Autism and All Emoji Combos

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 2 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ "You had a little episode, sweetheart," Karen says, her voice warm and reassuring. "It's okay, just another one..." "Karen, wh-what is Chip doing here? Did he se-" Plankton's question is cut short as he notices Chip's expression, and he realized Chip must've indeed seen the whole thing. How long did it last? Embarrassment washed over Plankton. He'd managed to keep his condition from his son for so long, but now the secret was out. His heart raced, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. "Chip," he stammers, "I-" But Chip's eyes are wide. "What was that, Dad?" he asks, his tone innocent. Plankton's never talked about his autism to anyone other than Karen before. He's not sure how his son will react. Will Chip look at him differently now? "It's nothing, Chip," Plankton mumbles, avoiding eye contact. He wishes he could just sink into the bed and vanish. Chip, however, isn't one to back down easily. "No, Dad, what happened?" He insists, his voice still shaking from the fear that had just gripped him. "You were just sitting there, not moving or anyth-" "It's nothing," Plankton insists, his voice a bit more firm now. He doesn't want to admit it, but he feels a twinge of embarrassment at having been found out. He's always been so good at hiding his autistic traits from Chip. But now, his son is staring at him with a mix of curiosity and concern. Karen sighs, knowing it's time for Chip to have 'The Talk'. "Chip," she starts, her voice careful, "Your dad sometimes has moments like this. It's part of who he is, something he can't help." Chip's screen shifts to Karen, his eyes searching for understanding. "What do you me—" "It's NOTHING Chip," Plankton repeats, his voice more insistent. "Just... just DROP IT, OKAY‽" The sharpness in his tone surprises Chip. He's never heard his dad snap like that. He takes a step back, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "I just wanted to know if you were okay," he mumbles. Plankton's eye darts to Karen, silently pleading. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "We can talk about it." But Plankton shakes his head, his cheeks flushing even more. "No, no, not now," he says, his voice smaller, almost defeated. The silence in the room stretches taut like a wire. Plankton's antenna starts to twitch erratically. It's a familiar sight to Karen, a tic. She's seen it before, yet never when Chip's been around. The tic again manifests as a twitch, his head jerking to the side in a small, rapid movement. "Dad? What's going on?" Chip's voice is smaller now, fear creeping in. Plankton's always been self-conscious about his condition. But now, his son looks at him with those innocent, questioning eyes. He swallows hard, trying to keep his anxiety in check. He doesn't know how to explain the tics and the stims that accompany his autism. He's always been so careful around Chip, hiding them as best as he could. "It's... it's just a... nothing," Plankton stammers. But Chip's curiosity is piqued. "What's happening to yo-" "CHIP!" Plankton's voice is sharp. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide. He's never seen his dad this upset. Karen's hand moves to Plankton's, her grip tight. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her voice steady. Chip's eyes follow Plankton's head as it jerks slightly to the side again. "What's happening to your head?" Chip asks. He's never talked about his autism with anyone other than Karen, and certainly not with Chip. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation. "I told you, it's tck tck nothing, Chip," he says, his voice strained. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand. "Let's just sit and talk, ok?" "I'm sorry," Plankton says to Karen. Karen's screen filled with sympathy. "You don't have to apologize, Plankton." She knows how much Plankton has struggled with his autism, how much he's worked to fit in and keep it hidden from Chip. "But he's going to want to know," Plankton says, his voice cracking. "I don't want hi-" "I know, love," Karen interrupts gently. "But we'll explain it to him. He's a smart boy. He'll understand." Plankton nods, his antennae still twitching. He takes a deep breath, preparing to face the reality that his secret is no longer safe. He looks at Chip, who's still hovering at the edge of the room, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Chip, come here," Karen calls, patting the bed. "Your dad has something to tell you." Chip approaches cautiously, his heart thumping. Plankton looks up at him, his eye shimmering with unshed tears. Karen takes a deep breath, and then starts to explain. "Chip, your dad's brain is special. It does some things differently than ours. Sometimes, it can get overwhelmed and he needs a little time to... recalibrate." Plankton's gaze shifts to the floor, his antennae twitching. Chip can see the shame etched on his father's face, the fear of rejection. "Is that why you just moved your head like that?" he asks tentatively, pointing at the twitch. Plankton sighs, his body tense. "Yes," Karen admits, "that's part of it. And sometimes, he has moments where he just... zones out. It's like his brain goes to another place and can't come back right away." Chip's eyes are glued to his dad. "But why?" he asks her. Plankton's antennae twitch again, a silent plea for her to handle this. Karen's eyes soften. "It's called an absence seizure," she says. "It's part of his condition." Chip frowns, "What condition?" Plankton's gaze snaps up to his son, his heart racing. He's always been so careful to keep his autism hidden from Chip. But now, the moment of truth is here. "I'm... I-I-I-I…." Karen gives his hand a comforting squeeze. "It's called autism," she says. Chip's brow furrows. "What's autism?" His voice is small, his eyes searching his mother's face for answers. Plankton's heart feels like it's in a vice. He's avoided this conversation for so long. But now, the truth is out, and he's not sure if he can face his son's reaction. Karen smiles gently. "It's a way of being," she says. "Some people's brains work differently. They see the world in a unique way, and they have to deal with things like... episodes." Chip looks from his mother to his father, trying to comprehend. "But Dad, aren't you okay?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton's throat tightens. He's never felt so exposed. "I'm fine," he forces out. Plankton wishes he could just hide, disappear into the wallpaper. But he's trapped under the spotlight of his own son's curiosity.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 1 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip was adopted at birth by Plankton and Karen, who raised him. But Plankton's autistic, which he only shared with Karen. He managed to 'mask' or hide some of his neurodivergence from Chip, who's got no idea his dad's neurodisabled. Chip walks in the door to his parent's room is slightly ajar. He peeks in, expecting to find his mom tidying up or his dad fiddling with one of his inventions. Instead, he sees his dad sitting still on the edge of his bed, his eye glazed over, his body stiff. "Dad?" But Plankton doesn't move, nor does he acknowledge his son's presence. Chip takes a step closer. He tries to shake him, but Plankton is like a doll, unresponsive. "Dad, are you ok?" Chip's voice cracks, fear starting to creep in. The room feels eerily silent, sans the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Chip tries to recall if he's ever seen his dad like this. It dawns on him that he might be hurt. "Dad?" he whispers again, his voice trembling. The only response is the persistent tick-tock of the clock, echoing in the silence. Chip's mind races, trying to make sense of the unexpected scene before him. Plankton's absence seizure had always been a closely guarded secret, shared only with Karen. But now, Chip's the one who's stumbled upon it, and he doesn't know what it is, nor what to do. He reaches out to touch his father's shoulder, his hand shaking, but Plankton doesn't flinch, despite his discomfort. His eye is open, yet unseeing. The realization hits Chip like a ton of bricks. Something is wrong, terribly wrong. "Mom, you need to come to your bedroom. Something's happened to Dad!" Karen rushes in, a look of concern etched on her screen as she takes in the scene. She quickly assesses Plankton and knew exactly what was going on. She knows Chip has never noticed Plankton's autistic traits. They kept the autism a secret from Chip as per Plankton's request. "It's ok, sweetie," she says calmly, placing a gentle hand on Chip's shoulder. "Your dad's just having a little... episode." Her voice is soft, but firm, trying to ease his panic without causing alarm. She's seen this hundreds of times. And she knew Chip doesn't have the faintest idea of his dad having a condition. "What do you mean?" Chip's eyes are wide with fear, his hands still hovering over his father's unresponsive body. He's never seen his dad so lifeless before. "It's like he's not even there," he whispers. Karen takes a deep breath and sighs. "Your dad doesn't know it's happening, but he'll be fine soon." Chip's eyes dart around the room, his gaze returning to Plankton. "But why?" he asks, voice shaking. "What's going on?" Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of sorrow and determination as she explains, "Your dad's brain does things differently from other people's, and this is one of those times." Chip's confusion deepens. "But wh-" "Remember how sometimes you get really focused on a video game and can't hear me right away?" Chip nods. "Well, this is like that, but his body goes still and he's not really aware of what's around him.." Chip watches as Karen carefully helps Plankton to lie down, placing a pillow under his head and covering him with a blanket. Plankton's eye remains open, but it's not looking at anything specific, just glazed over. Chip's fear turns to curiosity, questions racing through his mind. He's seen his dad in his 'work mode' before, where he's so focused on his inventions that it's like he's in another world. But this seems different. This is scary. Karen sighs. "We'll talk later, ok?" Chip nods, yet his curiosity overpowers his fear. He watches as Karen sits by Plankton's side. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispers, stroking his antennae. "You're safe here; I'm here." Karen's screen never left Plankton's face, her gaze filled with love and understanding. She knows his silent battles, his secret world of challenges. "Plankton, it's me, Karen," she says gently. "You're safe. I'm right here." She speaks softly. Chip, still hovering, can't help but notice the tenderness in her touch as Plankton's body remains still, his eye unblinking. Suddenly, Plankton speaks. "Must...the...yes." Plankton mumbles in a tone that's distant. The words make no sense to Chip, but Karen nods as if she understands. "It's ok Plankton," she soothes. "You're right here with me." The sight of his dad talking to himself sends a shiver down Chip's spine. He's seen Plankton mumble things before, lost in his thoughts, but this is different. It's as if he's in a trance, his eye seeing something only he can perceive. Chip feels his own anxiety spike, wondering what could be going through his dad's mind in this state. "Dad?" "Let him be," Karen says softly. "Sometimes he talks like that when he's coming out of it. It's part of his... process." Plankton continues. "The... ...has to be..." His words are fragmented, his voice trailing off as if his thoughts are racing faster than his mouth can keep up. "What...what is he saying?" Chip asks Karen. Karen's eyes stay locked on Plankton, her expression both concerned and calm. "He's not really talking to anyone," she explains. "It's just something that can happen during these episodes." Plankton's mumbling turns into a murmur. "The... the... it's all..." Karen leans in closer, her voice soothing, "It's okay, sweetheart. You're okay. Just let it happen." Karen knows from experience that the words are not for them, but rather a cerebral dance he has no control over. Chip, on the other hand, is utterly bewildered. The room seems to shrink around them, the air thick with unspoken questions and a palpable tension. Karen's hand never leaves Plankton's antenna, her thumb brushing it gently. "You're safe, Plankton," she repeats, her voice a lullaby. "You're here with me." "The... the... it's..." Plankton says. Chip can't help but lean closer, his hand reaching. Karen's hand shoots out to stop him. "Chip, no!" she says firmly. "Don't. It could make it worse." Her eyes are filled with a knowledge that Chip lacks, a fear that he's only just beginning to understand. Karen sighs. "It's just his brain... recalibrating." The silence stretches out, stifling. Chip watches his father, his mind racing. He's seen his dad's inventions come to life, but this... this is a mystery he can't solve. Plankton's antenna starts to twitch slightly, the first sign of movement since the episode began. "It's over, love," she whispers. "You're okay." Plankton's eye blinks, once, twice, and then focuses on Karen. Recognition slowly dawns on his face, confused. "Whaa-" "You had a moment, Plankton," she says gently. "It's okay." Plankton looks around, spotting Chip. "Chip? K-Karen, what's going on?" His voice cracks with confusion. "What's wrong? Did I...?" Chip feels a surge of relief seeing his dad's eye blink and his dad's voice return to normal. But the question in his dad's voice tells him that Plankton doesn't remember.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 6 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The sounds Plankton makes shift again. "Skrink, skrink." Karen's eyes light up with understanding. "It's his brain's new way of saying 'I'm okay'," she whispers. "It's a 'stim'." Chip looks at his dad, his curiosity piqued. Plankton's antennae wriggle, his eye glazed over. "Skrink, skrink, skrink." The sounds are soothing, almost hypnotic. "It's like he's playing a tune," Chip murmurs. Karen nods. "In a way, he is," she says. "It's his brain's symphony." The room is bathed in the glow of Plankton's stims, his autism's unique melody. "Dad?" Chip asks tentatively, his voice a whisper. Plankton's head tilts slightly, his antennae still. "Skrink skrink skrink," he repeats. It's like he's in a trance, lost in a world only he understands. Plankton's eye flickers. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers. "You can keep making your sounds." And then it happens. Plankton's voice shifts, echoing Karen's words. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs. Chip looks at his mom, his eyes wide. "Is he... is he okay?" Karen nods. "It's his way of processing," she says. "It's called 'echolalia'." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his father's. "It's when his brain mimics the words he hears to make sense of them," she explains. "It's like when you repeat something until it feels right." Plankton's antennae twitch in time with his echoes. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice a mirror of Karen's soothing tone. Chip smiles. "It's okay, Plankton," he repeats, trying to enforce his dad's calm. But Plankton thinks Chip's making fun of him. His antennae shoot straight up, his eye wide with hurt anger at Chip. "It's not a game, Chip!" Plankton snaps. "It's not something to tck tck... to mock!" Karen sighs, knowing this conversation needs to be handled with care. "Sorry, Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "I just... I thought it would he-" "It's not for you to think about!" Plankton cuts him off. Karen puts a hand on Chip's shoulder, her gaze on Plankton. "Chip didn't mean anything by it," she says calmly. "He just wants to understand and connect." She turns to Chip, her screen filled with compassion. "I know it's hard to see Dad like this," she says. "But remember, his autism is part of him, and we need to respect it. He doesn't like it when you mimic his sounds like that." Chip nods, feeling a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, but he doesn't look at Chip. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing. "We're all learning here." Plankton's hand starts to move again, tracing patterns on the blanket. Karen watches. "It's his 'stimming', Chip," she says. "It's his way of self-soothing, and these movements and sounds help him to cope." Chip nods, his eyes still wet. "But why did he get so mad when I do it?" he asks. Karen sighs. "Because it's his own personal language, his way of understanding the world," she explains. "When you address it, he feels like you're invading his space, like you're not taking his feelings seriously. It's something his brain does for himself only." Karen smiles gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "Chip's just trying to understand everything. You can keep making your sounds." Chip wants to help, but he doesn't know how. "Just let him be, Chip," Karen says, her voice soothing. Plankton shifts again, his eye teary. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs, echoing Karen's words from earlier. Chip clenches. He didn't mean to upset him, seeing his dad's eye welling up with tears. Karen's hand finds Plankton's, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she says. "You don't have to hide it from us." Plankton's tears spill over, tracing a silent river down his cheek. Karen's eyes never leave his. "You don't have to hide, Plankton," she whispers. "We're here for you." Chip watches. He doesn't know what to do, his mind racing. "Mom," he says, his voice shaking, "What can I do?" Karen turns to him, her expression gentle. "Just be here," she says. "Just listen and learn." Plankton's tears stream down. "It's okay, Plankton," he hears his wife say again. The words echo in his mind, a comforting mantra. "It's okay, Plankton," Plankton murmurs, trying to mimic her tone. But it sounds forced, wrong. He swallows hard. "That's right, Plankton," Karen says, smiling. "You're okay. You're safe, Plankton," she repeats. "You're here with us." Chip watches his dad, his heart breaking. "Mom, why is he...?" Karen's eyes are filled with pain. "It's his way of telling us he's okay," she says. "He's using my words because right now, his brain can't find his own." Chip nods, his eyes on his father. Plankton's hand is still moving, tracing the patterns on the blanket. "It's okay, Dad," Chip whispers. Plankton's crying intensifies, his tics becoming more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs, his antennae flailing. Karen reaches for him, but he flinches away. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "We're here." Chip watches, his own screen wet with tears. He's never seen his dad like this before. He feels like an outsider in a conversation he's always been a part of. "You don't have to hide your tears," Karen whispers to Plankton. "We're a family." Plankton's sobs become louder, his tics more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he says, his body convulsing slightly. Karen's hand is firm but gentle on his back, offering silent support. "It's okay," she murmurs. "Let it out." Chip watches. "Why is he...?" his voice trails off. Karen looks at him, her screen full of love. "It's his way of saying he's overwhelmed, Chip," she whispers. "When he repeats my words, it's his brain trying to find the comfort it needs." Plankton's cries become louder, his tics more erratic. "Tck tck tck," he sobs, his body shaking. Chip feels helpless, his mind racing. He wants to make it stop, but he doesn't know how. "Just be here, buddy," Karen says, her voice calm. "Sometimes, that's all he needs." Plankton's tics morph into full-body shudders, his cries now muffled by the blanket. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand still rubbing his back. "We're with you." Chip watches as his father's sobs echo in the room, each one a heartbreaking testament to the weight he carries. "You're not alone," he whispers, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's distress. The words tumble from Plankton's mouth, a mix of Karen's soothing tones and his own raw pain. "It's o-okay, P-Plankton," he repeats, his voice broken. "It's o-okay." Karen's eyes well up too, but she remains steadfast. She's seen this before. "Tck tck tck," Plankton says, his body convulsing with each sob. "You don't have t-to tck tck hide it-t." Karen nods, her thumb brushing away a tear. "It's okay," she whispers. "We love you just as you are." Plankton's sobs turn into hiccups, his antennae twitching. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice mimicking hers. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on Plankton's back, her eyes never leaving his. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says. "You're safe here." Plankton's sobs subside slightly. Karen nods. "That's right," she whispers. "Your sounds, your tics, they're part of you." Chip watches. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. "But... but why?" he asks. Karen takes a deep breath. "His autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain has its own language, and when he's overwhelmed, it comes out." Plankton's tics become less erratic, his breathing even. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice trembling. "You're not alone." Karen smiles sadly. "He knows that, Chip," she says. "But sometimes, his brain just needs to speak its own words." Plankton's eye meets his wife's, the panic receding slightly as Chip watches.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 17 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Karen's eyes are filled with love and understanding. Plankton slowly nods, his antennae dropping. "I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice barely a whisper. But Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye cold. "You need to go," he says, his voice firm. Chip's screen flickers with hurt. "What?" he asks, his voice shaking. Plankton's gaze is unyielding. "I don't want you here," he says. "Not right now." His words are like a dagger to Chip's heart, but Karen's screens flicker with a message of patience. "Dad, what do you mea-" But Plankton cuts him off, his antennae rigid. "I mean it," he says, his voice hard. "I don't want you here." Chip's screen reflects confusion and pain. He doesn't understand. "But why?" he asks. "We're fa-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "Don't pretend to care." His eye is cold, his antennae quivering with anger. "You made fun of me. You think my world is a joke." Chip's screen flickers with confusion and guilt. "Dad, no," he says, his voice shaking. "That's not what I meant." But Plankton's not listening, his words cutting through the air like shards of glass. "You think you know," he says, his voice rising. "But you don't. You can't. You're not like me." Karen's screens are a swirl of emotions, her heart aching for both her son and her husband. "Plankton, please," she says, her voice a gentle plea. But he's not listening. He's too lost in his own hurt, his own frustration. "You think you can just play along?" he says, turning to Chip. "You think it's that easy?" Chip's screen shows his fear growing, his mind racing. He didn't mean to hurt his dad, but now he feels like he's being pushed away. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I just made a mis-" "Mistake? Hah. The only mistake was thinking you could ever understand!" Plankton's words are a harsh reminder of their earlier misunderstanding. Chip's screen reflects his hurt, his eyes filling with tears. "You think you can just pretend?" Plankton continues, his voice bitter. "You think you know what it's like to be me?" His antennae wave wildly in accusation. Chip's voice is barely a squeak. "I just wanted to help, Dad," he says, his screen a jumble of sadness and confusion. "But you didn't," Plankton says, his voice cold. "You hurt me. And I can't just shake it off." Karen's screens flicker with pain for her husband, but she knows Plankton's anger is a shield, a way to protect his tender heart. "You don't get it," Plankton continues, his antennae jutting forward. "You think you can just pretend to understand?" His words are a knife in the dark, twisting in Chip's gut. "Dad," Chip says, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I'll do better. I'll learn." But Plankton's eye narrows, his antennae waving. "It's not about you," he says, his voice harsh. "It's never been. You don't get to cry victim. I can forgive accidentally touching me and such, but this... I can't. I saw you mocking me. I heard you laughing." Chip's eyes widen. "No," he says, his voice desperate. "I didn't mean t---" But Plankton's not listening. "You think because you're sorry, everything's okay and make it go away? You don't get to decide that," he says, his voice shaking. "You don't get to tell me how I feel. Because right now, you don't understand a thing. You're not a part of this. You're not being a good son. And I don't think I can trust you." The words hit Chip like a wave, his screen flashing with disbelief. He feels like he's drowning, his mind racing for a way to make it right. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says again, his voice choked with tears. "I'll do anything. I'll learn, I'll change." But Plankton's antennae droop, his body defeated. "It's too late," he murmurs. "You had your chance. But honestly, I don't think you'll ever be the son I need." Karen's screens pulse with pain, seeing the rift between them grow wider. She knows how much Plankton values trust, how hard it is for him to give it once it's been shattered. Chip's screen flickers with desperation. "Dad, I'll be here," he begs, whimpering. "I'll try anyth—" But Plankton's antennae are rigid with finality. "No," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I now know better than to let you in again. I hoped we'd be closer, but now I... I don't think you belong in my life, Chip." The words hang in the air, each one heavier than the last. Chip's screen is a whirlwind of emotions: guilt, sadness, fear. "Dad," he says, his voice a broken plea. "Please, I'll do better. I promise." But Plankton's gaze is unyielding. "I'm letting go Chip. We're done now. You'll never be the son I adored again. You failed to accept me, so I won't accept your façade. So good bye, Chip. I hope you find peace.." Plankton then turns around, leaving Karen and Chip in the living room as he walked down the hall. Chip's eyes are wide with shock, his screen flickering with tears. Karen's screens dim with sadness as she looks at her son. "Chip," she says, her voice gentle. "It's not you. It's just his way of coping." But Chip's not listening. He's thinking about the moments his dad's eyes had lit up, the times Plankton had laughed, his antennae waving with joy. And now, it's gone, replaced by a coldness that scares him. He tries to imagine what it's like for Plankton, to live in a world that's too loud, too bright, too much. A world where even the smallest touch can send him spiraling. Where every interaction is a minefield of misunderstandings. And he wonders how he could have missed the signs. How could he have hurt his father so much without even realizing it?

