Viii Emojis & Text

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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.

new chip off the old talks familycore autismcore

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

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iv
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
But Plankton's 
frustration had 
reached a boiling 
point. His voice 
was a thunderclap 
in the small room, 
his eye flashing 
with a rage he 
couldn't contain. 
"You don't know!"
he roared, his 
body shaking.

Hanna took another 
step back, her 
heart racing. "I'm 
sorry, Plankton, I 
truly didn't mean to 
upset you," she said, 
her voice shaking.

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to the door, 
his mind racing 
to the safety of 
his solitude. "You 
don't know," he 
murmured, his anger 
subsiding slightly. 
The sudden silence 
was like a balm 
to his raw nerves.
But Hanna's curiosity
angered him further.
"Plankton, what..."

"I DON'T KNOW!" Plankton's 
voice pierced the 
silence, his frustration 
at an all-time high.
Hanna's eyes grew 
wider.

"I'll leave you 
alone," she said 
quickly, her voice 
quiet and soothing. 
But as she turned 
to go, she 
accidentally brushed 
against his arm.

Plankton's reaction 
was instant and 
explosive. He 
jerked away, his 
body tensing, his 
eye flashing with 
anger. "Don't touch me!" 
he snapped, his voice 
sharp and jagged.

Hanna's eyes wide with 
shock. "Plankton
tell me what's..."

But Plankton had 
reached his limit. 
The touch, the 
questions, the 
expectation of 
normalcy—it was 
all too much. He 
felt personally
attacked, now on
a roll.

"You don't know 
what's what?" he 
spat out, his 
voice a whip crack. 
"You come in here, 
invading my space, 
without a care in 
the world for 
what I'm going 
through!"

Hanna took 
another step 
back, retracting 
quickly. "I'm sorry, 
I didn't know," she 
whispered, her eyes 
filling with 
sorrow. "Karen never 
mentioned..."
But Plankton's 
frustration had 
become anger, 
his next words cutting 
like a knife.

"You don't know 
anything," he 
snarled, his 
voice laced with 
bitterness. "You come 
in here, asking your 
stupid questions, 
expecting me to be 
the same person I 
was before!" 
"Before what, Plankton?"
Yet Plankton's not wanting
to answer Hanna so he
yells his next words at 
the top of his lungs.
"Before I...I...
YOU KNOW
WHAT? IT'S
NONE OF YOUR
BUSINESS!" Plankton's
voice cracked with
the effort of
his outburst, but he's
just getting started,
now he's on a roll, his
next words being worse.
"I don't want you 
here. I don't need 
you here," Plankton 
spat out, his 
frustration a 
palpable force 
in the room.

Hanna took 
another step 
back, her 
eyes brimming 
with unshed tears. 
"I'm sorry," she 
whispered, her voice 
barely audible. "I 
was just trying 
to..."

But Plankton's 
anger had taken 
over. "You're not 
helping!" he 
shouted, his voice 
raw with emotion. 
"You don't get to 
decide what I need!" 
He was on his 
feet now, his 
body rigid with 
frustration. "I don't 
want you to know!"
"Know what, Plankton?
You don't get 
to decide what I 
can and can't know," 
she said, her voice 
firm. But Karen's
now returned with
the smoothie, both
Hanna and Plankton
too wrapped up to
notice her presence.
"You think you can 
just waltz in here 
and fix everything?" 
his voice was a 
growl now. "You think 
you know what it's 
like to be trapped 
in here?" He tapped 
his head with 
his finger, his 
eye wild. "You don't 
know anything!"
Now Hanna's getting
real angry.
"You think you're 
the only one 
suffering?" Hanna 
countered, her 
voice rising. "What 
about Karen? What 
about the people 
who actually care 
about you?"
Plankton's 
gaze snapped to 
hers, his anger 
fueled by her words. 
"You don't know 
what it's like!" he 
shouted, his voice 
echoing through 
the empty space 
of the Chum 
Bucket. "You don't 
know what it's like 
to have the world 
make no sense! 
To be trapped 
in your own head!"
Hanna's 
expression softened 
slightly. "I'm 
sorry," she said 
gently. "I really am. 
But you can't just 
push everyone away."
"Why not?" Plankton 
demanded, his 
voice a whip crack. 
"Why do I have to 
explain?"
But Hanna's 
concern for 
Karen overrode 
her own fear. 
"Karen's my friend 
and she deserves
better than you
and your little 
tantrums," Hanna 
snapped back.
"Tantrums? TANTRUMS?" 
Plankton's voice 
was a roar now. 
"This isn't a tantrum, 
it's reality!"
Hanna's in a 
defensive posture, 
her eyes flashing with 
anger. "You think 
I don't know what 
real pain is?" she 
shouted back. "You're 
so caught up in your 
own world that you 
can't see what you're 
doing to her, just 
because you're too 
stubborn and acting 
like a child who can't 
deal with the real
world! YOU'RE NOTHING
BUT A BURDENSOME
WASTE OF SPACE! So,
if you can't get your
act together, maybe 
you should just go to
an institution where 
people can handle 
your..." "That's 
enough!" Karen 
snapped. Her voice 
was a whip crack 
across the tension 
filled room, startling both 
Plankton and Hanna. She
couldn't stand
silent any longer. Yet
Plankton's face 
crumpled at
Hanna's threat,
his anger giving 
way to despair. 
Tears began to 
stream down his 
face, his 
body shaking with 
sobs he couldn't 
control.
The sudden shift 
from rage to sorrow 
was like a punch 
to Hanna. 



**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 bullycore iv

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

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS ix

(Autistic Author)


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Daddy?" he says, his voice tentative.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new chip off the old talks neurodivergentcore ix

CATCH IN MY CHIP iv
(Autistic author)

Plankton looks around, confusion
flickering in his eye. "What's going on?"

"You had a bit of an overload,"
Karen explains, her voice gentle.
"Too much sensory input, remember?"

Plankton's antennas twitch, and
his eye widens slightly as he takes
in the scene. The mess, the quiet,
Chip's tear-stained face. He sighs,
his body relaxing back into the
pillows. "Ah, yes," he murmurs.
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to
scare you."

Karen smiles, her eyes
shimmering with relief. "It's okay,
dear. We're just here for you."

Plankton's gaze drifts to Chip,
who's hovering in the doorway,
his eyes wide and worried. "Chip... 
I'm sorry."

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his voice shaking. "It's okay, Dad.
Is your autism causing..."

Plankton looks at him, his
eye widening slightly. "What do
you know about autism?" He sits
up, his voice tinged with surprise.

Chip sniffles, his grip tight
on the seashell collection. "Mom
told me," he says, his voice
barely audible. "It's why you got
overwhelmed, isn't it?"

Plankton's expression shifts
from confusion to something
closer to anger.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me,"
he snaps, his voice sharp. "I can
handle it."

"But Dad you just..."

Plankton cuts Chip 
off, his voice
edged with agitation. 
"I said, I can handle it!"

Chip takes a step back,
his eyes wide and filled with
fear. He hadn't meant to upset
his dad; he just wanted to
understand. "You couldn't handle
it, Dad. Otherwise, you..."

Plankton's eye narrows,
his antennas standing on end.
"Don't," he says,
his voice a warning growl.
"I don't need a little kid telling
me what I can and can't handle."

Chip's shoulders slump,
his eyes welling up. "But I just...
I didn't mean to..."

"I said, I can handle it!" Plankton's voice
cracks through the air, his face flushing
with irritation. Karen's grip on Chip's hand
tightens, a silent message to stay calm.

Chip's eyes water as he stammers, "But I just
wanted to help." The weight of his dad's
words hits him like a brick. He hadn't meant
to make him mad, but he couldn't shake
the feeling that he'd done something wrong.

Plankton's breaths are sharp and quick, his
body tense with frustration. "You don't know
what you're talking about," he snaps, pushing
the covers off his legs. "You're just a kid. You
don't understand."

Chip's eyes well up with 
tears as he looks at his
father, the man he's 
always admired and loved,
now a stranger in his own 
pain. "But Mom said it's
okay for..."

Plankton's anger flares,
his antennas quivering. 
"Don't you dare bring 
your mom into this," he
says, cutting Chip off again. 
"This is not your business!"

Chip's lower lip trembles,
his eyes filling with tears.
He hadn't meant to upset
his dad, but everything
he says seems to make it worse.
"But Dad," he starts, but
his voice is lost in the
wave of Plankton's frustration.

"I don't need your pity,"
Plankton says, his voice rising.
He swings his legs over the
side of the bed, his movements
quick and jerky. "You think
just because you know a fancy
word, you know what it's like?"

Chip feels his cheeks burn,
his eyes blurred with unshed tears.
"No, Dad, I just..."

But Plankton is already out
of bed, his legs wobbly. "You think
you know everything, don't you?"
His words are a jumble of anger
and pain, his voice echoing in
the quiet room.

Chip steps back, his eyes wide
with shock. "No, Dad, I just..."
He tries to explain, but Plankton
interrupts again.

"Don't tell me what you 'just,'"
Plankton snaps. "You think
because you went to some camp
you can come back and act like
you know me?" His voice is
sharp, cutting through the
tension in the air like a
knife.

Chip's eyes dart to the ground,
his body shrinking under the
weight of his father's words.
"But Dad, I just..."

Plankton's anger is palpable,
his body vibrating with tension.
"I said, don't tell me what you
'just'!" He snatches up Chip's
new surfboard, the one symbol
of joy from camp, and slams it
against the wall. The room
shakes with the impact, sending
a shower of sand and shells flying.

Chip jumps, his eyes wide with shock.
"Dad, please," he whispers, his voice
shaking. He's never seen his dad
like this, never felt such anger
radiating from him. It's like a storm
has taken over the room, and he's
the only one caught in it.

"What are you doing?" Chip asks,
his voice barely above a whisper.
He takes a step back, his hands up
in a protective gesture.

"What does it look like?" Plankton
snarls, his grip tight on the broken
surfboard. "I can't even have a moment
without you poking and prodding!"

Chip's eyes dart around the room,
his heart racing as he tries to find
the words to fix this. "I'm sorry, Dad,"
he whispers, his voice trembling. "I just
wanted to help."

But Plankton is beyond reason,
his anger a living thing that feeds
off the chaos. He turns to the desk,
his gaze settling on the pile of sandy
photos. "You think your camp
souvenirs mean anything to me?"
He snatches the pictures, ripping
them into shreds. Chip gasps, tears
spilling down his cheeks as he watches
his memories destroyed. "Dad, no!"

He tries to grab the photos,
his hands shaking, but Plankton
swats him away, the torn pieces
falling like confetti around them.
The room seems to close in, the
smell of saltwater and musty sand
overwhelming him. "These are
from my trip!" Chip sobs, his voice
choking on his own pain.

"I don't care about your trip!"
Plankton shouts, throwing the
remaining pieces into the air.
They flutter down like sad confetti,
a stark contrast to the joy they
once represented. "I care about
me! I care about what you do
to me with your noise and your
energy!"

Chip's heart feels like it's
shattering into a million
pieces, each one a memory of
his dad's love and patience
torn apart. "I didn't mean to,"
he whispers, his voice barely
audible over the ringing in
his ears. "I just wanted to share..."

Plankton's eye flashes with anger,
his grip on the shredded photos
white-knuckled. "Share?" He spits
the word out like it's poison. "You
have no idea what you're
doing to me! You just keep pushing
and pushing, and you don't even
notice when I can't take it anymore!"

Chip's eyes dart to the floor,
his hands curling into fists. "I
thought you liked it," he says,
his voice shaking. "I thought
you liked when I talked about
my day."

Plankton's chest heaves, his
eye blazing with frustration. "You
don't get it, do you?" He says,
his voice rising. "You never get it!"
He picks up Chip's rare seashell
collection, the one he'd been so
proud to show off, and hurls
it across the room. The sound
of breaking shells fills the air,
each one a shard of Chip's shattered
happiness.

"Dad, please!" Chip begs, his
hands outstretched. "Stop!"
But Plankton's rage has taken
over, a whirlwind of accusations
and anger. "You think this is fun?"
He yells, holding up a shard
of seashell. "You think this is what
I want?"

Plankton throws the shard down,
the clatter of broken shells
like a mocking echo of Chip's
pleas. "I don't want your noise!" His
hands shake with fury as he
grabs the sandy trophy from the
camp sandwich contest.

"Dad, please," Chip says, his voice
small and scared. "What's wrong?"
He tries to approach, but Plankton's
body language is a clear warning.

Plankton's eye dart around the
room, his anger a tangible force.
"Wrong?" He laughs, a harsh,
bitter sound. "Wrong is you, coming
in here with your stories and your
noise and your... stuff!" He gestures
wildly at the camp souvenirs, the
remnants of Chip's excitement scattered
across the floor.

He hurls the trophy at the wall,
watching with a twisted satisfaction
as it shatters into a hundred
pieces. "This," he says, holding
up a fistful of sand, "this is what
you do to me!"

Chip flinches with each broken
piece, his heart aching. "But
Dad, I just wanted to make you
proud." His voice is barely a
whisper, lost in the storm of
Plankton's rage.

"Proud?" Plankton sneers,
his grip tight on the sand.
"You think this junk makes
me proud?" He throws the sand
at Chip, the grains stinging his
face like tiny needles. "You have
no idea what I go through every
day, do you?" His voice cracks,
his anger giving way to pain.

Karen steps in, her voice firm
but calm. "Plankton, that's enough."
Her eyes are on her son, her
face a mask of concern. "Chip,
why don't you go... dust your screen?"
Her tone is gentle, but her gaze
holds a silent message: stay calm.

Chip nods, his eyes never leaving
his dad's. He turns and heads
for the bathroom, his steps slow
and deliberate. The door clicks
closed behind him, leaving Karen
and Plankton alone in the room.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II iv

CATCH IN MY CHIP xi
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chip swallows his fear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's just part of who
I am," Plankton says, his
voice still hoarse from his
episode. He takes another
sip of water, the coldness
of it a stark contrast to
his fevered skin. "My
autism, it makes my brain
work differently."

Chip's hand is still on
his arm, a silent
offer of comfort. "But
you're okay now," he
says, his voice hopeful.
Plankton nods, the
motion almost imperceptible.

"Thanks to Mom," he murmurs, his
eye swiveling to Karen, who
smiles at him with a mix of
relief and love. "She's the
reason I made it through."

Chip looks at Karen with a newfound
respect, his young mind trying to
comprehend the gravity of what he's
just witnessed. "You're both
strong," he says, his voice
steady, the fear momentarily
pushed aside by admiration.

Karen's smile is a soft glow,
the pride in her eyes unmistakable.
"We all have our moments," she
says, her hand resting on
Plankton's shoulder. "It's
how we face them that makes
us who we are." She glances
at the clock, the ticking a
reminder of the time they've lost
to the sensory storm. "Why don't
you go play for a bit, Chip?
Your dad needs some rest, and I
think we could all use a
moment to process."

Chip nods, his eyes
still filled with unspoken
questions. But he trusts
his mom, and he can see the
exhaustion etched into
Plankton's face. He slides off
the bed, his feet silent on
the floor. With one last look
at his dad, he heads for the
door, the weight of the
moment heavy on his
shoulders.

Karen watches him go,
her heart aching for the
fear he must be feeling.
But she knows that with
time and patience, he'll
understand. He'll grow to
see his dad not as a
mystery to be solved, but as
a person to be loved and
supported, just like anyone
else.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II xi

CATCH IN MY CHIP 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

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 iv
(Autistic author)

In the bedroom, Karen
managed to guide Plankton
to the bed, her voice
soothing. She knew
his senses were heightened
right now, his body
a battleground.

Chip hovered in the doorway,
his eyes never leaving
his dad. He felt
like he didn't recognize
this man who had
always been his hero.

The seizure passed,
leaving Plankton 
drained.
Karen helped tucked him in,
her eyes filled with sadness.

In the quiet that followed,
she turned to Chip,
his own eyes red and puffy.
"I'm sorry you had to see that,"
she said gently.

Chip nodded, his gaze
still on Plankton's exhausted face.
"Is he okay?" he asked, his voice
barely above a whisper.

"He'll be fine," Karen assured,
her voice strained. "Just tired.
This happens sometimes."

Chip nodded, his gaze never
leaving Plankton's face. He felt
like he was seeing his dad
for the first time, like he'd
been looking at him through
a fog and suddenly, it had lifted.
He didn't know what to do
with the mix of feelings swirling
inside him: confusion, fear, sadness.

Karen took Chip's hand,
squeezing it gently. "Let's go
talk, okay?" she suggested,
leading him out of the room.
They sat in the kitchen,
the silence heavy between them.

"I don't get it," Chip said finally,
his voice still shaky. "Why
did Dad get so mad?"

Karen sighed, her grip on
his hand tightening. "It's not that
he's mad at you, sweetheart.
It's his way of dealing with the fear
and confusion. Sometimes,
his brain gets overwhelmed,
and it's like he can't control
his reactions."

Chip looked at her, his
eyes searching for understanding.
"But why does he have to break
my toys?" he asked, his voice
still small.

Karen's heart ached for him.
"It's not about the toys," she
explained softly. "It's about the
frustration he feels, the inability
to communicate what he's going 
through."

Chip sniffled, trying to wrap
his head around it all. "But why
does he get so...so...mad?"

Karen's eyes were filled with
understanding. "It's not just you,
Chip. Sometimes, his brain needs a way
to deal with everything. It's like
his own personal tornado, and when
it hits, it's hard for him to keep
his emotions from spinning out 
of control."

Chip nodded, still not fully
understanding but willing to try.
He looked down at their joined
hands, his thumb tracing small circles
on her palm. "What can I do?"

Karen squeezed his hand.
"Just be patient," she said.
"And don't take it personally.
Remember, it's not about you,
it's about what he's feeling.
And when he's ready, we can talk
about it together."

Chip nodded, feeling a mix
of relief and trepidation.
He didn't want to upset his dad
again, but he needed to know
how to help. He didn't want
to feel so powerless.

"But what if he doesn't want to talk?"
he ventured, his voice small.

"Then we'll give him space," Karen said,
her eyes filled with warmth. "But we'll
be here, ready to listen when he does."

Chip nodded, wiping away the last
of his tears with the back of his hand.

"Okay," he murmured, his voice
still shaky. "Can I sit with him?"

Karen nodded. "Just for a bit,
but remember, he might not know
you're there right away. Let's go."

They tiptoe back into the room,
the air still thick with tension.
Plankton's eye is closed. Karen
knows he's sleeping.

Chip sits in the chair beside
the bed, watching his dad's chest
rise and fall. He reaches out
to touch Plankton's hand, but stops.

He didn't want to startle him,
not after what happened. His mind
raced with questions, but he knew
now was not the time to ask.

Instead, Chip took a deep breath,
his hand hovering over Plankton's.
He didn't know how to make it right,
but he knew he had to try.

Karen watched from the doorway,
her heart heavy with the weight
of her family's pain. She knew
this was a moment that could either
build a wall or bridge the gap
between father and son.

Chip's hand hovered, unsure,
before finally landing on
his dad's. Plankton's antennae
twitched, and Chip looked up to see
his mother's eyes glistening with
proud tears.

Karen offered a gentle smile.
"You can sit with him," she whispered.
"Just don't touch him anywhere else."

Chip nodded and pulled the chair
closer to the bed, his eyes
never leaving his dad's still face.

He sat for what felt like hours,
his hand resting gently on Plankton's.
Every now and then, his dad's antennae
would twitch, and he'd hold his breath,
afraid that he'd wake him up. But Plankton
remained still, lost in a deep slumber.

The room was quiet, save for the soft
snores escaping his dad's mouth. Chip
stared at his hand on Plankton's, his mind
racing with everything he'd learned. Autism,
seizures, the way his dad's brain worked differently.
It was all so new and overwhelming.

He felt a pang of guilt for not
knowing sooner, for not understanding.
But Karen's words echoed in his mind:
his dad's reactions weren't personal. It was
just how his brain dealt with stress.

Chip leaned back in the chair,
his eyes heavy with the weight
of the day's events. He watched
his dad's chest rise and fall, the
steady rhythm comforting him.

His thoughts swirled with questions
and confusion, but he knew
one thing for sure: he loved
his dad, no matter what.

As the minutes ticked by,
his fear turned into resolve.
He would learn more about his
father and try to find a way
to support him without setting
off the storm of sensory overload.

new great chip learncore iv

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

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

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 iv

(Autistic author)

"Let's play again," Plankton 
says, his voice eager. Sponge 
Bob nods, his smile 
genuine. "Ok, Plankton
pick a board game."

Karen watches as Sponge 
Bob sorts through the 
disarray of their game 
collection, his spongy 
fingers touching each box 
before finally settling on 
a card game.

"Go Fish!" Sponge Bob 
exclaims, holding up the 
battered cards. Plankton's 
face lights up at the 
familiar phrase, his antennas 
waggling with excitement. 
"Fish, fish, fish," he 
repeats, his voice echoing 
the words.

The two sit cross-legged on 
the floor, the cards spread 
out in front of them. Plankton's 
hands tremble slightly as he 
picks up his cards, but his 
concentration is intense. 
"Fish," he whispers, holding 
his hand out to Sponge Bob.
Sponge Bob nods, understanding 
the game despite Plankton's 
simplified request.

"Go Fish," he responds, 
placing a card into Plankton's 
outstretched palm. Plankton's 
eye brightens, and he repeats 
the action, placing a card 
into Sponge Bob's hand. "Fish," 
he says again, his voice 
slightly more confident.
"Plankton you gotta take a card
from the pile.."
Sponge Bob starts to explain,
but Plankton's antennas shoot 
up, and he interrupts. "Fish 
from the pile," he repeats, 
his voice eager. He reaches for 
the deck and draws a card, 
his eye never leaving 
Sponge Bob's.

Sponge Bob nods. 
"That's right, Plankton," he 
says, his voice gentle. "Go Fish."

Plankton repeats the phrase, 
his antennas bobbing with each 
word. "Go Fish," he murmurs, 
his eye scanning the cards.

Sponge Bob nods, a gentle 
smile playing on his lips. 
"Good job, Plankton," he 
encourages. "Your turn to ask 
for a card."

Plankton's antennas wiggle as he 
thinks, his eye darting to 
his hand. "Sponge Bob," he says, 
his voice a mix of excitement 
and focus. "Got any...?" He 
pauses, his brain searching 
for the right word. "Got any...?"

"Got any fish?" Sponge Bob 
prompts, his smile never 
wavering.
"Fish," Plankton repeats, 
his antennas bobbing. "Got any 
fish?"

Sponge Bob nods, 
understanding dawning. 
"Do you have any twos?"

Plankton's antennas 
twitch in excitement. "Two," 
he echoes, his voice 
triumphant. "Do you have any 
twos?"

Sponge Bob's smile falters 
slightly as he nods, looking 
at his own cards. He's not sure 
how to proceed. He 
decides to keep the game 
simple. "I don't have any twos," 
he says. "Now it's your turn 
to Go Fish."

Plankton nods, his 
concentration unbroken. He 
scans his cards again. "Got any 
fish?" he asks, his voice 
determined.

Sponge Bob's smile widens, 
his eyes sparkling with 
understanding. "No fish 
here," he says, placing a card 
face down. "Go Fish."

Plankton's antennas 
twitch rapidly as he 
processes the new 
information, his brain 
working to keep up with 
the game's flow. "Go Fish," 
he repeats, his voice 
gaining confidence with 
each exchange.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen slightly but 
he nods along, playing 
his part. "Okay, Plankton," 
he says, placing a card 
on the pile. "Your turn."

Plankton's antennas 
wobble as he considers 
his next move. "Got any 
fish?" he asks again, his 
voice a mix of excitement 
and challenge.
Sponge Bob's smile 
becomes a bit forced. 
"Nope," he says, 
his voice still cheerful. 
"Go Fish."

Plankton's eye dart 
to the cards in his 
hand, then back to 
Sponge Bob. His antennas 
wave erratically as he tries 
to formulate his next 
question. "Got any...?"

Sponge Bob waits 
patiently, his heart 
aching for his friend. 
He's never seen Plankton like 
this before, for SpongeBob
doesn't know about the accident
nor the diagnosis.
"Got any fish?" Plankton's 
words echo in the 
silence of the room. 
Sponge Bob's confusion 
mounts as he looks into 
his friend's eye, searching 
for a clue to what's 
going on.
"No, Plankton," Sponge 
Bob says, his voice 
strained. "I don't have any 
fish." Plankton's antennas 
drop slightly, his 
expression one of 
disappointment.
"Go Fish," he murmurs, 
his gaze drifting to the 
card pile.
Sponge Bob's heart 
aches as he watches 
his friend, trying to 
understand this new, 
strange behavior. "Do you 
want to play something 
else?" he asks, hoping to 
distract Plankton from his 
obsession with the game.
But Plankton's antennas 
spring back to life. "More 
fish," he insists, his voice 
almost a command. Sponge 
Bob nods, his mind racing 
to comprehend what's 
happening. He knows 
Plankton's mind is sharp, so 
why the repetition?

"Got any fish?" Plankton 
asks again, his voice 
growing more urgent.

Sponge Bob's smile falters.
He's never seen Plankton act 
this way before. The urgency 
in Plankton's voice, the 
repetition of words, it's all so 
strange and disconcerting. "I don't 
understand," he says, his voice 
small and unsure. "What's going 
on with you?"
Plankton's antennas quiver 
slightly at Sponge Bob's 
question, but his eye 
remains fixed on the cards. 
"I don't understand," he says, 
voice soft but firm. "What's
going on with you."
Sponge Bob's smile falters,
his eyes searching Plankton's 
face for answers. "It's just a 
game, Plankton," he says, 
his voice filled with 
concern. "You don't have to 
keep asking for fish."

This isn't the Plankton he 
knows, the cunning and 
scheming arch-nemesis who 
always has a plan up his 
sleeve. This is someone 
else entirely, someone 
lost and confused.
But Plankton doesn't 
seem to hear him. "Fish," he 
whispers, his antennas 
twitching in time with 
his words. "Got any fish?"
Sponge Bob feels a knot 
form in his stomach. Is
Plankton trying to annoy him?

"Plankton, are you ok?" 
he asks gently, his voice 
filled with concern.
Plankton's antennas stop 
twitching for a moment, 
his gaze meeting Sponge 
Bob's.
"Plankton are you ok," 
he echoes, his 
eye searching Sponge 
Bob's for a clue. "Fish."
Sponge Bob's brow furrows 
deeper, his confusion 
growing.
"You don't have to keep 
asking for fish, Plankton," he 
says again.
But Plankton's mind is 
stuck on the pattern, his 
voice insistent. "Fish," he 
repeats.

