their 
hands joined.

Plankton's antennae 
twitched slightly 
in his sleep, and 
Karen held her breath, 
fearing he might 
wake up. But he 
remained still, his 
tiny frame nestled 
under the blanket.

"Look, Chip," she 
whispered, pointing 
to Plankton's peaceful 
face. "Dad's sleeping. 
Let's not wake him 
up yet."

Chip nodded, 
his gaze never leaving 
his father. "But I 
want to tell him I'm 
sorry," he said, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper.

"You can tell him 
later," Karen assured, 
squeezing his hand. "Let's 
let him rest for now."

Chip nodded, 
his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
form. "Okay," he murmured, 
his voice thick with 
unshed tears. "But I'll 
make it up to him. I've a
science fair at school
tonight and would like
you both to come. I know
he enjoys science."

Karen's heart 
swelled with pride 
and hope. "That's 
a wonderful idea, 
Chip," she said, 
smiling through her 
tears. "I'm sure 
your father would love to 
see your project."

They sat in 
companionable silence 
for a few moments 
more before Karen 
stood up. "Go get 
ready," she said, 
gently tugging on 
Chip's arm. "We have 
a science fair to attend."

Chip's eyes 
lit up with 
excitement. 
"Really?"

"Yes," Karen 
nodded, standing 
up. "We'll all go 
together and 
support you."

Chip perked up, and 
he scurried out of the 
room, eager to get 
ready for the 
science fair. Karen 
watched him go, 
his enthusiasm a 
tiny beacon of light 
in the heavy silence 
that lingered. She took 
a deep breath, 
preparing herself for 
the task ahead.

new shelf improvement familycore xi

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvii
(By NeuroFabulous)


Chip's never felt so close to
his dad, not even when they
used to build sandcastles
on the beach. Plankton's antennae
tickle his neck, a gentle
reminder of the trust
that's been slowly
building between them.

The snores are a comforting
background to the quiet
evening. "Can I sleep out
here, next to Dad?" Chip asks.

Karen nods, her eyes filled
with understanding. "Of course,"
she whispers, her voice a soft
caress in the darkness. "Just be
careful not to disturb him. Let's
get you both set up."

They work together,
moving pillows and blankets,
careful not to jostle Plankton.
Chip watches as his mother
gently lifts his father's
head, placing it gently on
his own pillow as Chip stands
up. They move a soft foot bench
for Chip to sleep on next to Plankton.

Karen pulls a blanket over
both of them, tucking it around
them both.

Chip's heart races with excitement,
his mind racing with the newfound
connection. He lies down on the
foot bench, his body tense with
anticipation. Plankton's antennae
twitch slightly as he shifts, but he
doesn't stir.

Karen's eyes are a soft
moon, her gaze a gentle
reminder of the night ahead.
"Remember," she whispers. "Don't
move too much. He needs his
space."

Chip nods, his eyes
filled with understanding.
He watches as Karen
disappears upstairs,
the light flickering before
going out. The room is
a canvas of shadows, Plankton's
snores a soft metronome.

He lies still, his mind
whirling with thoughts. It's
strange, feeling his dad's
body so close.
He's always been the one to
move away, the one to hide.
But here he is, sleeping.

The room is quiet, save for
Plankton's snores. Chip
swallows, his heart thumping.
He reaches out his hand,
his fingers trembling slightly.
He's never felt so
nervous about something so simple.

He touches Plankton's antennae,
his heart in his throat.
They twitch slightly at the
contact, but Plankton doesn't
wake up. Chip's breath
escapes in a silent whoosh.

He holds his hand there,
his fingertips exploring the
softness of his father's antennae.
They're so delicate, like
tiny whiskers. Plankton's
breathing doesn't change.

Encouraged, Chip slides his
hand further up, his heart
racing. He's never felt so
close to his dad, not even
during those rare moments
when Plankton allows a brief
hug. His hand comes to rest
on Plankton's shoulder, his
father's arm lying limp.

Plankton's snores hitch for a
moment, his antennae
twitching erratically. Chip's
heart leaps into his throat,
but then Plankton relaxes again,
his snores resuming their
comforting rhythm.

Chip's hand remains on
his father's shoulder,
his mind racing with thoughts
of all the times he's wanted
to be closer. He's never
dared to touch him like
this before, afraid of
setting off a storm of
sensory overload.

But now, as Plankton sleeps,
his antennae lying still against
his head, Chip feels a strange
sense of peace. He watches his
father's chest rise and fall,
his snores a soothing
lullaby. He's always been so
quick to retreat into his
shell, but here, in this quiet
moment, he's vulnerable,
his defenses down.

Chip's hand remains on
his father's shoulder, his
thumb tracing gentle circles.
He wonders if Plankton knows
how much he's wanted to
connect like this. How much
he's longed for the kind of
closeness that other kids share
with their dads. The antennae
on Plankton's head twitch
slightly, and Chip holds his
breath. But Plankton's snores
remain steady, his body relaxed.

A smile tugs at the corner of
Chip's mouth. He's never felt
this level of acceptance from
his father, not even during
their rare moments of
physical contact.

He leans closer, his eyes
studying Plankton's sleeping
face. His father's cheeks are
still a bit puffy from the
surgery, but there's a peace to
his expression that Chip hasn't
seen in a long time. His antennae
lie still, no longer twitching
with pain or irritation.

Chip's hand on his shoulder
feels like an anchor, a
connection he's longed for.
He wonders if Plankton's
dreams are filled with the
colors and shapes of their
underwater world, or if he
dreams of a place beyond the
reef, a place where his
inventions come to life. Chip
simply watches him sleep,
his own eyes drooping with
exhaustion.

As the night stretches
on, the snores become a
lullaby, a rhythm that
soothes Chip's racing
thoughts. He's so close to
his dad, closer than he's
ever been. The room feels
smaller, yet somehow
more expansive, like the
ocean outside their door.

He watches Plankton's chest
rise and fall with each breath,
his antennae lying still against
his forehead. It's strange,
seeing his father so vulnerable,
so open to the world.
In sleep, Plankton's usual
defensive posture has
melted away, leaving
behind a softness that Chip
has never seen before.

He tentatively reaches out
his other hand, his fingers
sliding under the blanket to
rest lightly on Plankton's hand.

It's a small gesture,
but it feels like a monumental
step forward. Plankton's hand
twitches, but doesn't pull away.
Chip's breath catches in his throat,
his heart racing.

He holds his breath, waiting
for a reaction. But Plankton's
snores remain steady.

Chip's heart thumps in his chest.
He's never felt this close to
his father. It's like they're
sharing a secret, a quiet
moment of understanding.

He squeezes Plankton's hand gently,
his thumb tracing the outline
of his father's palm.

Plankton's antennae twitch again,
his hand moving slightly under
Chip's.

Chip's heart leaps, his eyes
widening. Did he feel that?
A soft squeeze from Plankton's
hand, a silent communication.

He squeezes back, his grip gentle.
Plankton's snores continue,
his hand relaxing into Chip's.
The moment stretches, a warm
band connecting the two of
them.

Chip's heart is a caged
bird, fluttering with excitement.
He's never felt so close to
his dad, never thought this
was possible.

He watches as Plankton's
snores deepen, his hand in
his father's a silent promise
of support. The room is a
symphony of quiet moments,
each breath a note of peace.
Chip's lulled by the steady
beat of his father's snores.