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 1 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! In the aftermath of Plankton's science fair episode, Chip didn't want his dad to go through that again, so he decided it was time for a change. He approached his mom with the idea of switching schools. Karen listened, her eyes filled with empathy, and nodded. "You know, sweetie, sometimes change can be good. We'll look into it." The next day, Chip accompanied his parents to Hanna's house. Hanna, with her infectious energy, was eager to help. Chip couldn't help but overhear their conversation. "So, Karen, what's really going on with Plankton?" Karen took a deep breath and began to explain. "Well, Hanna, Plankton's autistic. It's like his brain works differently. He has these things called 'stims' that help him focus and stay calm, especially when he's overwhelmed." Hanna's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh, like when he was sick aft-" Karen gently cut her off. "Yes, it was related. It's all a part of his condition. But it's more than just that. His mind works in ways that we can't always understand. Sometimes it's like he's in his own little world, but it's a brilliant one." Plankton was swinging his legs as he sat by Karen, feeling awkward. He knew his brain was different, but he didn't like it being talked about outside of Karen. Hanna leaned in, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean, 'brilliant'?" "Well, you know how he can recall every single detail of his Krabby Patty recipe?" Karen said with a smile. "Or how he can fix anything in the restaurant with just a quick look? That's his autism at work. It's like he has these special powers, but sometimes it can be too much for him to handle." Chip watched Hanna nod, absorbing the information. He felt a mix of pride and protectiveness for his dad. "But what about the bad parts?" Hanna asked, her voice softening. "How do you deal with the... the tantrum..." The moment the word slipped out, Plankton's legs stopped swinging. His eye darted to Hanna, a flicker of anger crossing his face. Karen knew that look. Plankton didn't like the term "tantrum." It was a sore spot, something that made him feel less than. With a sigh, she turned to Hanna, placing a gentle hand on her friend's arm. "Let's call it a 'meltdown', okay?" "M-Meltdown?" Hanna stuttered, her cheery demeanor dimming. "It's a tantrum, right?" Plankton's eye narrowed, and his grip on his chair tightened. "It's not a tantrum, Hanna," Plankton spoke through gritted teeth, his voice low and firm. "It's a meltdown. There's a difference, you know‽" Hanna looked surprised, then embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to-" But Plankton was beyond apologies. He shot up from his chair, his tiny fists balled at his sides. "You think I throw tantrums? That I'm a child who can't control himself?" The room grew tense as his voice escalated, his body trembling with frustration. "I'm not like that. I'm not a toddler!" Hanna took a step back, her hands up in a gesture of peace. "Plankton, I didn't mean-" But he was beyond words, his autistic brain flooded with sensory overload from the misunderstanding. Karen could see the panic in his eye, his body poised for fight or flight. Her heart ached for him, for the way the world often didn't understand. Chip stepped in, trying to diffuse the situation. "Dad, it's okay. Ms. Hanna just didn't know the right word." Karen moved swiftly to Plankton's side, her voice calm and soothing. "Honey, I know you're upset. Let's go to a quiet spot." She guided him to the corner of Hanna's kitchen. Hanna, eyes wide, looked at Karen for guidance. "I didn't mean to-" she started, but Karen held up a hand, cutting her off gently. "It's okay, Hanna. It's just a misunderstanding." In the quiet corner, Karen knelt beside him. "You're right, Plankton. It's not fair. But remember, she didn't know." Plankton's eye darted back to Hanna, who was now silent, watching them with a mixture of shock and guilt. Chip stood there, torn between his dad's fury and Hanna's ignorance. Hanna's cheery persona was gone, replaced by a look of genuine concern. She approached them cautiously. "I'm really sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to upset you." Her eyes searched his for forgiveness. Plankton's chest heaved with anger, but he felt a twinge of compassion for her ignorance. He knew she didn't understand, but it didn't change the hurt she had caused. Karen's hand was warm and steadying on his shoulder. "Let's talk about this," she said softly. "You know Hanna didn't mean it that way." Plankton's breath was ragged as he tried to compose himself. He knew Karen was right, but the word had stung, bringing back memories of past judgments and misunderstandings. "I know," he managed to murmur, his voice strained. Hanna took another tentative step forward. "I'm here to learn, Plankton," she said with sincerity. "Tell me what I should kno—" But Plankton was already retreating into his own world, his eye glazed over as he tried to process the conversation. Karen stood up, her eyes never leaving his. "Why don't we give him a moment, Hanna?" She sat beside Plankton, who was now rocking back and forth. Hanna nodded, looking at them with a mix of confusion and remorse. "I didn't know," she whispered. "I just didn't know." In the quiet corner, Karen wrapped her arm around Plankton, holding him close. "It's ok," she repeated. "You're right, honey. It's not the same." Hanna leads them all to the couches in her living room. Plankton eased himself on a sofa opposite Hanna. He rocks back and forth in stimming. "Tantrum, tantrum, not a tantrum. Meltdown. Meltdown," he murmurs to himself. Plankton's voice grew softer. "Tantrum, no. Meltdown. Meltdown," he murmured, his eye unfocused. The stimming was a familiar sight by now, a comforting self-soothing technique that his brain needed in moments of stress. Hanna sat down beside him, mimicking the rocking motion in what she thought of was a silent offer of support. Plankton's gaze snapped to Hanna, his expression sharp. "What are you doing?" he demanded. The suddenness of his voice startled Hanna. "Just trying to help," she stuttered, unsure of herself. "Don't," he said firmly, his face flushing. "Don't mimic me." Karen stepped in, placing a hand on Hanna's shoulder. "It's ok," she assured her. "It can be uncomfortable when people do that. It's best to let him do his thing." Hanna nodded, her screen full of regret. "I'm sorry," she managed, looking at Plankton. But Plankton was already lost in a loop of words, echoing his own thoughts. "This isn't right, not right, not right," he whispered to himself. Hanna looks up, confused. "What isn't right, Plank-" "Don't talk to me," Plankton interrupted, his voice sharp. Karen took a seat next to Hanna, her hand resting gently on her knee. "Hanna, you see, stims are like Plankton's personal language. They're private, like someone's thoughts. It's how he speaks to his brain, how he tells it 'I'm safe, I'm okay'. It's not for us to join unless he asks us to." Hanna nodded slowly. "So, when I tried to... help him by doing what he does, it was like I was..." "Intruding. It's like if someone tried to finish your sentences or read your thoughts," Karen elaborated, her gaze softening as she watched Plankton. "It's his way of saying, 'This is how I process the world, and I need this space to do so.'" Hanna nodded, her screen reflecting the newfound knowledge. "I never thought of it that way," she murmured. "I just wanted to help." "I know you did," Karen smiled gently, patting her hand. "But sometimes, the best way to help is to give space. For him, stims are just as personal as a diary entry. They're his way of communicating to himself." Plankton's rocking grew softer, less frantic. Karen knew the signs of his brain starting to settle down. He was beginning to come back to them, but she didn't want to push it.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 11 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ They approach Plankton, his body heavy with sleep. Karen gently shakes his shoulder. "Wake up, love," she says. "We're going to help you to bed." Plankton's eye opens, blinking in the soft light. He looks around, disoriented for a moment, before focusing on Karen's face. "Bed?" he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. Chip nods eagerly. "You need to sleep in your own bed, Dad," he says, his voice gentle. Plankton frowns, his hand reaching for his blanket. "Must," he says, his voice firm. Karen nods. "Let's go," she whispers, taking his arm. With careful steps, they navigate the hallway, the soft carpet muffling their footsteps. Chip follows behind. Plankton's movements are slow and deliberate. Karen helps Plankton into his room, the space familiar and comforting. The bed is a sanctuary. Karen helps him into bed, his limbs heavy with sleep. Karen opens the bedside drawer, her movements practiced and quiet. Chip watches as she pulls out from the sensory box a soft plushie. Plankton's eye flickers open, his gaze landing on the toy. "Huggle," he murmurs. His hand reaches out, his fingers grabbing the plushie. Karen nods. "Here you go, sweetie," she says, placing it in his hand. The softness of the plushie seems to ground him. His hand clutches it tightly as he settles into bed, his antennae still. "Pranks," he says. "Ponies.." Karen tucks the blankets around him, her movements precise and gentle. "Good night," she whispers, leaning in to kiss his forehead. Chip watches as Plankton's grip on the plushie tightens, his eye still closed. "What's that for?" he asks. Karen smiles down at her sleepy husband. "It's a comfort object," she whispers. "It's like a pillow or a blanket for you." Chip nods. Plankton's hand tightens around the plushie, his breathing deepening. "Huggle," he murmurs. The soft toy is a lifeline to a world that often feels overwhelming. Chip watches his dad with a newfound respect, understanding that sometimes, the simplest things provide the most profound comfort. "Good night, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice trembling slightly. He's seen a side of Plankton today that's both fascinating and heartbreaking. The father he's known his whole life, his hero, has a vulnerability no one else sees. The next morning, Chip wakes up and goes in to his parent's bedroom again. Karen is up. Plankton is still asleep, his hand still wrapped around the plushie. "Ponk," he murmurs in his sleep, his antennae twitching slightly. Chip pads over. He looks at his mom, his eyes questioning. "Is he okay?" he whispers. Karen nods. "He's just dreaming," she explains. "It's a way of working through things." Chip sits on the edge of the bed. "Mm," Plankton murmurs. Chip's seen his dad's strength so many times, but this vulnerability is new. He reaches out for his sleeping dad's plushie. Chip's hand hovers over it. He gently takes it... Plankton's eye flew open. "Whaa-" Plankton says, then notices Chip taking the plushie. In an instant, Plankton is wide awake, his antennae shooting up in anger. "No!" he yells, his voice sharp. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide. "What's wrong, Da-" Plankton's hand snatches the plushie from Chip's grip. Karen's screen flashes with concern. "It's okay, sweetie," she says quickly. "Chip didn't mean to take it." But Plankton's not listening. "NO! It's mine! YOU don't touch!" The room seems to shrink under the weight of his anger. His antennae quiver with rage. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip stammers, his voice small and scared. Plankton's grip on the plushie tightens. Karen's screen flickers. "Plankton," she says gently. "Remember, Chip didn't mean to upset you. He's still learning." Plankton's eye darts between the plushie and his son. "MINE! MINE, MINE, MINE!" Chip feels tears prickling his eyes. He didn't mean to make his dad so mad. Chip goes to pick up the plushie to hand back to him, but Plankton thought he's taking it. In a flash, Plankton is out of bed, his body stiff, his antennae trembling with fury. "NO!" he roars, his voice echoing through the tiny room. Chip flinches, his grip on the plushie tightening. "Dad," he whispers, "I'm sorry." Karen moves quickly. "Plankton," she says, her voice firm but kind. "Remember, it's okay." Her hands are up, a silent plea for peace. But Plankton doesn't see her. His eyes are locked on Chip. Yet Karen's voice remains steady. "Plankton, it's okay. Let's talk about thi—" He cuts her off with a screech. "MINE!" He snatches the plushie from Chip's grasp, his antennae waving in agitation. Chip backs away, his eyes brimming with tears. "It's okay, Dad," he stammers. "You can have it." But Chip accidentally brushes against Plankton. Plankton flinches, his body stiffening. "NO!" he shouts again. "DON'T TOUCH!" The force of his words pushes Chip back. He almost stumbles over a chair. "Dad, I di-" But Plankton doesn't hear. He's lost in a world of his own, where the rules are clear and simple: his things are his, and no one else's. The plushie is a lifeline in a storm of confusion, and it's been snatched away. His rage builds, his antennae quivering like live wires, his body trembling with anger. With a roar, Plankton throws the plushie across the room, watching it sail past the curtains and hit the wall. The impact echoes through the silence like a gunshot. Chip flinches, his heart racing. This isn't the dad he knows. This is a stranger, a creature of fury and pain. Plankton's chest heaves with quick, shallow breaths. His skin is slick with sweat, his eyes wild and unfocused. "NO TOUCH!" he screams, his fists clenched at his sides. The room seems to pulse with his anger, the walls closing in. Karen steps forward, her hands still up, her voice calm. "Plankton, love," she says, "Chip didn't mean to upset you." But her words are lost in the rage. He turns and grabs the chair. With a powerful swing, Plankton throws the chair, his movements surprisingly strong. It crashes against the wall, the sound like a thunderclap in the silent room. Chip's eyes widen in fear. "Dad," he whispers, his voice shaking as Plankton grabs a vase. "MINE!" Plankton yells, his body a blur of anger. The vase flies, shattering into a thousand pieces on the floor. "NO TOUCH!" The room is a chaos of Plankton's rage, his stims forgotten in the face of perceived invasion. Chip is frozen, his eyes following the path of destruction. Karen's screen flickers, her voice urgent. "Plankton, please," she says, her eyes filled with fear. "You're scaring Chip." But the words bounce off his shield of anger. He grabs a book, ready to hurl it next. The room is a minefield of shattered glass and flying objects. Chip's heart races. He's never seen his dad like this. He's never felt so scared. Karen moves closer, her hands outstretched. "Honey," she says, her voice shaking. "Remember, Chi-" But Plankton's rage is like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path. He throws the book, his body a whirlwind of anger. "NO!" His voice is raw, his eye wild. The book slams into the wall, the pages fluttering to the ground. Chip watches, his eyes wide with fear. He's seen his dad's temper before, but never like this. The room feels like it's closing in, his heart thumping in his chest. He wants to run, but he's rooted to the spot. He can't leave.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 12 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Karen moves quickly, interposing herself between Chip and Plankton. "No, love," she says, her voice shaking. "Yo--" But Plankton's fury is unchecked. The book misses Chip by inches, the wall bearing the brunt of the impact. Karen's eyes are wide with fear, her screens flickering. "PLANKTON!" she yells, her hands up in a protective stance. Plankton's chest heaves, his antennae trembling. Chip's eyes darting around the room. He's never seen his dad so out of control. "Dad," he says again, his voice barely audible. "Please." But Plankton's rage is a freight train, unstoppable. Karen's eyes are on Chip, silently willing him to stay calm. Her screen flickers rapidly, reflecting the chaos. "Remember, his brain is overwhelmed," she whispers, trying to be heard over Plankton's roars. "Just stay back, let him..." But it's too late. Plankton's hand swings around, sending a lamp smashing to the ground. Glass shatters, piercing the silence like shards of ice. Chip's heart hammers in his chest. He's seen his dad's temper before, but this...this is something else. Karen's eyes are wide with panic. She steps closer, her hands up to shield Chip. "Plankton, sweetie," she says, her voice shaking. "Please, it's okay. Chip didn't mean to-" But Plankton's fists clench, his antennae quivering. "NO!" He grabs another object, a picture frame, and hurls it at the wall. It explodes into splinters, the shards of glass glinting in the morning light. "NO TOUCH!" The wall is now a canvas of shattered memories. Chip sees himself in the pieces, his heart breaking for the father he thought he knew. Karen's screens flash with despair. "Plankton," she says, her voice strained. "Please, this isn't helping." But Plankton's anger is a whirlwind, uncontrollable. He grabs a pillow, ripping it open. Feathers fly through the air. Chip doesn't know what to do. Then he wonders if something in that sensory box can help.. With shaking hands, Chip reaches for the box. "Dad," he whispers, "Lo---" But Plankton's even angrier, Chip's simple attempt to reconcile adding fuel to the fire. Plankton's eye snaps to his son, his antennae quivering with rage. He lunges forward, his hand swiping through the air, aiming for Chip's hand. Chip flinches, his heart racing. He's never seen his dad so violent. He tries to back away, his eyes wide with fear. "Dad, no!" Chip yells, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry!" He holds up his hands in surrender. Karen is there in an instant, her body a shield. "Chip," she says, her voice firm. "Please, head to your room." Chip's eyes fill with tears as he nods, backing away. He doesn't understand what's happening, but he knows it's not his dad. This is the monster that sometimes lives in Plankton's head, the one that comes out when the world gets too much. Plankton's fist slams into the wall. The plaster cracks. Karen flinches. Her screen is a swirl of fear and love. "Plankton," she says, her voice steady. Her eyes never leave his wild one. "Remember, breathe." She holds up a hand, her palm out. He stares at her, his chest heaving. The room is a mess of shattered things. Slowly, she steps towards him, her movements calm and measured. "E-easy, breathe with me," she whispers. Her screen pulsed with reassurance, a gentle reminder of the world that exists beyond his anger. "Just br-" But Plankton's rage doesn't abate. His hand slams into the wall again. "Remember, love," she says, her voice strained, "breathe." But the words fall on deaf antennae. He doesn't hear the calming words, doesn't see the love in her eyes. All he sees is the invasion of his space, his personal sanctum violated. The house feels too small, the air too thick. Chip's sobs echo through the hallway as he retreats to the safety of his room. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton, her fear for her son warring with the fear for her husband. He's not seeing her, not really. His brain is in overdrive, interpreting every move as a potential threat. Karen's voice is a distant hum, her screens a blur of colors and shapes. She tries again, her voice softer now. "Plankton, love, breathe." But the words don't penetrate the fortress of his anger. "Plankton," she gasps, her hands up to protect herself. But he's not looking at her. He's looking through her. The room spins around her, the walls closing in. The anger in Plankton's eye is a live wire. She tries to talk again, but her words are swallowed by the maelstrom. "PLANKTON!" she screams, her voice cracking. He doesn't hear her. Doesn't see her. He's lost in a world of rage, his antennae quivering. Her screens flash with despair as she realizes this is a battle she can't win with words alone. Her hands drop to her side. "I'm sorry," she whispers, a silent plea for understanding. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears. Her love is a wall she'll defend to her last breath. She moves closer, her hand outstretched. "Plankton," she says softly, "I'm here." Her eyes are on his, trying to break through the anger. "Feel the floor," she instructs, her voice calm. "Feel the ground beneath you. I'm he--" But Plankton swings again. Karen dodges. "Plankton," she says, her voice shaking, "remember your stims. Use the--" He cuts her off with a snarl. "MINE!" His hand slams into the dresser, drawers flying open. Karen tries again, her voice softer. "Plankton, love, use your stims." Her eyes dart around the room, searching for something to help, some way to reach him or to redirect.. Her screen flashes with despair as she realizes everything has failed. The fidgets had even failed. Karen reaches into the sensory drawer to get the oral needleless syringe to administer the prescribed relaxant for hopelessly bad moments like this. With trembling hands, she prepares the dose. The sedative is a last resort, but she can't bear to see him like this any longer. Karen steps closer. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice a lifeline in the storm of his anger. "Look at me." He turns, his antennae quivering with fury. But the moment he sees the syringe, something shifts. A flicker of recognition, a spark of understanding as she brings the syringe to his mouth, the plunger ready to deliver the calm. With a gentle touch, she presses the needleless syringe to his lips. "Shh," she whispers. "It's ok." His antennae droop as he understands. He opens his mouth, letting her push the plunger. The liquid slides down his throat. Plankton's body relaxes instantly, the fight leaving his eye. He slumps forward, the anger draining from his limbs. Karen catches him, her arms a soft embrace around his shoulders. "It's ok," she whispers, guiding Plankton back to his bed. "You're ok." The sedative works quickly, his breaths becoming deep and even. His antennae still slightly, his body going limp. The sedative took hold, and Plankton's body goes slack in her arms. She carefully lowers him onto the bed, his eye closed. This is not the first time she's had to do this, but it doesn't make it any easier. Her screens flicker with guilt. She's failed to keep the peace, to prevent this outburst. The medicine has been prescribed by a sensory friendly therapist for using in times of great distress. Karen and Plankton had agreed on it as the therapist decided with them to observe how it worked. So they'd stay at the office as it was administered as per Plankton's approval, and observed him the whole time, even after he awoke. Besides that day, and today, they've used it only two other times. Any of the tiredness/forgetfulness is normal, and he might be out of it for the rest of the day, Karen knew. His antennas lay still on the pillow, no longer quivering. His breaths were deep and even, eye closed. Karen watched over him, her own eyes brimming with tears of relief and love as she finished cleaning up the aftermath of his anger. Plankton's hand lay open on the bed, the plushie now forgotten. Karen still could hear Chip's quiet sniffles. She pushed open the door to Chip's room. He was curled up on his bed, his face buried in his arms, his shoulders shaking with sobs. The sight of him, so small and lost, was a knife to her core. "Chip," she says softly, her voice a balm on his raw nerves. "It's okay." He looks up, his screen swollen and red. Karen sits beside him, wrapping her arms around him. "Dad's okay," she whispers. "He just got overwhelmed." Chip nods, his body tense. "It's not his fault," she continues. "Sometimes his brain gets too much information at once." He sniffles, his body slowly unwinding. "We'll get through this," she says. "We're a team, remember?" Chip nods, his tears slowing. "I love him," he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion. "But I'm scared. Is he still mad?" "No, sweetie," she says, wiping a tear from Chip's screen. "The anger is gone now. He's still in the bedroom..." "I wanna see him." Chip interrupts. They tiptoe into Plankton's room. He's lying there, his body sprawled out on the bed. His antennae are still, his breaths deep. The sedative has done its work. Karen watches as Chip approaches his dad. "Dad?" There's no response. Plankton's eye remains closed, he doesn't stir. "Dad?" His hand hovers over Plankton's shoulder. "He'll be out for a while." Karen explains. "He had a bad episode," she says. "We got some medicine, and the medicine makes him sleep." Chip looks up at her reflecting confusion and fear. "Is he ok?" Karen nods. "He'll be ok, Chip. The medicine helps him calm down." But Chip can't help but feel guilty. He's seen his dad like this before, but never so severe.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 16 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The room feels smaller, the air thicker with tension. Chip's eyes are wide, his screen reflecting his father's distress. "What did I do?" he squeals, trying to help. But Plankton's body can't take the loudness anymore. Karen's screens flicker with desperation. She puts her hand on Chip's shoulder, her eyes pleading. "Chip," she says, her voice urgent. "You need to lower your voice." But Chip's screen is a blur of confusion and hurt. He doesn't understand. "Why?" he asks, his voice still too loud. Plankton can't move, gasping for breath. The room seems to spin around Plankton. His antennae vibrate with fear, his body on the edge of a meltdown. The noise, the suddenness of it, it's too much. He can't escape. And then his body betrays him. He feels the world shrink, his vision tunneling down until all that remains is Chip's face. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice too loud, too close. His body seizes up. Plankton's mind fights to regain control, his eyes dilating. "Need... quiet," he gasps out, his voice barely a whisper. The words hang in the air, a plea for sanctuary. But Chip's screen is a chaotic storm of emotions, not understanding. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice shaking. But Plankton can't hear the words, only the deafening volume. With a strangled cry, Plankton's body goes rigid. His eye rolls back as the shutdown takes. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice high and panicked. He reaches out, but Karen stops his hand freezes mid-air. She's seen this before, the sudden loss of control, the way her husband's body can just... give out. Her screens flicker with a mix of sadness and resolve. "Chip, back up," she says firmly. "Give your dad some space." Chip's face falls, but he does as he's told. He steps back, his hands shaking. Karen's seen Plankton like this before, but it never gets easier. Another shutdown, another moment where she's forced to be the rock in the storm. "Is he okay?" Chip asks, his voice trembling. Karen's eyes are on Plankton, his body now limp on the couch. "It's okay," she says, her voice calm. "It's his brain's way of shutting down." She takes a deep breath. "We just have to wait it out." Chip's screen flickers with fear. "What do we do?" he asks, his voice high-pitched. Karen's screens light up with instructions. "Let him be," she says. "He needs quiet, no sudden movements. It'll pass." They sit in silence, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside, a stark contrast to the chaos that was just in the room. Chip watches his father, his mind racing. He didn't understand. He just wanted to be close, to help. Yet Plankton is still, his mouth slightly open, his eye still rolled back in his head. "Plankton, love," Karen says, her voice gentle. "Come back to us." Her hand moves to his cheek, her touch feather-light. Chip watches, his heart racing. "What's happening?" he whispers. Karen's eyes never leave her husband. "It's a shutdown," she says, her voice steady. "It's like his body's turned off, but he's still in there." Her screens flicker with experience. "It's his brain's way of protecting itself." Plankton's antennae are still, his body unmoving. Karen speaks to him in a gentle lullaby, her voice a soothing balm. "Come back to us, love," she murmurs. "We're here, we love you." Chip's eyes are wide with fear, but he remains silent, listening to his mother's calm words. "Remember, Chip," she says, not breaking the rhythm of her voice. "Patience is key." Her screens flicker with reassurance. "It might take a few minutes, but he'll come back to us." Chip nods. The room is quiet, the air heavy with unspoken words. Karen's screens dim with sadness, but she keeps her voice steady. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her hand stroking his antennae lightly. "You're safe." Her words are a beacon in the stillness, a gentle reminder that they're there, ready to support him when he's ready. Chip's screen shows his mind racing, trying to grasp the complexities of his father's condition. Plankton remains unresponsive, his body a silent testament to the storm inside him. Karen keeps her voice soft, her eyes never leaving his. "We're here," she says, her voice a promise. "I'm here. Chip's here. We're not going anywhere." She continues to whisper, her words a gentle breeze in the quiet room. Chip's screen flickers with fear as he watches his dad. "Dad?" he says, his voice barely a whisper. But Plankton doesn't stir, his body a statue. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's face, her voice a soothing melody. "It's okay," she says, her words a soft caress. "You're safe. We're here." Her screens are a picture of serene patience, her hand still gently stroking his antennae. "Chip, talk to him," she whispers, nodding towards the unresponsive body. Chip's eyes widen, his voice trembling. "Dad?" Chip says, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry." His words hang in the air, each syllable a thread of hope. He's watched his mother's gentle touch, her calm demeanor, and tries to mimic it. His hand reaches out tentatively, his screen reflecting his fear of causing more harm. He touches Plankton's shoulder, his fingertips light as a feather. Karen's eyes never leave her husband, her voice a soft whisper. "It's okay, Plankton," she repeats. "We're here." Her hands move in a slow, rhythmic motion, a silent lullaby for his soul. Chip's hand joins hers, his movements tentative, seeking guidance. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his mind racing with questions and regret. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body unmoving. Karen's screens flicker with hope, her voice steady. "You're okay," she says, her voice like a gentle stream. "You're safe." Chip's screen reflects his mother's calm, his voice matching her tone. "Dad, can you hear me?" Then, ever so slowly, Plankton's antennae start to move, his body shifting. He blinks, his eye focusing on his wife and son. "What... happened?" he murmurs, his voice weak. He sees Chip's hand on his shoulder. Karen's screens light up with relief. "You had a shutdown, sweetie," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "But you're okay now."