Sponge Bob's now getting irritated. 
The echoing of his words, the intense 
stare, and the persistent demand 
for "fish" are unlike anything he's 
ever seen.
"Plankton, please," he says, 
his voice tight with frustration. 
"I don't have any fish. Let's play 
a different game."
But Plankton's antennas 
only wiggle more rapidly. 
"Fish," he insists. "Got any fish?"
Sponge Bob's patience is 
wearing thin, his cheery 
demeanor slipping away. 
"I said no!" he snaps, 
his voice a little too loud.

Plankton recoils at the 
sudden change in tone, 
his antennas drooping. 
"Fish?" he whispers, his 
voice filled with uncertainty.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen 
with regret at his 
outburst. "I'm sorry," he 
says quickly, his voice 
softening. "I didn't mean 
to yell. But Plankton, I 
don't have any more fish!"

Plankton's antennas 
sag, and his eye 
becomes unfocused. "No 
fish," he murmurs, his 
voice barely above a 
whisper.
Sponge Bob's never seen 
Plankton like this, his 
behavior so repetitive 
and unresponsive to 
his words. It was as 
if the game had become 
the center of Plankton's 
entire world, and Sponge 
Bob's refusal to play 
along had shattered it.

"I'm sorry, Plankton," 
Sponge Bob says, his voice 
trembling with frustration. 
"I just don't understand 
why you're so obsessed 
with fish."
Plankton looks up, his 
eye meeting Sponge 
Bob's, a hint of 
hurt flickering across 
his expression. "Fish," he 
says again, his voice 
smaller this time. "Need fish."

Sponge Bob sighs, 
his hands going to 
his face. "Ok," he says, 
his voice muffled. "Let's 
just finish this game." 

new a journey to autism gamefic iv

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

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

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iv
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae twitch as he 
recites facts rapidly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yea Plankton who knew, easy as pie!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae twitched slightly at the compliment.

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore iv

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

THE LIFE OF UNITY iv
(Autistic author)

Kevin's smirk is long gone, 
replaced by a look of shock 
and regret. "I... I had 
no idea," he stammers. "I 
didn't mean to... 
I didn't know."

Plankton's antennae quiver. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, "you 
hurt Plankton."

Sponge Bob's protectively 
around Plankton, who is now visibly 
upset. "You hurt Plankton's feelings," 
he says, his voice firm but not unkind. 
"You see, Plankton had an accident. 
He's not the same as before. 
He nearly broke his 
skull on a cash register at 
the Krusty Krab. 
It changed him."

Kevin's expression shifts from shock to disbelief. 
"What do you mean, 'changed him'?" 
he asks, his tentacles quivering slightly.

"He has autism now," Sponge Bob says 
simply, never leaving
Plankton's trembling form. "It's ok, 
Plankton," he murmurs, tightening around 
the tiny plankton. "You're still you."

Kevin's eyes widen, the reality of the situation 
sinking in. "Oh my...," he whispers, his 
tentacles dropping to his sides. "I had no idea."

Plankton's voice 
filled with accusation. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, "you 
didn't know. You didn't care."

Kevin's eyes are wide. "I'm sorry
I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's cutting 
off Kevin's apology. "Kevin," 
he murmurs, his one eye 
flashing with 
pain. "Kevin not care."

"I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't 
mean to be so cruel."

But Plankton's unyielding. 
"Kevin," he murmurs, his 
one eye still brimming with 
unshed tears. "You didn't 
know. You no care."

Kevin's smugness evaporates 
as the weight of his own 
words crashes down on him. 
The realization that his 
careless jests have caused 
such pain is written all over 
his face. His eyes are wide 
with horror, his tentacles 
trembling. "I'm sorry," he 
whispers, starting to touch Plankton. 

But Plankton recoils at the 
touch, his antennae quivering 
violently, his monotone voice 
filled with panic. "NO!" he
squeaks, his one eye wide with 
fear. "Kevin, no touch!"

Kevin's tentacles jerk back as 
if burned, his eyes filled with 
shock and remorse. "I'm sorry," 
he says quickly, his voice
thick with regret. "I didn't 
know. I didn't mean to..."

"Kevin, no touch," he repeats, 
his one eye flashing. 
"Plankton not like that."

"I didn't know," he whispers, 
his eyes never leaving
Plankton's trembling form. 
"I'm so sorry."

But Plankton's antennae continue 
to quiver, his monotone 
voice a sad echo of the fear 
he feels. "Kevin," he murmurs, 
his one eye fixed on the sea 
cucumber, "you didn't know. 
You don't care."

Sponge Bob's placing 
himself between Plankton 
and the sea cucumber. "Kevin," 
he says firmly with a newfound resolve. 
"You need to apologize to Plankton. 
What you said was not okay."

Kevin's tentacles quiver, his eyes 
darting from Sponge Bob to 
Plankton's trembling form. 
"I'm... I'm sorry," he stammers, his 
smugness replaced by genuine contrition. 
"I didn't know. I didn't 
mean it like that."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with a mix of anger
and sadness, his monotone voice 
still echoing the 
pain of the insult. "Kevin," he 
murmurs, his one eye 
narrowed, "you hurt Plankton."

Kevin's expression falls, the full 
impact of his words hitting 
him like a brick wall. He takes a 
step back, his tentacles 
drooping. "I didn't know," he says, 
his voice barely above a
whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize 
you had... you know."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with a mix of anger and pain.

"Kevin," he murmurs, his monotone 
voice strained. "Kevin hurt 
Plankton. Not funny."

Kevin's tentacles twitch, his expression 
a mix of shock and 
discomfort. "Look, I didn't know," he says, 
his voice quivering. 
"I'm sorry. I just..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with a mix of anger and 
sadness, his monotone voice 
cutting through the awkward 
silence. "Space," he murmurs, 
his one eye pleading.

Kevin creeps up closer. "Space? What..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
a mix of anger and fear, his 
monotone voice a sad echo of the 
pain Kevin's words have caused. 
"Plankton," he murmurs, his one eye 
wide with desperation. "Alone."

Kevin still doesn't understand. 
"You're not alone," 
he starts, reaching out.

But Plankton's antennae 
quiver more fiercely, 
his monotone voice filled 
with a rare urgency. "No," 
he murmurs, 
his one eye darting 
around. "Space."

"I don't underst--"

But Plankton's filled 
with a desperation 
Kevin had never heard before. 
"Space," he murmurs again, more 
forcefully this time. 
"Kevin, go."

"Go to outer space? But..."

"Space," Plankton repeats more 
insistently, his eye frantic.

Kevin's with confusion. "But, Plankton
we're in the middle 
of the jellyfish fields."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with urgency, his monotone voice 
unwavering. "Space," he murmurs, 
his one eye pleading. "Now."

"I don't..." Kevin starts, 
grabbing Plankton's hand.

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with anger, and he pulls away, 
his monotone voice rising. "SPACE!" 
he shouts, his eye flashing 
with fury.

Startled, Kevin takes a step back. 
"Where in outer space?"

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
impatience, his monotone 
voice tight. "Any space," he 
cries. "Just go."

Kevin's tentacles twitch, his 
smugness forgotten. "But... 
but what about the jellyfish? 
Oh do you mean any planet.." 
He says, absent mindedly 
putting his hand on 
Plankton's back.

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with anger, and he jumps 
away. "NO TOUCH!" he screams, 
his monotone voice cracking 
with emotion. "PLANKTON. NEED. SPACE!"

Kevin's tentacles recoil as if 
stung, his eyes wide with 
shock. "I'm sorry," he stammers, 
taking a step back. 
"I can't fly a rocket to space.."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with rage. "Any space," 
he repeats, his one eye 
glaring. "Away."

Kevin's tentacles hang limp, his 
smugness shattered by 
the depth of Plankton's pain. 
"But, Plankton, we can't leave 
Earth without..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with fury, his monotone 
voice a whip crack. "Any space," 
he repeats, his one eye 
narrowed. "Now."

Kevin's tentacles retract, his 
smugness gone. "Any planet 
other than Earth? I'd like to 
help but..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with frustration, his 
monotone voice cutting through 
the confusion. "Not space," 
he murmurs, his one eye blazing 
with anger. "Space."

Kevin's tentacles tremble, his 
smile fading into a look 
of fear. "I can't get outer 
space without a rocket?" he 
says, taking a step back.

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with anger, his monotone 
voice a thunderclap in the 
stillness. "No rocket," he 
murmurs, his one eye flashing. 
"Space. Now."

Kevin's tentacles quiver, his 
smugness replaced by fear. 
"But Plankton," he stammers, taking 
a step back, "we 
can't just go to space without..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
rage, his monotone 
voice a whip crack. "Space," he repeats, 
his one eye narrowed. "Now."

Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced 
by a look of pure terror. "But Plankton, 
I can't just leave the 
sea," he says, his voice shaking.

But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger 
and desperation, his monotone voice a thunderclap 
in the quiet waters. "Space," he repeats unwavering.

Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced by a look 
of fear as he tries to comprehend Plankton's words. "But 
Plankton," he stammers, "you can't survive in space. 
It's not possible."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, his monotone 
voice a monotone shout. "Space," he repeats, his one 
eye flashing with desperation. "Away from here."

Kevin's tentacles retract, his smugness dissolving in
to confusion. "But Plankton, we're in the middle of 
jellyfish fields," he says, his voice trembling. 
"We can't just..."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and 
desperation, his monotone voice a monotone shout. 
"SPACE!" he repeats, his one eye flashing. 
"Kevin go now!"

Kevin's tentacles twitch, his smugness dissipating like smoke 
in the face of Plankton's distress. "But Plankton 
I don't..." he starts, taking a cautious step back.

Plankton breathes in and gathers his words together, 
his antennae quivering with the effort of controlling 
his emotions. 
"Kevin JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" he shouts, 
his monotone voice crackling with anger.

Kevin's tentacles quiver in understanding, his 
smugness evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh," 
he says, his voice small and sad. 
"You mean personal space.."

Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his 
monotone voice softening. "Yes," he 
murmurs, his one eye blinking rapidly. "Space."

Sponge Bob nods. "Okay, Kevin," 
he says firmly. "You need to give 
Plankton some space right now. He's going 
through a tough time."

Kevin's smugness is completely gone, 
replaced by a look of genuine concern. 
He takes a step back. "I had no idea," he 
whispers. "I'm really sorry. I'll go. Bye."

new the life of unity spacecore iv

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

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

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

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iv
(Autistic author)

Sandy feels the full weight
of her words crash down upon
her. The accusations she had
thrown at Plankton now felt like
sharp stones in her own stomach.
Her mind reels as she tries to
comprehend what she had just
learned. Autism? Plankton?
How could she have been so
blind, so cruel?

Her gaze falls to the floor,
avoiding Karen's. "I'm so sorry,"
she whispers, her voice thick with
guilt. "I didn't know."

Karen nods, her own emotions
swirling. "But we need to be
more careful with him."

Sandy's eyes are glued to
the floor, her tail flicking
nervously. "I didn't mean to
hurt him," she says, her voice
small and ashamed. "I just
thought he was being weird."

Karen nods, understanding. "I
know," she says, her voice gentle.
"But now we know better, and we
have to help him." She moves
towards the bedroom, her steps
determined. "Let's go check
on him."

They enter the room quietly.

Karen's optical sensors scan his
tiny form, noticing the slight rise
and fall of his chest. He's
asleep, she realizes, exhausted
from the emotional turmoil.

Sandy's gaze follows hers, her
expression a mix of regret and
curiosity. She's never seen
Plankton like this before,
his features softer, almost
peaceful in repose. "Is he okay?"
she asks, her voice a whisper.

Karen nods, her hand reaching
out to touch his shoulder.
"He's sleeping," she says, her voice
filled with tenderness. "It's been
a big day for him."

Sandy steps closer, her gaze
taking in Plankton's sleeping
features. His face, usually
twisted with plotting and
schemes, is now slack with
exhaustion. His eye, usually
alive with cunning, is closed,
and his breaths come in deep,
even snores, his mouth slightly
agape.

"What do we do now?" Sandy
asks, her voice hushed. Karen
sits beside him on the bed,
her hand still on his shoulder.
"We help him," she says, her
voice firm. "We learn about his
autism and how we can support
him."

They spend the next few
moments in silence, the air
heavy with the weight of what
has been said. Karen's hand
continues to gently stroke
Plankton's shoulder.
Sandy sits down on the
opposite side of the bed.

Her gaze is fixed on
Plankton, her thoughts racing.
She had known him for so
long, and yet she had never
considered this possibility.
"What does this mean for him?"
she whispers, her voice filled
with concern.

Karen sighs, her hand
still stroking Plankton's
shoulder. "It means we'll
have to make some changes,"
she says softly. "He'll need
routines, and patience, and
understanding."

Sandy nods, her eyes
glistening with unshed tears.
"I can do that," she says, her
voice filled with determination.
"But what about... us?"

Karen looks up, her gaze
meeting Sandy's. "What do you
mean?" she asks, her hand
pausing in its soothing motion.

Sandy swallows, her eyes still on
Plankton. "Our friendship," she
says. "How do we handle this
without making him feel...
different?"

Karen nods, understanding her
concern. "We just need to be
there for him," she says. "He's
still the same Plankton, just
with some new challenges."

They sit in silence for a
moment, the only sound the
rhythm of Plankton's snores.
Sandy reaches out tentatively,
her paw hovering over his arm.

"Is it ok to touch him?" she asks.

Karen nods. "Yes, Sandy. Just be
gentle," she whispers.

Sandy's paw touches Plankton's
arm, her touch light and tentative.
He stirs slightly, but doesn't
wake. She leaves her paw there,
offering comfort without intrusion.

Karen watches them
with a mix of love and
fear for the future. Plankton's
autism was still a mystery to
them, a labyrinth they were just
beginning to navigate. She knows
it won't be easy, but she's
determined to be by his side.

"We're a team," she says,
squeezing Plankton's shoulder.

Sandy nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's sleeping
form. "A team," she repeats, her
voice filled with resolve.

For the first time since the
diagnosis, the three of them are
united in a common goal: to
understand and support Plankton
as he navigates his new reality.

Sandy and Karen exchange a look,
each one filled with a determination
that mirrors the other. They've
been friends through thick and
thin, through Krabby Patty
heists and jellyfish stings, and
now they're facing a challenge
none of them had ever anticipated.

Sandy's paw remains on
Plankton's arm, her touch
steady and reassuring.

Plankton stirred, his sleep 
disturbed by the unfamiliar 
weight of Sandy's paw on his 
arm.

His eye fluttered open, and he
was met with the sight of
Sandy and Karen, their faces
contorted with a mix of
concern and confusion. He sat up
quickly, his body jolting with
fear.

"Plankton, it's ok," Karen
soothes, her hand reaching out to
calm him. "You're safe."

"Karen sad?" he
asks, his voice 
cracking.

Sandy's paw tightens on his
arm, which makes Plankton
feel uncomfortable enough to
get him to snap at her.

"What Sandy want?" he
asks, his voice sharp, his
body tense with anxiety.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears.
"I didn't mean to make you
upset," she says, her voice
shaking. "I just didn't know."

Plankton's gaze flits
between them, trying to read
their expressions, but his
brain struggles to interpret their
complex emotions. "Karen sad?" he
repeats, his voice a mix of
fear and confusion.

Karen's hand moves to cover
Sandy's, her grip firm but gentle.
"No, Plankton," she says, her
voice soothing. "We're just
concerned about you."

Sandy takes a deep breath,
forcing back her tears. "I'm sorry,"
she says, her voice barely above a
whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt
you."

Plankton's gaze flickers
between them, his mind racing to
understand the situation. "No
hurt," he says, his voice shaky.
"Sandy say Karen sad. No sad."

Karen's circuits pulse with a
mixture of relief and sadness.
"Sandy didn't mean it, Plankton,"
she says, her voice filled with
compassion. "We're all just trying
to understand what's happening."

Sandy's eyes are cast down, her
paws fidgeting in her lap. "I'm
sorry," she murmurs, her voice
heavy with regret. "I didn't
know." She grabs Plankton in
a hug, unaware of how the tight
embrace might feel to him. Plankton
stiffens, his senses getting overwhelmed.

"No touch," he says, his voice tight.

Sandy quickly releases him, her eyes 
wide with apology. "I'm sorry," she 
says, her voice trembling. "I just 
wanted to help."

Karen nods, her gaze softening. 
"We all do," she says. "But we 
have to learn how to help in ways 
that don't overwhelm him."

Plankton's eye darts around 
the room, with the need 
to regulate himself.

He starts to rock 
in a rhythmic motion, a 
self-soothing behavior
his new autism
craves. The sensation of
his own movements helps
to calm the storm of 
thoughts and emotions
swirling within him.

Karen notices the change
immediately and nods
understandingly. "It's
ok, Plankton," she says,
her voice gentle. "You
do what you need to do."

Sandy watches, her curiosity
piqued by the rhythmic rocking
"What's he doing?"
she asks, her voice hushed.

Karen sighs, her gaze
filled with understanding.
"It's his way of self-soothing,"
she explains. "It's called stimming."

Sandy's eyes widen, taking in
Plankton's rhythmic rocks.
"Stimming?" she repeats. "What's
that?"

Karen nods, her voice calm
and patient. "It's a way for him
to regulate his sensory
input," she explains. "It helps
him feel safe and in control."

Sandy watches. He starts to hum, a low
buzz that resonates in the
quiet room, his way of finding
comfort in the chaos of his
thoughts.

"It's ok," Karen whispers, her
hand on his shoulder. "We're
here."

Plankton's eye lock onto her
hand, the pressure of her touch
offering a semblance of comfort.
He starts to rock back and forth
again. The movement
calms him slightly.

Sandy watches. She had never
seen Plankton like this before.
The sharpness of her words
from earlier stings her
now, as she realizes the
depth of his distress.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice
quiet. "I didn't know."

Plankton's humming turns to
a soft melody, his body
still moving in a soothing
pattern. The words echo in his
head, a reminder of the world's
expectations he can never quite
meet.

Sandy watches him, her own
world now forever changed.
She had always known Plankton
to be eccentric, but this was
different. This was real.

Her mind reels with questions
and fears. How would this
affect their friendship?
Could they ever return to
the easy banter they once
shared? Would he still be the
same friend she had always
known?

But as she watches him
stim, the reality of the
situation starts to set in.
Plankton was still Plankton,
but with a new set of rules
and a new way of seeing the
world. Sandy makes a silent
vow to learn those rules, to
understand his world as much
as he had tried to understand
hers.

new karen and the autistic journey karenktondy plankary sandarenton karentony karandyn iv

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

CHIP AND FAIL xv
(Autistic author)

"But Dad," Chip began, his voice
trembling, when Plankton
interrupts. "BUT DAD," Plankton
mimics, his voice high-pitched
and mocking. "You think you know
how I feel, but you have no
idea!"

Karen stepped back. 
She knew Plankton needed to
express his anger, and Chip needed
to learn from it.

"Dad, I'm sorry," Chip whispered,
his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to
make it about..."

But Plankton's antennae were a
flurry of agitation. "You think your
stupid need to touch me can just
make everything okay? WELL
GUESS WHAT, CHIP? IT CAN'T!" He
was shouting now, his voice echoing
through the room.

Chip's eyes filled with hurt. "Dad,
I just wanted to tell you about my
week," he said, his voice quivering.
"I didn't mean to..."

But Plankton's just starting. "You
think your convenience more important
than my comfort?" he snapped.

"Dad," Chip says. "I just wanted 
to be close..."

But Plankton's anger was a raging
storm. "YOUR VERSION OF CLOSE IS 
Suffocation!" he yells, his antennae
shaking violently. "You're nothing
but a child. All you know is your
own need for attention, yet 
you expect me to be
fine with your constant 
poking and prodding?"

Chip's cheeks burned with 
shame. "That's not fair," he
managed to say, his voice 
barely above a whisper. "I'm trying
to understand..."

But Plankton's antennae 
were a blur of anger. "Understand?
You can't even begin to understand
what it's like!" he spat. "You live
your life in a bubble, Chip. You've
always had everything you've ever
wanted, and now you want to 'understand'
me? And don't come crying about
fairness..."

"PLEASE Dad..."

But Plankton's anger was 
unstoppable. "You think 
you're so clever," he sneered 
with rage. "With your fancy 
friends and your easy life. 
You wouldn't know what it's 
like to have to fight for every 
little thing."

Chip felt the sting. 
"Dad," he choked 
out, "That's not..."

But Plankton's words were a
tidal wave, crashing down. "You're 
selfish," he accused. "Always
thinking of yourself."

Now Chip's getting upset.
"I'm selfish? At least I'm
not the one who's too busy being a
drama queen to see how much I
care!" he retorts, his voice a mix
of pain and anger.

Plankton's antennae shot up.
"You dare call me that?" he roared.
"You have no idea what it's like to
drown in sensory overload, to have
your brain betray you every single
day!"

Chip took a step back, his
cheeks red with anger. "You think
because I don't understand, I don't
care?" he yelled back. "You're the
one who's never there for me because
of your 'condition'! You're just a shallow, 
spoiled little..."

"ENOUGH! Both of
you, stop it right 
now!" Karen says.

Her voice cuts through the
argument like a knife,
silencing the room. She
could feel the anger, the
frustration, the hurt in
each of their voices.

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

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

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

JUST A TOUCH vi
(Autistic author)


Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly. His eye dart
to the clock on the wall. "Must rest,"
he murmurs, his voice low.

Karen nods, her hand
squeezing his shoulder 
gently, which makes
him flinch.

"I'm sorry," she says,
quickly withdrawing it.

They sit in the quiet,
Plankton's mind racing, trying
to process the onslaught of
the day. Karen's eyes are on him,
a mix of sadness and love. He
can feel it, even through the
wall of his new condition.

He reaches out, tentatively,
his hand hovering over hers.
It's a peace offering, a silent
request for the comfort she
always provided. Karen's eyes widen,
surprise and hope flickering
in their depths. She places her hand
under his, allowing him to guide
it to his cheek.

"Plankton can, may I ask
you something?" Karen
says quietly.

He nods once, his antennae
still. "Yes," he says.

"What were you experiencing
when you froze today? You
know, before we came to
our bed? When Hanna was..."

Plankton's antennae quiver,
his gaze shifting to hers. "Too much,"
he murmurs. "Could tell you're here
and talking but, cannot comprehend.
Plankton felt dizzy in the head. Was
present yet not present."

Karen's eyes fill with
understanding. "It's like your brain
was on overload," she says, her
voice soft. "And my touch...it helped?"

Plankton shrugs, his antennae
lifting slightly. "Familiar. Soothing."
He looks at her, his gaze
intense. "Needed more of you."

Karen's eyes water, a soft
smile playing on her lips.
"I'm here now," she whispers.
But Plankton notices the
tears in her eyes.

"Why sad?" he asks, his voice
still flat. "Karen crying. Crying
sad. Thus, Karen's sad.."

Karen sniffles, her thumb
wiping away a tear. "I'm just
overwhelmed," she says. "I'm
trying to understand and be
there for you, but sometimes
it's hard."

Plankton's antennae droop.
"Karen not at fault," he says,
his voice devoid of emotion.
"Plankton's brain... different, now."

Karen nods, her hand
still in his. "I know," she whispers.
"But I'm here to learn with you."
Her words hang in the air, a promise
of support and patience.

Plankton's gaze lingers
on their joined hands, his
thumb tracing gentle circles on
her palm. The sensation grounds
him, a lifeline in the storm
of his new reality. He tries
to formulate his next words,
his mind racing. "Thanks,"
he finally says, his voice a
barely-there whisper.

Karen smiles softly, her
eyes never leaving his. 
"For what?"

Plankton's antennae twitch.
"For... being... understanding."
The words are forced, but the
sentiment is clear. Karen's
heart swells with love and
determination.

They sit in silence for a
moment, the gentle pressure
of their joined hands speaking
louder than any words could.

Plankton's gaze shifts
from their interlocked hands
to Karen's eyes. He can see
the love and concern in them,
and it calms him in a way
nothing else can.

He takes a deep breath,
his chest rising and falling
slowly. "Karen," he says, his voice
still monotone but with a
hint of longing. "Can... be
in your arms?"

Karen's eyes widen with
understanding. She nods,
moving closer to him. "Of
course," she whispers, opening
her arms. Plankton shifts his
body, his movements stiff
but deliberate as he
slides closer to her.

He nestles into her embrace,
his antennae resting on her
shoulder. Her arms close
around him, enveloping
his small form in warmth.

He takes a deep
breath, his body finally
beginning to unwind.

Plankton's antennae
still, his breathing
evening out.

Karen holds him.
Her hand gently 
strokes his back—
a soothing motion.
Plankton's eye
closes.

Karen's heart swells with
relief as Plankton's body
gradually relaxes into her embrace.
The weight of the day's
stresses seems to melt away
as she holds him, feeling the
steady rhythm of his breaths.
This is a new chapter in their
relationship, one filled with
unexpected challenges and a
deeper understanding of each
other's needs. She's aware that
his autism isn't something
to be cured or fixed, but a part
of who he is now, something
to be accepted and supported.

She strokes his back, her movements
slow and measured, mimicking the
calm she wishes to impart. His
breaths deepen, and she can feel
his body grow heavier in her arms.

Plankton's antennae droop with
fatigue, his eyelid flickering
as he succumbs to sleep. His
tiny hand remains in hers, a silent
plea to not let go. Karen
squeezes gently, her screen
never leaving his face.

The room is bathed in the soft
glow of the bedside lamp, the
shadows playing across the wall
like a silent guardian. The only
noise is the steady tick of the
clock and the occasional
snore from Plankton.

Karen watches him sleep, his
tiny form nestled in the crook
of her arm. His antennae rest
peacefully against her shoulder,
his breaths deep and even.
Her heart swells with a mix
of love and fear. She's afraid
for him, for the world
he's woken up to, a place
where every sound, every touch,
every interaction is a minefield.
But she's also proud of him,
the way he's trying to navigate
this new reality with a stoicism
that belies his size.

Plankton stirs slightly, his
eyelid fluttering. Karen holds
her breath, afraid to disturb
his fragile peace. His hand tightens
on hers, and she knows he's
aware of her presence. It's a
small victory in a day filled
with confusion.

He opens his eye, looking
up at her with a gaze that's
both familiar and foreign.
"Karen," he says, his voice
still monotone.

Karen's screen brightens with
relief. "Yes, Plankton?"

He shifts, his gaze drifting
to the book on the nightstand.
"Book," he says, his voice
barely audible. "Read."

Karen nods, understanding
his need for the familiar. She
picks up the book, her eyes
skimming over the pages. "Which one?"
she asks softly. Plankton's
eye darts to the title.