His eyes drift shut, his mind
a kaleidoscope of thoughts.
He dreams of a world where
Plankton's antennae don't
twitch with fear, where the
shutdowns don't steal him
away. He dreams of a future
where they can share laughter,
not just the quiet moments
like this.

Hours later, Plankton's snores
have turned into soft, even
breaths. The room is bathed
in the gentle glow of early
morning, the sun peeking
through the curtains.

Plankton stirs, his antennae
twitching as he awakens to
a new day. He blinks slowly,
his eye adjusting to the
light. And then he sees it.

Chip's hand, curled around
his own, a warm pressure
that grounds him. His son's
body, curled into the
foot bench, his chest rising
and falling silently with sleep.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly as he blinks,
his mind foggy with the
remnants of sleep. He tries
to sit up, to pull away, but
his body protests, a dull
throb in his cheeks reminding
him of the surgery's aftermath.

He feels a warmth beside him,
his son's hand in his own, a
gentle reminder of the night's
unexpected intimacy. His heart
thumps in his chest, the
realization hitting him like
a gentle wave. Chip had been
there, holding on, a silent
support through his slumber.

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
brain slowly waking up. He's
not used to this, to being
touched so casually, so
openly. It's a foreign
sensation, but not entirely
unpleasant. He looks down
at their joined hands,
his son's thumb resting
against his palm.

He's torn between retreating
and embracing the moment,
his mind racing with
conflicting thoughts. But
his son's gentle breaths, the
weight of his body against
his side...

He feels a strange warmth,
a feeling he's often chased away.
But here, in the quiet
pre-dawn light, he lets it in.

Plankton's antennae twitch, a
quiet acknowledgment of his son's
presence. He doesn't pull away,
his hand still in Chip's.

His mind is a tornado of thoughts,
spinning with the realization
that he's allowed this unsolicited
closeness with Chip.

Plankton's heart beats faster,
his antennae quivering slightly.
He's not used to this, the
unexpected warmth, the silent
comfort of his son's touch.
But as the moments stretch
into something more, he finds
that he doesn't want to pull away.

new chip on the shoulders sleepovercore xvii

CHIP IN MY BOX vii
(Autistic author)


Dr. Kelp's tentacles move
quickly, setting out a new set
of sensory items. He places
the velvet curtain over Plankton's
head, creating a safe, quiet
space. The weighted blanket
is laid gently over his body,
his breathing starting to even
out. The doctor's eyes are
filled with a quiet wisdom
that Karen finds reassuring.

The octopus then turns his
attention to Chip, his tentacle
gently stroking the boy's arm.
"It's okay," he repeats, his
voice a calming lullaby in
the tense room. "We all make
mistakes."

Karen's eyes are glued to
Plankton, his body still and
silent under the velvet curtain.
Fear and regret are a heavy
weight on her shoulders.

"Thank you," she whispers to
Dr. Kelp, her voice trembling.
"We should have told him
sooner." She watches as the
doctor works, his tentacles
deftly placing items around.

"When Plankton wakes up,"
Dr. Kelp says, his voice low
and soothing, "he might be
disoriented, upset." He looks
up at Chip, his eyes gentle.
"It's important to give him
space, let him know it's safe."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving her husband's still
form. She knows the routine,
but hearing it from Dr. Kelp's
lips somehow makes it feel
more real, more manageable.

"When he wakes," the doctor
continues, "he may be
confused, overwhelmed." His
voice is soft, his eyes
compassionate. "He might
not immediately be able
to process what happened."

Karen nods, her hand
trembling slightly. "What
do you mean?" She asks,
desperation lacing her
voice.

Dr. Kelp takes a deep
breath, his tentacles
arranging the items with
precision. "When Plankton
comes to," he says, "his senses
may be overstimulated, not knowing
what's happening around him."
He looks at Chip, his eyes
serious. "It's important
you don't take it personally. He
may incoherently talk, forget or
lash out. It's his brain's way of
trying to make sense of the
sensory overload."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton. "We'll be
ready," she says, her voice
determined. She doesn't want
to scare Chip, but he needs
to know. "We'll help him
through it."

Dr. Kelp looks at the
both of them, his gaze
softening. "Good," he says.
"Because he's going to need
you." His tentacles
flatten against the floor
as he leans closer to
Plankton, checking his pulse.
"When he wakes up, keep your
voices low, and keep the lights
dim. Try to limit any sudden
movements."

He demonstrates with a
slow, deliberate wave of his
tentacle. "And if he seems
scared or confused, just
tell him it's okay, that he's
safe," he instructs, his voice
calm and steady. "Remember, he
might not recognize anything at first.
His mind will be trying to piece
together what happened, as if in
a dream."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
Chip clutches the indestructible
fidgets in his small hands, his
face a mask of determination.

"When he wakes up," Dr. Kelp
continues, his eyes on the
floor, "his reactions may seem
unpredictable. Sometimes, he
might get scared, other times
he might be agitated." His tentacle
flicks slightly, a subtle sign of
his own tension. "It's all part
of his brain trying to recalibrate."

He looks up at Chip, his
expression serious. "Your dad's
going to need you to be brave,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If he
doesn't know you at first,
don't be scared. Just stay calm
and keep talking to him."

Chip nods, his eyes
glistening with tears. "I'll do
anything," he says, his voice
tiny but firm.

Dr. Kelp gives a small
smile, his tentacle patting
Chip's shoulder. "That's all
we can ask," he says.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii vii

SHELF IMPROVEMENT ix
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new shelf improvement gentlecore ix

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xi
(By NeuroFabulous)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip on the shoulders tripcore xi

PLUSH ONE xvii
(By NeuroFabulous)

They sit in silence,
observing Plankton's shaking form.
His antennae quiver in time
with his ragged breaths.
Hanna's eyes are a pool of
uncertainty, but she nods.

They watch as Plankton's
body relaxes, his antennae
stilling. He opens his eye,
his gaze searching the room.
Karen's heart clenches as
she sees the fear in his eye.

Hanna's hand twitches,
wanting to reach out, but she
stops herself. She's learned
his boundaries, the invisible
walls of his autism. "Plankton?"
she whispers, her voice soft.

His antennae twitch, his
eye snapping to her. "What?"
he says, his voice a defensive
whisper.

Hanna's voice is tentative,
her hand hovering in the air.
"I'm... I'm not taking your
plushie," she says, her eyes
filled with sincerity.
"I just want to help."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his gaze still wary. "Help?"
he whispers, his voice a soft
question.

Hanna nods, her eyes never
leaving his. "Yes," she says,
her voice gentle. "We're
here for you."

Plankton's antennae still,
his gaze unreadable. Karen's
heart is a tight knot of
fear and hope. "It's okay,"
she whispers. "We're a
team, remember?"

His eye flickers, a
glimpse of the Plankton she
knows, the one who
used to laugh and scheme.
Slowly, he nods.

Karen's heart soars with
relief. "Good," she whispers.
"We're here."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his body tense. He's not sure
how to respond to this
new dynamic, where his
fear dictates their interactions.
He looks at the plushie in
his arms, the soft fabric
comforting against his skin.
It's a constant in a world
that's shifted on its axis.

Karen's eyes are filled
with understanding. "We'll
find a way," she whispers,
her voice a soft promise.
"Together."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his gaze flicking between
Karen and Hanna. He feels
their warmth, their care.
Slowly, he nods.

"Plankton," Hanna says, 
her voice a soft question. 
"Can I...sit with you?"