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 18 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip's screen flickers with determination. He'll learn. He'll do better. He'll show Plankton that he's not just a clueless kid. He's his son, and he cares. He'll be the support Plankton needs, even if it means changing everything he thought he knew. He'll read about autism, he'll watch videos, he'll listen to podcasts. He'll become an expert on his dad's condition. He'll find a way to bridge the gap between them, to understand what Plankton's really going through. So he went to his room but a disturbing sight awaited him. The photos of him and his dad have been torn where Plankton cut himself out of each picture of him and Chip. The science projects they've worked on are in the trash bin. Past Father's Day cards, crumpled into balls. It's like Plankton's trying to erase his existence from their shared memories of father and son. Chip sees Plankton in his parents bedroom on his bed. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his screen flickering with hope. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he doesn't turn to look at his son. The room is filled with a heavy silence, the weight of their last conversation pressing down on them. "Dad, I found some articles," Chip says, holding up his device. "They're about autism, and how to be there for someone who's going through what you are." His voice is tentative, his screen reflecting his fear of rejection. Plankton's antennae droop, his body tense. He's been in his room for hours, the door shut tight. The only light comes from the crack under the door, spilling into the hallway where Chip stands, his heart racing. He's read every word, every article, every story, desperate to find a way back in, to fix what he's broken. But Plankton's silence is a wall, a barrier he doesn't know how to cross. "I'll be different," Chip says, his voice cracking. "I'll learn." He takes a step forward. "I'll do anything." Plankton doesn't move. Chip's heart sinks. He tries again. "I brought some stuff for your sensory box. Maybe it'll help." The silence stretches on, each second a chasm between them. Chip's screen is a canvas of hope and despair, his mind whirling with all the ways he could have handled this better. He takes another step, his hand outstretched, holding the treasures he's collected. "I got some new putty, and a fidget cube," he says, his voice shaking. "And... and some of your favorite gummy worms." Plankton's antennae quiver, just a little, but he doesn't turn. Chip's heart leaps, then plunges again. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, the words tumbling out. "I didn't mean to hurt you." The silence stretches, a tightrope that Chip is desperate to cross. He holds out the fidget cube, his hand shaking. "Remember how this helped before?" he asks, his voice tentative. "I just want you to feel better." But Plankton's back remains to him, a wall of disappointment. "Dad," Chip whispers, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'll do whatever it takes. I know I can't change the past. Please." Plankton's antennae twitch, the only sign he's heard. But he still doesn't turn. Chip's screen flickers with desperation. He's seen his dad like this before, but it's never felt so final. "I brought your headphones," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the noise. To help." His hand trembles as he holds them out. "Please, Dad, take them." Plankton's body shifts slightly, but his antennae stay still. Chip's heart aches. He's never felt so small, so powerless. "Dad, I know I messed up," Chip continues, his voice cracking. "But I'm trying to fix it. I want to learn." He takes a deep breath, his chest tight with emotion. "I'll do better. I promise." The silence is a gaping wound between them, each second a stitch that won't hold. He steps closer, his hand extended. "Just tell me what you need. Anything." But Plankton remains still, his antennae drooping with the weight of his emotions. Chip's heart races, his screen flashing with fear and regret. He can't stand the thought of his father going through this alone. "Dad, please," he says, his voice thick. "I'm sorry for not understanding. For making fun without realizing." His hand holding the headphones shakes more. "But I do now. I'll be better." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he says nothing. Chip's eyes well up with tears, his screen a blur of emotions. He's never felt so alone, so misunderstood. "Dad," he says, his voice thick with desperation. "I know you're hurting. But so am I." Plankton's body remains still, his back a wall against his son's words. Chip's hand, holding the headphones, drops to his side. "Please," he whispers, his voice cracking. "Let me help you." The silence in the room is deafening, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip can feel his father's pain, his anger, his hurt. But Plankton's silence is a fortress, an impenetrable barrier that Chip can't seem to breach. He swallows hard, his throat tight with emotion. "I love you, Dad," he says, his voice barely audible. "And I'll always be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitch again, but he doesn't turn. Chip's heart feels like it's shattering into a million pieces. He's never seen his dad like this, so closed off. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "I know I hurt you. I'm sorry. But please, let me in." His hand holds out the headphones, his screen reflecting the desperation in his eyes. "We can get through this together." But Plankton's back remains a wall. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his screen flickering with the pain of rejection. He tries again, his voice trembling. "I won't give up on you," he says. "I'll learn. I'll change. I'll do whatever it takes." He takes a step closer. But Plankton remains unmoving, his antennae drooping. Chip's heart feels like it's breaking. "I'm here, Dad," he whispers. "I'm right here." The silence is a chasm, each second a step further apart. He takes another step, his hand still outstretched. "Dad," he says, his voice a plea. "You don't have to go through this alone." Plankton's antennae twitch, a tiny movement that gives Chip just a glimmer of hope. "We can learn together," he says, his voice stronger now. "We can figure this out." The room feels like it's closing in around them, the air thick with the weight of Plankton's silence. But Chip refuses to give up. He knows his father is in there, behind the wall of anger and hurt. He can't let him go. "Dad," he says, his voice steady. "I know you're in pain. But I'm not leaving." Chip says, sitting on the bed.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 21 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep. Chip watches him, with love. Then he stirs, his antennae flickering as he wakes. He blinks, his eye focusing on his son's face. Chip's screen illuminates with hope, a soft glow that fills the room. Plankton's antennae quiver as he registers. "Hi, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton's hand squeezes Chip's gently. "Hi," he manages, his voice raspy with sleep and unshed tears. The silence between them is still thick, but there's a thread of something else, something new. "Dad," Chip says, his voice a tentative whisper. "Can we go to the science fair at my school?" Plankton's antennae twitch, a sign of contemplation. Chip's eyes are wide, his screen flickering with excitement and fear. He's not sure if it's a good idea, but the hope in his voice is undeniable. Plankton considers the question, his antennae twitching as he processes the sensory onslaught of a school science fair. The noise, the lights, the crowds. It's a minefield for his overactive senses, but his son's hope is a beacon. "Okay," he murmurs, the word barely audible. Chip's screen illuminates with joy. Plankton sits up. "Chip listen, I uhm– I wan-nt t-to s-say, to t-tell y-you..." Plankton shakes his head. He can't get the words out, his mouth a clumsy mess of tongue-tied syllables. His autism, a wall between his thoughts and speech. Chip's smile falters, his heart sinking. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice soothing. "You don't have to." But he sees the pain in Plankton's eye, the desperate attempt to communicate. "Chip, about your, about the b-box..." Plankton's antennae wave with frustration, his body a testament to the difficulty of his words. "The box, Dad?" Chip asks, his eyes searching Plankton's face for answers. Plankton nods, his antennae drooping with the effort. "You liked it?" Chip's voice is hopeful. Plankton nods. "I-I'm s-still h-hurt from your earlier taunts, a-and I-I-I-I… I'm t-trying to f-forgive, for— I uh, it-t h-hurts but I d-do like the box. So, s-so thank y-you." The words come out in a jumbled mess, a tapestry of stammers and stops, but the sentiment is clear. Chip's heart swells with warmth. He understands the struggle, the fight for each syllable, the dance of emotion and cognition that's so unique to Plankton. Chip's screen flickers with a smile, his eyes never leaving his dad's. "Dad, thank you for understanding," he says, his voice gentle. Plankton's eye closes in relief, his antennae twitching. "I know it's hard," Chip continues. "But I'm here for you. We'll figure it out." Plankton nods, his antennae rising slightly. Plankton puts the new box from Chip for keeping it in the car. Karen drives them to Chip's school. She parks the car and follows them into the school.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 22 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The science fair is a cacophony of noise and color. Each project vying for attention, each child eager to show off their hard work. Chip's screen lights up with excitement. Plankton's antennae twitch nervously. The sensory overload threatens to swamp him, but he firmly holds onto Karen's hand. "Karen?" Karen turns and sees her friend Hanna. "Oh Hanna!" She exclaims. Hanna's eyes widen at the sight of Plankton. "Is this your family?" Karen nods. "We're here for our son Chip." Hanna's smile is warm, but Plankton's antennae bristle, his body stiff with tension. He's not used to socializing, especially not in a place like this, with its unpredictability. "Hi, I'm Karen's friend," Hanna says. Plankton flinches, his antennae waving frantically. "The name's Hanna. You must be Karen's husband, Plankton.." Hanna exclaims as she puts her hands on his shoulders. Plankton's body goes rigid. He's not used to touch, not like this. The pressure sends a shock wave through him. His eye widens in panic, but he forces a smile. "Nice to meet you," he says, his voice tight. He's masking, a technique he's honed over the years to navigate the world that doesn't quite fit him. The effort it takes to appear normal is exhausting, but for Chip, for his family, he'll try. He takes a deep breath, trying to regulate his racing heart. But Hanna's excitement won't abate. "Oh, I've heard so much about you!" Hanna says, her hands squeezing his shoulders. Plankton swallows hard, his antennae twitching with the need to flee. The sensory assault of her perfume, the touch, the sound of her voice, it's too much. But he can't leave, not here, not now. He smiles, a mask covering his panic. "Yeah, it's good to meet you too," he says, his voice strained. Yet Hanna is talkative and bubbly. "Your son's projects are always so amazing!" she gushes, her hand now on his arm. Plankton's antennae twitch, but he keeps his smile firmly in place. He's masking, a painful dance of pretending to fit in, his mind racing to keep up with the social cues. "Thanks, he's very smart," he forces out, hoping his voice doesn't give away the turmoil inside. "Look at all these wonderful things!" Hanna yells, turning to give Plankton's shoulder another squeeze. Plankton's body tenses, but his smile doesn't falter. He's wearing his mask today, the one he's perfected over the years. The one that lets him pretend he's okay, that he fits in this neurotypical world. The lights in the gym are too bright, the sounds too loud. His antennae are on high alert, his brain trying to filter the onslaught. Karen's hand in his is a lifeline, but even she can't dull the sensory overload. Yet he nods, he smiles, he makes polite small talk. He's a chameleon, blending in as best he can, for his family. For Chip, for Karen, he'll weather this storm as best he can. Hanna won't let up. "Oh guess what? I'm a trainer!" Her laughter is a siren to Plankton's sensitive hearing. "That's... amazing," he says, his voice strained. But Hanna doesn't notice. "Do you come here often?" Her question is a minefield Plankton tries to tiptoe around. "I, uh, I don't really come so no," he stammers. "I mean, it's not—" "Oh, you're so funny!" she interrupts, her hand on his arm again. The pressure sends shivers down his spine, but he keeps smiling, keeps pretending. "Heh, ye-" Her touch is a thunderstorm on his skin, but he keeps the mask in place. "What do you do?" Hanna asks, her eyes sparkling. "I'm a scientist," Plankton manages, his antennae vibrating with the need to retreat. "Wow, just like Chip!" Her enthusiasm is a hurricane, but he nods, his smile fixed. "Ye-yes, I guess so-" "Oh, you must be so proud!" Her hand is still on his arm, her grip tightening. The noise in the gym crescendos around him, each child's laughter a pinprick in his overwhelmed brain. "I, I am," he says, his voice strained. She leans in, too close for comfort. Plankton's heart races, his antennae quivering. He wants to scream, to pull his arm away, to retreat. "Look at Chip's project!" Hanna says, pulling him closer to a table covered in wires and circuits. The lights from the screen flicker over her face, casting an eerie glow. Plankton's eye darts around, searching for his son, for a familiar face. But Chip is engaged with his classmates, explaining his creation. He's missed the storm brewing in his father's posture. "Isn't it amazing?" Hanna asks, her hand squeezing his arm again. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching with the pressure. "It's... yes, it's very good," he says, his voice strained. Karen notices, her eyes full of concern. She knows his limits, the tightrope he walks between appearing sociable and the screaming need to retreat. But Hanna doesn't. "Oh!" Hanna exclaims. "You are SUCH a great dad to be so supportive!" Her hand lands on his shoulder, giving it a hearty pat. The suddenness of the touch sends a shock through Plankton's body. He flinches, his antennae waving in a silent cry for space. But Hanna doesn't know, and she's not quite done either. "You must be so proud of him!" Her hand moves to his back, patting it in what she assumes is a comforting gesture. But for Plankton, it burns. He tries to pull away, his body screaming for space, but her grip is firm, her energy unrelenting. The room spins, the lights grow brighter. His antennae quiver with the strain of holding on to his mask. "Thank you," he says, his voice a whisper of the storm inside. "He's... a good boy." Karen's hand squeezes his, a silent reassurance. The pressure of her touch is comforting, but it's not enough. The sensory assault continues, Hanna's unrelenting. He can't take it anymore. The mask is slipping, his smile fading, but Hanna is not. "You're such a great father," Hanna says, her hand now on his cheek. The suddenness of the touch sends a jolt of panic through him. His eye darts around the room, searching for escape. The lights flicker, the sounds meld into a cacophony. He's drowning in a sea of sensation, and Hanna is the storm's eye, unaware of the chaos she's causing. "And Plankton, I think you're just the sweetest!" she says, giving his cheek a squeeze. The room spins, his antennae a blur. Hanna's smile only widens. "Hey, don't be shy!" she laughs, cupping his chin to make him look at her. He needs space. But Hanna won't back down. The pressure builds, his mask threatening to shatter. He can't breathe, can't think. The room is too bright, the sounds too loud. Hanna's touch is a brand, searing into his skin. He tries to pull away, but his body won't cooperate. "I'm..." But Hanna interrupts him. "Oh, you're just adorable!" Her hand moves to his antennae. Plankton's heart races, his body a tight coil of panic. He tries to smile, but his mouth wobbles. "Hanna, I'm not—" He's going to break. His antennae quiver violently, his body screaming for mercy. The mask is slipping, his eye pleading with Karen. But she's engaged with another parent, oblivious to his distress. He tries to pull away, but Hanna's grip is unyielding. "Hanna," he whispers, his voice a thread of panic. "Please." But she doesn't hear him, doesn't see the pain in his eye. She's too caught up in her own excitement, the storm of her affection crashing down on him like a waterfall. He tries to step back, but his legs are like lead. The noise of the gym crescendos, each laugh a needle in his ear. The lights, the smells, the sensations, they're all too much. He needs to escape, to find his quiet place. But Hanna won't let him. Her hand moves to tickle his side. Her laugh makes him hold his head. But she keeps going, unaware of his pain. "Plankton you're so fun..." But Plankton's body betrays him, his stomach lurching. His hand shoots to his mouth, eye wide with horror. He can't. Then suddenly... He's sick. Right there, on the floor of the crowded gym. The smells, the sounds, the touch. It's all too much. He didn't mean to, but he has no control. His body heaves, and Hanna finally retreats her hands.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 19 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Plankton turns away from his son. Chip's screen shows his determination. "I'll stay here," he says. "As long as it takes." He sits down. But he's not giving up. "I know you're mad," he says, his voice gentle. "And I know you're hurt. But I'm not going anywhere." Still no response. Plankton's antennae twitch every now and then, but he doesn't say a word. Chip's heart feels like it's being squeezed in a vice, but he doesn't move. "Dad, remember the time we built that sandcastle together?" he asks, his voice soft. "You laughed so hard when it collapsed." His screen flickers with the memory of Plankton's joy, his antennae waving in delight. "You were so proud of me, even though it was just a pile of sand." He pauses, his throat tight when Plankton looks away. "I want to make you laugh like that again. And I'll do everything to make it right." But Plankton's silence is a reminder of the distance between them. Chip's voice cracks as he continues. "I know I don't get it all," he admits. "But I'm trying. I'll keep trying. I'll never stop." The room seems to hold its breath, the only sound the distant hum of the air conditioner. He reaches out, his hand trembling, and places the headphones on Plankton's desk. "Whenever you're ready," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "They're for you." He stands there, his screen reflecting his hope, his fear. He waits, every second an eternity. Plankton doesn't move, his back a wall of silence. Chip's heart is a drum, pounding with desperation. But he doesn't leave. He sits down on the bed. "Dad," he says, his voice steady, "I know you're upset. And you have every right to be. But I'm not going anywhere." His screens flicker with hope and fear. "I'm your son, and I love you." Plankton's antennae twitch, but he says nothing. Chip's heart feels like it's breaking. He tries to think of anything else to say, anything to break the silence. But the words stick in his throat, like glue. He sits there for what feels like hours, the weight of his father's pain pressing down on his shoulders. Plankton's ignorance is like a fog, thick and impenetrable. Chip's screens flicker with memories of their shared past, the laughs, the tears, the moments that seemed unbreakable. He whispers again, his voice barely a breath. "Dad, I'm so sorry." The words hang in the air, a silent prayer for forgiveness. Plankton's antennae don't move. Chip's screen is a maelstrom of emotions. He can't believe his father would cut him off like this. But he knows Plankton's pain is deep, and his own understanding of autism still has so much room to grow. He sits in silence, watching his father's back, willing him to turn around. "I know I hurt you," Chip says, his voice a whisper. "But I'm here to listen, to learn." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but he doesn't move. Chip's heart feels like it's shriveling in his chest. "Can you tell me what I can do?" he asks, his screen flickering with hope. "Please?" The minutes drag on, each one a silent accusation. Chip's mind races, searching for the right words, the right gesture to mend the rift. He knows Plankton's anger is a shield, a way to keep the world at bay. But he's desperate to reach the tender heart beneath. "I won't let you go. We're family." Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tense. Chip can feel the energy in the room shift, but he doesn't dare move. "Dad, I know I hurt you," he says, his voice shaking. "But I'm here now. I'm listening." The silence stretches on, a tightrope he's afraid to cross. The room is a prison of unspoken words, each moment stretching into an eternity. Chip's screens are a kaleidoscope of regret and longing. "Please," he whispers. "Tell me what I can do." Plankton's antennae droop, but he turns away. Chip's screen flickers with desperation. "Dad, I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice a fractured echo. "But I can't fix this if you don't let me in." Plankton's antennae quiver, a silent response to his son's plea. Chip's eyes are a pool of unshed tears, his heart racing. "I know you're in there," he says, his voice shaking. "And I know you're hurting." The room is a testament to their struggle, the air charged with the electricity of unspoken words. Chip's screens dim, his hope fading. He's tried everything, spoken every apology, offered every gesture. But Plankton's back remains a wall, unyielding to his son's pain. "Dad," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I need you." The words hang in the air, desperate for a response. The silence is a symphony of unspoken anger and regret. Chip's screens flicker with the realization that understanding autism isn't a quick fix. It's a journey of patience, of learning to read the subtle cues that make up Plankton's communication. He sighs, his shoulders slumped. "I'll be here," he says, his voice resigned. "Whenever you're ready." But Plankton doesn't speak. The room is a testament to their strained relationship, the torn photos and crumpled cards a stark reminder of what's been lost. Chip's heart heavily, his mind racing with thoughts of how he can bridge this gap. "Dad," he says, his voice small. "I'm going to give you space. But I'm not going to give up on us." He turns to leave, his screen flickering with sadness. As he steps into the hallway, the door clicks shut behind him, a silent echo of Plankton's rejection. Chip leans against the wall, his screen a canvas of swirling emotions. He's hurt, confused, but most of all, he's determined. He'll show Dad that he's not just a kid playing at empathy. He'll prove it. He starts with the house, replacing the torn photos, smoothing out the cards. Each action a silent apology, a promise to do better. He fills a new sensory box. He'll try. Chip's screens pulse with his newfound resolve. He'll make this right. He'll show Dad that he's not just words. That he's action. That he's here, truly here. He'll be the bridge between them. He gathers supplies, a box of textures, a rainbow of fidgets, things that sparkle, things that roll, things that make sounds. He remembers Dad's favorites: the squishy balls, the smooth stones, the spinners that twirl. He adds a few new things too, things he read about that might help, like a weighted blanket, soft and comforting. He gets some of his old toys, the ones Dad used to play with him, now a bridge to a different kind of play. The room is quiet, his heart a symphony of hope. He arranges everything carefully, each item a stepping stone to repair. He thinks about the articles, the videos he's watched, the stories he's read. He tries to see the world through his dad's eye. The box is a treasure trove, a sanctuary for Plankton's sensory needs. Chip's fingers shake as he places each item with care, his mind racing with thoughts of Plankton's smile, his laugh. He knows it won't fix everything, but it's a start.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 24 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ "I've had enough of this!" Vickie snaps. "He's just a burden. Look at him, he can't eve-" Chip's fist hits the desk with a loud smack, cutting Vickie's words off. His eyes blaze with a fiery determination. "That's my dad you're talking about!" he says, his voice shaking with anger. The room stills, the tension thick. "And he's not a burden!" Vickie's face contorts in shock. Karen's eyes are proud, but filled with fear. She watches as Chip's shoulders square, his voice strong and firm. "I'm not leaving without this," he declares, his jaw set. "And if you want him hurt, you'll have to kick me out too." Nurse Vickie looks at him. "Oh you've done nothing wrong, sweet..." But Chip doesn't care, his mind racing. "I have!" he says, his voice rising. "I'm the one causing trouble!" He glares at her, his fists clenched. "I'm the problem, not him!" He throws his backpack at the wall. The room echoes with the sound of books hitting the floor, the clatter of his defiance. "Now, are you going to kick me out or keep hurting him?" Vickie's eyes narrow, suspicion growing. "What are you playing at?" "I'm not playing," Chip says, his voice shaking. "If you want a problem, I'll give you one. Just leave him alone." He kicks over a chair, his heart racing. He's fighting for his father, for the right to be understood. Vickie's eyes narrow, her mouth a thin line. "Young man," she says, her voice stern. "You need to calm down." But Chip's not calming down. He's just getting started. "You think you know him?" he challenges her, his eyes filled with a passion that's been building for too long. "You think you know what it's like to live with autism?" His voice echoes through the small office. Vickie takes a step back, her hands on her hips. "I know what's best for this school," she says firmly, her eyes cold. But Chip's not backing down. "You don't know anything," he says, his voice shaking. "You don't know what it's like to have a meltdown, to need space." He slams his fist into the desk again, the sound ringing out like a declaration of war. "You don't know what it's like to be him!" The room is silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Karen's heart swells with pride, but her stomach is in knots. "Chip, please..." she says, but he's not listening. He's fighting a battle she wishes he never had to face. Vickie's expression flickers between annoyance and confusion. "Young man, if you don't calm down, I will be forced to call the principal," she says. But Chip just shakes his head, his eyes never leaving hers. "Then do it," he challenges. "Call the principal. Tell them to kick me out. Tell them to leave my dad alone. I don't wanna attend a school where my dad isn't respected." His voice cracks, the tears he's been fighting spilling over. Karen's hand is on his shoulder, trying to calm him, but Chip's determination is a force to be reckoned with. "Chip, sweetie, you don't have to do this," she whispers. But he shrugs her off. "I do," he says, his voice steady despite the tremble in his chest. "I won't let anyone hurt him like this again." His eyes are wet, but his stance is firm. "I'd rather be kicked out than see him suffer. I've made mistakes, but he's not a mistake. He only got sick because his needs weren't respected. Now, let us all go." Vickie's face reddens, her patience wearing thin. "Fine," she says through gritted teeth. "I'll call the principal. You're both coming with me." She grabs Plankton's arm, ignoring his flinch. Karen and Hanna follow Chip as he trails behind Vickie. The walk to the principal's office feels like a march to the gallows. Plankton's body is tight with tension, his antennae twitching with every step. Chip's heart races, his mind a tornado of fear and anger. He can't believe he's doing this, but he's seen his dad suffer enough. The principal greets them all. "Nurse Vickie, and Chip; hello!" But Chip's face is a mask of determined anger, his eyes fixed on the woman who had caused his father so much pain. "My dad's in trouble because he's different, and she won't let him be!" He points an accusing finger at Vickie, his words a declaration. The principal's eyebrows shoot up, his screen a picture of surprise. "What seems to be the trouble?" his voice calm, his eyes quickly assessing the situation. Vickie starts to explain, her voice a river of accusations. "He's a disruption, he's..." But Chip cuts her off, his voice a knife. "I'm the disruption!" he says. "I'm the one who threw the chair, I'm the one who yelled. My father's condition is not a disruption. It's a part of who he is." He turns to Vickie. "I'd appreciate it if you could be more understanding." The principal's eyes flicker between Chip and Vickie, his expression neutral. "Chip, I understand you're upset. But throwing chairs and yelling is not the way to express yourself." He pauses, looking at Plankton huddled in the corner. "But I also see that something has happened here that we need to address." Vickie's grip on Plankton's arm loosens, her face a mask of defensiveness. "The father was just being difficult, and was acting strangely." The principal's gaze sharpens. "Difficult? Strangely?" he repeats, his eyes drilling into hers. "Care to elaborate?" Vickie stammers, her confidence waning. "He was rocking back and forth, and... his antennae... they... I don't know, just..." She trails off, unsure of herself. The principal's gaze remains on her, his patience thinning like a wavering thread. "I see," he says, his voice calm. He turns to Plankton, his expression gentle. "Is that right?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his body a taut wire of nervous energy. "No," he says, his voice a croak. "It's... it's just me." He can't meet the principal's gaze, his eyes darting to the floor. "I... I just need..." But Chip's voice cuts through the silence like a sword, his words a shield for his father. "It's not his fault," he says firmly. "Autisticaphobia exists in this school. It's not his behavior that's the issue, it's the lack of understanding and empathy." The principal's eyes narrow, his gaze on Vickie, who shifts uncomfortably under the weight of accusation. "Is this true?" he asks her, his voice calm but his eyes like steel. Vickie opens her mouth, but no words come out. She looks from Plankton, huddled in the corner, to Chip, standing tall and furious. "I was just trying to calm everyone," she says weakly. The principal's gaze never wavers from her. "What happened in my office, Nurse Vickie, is not calming. It's discrimination." His voice is low, but it resonates like a thunderclap. "Your job is to support our students and their families, not to make them feel less than." Vickie's cheeks burn with shame, her eyes downcast. "I'm sorry," she mumbles. "I didn't mean..." But Chip's voice is a wall, his words unyielding. "It's not about what you meant," he says. "It's about what you did." His eyes are on the principal, his stance unwavering. "He's my dad, and I'll do anything to protect him." The principal's face is still, his eyes thoughtful. "Chip, you need to understand that this isn't the way to handle things," he says, his tone measured. "But I also appreciate your concern for your father." He looks at Vickie, his gaze stern. Vickie's eyes dart around the room, her discomfort palpable. "I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice small. "I didn't know..." The principal's gaze is steady, his voice firm. "Ignorance is no excuse," he says. "We will have a training session for all staff on autism awareness, and we'll make sure everyone understands neurodiverse needs." He turns to Plankton, who's still huddled in the corner. "Mr. Plankton, I'm sorry for any discomfort you've felt here today," he says, his tone soothing. "Your son has made it clear that your needs are important, and we will respect them." He glances at Vickie. "This won't happen again." Chip's chest loosens, his breaths coming easier. He's done it. He's protected his father. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickers up to Chip's. There's something in them, something new. Recognition? Pride? Chip isn't sure, but his heart swells with hope. Slowly, tentatively, Plankton moves towards him, his tiny body shaking with the effort of controlling his overwhelmed senses. Chip holds his breath, his eyes on his father. Karen watches the scene with a mixture of pride and sorrow as Plankton's arms extend, a silent offering of love and comfort. Chip's heart races, his eyes wide. He's never seen his dad want to hug him before. But his instincts kick in, the days of learning about autism guiding his actions. He steps forward, his own arms wrapping around Plankton's shoulders. Their embrace is tight, a physical manifestation of the bridge they're building. Chip can feel Plankton's heart racing against his chest, his antennae twitching slightly. But it's not with fear or panic, it's with a love so pure it's overwhelming. He squeezes his dad tighter, his eyes closing as he whispers, "I've got you."