"The... puzzle," he murmurs,
his voice a mere echo. Karen opens
the book to the puzzle they'd
been working on. His gaze
follows her finger as she traces
the words. His antennae twitch.

"Would... you like to hear it?"
she asks tentatively. He nods,
his body still tense. Karen
clears her throat, her voice gentle
as she reads the words aloud.

Plankton's eye drifts
closed again, the sound of her
voice a comforting lullaby.
His hand relaxes in hers, the
tension in his body dissipating.

Karen reads on, her voice
a steady rhythm that fills the
silent room. The words from
the puzzle book form a bridge
between them, connecting them
in a way that's both new and
comfortingly familiar. Plankton's
mind focuses on the patterns
and sequences, the logical
structure a sanctuary in the
chaos.

As she reads, Karen can feel
his muscles relaxing further, his
breathing deepening into sleep.
The room's quietude wraps
around them like a cocoon,
their shared history a warm
blanket. It's a stark contrast
to the panic and confusion
that had gripped him earlier.

The puzzle's words weave
themselves into a tapestry
of comfort, each syllable a
stitch in the fabric of their
new reality. Plankton's love
for order and patterns hasn't
changed, but the way
he interacts with them has.
The autism has transformed
his world, but not the essence
of who he is.

As Karen reads, her voice
soothing his frayed nerves,
she can't help but feel a
sense of awe at his resilience.
He's still her Plankton, the
same being she's known for so long,
but now he's also someone new,
someone she's just beginning to
understand. His mind operates
on a different wavelength, one
that she's eager to tune into.

Then the door
bell rings. It's
Sandy!

Plankton's antennae shoot up,
his body stiffening in Karen's arms.
"Who is it?" he asks, his voice
sharp with anxiety.

Karen's eyes dart to the
clock on the wall. "It's just
Sandy," she says, her voice
calm. "It's okay."

Plankton's antennae quiver, his
eye searching hers for
reassurance. "Sandy?" he repeats,
his voice unsure.

Karen nods, her smile gentle.
"It's okay," she says, her voice a
whisper. "We'll take this slow."

Plankton's gaze locks onto
Sandy as she enters the room,
his eyes darting around to
assess the new presence. Sandy
watches him, her face a mix of
curiosity and concern. "Howdy,
Plankton," she says, her voice
soft. "How are y'all?"

Plankton's antennae twitch.
He's heard her voice before,
but it's different now. Too
loud, too bright. He shrinks
back into Karen's embrace. "Good,"
he says, his voice tight. "Good."

Sandy's eyes dart between
them, her smile fading. "What's
wrong?" she asks, her voice
gentle. Karen sighs.

"Plankton's had an... accident,"
she says carefully.

Sandy's eyes widen with shock,
her hand flying to her mouth.
"What happened?"

Karen's gaze doesn't waver
from Plankton's. "He's
been diagnosed with Acquired
Autism," she says softly. "From
a head injury."

Sandy's eyes widen in
disbelief. "Oh no," she whispers.
"I had no idea."

Karen nods, her screen
reflecting the weight of
the last few hours. "It's a lot to take
in," she says. "We're still learning."

Sandy steps closer, her
movements slow and deliberate.
"What can I do?" she asks.

Karen's shoulders
slump with relief. "Just...
be patient with him,"
she says. "He's still the same
Plankton, but... different."

Sandy nods solemnly.
"I will," she promises.

new just a touch sandarenton vi

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

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

CATCH IN MY CHIP vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip,
his eye filled with regret, but 
the words won't come. Despite
his leftover anger, he felt a bit
bad about it. He just wanted to
show Chip what it meant to be
bombarded! He didn't have it in
him to say he's sorry, and he's
still tense.

Karen feels the weight of the
moment, her eyes moving
between her husband and her son.
"Why don't you sit with Daddy,
Chip?" she suggests, her voice
soft. "Give him some space,
but let him know you're here.
I'll be downstairs."

With a nod, Chip approaches the
bed, his eyes still filled with
uncertainty. He sits down gingerly
beside Plankton, who's staring
at the shattered mess of their
evening. The room is a silent testament
to their unspoken words and the
battle that raged within Plankton.

For a moment, neither of them
moves, the air thick with unspoken
regret and confusion. Then,
slowly, Chip reaches out with
his small hand.

Plankton looks at him, his
eye reflecting a tumult of
emotions—anger, guilt, fear,
frustration.

Chip's hand hovers over
his dad's, unsure if he'll
flinch or pull away. "I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
barely above a breath.

Plankton's antennas droop, his
eye still cast down at the
wreckage of their evening. 
"I know," he says, his voice
still tight with anger.

Chip's hand hovers 
over his arm. "Ca--"

But Plankton cuts him off.
"Don't," he says, his voice
raw with emotion. "Just don't."
He turns away, his body a wall
of tension.

Chip's hand falls to his side,
his eyes wide with hurt. "But Dad,"
he says, his voice breaking.
"I di-"

"I said don't," Plankton snaps,
his voice harsh. "I can't do this
right now." His antennas twitch,
his body language a clear
indication that he needs space.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his hand retreating to his
lap. "But Dad," he starts again,
his voice shaking.

Plankton's eye snaps up,
his anger a living flame. "I said
don't!" he shouts, his voice
echoing in the small room.

"But I'm just 
trying to-"

"I SAID DON'T!"
The words are a thunderclap,
silencing Chip's protests. He pulls
his legs up to his chest, hugging
his knees tightly, as if to shield
his heart from the pain.

"Dad I promise I won't 
overwhelm you again," 
Chip whispers. Plankton's 
antennas quiver, his 
shoulders hunched. But
Chip takes that as a green
light.
Remembering how his mom
put her hand on his back, he
tries to replicate it. So
with a trembling hand, Chip
reaches out and touches Plankton's
shoulder with hope..

But Plankton's reaction is
not what he expects. With a
shriek of overstimulation,
Plankton jumps away, his
body convulsing as if he's
been electrified. "Don't touch
me!" he yells.

The room seems to tilt, and
Chip's eyes widen with shock.
He's never seen his dad like
this before, so raw and exposed.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispers,
his hand retreating as if burned.

Plankton's face contorts, his
body wracked with a tremor
that shakes him to the core.

Chip's eyes widen in horror,
his hand hovering in the space
between them, frozen.

Karen steps back into the
room, her gaze taking in the
snapshot of pain and regret.
Her heart aches for both her
husband and son. She knows
Plankton didn't mean to scream,
that his senses are still on
high alert. And she knows
Chip is just trying to bridge
the gap with his love.

Her eyes lock onto Plankton's,
and she can see the desperation
behind the anger. He's scared
and overwhelmed, and she
understands that feeling all too
well. She moves towards the bed,
her steps measured and calm.
"Plankton, sweetie," she says,
her voice a soothing melody as
she reaches out to touch his
back. But the moment her hand
makes contact, Plankton's
body tenses further, his eye
squeezing shut. "No!" he yells.

Karen's hand retreats as if
she's been burned, her eyes
filled with a mix of sadness
and concern. "Plankton," she
whispers, her voice barely
audible above Chip's sniffles.

Plankton's body is a coil of
tension, his eye squeezed
shut as if trying to block
out the world. The room
seems to spin around him,
each sound and sensation a
needle prick in his overloaded
brain. "K-Karen, I...," he gasps, his
voice strained. "I-I-I-I… can't..."

Karen's realizes the gravity
of the situation. She
understands that her husband
has hit a point of no return,
where even the gentle touch
of her hand is too much.

With a deep sigh, she sits
down on the bed, her eyes on
Plankton's trembling form.
Her heart is torn between
concern for him and the
knowledge that Chip is
watching, trying to make
sense of the chaos. "Okay, honey,"
she says, her voice a soft
whisper. "It's okay. We'll give
you some space."

Chip looks up at her, his
face a question mark. "But
Dad?" he says, his voice
small.

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's. "It's okay,
Chip," she says, her voice steady.
"Daddy needs some alone time."

With a heavy heart, Chip slides
off the bed, the shattered
pieces of his trophy crunching
under his feet. He looks at
his dad one last time, his eyes
filled with a mix of fear and
longing. "Okay," he whispers,
his voice thick with unshed tears.

Karen nods, her gaze never
leaving Plankton. "I'll come
find you when Dad's feeling
a bit better."

Chip's eyes dart to his
dad, who's still shaky, his
body curled into a tight ball.
The sight breaks Karen's heart,
but she knows that this is
the best they can do for now.

Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton,
understanding the silent
cry for help in his eye. She's seen
this before, the way his autism
can consume him during moments of
overwhelm. She nods gently, her eyes
conveying her love and patience.

Plankton's breathing starts to
even out, his body slowly
unwinding from the tight coil
of tension. He's aware of her
presence, the steady rhythm of
her breathing a comforting metronome
in the chaos of his thoughts. Karen
knows that space is crucial for him,
but she also understands that a quiet
companion can be just as healing.

"It's okay," she whispers, her
hand hovering close but not
touching him. "You can take your
time." Her voice is a gentle
reminder that he's not alone.

Plankton's eye flickers to her,
his breaths still ragged. Karen's
understanding is a lifeline in
the storm of his emotions.

Karen knows that pushing him
now would only make things worse,
so she sits quietly beside him,
offering her silent support.
Her love for him is a balm to
his soul, even if he can't
express it in words.

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II vi

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM vi

(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's heart 
swells with compassion. 
"It's ok, Plankton," he 
says, his voice gentle. "We 
don't have to play anymore."

Plankton's antennas 
drop, and he nods slowly. 
"No fish," he repeats, 
his voice a sigh of 
relief.

Sponge Bob's hand 
freezes in mid-air, 
his eyes searching 
Plankton's face for 
any sign of anger or 
disappointment. But all 
he sees is a glimmer of 
understanding in his 
friend's eye.

"Thank Sponge 
Bob for being patient."
Plankton says to him.

Sponge Bob nods, his 
eyes still filled with 
concern. "I'll be patient, 
Plankton," he promises. "Can
I ask how you hit your head?"

Plankton's antennas 
lift slightly. "Pan," he 
murmurs, his voice 
barely above a whisper. 
"Fry pan, Mr. Krabs. Only
Karen and SpongeBob know."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with shock. "What?!"
he exclaims. "Mr. Krabs 
hurt you?"

Plankton nods, his antennas 
still low. "Pan," he repeats, 
his voice shaking. "Pan," he 
says again, his voice 
softer. "Krabs hit on head."
Sponge Bob's anger 
towards Mr. Krabs is 
immediate and intense. 
"I can't believe he'd do 
that to you," he says, 
his voice low and 
teary.

"Mr. Krabs did to protect
the krabby patty." 
Karen interjects quickly, 
sensing the tension. 
"He doesn't know how
badly he hurt Plankton."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, 
his thoughts racing. He can't
believe Mr. Krabs could 
do something like that, even 
in the heat of the moment.

"I'll talk to Mr. Krabs," 
he says firmly, his voice 
laced with determination. 
"He needs to know what..."

"No!"

The sharpness of Plankton's 
voice cuts through the 
air like a knife, his 
antennas shooting up in 
alarm. "Mr. Krabs no," he 
says, his eye wide with fear. 
"No tell."

Sponge Bob's anger 
fades slightly, replaced 
by confusion. "Why not?" 
he asks, his voice 
gentle. "He needs to know 
so he can understand.."

Plankton's antennas 
quiver anxiously. "Krabs 
not know," he whispers, his 
eye pleading with Sponge 
Bob. "Safe here."

Sponge Bob's 
confusion deepens. "But 
Plankton, if Mr. Krabs 
doesn't know, how will he 
make it up to you?"
Plankton's antennas 
droop, his eye darting 
back and forth between 
Karen and Sponge Bob. "No 
make up," he murmurs. "Just 
no satisfaction for Krabs."
Sponge Bob's mind 
spins with the implications. 
He knows Mr. Krabs 
would never hurt 
anyone that much 
intentionally, even Plankton;
but the thought of his 
boss not knowing the 
extent of his actions 
troubles him.
"I won't tell him," 
Sponge Bob says, his voice 
soft with reassurance.
But of course, Mr. Krabs
comes in. "What in the
name of Neptune are
ye doing? I gave ye the
day off yesterday!"
"The Krusty Krab is closed on
Sunday, and it's Sunday today."
SpongeBob reminds his boss.
"Oh, right." Mr. Krabs looks
at Plankton and his eyes narrow.
"What's going on here?" he asks,
suspicion heavy in his voice.
Plankton's antennas droop even
lower, and he looks down at the
floor.
Plankton speaks first. "Go 
fish," he whispers, his 
eye darting up to meet 
Mr. Krabs'. Sponge Bob steps in 
quickly, trying to cover 
for his friend. "We were 
just playing a game," he 
says, forcing a smile.
Mr. Krabs eyes them 
both skeptically.
"Well, I hope it wasn't 
about stealing me secret 
formular," he says, his 
claws tapping 
nervously.
"No, Mr. Krabs," Sponge 
Bob says quickly, "just a 
friendly game."
Plankton's antennas 
twitch slightly at the 
mention of the Krabby 
Patty formula, but he 
remains silent.
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
narrow further.
"What's wrong with 
you, Plankton?" he 
asks, his voice filled 
with concern and a 
touch of irritation.
"You're acting strangely
quiet even for you."
Plankton's antennas 
quiver.
Sponge Bob's heart 
paces. He doesn't want 
to betray Plankton's trust.
"It's nothing," Plankton 
says, his voice 
forced. "Just a little 
game, Krabs wanna play."
"Fine I'll play, but I got my
eye on ye, Plankton."
Mr. Krabs says, his tone 
still suspicious as he 
sits down to join them. 
Sponge Bob's eyes dart to 
Karen, who gives a 
nod of understanding. 
They'll keep the secret and
hope Mr. Krabs doesn't figure
it out.

"Let's play Uno!" Sponge
Bob says, getting out the new
card game, dealing the cards.
Plankton's antennas 
perk up at the mention 
of a new game, and he 
eagerly takes his cards. 
Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
plays along, eyeing Plankton 
carefully.
Then, it happens.
Mr. Krabs slaps a card 
down on the pile and 
excitedly yells, "Uno!"
Plankton's antennas shoot 
straight up, and his eye 
widen with sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob's concerned, 
but Mr. Krabs 
is too busy gloating to 
notice. "Yee-haw!" he 
crows. "I win again!"
Plankton's antennas 
quiver as he tries to 
process the sudden 
loudness and change in 
the atmosphere. 
Mr. Krabs looks at him, 
his expression puzzled.
"What's the matter, 
Plankton?" he asks, 
his voice laced with 
disdain. "Lost your 
competitive spirit?"
Sponge Bob's eyes widen.
"Plankton's just 
excited, Mr. Krabs," he 
says quickly. "Isn't that right, 
Plankton?"
Plankton's antennas 
wave erratically, and 
his voice is a mix of 
fear and confusion. 
"Yes, Krabs," he stammers, 
his eye darting around 
the room. "Uno. Fish. Yes."
Mr. Krabs looks at him 
oddly but shrugs it off, 
his attention already 
returning to the game. 
"Alright, let's keep playing," 
he says, dealing out 
more cards.
But Plankton's mind is elsewhere, 
his antennas twitching with 
the effort to keep up.
"Fish," he murmurs to 
himself, trying to find 
a familiar 
word. His hands 
shake as he holds 
his cards, the 
world around him a 
cacophony of sensory 
overload.
Sponge Bob notices 
Plankton's distress and 
quickly changes the 
topic. "Hey, Mr. Krabs, 
have you ever played 
Chess?"
Mr. Krabs' eyes 
light up. "Chess? The 
game of kings and 
conquers!" he exclaims. 
"I'd love a round!"
SpongeBob gets
the chess game.

The chess pieces are set 
up, and Mr. Krabs 
begins to play, his 
claws clacking against 
the board as he moves 
his pieces. Plankton 
watches, his antennas 
still, his eye 
focused.
"Your move, Plankton," 
Mr. Krabs says, his 
claws tapping the 
edge of the board 
impatiently.

But Plankton doesn't 
move. He just sits there, 
staring at the 
chessboard, his cards 
forgotten in his hand. 
"What's with you?" 
Mr. Krabs asks, 
his voice filled with 
exasperation. "You're 
taking forever!"

Sponge Bob's heart 
skips a beat. He knows 
he can't let Mr. Krabs 
see how much Plankton's 
been affected by the 
accident. "It's ok 
Mr. Krabs," he says 
quickly. "Plankton's just 
thinking of his next 
move."

Mr. Krabs grumbles but 
doesn't push the issue. 
He's too focused on 
his own strategy, his 
claws moving pieces with 
calculated precision.
But Plankton remains 
frozen, his gaze 
unwavering on the 
board. His antennas 
twitch slightly, a 
sign of his racing 
thoughts.

After several moments of 
silence, Mr. Krabs 
finally snaps. "Plankton,
it's your turn!" he says, 
his patience wearing 
thin.

Plankton's antennas 
twitch, and his eye 
flits to the board. 
"Fish?" he asks, his 
voice unsure.
Mr. Krabs stares at 
Plankton, his eyes 
narrowing. "What do 
fish have to do with 
chess?" he asks, 
confusion etched 
deeply on his face.

Sponge Bob's heart 
sinks as he sees the 
puzzlement in Mr. 
Krabs' eyes. He 
quickly jumps in. "Oh, 
Plankton was just 
thinking out loud," he 
says, trying to 
lighten the mood.

Mr. Krabs grunts, 
but his suspicion 
doesn't fade. "You've 
always been a weird 
little fellow, Plankton, but 
this is something else," 
he says, his tone a mix 
of curiosity and 
exasperation.

Sponge Bob's heart 
thumps in his chest 
as he tries to 
diverge the conversation. 
"Why don't we talk 
about something else?" 
he suggests, his eyes 
darting back to the 
chessboard.

Mr. Krabs' gaze 
remains on Plankton, 
his eyes narrowed. 
But Plankton's antennas 
remain still, his 
expression vacant.
"Fish," he murmurs, 
his voice distant.

Mr. Krabs' patience 
thins to a thread. 
"Fish?" he repeats, his 
confusion palpable. 
"What's going on with 
you, Plankton?"

Plankton's antennas 
wobble, his eye
still fixated on the 
board. "Fish," he says 
again, his voice 
uncertain.

Mr. Krabs leans 
forward, his eyes 
studying Plankton 
closely. "You okay, 
tiny fry?" he asks, 
hinting concern 
despite the 
sarcasm.

Plankton's antennas 
quiver slightly. "Fish," 
he says, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper. Sponge Bob's 
heart clenches at the 
word, understanding 
now that it's not just 
a game for Plankton; it's 
his way of trying to 
make sense of the 
world around him.

Mr. Krabs, however, 
simply sighs and shakes 
his head. "You always 
have to make everything 
so complicated," he 
mumbles, his voice 
tired. "Why can't you just 
play the game like 
everyone else?" He yells
tipping the board over to
where the chess pieces
fall to the ground by Plankton.

Plankton's antennas 
shiver at the sound, and 
his eye dart to the 
upset board, his 
expression one of deep 
distress. "No fish," he 
whispers, his voice 
breaking.
Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, 
his suspicion growing. 
"What's going on with 
you?" he asks again.

"Fish, fish, fish!" 

new a journey to autism gamefic vi

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vi
(Autistic author)

Plankton holds up the science book
he had been clutching, the
pages fluttering in his excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick to the book,
then back to Plankton's face.
"You're acting
different."

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stilling momentarily. "No bad,"
he insists, his voice a bit too
cheerful. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search Plankton's,
trying to read the truth behind
his words. "But you've never
been this... affectionate before,"
he says, his voice tentative.

Plankton's smile widens. "Sponge
Bob," he says, his voice a sing-song.
"You are good friend." He leans
in closer, his antennas quivering.
"Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen further,
his spongy cheeks reddening. "Plankton,
what's going on?" he asks, his
tone filled with confusion. "You've
never said that before."

Plankton's smile only grows
broader. "No bad," he repeats,
his voice still monotone. "Good
day. Happy." He starts to rock
back and forth on the bed, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
seems almost... happy?

Sponge Bob's confusion
deepens. Plankton had never
been one to show affection,
let alone so openly. "What's
going on?" he asks again, his
voice laced with concern.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his eye
locked on Sponge Bob's
face. "Good day," he says, his
hands flapping in a pattern that
matches his words. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in
surprise. Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Very happy,"
he says, his voice high and
excited. "Best friend happy."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "Plankton, are you
okay?" he asks, his voice gentle.

Plankton's giggle turns to a
laugh, a sound Sponge Bob rarely
hears from him. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Happy."

Sponge Bob watches his
friend, his heart racing. "What
happened to you?" he asks, his
concern growing with each passing
moment.

Plankton's laughter fades into
a grin. "No bad," he says, his
hands still fluttering in the
air. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with worry. "What's really going on?"

Plankton's grin turns into a
frown, his hands stopping their
motion. "Sponge Bob," he says,
his voice dropping to a whisper.
"No bad. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he
can't ignore the desperation
in Plankton's tone. He reaches out,
his hand resting gently on
Plankton's arm. "But why are you
so happy?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Plankton's frown deepens,
his mind racing to find the
right words. "Because,"
he says, his voice strained. "I
have friend. Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his hand still on Plankton's
arm. "But we've always been
friends," he says, his voice
filled with confusion.

Plankton's smile is wide, his
eye unblinking. "Yes," he says,
his voice still monotone. "Best
friends. Happy."

Sponge Bob's mind races.
Something is clearly different about
Plankton, but he doesn't know
what. "But, Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "What happened to
make you so... so...?" He struggles
for the right word.

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his gaze dropping to the book
in his lap. "Book," he says, his
voice flat. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, trying to
follow the conversation. "Yeah,
it looks interesting," he says,
his eyes searching for a clue.

But Plankton's gaze is fixed
on the book, his hands
resuming their rhythmic
flapping. "Good book," he repeats,
his voice a gentle mantra.

Sponge Bob's eyes flick from
the book to Plankton's
hands, his mind racing to
connect the dots. "Is something wrong,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping abruptly, his
eye snapping to Sponge Bob's
face. "No wrong," he says, his
voice earnest. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of bewilderment. "But you've
always liked your science books,"
he says, trying to find some
semblance of normalcy in the
situation. "What's different about
this one?"

Plankton's smile returns, his
hands resuming their flapping.
"This one," he says, his voice
filled with a newfound enthusiasm.
"Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy heart swelling with a
mixture of joy and concern.
"What makes this one so special?"

Plankton's hands flutter with
excitement as he opens the book
to a random page. "Look," he says,
his voice a high-pitched squeak.
"See?"

Sponge Bob leans in, his eyes
scanning the dense text filled with
scientific terms. He nods, trying
to appear engaged, though he has
no clue what he's looking at.
"Wow, Plankton," he says, his
voice filled with forced enthusiasm.
"That's... really interesting."

Plankton's smile widens, his
hands flapping in excitement.
"Yes," he says, his voice a
cheerful monotone. "Good book."

Sponge Bob nods, still
confused but not wanting to
rain on his friend's parade. "Well, I'm
glad you're enjoying it," he says,
his voice warm.

Plankton's hands stop moving
momentarily. "Thank you," he says,
his voice sincere. "You are best
friend." He leans in closer, his
antennas quivering with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in surprise
as he feels a sudden wave of warmth
and affection from Plankton, something
that's never been present in their
usually antagonistic friendship.

"What's going on, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice filled with curiosity.
"Why are you being so nice to me?"

Plankton's smile doesn't waver.
"Sponge Bob," he says, his voice
still monotone. "You are good.
You make Plankton happy."

"What's happened to make you 
so affectionate, Plankton?"

Sponge Bob's question hangs in the
air, his curiosity piqued by the
unexpected warmth from his
usually adversarial friend.

Plankton's response is a
repetitive giggle, his hands
resuming their flapping. "No bad,"
he says, his voice cheerful. "Good
day." He pats the bed next to him.
"Sit, Sponge Bob. Read book."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body frozen in place.
"I don't think I can read that,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "It's
really complicated."

Plankton nods, his smile
remaining constant. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice soothing. "You
try." He pushes the book closer
to Sponge Bob, his hand
guiding him to the page.

Sponge Bob hesitates, his
thumb flipping through the pages.
The words are a blur of symbols
and numbers, his mind struggling
to make sense of them. "But,
Plankton, I don't understand any
of this," he admits, his voice
filled with frustration.

Plankton's hand stops him, his
eye wide with excitement. "Doesn't
matter," he says, his voice
cheerful. "You are here. Best
friend."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to concern. "But Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "You're
not acting like yourself."

Plankton's smile fades slightly,
his hands stilling. "Self,"
he repeats, his voice contemplative.
He looks at Sponge Bob, his
eye searching his friend's
face for understanding.

Sponge Bob's expression is one
of confusion and concern. "Is
this a joke?" he asks, his
voice gentle.

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment before growing wider. "No joke,"
he says, his voice a singsong.
"Happy." He pats the bed again,
his hand a silent invitation.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with
compassion. He sits down beside
his friend. "Plankton," he starts, his
voice tentative. "Is everything
ok?"

Plankton nods vigorously,
his hands flapping with
excitement. "Everything is
good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best day."

Sponge Bob's gaze lingers on
his friend, searching for any
sign of distress. "But,
Plankton," he says, his voice
filled with uncertainty. "You're
not usually like this."

Plankton's smile never
fades. "Don't know," he says, his
voice calm. "But now, happy."

Sponge Bob's heart clenches, his
fears for his friend's well-being
growing stronger. "But what
about your schemes?" he asks,
his voice hopeful.

Plankton's eye blinks, the
thought of his usual plans
of world domination momentarily
forgotten. "Schemes?" he repeats,
his voice confused.

Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, you
know, your plans to steal the Krabby
Patty secret formula," he says, his
tone light.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping their flapping. "Krabby Patty?"
he asks, his voice distant. "No want
Krabby Patty. Happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy mind racing. "You don't want
to steal the formula?" he asks, his
voice incredulous, now really
suspicious.

Plankton shakes his head, his
antennas swaying slightly. "No,"
he says, his voice still monotone.
"Only happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled
with confusion, but he can't
ignore the genuine smile on
his friend's face. "Okay, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "If
you're happy, then I'm happy
for you."

Plankton's eye lit up, his
hands flapping with excitement.
"Thank you," he says, his voice
filled with gratitude. "Best
friend." 

new karen and the autistic journey confusedcore vi

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vi
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Plankton's eye 
closed slowly, his 
breathing evening out 
under her calming 
touch. His body 
relaxed into the 
cushions of the couch, 
his mind still racing 
but his body succumbing 
to the siren call of 
sleep. The smoothie 
and Karen's comforting 
presence had 
worked their magic.