Plankton's antennae
quiver, his eye darting
between her and the
plushie. Slowly, he nods.

Hanna takes a tentative
step forward, her heart
racing. She sits down
carefully beside him, her
movements measured, not
wanting to startle him.
Her hand hovers, unsure if he'll
let her touch him.

Karen watches, her heart in
her throat. She's seen
this before, the struggle
for understanding. But
this time, it's different.
This time, Hanna's here.

Hanna's hand hovers over
Plankton's arm, a silent
offer of friendship. Plankton's
eye flickers to it, then
back to her face. His antennae
quiver, his body tense.
He's trying to process, to
understand this new
dynamic. Slowly, Hanna
sets her hand on his arm.

His body jolts, but he
doesn't pull away. Karen's
breath catches as she waits
for his reaction. But Plankton
simply looks at Hanna, his
gaze searching.

Hanna's hand is a gentle
weight, a silent promise of
support. Plankton's antennae
quiver, his eye blinking rapidly.
He's trying to process this
new sensation, this
unexpected touch from someone
other than Karen.

Karen's heart races as she
watches, her eyes never leaving
his face. She sees the tension
in his body, the way his eye
flutters with uncertainty.

Plankton's gaze is on Hanna's
hand, the contact unfamiliar.
He takes a deep breath, his
tiny chest rising and falling
with the effort. Karen's
stance is poised, ready to
intervene if needed.

But Hanna's touch is
gentle, almost imperceptible.
Plankton's antennae twitch, his
body still tense. He's not used
to this, not used to anyone
other than Karen invading
his space. His new world is
defined by sensory overload
and the need for sameness.

Karen's eyes are a silent
prayer, her body poised to
intervene. But she holds
back, giving Hanna a chance
to connect, to bridge the gap
that autism has created.

Hanna's hand remains
steady on Plankton's arm,
her eyes never leaving his.
"I'm sorry," she whispers,
her voice a soft apology.
"I didn't mean to upset you."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his body slowly relaxing.
He's still on edge, his
autism making him hyper-
aware of the unpredictable
world around him. He looks
at Hanna's hand, the new
sensation strange, despite
not being entirely unpleasant.

Karen's eyes are filled
with hope, her breath held.
Hanna's touch is a bridge,
a tentative reach across
the chasm of misunderstanding.
"It's okay," she whispers, her
voice a gentle reassurance.
"I'm here."

Plankton's antennae still,
his body frozen. The plushie
in his arms is a barricade
against the world, a reminder
of the comfort he craves.
He looks at Hanna's hand.

Hanna's eyes are filled
with understanding, her hand
still. "We're not going anywhere,"
she murmurs. "Take all the
time you need."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his body still tense. The
plushie is a fortress against
the chaos, but Hanna's touch
is an unfamiliar presence, a
threat to his carefully
constructed world. He looks
at Karen, his gaze pleading.

Karen's eyes are filled with
comprehension. "It's okay,
sweetheart," she says, her voice
a gentle breeze. "Hanna's here
to help."

Plankton's gaze flickers
between Karen and Hanna, his
tiny body coiled tight. He's not
used to sharing his space, not
since the world turned into a
cacophony of sensory assaults.

Hanna's hand remains a
question mark on his arm,
her eyes filled with hope.
"Please," she whispers, her voice
a soft plea. "We're just trying
to be friends."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his gaze flicking between
Karen and Hanna. The room is
too loud, too bright. His mind
whirls with confusion, trying
to navigate this new terrain
of social interaction. He's
used to Karen, her gentle voice
and familiar scent. But Hanna
is new.

"Space," he whispers, his voice
shaky. "Need space."

Hanna's hand retracts,
a silent apology. She nods,
her eyes filled with sadness.
"Okay," she says, her voice
barely audible.

Karen's gaze is filled with
pride as she watches Hanna's
understanding dawn. It's a
slow process, but she's learning.
"Thank you," she murmurs.

Hanna nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's tense form.
"It's okay," she whispers.
"I'll give you space." She moves
to the other side of the room,
leaving a wide berth between
them. Plankton's antennae twitch
less frequently, his body
slowly uncoiling.

new plush one hannacore xvii

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY vii
(By NeuroFabulous)

Chip listened intently, his heart
heavy with the realization that
his father's world was so much
more complex than he had ever
imagined. "What do I do..."

"When you see those signs," Karen
said, her voice filled with patience
and love, "you need to give him
space. Sometimes, the best thing
you can do is just be there for him,
without expecting anything in return."

Chip nodded, his eyes still
swollen with tears. "But what if he
needs help?" he asked, his voice
small.

Karen's expression was a mix
of love and concern. "If he's
having a seizure, it's important
to keep him safe," she said, her
tone serious. "Make sure there's
nothing around that he could
hurt himself on, and don't try to move
him unless he's in danger." She
paused, taking a deep breath. "And
never put anything in his mouth.
It can be really scary to watch,
but he'll come out of it, I promise."

"How will I know if it's a
seizure?" Chip's voice was
shaky, fear gripping him.

Karen took a deep breath, her
expression turning serious. "If he
just stops talking or moving
suddenly, and his eye glazes over,
it's probably a seizure," she said,
her voice calm and measured.
"Sometimes he'll stare off into
space, or his body might get really
stiff for a moment." She paused,
squeezing his hand. "But remember,
his brain is just taking a little
vacation, okay? And if he convulses
or starts to fall, you have to catch
him and guide him to the floor
safely. It's really important that
he doesn't get hurt."

Chip's eyes were wide with fear,
but he nodded, determined to be
there for his dad. "What if..."

"If it's a bigger seizure,"
Karen said, her tone gentle but firm,
"you'll know. His whole body might
shake, and he could fall to the floor."
Her grip on his hand tightened.
"If that happens, you 
need to stay calm.
Alert me, and make
sure he's in a safe 
place where he
won't hurt himself."

With a nod, Chip tried
to absorb the information, his
stomach churning with a mix
of fear and determination.
He didn't want his dad to go
through that alone. "Okay,"
he murmured.

Karen gave his hand a final
squeeze before releasing it. "Why don't
we check on him?" she suggested,
her voice tentative. "Let's see
if he's ready to talk."

They approached 
the bedroom.
"Remember, sweetie," 
she whispered.
"Let him set the pace."

The door was ajar, 
letting a sliver of light
spill into the hallway.
Through it, Chip could see
his father, still sitting on the
edge of the bed, his antennas
slumped in defeat. The room was
quiet, save for the faint sound of
his father's shallow breaths.

Karen knocked gently, her
voice soft. "Plankton?"

There was a moment of
silence before they heard a
sniffle. "Come in," Plankton's
voice was barely audible.

Karen pushed the door open,
letting Chip step in first.

Plankton's single eye was red
and swollen from crying, and he
was clutching a worn pillow to
his chest while rocking in place.

Karen's heart ached at the sight
of her husband's distress, but
she knew better than to rush in.
Instead, she gave Chip a gentle nod,
encouraging him to go first.

Chip took a tentative step
forward, his eyes on Plankton's
small frame. He had never
seen his dad so vulnerable before,
his usual bravado and strength
nowhere to be found.

Plankton looked up at him, his
eye searching, his antennas drooping.
For a moment, the room was
so quiet that Chip could hear his own
heart pounding in his chest.

With a deep breath, he
moved closer, his heart racing.
He knew he had to fix this, to somehow
make it right. "Dad," he began, his voice
shaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it."