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DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 12 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Karen heads to Chip's room, her mind racing with a mix of anger and concern. She opens the door, her eyes scanning the darkness until she finds him. "Chip," she says firmly, her voice a mix of disappointment and determination. "We need to talk." Her son looks up from his pillow, his eyes red and swollen. "What is it, Mom?" "What happened with your dad?" Karen asks, her voice calm but firm. Chip looks up at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We talked," he says, his voice small. "But it didn't really go we–" "I know," Karen says, cutting him off. "But what did you say to him, Chip?" Her tone is firm, but her eyes are filled with concern. Chip swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I just told him that I wanted to help," he says, his voice small. "And that I didn't want you to get hurt..." Karen's eyes narrow, her disappointment clear. "What exactly did you say Chip?" He sniffles, his screen meeting hers. "I said that you seem tired of his seizures, and that he's not being fair to you," Chip admits, his voice thick with regret. Karen's face tightens, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and sadness. "You have no right to speak for me, Chip," she says, her voice firm but not unkind. "I love your dad, and we deal with this together." She takes a deep breath, her hand on his shoulder, her screen searching his. "What else did you say?" Chip's shoulders slump, his eyes brimming with tears. "I said you're his punching bag, Mom," he whispers, his voice breaking. "That you're always so patient and that it's not fair t---" Karen's hand tightens on his shoulder, her disappointment etched in the lines of her screen. "Chip," she says, her tone sharp. "You don't get to tell me how to feel, or what I think about your dad." Her words cut through his regret like a knife, his eyes widening. "But I just wanted to—" "Chip," Karen says, cutting his protest short. "You don't know what it's like, what we go through every day." Her voice shakes with the weight of emotions held in check. "You're not helping by making assumptions." Chip's eyes well up with tears, his lower lip trembling. "But Mom," he stammers, "I just don't want you to get hurt." Karen's face softens, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice filled with understanding. "But your dad and I are a team. What we have is complicated, but it's ours. And when you say things like that, it's like you're choosing sides. It is hard to see the one you love struggle, but right now you're the one who's causing me, and us, to hurt." Chip's eyes fill with tears, his chest tight with guilt. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make it worse." Karen sighs, her anger softening into sadness. "You didn't understand," she says gently. "But now you do." She sits beside him, her hand on his back. "What you said about your dad, it's not fair to him or to us." Chip's shoulders shake with sobs, his heart heavy. "I'm sorry," he manages to get out. "I just—" Karen's hand on his shoulder is warm, her voice steady. "Chip," she says, cutting his words off with a gentle firmness. "What you said to your dad, it wasn't right." Her eyes hold his, filled with a mixture of pain and love. Chip's gaze drops to the floor, his cheeks burning with regret. "I know," he mumbles, his voice small. "But I just wanted to tell him that—" "No, Chip," Karen says, cutting him off gently. "What you did was hurt him, and that's not what we do in this family." Her voice is firm, but her eyes are filled with concern. "We support each other, not push buttons we don't understand. Dad's not hurting me, but now I'm hurt by what you said." Chip nods, his eyes glued to the floor. "I know, Mom," he whispers. "I didn't think about how it would sound." Karen takes a deep breath, her hand moving to his cheek. "Look at me," she says, her voice gentle. "You can't fix this by pushing us apart." Her thumb wipes a tear from his cheek. "You have to talk to him, tell him you didn't mean it that way. Let's go find him." They leave Chip's room together, their steps heavy with the weight of unspoken words and regret.