Karen sat beside 
him, 
wrapped protectively 
around his small 
form. She watched 
his chest rise and 
fall with each 
breath, her heart 
heavy with the weight 
of the day's events. 
The Chum Bucket 
was quiet now, the 
silence a stark 
contrast to the 
shouts and sobs that 
had filled it moments 
before. Karen's
heart breaks for Plankton
yet she knows Hanna's
never met him, never heard
of the accident nor diagnosis.

With a sigh, she 
picked up the phone 
that lay on the 
end table and 
dialed Hanna's number. 
The line rang once, 
twice, three times 
before Hanna's 
voice filled the 
line. "Hello?"

Karen took a 
deep breath, 
steeling herself for 
the conversation 
she had to have. "Hanna, 
it's me," she 
said, her voice 
calm despite the 
whirlwind inside her.
"I need to talk to 
you about what 
happened."

Hanna's tone 
shifted immediately, 
concern lacing her 
words. "Is Plankton 
okay?"

Karen's grip 
on the phone 
tightened. "No," she 
admitted, her voice 
a whisper. "He's 
asleep now, but he's 
not okay."

Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
shock and 
disbelief. "What do 
you mean?"

Karen took 
another deep 
breath, her eyes 
never leaving 
Plankton's peaceful 
face. "There was 
an accident," she 
began, her voice 
steady. "He hit his 
head and..." She 
swallowed the lump 
in her throat. "Acquired 
Autism Spectrum Disorder."

The line was 
silent for a 
moment before 
Hanna's voice 
came back, filled 
with horror. "Oh 
Neptune, I had 
no idea!"

Karen's tentacles 
trembled slightly 
as she recounted 
the doctor's words, 
the diagnosis that 
had turned their 
world upside down. "It's 
permanent," she 
whispered. "They said 
his corpus callosum 
and cerebellum were 
damaged. He's...he's 
not the same, Hanna."

On the phone, 
Hanna's voice 
was a mix of 
sympathy and 
confusion. "But 
why didn't you tell 
me sooner?"

Karen's sigh 
was heavy with 
regret. "We've 
been dealing with 
this alone," she 
explained, her tentacle 
tracing patterns 
on the couch cushion. 
"It's so new, so 
overwhelming."

Hanna's voice 
was gentle now, 
understanding in a 
way that made Karen 
feel less alone. 
"I'm so sorry, Karen," 
she said, her 
concern genuine. "I 
had no idea."

Karen's 
eyes remained 
locked on Plankton's 
face, his chest rising 
and falling with 
each breath. "It's 
been a rollercoaster," 
she admitted, her 
voice tight. "But 
we're trying to 
make the best of it."

Karen hangs up and
turns her focus back to
Plankton, his small 
body curled tightly 
under the blanket.
She notices 
the way his 
antenna twitches 
as if he's dreaming.

Her hands 
gently adjust the 
blanket, her touch 
feather-light against 
his skin. Plankton's 
face is a mask of 
peace in sleep, a stark 
contrast to the 
turmoil of the 
waking world. His 
snores are faint, a 
soothing rhythm 
that fills the 
otherwise silent room.

Just as Karen 
begins to relax, 
the door to the Chum 
Bucket bursts open, 
letting in a rush 
of sunlight and 
SpongeBob's 
unmistakable 
laughter. "Plankton?" 
he calls out, his 
voice high and 
cheerful.

Sponge Bob's 
entrance is a 
whirlwind of 
energy, a stark 
contrast to the 
heavy silence that 
hangs over the 
laboratory. He 
doesn't notice the 
tension in the 
air as he bounds 
towards the couch, 
his eyes widening 
in surprise when he 
sees Plankton's 
unusual position.

"Whoa, Plankton," 
Sponge Bob says, 
his voice a 
chirp of curiosity. 
"Looks like you're 
taking a siesta!" 
He laughs, not 
comprehending the 
depth of emotion 
that has just 
played out in 
the room.

Karen looks 
up from her 
watchful vigil, 
her eyes tired but 
determined. "Sponge 
Bob," she says, 
keeping her voice 
steady, "Plankton's 
not feeling well."

Sponge Bob's 
face falls, his 
cheerfulness 
dimming. "Oh no," 
he says, his 
concern genuine. 
He approaches 
the couch with 
caution, his eyes 
fixed on Plankton's 
peaceful form.

"What happened?" 
he asks, his 
voice hushed. 
"Is he okay?"

Karen's eyes 
meet Sponge Bob's, 
full of a sorrow 
he can't quite 
comprehend. "It's 
been a...difficult 
day," she says, her 
tentacles tightening 
slightly around 
Plankton. "He had 
an accident."

Sponge Bob's 
expression shifts 
from confusion to 
alarm. "Is he 
going to be okay?" 
he asks, his voice 
filled with 
concern. Karen 
sighs, her tentacle 
stroking Plankton's 
forehead in a 
soothing motion. 
"He's just...different 
now," she says, her 
voice tight.

Sponge Bob 
frowns, his 
bubbles popping 
with worry. "What 
kind of different?"

Karen's 
expression is 
guarded, her 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
form. "He's been 
diagnosed with... 
autism," she 
whispers, the word 
sounding foreign 
even to her.

"Hey, I was born with
idiopathic Autism!" 
Sponge Bob says.

"Well Plankton's got
an acquired form, it's
a rarity," Karen 
explains to Sponge
Bob, her voice 
barely a murmur so 
as not to disturb 
the sleeping Plankton.
Sponge Bob nods 
slowly, his 
understanding of 
the situation 
deepening with 
each word.

"So his accident gave
him autism; when?"

"Yesterday, when he hit 
his head on an invention."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with realization. 
"Oh," he says, 
his voice filled with 
sympathy.

He sits down 
on the floor 
beside the couch.

"It's okay, Karen," 
Sponge Bob says 
softly, his eyes 
full of 
understanding. "We'll 
figure this out 
together."

Plankton stirs 
beneath the 
blanket, his 
small form 
shifting slightly.

Karen's gaze 
snaps to him.

"Plankton?" she 
whispers, her 
tentacles poised 
to comfort him if 
his distress 
resurfaces. But his 
eye remains closed, 
his breathing even.

Sponge Bob's 
expression is 
thoughtful as he 
looks at the 
sleeping Plankton. 
"You know, Karen, 
being different isn't 
so bad," he says 
gently. "I mean, 
look at me."

Karen's tentacles 
relax slightly 
as she looks at 
Sponge Bob, his 
optimism a balm 
to her weary 
spirit. Karen smiles.
"Tell that to Hanna,"
Karen mutters to
herself.

"Who's Hanna?"

"A friend," Karen
explained, her 
voice still tight. 
"She came over 
today, didn't know 
about Plankton's 
diagnosis. She said 
things she shouldn't 
have."

Sponge Bob's 
frown deepens. 
"What kind of 
things?"

"She said 
he's a burden, 
that maybe I should 
put him in an 
institution," she 
whispers, her voice 
shaking with anger.

Sponge Bob's 
face falls in shock. 
"That's not 
right, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You 
don't have to 
listen to her. What's an
institution?"

"It's a place where 
clinically crazy people
are sent to rehabilitation
be 'taken care of.' But 
it's not like that 
really for neurodivergent
people. It's more like 
a...a prison where they 
deprive them, and 
often...never make it.
But mostly it's for people
who are violent, which isn't
the case for..."

Her voice trails off as
Plankton stirs again, 
his antennae twitching 
slightly.

Sponge Bob looks at 
Plankton, his eyes 
filled with 
compassion. "He's not 
going anywhere, Karen," 
he says firmly. "You guys 
are like family to 
me. I'll help you 
take care of him."

Plankton's single 
eye opens slightly, 
his gaze unfocused.

"Shh, it's okay," 
she whispers, her 
voice a soothing 
caress.

Plankton blinks 
slowly, his eye 
coming into focus 
as he sees Sponge 
Bob.

A smile 
spreads across his 
face, a rare 
expression of pure 
joy that lights up 
his features. His 
body uncoils from 
its tense curl, 
his antennae 
perking up with 
excitement.

"Sponge Bob," 
Plankton whispers, 
his voice filled with 
a warmth that 
surprises Karen. 
He sits up slowly, 
his movements 
calculated to 
avoid any jolts 
to his sensitive 
system.

Sponge Bob's face 
splits into a 
beaming smile, 
his eyes 
shining with 
joy. "Hey, Plankton!" 
He says.

Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on 
Sponge Bob, his 
expression a 
mixture of 
gratitude and 
comfort. "You're 
here," he says 
simply, his voice 
a rough whisper.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his smile never 
wavering. "Of course 
I am," he says, 
his voice gentle. 
He reaches out 
a hand tentatively, 
his movements 
slow and deliberate.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, then he 
reaches out, 
his grip firm but 
not too tight. 
The two of them 
sit there, 
the silence 
comforting rather 
than oppressive.



**NOTEs As an autistic
writer (and I used AI to
help me with the words)
I do not encourage the
ableism people have
shown in their ignorance.
Depending on when and
where you live, some
people have thought 
such therapies might be
good, without actually
accepting nor helping.
Even Hans Asperger
has supported eugenics
during the war, sending
people to internment
camps leading to demise.
I came across the site 
autismmemorial.wordpress.com
if you'd like to educate yourself
about how people have
endured such.*

new neurobehavioral plankton comfortfic vi

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY vi
(Autistic author)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new a life of diversity jellycore vi

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new 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.

🎱🎱🎱🎱

new eight ball

⩇⩇:⩇⩇↺⭒

new infinity cute aestetic star eight cute symbols

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

      ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆
     

new eighteen eight ten girly

JUST A TOUCH x
(Autistic author)


SpongeBob rushes over, his
face a mask of worry. "You okay,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.
But Plankton can't answer. His
body is rigid, his eye unfocused.

Squidward's tentacle retreats,
his expression a mix of shock
and confusion. "What's going
on?" he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob's eyes are wide
with concern. "Hello?"
Plankton doesn't
even blink, his eye
remains unseeing, his body a statue
to the chaos around him.

Squidward, still holding
the dish, watches with a mix of
fear and confusion. "What's
happening to him?"

Sponge Bob's heart races as he
sees his friend frozen. "Hey,
Plankton," he says. "It's just a party."
But the words fall on deaf
ears—or rather, one deaf eye.

Plankton's antennae remain
still, his body rigid. The room's
chaos has ceased to exist for
him, lost in the vacuum of his
seizure.

Sponge Bob's voice, usually
so boisterous, is now a gentle
whisper. "Plankton?" he says,
his hand hovering over his
friend.

Squidward, his eyes wide,
stammers. "Is he...? Is he
okay, or?"

It's something that
has to run its course,
which of course neither
Squidward nor Sponge
Bob realize.

Squidward's tentacle
shakes Plankton gently,
his voice filled with
concern. "Plankton?" he
repeats, his tone softer
now. Plankton's antennae
remain still, his body a
statue in the bustling
kitchen. The dish clatter
fades to background
noise, the laughter from
the party a distant echo.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes,
his eyes never leaving
Plankton's unseeing gaze.
He's seen his friend in
tough spots before, but
this... this is something
new, something scary.
He takes a deep breath, his
thumbs tucked into his
pockets as he tries to
think. What do you do?
What helps when someone
you care about is stuck in
this kind of loop or what
ever this is...

Squidward, usually so quick
to snap and complain, is
silent, his tentacles
poised but not moving.
He watches, his eyes flicking
between the unmoving Plankton
and SpongeBob.

The room's cacophony fades
away as the realization hits
them—Plankton's in trouble.
Sponge Bob's smile is gone,
replaced with a furrowed brow
and a quivering bottom lip.

Squidward, still holding the
now forgotten plate, feels a
pang of guilt. He'd seen the
stress in Plankton's antennae,
heard the urgency in his
voice, but had dismissed it.
Now he's not sure what to do.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen,
his spongy body tense with
worry. He's seen Plankton
upset before, but never like
this. "I think we should set him
down," he suggests, his voice
barely a whisper. "On the floor.."

They gently lower Plankton
to the cool tiles, his body
unyielding. Squidward sets the
dish aside, his tentacles
shaking slightly. "What do we do?"
he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob's eyes never leave
Plankton's face, his heart
pounding in his chest. He's seen
his friend in tough spots before,
but this... this is something
else entirely.

Squidward, his tentacles still
shaking, stammers. "What do we do?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.
They both know Plankton isn't okay.

Sponge Bob takes a deep breath,
his eyes never leaving Plankton's
motionless form. "Get Karen. Now."

Squidward nods, his tentacles
moving in a blur as he rushes
to find her. The party's music
thumps in the background, a stark
contrast to the silence of the kitchen
where Plankton sits. Sponge Bob
kneels beside him, his hand hovering
over Plankton's shoulder, unsure of
what to do next. His heart races
as he watches his friend's chest
rise and fall in the rhythm of a silent
symphony only Plankton can hear.

Karen looks up at the sound
of Squidward running in.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her
voice filled with alarm.
Squidward's tentacles flap
wildly. "It's Plankton! He's...
he's just... not moving!"

Karen's eyes widen, and she
rushes into the restaurant,
Squidward's words echoing in
her mind. Plankton sits on
the floor, his body unnaturally
still, his antennae drooping.
Her heart skips a beat as she
sees his vacant gaze. She
recognizes the signs—this is
the second time she's seen
an absence seizure take hold
of him.

She kneels beside Sponge Bob,
whose expression is a mix of
fear and confusion.

"He's having a seizure," Karen
whispers, her voice a calming
breeze in the chaotic kitchen.
Her hand, now gentle and firm,
guides Plankton's head to the
floor. "He'll wake up.
We've got to keep him safe."

Sponge Bob nods, his eyes
wide with concern. He's seen
his friend in tough spots before,
but this... this is something
beyond his usual quirks. Plankton's
tiny body is a stark contrast
to the monstrous fear gripping
his heart.

The kitchen is a blur of
movement around them, but Karen's
calm presence brings a semblance
of order. She takes over,
her movements precise.

"Don't touch him," she says,
her voice a gentle command. "Just
let it run its course."
Squidward nods, his tentacles
still, his eyes on Plankton.
Sponge Bob's face is a mask of
worry, his eyes never leaving
his friend's unresponsive form.

Mr. Krabs' beady eyes narrow,
his voice a gruff whisper.
"What's going on?"

Karen's voice is calm,
but her heart races. "It's okay,"
she says, her hand resting
on Plankton's back. "It's just
a part of his new... condition."

Mr. Krabs' expression
softens, his eyes flicking
from Plankton to Karen. "Is
he going to be okay?"

"Yes," Karen says firmly,
her hand still on Plankton's
back. "It's just a seizure.
They can happen with... his
autism..."

Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, but
his expression quickly morphs
into something more thoughtful.
"I see," he says, his voice
lowered. "I had no idea."

"He got a brain injury,
Mr. Krabs," Karen says.
"Yesterday, in an accident.."

Mr. Krabs nods, his gaze
on Plankton's unmoving form.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice
genuine. "What happened?"

Karen swallows, her eyes
welling with tears. "They said it's
Acquired Autism. It's like
his brain got... rewired."
Her hand strokes Plankton's back
soothingly. "He's the same, but
different."

Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his
claws clenching. "Well, we'll
make do," he says gruffly. "This
is still the same Plankton who
tried to steal the Krabby Patty
formula, right?"

Karen's eyes flash with a
mix of anger and protectiveness.
"Yes," she says firmly. "But
now he needs our help. And our
understanding. He hasn't mentioned
it once since.."

Her voice trails off as Plankton's
eye flickers.

Slowly, his antennae
unfreeze, twitching slightly.
The world starts to come back into
focus, the colors and sounds
gradually seeping back into his
consciousness. Sponge Bob's hand
is still hovering over him, his
face a canvas of relief and
uncertainty.

"Plankton?" Sponge Bob
whispers, his voice tentative.
Plankton's eye blinks once,
twice, and he looks around,
his gaze landing on Squidward.

Squidward's tentacles are
still, his expression a mix
of fear and confusion. Plankton
slowly sits up, his antennae
twitching as he takes in the scene.
The dish is forgotten, the
need for order lost in the fog
of his seizure.

"Welcome back," Sponge Bob
says, his voice a mix of relief
and anxiety. Plankton's antennae
wave slightly as he looks around,
his gaze settling on the plate
still in Squidward's tentacle.
"It's okay," Karen says gently,
her hand resting on his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae twitch as
his brain reboots, trying to
process the scene before him.
"Dishes," he murmurs, his voice
still flat.

Squidward watches him, his
tentacle hovering over the sink.
"Let me handle this," he says,
his voice apologetic. "You... you just
take it easy."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still. The chaos of the kitchen
fades away as he focuses on
his friend's kindness. "Thank you,"
he whispers, his voice a soft
echo of its former self. "All of you.."

new just a touch neurodisability x

JUST A TOUCH v
(Autistic author)


Hanna's confusion is clear
as she watches Karen crouch
before Plankton, her hand hovering
an inch from his shoulder.
"Plankton, sweetie," Karen says,
her voice a gentle coax. "It's just
me." No indication from Plankton
though.

Hanna's eyes dart from
Karen to Plankton and back,
trying to piece together what
has happened. "What's wrong with
him?" she whispers.

"He's just overwhelmed,"
Karen says, her voice tight with
frustration.

Hanna looks 
from Karen 
to Plankton,
his body rigid.

"What happened?"
she asks again, her voice
laced with concern. Karen
sighs heavily, her eyes
full of pain. "Plankton
has Acquired Autism."

The words hang in
the air like a heavy
cloud, casting a shadow
over the room. Hanna's
face falls, her hand
covering her mouth in shock.

"Oh no," she murmurs,
realizing her mistake. "I didn't know."
Her eyes dart to Plankton,
his body still frozen, his
gaze vacant. "I'm so sorry."
She says, reaching for him
again as Karen's.

Karen's hand shoots out,
stopping her mid-air. "No, don't,"
she says firmly. "He's hypersensitive
now. Sometimes touch can be...
painful."

Hanna's hand retreats, her eyes
widening. "I didn't know," she
whispers, her voice filled with regret.
"I just wanted to be friendly."

Karen's expression softens slightly.
"It's okay," she says, her voice
calming. "You couldn't have
known." But Plankton remains
still, his eye unblinking.

"Plankton," Karen whispers,
her hand reaching for his.
He doesn't flinch this time,
his body still as stone. She
squeezes gently, hoping the
familiar gesture will bring him
back. "You're safe at home."

Hanna watches, her
heart heavy with guilt. She had
no idea her enthusiasm could
have such a profound effect on him.
"What can I do?" she asks,
her voice shaky.

Karen looks up, her eyes
tired. "Just give us some
space," she says. "Let me...
let me help him."

Hanna nods, her own screen
brimming with unshed tears.
"Of course," she murmurs, backing
away.

Plankton remains frozen,
his gaze locked on the floor.
Karen wraps her arms around
his shoulders.

"It's okay, Plankton," she whispers,
her voice soothing. "You're
safe here." She rubs his arm
lightly, the way she's learned
not to cause him discomfort.

He doesn't move, but she
can feel the tension slowly
leaving his body. His antennae
lift slightly.

"You're okay," Karen repeats,
her voice a gentle murmur. "Just
breathe."

Slowly, Plankton's body begins
to relax, his antennae
twitching as he takes in her
words. Hanna watches from
a distance. "I'm sorry," she says,
her voice quieter. "I didn't
know. I didn't mean to..."
Her words trail off, but Karen
simply nods, her eyes not
leaving Plankton's. "It's okay,"
she repeats. "We're still
learning."

Hanna sits on the edge of the
sofa, her eyes never leaving
them. She feels like an intruder,
a bull in a china shop. She
had come to offer support,
but instead, she'd triggered something
deep within him. The room
feels heavy with unspoken words.

"I didn't mean to push him,"
she says, her voice barely a whisper.
"I just didn't know." Karen's grip
on Plankton tightens slightly,
but she doesn't look up. "It's okay,"
she says again, her voice a lifeline
in the quiet. "It's a lot to take in."

Hanna nods, her screen filling
with tears she quickly wipes away.
"But I'll learn," she says, her
determination clear. "I want to be
a good friend to both of you."

Plankton's antennae quiver, a
faint glimmer of recognition
flickering in his eye. Karen
nods.

"Thank you," she murmurs, her voice
barely audible. Hanna watches
as Karen's gentle touch seems to
break through the barriers Plankton
has erected. His body slowly
unfurls from his rigid stance,
his gaze shifting from the floor
to meet Karen's.

"It's okay," Karen repeats,
her voice a balm. "Let's go to
our room. You need to rest."
Plankton nods slightly, allowing
her to guide him away from
the living room.

Hanna watches them go, her heart
aching for her friend. She knows
she's overstayed her welcome,
but she can't bear to leave without
apologizing to Plankton. "I'll go,"
she says, her voice thick.

Karen turns, her screen
swimming with unshed tears.
"Thank you, Hanna," she says,
her voice hoarse.

Hanna nods, her own eyes
shimmering. "Call me if you
need anything," she says, her
voice thick with emotion. She
stands, her legs feeling like
jelly, and makes her way
to the door, her heart
heavy with the weight of
what she's done.

The moment the door clicks shut,
Karen feels the tension in the
room dissipate slightly. Plankton's
body relaxes a fraction, his
eye no longer staring blankly
at the floor. She leads him
to their bedroom, the familiar
surroundings seeming to soothe
his frazzled nerves.

Once inside, she helps him
into bed, the softness of the
covers a stark contrast to the
rigidness of his body. She pulls
the curtains shut, dimming the
lights to reduce the sensory
stimulation. Plankton's antennae
twitch, a sign of his relief.
Karen sits beside him.

"I'm sorry," she whispers,
her voice thick with emotion.
"I didn't know she'd..."

Plankton's gaze meets hers,
his eye less intense now. "It's okay,"
he says, his voice monotone. "Just need...
quiet."

Karen nods, her hand
still resting on his shoulder.
"I'm here," she says. "I'm always here."

new just a touch hannacore v

JUST A TOUCH i
(Autistic author)

ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ

"You know, I've never 
seen a sunset quite 
like this," Karen said, 
her screen glued to 
the horizon.

Her husband, Plankton, 
nodded absentmindedly. 
He was too focused on 
tightening the bolts on 
the railing of their Chum 
Bucket home.

As the sun dipped,
Plankton's wrench slipped,
striking him on the head.
With a sharp clang and a 
muted cry, he staggered back,
his eye glazed over with 
surprise and pain as he
falls to the ground, landing
on his head with a thud.

Karen's hand flew to her screen,
stifling a scream as she
raced towards him. Plankton's
body was eerily still.

Her eyes filled with 
fear and love, she 
knelt beside him,
his head cradled in her
slender hands. "Plankton,"
she whispered urgently, "are
you okay?" There was no 
response, not even a 
twitch of his antennae.
His eye remained closed.

"Plankton!" she
shouted, louder this time,
her voice cracking with
concern. The sound of
his name echoed through
their silent abode. "Wake up,
please," she pleaded,
tears threatening to spill.
The setting sun cast
long shadows over his
motionless body, the
once bright hues of their
underwater home now
overshadowed by a dark
sense of dread.

With trembling hands,
she checked for a pulse,
feeling the steady rhythm
of his heart beating.
Relief flooded through her,
but she knew she had to act
quickly.

"I have to get him to a hospital,"
she thought, her mind racing.

Karen carefully scooped Plankton
into her arms and went with determination
to the Bikini Bottom Hospital. The nurse,
a stern-faced starfish, took one
look at the unconscious Plankton
and ushered them straight through
to an examination room, Karen's 
grip on Plankton's hand tight.

The doctor, a squid with a
comforting smile, took over,
his tentacles moving swiftly
over Plankton's tiny frame.

"Ma'am, we need to check
his head for any damage,"
he said, gently patting her
hand. Karen nodded,
swiping at her eyes with
the back of her arm.

The doctor led them to
a room filled with high-tech
equipment that whirred and
glowed. He placed Plankton
on a shiny, cold table. The
machines beeped and
hummed as they searched
for any signs of trauma.

Karen held her breath,
watching the squid doctor's
face for any hint of what
he might find. The doctor's
tentacles danced over a
console, reading the results.
Finally, he turned to Karen.

"Ma'am, it appears your husband
has sustained an irreversible brain
condition from his fall," he said
softly. Karen's grip tightened
on Plankton's hand. "But it's not
all bad," he quickly added.
"The injury has led to the
development of Autism in
his brain. The condition's called
Acquired Autism."

Her eyes widened. "What does
that mean for him?" she asked,
trying to keep her voice steady.
The doctor's smile was warm,
his tentacles still. "It means
his brain will process things
differently. It could enhance
his cognitive abilities in certain
areas, but it may also present
challenges in others."

The news hit Karen like
a tidal wave. Autism. A word
she had heard before, but never
thought would be a part of
their lives. "How will this
change him?" she managed
to ask, her voice barely above
a whisper.

The doctor took a deep
breath and began to explain.
"Plankton may exhibit
behaviors that are different
from before, such as repetitive
actions or heightened sensitivity
to stimuli. His social
interactions might be affected
as well. But, on the positive
side, we've seen patients with
Acquired Autism develop
extraordinary talents in areas
like memory or problem-
solving."

Karen nodded, trying
to absorb the information.
The doctor's tentacles curled
around a clipboard, jotting
down notes. "He can go home
tonight, and, he'll be able to
adapt to his new reality with
your patience and love. You
may need to accommodate
for his comfort, there's no
treatment or cure. You can
leave whenever he wakes up
shortly after we assess and
answer any questions."

Karen nods and leaned over
Plankton, stroking his cheek.
"We'll get through this,"
she whispered. "Together."

As the doctor
sat by them, Karen
was overwhelmed by a
flurry of questions and fears.
How would Plankton be different?
Would he still love her?
Would he remember their life
together? The quiet beeps
of the hospital machines
were a stark reminder of the
new reality they faced.

The doctor's gentle
explanation was a beacon of
hope in the storm of
uncertainty. Plankton might
see the world in a new light,
his mind unlocking puzzles
and patterns that had
eluded him before. But the
thought of her husband,
the man she had spent her
life with, changing so fundamentally...

As the doctor finished up,
Plankton's single eye fluttered
open, focusing on her screen.
Karen leaped
as she saw the spark of
recognition. "Karen?" he
said, his voice faint but clear.

Her heart soared with
relief. "Yes, Plankton, it's me,"
she said, her voice choked
with emotion. But as she
watched him closely, she
noticed something different.
His gaze was intense, his movements
precise and calculated.
He took in every detail of
the room, his eye darting around
quickly, absorbing everything.