Plankton's gaze was unreadable,
his antennas lying flat against his
head. "You don't get it," he murmured,
his voice thick with emotion. "You'll
never get it."

The words stung Chip, but he knew
his dad wasn't mad at him. It was
frustration, a feeling Plankton struggled
to express without it coming out as anger.
He took another step closer, his eyes
locking with Plankton's. "I want to,"
he said, his voice earnest. "I want
to understand you, Dad."

Plankton's antennas twitched, a
small sign that he had heard, that
he was processing the words.

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous vii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ix
(By NeuroFabulous)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip on the shoulders shockfic ix

CHIP IN MY BOX xi
(Autistic author)


In the quiet of the room,
Plankton's breathing is the
only sound, a steady
reminder of his presence.
Chip's eyes are on his
father, his mind racing with
thoughts of the day's events.
He's seen Plankton tired
before, but never like this.
Never so lost in his own
thoughts, so overwhelmed by the
world around him.

Chip feels the weight of
his promise to protect his
father's sanctity. His hand
reaches out to Plankton's arm,
his touch tentative but reassuring.
"It's okay, Dad."

Plankton's breathing evens
out, his body relaxing into
the bed's embrace. His antennae
twitch slightly, his mind
still racing. "Thank you," he murmurs,
his voice soft as his eye flutters
closed.

Chip lies beside him, his
small hand resting lightly on
his father's arm, as
his promise to be more
careful keeps his eyes open.
He watches Plankton.

Plankton's breathing slows, his
body finally letting go of the
tension. His antennae
twitch one last time before
stillness takes over. His
eye closes, his features relaxed
in sleep. His antennae
rest gently on the pillow.

Chip lies there, his own eyes
open, watching his father's
sleeping form, the only sound
being Plankton's rhythmic breaths.
He's never felt more connected
to him, or more responsible for
his wellbeing. He can see
the outline of Plankton's face,
his features relaxed in slumber,
and it's as if he's seeing him
for the first time, really seeing
the struggle behind the
inventions and the jokes.

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly in his sleep, a gentle
reminder of the complex mind
that's working even in rest.

Chip's eyes trace the lines
of his father's face, the
worry etched into his
features smoothing out
as he sleeps. He feels a
weight lift from his chest,
his breathing matching the
steady rhythm of Plankton's.

The next morning
Chip wakes up 
before his dad next
to him.

Plankton's antennae
are still, his breathing
deep and even. Chip
can't help but feel a
surge of protectiveness
as he watches him. He
remembers the fear and
confusion from the night
before, and the promise
he made to be more
understanding, more
careful.

Chip's eyes are glued
to Plankton's face, the
tiny movements of his
father's antennae as he
dreams. The soft
snores are a comforting
soundtrack to the early
morning silence.

With a gentle touch,
Chip reaches over to
his father's side, his
small hand hovering over
Plankton's antennae.
He wants to show his
affection, but fears
waking him up. The
memory of last night's
frightening episode is still
fresh in his mind.

He's learned that
sometimes, love is not
about loud gestures, but
about quiet moments of
understanding and care.
He watches Plankton's
chest rise and fall
rhythmically, the soft
snores a lullaby to
his own racing thoughts.

Slowly, so as not
to disturb him, Chip's
hand reaches out and
his fingertips graze
his father's antennae.
He's afraid to touch
them fully, afraid
the contact might shatter
the fragile peace of
his father's sleep.

Plankton stirs slightly,
his antennae twitching.
Chip's breath catches,
but Plankton settles again.
The snores become softer,
his body relaxing into
the mattress.

Chip's hand hovers,
his mind racing.
How can he show love
without waking his dad?
He's seen the pain of
his father's reality breaks
and doesn't want to cause
another one.

He recalls the softness
of Karen's voice, the way
she touched Plankton's
hand so gently.
He tries to mimic her
calmness, his hand
shaking slightly as
it hovers over
his father's arm.

He takes a deep breath,
his eyes never leaving
his father's face.
Then, with the
lightest touch imaginable,
his fingertips brush against
Plankton's arm.

Plankton's antennae quiver,
but his eye stays closed.

Chip's mind races with
ideas, his hand hovering
over his father's arm. He
thinks of all the ways
his mother had touched him
last night, the gentle strokes
and soothing whispers that
helped ground him. He tries
to replicate that, his thumb
tracing a soft arc over
his father's shoulder now.

Plankton's antennae twitch
again, but his breathing
remains steady. Chip's heart
is a drum in his chest,
his eyes wide with hope. He's
learned that for Plankton,
touch can be both a source
of comfort and a trigger.
He needs to be careful.

He tries different
pressures, light as a
feather and then a gentle
squeeze. Plankton's body
remains still, his sleep
deep and undisturbed.
Encouraged, Chip moves up
to Plankton's face, his
thumb tracing the contour of
his ch...

The soft touch of Chip's
fingertips against his
cheek causes Plankton to
flinch, his eye snapping
open with a gasp. "Chip?" He
sounds groggy, disoriented.

Chip's eyes widen, his hand
quickly retreating. "Sorry,
Dad," he whispers, his voice
laced with apology. "I didn't
mean to wake you."

Plankton's gaze is unfocused,
his antennae twitching as he
tries to process the sudden
contact. "What are you
doing?" He asks, his voice
still thick with sleep.

"I just wanted to say good
morning," Chip whispers, his eyes
shimmering with hope. "But I didn't
want to wake you up."

Plankton's antennae still
twitch, the remnants of sleep
still clinging to him. He looks
around the room, his gaze
eventually finding the shattered
remains of his old sensory box.
The sight sends a pang of
anxiety through his body.

"Here," Chip says softly.
He holds out the new box,
his eyes hopeful. "This one's
special, just like you."

Plankton's antennae droop slightly,
his gaze shifting to the box, then back
to his son. Despite the good
intentions in Chip's eyes, his
wording seemed... patronizing, to
Plankton. He takes the box, somewhat
hastily. He's used to the stares, the
whispers, the misunderstanding, but
from his own son?

"I'm not 'special', Chip," he says,
his voice tight. "I have a condition.
It's not something to be... gawked at
or talked down to."

The words sting, and Chip's eyes
well up with tears. "I didn't mean
it like tha-"

But Plankton cuts him off, his
voice a tempest of emotion. "You don't
understand," he says, his antennae
waving erratically. "You can't just
call me special and expect me to
feel better. It's not a toy, it's not a
quirky trait. It's a part of me that
makes every day a challenge."

Chip's eyes widen, the tears
spilling over as he takes in
his father's words. He didn't mean
to make him feel belittled, but
now he sees the pain in Plankton's
eye, the frustration of being
reduced to a label. "I'm sorry," he
whispers, his voice trembling.
"I wa-"

"Don't," Plankton says, cutting
his son off with a sharpness
that makes Chip's heart ache.
"Just... don't." He turns away,
his antennae drooping as he
focuses on the new sensory box,
his eye searching for comfort.

new chip in my box chip plankton ii xi

PLUSH ONE vii
(By NeuroFabulous)

The room feels alien, the
walls closing in around Karen.
Plankton's autism has painted
a new reality, one filled with
sounds too loud, lights too bright,
and emotions too intense.

Plankton then sniffles as tears
start to trickle down his cheeks.
"Karen," he says, his voice
desperate. "Plankton... Karen
upset? Plankton not meant to
upset Karen."