CHIP IN MY BOX ii (Autistic author) As they wait, Chip's curiosity is obvious. "What's wrong with Dad?" he asks, his brow furrowed with concern. Karen sighs, sitting down beside him. "It's not that something's wrong, exactly," she starts. "Your father has a... condition. It's a bit like when you get overwhelmed by noise or too much to do and you need to go to your room to play with your toys by yourself, right?" Chip nods, still not completely sure. "It's like he has a... sensory processing thing," Karen elaborates, her voice soft. "Sometimes the world is just too much for him, so he needs these special tools to help him cope." Chip's eyes widen as he looks from the sensory curtain to his mother. He's heard about kids in school who have to wear noise-canceling headphones or sit in quiet areas, but he never thought his dad might be like that. He opens his mouth to ask more questions, but Karen puts a hand on his arm, her grip firm but gentle. "Let's give him his space," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Chip nods, his mind racing. He's heard of people who need breaks, but not like this. "What happens if he doesn't use it?" Chip whispers, his eyes flicking to the sensory box and back to Plankton. "Well," Karen starts, "he can get pretty anxious and overwhelmed. It's like his brain can't keep up with the world around him. It'd just take longer for his brain to wake.." But Plankton's eye starts to twitch, then blink rapidly. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and the room seems to snap back into focus for him. His gaze shifts, first to the box on the table, then to Karen and Chip. "What... what happened?" he stammers, sounding groggy and disoriented. Karen smiles warmly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You had a little moment," she says, using the term they've agreed upon to describe his episodes. Plankton blinks rapidly, his eye adjusting to the light. He looks around, noticing the sensory curtain lying in his lap, the open box. "Ah," he says, his voice a little hoarse. "I see." Embarrassment floods his features as he realizes his son has witnessed his episode. He's always tried to keep it from Chip, his pride not wanting his son to know. He doesn't like being seen this way, vulnerable. It's a side of him he's never shown to anyone outside of Karen. But his son's to curious and wants to ask, as he can't help his curiosity. "What was that?" he whispers. Plankton's face tightens, a mix of embarrassment and anger. He doesn't like for anyone, especially Chip, to see him when he zones out. It's a private battle. He tries to stand, but Karen's hand on his shoulder stops him. "Dad, w---" "Don't!" Plankton snaps, his voice harsher than Chip has ever heard. Karen's hand tightens on Plankton's shoulder, a silent plea for patience. "Chip just walked in, honey. He didn't mean to," she says soothingly. But Chip's curiosity is fueled by the unanswered questions swirling in his head. "But why do you need that?" he asks, touching the sensory curtain. Plankton's expression hardens, his cheeks flushing. He hates the feeling of being interrogated, especially when it's about something so deeply personal. "It's none of your business," he snaps, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "Now just leave me be." Chip's eyes widen, hurt mixing with confusion. He's not used to his father's sharpness. His hand retracts from the sensory curtain as if burned. "But, Dad," he starts, only to be cut off once more. "I said, leave me alone," Plankton repeats, his voice like steel. Chip feels his heart drop, but his curiosity refuses to wane. "What's in the box?" He asks, reaching for it. Plankton's hand slams down on the box's lid with a force that makes the whole room jump. "I said enough!" His eye flashes with a rare anger that sends a shiver down Chip's spine. Karen intervenes quickly, placing herself between them. "Chip, let's go to your room," she says gently, her voice full of an urgency that usually meant serious trouble. But Chip's curiosity is a stubborn beast. "But I'm wor–" "I said, leave it!" Plankton's voice booms, cutting through the tension. His eye flashes with a fiery intensity that makes Chip's knees wobble. Karen's grip on Chip's arm tightens. "Come on," she urges, guiding him away from his father's wrath. But Chip resists, his curiosity not easily deterred. "Why do you have to use that?" He points to the box, his voice shaking slightly. "What's so important that you can't even talk to me? What's in there that's so important you can't even lo…" "I don't have to explain everything to you," Plankton snaps, his voice rising. Karen's eyes dart between them, worry etching lines on her forehead. "Plankton, please," she begs, her voice barely a whisper. But Chip, oblivious to the storm brewing in the room, presses on. "But why do yo-" "Because I said so!" Plankton's roar is a thunderclap in the quiet room. The box shakes with the force of his hand slamming down on it. Chip flinches, his eyes watering, but he's not backing down. "But, Dad-" "I said, I don't have to explain!" Plankton's voice echoes through the room, the force of his words almost tangible. Karen's grip on his arm tightens, but Chip still tries to stand his ground. "But why can't you?" Chip's voice cracks with the weight of his questions. "You're always telling me that talking about things makes them better. Why can't we talk abou-" "ENOUGH!" Plankton roars, his fists clenched, the knuckles white with tension. His anger is a palpable force. The sensory box seems to quiver under his glare. Chip's eyes widen with fear, but the stubbornness within him won't let him retreat. He opens his mouth again, desperate for answers. "But Dad, if you don't tell me, how can I understand?" Plankton's anger seems to grow with every question, his body tense and his face a mask of rage. "Understand?" he spits out. "You don't understand anything, you little brat!" His hand hovers over the box, as if it's the source of his fury. The room feels like it's shrinking around Chip, the tension suffocating. He's seen his dad upset before, but never like this. He tries to pull away from Karen's grip, his need for answers stronger than his fear of his father's wrath. "But why?" Chip repeats, his voice smaller now, the storm in the room making his courage waver. Plankton's eye narrows, his body vibrating with frustration. "Why can't you just leave it be?" he snarls, his hand still hovering over the box, his knuckles stark against the wood. Karen's eyes are wide with fear, her grip on Chip's arm now painfully tight. "Chip," she says, her voice trembling, "Please, just go to your room." But Chip is caught in the storm of his own curiosity. "But I want to know!" Chip's voice is louder now, his eyes shining with a mix of fear and determination. He can't understand why his father is so upset, why this simple question has caused such a reaction. "You don't need to know!" Plankton's voice is a thunderous boom, his hand slamming on the box so hard that the wood groans. "Just leave me be!" Chip's eyes are wide with shock and confusion, his cheeks flushed with a mix of fear and frustration. "But why?" He persists, his voice shaking. "What's so bad about me asking?" Plankton's fury seems to grow with each syllable Chip utters. He glares at his son, his hand still hovering over the box. "It's not for you to understand!" His voice is a roar that shakes the foundation of the room. Chip takes a step back, his heart racing. But instead of retreating, his curiosity blazes brighter. He's never seen his dad this way, so consumed by anger. It's like his questions are poking at a wound, a secret so deep and raw that Plankton can't bear to acknowledge it.