His voice, when he
spoke again, had a new
rhythm to it, almost as if he
was reciting a script from
memory. "Where?" he
asked, the words clipped and
quick. Karen took his hand,
squeezing it reassuringly. "You're
in the hospital, Plankton,"
she said softly. "You had an accident.
You hit your head
and it changed
your brain."

The doctor cleared his
throat, sensing her tension.
"It's common for patients
with Acquired Autism
to exhibit heightened focus
and a need for routine. It
will take time for you to learn
how to communicate effectively
with him in this new state,"
he explained. Karen nodded,
determined to be there every
step of the way.

new just a touch karankton i

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

JUST A TOUCH iii
(Autistic author)

 ¦ ᶠˡⁱⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ

Once home, she helped him
settle into his favorite chair,
his eye scanning the room.
Everything was in its place,
exactly as he liked it. Karen
noticed his breathing slow
as the familiarity washed over
him. She knew that routine
and order could be vital to his
comfort now to avoid
triggering his anxiety.

Then suddenly, Plankton
began to rock back and forth.

Karen recognized the motion.
It was a new behavior, one
she hadn't seen before. His
body swayed with a rhythm that
matched the ticking of the
antique clock on the wall. "It's okay,
sweetie," she said, trying to keep
her voice steady. "We're home now."

The rocking grew more intense,
his eye darting around the room,
his antennae vibrating with each
back-and-forth movement. Karen's
mind raced, trying to remember
the doctor's words. Sensory
overload. He needed calm.

Swiftly, she dimmed the lights,
the neon signs from the Krabby Patty
franchise across the street casting
soothing shadows through the windows.
The glow was just enough to
illuminate the space without
causing further distress, and
she watched as Plankton's rocking
subsided. She sat by him.

She grasped and squeezed
his shoulder. But
this time, he flinched.
"Plankton?" she asked,
concern etching her voice.
He pulled away from her,
his antennae dropping to
his side.

The doctor had
mentioned that some with
autism might have heightened
sensitivity to touch.
Karen felt a knot in her
stomach. "What if he
doesn't like me touching
him anymore?" she thought.
"What if I can't comfort
him when he's upset?"

She decided to
test the waters gently.
Reaching out, she lightly
trailed her finger over his
hand. Plankton didn't react. Encouraged,
she placed her hand on
his shoulder again,
this time more softly.
He tensed, then relaxed.
It was progress.

"Let's start with simple touch,"
she said, her voice soothing.

The doctor had mentioned that
Plankton might be hypersensitive
to certain types of touch,
and Karen was determined to
navigate this new aspect of their
relationship with care. She placed
a gentle hand on his knee, and Plankton
flinched, his antennae retreating.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice
as soothing as a lullaby. "It's just me, Karen."
Her hand hovered over his, unsure
of the best way to provide comfort.

Karen took a deep breath,
deciding to try again. This time,
she approached with care, her touch
feather-light, gliding over his hand
like the softest of sea breezes.

Plankton's antennae twitched, and
his gaze remained on her hand,
watching the movement as if it were
the most fascinating thing he had
ever seen. Gradually, the tension in
his body eased, and his hand
lifted to meet hers. It was a tentative
touch, his fingers brushing against
hers, testing the waters.

Karen felt a rush of
relief. "See, it's okay," she murmured,
keeping her voice low and even.
Plankton's hand was cold, his grip
firm but not painful. His eye
locked onto hers, searching for
reassurance.

Slowly, she began to stroke his
hand with her thumb, applying
the slightest pressure. His breathing
evened out, his antennae rising slightly.
Encouraged, she tried a different
type of touch—a gentle squeeze.
This time, he didn't flinch. Instead,
his hand returned the gesture,
his own grip matching hers in strength.

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
"Maybe we can find a way
through this," she thought.

They sat in silence for
a few moments, their hands
entwined, as Karen tried to
think of the next step. The
doctor's words echoed in her
mind: find what works for him.

Gently, she began to rub
his hand, her thumb moving in
small, soothing circles. Plankton
seemed to find comfort in the
predictable pattern, his body
unwinding a fraction more.
Encouraged, Karen leaned in closer,
her other hand reaching out
to tap his shoulder. But as soon
as her hand made contact with
his skin, he jerked away, his
eye flashing with fear and
pain.

"I'm sorry," she said
quickly, her heart racing.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
Plankton stared at her, his
expression unreadable. "It's just,
sometimes touch feels..." His words
trailed off, and Karen felt her
own fear rising.

"Painful?" she guessed, her voice
trembling. Plankton nodded,
his antennae drooping. "Some
touches are okay, others..."
He paused, his eye darting
to his hand, which was still
wrapped around hers. "It's confusing."

Karen nodded, her heart
aching for him. She
knew she had to be more mindful
of his sensory needs. Carefully,
she pats his cheek with
the back of her hand, the lightest
of touches.

Plankton's antennae
flinched, but he didn't pull
away until she put both of
her hands on his shoulders. The
sudden pressure was too much,
like an electric shock. "Karen,"
he said, his voice tight with
discomfort, "too much."

Karen nodded, her
hands retreating to her lap.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice
small. "I didn't mean to..."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching hers. "It's okay,
Karen," he said, his voice measured.
"But some touches are too much."

Karen nodded, her heart
heavy. She had so much to learn
about this new Plankton, this
person she knew so well yet
barely knew at all. "I'll be
more careful," she promised,
squeezing his hand gently.

Plankton's gaze remained
steady on hers, his expression
neutral. "Thank you, Karen,"
he said, giving her a side hug.

This was a Plankton she had
never seen before, one who
spoke in a staccato rhythm,
his movements precise and
calculated. Yet, in the safety
of their home, Karen saw
glimpses of the man she knew.

Her eyes fell upon a
pamphlet the doctor had
given her, titled 'Understanding
Neurodivergence'. She picked
it up and began to read.

The first few pages were
dedicated to explaining
what it meant to be neurodivergent,
how it wasn't an illness
but a natural variation in the
brain. Plankton's new
condition, Acquired Autism, was one of
the many spectrums that
fell under this umbrella.

Karen read through
the descriptions of different
behaviors, her eyes widening
as she recognized some
of the changes in Plankton—
his need for order, his heightened
sensitivity to stimuli, and his
newfound obsessions. The
pamphlet explained that these were
common in individuals with
his condition and offered
optional suggestions for 
supporting them.

Her gaze fell upon a section titled
'Seizure Protocols'.

Karen's eyes widened as she
read about the different types
of seizures that could occur
due to neurodivergence.
Some were minor, like staring
spells, while others could be
more severe. Her heart raced
as she thought of Plankton,
his body stiffening and shaking.
The pamphlet recommended to
keep any sharp or harmful
objects away from him. It was
important not to restrain him,
but instead, to gently guide him
to the floor if necessary.

The next section discussed
how to communicate with someone
on the spectrum. It suggested
using clear, direct language,
avoiding sarcasm and idioms.
Karen realized that she would
have to learn a new way
of speaking with Plankton.

Her screen skimmed over
the pages, absorbing the
information like a sponge.
The pamphlet highlighted the
importance of individuality
and diversity, emphasizing
that Plankton's brain was not
broken, but simply wired differently.
This was a concept she had
heard of before, but it had
never hit so close to home.

The causes of neurodisability
varied widely, from genetics
to congenital to trauma.
One paragraph caught her
attention—brain injuries
could lead to conditions like
Acquired Autism. The words
swirled in her mind, a stark
reminder of the wrench that
had changed everything.

As Karen read on, she
learned about the complex
interplay of biological factors
and life experiences that can shape
a person's neurodivergence.
It was both overwhelming and
fascinating, a glimpse into a world
she had never truly understood.

new just a touch neurodivergentcore iii

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

new vii mercaptan xvi

JUST A TOUCH iv
(Autistic author)


The next day, Karen woke up
to a meticulously organized
kitchen. Plankton was already
up, his movements sharp and
focused as he arranged the
cutlery in the drawer. "Good
morning, Plankton," she said,
her voice tentative.

He looked up, his expression
neutral. "Good morning, Karen,"
he replied, his voice monotone.
Her heart squeezed. This was
not the man who used to greet
her with a cheeky smile and a sigh 
every morning. But she pushed the
sorrow aside and focused on
the task at hand: making
breakfast.

As she began to prep the
meal, Plankton hovered nearby,
his antennae twitching.

"Would you like to help me?"
she asked, holding out a spatula.
He took it with both hands,
his movements mechanical as he
followed her instructions to the
letter. The sizzle of the
chum on the pan seemed to
calm him, his gaze flicking
between her face and the food.

Plankton's meticulousness
extended to their breakfast.
Every ingredient measured to
the exact milliliter, every
step in the recipe followed
without deviation. Karen
watched him, a mix of amazement
and sadness swirling inside her.

As they sat down to eat,
Karen noticed his eye darting
between his plate and the clock.
"Is something wrong?" she
asked, trying to keep her voice
light. Plankton's gaze snapped
to hers, his antennae still. "Must eat at 7:00,"
he said, his voice tight. "It's okay,
we're a little late," she said,
trying to soothe him. "But we're
together, and that's what
matters."

Plankton took a bite of
his perfectly arranged breakfast,
his eye not leaving the clock.
"Seven minutes, thirty-four seconds
until 7:00," he murmured. Karen's
throat tightened, but she forced
a smile. "We'll be done before
then," she assured him.

The meal was finished in
silence, Plankton's precision
contrasting with Karen's
clumsy attempts to match his rhythm.
As they cleared the table,
his movements were a dance
of order and control, while
hers were stilted, filled with
nervous glances.

In the living room, Plankton
moved to his favorite chair,
his eye immediately drawn to
the bookshelf. His gaze
flitted over the books. Karen
watched, her heart heavy with
the weight of their new reality.

The doctor had suggested
that engaging in familiar activities
could help with the transition.
Hoping to ease the tension, she
offered, "Would you like a work
book?"

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. Karen retrieved one from
his collection, handing it to
him with care. He took it in his
hands. It was clear that
his intellect had not been
diminished, but rather had been
reshaped by his condition.

Moments later, Hanna
came in. She knows
Karen's married, but
she doesn't know any
thing else about Plankton.

Hanna's smile was wide
and welcoming as she
saw the two of them. "Hi,
I'm Karen's friend Hanna,"
she said, extending a hand.
Plankton looked at it and
then went back to his book.

Karen stepped in, her voice
soft. "Plankton, this is
Hanna," she said, gesturing
between them. "Hanna, this
is my husband, Plankton."
Hanna's smile faltered
slightly, noticing the
distance in Plankton's gaze.

"Hi, Plankton," Hanna said,
her tone gentle. "It's nice
to meet you." Plankton's antennae
twitched, his gaze shifting
to her briefly before returning
to the book.

Karen watched the
interaction, her heart racing.
How would Hanna react to him?
Will Plankton like her? Would she
still want to be friends with
her?

Hanna looked from Karen
to Plankton and back, her smile
slightly puzzled. "Is he okay?"
she asked quietly. Karen nodded.
"He's just focused" she said, her voice
hitching. "I'll go fix us up some
chumbalaya."

After Karen left, Hanna sat
right up next to Plankton.

"Hi, Plankton," she said again.
He glanced at her, then back
at his book. She waited, leaning
forward slightly.

Finally, he spoke without looking up.
"Hello, Hanna. Karen's friend. Good."
It was a statement, not
a question or a greeting. Her curiosity
was piqued by this odd behavior.

Hanna watched as Plankton
continued to study the book, his
tiny hands flipping pages with a
quickness she hadn't seen before.
He was like a different creature,
his movements calculated. She knew
something was off, but she wasn't sure
what. So she decides to try getting him
to interact.

"What are you reading?"
she asked, leaning closer.
Plankton's antennae shot up.
"It's a book," he replied,
his voice flat.

Hanna laughed, mistaking
his bluntness for shyness.
"I know that," she said, her tone
playful as she leaned closer.
"But what's it about?"

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his eye narrowing
slightly. "It's about... puzzles?"

Hanna's eyes widened. "Puzzles?"
she repeated, leaning in even closer.
Her proximity was making him uncomfortable,
his body stiffening like a board.
"What kind of puzzles?"

Plankton's gaze darted to her
before returning to the book.
"Word's," he said, his voice
sharp as he focused on the page.
The way he said it was a clear
message to back off, but Hanna
was oblivious to the cues.

"Oh, words puzzles!" she exclaimed,
clapping her hands together.
"I love those! Can I see?"
Without waiting for an answer,
she reached for the book, brushing
against his hand. Plankton
flinched, his antennae drooping.

Hanna's cheerfulness didn't wane
as she flipped through the pages,
exclaiming over the puzzles.
"This looks like FUN!" she said, 
not taking note of how Plankton's
body was taut with tension.

"It's a good book," Plankton said,
his voice devoid of emotion.
He was trying to be polite, but
the sensory overload was
building inside him. The way
she talked, the way she moved,
the sound of her voice—it was
all too much.

Hanna, still beaming,
turned the page and pointed at
a particularly complex puzzle.
"Look at this one! Can you do it?"
she challenged, her finger
tapping the page impatiently.
Plankton's eye 
darted to the puzzle,
his mind racing. 
He didn't want to disappoint
but the pressure
was too intense. 
He can't think!

"Sure," he stuttered,
his voice small. 
Hanna clapped her hands, 
excitedly. "Great! Let's see
how fast you can solve it!"

Plankton felt his heart
racing, his antennae drooping.
The pressure to perform
was suffocating him.
He looked at the puzzle,
his mind racing through possible
word combinations, his eye
darting from letter to letter, but
Hanna interrupts him again.

"Come on, Plankton! I bet
you're really good at these!"
Her excitement was palpable,
but Plankton could only feel
his chest tightening. He wanted
to scream, to tell her to stop,
but the words remained trapped
behind the wall of his new
social ineptitude.

He took the book, his
hands shaking slightly as
his eye scanned the puzzle.
The letters swam before him,
his mind racing to keep up with
the barrage of sensory input.

"Don't be shy," she said,
nudging him. "You can do it!"

Plankton felt the weight of
Hanna's enthusiasm like an
anvil on his shoulders. His
grip on the book tightened.
He had always been good at
word puzzles, but now they
felt like a labyrinth with no
exit. The room spun around
him, the pressure to perform
building like a storm in
his chest.

But Hanna's energy
was like a tsunami, unstoppable.
"You know, I used to be really
bad at these," she said,
sitting closer, her knees
touching his. "But I got so much
better with practice!"

Plankton felt his skin
crawl, the need to escape
intensifying. He was trapped
in a conversation he hadn't
asked for, with a person who
was oblivious to his plight.
He took a deep breath,
his eye scanning the room
for a way out.

"How about we try one
together?" Hanna suggested,
her voice bubbly. Plankton's
heart hammered in his chest.

Hanna didn't seem to notice
his distress, her screen shining
with excitement. "It'll be
fun! Just tell me the letters
you see, and I'll guess the words!"

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his shoulders tense. He
wanted to scream, to tell
her to leave him alone. But
his newfound condition made
the words catch in his throat.

"Fine," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. Hanna's
screen lit up, and she leaned in
even closer. "Great!" she exclaimed.
"I'll start with 'C'. What
do you see?"

Plankton's gaze remained
steadfast on the book, his
eye darting from letter to letter.
He can't see anything with all...

Hanna's voice cut through
his thoughts like a knife,
sharp and demanding. "C'mon,
Plankton, don't be shy! Tell me
what you see!" Her hand reached
out, grabbing his arm. The sudden
touch sent a jolt through him.

Plankton flinched, his
body reacting before his mind
could form a coherent thought.
His antennae shot up, and he
pulled away, knocking over
the book in the process. The
sound echoed in the room like
thunder.

Hanna's smile faltered,
confusion clouding her features.
"What's wrong?" she asked,
genuinely concerned as she
cups his head; and that's it.

The dam bursts. Plankton's
body goes rigid, his
eye wide with pain. He can't
take it anymore—the touch,
the noise, the pressure, his hand
flailing to shove her away.

"STOP!" he screams, his
voice cracking.

Hanna's hand retreats as if burned.
Her smile fades, replaced by a
look of shock and concern. "What
happened?" she asks, turning him
towards her with her hands on his
shoulders. Which is when he stops
moving, unblinking as Karen
comes back in.

Karen sets the chumbalaya aside
as she notices his unresponsiveness.

"Plankton?" she calls out,
concern etching her voice.
Hanna turns to her, her eyes wide.
"I don't think he's okay," she says,
her hand hovering over his shoulder.

Karen's heart drops as she
rushes over, her eyes scanning
his frozen form. "It's okay,"
she murmurs, gently guiding
Hanna away. "Let me handle this."

new just a touch hannacore iv

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

8️⃣8️⃣

new eight

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

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iv


(Autistic author)



The front door clicked open, and
Hanna poked her head in, expression
uncertain. "Hi! Is he ok?" she asked,
her voice barely a whisper.

"Come in," Karen called out softly, 
noticing Hanna's worried features.

Hanna stepped into the room, her
movements cautious.

Plankton rocked
slightly in his chair, a subtle
motion that Karen recognized as
his way of self-soothing. It was a
stimming behavior, something he
does now.

Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton,
her gaze questioning. Karen nodded
reassuringly. "He's okay," she
whispered. "He just needs a
moment."

Plankton sat in his chair, his
body moving gently in a rhythmic
rock. It was a new behavior, one
he'd developed since the
diagnosis. Karen had read about
stimming in her research and knew
it helped him to regulate his
sensory input.

Hanna, who had returned with a
cautious hopefulness, took a seat
across from them, curious
as she watched Plankton's
movements.

"What's he doing?" Hanna asked
softly, her voice filled with
concern.

Karen glanced at Plankton,
his body swaying gently in the chair.
"It's called stimming," she explained
calmly. "Plankton, Hanna's here. Do
you want to tell her about what's
happened with you?"

He stopped rocking, his antennae
twitching. He took a deep breath
and nodded slightly.

Hanna leaned in, her eyes full of
sympathy. "What happened, Plankton?"
she asked gently.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae still. "Plankton...
autistic," he murmured, his voice
barely audible.

Hanna's expression shifted from
confusion to concern. "What does
that mean?" she whispered.

Karen took a deep breath,
preparing to explain. "It means
his brain works differently now.
He's more sensitive to sounds,
textures, lights, everything. And
sometimes, it's just too much."

Hanna's eyes widened, her grip
on the chair tightening. 
He swallowed hard, his gaze
dropping to his trembling hands.
"Fight," he began, his voice
still a whisper. "With Krabs."

Her screen filled with
understanding, the pieces
falling into place. "The fight
gave you...this?" she asked, her
voice tentative.

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching slightly. "Krabs hit
head," he murmured. "Too much."
The words were simple, but clear.

Hanna's eyes filled with tears
as she looked from Karen to
Plankton. "Oh, Plankton," she
whispered. "I had no idea."

Plankton nodded slightly, his gaze
fixed on his hands. Karen watched
his struggle to communicate, her
heart breaking for him. She knew
autism was a part of him now.

Hanna reached out tentatively,
her hand hovering over Plankton's
shoulder. "Can I...?"

But Plankton flinched, his antennae
shooting up.

"No," he murmured, his voice
strained.

Hanna's hand hovered in midair,
uncertain. She looked to Karen for
guidance. Karen's expression was
sad, but firm. "He's touch averse now,
Hanna," she said gently. "It's part of
his condition. But thanks for asking."

Hanna nodded, her eyes never leaving
Plankton's. She could see the fear
in his eye, the way he shied away
from her touch. She felt a pang of
regret for her earlier behavior.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice
filled with sincerity. "I'd never hurt you.."

Plankton's gaze remained on the
floor. "No touch," he said firmly, his
voice shaky but determined.

Hanna nodded, her hand dropping
back to her side. "Okay," she whispered,
respect in her tone. "I'll remember." 

The doorbell rang, a sharp
intrusion into the quiet of their
makeshift sanctuary. Plankton's
head snapped up, his antennae quivering
with the sudden noise. Karen
stood quickly, moving to the door.

"I'll get it," she murmured to
Plankton, her hand on the doorknob.
"Remember, it's okay."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. The door swung open to reveal
Karen's gal pal Sandy, face lit up 
with a smile. "Surprise!" she
exclaimed, her voice too loud for
Plankton's heightened hearing.

Sandy didn't notice the tension
in the room, her eyes bright with
excitement. "I brought cookies!"
she chirped, holding out a plate of
sugary goodies.

Plankton flinched at the sound of
her voice, the sudden change in
environment jolting his senses.
He felt his heart rate spike, his
body preparing for fight or flight.

Sandy saw Karen and Hanna sitting
in front of Plankton.
Sandy knew Plankton's always a
loner, so she didn't catch on, nor
does she know about what
happened to him this week.

"Hi Plankton!" she said cheerfully,
completely unaware of the
sensory minefield she'd just
stumbled into.

Plankton's antennae twitched with
discomfort, the sudden burst of
sensory input overwhelming him. He
swallowed hard, trying to
maintain composure.

"Hi, Sandy," Karen said, her
smile forced. She took the plate
of cookies, hoping to diffuse the
situation. "Thanks for the surprise."

But Sandy's gaze was on Plankton,
who sat stiffly in his chair. "Howdy," 
she said, her voice a little
too bright. "How are you?"

Plankton didn't look up, his
body tense.

"Why ain't ya talking?" Sandy
asked, her cheerfulness fading.

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
body tightening. "Sandy," he murmured,
his voice barely audible.

Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes
narrowing. "What's with you?" she
snapped, her voice sharp. "You're
acting weird!"

Plankton flinched at the harsh
tone, his antennae drooping. He
couldn't explain, not with words
that made sense to him. "No."
He says.

Sandy's smile disappeared, replaced
by a scowl. "What do you mean, 'no'?"
she demanded. "I don't get it,
why are you being so rude, even for you?"
Her voice was loud.

Plankton's eye darted around the
room, searching for an escape from
the confrontation. He felt the
familiar panic rising, his heart
beating faster.

But Sandy wasn't having it. "You
usually got a lot to say, Plankton,"
she said, her tone accusatory.
"What's wrong with you?"

Plankton's antennae flattened
against his head, his eye darting
nervously around the room. He
could feel the pressure building,
his ability to communicate slipping
away under the weight of her
frustration. "Sorry," he murmured,
his voice a mere whisper.

Sandy's frown deepened. "Sorry?
What for? You're acting like a
sulfur-brain, Plankton!"
Her words were a slap to his face,
each syllable a jab at his already
fragile state.

"Can't ya at least say hi back‽"
She demanded.

"Hi back." Plankton replied.

Sandy thought he's trying to
be rude. "You're
always so full of it, but now you
can't even bother to talk?"

Her words cut through the
tension like a knife, slicing
into the quiet sanctuary they
had built. Plankton's antennae
twitched erratically, a silent
testament to his rising anxiety.

But Sandy was
on a roll, her frustration with
his lack of response fueling
her accusations.

"You know what? Forget it," she
huffed, throwing the cookies down
right in front of Plankton.

The sharp clatter of the plate
was like a gunshot to his
overstimulated senses. He
flinched, his antennae shooting
straight up. "It's like you're not even
trying!" Sandy's voice was a
whirlwind of accusation.

Plankton felt his control slipping,
his thoughts racing. "Sandy,"
he tried again, his voice strained.
"Plankton not good now."

But Sandy's irritation had turned
to anger. "What's your problem,
Plankton? You've always been a
tiny troublemaker, but now
you can't even have a simple
conversation?"

The room grew tense, and 
Plankton started rocking
trying not to let the tears
in his eye fall.

Sandy's eyes narrowed, her
frustration with Plankton's new
behaviors growing. "What's with
the rocking?" she snapped.

Plankton's rocking grew more
pronounced, his antennae
twitching rapidly.

Sandy got even more annoyed.

Her voice grew louder.

"Stop that!" she barked, startling
Plankton more. He stopped rocking  
but he starts shaking.

Sandy's fury was a storm, her 
words stinging like hailstones. "Why
are you acting so crazy?" she
demanded, her voice laced with
disgust.

Plankton's antennae drooped, his
body trembling. The room was too
loud, too bright, too much.

Sandy's tone grew sharper, her
frustration palpable. "What's gotten
into you, Plankton?" she snapped.
"You're acting like you're not even
here!" Plankton's eye darted to Karen,
his silent plea for help evident.
Karen took a deep breath,
stepping into the fray. "Sandy, I
need to tell you something," Karen 
began, her voice steady 
despite the storm of emotions 
swirling within her. "There's
something we need you to know."

Sandy's scowl didn't fade. "What
could possibly be more important
than a simple hello?" she spat out.

Karen took a deep breath, her
hands clenched into fists at her side.
"It's not simple, Sandy," she began, her
voice tight. "Plankton had an accident.
A really bad one."

Sandy's expression morphed from
anger to confusion. "What do you mean,
an accident?" she asked, her voice
softening slightly.

Karen's screen was a mix of
sadness and determination. "He
got into a fight with Mr. Krabs,"
she said, her voice measured. "And
he hit his head. Hard.
It... changed him. Plankton's been
diagnosed with autism,
Sandy," she said gently.

Sandy's expression went from
confusion to shock. "What?" she
whispered, her anger forgotten.

Sandy looked at Plankton,
his antennae drooping, his body
shaking.

Her eyes filled with horror as
she took in the scene before her.
"Oh my stars," she breathed, her
hands reaching out.

But he shrank away from her.
"No touch," Plankton murmured, his
body curling inward, antennae 
quivered with anxiety.

Her heart sank. "Oh, Plankton,"
she murmured, her voice filled
with regret.

new autism in the plankton family gal pals iv

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

TRUTH AND NAIL iv

His eye flickered open again,
his gaze unfocused. "Wha?"
he mumbled, his voice
slurred. "Home?"

Karen nodded, her smile
a beacon in the dark.
"Almost," she said, her voice
like a gentle breeze.

Plankton's eyelid fluttered,
his mind a foggy haze.
"Home...?" he slurred, his voice
barely a whisper.

"Almost, darling," Karen
reassured him, her voice
soothing as the car's gentle
purr. His eye rolled back,
lid heavy with sleep.

The nurse had warned
her about this, the anesthesia
leaving him groggy and
disoriented. But the sight
of him, drooling and
slumped over, was still
a bit foreign.

"Home, soon," Karen
soothed, her voice a
whisper in the quiet
car. "Just stay awake."

But Plankton's eye
closed again, his head
lolling back. His snores
were the only sound
in the car, a steady
counterpoint to the
hum of the engine.

"What's your favorite
color, Plankton?" she
asked, trying to keep
his thoughts afloat.
His eye blinked slowly,
his gaze unfocused.
"Buh...blu?" he murmured,
his voice a faint echo.