Karen's screen swells with love
and pity. She can't bear to see
his pain, his confusion.
"It's okay," she whispers. "You didn't do
anything wrong." She takes a deep
breath, trying to keep her voice
steady. "I'm just learning,
sweetie. We both are."

Plankton sniffles, his eye
searching hers. "Love Karen," he says,
his voice a tremble. "Yes; Karen
Plankton." "I love you, too,"
she whispers. "Always."

Plankton's gaze lingers on
the envelope, his antennae
quivering. "Loving Karen even
when wanting space."

Karen nods, her eyes
filling with understanding.
"We'll figure this out," she says,
her voice a balm to his fear.

Plankton's hand opens, the
envelope slipping onto the bed.
"Plankton memorized formula.
Plankton need put back, in Krabs
safety vault."

Karen's eyes widen with shock.
"You... you remember each and
every detail; how?"

Plankton's eye twitches, a
flurry of thoughts racing across
his face. "Patterns," he whispers.
"Everything in patterns. Krabby
Patty, Krabs, all patterns."

Karen nods, her mind racing. "So,
you're saying you'll return it, so Krabs 
won't know you got it. Ok, sweets."

Plankton nods vigorously, his antennae
bobbing. "Yes." He goes and does so
before hurrying back. "Plankton did it!
And not caught!"

Karen swells with pride,
despite the circumstances. "Good job,"
she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Now,
let's focus on you. How do you feel?"

Plankton's eye flickers, his antennae
waving in contemplation. "Different,"
he murmurs. "Everything's so... much."
He looks around the room, his gaze
landing on their wedding photo. "But
Karen, always. Love."

Karen smiles through her tears,
touched by his words. "I know,
sweetie. I love you, too."

The room feels smaller,
the air thick with their shared
understanding. Plankton's autism
has become a part of them, a third
entity in their relationship.
They'll have to navigate this
new reality together, a dance
of patience and empathy.

Karen watches him, his movements
now a symphony of tics and rituals,
each gesture a clue to his inner world.
"What do you need, Plankton?" she asks,
her voice a soft whisper in the cacophony
of his thoughts.

He looks at her, his 
eye searching hers.
"Does," he says. "Do
Plankton."

Karen nods. "What 
does my Plankton 
need?"

He looks at her, his
eye swiveling in his
newly autistic way, trying
to find the words. "Karen,"
he says, his voice a gentle
wave of comfort. "Safe Karen."

Karen's eyes well with
tears, understanding his
need for familiarity. She nods,
her hand reaching out to stroke
his antennae gently. "Yes,
Plankton. You're safe with
me."

The contact sends a rush
of comfort through him, his
body relaxing slightly. He
closes his eye, leaning into her
touch. "Good Karen," he whispers.

Karen continues
stroking his antennae, her hand
trembling with emotion. "What
else can I do for you?" she asks,
her voice low and soothing.

Plankton's eye opens slightly,
his focus on her touch. "Love Karen,"
he murmurs, his voice filled with
longing. "Always, love." "I know, Plankton.
We're in this together."

He nods, his antennae twitching
slightly. "Together," he echoes. Karen
can see the fear in his
eye, the way it searches hers
for reassurance. She nods,
her hand moving to gently stroke
his arm.

But the moment her hand makes
contact with his skin, Plankton's
body stiffens. He jerks away,
his eye wide with terror. "NO!"
he shouts, the sound piercing
the quiet room.

Karen's hand freezes in midair, her
thoughts racing. "I'm sorry," she
whispers, her voice cracking.
"I didn't mean to—"

But Plankton's already retreated
to the corner of the room, his body
curled into a protective ball. "Not now,"
he murmurs, his voice shaking.
"No touch." She'd hurt him
without meaning to, crossed a line
he hadn't even drawn yet. She takes
a step back, her hand hovering in the
air. "Okay," she says, her voice
barely a whisper. Then an idea forms in her
head. Carefully, she picks up a plushie,
her movements slow and deliberate.
"Look, Plankton," she says, her voice
calm and even. "It's your plush.."

But Plankton's eye remains wide
with fear, his antennae rigid. "NO!"
he shouts, the word echoing in
the room. Karen's hand
freezes, the plushie dropping to the
floor forgotten.

"I'm sorry," she 
says, her voice
soft and trembling. 
"I di-"

But Plankton's 
eye is
locked on 
her screen, 
his body
shaking. "NO!"
he screams, his
autism 
surging.

This is new, 
this raw fear.
He's never reacted
so strongly before.
"I didn't know."
Karen aches for him,
but she knows she can't
force her way in.

Plankton's breaths come
quick and shallow, his
body trembling. She
wants to comfort him,
to tell him it's okay,
but she knows it's not. Not
right now.

Instead, she sits down
on the bed, giving him
the space he needs. Her eyes
on him, watching his
every move.

The plushie lies on
the floor, which he
tentatively reaches
with his shaky hand.
He then clutches it
as he remains in the
corner of the room
on the floor.

Karen watches him.
The man she loves
is lost in his own
sensory overload,
and she feels powerless. 
"Would you like me
to sing..."

Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his face a mask of terror.
"No!" he shouts, his voice
sharp as a knife.
The room falls silent,
the air charged with his fear.

Karen's seen this look before, but never
with such intensity. His
autism has painted their lives
with new colors, vivid and overwhelming.
She takes a step back, her hand
raised in a peaceful gesture.
"Okay," she whispers, her voice
barely audible. "I'm sorry."

Plankton's eye doesn't leave
the plushie, embracing it.
"MINE," he murmurs, his voice
a mix of anger and fear.

Karen nods, her voice calm.
"Yes, Plankton. It's your plushie.
You're safe." She doesn't move,
knowing any sudden action could
send him spiraling again.

The silence is heavy,
punctuated by Plankton's
quick, shallow breaths.
Karen's mind races, trying
to understand his new rules,
his new reality.

Plankton clutches the plushie
to his chest, his eye squeezed
shut.

Karen's seen his fear before,
but never like this. The autism has
unlocked a new intensity in him,
his emotions a maelstrom she can't
begin to navigate.

"Plankton," she whispers, her voice
soothing. "You're okay. I'm here."
Her hand reaches out, but she stops
short, not wanting to invade his
space. His grip on the plushie
loosens slightly, his breathing
evening out.

Karen's eyes never leave
his face, watching for any sign
of distress. "Would you like
me to sit w---"

But Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his voice firm. "No please," he says.
The words hang in the air,
a stark reminder of their
new normal.

Karen nods, her hand falling to her
side. She knows he's trying to
control his environment, to find
comfort in the chaos. "Okay," she
says softly. "I'll be right here."

The room is silent but for the occasional
whisper of his voice, recounting the
formula to himself. She watches him
from afar. But she's also in awe of
his ability to process the patterns
and remember every detail.

Karen sighs. She observes
his every move, the way his antennae
twitch to the rhythm of his thoughts.
This isn't the exact same Plankton 
she knew, but this is the Plankton she 
still loves. She watches him, his
eye still closed, his body slowly
relaxing as he clutches the plushie.

new plush one comfortcore vii

CHIP IN MY BOX ix
(Autistic author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip in my box chip plankton ii ix

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xi
(By NeuroFabulous)

Plankton remained silent, his gaze
locked on the horizon. Chip's heart
ached for him, but he knew his father
needed space to regain his composure.
He watched as Plankton's antennas
gradually lifted from their defeated
slump, a subtle signal that he was okay.