🛸 🎠 🐎 | 🎥 🏇 🎥 | 🐎 🎠 🛸

CHIP IN MY BOX iv (Autistic author) Chip's door clicks shut upstairs, the echo resonating through the house like a gunshot. Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving the spot where Plankton had been standing. With a sigh, she picks up the sensory box, carefully placing the curtain back inside. She knows her husband's anger is not directed at their son, but at his own inability to control his condition. She follows him into the kitchen, finding him slumped over the kitchen table, his head in his hands. "Plankton," she says softly, setting the box by him. He doesn't move, his breathing ragged and heavy. "I know you're upset." He looks up, his eye shimmering with anger and a hint of despair. "I can't... I just can't handle it," he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. Karen approaches, her movements slow and careful, as if she's afraid of startling a wild animal. "What can't you handle?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's shoulders heave with a silent sob. "The... the shame," he whispers. "The fear that... that Chip will think I'm broken." His words hang heavy in the air, each one a droplet of pain. Karen's seen this battle play out countless times, but it never gets easier. She sits next to him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "You're not broken," she says soothingly. "You're just... you." Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wild with desperation. "But what kind of father am I?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "What kind of husband?" Karen squeezes his shoulder gently. "The best kind," she says firmly. "You're the kind who tries, who fights for us every day." Plankton's breath hitches, his eye filling with unshed tears. He doesn't believe her, but her words are a balm on the raw wound of his pride. "But I-I-I-I… I can't control it!" He whispers, his voice shaking with fear. Karen's voice is firm and steady as she replies, "No one expects you to, honey." She takes his trembling hand in hers. "What's important is that we're here for each other." Plankton leans into Karen's side, his body shaking with repressed sobs. He's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Her warmth is a comfort. Karen wraps her arms around his trembling form, her eyes closed tight. "You're not broken," she repeats, her voice like a gentle lullaby. "You just have something extra, something that makes you who you are." Plankton's breathing slows, his body relaxing into her embrace. He knows she's right. "You're not broken," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing balm. "You're just... different." Her words hang in the air, their truth resonating deep within him. Plankton's sobs quieten, his breaths slowing to match hers. He nods, his head resting heavily on her shoulder. The fight leaves him, the storm of his emotions subsiding to a gentle patter of rain. Karen feels the weight of his head increase, his body going slack as sleep claims him. She tightens her embrace with love and concern. Her husband's condition is a constant reminder of the invisible battles he faces every day. The kitchen clock ticks steadily in the background, marking the passage of time. Plankton's breathing evens out, his features softening in sleep. Karen kisses the top of his head, his antennae twitching. Karen strokes his back gently, her mind racing with thoughts of what to say to Chip. They need to talk, to explain things better. Upstairs, Chip sits on his bed, his eyes fixed on the closed door. The echo of his father's anger still rings in his ears, making him feel like he's the one who's wrong. He wipes his tears, his curiosity tinged with a heavy guilt. He decides to go check on his parents. He tiptoes down the stairs, his heart in his throat, each step a silent apology. The kitchen light is on, a soft glow spilling into the hallway. As he approaches, he sees Karen, her arms wrapped around a sleeping Plankton. His dad's head is nestled into her shoulder, his breaths deep and even in sleep. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, filled with a mix of exhaustion and sadness. She stands, Plankton's weight barely a burden to her, and guides her son to the couch. With gentle movements, she sets Plankton down, his body slumping into the cushions. His snores are the only sound that breaks the heavy silence. "He'll sleep now," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet room. "His episodes can be draining." She sits next to Chip, her eyes never leaving her husband. Chip nods, his own eyes swollen from crying. "What's wrong with him, Mom?" He asks, his voice small and scared. He's never seen his dad like this before, so lost in his own mind. Karen sighs, her eyes filling with a mix of sorrow and love. "It's not something that's easy to explain," she starts, her hands fidgeting with her apron. "But I'll try." Chip nods, his curiosity still a live wire, but now tempered with concern. "Dad has something called sensory overload," she explains gently. "Sometimes, his brain gets too much information from his surroundings, and gets overwhelmed." He looks up at her, his eyes searching for understanding. "It's like when you have too much on your plate at dinner, and you just can't eat another bite," she continues, trying to make the abstract concept more tangible for her son. "Except for him, it's all the time, with everything he sees, hears, feels..." Her words hang in the air, suspended by the gravity of the situation. Chip nods slowly, his eyes wide with realization. "And the box?" He asks, his voice a whisper. "The box," Karen says, her voice a soft sigh, "contains things that help him cope, things to help calm him down when the world gets too loud." Her gaze lingers on the closed wooden box, the secret it holds now a little less mysterious. Chip nods, his curiosity dimming in the face of his newfound empathy. "Can I see?" He asks, his voice hopeful. Karen looks at him, her expression torn. "Not now, sweetheart," she says gently. "Your dad's not feeling well. But maybe another time, when he's ready." Chip nods, his curiosity now tinged with sadness. He looks at his father, his chest tight with the knowledge that he's caused this pain. "But why was he so angry?" He asks, his voice small. Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Your dad's not angry at you, Chip. He's angry at himself, and scared of what you might think. This isn't something he wants to share with anyone." Chip's eyes never leave his father's still form. "But why?" He whispers, his voice thick with tears. Karen's hand finds Chip's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Because, Chip," she says, meeting his gaze, "it's hard for him to admit he needs help. His personality is..." she pauses, searching for the right words, "It's like he's a superhero, trying to hide his kryptonite." Chip's eyes widen, his thoughts racing. "But everyone has something they're not good at," he says, his voice small. "Why can't he-" Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "Your father's not just anyone, Chip," she says, her voice filled with a mix of pride and concern. "He's a strong man, and he's used to being in control. Having something that makes him feel vulnerable, something he can't fix, it's hard for him to accept." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. He's beginning to understand, but it's a lot to process. "What can we do?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's smile is sad but determined. "We can be there for him," she says, squeezing his hand. "And we'll find a way to help him manage his... moments." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "How can I make it right?" He whispers. "How can I help him?" Karen looks at her son, seeing the man he'll become. Her heart swells with pride. "You already are," she says, squeezing his hand. "By being curious, by caring enough to ask." She pauses, her gaze softening. "But sometimes, helping is just giving someone space to be." Chip nods, his eyes on his father's peaceful face. Plankton's snores are a comforting background to their quiet conversation. He feels a knot loosen in his chest, his curiosity giving way to understanding.

r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 yr. ago AlexDalcourt I like to flap my hands and vocalize- sometimes I do it in public. "Reports coming in that an Autistic child was killed by police for suspicious behaviour and resistance of arrest."

CHIP IN MY BOX vii (Autistic author) Dr. Kelp's tentacles move quickly, setting out a new set of sensory items. He places the velvet curtain over Plankton's head, creating a safe, quiet space. The weighted blanket is laid gently over his body, his breathing starting to even out. The doctor's eyes are filled with a quiet wisdom that Karen finds reassuring. The octopus then turns his attention to Chip, his tentacle gently stroking the boy's arm. "It's okay," he repeats, his voice a calming lullaby in the tense room. "We all make mistakes." Karen's eyes are glued to Plankton, his body still and silent under the velvet curtain. Fear and regret are a heavy weight on her shoulders. "Thank you," she whispers to Dr. Kelp, her voice trembling. "We should have told him sooner." She watches as the doctor works, his tentacles deftly placing items around. "When Plankton wakes up," Dr. Kelp says, his voice low and soothing, "he might be disoriented, upset." He looks up at Chip, his eyes gentle. "It's important to give him space, let him know it's safe." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving her husband's still form. She knows the routine, but hearing it from Dr. Kelp's lips somehow makes it feel more real, more manageable. "When he wakes," the doctor continues, "he may be confused, overwhelmed." His voice is soft, his eyes compassionate. "He might not immediately be able to process what happened." Karen nods, her hand trembling slightly. "What do you mean?" She asks, desperation lacing her voice. Dr. Kelp takes a deep breath, his tentacles arranging the items with precision. "When Plankton comes to," he says, "his senses may be overstimulated, not knowing what's happening around him." He looks at Chip, his eyes serious. "It's important you don't take it personally. He may incoherently talk, forget or lash out. It's his brain's way of trying to make sense of the sensory overload." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "We'll be ready," she says, her voice determined. She doesn't want to scare Chip, but he needs to know. "We'll help him through it." Dr. Kelp looks at the both of them, his gaze softening. "Good," he says. "Because he's going to need you." His tentacles flatten against the floor as he leans closer to Plankton, checking his pulse. "When he wakes up, keep your voices low, and keep the lights dim. Try to limit any sudden movements." He demonstrates with a slow, deliberate wave of his tentacle. "And if he seems scared or confused, just tell him it's okay, that he's safe," he instructs, his voice calm and steady. "Remember, he might not recognize anything at first. His mind will be trying to piece together what happened, as if in a dream." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. Chip clutches the indestructible fidgets in his small hands, his face a mask of determination. "When he wakes up," Dr. Kelp continues, his eyes on the floor, "his reactions may seem unpredictable. Sometimes, he might get scared, other times he might be agitated." His tentacle flicks slightly, a subtle sign of his own tension. "It's all part of his brain trying to recalibrate." He looks up at Chip, his expression serious. "Your dad's going to need you to be brave," he says, his voice gentle. "If he doesn't know you at first, don't be scared. Just stay calm and keep talking to him." Chip nods, his eyes glistening with tears. "I'll do anything," he says, his voice tiny but firm. Dr. Kelp gives a small smile, his tentacle patting Chip's shoulder. "That's all we can ask," he says.

CHIP IN MY BOX ix (Autistic author) Plankton's eye focuses on her, his hand clutching hers like a lifeline. "Karen?" He whispers, the fog of confusion slowly lifting. His voice is weak, but the recognition is there, a spark in the vast ocean of his overwhelmed mind. Karen's breath hitches, relief flooding her body. "Yes, it's me," she murmurs, her voice a gentle tide washing over him. "You had a hard time, but you're okay now." Plankton's hand clutches hers, his grip tight, his reality slowly coming into focus. The velvet curtain is lifted gently, his eye blinking in the soft light. His gaze finds hers, and for a moment, it's just the two of them, a silent promise of support and understanding. "I... Dr. Kelp? Chip?" He blinks. Dr. Kelp nods, his tentacles still busy placing the sensory items. "We're all here," he says, his voice calm. "You're safe." Plankton's gaze moves to Chip, who's been watching silently from the side, his face a mask of fear and hope. "Chip?" He says, his voice weak. The boy nods, his eyes shimmering with tears. "I'm here, Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry." The words hang in the air, a silent apology for his carelessness. Plankton's eye locks onto Chip, his grip on Karen's hand weakening as he tries to sit up. His mind is still a tangled web of confusion. "What happened?" Karen's voice is a gentle current, guiding him back to reality. "You had a reality break," she says, avoiding the harsher terms. "It's okay, we're here." Plankton's gaze shifts between them, his mind a whirlpool of questions and half-forgotten moments. He swallows hard, the lump in his throat a reminder of his vulnerability. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. Chip's eyes are wide, his heart racing as he watches his father struggle. He wants to say something, anything, but his throat is tight with fear. "It was an accident," he croaks out finally, his voice small. "I didn't mean to." Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his expression a mix of pain and confusion. "What did you do?" He asks, his voice a thundercloud of emotion. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his guilt a heavy weight. "I knocked over your box," he admits, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't know." The words hang in the air, a confession that feels like a betrayal. Plankton's gaze is a stormy sea, his emotions a tempest of anger and hurt. He looks at the shards of his sanity scattered on the floor, a silent accusation. The room seems to spin around them, a maelstrom of his swirling thoughts. "You broke it," he says, his voice a thunderclap of disappointment. The words hit Chip like a tidal wave, drowning his guilt. "You broke my box." The room seems to shrink, the air thick with tension. Karen's eyes dart between them, a silent plea for understanding. "It was an accident," she says, her voice soft. "Chip didn't know." Plankton's eye is on Chip, his gaze intense. He swallows hard, the reality of the situation crashing over him. "Why?" He whispers, his voice a raw wound. Chip's chin trembles, his eyes brimming with tears. "I just wanted to see," he whispers back, his voice tiny and scared. "I didn't know it was so important." Plankton's expression softens, the storm clouds of anger parting to reveal his own fear, his chest heaving with the effort of controlling his emotions. "I know," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "I'm just... tired." He looks at the new box. Karen's eyes fill with sympathy, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "You don't have to explain," she whispers. "We're here." Her words are a balm to his soul, a gentle reminder that he's not alone in his journey.

CHIP IN MY BOX xi (Autistic author) In the quiet of the room, Plankton's breathing is the only sound, a steady reminder of his presence. Chip's eyes are on his father, his mind racing with thoughts of the day's events. He's seen Plankton tired before, but never like this. Never so lost in his own thoughts, so overwhelmed by the world around him. Chip feels the weight of his promise to protect his father's sanctity. His hand reaches out to Plankton's arm, his touch tentative but reassuring. "It's okay, Dad." Plankton's breathing evens out, his body relaxing into the bed's embrace. His antennae twitch slightly, his mind still racing. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice soft as his eye flutters closed. Chip lies beside him, his small hand resting lightly on his father's arm, as his promise to be more careful keeps his eyes open. He watches Plankton. Plankton's breathing slows, his body finally letting go of the tension. His antennae twitch one last time before stillness takes over. His eye closes, his features relaxed in sleep. His antennae rest gently on the pillow. Chip lies there, his own eyes open, watching his father's sleeping form, the only sound being Plankton's rhythmic breaths. He's never felt more connected to him, or more responsible for his wellbeing. He can see the outline of Plankton's face, his features relaxed in slumber, and it's as if he's seeing him for the first time, really seeing the struggle behind the inventions and the jokes. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, a gentle reminder of the complex mind that's working even in rest. Chip's eyes trace the lines of his father's face, the worry etched into his features smoothing out as he sleeps. He feels a weight lift from his chest, his breathing matching the steady rhythm of Plankton's. The next morning Chip wakes up before his dad next to him. Plankton's antennae are still, his breathing deep and even. Chip can't help but feel a surge of protectiveness as he watches him. He remembers the fear and confusion from the night before, and the promise he made to be more understanding, more careful. Chip's eyes are glued to Plankton's face, the tiny movements of his father's antennae as he dreams. The soft snores are a comforting soundtrack to the early morning silence. With a gentle touch, Chip reaches over to his father's side, his small hand hovering over Plankton's antennae. He wants to show his affection, but fears waking him up. The memory of last night's frightening episode is still fresh in his mind. He's learned that sometimes, love is not about loud gestures, but about quiet moments of understanding and care. He watches Plankton's chest rise and fall rhythmically, the soft snores a lullaby to his own racing thoughts. Slowly, so as not to disturb him, Chip's hand reaches out and his fingertips graze his father's antennae. He's afraid to touch them fully, afraid the contact might shatter the fragile peace of his father's sleep. Plankton stirs slightly, his antennae twitching. Chip's breath catches, but Plankton settles again. The snores become softer, his body relaxing into the mattress. Chip's hand hovers, his mind racing. How can he show love without waking his dad? He's seen the pain of his father's reality breaks and doesn't want to cause another one. He recalls the softness of Karen's voice, the way she touched Plankton's hand so gently. He tries to mimic her calmness, his hand shaking slightly as it hovers over his father's arm. He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving his father's face. Then, with the lightest touch imaginable, his fingertips brush against Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennae quiver, but his eye stays closed. Chip's mind races with ideas, his hand hovering over his father's arm. He thinks of all the ways his mother had touched him last night, the gentle strokes and soothing whispers that helped ground him. He tries to replicate that, his thumb tracing a soft arc over his father's shoulder now. Plankton's antennae twitch again, but his breathing remains steady. Chip's heart is a drum in his chest, his eyes wide with hope. He's learned that for Plankton, touch can be both a source of comfort and a trigger. He needs to be careful. He tries different pressures, light as a feather and then a gentle squeeze. Plankton's body remains still, his sleep deep and undisturbed. Encouraged, Chip moves up to Plankton's face, his thumb tracing the contour of his ch... The soft touch of Chip's fingertips against his cheek causes Plankton to flinch, his eye snapping open with a gasp. "Chip?" He sounds groggy, disoriented. Chip's eyes widen, his hand quickly retreating. "Sorry, Dad," he whispers, his voice laced with apology. "I didn't mean to wake you." Plankton's gaze is unfocused, his antennae twitching as he tries to process the sudden contact. "What are you doing?" He asks, his voice still thick with sleep. "I just wanted to say good morning," Chip whispers, his eyes shimmering with hope. "But I didn't want to wake you up." Plankton's antennae still twitch, the remnants of sleep still clinging to him. He looks around the room, his gaze eventually finding the shattered remains of his old sensory box. The sight sends a pang of anxiety through his body. "Here," Chip says softly. He holds out the new box, his eyes hopeful. "This one's special, just like you." Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his gaze shifting to the box, then back to his son. Despite the good intentions in Chip's eyes, his wording seemed... patronizing, to Plankton. He takes the box, somewhat hastily. He's used to the stares, the whispers, the misunderstanding, but from his own son? "I'm not 'special', Chip," he says, his voice tight. "I have a condition. It's not something to be... gawked at or talked down to." The words sting, and Chip's eyes well up with tears. "I didn't mean it like tha-" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice a tempest of emotion. "You don't understand," he says, his antennae waving erratically. "You can't just call me special and expect me to feel better. It's not a toy, it's not a quirky trait. It's a part of me that makes every day a challenge." Chip's eyes widen, the tears spilling over as he takes in his father's words. He didn't mean to make him feel belittled, but now he sees the pain in Plankton's eye, the frustration of being reduced to a label. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I wa-" "Don't," Plankton says, cutting his son off with a sharpness that makes Chip's heart ache. "Just... don't." He turns away, his antennae drooping as he focuses on the new sensory box, his eye searching for comfort.