Karen's smile grew
wider, full
of love and amusement.
"Good boy," she whispered,
patting his hand. "Stay with me."

But Plankton's eyelid
were heavy, his mind
a swirl of confusion
and exhaustion. His
head fell back again,
his snores a rhythmic
accompaniment to the
hum of the car.

"Stay with me, love,"
Karen coaxed, her voice
a soft lullaby in the
silence of the night.
His chest rose and fell
with each snore, his
body relaxed.

Plankton's head jerked
upwards with a snort,
his eye wide for a moment
before the sleep
dragged it shut again.
"Home?" he murmured, his
voice thick with sleep.

Karen's eyes never left
the road ahead, her
grip tight on the steering
wheel. "Almost, darling,"
she said, her voice a
comforting purr. "Just stay
with me a bit longer."

But Plankton's body had
other plans. With a
snort, he slumped over
again, his head bouncing
on the headrest like a rag
doll's. Karen knew he
was okay. Just...out of it.

"Plankton, stay awake,"
she urged, her voice a soft
caress in the darkness.
But his snores grew
louder, his breathing deep
and even.

"Wha...?" Plankton's
head jerked up, his eye
widening in surprise. "Where
am I?"

Karen glanced in the
rearview mirror, her smile
tight. "You're in the car,
sweetie. We're almost home."
Her voice was a soft
reminder of reality,
but his mind was still
swimming in a sea of
anesthesia.

"Home?" Plankton slurred,
his voice a faint echo.
His head lolled to the side,
his eye trying to focus
on the passing streetlights.

"Almost," Karen said, her
voice a soft whisper.
"Just stay with me."

But Plankton's eye
closed again, his snores
filling the car. Karen
sighed, her grip tightening
on the steering wheel.
This was going to be a
long night..

new truth and nail tripcore iv

NEW REALITY iv
(Autistic author)

"Plankton," she starts, her voice
shaking, "the explosion changed
your brain. It's called Autism." 
His eye widens slightly
as he takes in the words, his hand
still moving in its repetitive pattern.

He repeats the word, "Autism?"
his tone curious. Karen nods,
wiping her screen. "It's like... your brain
now sees and feels things differently.
It's okay," she adds quickly, trying
to reassure him. "It's just different."

Plankton seems to consider this,
his hand finally still. "Different," 
he whispers.

Karen nods, trying to smile through
her tears. "But we'll get through
this together," she says, her voice
shaking. "We're a team."

Plankton's gaze lingers on her face
for a moment before returning to the
fan. "Team," he echoes, his hand
stilling briefly before resuming
its wave-like motion. Karen
swallows hard, trying to keep her
composure. She needs to find a way
to connect with him, to bridge
the gap that seems to be growing
wider by the second. She brings
his hand to her cheek. "Do you feel that?"
she asks, her voice a soft whisper.

He nods, his hand feeling cold
against her skin. "Feel," he says,
his tone flat. "Karen warm."

Encouraged, Karen tries a gentle
squeeze of his hand. His gaze
doesn't waver from the fan,
but his grip tightens slightly. "Squeeze,"
he murmurs, his voice a monotone.

Her heart racing, Karen decides to
experiment with different types of
affectionate touches. She strokes
his antennae lightly, watching
his reaction. His eye flutters
closed for a moment, then opens
again. "Tickle," he says, his voice a
little more animated.

Encouraged, she gently traces
his back with her fingers. "Yes
good." He says.

Karen's eyes fill with tears
as she feels a glimmer of hope.
"I'm going to try some more
things, okay?"
Plankton nods, his gaze
still on the fan. "More," he 
agrees.

Karen takes a deep breath
and starts with a soft
caress of his cheek, the way
she used to do before they
went to sleep. His eye
flickers slightly, his hand
continuing its motion.
"Okay," he says, his voice
almost a whisper.

Next, she tries a gentle
kiss on his forehead. "Karen,
nice," he murmurs, his antennae
twitching.

Encouraged, she decides to
move to a different type of
pressure.

"How's this feel; good 
or bad?" Karen
asks, placing her 
hand firmly
on his shoulder when
he suddenly flinches
and pulls away.

"No," Plankton says,
his voice sharp. "To hard."

Karen's hand recoils, her
heart racing. She tries to
keep her voice steady.
"I'm sorry, Plankton. Let's try
something else."
Plankton nods, his gaze
unfocused. "Yes, Karen. Try."

Gently, she starts to rub
his back in small, soothing
circles. "How about this?"
she asks, her voice tentative.
Plankton's body relaxes slightly.
"Good," he murmurs.

Encouraged, she tries
a gentle pat on his knee.
"This?"
"Stop," he says.

Karen's hand
freezes mid-air, her heart
racing. "I'm sorry, did I do that
wrong?"

Plankton's gaze remains fixed
on the fan. "Wrong," he confirms,
his voice a monotone.

Karen's face falls, her heart
sinking. She's treading on
thin ice, not knowing what
will trigger his next reaction.
She takes a deep breath, trying
to think of a safe approach.

"How about a hug?" she asks,
slowly opening her arms. Plankton
nods, his gaze still on the fan.
He leans into her embrace, his
body stiff at first, but gradually
softening. "Karen," he murmurs,
his voice a little less flat. Karen
holds him tightly, her heart pounding.
Maybe this is the way to reach
him, through physical affection
that doesn't overstimulate.
She squeezes tighter. "Enough!"
Plankton pulls away, his eye
wide with anxiety. Karen's heart
drops. She'd pushed too hard, too
soon. "I'm sorry," she whispers,
backing off immediately.

She tries again, placing a
hand lightly on his arm. "How
does this feel?" His eye flicks
to her hand, then back to the fan.
"Okay," he says, his voice still
mechanical. Karen keeps her hand
there, willing him to look at her,
to respond more naturally. But
his gaze remains fixed on the
spinning blades.

Despite her fear of pushing too
far, she gently takes his hand
in hers. "Does this feel okay?"
she asks. Plankton nods, his
movements becoming less erratic.
"Yes," he murmurs, his hand
still in the same wave pattern.

Karen decides to keep trying,
moving her thumb in small circles
on the back of his palm. Plankton's
breath hitches, and she sees his pupil
dilate slightly. "This?" she asks.
He nods, a faint smile tugging
at the corner of his lips.

Encouraged, she switches to
interlocking her fingers with
his, feeling the coldness of
his grip. "And this?"
"Good," he says, his voice
a bit softer.

Karen tries a gentle squeeze,
his hand stilling under hers.
"Does this feel okay?"
Plankton nods, his smile
widening a fraction.

Her heart racing with hope,
she presses her cheek to his.
"How about this?" she whispers.
Plankton's antennae twitch,
his body momentarily still.
"Not now," he says, his voice
a bit more present.

Karen nods, her eyes stinging
with tears. "Okay," she says,
trying not to let her voice
crack. She'll keep trying.

Her hand moves to his shoulder,
squeezing gently. "What about this?"
Plankton's body tenses, his
eye flicking to her hand, then
back to the fan. "No," he says,
his voice a firm rejection.

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving
his. "I'm sorry," she whispers.
"I just want to help."

Plankton's hand resumes its
wave-like motion. "Help," he repeats.
"Karen help."

Karen nods, her eyes never
leaving his. "I will," she promises,
determined to find a way to
connect with him. She decides to
try a different approach, one that
might bypass his sensory overload.

"Plankton," she says softly, "Can you tell
me what you're thinking about?"

He nods, his hand still moving. "Fan. Spin. Like."

Karen's chest tightens, but she nods.
"Okay, Plankton. Let's talk about the fan."

He nods eagerly, his hand
stopping for a brief moment.
"Fan," he says, his voice clearer.
"Spin fast. Like."

Karen takes a deep
breath. "What do you like
about the fan spinning?"
she asks, hoping to engage him
in a conversation that doesn't
trigger his anxiety.

Plankton's hand starts moving
again, mimicking the fan's
rotation. "Spin," he says, his
voice still monotone. "Fast. Calm."

Karen's eyes widen as she
understands. "It calms you?"
she asks, her voice tentative.
He nods, his gaze finally
leaving the fan to meet hers.

"Yes," he says, a hint of emotion
seeping into his voice. "Calm."

Karen's mind races. If the
fan's spinning is calming him,
maybe there's something here to
build on. "Can you tell me
more about the calm?"

Plankton nods, his hand
mimicking the fan's movement.
"Inside, quiet," he murmurs,
his voice a bit softer.

Karen's eyes fill with
relief. "It's like white noise,
isn't it?" she suggests,
desperate to build a bridge
between their worlds.

Plankton's hand slows, his
eye focusing on hers. "It's
like white noise isn't it.."

Karen nods, hope blossoming
in her chest. "Exactly,
sweetie. It's like it helps
you focus, like it blocks out
the chaos."

Plankton's hand stops moving,
his antennae drooping slightly.
"Chaos," he whispers, his eye
flicking around the room.

Karen nods, her heart aching.
"Yes, sometimes the world can
be too much, can't it?"

Plankton nods, his gaze
still unfocused. "Too 
much," he agrees.
"Spinning fan, less chaos."

Karen's eyes well up with tears
as she realizes the gravity of
the situation. "I'm sorry,"
she says, her voice trembling.
"I never meant for this to happen."

Plankton nods, his gaze still
unfocused. "Not Karen's fault,"
he says, his voice a robotic
reassurance. "Invention go boom."

Karen's eyes fill with
gratitude, clinging to the
knowledge that he understands.
"I know, but I can't help
feeling responsible," she says,
wiping at her cheeks.

Plankton nods, his hand
starting to wave again. "Fan spin.
Calm. Like Karen."

Karen's heart skips a beat
at the mention of her name.
Maybe, just maybe, he's still in
there somewhere. "You know,
sweetie," she says, her voice
quivering with hope, "sometimes
people have different ways
of seeing things. Like you and
the fan. That's your special way
of finding peace."

Plankton nods, his gaze
finally leaving the fan to focus
on her. "Special," he repeats.
"Plankton special."

Karen smiles through her
tears. "Yes, you are," she says,
squeezing his hand gently. "And we'll
figure this out together."

Plankton nods, his hand still
moving. "Together," he echoes.

new new reality Karen / Sheldon J. Plankton iv

uℐ𝓁ℴ𝓋ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊 <3ℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾ℒ𝓸𝓿𝒆 𝔂𝓸𝓾❦˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡˚ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ᰔᩚβִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐R☆ckstar୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. 🎀˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ᰔওᰔᩚ>ᴗ<₊˚.🎧 ✩｡☕ 🤎౨ৎ˖ ࣪⊹˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚୨୧˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)ఌ︎.C⋆

new close back rounded vowel xi alphabetical latin alphabet girly

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS xii

(Autistic Author)


The tree above them provides a gentle 
canopy, casting dappled shadows on 
Plankton's sleeping form. The leaves 
rustle in the breeze, creating a natural 
lullaby that soothes not only him but 
Chip and Karen as well. The world 
outside the shade seems to melt away, 
leaving them in a quiet cocoon of peace.

Karen watches her son with a mix of 
admiration and sadness. He's growing 
up so fast, she thinks, having to learn 
about things most kids his age don't 
have to. But Chip's strength is 
undeniable, and she knows that 
together, they'll navigate the storms that 
come with Plankton's condition.

The park's cacophony slowly starts to 
fade into the background, replaced by 
the rhythmic sound of Plankton's deep, 
even breathing. Chip sits next to him, 
the love rock still in his hand, his thumb 
tracing the smooth surface. The 
shadows from the tree above dance 
across their faces, creating a 
mesmerizing pattern of light and dark 
that seems to mirror the complexities of 
their lives.

Karen pulls out a small blanket from 
their bag and covers Plankton gently, 
tucking it around his small body. She 
looks at Chip, her eyes filled with a mix 
of love and sadness. "Why don't you sit 
with him for a bit?" she suggests. "I'll 
grab the car."

Chip nods solemnly, taking a seat 
beside his father. He places the love 
rock in Plankton's palm, curling his 
slender fingers around it. The park's 
sounds seem to fade away as he 
focuses on Plankton's peaceful face, the 
only indication of life the steady rise and 
fall of his chest. Chip's eyes drift over to 
the swings, now silent, the chains still 
swaying slightly from their earlier use.

While Karen walks to get the car, Chip 
sits in quiet contemplation, feeling the 
weight of their conversation from the 
night before. He's learned so much 
about his dad, about the storms in his 
brain that make him different. But 
instead of fear, Chip feels a newfound 
respect and love, a bond stronger than 
any storm could break.

Plankton's eye flutter open, the sleepy 
confusion fading as he sees Chip sitting 
beside him, the love rock still clutched in 
his hand. He looks around, the park 
coming back into focus. His antennae 
twitch slightly, searching for the source 
of comfort.

"Hey, buddy," Plankton says, his voice 
groggy. "What happened?"

Chip's eyes light up, his grip on the rock 
tightening. "You had a seizure," he 
explains, his voice steady. "But you're ok 
now. We're just waiting for Mom to bring 
the car."

Plankton nods, his gaze drifting to the 
rock. He opens his palm, revealing the 
smooth, shimmering stone. "Thank you," 
he murmurs, his voice thick with 
emotion.

Chip looks up, his eyes meeting 
Plankton's. "It's our love rock," he says 
simply, his voice filled with the weight of 
their new understanding.

Plankton's antennae twitch, a hint of a 
smile playing on his lips. "I remember," 
he says, his voice a little stronger. "It's a 
good rock."

The two sit in companionable silence, 
the rock a tangible symbol of their bond. 
The park's sounds slowly filter back in, 
the laughter of children, the squeak of 
the swings, the distant bark of a seagull. 
Life goes on around them, but in this 
moment, their world is small and 
focused.

As Karen pulls up with the car, she sees 
them sitting under the tree, the love rock 
in Plankton's hand. She parks and walks 
over, her eyes filled with concern. 
"Ready to go home?" she asks gently.

Plankton nods, his antennae rising 
slightly. "Yeah," he says, his voice still 
shaky. "Let's go."

They carefully help him into the car, the 
love rock still nestled in his hand. The 
drive home is quiet, the weight of the 
day's events hanging heavy in the air. 
Chip watches his dad, his heart aching 
for the silent struggle he knows he's 
facing.

As they pull into the driveway, Karen 
looks back in the rearview mirror.

"Remember, Chip," she says, her eyes 
meeting her son's in the reflection, 
"today was a learning experience. We all 
need to be patient with each other."

Chip nods solemnly, his gaze never 
leaving Plankton's face. He sees the 
exhaustion etched into his father's 
features, the quiet strength that hides 
beneath the storm. "I know," he 
whispers, his voice filled with 
understanding beyond his years.

The house is a welcome retreat from the 
overwhelming sensory assault of the 
park. Inside, everything is familiar and 
comforting, a bastion of predictability in 
a world that often seems too loud and 
too bright for Plankton. Karen helps 
Plankton into bed, tucking him in with 
the care of a lighthouse keeper guiding 
a ship to safety.

Chip sits on the edge of the bed, holding 
the love rock out to Plankton. "Do you 
still want this?" he asks, his voice 
tentative.

Plankton's hand reaches out, his eyes 
never leaving the rock. He takes it, his 
grip firm. "Yeah," he says, a hint of a 
smile playing on his lips. "It's 
comforting."

Karen gives them both a soft smile 
before leaving the room, closing the 
door gently behind her. The room is 
filled with the hum of the fish tank, the 
calming blue light casting a soothing 
glow. Chip sits with his father, the love 
rock nestled in Plankton's hand, a silent 
sentinel of their bond.

For a moment, they just breathe 
together. Then, Chip decides to speak. 
"Daddy," he says, his voice gentle and 
soothing, "I'm here for you. No matter 
what happens, ok?"

Plankton's eye flicker with 
understanding, and he squeezes the 
rock in his hand. "Thank you, Chip," he 
murmurs, his voice filled with more 
emotion than Chip has ever heard from 
him. "I'm lucky to have you."

The words hang in the air, heavy with 
meaning, as Chip nods, his own eyes 
brimming with tears. He leans in to offer 
Plankton his hand to hold. Plankton 
takes it, his grip firm, his eye searching 
Chip's for reassurance. The love rock 
remains a silent witness to their 
conversation, a physical representation 
of the unspoken affection that flows 
between them.

Slowly, Plankton's eye grow heavy, the 
lid drooping as sleep claims him once 
more. His hand relaxes around Chip's, 
the rock still cradled in his other palm. 
Chip watches his father's chest rise and 
fall with each deep, even breath, the 
storm of the day finally abating.

Eventually, Plankton's eye opens, a 
glimmer of understanding piercing the 
tempest. His antennae still, his body 
going rigid with the effort of speaking. 
He draws in a deep breath, his eye 
locking onto Chip's and also Karen’s, the 
love rock a bridge between them. "Lo..." 
he manages to murmur, the word a 
tremor in the quiet room. Karen's eyes 
widen, her heart skipping a beat. "Lo..." 
he tries again, the syllable a whisper of 
hope. The room feels like it's expanding, 
the walls stretching with the weight of 
his effort. "Lo...ve," he finally says, the 
word a shaky but clear declaration.

The air shimmers with the power of the 
spoken word, the love rock in Chip's 
hand feeling like it's vibrating with joy. 
Karen's eyes overflow with tears as she 
squeezes Plankton's hand, her voice 
choking with emotion. "Oh, honey," she 
says, her voice a gentle caress, "we 
know." Chip's own eyes sparkle with 
unshed tears, his voice trembling as he 
speaks. "We love you too, Daddy."
 "Lo...love," he manages to repeat, the 
word a treasure pulled from the depths
of his mind. Chip feels a tear slide down 
his cheek, the love rock in his hand a 
warm emblem of victory.

"You don't have to say it, Daddy," Chip 
says, his voice shaky but earnest. "We 
know." But Plankton's eye
determined, the word 'love' a beacon he 
needs to reach. With a Herculean effort, 
he whispers, "Chip...Karen...love...you." 
The room is suffused with a warmth that 
feels like a sunrise, the shadows 
retreating to the corners.

Karen stands with 
love for her family. She knows that this is 
just the beginning of their journey, that 
there will be more storms to weather. 
But with Chip by his side, she feels a 
glimmer of hope that Plankton's world 
will be a little less overwhelming.

new chip off the old talks familycore xii

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ix
(Autistic author)

Plankton's smile flickers back
to life, his eye lighting up
slightly. "Good," he says,
a monotone echo. "Friend."

Sponge Bob nods, his smile
genuine despite the sadness
still lingering in his eyes.
"Always," he says, his voice
filled with warmth. "Well,
what should we do now?"

Plankton's gaze shifts
to the book, then to Sponge Bob.
"Movie," he says, his voice
picking up a hint of excitement.
"Friend watch movie." His hands
flap in a pattern that seems to
mirror his thoughts racing.

Sponge Bob's smile is a mix
of relief and excitement.
"Movie?" he repeats, his eyes
lighting up. "Yeah, let's watch a
movie! What do you want to see?"

Plankton's eye dart around
the room, his hands flapping
in a flurry of indecision. "You
choose," he says, his voice a
monotone. "You know me." His
antennas twitch with anticipation.

Sponge Bob's smile is filled
with understanding. "Okay,
then," he says, his voice calm.
He scans the bookshelf, looking
for a title that might spark
Plankton's interest. "How about
this one?" he asks, holding up a
DVD case with a picture of the
Dirty Bubble on the front.

Plankton's antennas perk up,
eyelighting up at the sight
of the villainous bubble's grinning face.
"Yes," he says, his voice a
monotone. "Dirty Bubble." His
hands flap in excitement.

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes
with love and concern for his
unique friend. "Alright, Plankton,"
he says, his voice gentle. "Let's
watch 'The Great Dirty
Bubble Heist'." He pops the
DVD into the player, the
machine whirring to life.

The two of them settle on the
couch, Sponge Bob's arm
draped protectively around
Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's
hands are still, his gaze fixed
on the screen as the movie starts.
The TV flickers to life, casting
a warm glow over the room.

Sponge Bob feels Plankton's
body relax slightly against his
side, his eyes never leaving the
colorful bubble of the Dirty
Bubble's latest escapade.

As the movie plays, Plankton's
flapping subsides, his gaze
transfixed by the screen. The
sounds of bubbles popping and
laughter fill the room, a stark
contrast to the silence that
typically accompanied their
stakeouts at the Chum Bucket.

Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body
relax further into the couch, his
shoulder leaning into him. He
notices Plankton's antennas
twitch slightly with every joke,
his eye flickering with
understanding at the slapstick
humor. It's a small sign of
connection, but it's enough.

The movie's plot unfolds, and
Plankton's chuckles echo through
the room, his laughter a
comforting reminder of their
long-standing friendship. Sponge
Bob smiles, watching Plankton
react to the familiar beats of
the film's storyline. It's clear
his friend's love for the
simple pleasure of laughter
hasn't changed.

As the film progresses,
Plankton's chuckles grow softer,
his eyelid drooping as he's 
nestled against Sponge
Bob. He's falling asleep,
his mind finally at ease in the
comforting embrace of his friend.
His head lolls to the side,
his antennas coming to rest
on Sponge Bob's arm. His
mouth has fall open slightly,
his breaths even and deep.

Sponge Bob's heart swells with
tenderness, watching Plankton's
face. He gently shifts
his position, adjusting the
small blanket over Plankton to
keep him warm. The TV's light
continues to flicker across
their faces, casting shadows
on the walls. Sponge Bob
doesn't want to wake him;
instead, he takes the moment
to study his friend's newfound
peace.

Plankton's antennas, usually
a blur of activity, are still,
his breaths deep and rhythmic.
Sponge Bob notices the slightest
tremble in his friend's hand,
now resting on the couch cushion.
He gently takes it in his,
intertwining their fingers.
Their friendship remains
a bastion of comfort and acceptance.

The TV echoes in
the room, punctuating
the silence between them.
Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body
relax further into the couch,
his head now resting heavily
against his shoulder. Plankton's
laughter has turned to soft snores,
his antenna twitching with each
breath he takes.

Karen peeks into the room,
and sees Plankton
asleep against Sponge Bob's side.
She goes closer,
wanting to make sure
Plankton is ok.

She feels warmth
seeing their friendship
unchanged by his diagnosis.
Sponge Bob, ever the caretaker,
has his arm around Plankton,
his hand over Plankton's, their
fingers intertwined.

Karen smiles softly with pride.
This moment of peace,
despite the turmoil,
shows their unyielding bond.

"You guys okay?" she asks,
her voice a gentle whisper.

Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, Karen,"
he says, his voice low. "We're
just watching a movie."

Karen's smile is filled
with warmth as she steps
closer. "I can see that," she
whispers. "How is he?"

Sponge Bob's gaze shifts
to her, his smile a mix
of relief and sadness.
"Different," he says, his voice
soft. "But still Plankton."

Karen nods with understanding.
"He's been through a lot," she says,
her voice a gentle whisper.
"But he's strong, and he has
his friends." She sits down
on the couch, her hand reaching
out to rest on Plankton's leg.
Her touch is light, comforting.

Plankton's body twitches slightly
in his sleep, his antennae
stirring. Sponge Bob squeezes 
Plankton's hand gently.
"You're ok, buddy," he murmurs,
his voice a soft reassurance.

Karen sits down beside them,
gaze on Plankton's serene
expression.

"I'm here," she says, her voice
soft. "Always." She reaches out,
her hand resting on Plankton's
knee. The touch
penetrates his subconscious,
his antennae twitching slightly
in response.

Sponge Bob nods. "Thanks,
Karen," he whispers, his voice
filled with gratitude. "I'm
still trying to get used to
this new Plankton."

Karen's expression is one
of quiet understanding. "It's
ok," she says, her voice a
soothing balm. "It's a lot to
process, but you're doing
great." She looks down at
Plankton, his small form
snuggled against Sponge Bob.
"He's lucky to have you," she
whispers.

Sponge Bob nods,
his voice thick with emotion.
"But it's hard to see him
like this." His eyes
well with tears, his grip on
Plankton's hand tightening.

Karen's gaze is filled with
compassion as she looks at
Plankton. She reaches
over, her hand gently brushing
his cheek. "He's still the same
Plankton," she whispers. "He's just
learning to navigate a new
part of himself."

Sponge Bob nods, his eyes
still fixed on the TV. "I know,"
he says, his voice tight. "But it's
so...different." His eyes
flicker with unshed tears.

Karen's gaze remains on
Plankton's peaceful face,
her hand still on his knee.
"It is," she says, her voice
soft. "But different isn't bad,
Sponge Bob." She looks at him,
her eyes filled with a gentle
wisdom. "It's just new. And
sometimes, new things take
getting used to."

Sponge Bob nods. "I know,"
he says, his voice a whisper.
"It's just..." He pauses, his
thoughts racing. "It's just that
I want to be there for him,
you know?" His voice cracks,
his grip on Plankton's hand
becoming stronger.

Karen nods
with empathy. "I know you do,
Sponge Bob," she says, her voice
soft. "And you are." She reaches
over, placing a comforting hand
on Sponge Bob's shoulder. "You
just need to be patient with him,
and with yourself. We're all
learning together."

The TV laugh track fades into
silence as the movie reaches
its end. Plankton's snores remain
steady, a testament to his
sleep. Sponge Bob sighs, his
eyes finally leaving the screen.
He looks down at their joined
hands.

"I'll be patient," he murmurs,
his voice barely audible. "For
you, Plankton." His eyes
meet Karen's, a silent promise
passing between them. "I
know you will," she says, her voice
a gentle encouragement. "You've
always been a good friend."

The room is quiet, save for
Plankton's soft snores.

Sponge Bob's eyes remain on
the TV, his thoughts
spinning. Karen's words echo in
his head: different isn't bad,
just new. He looks down at
Plankton.

He tries to imagine a world
where Plankton doesn't have
autism, but the thought feels
wrong. This new version of
his friend is still Plankton,
still the same in so many ways.
Their bond is strong,
their friendship unchanged.

He squeezes Plankton's hand,
his thoughts racing. "I'll be
there for you," he whispers,
his voice a promise. "We'll
figure this out together."

Plankton's snores hitch slightly,
his antenna twitching in his sleep.
Sponge Bob's filled
with a newfound determination.
He'll be there for Plankton, no matter
what. His heart swells
as he leans down,
his lips brushing Plankton's forehead
in a soft kiss.

The room is a cocoon of quiet,
their friendship a beacon in the
stillness. Karen watches them,
her heart heavy but hopeful.
"Let's get him to bed," she says,
her voice a gentle whisper.