Chip took a deep breath, the
salt air filling his lungs as he
tried to think of a way to make
things right. He knew he had to be
careful, not to push too hard. "Dad,"
he began tentatively, "I know I messed
up with the noise. I'll be quieter. Do you
wanna kick the ball around?"

Plankton's antennas twitched,
his gaze still fixed on the horizon.
He took a moment before turning to
his son. "It's okay," he said, his voice
still a little tight. "Yeah, let's kick the
ball to each other.."

They resumed the game,
their movements quieter now. The
beach ball rolled gently across the sand,
its soft thuds the only sound between
them. Chip felt a newfound
respect for the complexities of Plankton's
mind, for the challenges he faced
every day.

Plankton's antennas moved
slightly as he watched Chip, his
expression unreadable. Chip took
care to keep his voice low, his
movements slow and predictable. He
knew that every little thing
mattered to his father, every sound,
every touch.

As they played, Chip noticed that
his father's antennas would perk up
whenever a seagull squawked in the
distance or a child's laughter
carried on the breeze. He
also noticed that Plankton's
movements grew more fluid when
the noise around them diminished.

"Let's go closer to the water,"
Plankton suggested after a while,
his antennas swaying gently.
"It's quieter there."

Chip nodded, understanding that
his father needed to escape the
potential sensory assault of the
bustling beach. They walked in
silence, their footprints disappearing
behind them in the wet sand. The waves
whispered to them, a gentle melody
that seemed to soothe Plankton's antennas.

When they reached the water's
edge, Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennas lifting slightly. The
cool water made him flinch a bit.

"You okay, Dad?" Chip asked,
his eyes scanning for any signs of
distress. Plankton nodded, a small
smile playing on his lips. "Yeah," he
said, his voice calmer. "It's just
chilly."

Karen packed up their picnic,
her movements efficient and quiet.
She knew the importance of keeping
the environment peaceful for Plankton.
"Ready to go?" she called out.

Chip nodded, his gaze still on
his father's antennas. "Yeah, I'm
ready." Plankton's antennas remained
steady, a good sign.

Karen picked up the picnic basket
and gave them both a warm smile.
"Let's make the trip home," she said, 
her voice calm.
 

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous xi

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY ix
(By NeuroFabulous)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous ix

PLUSH ONE xi
(By NeuroFabulous)

Hanna nods, her smile gentle.
"It's okay," she says, patting
his shoulder.

But Plankton flinches,
his antennae shooting up.
"NO TOUCH!" he cries out,
his voice piercing the quiet.

Hanna's hand jerks back,
surprise etched on her screen.
"It's okay," she murmurs,
trying to ease the tension.

Plankton clutches the plushie
to his chest, his body shaking.
"MINE," he repeats, his voice
quivering.

Karen understands his fear, his
desire for sameness. His
autism has turned a simple
act of kindness into a
threat to him.

"I'm sorry," Hanna whispers,
backing away. "I just di-"

But Hanna backed into
a desk of Plankton's
books, which now fall
misaligned to the floor
with a thud.

Plankton's eye widens
in horror, his antennae
twitching in fury. The
disrupted order sends
his senses into overdrive.
Plankton can't take it.
The loud thud, the mess...

He jumps up, the plushie
falling to the floor, forgotten.
He starts to pick up
the books, his hands
shaking as he hurls
them angrily at Hanna, who
gasps.

Karen sees the panic
in his eye, the overwhelming
sensory assault of the
unexpected noise and
movement. She moves to
intervene, racing.

"PLANKTON, STOP!" she
shouts, her voice firm but
not harsh. She doesn't want
to startle him further.

The books fly through
the air, one hitting Hanna's
arm with a thump. "Hey!"
she cries, but Karen's focus
is on Plankton.

His body is a storm
of jerky movements, his
autistic mind struggling
to cope with the sudden
chaos. Karen's eyes are
filled with fear and sadness.
This isn't the Plankton she
knows, not the one who
would actually hurt someone.

"PLANKTON!" she cries, her
voice a thunderclap in the
small room. He stops, his
body trembling with rage
and confusion. His antennae
quiver, searching for the source
of the disruption.

Hanna stands back, her arm
rubbing where the book had
hit. "What's happening?"
she whispers, her eyes wide
with shock.

But Karen's focus is on Plankton,
his body a taut wire of anger.
"It's okay," she says, her voice
steady, though her heart
is racing. "Let's just... let's
clean up."

Plankton's eye darts around the
room, his antennae still quivering.
He looks at her, his expression
a storm of emotions she can't
quite read. But she sees the fear,
the confusion. And she knows
she must act.

Karen moves towards him,
slowly, her hands up in a
non-threatening gesture. "It's
okay," she repeats, her voice
the calm in the storm. "Let's
clean up."

But Plankton's autism doesn't
understand calm. It sees only
the mess, the disarray. His body
shakes with frustration, his
eye wild. He throws another
book, this time it misses
Hanna but hits the wall with
a crack.

Karen's eyes fill with tears.
"Plankton," she says firmly,
but with love. "This isn't you."

But Plankton's rage
doesn't subside. He throws
another book, the spine
snapping with the force.

"PLANKTON, NO!" Karen shouts,
but he doesn't hear her. His
autism has taken over, his
brain unable to process
the sudden influx of stimuli.

He throws another book,
his body a blur of motion,
Karen's eyes never leaving
his face. She must get him
to a safe space before he
hurts someone, before he
shatters the fragile peace
they've built.

"PLANKTON!" she shouts,
louder this time. "STOP!"
Her voice pierces the chaos,
and his movements falter. His
eye finds hers, and she sees
the storm in his gaze, the
fear and confusion.

Karen's knowing she must act quickly.
With a deep breath, she
moves closer, her arms
outstretched, her voice steady.
"It's okay," she says, her
tone a gentle lullaby. "Let's
calm dow—"

But Plankton's fury isn't
easy to tame. He throws
another book, his aim
now erratic. The room
is a whirlwind of paper and
panic, the air thick with
his distress.

Karen's eyes never leave
his, her voice the only
constant in the chaos. "PLANKTON,
PLEASE!" she calls, her
desperation clear. She needs
to get through to him, to
the person she loves beneath
the tumultuous autistic rage.

But Plankton's autism
has hijacked his mind,
his body a vessel for fear
and anger. He throws
the last book, his arm
slinging it like a weapon.

It sails through the air,
headed straight for Hanna.
Karen's instincts take over,
and she leaps forward,
her hand catching it
mid-flight.

The room falls silent,
the book in her hand a stark
reminder of the chaos that
was just moments before.
Her eyes are on Plankton,
his body heaving with
frustration. Hanna's eyes are wide,
fear and confusion etched
on her screen.

Karen aches
for the man she loves,
his world now a minefield
of sensory overload.

Hanna stands frozen,
her eyes wide with shock.
"I'm sorry," Karen murmurs,
turning to her. "This isn't
usual for him."
But Plankton's fury
doesn't subside.

He lunges at her, his
tiny body a blur of rage.
Karen steps in, her arms
spreading wide to protect
Hanna. "PLANKTON!" she cries,
his name a plea.

His antennae slap her
face, stinging with the force
of his anger. She stumbles
backward, her eyes never
leaving his. "It's okay," she
whispers, though she's
not sure if it is.

Plankton's body convulses,
his legs flailing. Karen
moves closer, trying to
soothe him, but he's
beyond reason. His tiny
fists clench, his face
distorted with rage.

Hanna stumbles backward,
fear in her eyes. "What's
going on?" she asks, her voice
shaking.