CHIP IN MY BOX xii (Autistic author) Chip's tears fall silently as he watches his father's shoulders tense, his father's body language a wall of hurt. He feels the distance between them growing, a vast ocean of misunderstanding. "Dad," he whispers, his voice smaller than the fingertip that had started it all. "I'm sorry." The words hang in the air, a tiny lifebuoy in the storm of Plankton's emotions. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye shimmering with frustration. "You don't get it," he murmurs. "You can't just-" His words are cut off by a deep, shuddering breath. Chip's heart feels like it's being crushed by a vice. He's hurt his dad, and he doesn't know how to fix it. He opens his mouth to apologize again, but no sounds come out. His throat is tight with regret. Plankton's eye is on the new sensory box, his hand shaking slightly as he reaches for the first item. The sight of his father's distress is like a knife twisting in Chip's gut. He wants to take back his words, to somehow erase the pain he's caused. "Dad," he whispers, his voice tiny and scared. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way." But Plankton is too lost in his own world, his mind a tempest of thoughts and emotions. He picks up a fidget from the box, his antennae twitching nervously as he tries to focus. "Dad, I just wanted to help," Chip says, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you." The silence is a thick fog between them, heavy with the weight of Plankton's pain. Plankton's antennae twitch, his grip on the fidget tight. He doesn't look at Chip, his eye focused on the spinning toy. "You can't help by breaking things," he says, his voice a low rumble. "You can't fix me with a pat on the back and a 'good job'." Chip's eyes fill with tears, his heart a storm of regret. "I didn't mean to break it," he whispers, his voice a tiny wave of sorrow. "I just wanted to kn-" Plankton's antennae shoot up, cutting him off. "You just wanted to know," he says, his voice a knife. "To satisfy your own curiosity, without thinking about what it means to me." His eye is a tempest of anger and hurt, his antennae quivering with emotion. Chip's eyes are wide with understanding, the gravity of his father's words sinking in. "I di-" But Plankton's interrupting him. "Don't say it," he says, his voice a whispered warning. "Don't make excuses and try to make it okay." He turns away. "Just... don't." Plankton's back is to him, his antennae drooping. He's retreated into his own world, leaving Chip on the outside, desperately trying to find a way in. He sits up in bed, his small frame a stark contrast to Plankton's slumped shoulders. "I just wanted to show you that I ca--" But Plankton's had enough, his antennae shooting up in annoyance. "I don't need a show-and-tell of your understanding," he snaps. The words hit Chip like a wave, knocking him back into reality. His father's face is a mask of anger, his eye a storm of emotions he can't quite read. Chip feels small, his own curiosity a betrayal. He's always looked up to Plankton, his hero, his teacher, his world. But now, he sees a different side to him, a side that's fragile and in pain. The room seems to shrink, the walls closing in on his guilt. Plankton's back is a wall of anger and hurt, his antennas drooping with the weight of his own words. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his voice a soft ripple of remorse. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton is lost in his own thoughts, his mind racing with the sting of Chip's naive curiosity. The way his son had talked about his sensory box, as if it were a childish toy, had made him feel like a specimen, a curiosity to be studied. He sighs, his antennae drooping lower. He knows Chip didn't mean it, but the hurt lingers. He turns his head, his eye meeting Chip's tear-filled gaze. "I know you didn't mean to," he says. "But you have to understand, it's not just a box. It's a lifeline." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I do," he whispers. "I just wanted to be part of it, to he-" But Plankton's not ready to hear it. "You can't," he says, his voice a gentle wave of finality. "You can't be part of something you don't understand." His antennae twitch with frustration. "I'm not a science experiment for my son to poke and prod. I'm not a baby," Plankton says, his voice a gentle rebuke. "My sensory needs are not a game." His antennae are still, his body a statue of frustration. "You need to respect that." Chip feels his heart crack, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "I do," he whispers, his voice a soft ripple of sincerity. "I just di-" But Plankton's antennae twitch, his patience worn thin. "No, you don't," he says, his voice sharp as a tack. "You see me as something to be fixed, not understood." His eye closed, his breathing shallow. Chip feels his cheeks heat with shame. He'd never seen his father so upset. He's always been the strong one, the one who had all the answers. But now, he's just a kid who's hurt his dad. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice a whisper of regret. "I didn't mean to make yo-" But Plankton's antennae wave away his words. "You don't get it," he murmurs, his voice a gentle reprimand. "Every time you treat me like I'm a child, it's like you're telling me I'm not good enough." His eye shimmers with unshed tears. "So, no more 'good jobs' and no more 'you're special'. I don't want your pity, Chip. So either you can learn to understand me, or you can leave me alone. Because right now, your 'help' is just making things worse." Chip's eyes widen with surprise and pain, the words cutting deeper than any knife. He's never seen his father so vulnerable, so raw. The realization hits him like a wave: his curiosity had hurt Plankton more than he'd ever imagined. He'd unintentionally stripped away the dignity his father had fought so hard to maintain.

CHIP IN MY BOX xiii (Autistic author) "Dad," he starts, his voice shaking. "I never thought-" But Plankton's antennae wave again, silencing him. "You think it's cute," he says, his voice tight. "You think because I need this," he holds up the sensory box, "that I'm less than you. That I'm some- thing to be pitied." His eye is wet with unshed tears. "And I can't... I can't handle that from you." Chip feels a spark of anger flare within him, his cheeks flushing with frustration. "It's not my fault you're like this," he blurts out, his words cutting through the tension like a shard of glass. "You're the one who can't handle simple things! How are we supposed to have a life with you freaking out all the time with your mood swings and mental delays?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye narrowing at the ignorant accusation. "Chip," he says, his voice tight as a bowstring. "That's enough." But Chip's anger has taken over, his voice rising with each word. "You're the one who's always upset," Chip continues, his words a stream of accusations. "You're the one who can't handle the world without your box!" He's on the verge of tears, his frustration a hurricane in the small room. "How are we supposed to live with a father who can't even see how his own wife has to take care of him like a baby! Don't you see how embarrassing..." He stops mid-sentence, the impact of his own words sinking in. He's gone too far. The room is a vacuum of silence, the air thick with the tension of his accusation. Plankton's antennae are still, his eye wide with shock. Chip's anger evaporates, replaced by a cold dread. He's hurt his father, deeply. The pain in Plankton's gaze mirrors his own regret. He didn't mean to say it, but the words had spilled out, a torrent of frustration and fear. Plankton's eye closes, a single tear escaping to trace a sad path down his cheek. Chip's words hang in the air, a stark reminder of his own insensitivity. He's hurt his father, not just physically with his touch, but emotionally with his lack of understanding. Plankton's antennae drop, his body slumping. The weight of Chip's words is too much, and he feels his reality break all over again. "Dad, I'm sorr-" But Plankton's not listening. He's retreated into his own world, the walls closing in around him. "Get out," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Just leave me alone." Chip's eyes are wide with shock, his heart a storm of regret. He'd never seen his father so broken. He stumbles back, his legs shaking beneath him. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice a plea. But Plankton just turns away, his antennae drooping in defeat. The silence is a heavy blanket, suffocating them both. Chip's chest heaves with unshed sobs, his eyes never leaving his father's back. "I didn't mean it," he whispers. "Please, I didn't mean it." But Plankton's antennae remain still, his back a wall between them. "Just go," he says, his voice a whisper as he shoves the sensory box to Chip. "And take my embarrassing baby toys with you, too." The words are a blow, and Chip feels his heart crumple. He takes the box, his hands shaking with emotion. He doesn't know what to say, what to do to make it right. He just wants to take it all back, to erase the hurt from his father's eye. With a heavy heart, he turns and leaves the room, his steps echoing down the hallway. The house seems too quiet, too empty. He doesn't know where to go, what to do with himself. He's hurt the person he loves most, the one who's always been his rock. He finds Karen in the living room. "Good morning, Chip," she says. "How..." Her words die in her throat as she sees the tears on his cheeks, the box in his trembling hands. She notices the closed bedroom door, the silence from within. Her gaze is a question, but Chip can't find the words to answer.

CHIP IN MY BOX xiv (Autistic author) Chip opens his mouth, but the words won't come out. He's hurt his father, and now he's lost for words. Karen's eyes widen with concern, her hand reaching out to comfort his shaking shoulders. "What happened?" she asks softly, her voice a caress in the stark silence of the morning. Her eyes search his face, seeing the pain and regret etched in every line. Chip's throat is tight with unshed tears as he holds up the sensory box, his hands trembling. "I... I broke his trust," he whispers, his voice a tiny wave crashing against the shoreline of her concern. He can't meet her gaze, his eyes focused on the box, a symbol of his father's pain. Karen's heart squeezes at the sight of her son's distress. She knows Plankton's condition isn't easy, but she didn't realize the depth of the rift her husband's words had created. "What did you say?" she asks. Chip's shoulders heave with a sigh, his eyes still fixed on the floor. "I... I said he was an embarrassment," he whispers, the confession a painful admission. "And that you had to take care of him like a baby. And he gave me the sensory box and told me to leave." The words tumble out, each one heavier than the last. Karen's eyes fill with sorrow, her heart aching for both her son and her husband. She's seen Plankton's pride crumble before, but never because of their son's words. "Oh, Chip," she says. "That wasn't kind." He looks up at her, his eyes swimming with regret. "I know, Mom," he says. "I didn't mean it. But I just don't know how to help him." Karen's gaze is filled with understanding as she takes the box from his trembling hands. "You're still learning, sweetie," she says, her voice a soft breeze of comfort. "And so are we. We all make mistakes. Let's go check on him." Her hand is a gentle guide, leading him back down the hallway towards Plankton's room. The door is still closed, but she knocks softly. "Plankton?" she calls. "Can we talk?" There's no answer. Her hand lingers on the knob, her heart a drum of anxiety. She opens the door slowly, the room silent. Inside, Plankton sits on the bed, his antennae still, his eye vacant. He's having another staring spell, lost in his own sensory overload. Plankton's eye is wide open, unseeing. His antennas are stiff, pointing straight up into the air. Karen's gaze is filled with concern as she approaches her husband, her steps silent. She's seen this before, the way his body shuts down when the world becomes too much. It's a self-defense mechanism, his brain's way of coping with the overwhelming sensations that bombard him. She sits beside him, her hand reaching out to cover his. "Plankton?" she says. But he doesn't move, lost in the chaos of his own mind. He doesn't blink. All because of Chip's words. Karen's heart beats a frantic rhythm as she tries to snap him out of it, her voice a gentle coax. "Plankton, sweetie?" He doesn't respond, his body rigid, his mind adrift, as he's too far gone to grasp it. The room feels too bright, too loud, even with the curtains drawn. The silence is a scream in her ears, a reminder of her own helplessness in the face of his condition. Karen's touch is a lifeline, a gentle pressure that seeps through his frozen shell. Plankton's breath stutters, his antennae twitching slightly. She whispers his name, a soft caress in the storm of his overwhelmed senses. His eye blinks, once, twice, focusing on her face. The spell begins to break, his body slowly uncoiling from its protective shell. "Karen?" he murmurs, his voice a tentative exploration of reality. The world rushes in, a tidal wave of sound and color. He flinches, his antennae waving wildly as he tries to ground himself. She holds his hand tighter, her voice a lighthouse in the storm. "It's okay, sweetie," she says. "You're safe." Plankton's breath hitches, his body slowly coming back online. He's aware of the weight of the blankets, the softness of the pillow. His eye finds hers, and he recalls Chip's accusations. The hurt is a physical thing, a heavy stone in his chest. He tries to speak, but his voice is a mere rasp. "Karen," he manages to croak, his antennae twitching with the effort. Her eyes are filled with concern, her grip on his hand unyielding. "I'm here," she says, her voice a gentle wave of reassurance. "You're okay." But Plankton's mind is stuck in a loop, Chip's words echoing like a persistent siren in his head. "I'm an embarrassment," he murmurs, his antennae drooping. "A baby." The room spins around him, his senses a cacophony of pain. The light is too bright, the air too thick. He feels like he's drowning in his own thoughts. Karen's voice is a beacon, cutting through the fog. "Plankton," she says again. "Look at me." Her eyes are calm, a safe harbor in the chaos of his mind. He tries to focus, his eye twitching as the world realigns itself around her. "You're not an embarrassment," she says, her voice firm. "You're not a baby." Her words are a gentle breeze, blowing away the storm of doubt. "You have a condition, and we're here to support you."

CHIP IN MY BOX x (Autistic author) Plankton's gaze shifts to his son, the weight of his own fear reflected in Chip's wet eyes. "You have to understand," he says, "my box is special." Karen's eyes are filled with love as she looks at her husband, her heart breaking for the pain he's in. "It's his safe place," she explains, her voice gentle. "When the world gets too much for his brain, it's his way of finding calm." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face. He can see the exhaustion etched in his father's features, a stark contrast to the usual energy that fuels his inventions. "I didn't know," he whispers, his voice thick with regret. "I know, buddy," Plankton says, his antennae drooping slightly. "But it's important you do now." He takes a deep breath, his body visibly relaxing as he reaches for the new fidgets. "This box," he says, his voice weak but determined, "it's what keeps me grounded." He picks up a small, indestructible worry stone, his eye focused on the smooth surface. "When I'm overwhelmed, when the world's too loud, too bright, this is where I need." He shows Chip the stone, his eye meeting his son's with a silent plea for understanding. Chip nods, his hand reaching for the stone. "I'll be more careful," he whispers, his voice a promise. "I won't mess it again." His eyes are wide with sincerity, a silent vow to protect his father's sanctuary. Plankton's antennae twitch, a tiny smile playing on his lips. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice a gentle wave. "It's not just about the box, though. It's about understanding how my brain works." Karen nods, her hand squeezing his gently. "We'll learn together," she says, her voice a soft promise. "We'll make sure it doesn't happen again." The room is a tableau of understanding and regret, each person feeling the weight of the moment. Chip's eyes are glued to his father's, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice a gentle ripple. Plankton's smile is a small wave of forgiveness. He looks at Karen, his eye shimmering with gratitude. "Thank you," he murmurs, "for always being there." The doctor's tentacles move slowly, placing the final item in the sensory box. "We're all learning," he says, his voice a gentle reminder. "It's a journey, not a destination." He looks at Chip, his gaze filled with understanding. "And you're doing a good job, buddy. I'll be going. He might seem to regress this week, which is normal. I also gave you multiple sets of the same box just in case." Karen nods, her eyes following the doctor's movements. "Thank you, Dr. Kelp." She says. The doctor nods before exiting, the door clicking shut behind him. The room feels smaller now, the air thick with understanding and love. Plankton's hand shakes as he places the worry stone back into the box, his eye visibly tired. "Let's get you back to bed," Karen says. She helps Plankton to his feet, his body leaning heavily into hers. Chip watches, his own guilt heavy. "I want to stay with Dad," he says, his voice a soft plea. Karen looks down at him, her eyes filled with love and understanding. "Of course," she murmurs, her hand on his head. "Let's go." They help Plankton into his room. Chip climbs into his father's bed. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye searching for the comfort of his son's presence. "I want to stay with you," Chip whispers. "To make sure you're okay." Plankton's expression is a storm of emotions, but he nods. "You can," he murmurs, his voice a gentle wave. "But no more peeking or prodding." Karen helps Plankton into his bed. Chip climbs in too. The bed dips with their combined weight, but Plankton doesn't protest. He's too tired to fight. Karen tucks them both in, the blanket a comforting pressure. Chip's eyes are on his father. "Dad," he whispers, his voice a soft ripple. "I'm sorry." Plankton's eye closes. "It's okay, buddy," he murmurs. "But you need to understand, my box is my sanctuary." Chip nods. "I won't do it again, I just wanted to know what it was." Plankton's antennae twitch, a sign of his own internal struggle. "I know," he says, his voice weary. "But it's important that you respect my space." Karen watches them from the doorway, her heart swollen with love and a tiny sliver of sadness. She knows the journey ahead won't be easy, but she's determined to make it better for her family. "Goodnight, you two," she says, her voice gentle. She bends down to kiss Plankton on the forehead, her hand resting on Chip's shoulder. "If you need anything," she adds, looking at Chip, "you know where to find me." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his father's face. He understands now, the gravity of Plankton's condition sinking in. "I won't," he promises, his voice a quiet wave of determination. "I'll be right here." Karen's eyes fill with gratitude as she watches her son, his bravery a testament to their bond. "Good night," she murmurs, her voice a soft caress as she closes the door.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 5 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) "But what if Dad's hurt?" Chip asks, his voice small. Karen's screen met his, filled with understanding. "If he's in pain or really upset, he might pull his antennae in tightly, or his whole body might get stiff," she explains. "But remember, always come get me." Chip nods solemnly, his brain racing with the new information. He watches his mom, his eyes wide with curiosity. "But what if he's happy, Mom?" he asks, eager to know more about the silent language of his dad's body. "When your dad's happy, his eye might twinkle, and his body might get more relaxed," Karen says with a small smile. Chip nods, his curiosity growing. "And if he's sad?" he asks, his voice tentative. Karen's smile is warm and gentle. "If he's sad, you'll see his antennae droop, like his spirits," she says, her voice soothing. "And his eye might not look at you directly." Chip nods, his eyes wide with understanding. "What if he's scared, Mom?" he asks, his voice small. Karen thinks for a moment, her hand on his shoulder. "If he's scared, his antennae will quiver rapidly," she says, mimicking the movement with her fingers. "And he may even convulse slightly. It's his body's way of protecting his brain." Chip's eyes are glued to his mother's hand, his mind racing with the implications. "What about touches? You seem to kn-" Karen cuts him off with a quick smile. "Well, your dad's touch sensitivity is unique. Sometimes, he enjoys gentle pressure, like a squeeze of his hand. But other times, even the slightest brush can feel unbearable." She takes his hand, her voice calm. "You'll learn his likes and dislikes. And remember, Chip, it's not about what you think is right; it's about what he needs." Chip nods, his mind racing. "But Mom, how will I know what to do?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. Karen smiles reassuringly. "You'll learn, Chip. Just watch his reactions. If he pulls away from you, it might be too much. And if he leans into you, it's okay." Chip's brows furrow with concentration. "But what if I don't know the difference?" Karen's eyes are gentle as she looks at her son. "You'll learn, Chip. Just start small. If he's okay with you touching his hand, that's a good place to start." Chip nods, his hand tracing a pattern on the quilt. "But what if I hug him again and he doesn't like it?" His voice is full of doubt. "It's okay if you make mistakes, Chip," Karen says gently. "What's important is that you ask him. If you're not sure, just ask, 'Dad, do you need a hug?' And if he says no, or if he seems uncomfortable, just respect his boundaries." Chip nods, his eyes still filled with questions. "But what if he doesn't say anything?" he asks. "Then, Chip," Karen says, her voice soft, "you'll have to be really observant. Sometimes, his silence can speak louder than words. If he seems tense or his antennae are stiff, maybe it's not the right moment. But if he looks relaxed, then that might be a good time." Chip nods, his thoughts swirling. "But what if I still don't know?" he asks, his voice laced with anxiety. Karen takes a deep breath. "Chip, it's okay to not know everything," she says. "But what you can do is pay attention to his body language. If he seems tense or starts to withdraw, that's when you should stop." Chip nods, his mind racing. "What if I want to help him feel better?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "You can, Chip," Karen says, smiling softly. "But you have to learn his language of touch. Some days, he might enjoy a gentle back rub, or the brush of your hand on his arm. Just go slow, and always ask first. Why don't we go check on him now?" They stand up, Chip's heart pounding in his chest. He follows his mom down the hallway, his thoughts racing. How will he know what to do when they get there? How can he possibly make things right?