Sponge Bob nods, his movements
careful as he lifts Plankton into
his arms. Plankton's eye flutter
open briefly, his gaze confused
but quickly calming at the sight
of Sponge Bob's smiling face.

"Tired," Plankton murmurs, his
voice sleepy. Sponge Bob nods,
his smile gentle.

"Come on, buddy," he says, his voice
a warm whisper. "Let's get you to
bed." They're careful not to jostle
him to much.

Plankton's eye droop closed
again, his body limp in Sponge
Bob's embrace. Karen leads the
way to the bedroom.

The bed is made with fresh
sheets, the room organized with
care. Plankton's favorite 
gadgets line the shelves,
each item meticulously placed. 

Sponge Bob lays Plankton
gently on the bed,
body is heavy with sleep, his
snores a comforting lullaby.
Karen pulls the blankets up,
tucking them around his small
form.

"Thank you," Plankton mumbles.
Sponge Bob's smile is warm
and reassuring. "You're welcome,
buddy," he says, his voice low.
"Sleep tight." 

Karen watches the scene
with affection. "I'll
be right outside if you need
anything," she whispers.
Plankton's antennas twitch,
his eye opening slightly. "I
lo-ove you.." "We love you too,
Plankton," he says, his voice
cracking with emotion. He
smiles at Karen, who nods
in understanding before they 
slip out of the room, letting him
sleep.

new karen and the autistic journey moviecore ix

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON vii
(Autistic author) (see notes below)
* ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
Sponge Bob's 
thumb begins to 
move in slow, 
soothing circles 
against Plankton's 
skin. "Thank you," 
he says, his voice 
barely above a 
whisper.
Sponge Bob 
simply nods, 
his thumb 
continuing its 
soothing motion. 
He doesn't know 
how to explain 
the depth of his 
feelings, but 
his actions speak 
louder than words. 
His friendship 
with Plankton has 
always been 
unconventional, but 
now, in the face of 
this new 
challenge, it feels 
more precious than 
ever.

Just as the 
moment of 
connection seems 
to solidify, the door 
to the Chum 
Bucket opens again, 
and Hanna tentatively 
steps inside, 
a pamphlet clutched 
in her hand.

"I brought 
this," she says, 
her voice shaking 
slightly as she 
holds out the 
pamphlet. "It's about 
autism...and 
rituals that might 
help get rid of the 
autistic behaviors."

Karen's snatching the 
pamphlet from 
Hanna's grip. Her 
eyes scan the 
pages, her anger 
building with 
each word. "What 
are you thinking?" 
she demands, her 
voice like a 
whipcrack.

Hanna takes a 
step back. "I just...I 
thought it might 
help you get him 
back to normal," 
she stammers, 
clearly not expecting 
the ferocity of 
Karen's reaction.

But Karen's 
anger is a 
volcano, erupting 
with the force 
of her 
love for Plankton. 
"These are not 'behaviors' 
to get rid of," she 
snaps, 
shaking the 
pamphlet in the 
air. "This is who 
he is now!"

"But Karen, don't you 
think life would 
be easier if he 
wasn't...you know, 
like this?" Hanna 
tries to explain.

"This isn't 
about making life 
easier for me," she 
snaps. "It's about 
supporting him!"

"Karen, Plankton just 
needs to be fixed," 
Hanna says, her voice 
smaller now, her 
expression pleading. 
"We both know 
how difficult it is to 
be around someone 
with...problems."

The words hit 
Karen. "Fixed?" she 
repeats, her voice 
low and dangerous. 
"Plankton isn't 
broken. He's not a 
machine to be 
tinkered with! These 
are dangerous, 
deadly suggestions!"

Plankton flinches 
at the sound, his mind 
whirling. 
He feels a 
tiny spark of 
defiance in his 
chest.

"You dare 
suggest that he 
doesn't deserve 
to live because 
he's autistic? You 
don't get to decide 
his worth!"

Plankton's 
grip on Sponge 
Bob's  
tightens, his 
body stiffening, 
his heart racing.

"How 
could you?" she 
demands, her eyes 
spitting fire. "You 
want me to just...to 
just get rid of him?"

Hanna's eyes 
fill with tears as 
she takes another 
step back, her 
hands coming up 
in a defensive 
gesture. "I didn't 
mean it like that," 
she says, her voice 
quavering. "I just 
want to help!"

But Karen's 
fury is a 
freight train, 
unstoppable. "Help?" 
she spits. "This is 
not help!" She 
gestures at the 
pamphlet, now a 
mangled mess on 
the floor. "This 
is hate, Hanna! 
This is saying 
he's not worth it 
because he's not 
like everyone else!"

Plankton looks 
down, his antennae 
drooping. Was he 
really such a 
burden? Was his 
life not worth 
living?

Sponge Bob 
squeezes Plankton's 
hand, his 
grip a silent 
reassurance.

Karen's fury 
doesn't waver. "You 
call yourself a 
friend?" she says, her 
voice laced with 
disgust. "You'd throw 
his life away because 
it's inconvenient 
for you?"

Hanna's sobs fill 
the room, her 
body trembling 
under the weight 
of Karen's accusations. 
"I didn't mean it 
like that," she 
whimpers. "I just...I 
don't know what to do."

Karen's anger 
doesn't abate, but 
it turns into a 
deep sadness. She 
looks at Hanna, her 
eyes filled with 
disappointment. "You 
don't 'fix' someone 
because they're 
different," she 
says, her voice 
deadly calm. "You 
support them."

Plankton watches 
the exchange. He feels 
tiny, insignificant 
under the weight 
of their words.

Karen turns to 
Sponge Bob. 
"Take him to his 
room," she says, her 
voice barely above 
a whisper. "I need 
to talk to Hanna."

Sponge Bob nods 
slowly, his eyes 
filled with 
understanding. He 
gently helps Plankton 
to his feet, a 
steadying presence 
against Plankton's 
uncertain steps.

As they walk 
to the bedroom, 
Plankton's gaze 
remains glued to 
the floor, his mind 
whirling with 
thoughts he can't 
quite grasp.

Once Plankton is 
safely in bed, 
Sponge Bob 
tucks the blanket 
around him, his 
movements gentle and 
soothing. Plankton's 
body relaxes slightly 
under the comforting 
weight, his 
eye closing with 
a sigh.

Karen turns 
to Hanna, 
unfurling from  
defensive pose. "You 
don't understand," 
she says, her voice 
calmer now, though 
still tinged with 
frustration. "The 
things you're 
suggesting, they're 
not just cruel, they're 
dangerous."

Hanna's 
sobs slow, her 
eyes red and 
swollen. She looks 
at Karen with 
desperation, 
clearly lost in the 
ignorance. "What do 
you mean?"
Karen's
determined. "Straightjackets 
are used," she 
says, her words 
carefully measured. "They 
restrain patients, 
not help them." She 
pauses. "And 
those rituals you 
found, the ones 
that suggest 
them to 
make him 'normal'... 
They could 
kill.."

Hanna's 
sobs stop 
abruptly, her 
breath hitching. "What?" 
she asks, 
shock etched 
on her features.

Karen's eyes 
never leave 
Hanna's, her 
voice cold and 
devoid of pity. "You 
don't get to decide 
his worth, Hanna," 
she says, each 
word a bullet. "And 
you certainly don't 
get to decide his 
fate."

Hanna's 
shoulders slump. "I'm 
so sorry," she 
whispers, her 
tears flowing freely. 
"I didn't know."

Karen's 
expression softens 
slightly, the anger 
fading to 
disappointment. "You 
have to understand," 
she says. "Plankton 
is still Plankton. 
He just...sees the 
world differently 
now."

Hanna 
sniffs, wiping 
away her tears. "But 
what if he's in 
pain?" she 
whispers. "What if 
his autism is 
making him miserable?"

Karen 
sighs, her 
frustration 
dissipating. "He's 
not in pain," she 
explains. "He's 
just...sensitive. To 
everything. Sounds, 
smells, touch... exactly
what the institutions
expose them to, will cause
pain."
Hanna
absorbs Karen's 
words. "Oh, I didn't..."
she trails off, 
overwhelmed by the 
gravity of her 
mistake. "I'm so 
sorry, Karen. I didn't 
know."

Karen nods,  
relaxing slightly. 
"I know," she says, 
her voice softer now. 
"It's a lot to take 
in, and it's 
scary when 
someone you love 
becomes...different."

Hanna nods. "But 
you still love him," 
she says, a question 
and a statement 
wrapped in one.

"More than 
anything," Karen 
replies without 
hesitation, her 
tentacles tightening 
around Hanna. "And 
I need you to love 
him too, Hanna."

Hanna nods, 
swiping at her 
tears with the 
back of her hand. 
"I do," she 
whispers. "I just...I 
want him to be happy."

Karen's tentacles 
give Hanna a gentle 
squeeze. "He is," 
she says, her voice 
filled with 
determined love. "And 
we'll make sure he 
stays that way."


The two of them 
stand there, the 
silence of the 
moment heavy 
between them. Karen's 
eyes drift to the 
closed bedroom door, 
beyond which 
Plankton sleeps 
peacefully. The 
sounds of the 
Chum Bucket are 
muted, the only 
noise the distant 
hum of the 
laboratory equipment.

In that quiet, 
Karen's tentacles 
relax slightly, 
the anger of the 
confrontation 
dissipating. She 
looks back at Hanna, 
her expression 
softening. "Thank 
you for coming," 
she says, her voice 
still firm but 
lacking the sharp 
edge of anger. "But 
you have to understand 
that this isn't 
something to be 
fixed. It's part 
of him now. Let's
go check on him."

They find SpongeBob 
sitting on the 
foot of the bed, 
his hand 
still entwined with 
Plankton's, their 
fingertips barely 
touching. Plankton's 
breathing is deep 
and even, a stark 
contrast to the 
turmoil of moments 
before. His antennae 
twitch occasionally,
his mouth barely 
parted in a quiet 
snore.
Hanna follows 
Karen into the 
room, her eyes 
wide and 
frightened. She 
sees Sponge Bob and 
his gentle touch 
with Plankton and 
her expression 
softens slightly. 
This is new to her, 
this quiet 
understanding, but 
she can't help but 
be moved by the 
sight.
Sponge Bob looks 
up, his eyes 
filled with a 
certain sadness 
that mirrors 
Karen's. He nods 
silently, 
acknowledging her 
thanks. Hanna's 
eyes dart to 
Plankton, who 
remains fast asleep, 
his single eye 
closed peacefully.

Karen sits 
beside the bed, 
reaching out to 
stroke Plankton's 
forehead. His 
skin is cool to the 
touch, his breathing 
steady. She 
whispers to Hanna, 
"We need to be 
careful with him. 
He's...fragile."

Hanna nods, 
swallowing her 
tears. She 
moves closer, her 
own hand tentatively 
reaching out to 
touch Plankton's 
hand. His antennae 
twitch but he 
doesn't wake.

The room is 
bathed in a soft 
glow, the 
dimmed lights 
designed to reduce 
stimulation and 
ease his sensory 
overload. Karen's 
breathing slows as 
she watches the 
scene before her, 
her heart swelling 
with love and 
gratitude for the 
support Sponge 
Bob is 
providing.

Hanna's tentative 
touch seems to 
soothe Plankton, 
his 
snoring growing 
slightly more 
rhythmic.

Sponge Bob 
smiles softly at 
Hanna, his 
thumb still 
moving in gentle 
circles around 
Plankton's. 
"You're doing 
good," he whispers. 
"He just needs 
us to be patient 
and understanding."

Hanna nods, 
her eyes never 
leaving Plankton's 
face. "I'll try," 
she says, her voice 
quiet and earnest. "I 
really will."

Karen looks at 
Hanna, her eyes 
softening. "It's not 
easy," she admits. 
"But it's worth it."



**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 autismcore vii

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new satã six 6 vi 666

CHIP AND FAIL iv
(Autistic author)

Chip leaned in closer, his screen
searching Plankton's unblinking
gaze for some sign of recognition.
He snapped his fingers in front of
his eye. Nothing.

"Dad, can you hear me?" He asked
again, his voice quivering with
concern. Plankton's condition meant
his senses were heightened, but Chip
was unaware of the storm his
enthusiasm had unleashed. Each
question, each touch, was a boulder
crashing down on his father's
fragile mental landscape. 

The thought sent a shiver down
Chip's spine. He had to get
his dad to respond, to come
back to him. "Please, Dad,"
he whispered, his voice a
plea. "I don't know what to do.
Can you wake up?" But Plankton's
body remained rigid, his eye
unseeing. Chip felt a knot
of fear in his stomach. What if
his dad was stuck in there,
unable to escape?

He didn't know his dad was
autistic, didn't understand the
world of sensory input that was
his reality. He didn't know
how much his excitement and
touches could overwhelm him. He
just knew that his dad, the man
who had always been so strong,
was now as still and quiet as a
graveyard at midnight.

Chip's mind raced, trying to
find the right words, the right
touch, to bring Plankton back. He
wanted to share his stories,
his happiness, but instead, he'd
stumbled into a minefield of
unseen sensitivities. He didn't
know how to navigate this
uncharted territory. "Dad," he
whispered, his voice trembling. "Please,
just tell me you're okay."

Plankton's eye remained 
unfocused. His hand hovered
over Plankton's, unsure of what to
do. He didn't know that his
enthusiastic touches were only
adding to the chaos in Plankton's
mind, that his vivid stories were
like a hurricane in a library.

Chip took a step back, his mind
whirling with worry. He had never
seen his dad like this before,
his usual stoic exterior replaced
by a terrifying stillness. "Dad,"
he whispered, his voice shaking.
"What's happening?" He wished
he could read Plankton's thoughts,
understand the turmoil that was
causing his father to withdraw
so completely.

He knew Plankton was different,
that he needed his space and
his quiet, but he had never
realized the extent of his
sensitivities. The more Chip talked,
the more his dad seemed to retreat,
until he was nothing but a shell,
a statue of a man Chip couldn't
reach. He felt like he was
shouting into the wind, his words
disappearing without a trace.

With trembling hands, Chip reached
out to touch Plankton's face,
his heart breaking at the sight of
his father's vacant gaze. "Dad,"
he whispered, his voice filled with
fear. "Please come back." But
Plankton remained unresponsive,
his eye glazed over.

The room grew colder, the air
thicker with Chip's desperation.
"PLEASE, DAD!" He shouted, his voice
breaking. Plankton didn't move,
his body a statue in the swirl of
his sensory chaos. Chip didn't know
his touches and loudness were only
adding to his father's pain.

"Dad, you're scaring me!" Chip's
fingers hovered over Plankton's arm. His heart
was racing as he tried to think
of what to do, his mind a blur
of panic.
He knew his mom might know what to do.
"Mom!" he calls out, his voice
shaky. 

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

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY ix


(Autistic author)



Mr. Krabs knew that
his rivalry with Plankton had
always been about more than
just the Krabby Patty. It was
about pride, about being the
best, about proving his worth.

But as he looked at Plankton,
his tiny form swallowed by the
large couch cushions, he
realized that none of it mattered
compared to the pain he had
caused.

The next day, Plankton found
himself sitting in the waiting
room of a dentist's office, to 
get an X-Ray. Karen sat by him.

"You ok?" she asked, her
voice gentle. Plankton nodded, his
antennas twitching nervously.

The door to the exam room
opened, and a cheerful dolphin
dental hygienist waved them in.
"Good morning, Plankton!" she
chirped. "Ready for your X-ray?"

Plankton's antennae shot up
instinctively at the sudden
noise, his body stiffening.
Karen squeezed his hand gently,
offering reassurance. "It's okay,"
she murmured. "We're here."

The dolphin's smile was bright,
but it was the softness in her
eyes that helped Plankton
relax slightly. They had
been informed of his condition,
and she approached with a gentle
caution.

"We'll take it slow," she said,
her voice a gentle melody.
"We're just getting an x-ray
okay?"

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still quivering slightly.

The dolphin hygienist, named
Delfina, guided him into the
exam room.

The room was a symphony of
white, a stark contrast to the
cozy confines of the Chum
Bucket. Plankton felt his heart
racing in his chest, his antennae
twitching as he took in the
unfamiliar surroundings.

Delfina the hygienist
guided Plankton gently to the chair,
her eyes filled with understanding.
"Just sit back and relax," she said,
her voice a gentle wave washing
over him.

Plankton did his best to
remain calm. The hum of the
machinery was a constant
reminder of his sensory
overload, but he focused on
Karen's soothing presence beside
him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

Delfina moved with grace
and precision, her movements
fluid and unthreatening. She
explained each step of the
process to him, her voice a soft
lullaby that helped to soothe his
nervous system. "Open wide,"
she cooed, her eyes gentle as
she placed the X-ray sensor
in his mouth.

Plankton's antennae trembled
slightly, but he did as she
instructed, his teeth clamping
down on the cold, plastic device.
The whir of the X-ray machine was
like a tornado in his ears, but
he focused on Karen's calming
presence beside him. Her hand
remained on his shoulder, a
grounding force amidst the chaos
of sensations.

As the X-ray was completed
Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae slowly
unfurling.

The doctor, a wise old
sea turtle named Dr. Dolittle,
entered the room, his eyes
behind thick glasses scanning
the X-ray results. Plankton
tried to read his expression,
his antennae quivering with
anticipation. Dr. Dolittle's
face remained neutral as he
studied the images, but Plankton
couldn't help the anxiety that
bubbled up within him.

"Well, Plankton," the doctor
said, his voice deep and soothing.
"It appears that you need to
have your wisdom teeth out.
They'll potentially cause issues.."

Plankton's antennae shot up in
panic, his grip on the chair
tightening. The thought of
surgery was overwhelming, a
tsunami of fear crashing into the
shores of his already-fragile
nervous system.

He froze, his body a statue
of terror. The room around him
was a blur of colors and
shapes, the sounds of the
dental office a cacophony.

Karen's hand squeezed his
shoulder, a silent reminder that
he wasn't alone.

Sponge Bob sat in the corner,
his eyes wide with concern.
He had accompanied Plankton
for moral support, but the sight
of his friend's distress was
painful to watch. "It'll be okay,"
he murmured, his voice a soft
whisper in the tense silence.

But Plankton couldn't hear him.
The words were lost in the
symphony of his own fear.
His antennae twitched rapidly,
his breath shallow.

Karen turned to Sponge Bob,
her expression soft. "It's okay,"
she assured him, her voice low
and calming. "He's just processing
the words sinking in."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes
never leaving Plankton's
distressed form. "I'm here, buddy,"
he offered, his voice a gentle
wave in the storm of emotions.

But it was Karen's voice that
cut through the chaos, her words
a lighthouse in the fog. "Plankton,"
she said, her tone firm but
soothing, "you just breathe. We'll
make sure of everything."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still quivering, closing his eye
as he took a shaky breath.

Dr. Dolittle noticed Plankton's
distress and offered a gentle
smile. "Don't worry, Plankton.
We'll make sure you're nice
and sleepy before we do anything.
It's a simple extraction, and you
won't feel a thing."

The room grew quiet as the
doctor's words sank in. Plankton
was terrified of the unknown,
his mind racing with images of
sharp tools and pain. His antennae
twitched uncontrollably, and his
body began to tremble.

Karen leaned in, her voice
calm and reassuring. "It's like
going to sleep," she said, her
eyes locked with his. "You won't
feel anything, I promise."

Plankton's antennae quivered
slightly as he processed her
words.

"We're going to give you a
little something to help you
sleep," Delfina explained, her
voice a gentle hum. "It'll be
like a nap, and when you wake
up, it'll all be over."

Plankton's antennae stilled
slightly, his breathing slowing
as he nodded.

The room was a whirlwind of
activity as Delfina and Dr.
Dolittle prepared for the
procedure. Sponge Bob's
hands were clenched into fists
of worry, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's.

Karen noticed his distress and
squeezed his shoulder. "It'll
be okay," she whispered.
"Remember, we're here for
support."

The scent of antiseptic
filled the room, making Plankton's
eyes water, but he nodded, his
trust in his friends
overriding his fear.

Delfina approached with a
clear liquid. "Drink this," she
instructed, her voice a gentle
whisper. "It'll help you relax."

Plankton's antennae quivered but
he did as she said, the liquid
sliding down his throat with an
eerie calmness.

As the anesthetic took hold,
his thoughts grew fuzzy, like
the edges of a distant memory.
He felt his body begin to
relax, the tension in his
muscles dissipating like a
wave retreating from the shore.

The world grew dark around him,
the sounds of the dental office
becoming muffled whispers. The
weight of his fear lifted
slightly as the gentle embrace
of oblivion beckoned.

They administered the i.v.,
the cold sting of the needle
quickly forgotten as the warmth
of the sedative spread through
his tiny body. Plankton felt his
muscles go slack, his antennae
falling limply to his side.

The room grew hazier, the
colors and shapes melting like
crayons on wet paper. He felt
his consciousness slipping
away, the fear retreating with
it. Karen's hand remained on his
shoulder, a beacon of warmth
and comfort in the cold, sterile
environment.

As Plankton succumbed to the
pull of sleep, he heard the
muted voices of Karen and Sponge
Bob, their words a gentle lullaby.
Their presence was a warm blanket
wrapped around him, shielding
him from the cold, metal world
of the dental chair.

Sponge Bob watched as Plankton's
tiny form grew still, his antennae
finally at peace. He looked
up at Karen, her eyes filled with
a mix of relief and anxiety.
"He's okay," she whispered, her
voice a soothing wave.

The room grew quieter as Plankton
fell into a deep slumber,
his antennae finally still, as he's
completely asleep before they
began the extraction.


Delfina checked his vital signs,
her flippers moving with the
precision of a ballet dancer.
"He's out," she murmured to Dr.
Dolittle, who nodded in
satisfaction.

new autism in the plankton family dentistcore dentalcore ix

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY vii
(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob's mind is racing,
his heart thumping in his chest.
He had never seen Plankton like
this, and the sudden change
was unnerving. "What happened
to make you so..." he asks,
his voice laced with curiosity.

Plankton's smile broadens, his
hands continuing their flapping
dance. "Good book," he repeats.
"Best friend." He pats the bed
again, his gesture urging Sponge
Bob to sit closer.

Sponge Bob does, his gaze
still locked on Plankton's.

"But what happened?" he
presses, his voice filled with
concern. "You've never been
this... this... affectionate
before."

Plankton's hands stop
their flapping, his antennas
drooping slightly. "Just happy."

Sponge Bob's eyes search
his friend's, his concern
growing with each repetition.
"But Plankton, what's really
going on?" he asks, his voice
filled with urgency. "You've
never talked like this before."

Plankton's smile wavers,
his hand reaching for the book.
"Read," he says, his voice a
monotone. "Happy book."

Sponge Bob's eyes dart
between Plankton's and the
complex text before him.
"But Plankton, I don't
know what this means."

Plankton's smile fades, his
hands stilled. He looks at
Sponge Bob with an unblinking
stare, his mind racing. "Friend,"
he says, his voice flat. "Best
friend." His gaze drops to
the book, then back to
Sponge Bob's face. "Read," he
instructs, his tone firm.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, the
weight of Plankton's stare
heavy on his shoulders. He opens
the book to a random page.
"Ok," he says, his voice
shaking slightly. "I'll try."

He starts from the top, his
pronunciation awkward and stilted.
"Quantum Mechanics," he reads,
his eyes squinting at the text.
Sponge Bob's voice falters, the
complexity of the words tripping
his tongue. "Plankton, I don't
understand any of this," he says,
his voice filled with frustration.

Plankton's eye widen, his smile
fading. "Friend," he repeats,
his voice strained. "Best friend."
He grabs the book from Sponge
Bob's hands, his movements
suddenly frantic. "Read," he says,
his voice a mix of desperation
and joy. "Good book."

Sponge Bob's heart races as he
watches his friend's erratic
behavior. He knows something is
seriously off, but he's
not sure what. "Plankton What's
going on with you?"

Plankton's smile flickers back,
his hands stilling. He looks at
Sponge Bob, his gaze intense.
"Read," he repeats. "Best friend read."

Sponge Bob nods, his throat
tight. He tries again, his voice
more confident this time. "Quantum
Mechanics," he repeats.

Plankton's smile brightens, his
hands resuming their flutter.
"Good," he says, his voice a
monotone cheer. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's heart aches with
concern, but he continues to
read, hoping to find some
comfort in the words for
his friend. "Quantum Entanglement,"
he murmurs, his eyes scanning
the page for any sign of
understanding.

Plankton's flapping grows more
intense, his body rocking back
and forth with excitement.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen as he
notices Plankton's erratic
behavior, but he keeps reading,
his voice steady and calm. "The
universe," he says, his eyes
skimming the page, "is a strange
and wondrous place."

Plankton's eye light up, his
hands flapping rapidly. "Wondrous
place," he echoes, his voice
mirroring Sponge Bob's. "Best friend."

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
spongy cheeks reddening. "You're
saying the same thing I just said,"
he points out, his voice filled with
confusion.

Plankton nods vigorously, his
hands fluttering in the air. "You're
saying same thing," he says, his
voice a cheerful mimic of Sponge
Bob's. "Wondrous place. Saying
the same thing just said.."

"Plankton," SpongeBob says, his
voice urgent. "What's going on
with you?"

Plankton's smile is wide, but
his gaze is distant, as if he's
somewhere else entirely. "You're
saying the same thing," he echoes
again, his hands flapping in a
rhythmic pattern that matches
his words.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen.
"Plankton," he says,
his voice strained. "You're just
repeating me." He pauses, trying
to gauge his friend's reaction.

Plankton nods, his smile
still in place. "Yes," he says,
his voice a copy of
Sponge Bob's. "You're repeating."
His hands flap with excitement.

Sponge Bob's concern grows,
his eyes searching Plankton's for
any sign of distress. "But why,
Plankton?" he asks, his voice
soft with worry.

Plankton's smile falters, his
hands stopping mid-flap. 
"But why?" he repeats, his voice
a perfect echo of Sponge Bob's.

"You're copying
me," he says. "Why are
you copying everything I say?"

Plankton's eye refocus on
Sponge Bob's face, his smile
returning. "You're copying me
why are you copying everything 
I say." Plankton echoed.

Sponge Bob's trying to find a
reason behind the behavior.
"I'm asking you what's going on!"

Plankton nods, his antennae
waving slightly. "SpongeBob asking
me what's going on," he mimics.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his
heart racing. "Plankton,"
he says, his voice filled with
urgency. "This isn't funny. What's
really happening?" "This isn't
funny," he echoes Sponge Bob's
tone. "What's happening?"

Sponge Bob's heart sinks.
"Plankton," he says, his voice
shaking. "What's wrong with you?"

Plankton's eye locked
on Sponge Bob's. "Wrong with
Plankton," he echoes. "What's wrong?"