Karen's a
drum of worry. "Plankton,"
she whispers, her eyes
pleading. "It's me, Karen."

But his autism doesn't
hear her words. It sees
only the chaos, the
invasion of his space.

Karen's mind races, searching
for a way to calm him.
"PLANKTON!" she says, her
voice firm but calm. "Look
at me." She holds out her
hand, her palm open, a silent
offer of safety.

But Plankton's anger
doesn't abate. He swipes at
the air.
Karen knows she must act
quickly before someone gets
hurt. 
"PLANKTON, STOP!" she
says firmly, her voice a
steady drumbeat in the
chaos. She holds out her
hand, her movements slow
and deliberate. "Look at
me," she repeats, her screen
filled with love and
determination.

But his fury doesn't
abate. His body jerks,
his antennae slapping the
air as he tries to push
past her to get to Hanna.
Karen's eyes flicker to the
plushie on the floor, then
back to Plankton's wild gaze.

Her voice remains steady,
though fear tightens her
throat. "Plankton, remember
the plushie?" she asks, her
words a soft whisper. "It's
still here. It's still yo-"

But her words are cut off by
his shriek. Plankton's
tiny body is a tornado
of rage, his fists flailing.
Karen's eyes never leave
his.

Her mind is a blur, searching
for the right words, the right
action to soothe his distress.
Her voice is a lifeline, a
steady beat in the storm. "Look
at the plushie," she says,
desperation coating her words.
"Remember ho-"

But Plankton's autism doesn't
heed her pleas. His body
writhes, his eye wild with
fear and anger as he suddenly
swings his fist, catching Karen
off guard. She must get
through to him.

"PLANKTON!" she cries out,
but he's deaf to her voice.
Her eyes search his, looking
for the man she loves, but
all she sees is a tempest of
sensory overload and confusion.

With a tremble, Karen
drops the book she'd caught
and reaches out, her hand
slow and gentle, offering
comfort in the chaos. But Plankton's
autism interprets it as an assault.

He lunges again, his fists
a flurry of pain. Karen's
body is a shield, her eyes
filled with tears as she
tries to keep him from Hanna.
Her voice remains calm, a beacon
in the storm of his anger.

"PLANKTON, PLEASE!" she shouts,
but her voice is drowned by
his screams. But she won't give up,
not on him.

With a tremble, Karen reaches
for the plushie, her hand
shaking as she holds it out
to him. "Look," she says, her
voice a soft whisper. "Your plushie,
remembe---"

But the sight of the toy
doesn't calm him. Instead,
it fuels his rage. He snatches
it from her, his antennae
whipping around in a frenzy.

"MINE!" he shouts, the word
a battle cry as he swings
the plushie wildly. The room
fills with the sound of fabric
ripping, stuffing flying.

Karen's eyes widen with horror. This isn't
the Plankton she knows, the
loving man who cherished
his quiet moments with her.
This is someone lost in
his own world, a world of
overwhelming sensory assault.

The plushie, once a symbol
of comfort, is now a weapon
in his hands. He swings it
wildly, the fabric tearing
under his frenzied grip.
Feathers and stuffing fill
the air,
the chaos a stark contrast
to the silent tears sliding
down Karen's screen.

Hanna's eyes are wide,
her body pressed against the wall,
her mind racing with
uncertainty. Karen sees
the question in her gaze:
What's happening?

But there's no time
for explanations. Plankton's
autism has taken
over, his fear a wildfire
that she must extinguish
before it consumes them all.

Karen's eyes dart around
the room, searching for
something to help, something
that might bring him back
to her, to the reality where
his world isn't falling apart.
Her eyes land on the plushie,
now a sad, torn mess on
the floor. But
she won't give up, not on
the man she loves.

Karen's mind races, searching
for a way to break through
the barricade of his fear.
The room seems to spin, a
whirlwind of panic and pain.

Her eyes lock on the
plushie, now a tattered
mess at his feet. With a
quick breath, she crouches
down, her movements slow
and deliberate. "Plankton,"
she whispers, her voice
a lifeline in the tempest.

new plush one hannacore xi

PLUSH ONE ix
(By NeuroFabulous)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Karen watches Plankton,
his sleep deep and peaceful.

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

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

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

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

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

new plush one comfortfic ix

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⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⢟⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡏⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠻⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢠⣾⣿⡿⢡⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠻⢿⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡟⣵⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡟⢠⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⣀⣹⣿⣯⡄⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⢁⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⣴⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡄⠀⠀⠘⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠇⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⢀⣤⣾⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡿⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣋⣩⣧⣶⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠁⠀⠘⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⠿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⡾⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣦⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣴⡿⠟⠋⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⣠⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢴⣶⣛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡇⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣼⣿⣿⡿⠋⠉⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣼⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢉⣙⠛⣛⡛⠛⠛⠋⣿⣿⣿⣟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣵⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣷⣄⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣆
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡟
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣷⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

new ii inanimate insanity kawaii coquette uhmmmmmm goo iii dot art text art ascii art

14
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new xiv fourteen

me📱4️⃣

new ii iii mephone4 inanimate insanity object show

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES ii

Karen's relief is palpable, but she
squeezes Plankton's hand
even tighter.

The process repeats.
Karen's eyes never leave his
face, searching for any sign
of discomfort, but all she
sees is peaceful oblivion.

The second tooth comes out
without much fanfare, and Plankton
snores on, a symphony of deep,
contented breaths that seem almost
comical against the surgical backdrop.

Karen's eyes stay glued to the
monitors, watching the blips and
waves that indicate her husband's
steady heartbeat and rhythmic breaths.
The assistant works quietly,
keeping the area clear and sterile,
his movements a silent ballet that
complements the dentist's more
forceful actions.

The third tooth is a tougher
proposition. The drill's whine
deepens, the smell of bone dust
more pronounced.

Karen's knuckles are white
from her tightened grip. The
nurse notices and places a
hand on her shoulder. "It's okay.
He's fine," she whispers. The sight
of his mouth, open and vulnerable,
filled with foreign instruments,
should be terrifying, but his deep,
unbothered breaths reassure Karen.

The drill's pitch changes
again as the third tooth
resists extraction. Plankton's
snoring adjusts to a deeper, more
rumbling tone, vibrating the chair.

Dr. Finnegan's smile
diminishes slightly, his brow
furrowed as he applies more
pressure. The forceps clamp
and pull, the tooth refusing to
budge. Sweat beads on the
assistant's forehead as he
quickly switches tools, preparing
for a tougher extraction.

The room falls quiet
except for the persistent
snoring. Plankton's chest
rises and falls with each breath,
his head resting back against
the chair, utterly at ease. Karen
wonders how he can be so
comfortable amidst the chaos.

The nurse monitors the
vitals, nodding slightly to
herself, a silent mantra of
reassurance. Dr. Finnegan
grunts as he applies more
pressure to the stubborn tooth.
The forceps clamp down again,
their metallic grip unyielding.
The tooth shifts, just a little,
and the tension in the room
releases slightly.

Plankton's snoring changes
once more, a symphony of
slurps and gurgles as saliva
threatens to spill over the
prop. Karen giggles, the
tension breaking like a dam. The
assistant glances over with a
smile of his own.

"It's okay," he whispers,
"It's normal. He's still
under."

Karen nods, her eyes
fixed on the nurse's calm
expression as much as the
monitors. The fourth tooth is
proving to be the most
challenging yet, the drill's
buzz a constant reminder of
the work being done.

The nurse whispers, "This
one's a little stubborn," but
doesn't look up from her
task. Plankton's snoring
continues, now a mix of deep,
even breaths and the occasional
snort that makes Karen want
to laugh despite the gravity
of the situation.

Dr. Finnegan's grip on the
forceps tightens. He wiggles the
fourth tooth gently, then with
more insistence. The drill starts
up again, the sound echoing in
the small room.

Karen's heart is in her
throat, but Plankton's snores don't
change. They're a comforting
white noise, a reminder that
despite the chaos, he's still
deeply asleep, unaware of the
dance of metal and pressure in
his mouth.

new wisdomtoothcore wisdomteethcore ii

SHELF IMPROVEMENT xiv
(Autistic author)

Finding Chip's 
door closed, Karen 
knocks gently. "Chip,
are you okay?" she 
asks, her voice 
laced with concern.

There's a pause, 
then the sound of 
sniffling. "Come in,"
he mumbles, his voice 
muffled by the 
closed door.

Karen opens the 
door with a soft 
creak, the room 
bathing in the soft 
light from the 
hallway. Chip is 
sitting on his bed, 
his face red and 
blotchy from crying. 
The sight of him 
like this breaks 
her heart.

"Chip?" she 
says, her voice 
trembling with 
concern. "What's 
wrong, baby?"

Chip's head 
snaps up, his eyes 
wet with unshed 
tears. "I wanted
you to be proud
of me in the science
fair, if only Dad..."

But Chip was cut
off, interrupted by
a crash from his
parent's room.

Both Karen and Chip
exchanged looks of
alarm before bolting
out of Chip's room
and down the hall.
They open the door.

The sight that 
greeted them was 
like a tornado had 
swept through their 
bedroom. Plankton's 
anger had manifested 
in a flurry of 
destructive energy, 
his small body 
heaving with the 
effort of his rage.
He had thrown 
everything within 
his reach: the lamp 
was on the floor, 
the shadows from its 
shattered glass twisting 
and turning on the 
ceiling like ghosts. 
The bedside table lay 
on its side, its contents 
spilled out.

Karen's eyes 
widened in shock, 
but it was the 
sight of Plankton 
that truly broke 
her heart. His 
face was a mask 
of fury, his antennae 
whipping around 
as if about to 
strike.

"Plankton, honey,
what happened?" she 
asked, her voice 
trembling with 
fear and 
concern.

But Chip's 
presence was like fuel 
to the fire, only 
serving to inflame 
his anger further.

"I'm not trying to be a 
burden!" Plankton 
shouted, his tiny fists 
clenched in rage. "I'm 
lovable!" His antennae 
whipped back and forth 
in a display of 
frustration that 
Karen had never 
seen from him before.

Karen took a 
step back, 
swallowing the 
lump in her throat. 
"Plankton," she 
pleaded, her voice 
shaky. "You..."

But Plankton 
was beyond 
reason, his 
autistic mind 
overwhelmed by 
the accusations. 
"I'M. NOT. A. BURDEN!"
he screamed at
Chip, his 
tiny fists 
shaking with 
the intensity 
of his emotions.

Karen's eyes 
widened in shock. 
Plankton had 
never been like 
this before. His 
autism had brought 
moments of stress, 
but she had never 
seen this raw anger.

Chip looked from 
his mother to his 
father, his own 
eyes brimming 
with tears. He 
understood now that 
his words had 
caused this. He had 
never meant to 
make his father 
feel that way. "Dad," he 
whispers, his voice 
shaking. "I'm sorr-"

But Plankton's 
anger had 
consumed him. 
"But I didn't know
how she now feels
about me?" he yelled, 
his voice echoing 
off the walls. "How 
tired is she, from 
caring for me?" His 
eye was wild, his 
tiny frame shaking 
with the effort of 
his outburst. "And
no more lying!"

Karen's heart 
was racing. She 
knew she had to 
intervene before 
things got worse. 
She stepped 
tentatively into 
the room, her 
hands held out 
in a calming 
motion. "Plankton," 
she said, her voice 
soothing. "What 
did Chip say to 
upset you?" She
turns to Chip.

Chip's eyes 
dropped to the 
floor, his 
cheeks flushing 
with guilt. He 
swallowed hard, 
his voice a 
whisper. "I didn't 
mean it," he 
managed to get 
out. "I just got..."

But Karen's 
gaze was on 
Plankton, her 
heart breaking 
for the pain 
she could see 
in his eye. "Chip, 
tell me," she said, 
her voice firm 
but gentle. "What 
did you say to 
your father?"

Chip took a 
deep breath, 
his eyes 
darting to the 
floor. "I...I 
told him he's a 
burden," he 
whispered, 
his voice barely 
above a 
whisper. "That 
mom deserves 
better, that...that 
he's ruining 
our lives." The 
admission was 
like a punch to
his own stomach.
"Because I can see
how tired you're 
feeling with his
tantrums, and it's
not fair that YOU 
have to deal with
this," he added, 
gesturing to his
dad. "I told him
you don't like to
suffer becau…"

But before he
could finish, 
Karen's hand
was on his shoulder,
squeezing gently.
"Chip," she said, 
cutting him off.
"That's enough."

Her voice was 
calm, but it held
a firmness that 
made him swallow 
his next words. 
She turned to 
Plankton, her gaze 
filled with 
compassion and 
understanding. "You're 
not a burden, 
sweetheart," she said, 
her voice steady 
as a rock in 
a storm. "You're 
our family, and 
we love you."

"Mom, that's no
excuse to keep
him around," Chip
snaps.

Plankton's antennae
quiver, his rage
now filled with even
more hurt and anger.

"Chip," Karen says,
her voice a gentle
reprimand. "That's
not how we speak to
each other." She 
kneels beside Plankton's
shaking form, her hand
reaching out to him.
Plankton's eye 
locks onto her 
hand.

He flinches away, 
his breathing 
erratic. "Don't touch me,"
he says, his voice 
cold and hard.

Karen's hand 
freezes in midair, 
the sting of his 
words cutting deep. 
"Okay," she whispers, 
retracting her hand 
slowly. "Okay."

Her heart is a 
whirlwind of 
emotions. She 
understands Chip's 
frustration, but she 
also sees the 
devastation on 
Plankton's face. She 
takes a deep breath, 
steadying herself 
before speaking. "Chip, 
please," she says, her 
voice firm but gentle. "We 
have to be 
understanding."

But Chip's 
pain is like a 
volcano, erupting 
without warning. 
"Understanding?!" 
he yells. "What 
about what I feel?" 
He turns to 
Plankton, his eyes 
wet with tears. "Do 
you even know how 
hard it is for me 
to see Mom tired from
you all the time?"

Plankton's 
face falls. "I 
never meant to..."

But Chip's 
tantrum isn't 
over. "You're always 
so selfish!" he 
shouts, the words 
stinging like 
whips. "You don't 
think about us, about 
what we need! And 
now, because of you, 
I'm missing the 
science fair! So much 
for your 'love'!" He
snaps, poking Plankton.
Hard. Hard enough to
make him whine.

Plankton's anger
spikes. "Don't touch 
me!" he yells, his 
voice echoing in the
small space.

Chip rolls his eyes
and proceeds to
touch Plankton again.
This time, the
reaction is swift
and violent.

Plankton's tiny arm
shoots out like a
whip, slapping 
Chip's hand away.
"I SAID NO TOUCH!"
he screams, the 
force of his 
words shaking 
the room.

new shelf improvement autismcore xiv

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