Sponge Bob's voice trembles
as he speaks. "You're not acting
like yourself," he says, his heart
pounding. "You're just repeating
everything I say."

"You're repeating everything
I say," he says, his voice a
mirror.

"Plankton," he says, his
voice shaking. "Please, tell
me what's going on."

"Please tell me what's
going on," he repeats, his voice
a perfect match to Sponge
Bob's. "You tell me."

Sponge Bob's eyes are
filled with a mix of fear and
desperation. "But, Plankton,"
he says, his voice trembling.
"You're just repeating everything
I say." He takes a deep breath,
his mind racing to understand
his friend's sudden change.

Plankton's smile is unwavering,
his hands still fluttering. "You're
just repeating everything," he echoes.
"I say." His voice is calm,
his movements methodical.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears,
his heart breaking at the sight
of his friend. "Please,
Plankton," he begs, his voice
cracking with anger.

But Plankton's response is
only more of the same, his words a
perfect echo of Sponge Bob's plea.
"Please, Plankton," he repeats,
his voice a mirror of pain. "Please.."

"This isn't right,"
he says, his voice filled with
frustration. "You're not acting
normal."

Plankton's smile falters for a
moment, his hands stilling. "Not
normal," he repeats, his voice a
hollow echo. "You not acting
right."

Sponge Bob's frustration boils
over. "I'm not the one who's
changed!" he exclaims, his voice
loud. "You're the one who's
been acting weird and repeating
everything I say!"

"You're the one
who's changed," he echoes, his voice
still calm. "Weird. Repeating."

Sponge Bob's anger flares, his
spongy fists clenching. "No, Plankton!"
he says, his voice rising. "You're the one
who's different! You're not the same
as before!"

Plankton's smile fades, his hands
coming to a halt. His gaze meets
Sponge Bob's with a flicker of
understanding. "Different," he says,
his voice a flat echo. "Not same."

Sponge Bob's anger turns to
desperation. "What happened to
you?" he asks, his voice cracking.
"Why are you doing this?"

Plankton's gaze is
unyielding, his smile a forced
imitation of happiness. "You
doing this," he repeats, his voice
a monotone.

Sponge Bob's eyes fill
with anger. "What are you
talking about?" he demands, his
hands clenching into fists. "I
haven't done anything!"

Plankton's smile flickers,
his gaze dropping to his book.
"You haven't done anything," he
echoes, his voice a mirror of
Sponge Bob's anger. "I have."

Sponge Bob's eyes narrow, his
confusion turning to anger. "What
are you saying?" he asks, his voice
sharp.

Plankton's hands resuming their flapping. "I
have book," he says, his voice
calmer. "Good book. Happy book."

Sponge Bob's anger dissipates,
his confusion deepening. "But
Plankton," he says, his voice gentle.
"What's the book got to do with
anything?"

"Book," he repeats, his voice
a monotone chant. "Book, book."

Sponge Bob's confusion turns
to anger, his eyes narrowing.
"What is it with this book?"
he demands, his voice tight.
"What's so special about it?"

Plankton's smile flickers,
his hands pausing in their
flapping. "You and book," he says,
his voice a monotone whisper.
"Makes Plankton happy."

SpongeBob grabs Plankton's
wrists to stop the flapping,
making Plankton finally stop
his repetitive chanting.
"What's gotten into you?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice
shaking with anger and concern.
"Are you just messing with me?"
Plankton's smile fades,
his antennas drooping. "No mess,"
he says, his voice a sad echo.
He tries to pull
his hands free, but Sponge Bob's
grip tightens.

Sponge Bob's eyes bore into
his friend's, searching for
anything that might explain
this strange behavior. "Then what
is it, Plankton?" he asks,
his voice a mix of anger
and fear. "What's going on?"

Plankton's gaze flickers with
a hint of sadness.

"Accident," he whispers, his
voice a hollow echo,
his body tense.

new karen and the autistic journey echolalia palilalia vii

NEW REALITY vi
(Autistic author)

"Plankton," she starts,
her voice tentative.
"Can we try something?"
He nods, his eye
still searching.

Karen reaches over
to the bedside drawer,
pulling out a small,
soft blanket.
"This is called a weighted
blanket," she explains,
unfolding it gently.
"It's like a hug from me
without the pressure."

Plankton's gaze
flickers with curiosity.
He nods slowly, allowing
her to place it over
his body, his eye
closed as he feels the
comforting weight.
"It's good,"
he murmurs, his voice
a mix of wonder and
fatigue.

Karen's heart lifts,
a tiny victory in the
face of the unknown.
"It's like a hug,"
she says, smoothing
the blanket over him.
"It helps some people
feel safe and calm."

Plankton nods, his
body relaxing into
the embrace of the
weighted fabric.

Karen's eyes fill with
relief as she watches
his tension melt away.
"Does it feel better?"
she asks, her voice
gentle.

Plankton nods, his
eye still closed. "Calm,"
he whispers.

Encouraged, Karen pulls
the blanket tighter, mimicking
a gentle squeeze. "Good?"
she asks, her voice a soft
query.

Plankton nods, a smile
ghosting over his lips. "Good,"
he agrees, his voice a faint
whisper.

Karen's heart skips a beat.
"I'm here," she says, her voice
a soothing melody. "I'll always
be here to help you find
your calm."

Plankton nods, his eye
still shut. "Calm," he whispers,
his body sinking deeper into
the blanket's embrace.

Karen's eyes fill with tears
as she watches him. She's
found a way to connect, a way
to bring him comfort in a
world that's become too much
for him. The weight of
the blanket seems to anchor him,
still the storm in his mind.

"I'll get us through this,"
she whispers, her voice filled
with resolve. "We're a team."

Plankton's antennae twitch
slightly, a sign of his
agreement. "Team," he murmurs,
his breathing evening out
beneath the blanket.

Karen's eyes shine with
hope. "Yes, we're a team,"
she repeats, leaning down
to kiss his forehead.
"Now, try to get some sleep."

Plankton nods, his hand
reaching up to trace the
edge of the blanket. "Sleep,"
he murmurs.

Karen watches him for a
moment longer, then stands
slowly, not wanting to disturb
his fragile peace. She
moves to the door, her hand
on the knob. "I'll be right
outside if you need me,"
she says softly.

Plankton nods, his hand
still tracing the blanket.
"Karen," he whispers.

Her heart squeezes. "I know,"
she says, her voice a gentle
caress. "I'll be right here."

With one last look at him,
she steps into the hallway,
closing the door behind her.

The house feels eerie in
its quiet, the weight of
the silence pressing down.
Her thoughts race, her mind
a whirlwind of fears and
uncertainty. How do you
navigate a world that's
suddenly become so
overwhelming for someone
you love?

Karen leans against
the closed door, her eyes
brimming with tears. She
can't bear to leave him
alone, but he needs rest.
With a heavy sigh, she
forces herself to step away,
determined to give him
the space he needs to adjust.

new new reality Sheldon J. Plankton & Karen vi

TRUTH AND NAIL vi

Karen couldn't believe
the transformation.
This was not the Plankton
she knew, not the one who
was always scheming
or complaining. This was
a Plankton who was loose,
free from his usual
inhibitions, and it was
both endearing and a little
unnerving. But mostly,
it was just funny.

He poked Sponge Bob's side
again, his giggle a strange
sound in the quiet
living room. "Still squishy,"
he murmured.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was like a bubble bursting.
"Plankton, you're
loopy!" he exclaimed.

Plankton's eye fluttered
open, his gaze
unfocused. "Loopy?"
he repeated, his voice
slurred. "I'm not a loop,
I'm a...a...a...sea creature!"
He giggled, the sound
like a leaky faucet.

Sponge Bob couldn't
help but laugh harder,
his eyes watering with
mirth. "You're right,
Plankton," he said, his voice
shaking with amusement.
"You're a sea creature.
A very loopy one."

Plankton giggled, his
body jerking with each
laugh. "Loopy, loopy,"
he murmured, his hand
still on Sponge Bob's side.
His eye lit up with
an idea. "Peekaboo!"
he exclaimed, hiding his
eye behind his hand.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was like a symphony of
bubbles, filling the room
with joy. "Oh, Plankton,
you're a riot," he said,
his voice a delighted
chuckle. He played along,
covering his eyes. "Where
did you go?"

Plankton's giggle was
a strange, wobbly sound.
"I'm still here," he slurred,
his voice muffled by
his hand. "I'm...I'm right here."
He peeked through
his fingers, his eye
twinkling with mischief.

Sponge Bob chuckled,
his voice warm and welcoming.
"Where'd you go, Plankton?"
he asked, playing along.

Plankton's eye peeked
out from behind his hand,
his grin wide and goofy.
"Boo!" he exclaimed,
his voice a sloppy whisper.

Sponge Bob's laughter was
a delightful sound, echoing
in the quiet room. "You got me,
Plankton!" he said, his voice
filled with surprise.

Encouraged by the reaction,
Plankton's hand dropped to
his lap, his gaze turning
to Karen. "Wanna...wanna play?"
he asked, his voice still thick
with anesthesia.

Her eyes danced with
laughter. "What game, love?"

Plankton's smile grew, his
voice a sleepy whine. "Pat-a-cake?"

Karen's laugh was a gentle
surprise. "Pat-a-cake?"
she echoed, her hand
moving to his. "Okay, darling."

Their palms met with a
slap, Plankton's movements
slow and awkward.
"Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake,"
he murmured, his voice
slurred. They played the
game, their hands moving
in a clumsy dance, a silent
reminder of his groggy
state.

Sponge Bob watched, his
laughter a gentle wave in
the background. "Looks
like someone had a bit too
much fun at the dentist,"
he teased, his voice a
soft caress.

Plankton's gaze found his,
his smile a sleepy grin. "Dentith?"
he slurred, his hand
waving vaguely. "No, no,
not dentith...."

Sponge Bob nodded, his
laughter subsiding to
a gentle chuckle. "Alright,
not the dentist," he said,
his voice understanding.
"What game do you
want to play then?"

Plankton's head lolled to
the side, his eye half-closed.
"You know...the one with...
the animals," he murmured,
his words thick and slow.
But Plankton's head
was already lolling back,
his snores a soft rumble
in the quiet room.
Sponge Bob looked at
Karen, his expression
a mix of concern and
amusement. "Should we...?"
he began, his voice trailing off.

Plankton's snore was his
only reply, his mouth
open wide and drool
spilling onto the couch.
Karen chuckled, patting
his hand. "He's just tired,"
she said, her voice a gentle
excuse. Karen
covered him with a soft
blanket, his snores growing
louder as he sank deeper
into sleep. “You can sleep
on the other couch across
by him,” Karen told Sponge
Bob.

The anesthesia worn off over
night, and Plankton only woke
up the next morning on the
couch at the same time as
SpongeBob.

Plankton sat up with a
start, his eye wide.
"Wha... where...what...?"
his words tangled in a
slurry mess.

Sponge Bob stirred on
the couch across from him,
his eyes blinking sleepily.
"Morning, Plankton," he
said.

Plankton's eye focused on
his friend, his mind racing.
"Sponge Bob?" he said, his voice
sharp and clear. "Wath...what's
going on here?!"

Sponge Bob stretches
his limbs. "Well, good
morning to you too, Plankton,"
he said, his voice filled with
cheerful energy. "You had
your wisdom teeth out, remember?"

“I know I went to the dentist
but, what happened after I
came home?” He said, mostly
to himself.

Sponge Bob sat up, rubbing
his eyes. "Well, you were
pretty out of it," he said,
his voice still a bit groggy
from sleep. "But you were also
pretty funny."

Plankton's gaze darted
around the room, his mind
spinning. "What...what do you
mean?" His voice was
sharp, his usual snappiness
creeping back in.

Sponge Bob chuckled,
his body still relaxed
from his nap. "You don't
remember?" he asked, his
voice a tease. "You were
so affectionate, calling
me your best buddy and all."

Plankton's eye narrowed,
his confusion morphing
into suspicion. "I did no
such thing," he said, his voice
a firm rebuttal. "I'm not
that...that..."

Karen stepped in, her
laugh light. "You don't
remember?" she asked, her
voice a gentle tease. "You were
so lovely and affectionate
last night."

Plankton's face scrunched
up in disbelief. "Affectionate?"
he repeated, his voice rising.
"To him?" His thumb jerked
towards Sponge Bob, who
was now watching him with
a knowing smile. "I...I can't
have said that."

Sponge Bob shrugged, his
laugh bubbly. "You sure did,
Plankton. You were poking
me and calling me your
best buddy."

Plankton's disbelief grew,
his eye wide with shock.
"I...I did not!" he protested,
his voice a high-pitched
squeak. "That's...that's not
me!"

Karen couldn't hold back
her laughter, her eyes
twinkling with mirth. "Oh,
it was definitely you, darling,"
she said, her voice a sweet
contrast to his indignation.

Plankton's expression
shifted from shock to
outrage. "But...but why?"
he sputtered, his face
flushing a deep shade
of red. "I don't...I don't
do that sort of...that sort
of thing!"

Karen's laugh was like
a melody, light and
playful. "You did, love,"
she said, her voice a soft
reminder. "You were just a
little...loopy."

Plankton's hand flew to
his mouth, his eye
wide with horror. "No, no, no,"
he murmured, his voice
muffled by his palm. "That
can't be right." He looked
at Sponge Bob with an
accusatory glare. "Who
put me up to this?"

Sponge Bob's laugh was
like a burst of bubbles.
"You don't remember?"
he asked, his voice full
of delight. "It was all
you, buddy. You were
feeling the med..."

"The medicine!"
Plankton exclaimed, his
face paling as realization
hit him. "The anesthesia
made me say those
things.." His voice was
a mix of relief and horror.

Sponge Bob's chuckle
was infectious. "Don't
worry, Plankton," he said,
his voice warm. "We all
have our moments."

But Plankton was not
to be swayed. "That's not
like me," he insisted,
his voice a mix of
dismay and irritation.
"I'm not...I'm not like
that!"

Sponge Bob's chuckles
turned into a full-blown
laugh. "Well, you were
last night," he said,
his voice a gentle ribbing.
"You were all warm
and fuzzy. But you did
eventually fall asleep 
and started snoring.."

Plankton's face was a
picture of disgust. "Snoring?!"
he said, his voice a mix
of outrage and embarrassment.

Karen's laugh was like a
small wave on the shore.
"It's okay, honey," she said,
patting his leg. "You were
just really tired."

"I...I don't snore," he
asks, his voice firm.

Sponge Bob couldn't help
but chuckle, his laugh
bubbly. "Well, you did
last night," he said, his voice
a gentle reminder.

Plankton's eye narrowed,
his usual snappiness returning
with full force. "I...I
snored?" he asked, his voice
skeptical.

Karen's smile was
sympathetic. "You did, darling,"
she said, her voice soothing.
"But it's all right. It's just
what happens when you're
tired."

Plankton's eye shot to hers,
his expression a mix of
disbelief and irritation. "But
I...I never snored," he insisted,
his voice a protest. “Right, Karen?”

Her laugh was a gentle tide,
washing over his protests.
"You do snore, Plankton,"
she said, her voice a warm
caress. "But it's nothing to be
embarrassed about."

Plankton's face was a mask
of disbelief, his voice
a tight knot of denial. "I
snore?" he repeated, as if
the word was foreign to
his vocabulary.

Sponge Bob's laughter
was a delightful sound, his
body shaking with mirth.
"Yes, Plankton," he said,
his voice full of affection.
"But don't worry, it's
not so bad. I mean, you're
not as loud as Patrick."

Karen's giggle joined
his, the two of them
laughing gently at Plankton's
expense. But their laughter
wasn't cruel, it was the
kind that comes from knowing
someone so well that their
quirks become endearing.

"I...I do?" Plankton
asked, his voice barely
above a murmur.

Sponge Bob nodded,
his laughter subsiding
into a knowing smile.
"But hey, we all have
our little quirks, right?"

Karen's eyes sparkled
with amusement. "It's
part of who we are, love,"
she said, her voice a gentle
reminder of the truth.

new truth and nail plankbobs vi

༆

new vi pp w sexual reproduction

▶• ılıılıılılıılıılı. 0ᥫ᭡.⚽⚽༯˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

new vinijr. 7 sevener septenary numberless vii

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new sickcore hospitalcore iv

CHIP AND FAIL vi
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes searched Plankton's,
looking for the spark that
meant he was coming back to her.
Slowly, the panic in his gaze
faded, replaced by the familiar
look of love and confusion. "I'm
here," she said, her voice barely
above a whisper. "It's okay."

Plankton's body finally
unclenched, his muscles relaxing
under her gentle touch. The storm
in his mind was receding, leaving
behind a quiet beach of clarity.
He didn't know what had
happened, only that it was bad.

Karen knew the routine, the
dance of calming Plankton after
a meltdown. But Chip didn't know.
He was just trying to share his
excitement, to reconnect with
his father after a week apart.
He didn't know that his touch, his
laughter, his stories, were all too
much for Plankton to handle.

As Karen worked to bring
Plankton back to reality, she
couldn't help but feel a pang of
sorrow for Chip. He had no idea
how his love was received, no way
to understand that his actions
could cause such pain. She had to
find a way to explain, to help
both her husband and her son find
a way to connect without setting
off the sensory bombs that lurked
just beneath the surface.

"K-Karen?" Plankton murmurs
as he slowly returns to himself.
The room stops spinning, the noises
dulling to a gentle hum. He looks
around, confusion etched in every line
of his face.

"You're okay," she whispers.
Her heart breaks for her husband,
for the silent battles he fights
every day. She knows Chip
doesn't understand, that his love
and excitement are a minefield
for Plankton's sensitive mind.

But she also feels a pang
of anger. How could she have
let this happen? She had hoped
that Chip's visit would be a
celebration, a chance for them
to bond. Instead, it had become
a reminder of the chasm that
sometimes separated them, a stark
reality of Plankton's condition.

Chip's sobs from the next room
were a constant reminder of the
pain he had inadvertently caused.
Karen knew she had to talk to
him, to explain.

"Chip, sweetheart," she called,
her voice carrying a gentle
authority. "Can you come out
here, please?"

Chip's heart was still racing,
his eyes red and puffy from crying.
He wiped his nose with the back
of his hand and stepped out of
his room, his gaze flickering to
his dad, then back to his mom. "Is he
okay?" he asked, his voice
small and unsure.

Karen nodded, her screen filled
with a mix of love and
exhaustion. "He's okay," she said,
"Honey, it's time we tell Chip. Can
I help you sit up, so you can tell him?"

Plankton nodded weakly, his body
still feeling like it was made
of lead. Karen helped him into
a sitting position, her eyes
never leaving his. "You're okay,"
she repeated, her voice a gentle
reminder.

Chip stared at
Plankton. "Dad?"
he asked, his 
voice tentative.

Plankton looked up at him,
his eye still clouded with the
aftermath of the storm.

"Chip," he began, his voice
weak, "I'm sorry." But Chip was
already there, kneeling beside
his dad, his screen wide with
relief and confusion.

"What happened?" Chip asked, his
voice trembling. "Why didn't you
answer me? You just ignored me!"

Karen's screen filled with
compassion as she placed a
comforting hand on Chip's shoulder.
"Your dad's not ignoring you,"
she said gently. "He has something
to tell you."

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, the words sticking in his
throat. He had always been
afraid of this moment, of the
day Chip would find out. "I...
I, I just..."

Karen squeezed his hand, her
gaze filled with understanding. "It's
okay," she said softly. "You can
tell him."

Plankton took another deep
breath, his voice trembling as
he began. "Chip, I'm... I..."

"Dad?" Chip leaned in, his screen
filled with hope and concern.

Plankton swallowed hard, the
weight of his secret heavy
on his shoulders. "I have...
I've got..."

"Tell me, Dad," Chip said, his
hands going to clutching his dad's 
arm. 
Plankton winced at the sudden
contact, his body tensing again.

Karen saw it, the brief
flicker of pain in his eye. She
quickly stepped in, placing a hand
on Chip's arm. "Give him a
moment, honey," she said, her
voice filled with gentle guidance.

Chip's screen searched hers. He
slowly removed his hand,
backing away slightly.

"Dad, tell me," he said, his voice
desperate. "What's wrong?"

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae drooping. "Chip," he
managed, "I've..."

But Chip was already there, his
hands on his father's shoulder.
"Dad, tell me," he said, his voice
filled with urgency. Plankton's
body tensed at the touch.

Karen stepped in quickly,
guiding Chip's hand away. "Let him
speak, honey," she said softly.

Plankton took another deep
breath, his antennae quivering
as he gathered his thoughts. "I have
a..."

"Dad, if it's something bad..."

Plankton's antennae quivered, his
face a mask of pained effort. "Chip..."

Chip's eyes were glued to his dad,
his mind racing with questions.
Why can't Dad just tell me?
He's always been so strong, so
independent. Why is this so hard
for him?

Plankton took a moment, his
eye searching for the right
words. "It's just..."

Chip leaned in closer. All he 
knew was that his
father was in pain and he needed to
fix it. "Just tell me, Dad!" he said,
his voice earnest. "Whatever it is..."

But Plankton was lost again, his
mind swirling with sensations. He
could feel Chip's screen on him,
hear his desperate pleas, but the
words remained trapped. He
closed his eye, trying to gather
his thoughts.

"Chip," he finally managed,
his voice a mere whisper. "I'm not..."

"You're not what?" Chip's voice
was filled with concern and a hint
of impatience.

Plankton opened his eye with a
sigh, his gaze meeting Chip's. "Son..."

"Dad, please, tell me!" Chip's
excitement was palpable, his
body vibrating with the need
for connection.

Plankton took a deep breath,
his antennae drooping slightly.
"Chip, I'm..."

But Chip, fueled by his
eagerness to connect, didn't
give him the space. "Come on, Dad,"
he said, his hands landing on
Plankton's shoulders again.

Plankton flinched, his eye
squeezing shut as the touch sent
a shockwave through his body. "Chip,"
he groaned, his voice strained.
"Please..."

But Chip's enthusiasm didn't
wane, his voice growing more
desperate. "Dad, tell me!" He didn't
understand the pain he was causing,
his need for a response only adding
to the pressure on Plankton, irritating
his frustration as he squeezed his
shoulders harder. "Just..."

Plankton's eye snapped open,
his body recoiling from the
intensity of his son's touch.
The words he had been trying
to form shattered like glass
under the weight of his sensory
overload. "Chip, STOP!" he
yelled, his voice cracking with
frustration and pain.

The sudden outburst shocked both
Karen and Chip into stillness. His dad had
never talked to him like that before. "What..."

But Plankton's agony was like a
dam bursting. He pushed Chip away,
his voice a shout of desperation.
"I CAN'T, CHIP!"

Chip staggered back, his
expression a mix of shock and
hurt. "But why?" he asked, his
voice trembling.

Plankton took a deep, shaky
breath, his body still reeling,
his voice strained. "I have...
I have..."

Chip's eyes searched 
his father's. Why couldn't
his dad just tell him what was
going on? "What, Dad?"

But Plankton was retreating
back into himself, his mind a
whirlwind of sensation and
frustration. "It's too much,"
he managed, his voice barely
above a whisper. "Your..."

"What's too much?" Chip
interrupted, his voice rising
with confusion. "My what?"

Plankton's antennae drooped
as he searched for a way to explain.
He had always kept his condition
to himself, fearful of the
misunderstanding it might bring.
"Chip," he began, his voice
trembling with the effort of
finding the words. "You..."

But Chip's excitement was a
wave, crashing over the delicate
barriers Plankton had built. "You're
not telling me something," he said,
his voice filled with accusation.
"What is it!" His touch was
like sandpaper on sunburned skin,
each word a jab at Plankton's
already overwhelmed mind.

Plankton's eye darted around the
room, his antennae twitching
wildly. The pressure was too
much, the noise of Chip's voice
like a siren. He
could feel the beginnings of a
panic attack, his chest tightening.

"Chip, please," he managed, his voice
barely above a whisper. "I need a
moment." But Chip's excitement
was a force of nature, unyielding
and relentless. "But I just
want to tell you about my week,
about the robot and Nutmeg!"
He didn't know that his words,
his touch, were like a tornado in
Plankton's mind, a storm he couldn't
weather.

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

      ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ
     ™️

new vi invisible unseen

raneem🧿

new xi zeta tau roman alphabet latin alphabet

x×ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶

new alphabet xi

𝐧𝐞𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐦

new neovim text dot ascii art vi

Xi please shut the fuck up, ur being so immature and bitchy js shut up and sort it out with toad instead of posting like 10 post on emoji combos, like girl - active akemi members ✨️

new akemi 4_lauren xi

ok I have no clue whats happening but I feel like toad is being impersonated like what lunar said and who the he'll is Xi or whatever is sounds weird - active akemi member 🤫🧏‍♀️

new huh xi hi 4_lauren

𓁹 ✖

new dead eye xi red dead redemption

♡¢нℓσє уαρριηg ⋆˚࿔ ¢нℓσє 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝔁𝓸𝔁𝓸¢нℓσє ιѕ ∂σηє ησω вує!! ♡🍓♡♡..........♡.........🍓................😉🍏🍇ﾒ𝟶ﾒ𝟶

new xi 11

😷💯

new jjhjhjhj 37 42 vi

🅿️🅾️Rn

ྀི🧸▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||||။၊|။•

new coquette ae iv v f

fg🇩

new fire vi burn

❌

new neovim vi

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

new iiii iii vii dot art text art ascii art

🗒🎱🕢➡

new sevener septet vii sharping knifelike penetrative piano

⠀݂⠀✉️⠀֯⠀ ᮫⠀ ⛤⠀ׄ⠀ 𓍢ִ⠀܄⠀ʬ  ⭑  ˙  𓍯⠀ׄ⠀🌿﹔ 
ₜᵢₘₑ ᵢₛ ₛₚₑ𝓬ᵢₐₗ ᵳₒᵣ ₕᵤₘₐₙₛ, ₛᵢₙ𝓬ₑ ₜₕₑᵧ 𝓭ₒₙ'ₜ ₕₐᵥₑ ₐ ₗₒₜ. ᵢᵳ ₐ ₕᵤₘₐₙ ₛₚₑₙ𝓭ₛ ₜᵢₘₑ 𝔀ᵢₜₕ ᵧₒᵤ, ᵧₒᵤ ₐᵣₑ ₛₚₑ𝓬ᵢₐₗ ᵳₒᵣ ₜₕₑₘ.

new vex xi xixi banner discord bio star sparkle beef drama elegant universe diamond

.ᐟ㊙

new letter xi gimel

💗✨🏹🐈‍⬛

new seven roman numerals cardinal julian calendar six eight common year starting on saturday vii

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