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 6 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) They reach the bedroom's closed door, and Karen knocks softly. "Honey?" she calls. "Can we come in?" There's a moment of silence before Plankton's voice says, "I s'pose." Karen opens the door to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his antennae still quivering slightly. He looks up, his eye red-rimmed. Chip lingers in the doorway, his heart racing. He's scared to move, to say the wrong thing. But Karen's hand on his shoulder guides him in. "Daddy?" Chip whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up, his face a mix of pain and discomfort. Karen gives Chip a small nod of encouragement, and he slowly approaches the bed, his hand outstretched but not touching. "Dad, can I sit with you?" he asks, his voice shaking. Plankton looks at him. "If you must," he says, his tone filled with sarcasm. "But don't expect me to be all 'Oh, Chip, I'm so happy to see you!' when you've clearly called me a monster." Chip's eyes widen at the harshness of his father's words. "But Dad, I di-" Plankton holds up a hand, his antennae still quivering. "Don't," he says, his voice sharp. "Don't pretend you understand. You don't. You just threw around words you heard from those little brats at school without even knowing what they mean!" Chip's face falls, his eyes welling up with tears again. "But I didn't mean it," he stammers, his voice breaking. "I just wanted-" "I know what you wanted," Plankton snaps, his antennae quivering with agitation. "You wanted answers, and you didn't get them. So, you threw a fit like a typical kid." Chip's eyes fill with fresh tears. "But I didn't know," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I wan-" "Yeah, well, ignorance is not an excuse," Plankton interrupts, his antennae flailing. "You hurt me, Chip. And for what? Because you didn't get your precious hug?" His voice drips with sarcasm, each word a tiny dagger to Chip's heart. "Daddy, I'm sorry," Chip whimpers, his hand dropping to his side. "I didn't kn-" But Plankton's sarcasm cuts him off again. "Oh, sorry, I forgot. You didn't know," he says, his voice laden with bitterness. "Well, now you do. And now you can go back to your little life, knowing you've hurt your dad. Great job!" Chip flinches at the harshness, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Dad, please," he begs. "I didn't underst--" "I don't want to hear it," Plankton cuts him off, his antennas quivering with anger. "You think you can just come in here and make everything better with your sorry excuses?" Chip's eyes fill with tears, his voice barely a whisper. "But I didn't mean to hurt you, Daddy," he says, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to he-" Plankton turns away, his antennas flailing with agitation. "Don't 'Daddy' me," he spits out. "You don't get to call me that after what you said." His voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. Chip's eyes are wide with shock and hurt. "But Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's not listening. "Oh, I'm sure you didn't," he says, his tone thick with sarcasm. "You just couldn't help blurting out the first thought that came to your little brain, could you?" Chip feels his heart crumble. "But Dad, I-" "I don't want to hear it," Plankton says, his voice ice cold. "You've said enough." He turns away, his antennae twitching angrily. "Just get out. Leave me alone." Chip stands there, his small hand hovering in the air, wanting to comfort his dad, but not knowing how. His voice shakes with pain. "But Dad, I-" Plankton turns back to him, his antennae snapping with anger. "You don't get it, do you?" he shouts, his voice rising. "You never have!" His eye widens, his body tenses. "I'm not your little science project to poke and prod when you're curious!" Chip takes a step back, his eyes wide with fear. He's never seen his dad like this before, so out of control. "Daddy, I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice trembling. But Plankton's anger seems to grow with every word, his body shaking. "You don't get to be sorry!" he roars, his antennae quivering violently. "You don't get to just say sorry and expect me to be okay with it!" Chip's eyes are wide with fear, his body frozen in place. He's never seen his dad like this, his normally stoic demeanor shattered by a storm of emotions. "Daddy, please," Chip whispers, his voice barely audible. But Plankton's anger is like a tsunami, crashing against the walls of the room. "You think you can fix me with a sorry?" Plankton's voice booms, his antennae flailing. "You think your pity can make everything okay?" Chip shrinks back, his eyes wide with fear. So Karen decides to jump in to mediate. "Plankton, honey," Karen says, her voice steady. "Chip's only trying to understand. He's scared for you. Let's just sit down on the bed." Plankton's antennae slow their frantic dance as he looks at her, his eye slightly less fiery. With a heavy sigh, he nods, and they all sit down, a tense silence filling the room. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, searching for any sign of softening in his gaze. Plankton's breaths come in short, shallow bursts, his body still taut with emotion. After a moment, Karen speaks up, her voice a gentle reminder. "Remember, Plankton, Chip's just a child," she says, her tone soothing. "He doesn't understand everything about your condition yet." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still glaring at his son. "I know," he murmurs, his voice low. Karen gives Chip a reassuring look. "Why don't you tell your dad what you know about autism?" she suggests, trying to ease the tension. Chip nods, taking a deep breath. "Well, I know it's like his brain works differently," he starts, his voice wobbly. "And sometimes, it makes things hard for him, like too much noise or little things that don't bother me." He looks at Plankton. Plankton's antennae stiffen slightly, his gaze still sharp. "And I know he has these... these breaks," Chip continues, his voice gaining strength. "Where he needs to get away from everything for—" "Absence seizures," Plankton says, his voice flat. "They're called absence seizures." Chip's eyes widen. "Oh, right. Those moments when you zone out," he says, trying to remember the right words. Plankton nods, his antennae still tense. Karen watches the exchange, her heart breaking for both of them. She knows this is hard for Plankton to admit, and even harder for Chip to understand. "They're a part of his autism, Chip." Chip nods, his eyes firmly on his father. "So, when you have one of those... seizures, it's like your brain needs to take a break?" Plankton sighs. "Yeah," he says, his voice weary. "It's like... everything gets too much, and my brain just shuts down for a bit. It's not something I can control. Are you satisfied?" Chip looks at him with innocent curiosity. "What's it like?" he asks, his voice soft. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering with memory. "Dad, what's it li—" Plankton's hand shoots up, cutting him off. "It's like nothing you could ever understand," he says, his voice tight with anger. "So just leave it, okay?" Chip's eyes fill with unshed tears. "But Dad," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just want to kn-" Plankton's antennae snap upward, his anger palpable. "You're just a kid, playing at being adult!" His antennae quiver with the intensity of his emotions, his body tense with frustration. Chip shrinks back, his cheeks wet with tears. "But Dad," he whispers, "I just-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice cutting like a knife. "Don't pretend you get it." Chip's eyes are wide with fear and confusion. "But Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "I'm not..." But Plankton's anger continues to build, his antennae quivering like live wires. "You don't get it, Chip!" he roars. "You're just a kid who thinks he can fix everything with a hug and a sorry!" His words cut deep, each one a knife to Chip's heart. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his voice barely above a whisper. "But Daddy, I just want to help," he says, his hand trembling as it reaches out. Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body tensing. "Don't touch me," he snaps, his eye wild with agitation as he throws a pillow from the bed down by his side. Chip's hand retreats as if burned, his eyes wide with fear. "But Daddy, I just-" "I said don't touch me!" Plankton's voice is a roar, his antennae whipping around like angry snakes. He stands, his whole body a testament to his rage. Chip stumbles backward, his heart racing. He's never seen his father like this, his normally calm demeanor shattered by a tempest of emotions.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 13 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) The living room is dimly lit. But in the center, a disturbing sight awaits: Plankton's convulsions, his tiny body writhing on the floor. His antennae twitch erratically, his eye squeezed shut. "Plankton!" she cries out, rushing to his side. His seizure is intense, his limbs flailing uncontrollably. The room seems to pulse with his distress, a silent scream of neurological turmoil. Chip stands in the doorway, frozen in shock. He's never seen his dad like this, so vulnerable and helpless. The sight of Plankton's tiny form convulsing on the floor fills him with a fear like none other. Karen is already beside Plankton, her hands hovering, knowing better than to restrict his thrashing body. "Mom," Chip says, his voice trembling. "What do we do?" Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's contorted form, her face a mask of calm determination. "We stay here," she says, her voice steady. "We keep talking to him, let him know we care." Chip nods, his own eyes filled with fear. He takes a tentative step forward, his voice shaking. "Dad," he says softly, "it's me, Chip." His words are met with only the sound of Plankton's labored breathing and the muffled thuds of his convulsions. Karen's gaze flicks to Chip, her expression a mix of pride and anxiety. "Good boy," she whispers, before turning back to Plankton. "Shh, baby," she says, her voice soothing, like a lullaby in the chaos. "We're right here." Chip watches his mom, her hands a gentle presence near his dad's body, her voice a lifeline in the storm of his seizure. He wants to help, to do something, anything, but he's paralyzed by fear. Karen's eyes flicker to her son, her expression a silent plea for him to stay calm. She knows Plankton's sensitivity to stimuli, the way his condition can spiral if overwhelmed. "Talk to him," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sounds of his distress. "Tell him you love him." Chip nods, his voice shaking. "Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "I love you." His words hang in the air, a soft contrast to the harsh sounds of Plankton's seizure. Plankton's body continues to convulse, but Karen notices his antennae twitch slightly, his eye fluttering open for a moment before it squeezes shut again. She sighs with relief, knowing he can hear them. "Keep talking," she whispers to Chip, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Tell him you're here for him, that you're sorry." Chip swallows hard, his throat tight with fear. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make things worse." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his seizure lessening but not abating. Karen's eyes are filled with desperation as she whispers, "Keep talking, Chip. He needs to hear it." Chip's voice is shaky, his eyes never leaving his father's trembling form. "I'm sorry for what I said," he murmurs. "I didn't mean to hurt you." His words are a gentle coax, trying to guide Plankton back from the edge of his breakdown. Karen's eyes are glued to Plankton's seizing body, "It's okay, baby," she says, her tone a soothing melody. "You're not alone." Chip watches his mom's steady hands hover over his dad's shaking form. He takes a deep breath, his voice a shaky thread. "I'm sorry," he repeats, his words a quiet promise. Karen's eyes flick to him, a silent thank you. The room seems to hold its breath, the air charged with hope and dread. Plankton's convulsions start to ease, his breaths coming in shallower gasps. Karen's hand reaches out, brushing his twitching antennae with a gentle touch, a silent reassurance. Chip's voice is a soft whisper, a beacon in the storm of his father's distress. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his eyes brimming with tears. "I don't want to fight." Karen's hand rests gently on Plankton's back, her touch as light as a feather. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her voice a soothing lullaby. "We're here for you." Plankton's seizure starts to subside, his body gradually stilling. His antennae drop, his breaths slowing. The tension in the room eases like the retreating waves of a storm. Karen's hand remains on his back, her eyes filled with a love that's fierce and tender. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soft caress. "You're safe now." Her words are a gentle reminder that their love is his anchor. Plankton's body relaxes gradually, his antennae stilling. His eye opens, slowly focusing on Karen's face. His voice is weak, his words a soft rasp. "K-Karen?" "I'm here," she says, her voice calm, her hand still on his back. "You're okay." Her eyes are filled with a love that's stronger than steel, her presence a comforting weight. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking rapidly as the world swims back into focus. He looks up at her, his gaze uncertain. "I... I-I'm s-sorry," he whispers, his voice a reed in the wind. Karen's eyes are filled with pain and love. She gently guides him to sit up, her arms supporting him. "Don't be sorry," she says, her voice a balm. "We just need to talk." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye searching hers. "Talk?" he repeats, his voice weak. "Yes," Karen says firmly, her arms around him. "We need to communicate better, all of us." Her gaze includes Chip, who's still standing awkwardly in the doorway, his eyes fixed on his father. Chip's heart pounds in his chest, his fear giving way to determination. He moves to his mother's side, his hand tentatively reaching out to his father's arm. "Dad," he says, his voice a gentle touch. Plankton's body jerks at his son's touch, but Karen's calming presence helps him steady. His antennae quiver, his eye flickering between his wife and son, the confusion giving way to a hint of understanding. "Chip?" he asks, his voice a whisper. Chip nods, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "Yeah, Dad," he says, his voice cracking. "It's me." He takes a deep breath, his hand shaking slightly as it rests on Plankton's arm. "I didn't mean what I said." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking rapidly as he tries to process the situation. "You... you didn't?" he stammers, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Chip didn't mean it, Plankton," she says soothingly. "He's just scared, and he loves you." Plankton's antennae droop, his eye misting with tears. "But I scared him," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "And you." Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she shakes her head. "It's not your fault, baby," she says gently. "Your autism doesn't make you a monster." Chip nods, his hand still on his father's arm, his voice steady. "Dad, I know it's not your fault," he says, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "I'm sorry for not understanding." Plankton's antennae lift slightly, his eye focusing on Chip's face. "You do?" he whispers, hope flickering in his gaze. Chip nods, his own eyes brimming with tears. "I do," he affirms, his voice stronger. "I'm here for you, Dad." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye searching Chip's face for signs of sincerity. The silence in the room is heavy, a tangible entity filled with unspoken words and apologies. Then, ever so slightly, Plankton's antennae bob, a sign of his acceptance. "Okay," he says, his voice still shaky. "We'll talk." Karen's eyes fill with relief, a soft smile playing on her lips. She squeezes his arm gently. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice filled with gratitude. "We're in this together."

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 14 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) The three of them sit in silence for a moment, the only sound the echoes of Plankton's ragged breathing. Then, Karen clears her throat, her voice calm but firm. "Chip, can you help me get your dad to his bed?" Chip nods. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice still shaky, as Plankton's still on his side. He moves closer, his hand hovering over his dad's shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tense. How does he touch his dad without causing more pain? Karen notices his uncertainty and nods reassuringly. "Just be gentle," she says, her voice a whisper. "And watch his cues." Chip's hand descends slowly... As his fingertips graze Plankton's skin, he flinches, his eye darting around the room. "Easy, Dad," Chip says, his voice gentle. His hand lingers, seeking the right balance between support and respect. Plankton's body tenses, despite realizing Chip's intent. Karen watches. She knows the fear behind Plankton's flinch, the years of pain and misunderstanding that have shaped their dance of affection. She offers a nod, silently encouraging Chip to persist. With trembling hands, Chip slides his arm under Plankton's. Karen's own arms wrap around Plankton's shoulders, completing the circle of support. Plankton's eye meets Karen's, his fear a stark reminder of the invisible walls his autism has built. But in her gaze, he sees love, not just pity— understanding, not judgment. With a deep breath, he allows them to help him to his feet, his legs wobbly with the aftermath of his seizure. Karen's grip is firm but gentle, her eyes speaking volumes without a word. Chip's hand is a tentative question mark, hovering near Plankton's shoulder, seeking permission to touch. Plankton's antennae quiver, his body tightening. He's overwhelmed, his skin a minefield of sensory input. The slightest touch feels like a storm raging in his head. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a balm. "We're just going to help yo--" But Plankton's body jerks, his antennae flailing as if trying to ward off an invisible assailant. "No more!" he cries, his voice a shattered glass. "I can't!" Karen's heart clenches, her grip loosening as she pulls back. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "We'll get you to bed, that's al-" But Plankton's distress escalates, his antennae thrashing wildly. "NO!" he shrieks, his body rigid. "NO MORE!" Karen's heart squeezes, her grip on him loosening as she takes a step back, her eyes filled with pained empathy. "Shh, baby," she whispers, her voice a gentle caress. "We're not going to force you." Chip's eyes widen in fear, his hand retreating. "Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "It's okay, we're here to he-" But Plankton's panic is a wildfire, his movements erratic and unpredictable. Karen's eyes fill with concern, her voice calm. "Chip, let's just get him to the couch." They move as one, guiding Plankton's stumbling figure towards the sofa, their movements a delicate ballet of care and precision. The couch is a mere few feet away, a sanctuary of familiar fabric and scent. But to Plankton, it seems a mountain to climb, each step a battle against his own body. His antennae thrash wildly, his eye darting around the room as if seeking an escape. Karen and Chip move closer, their presence a comforting warmth. Their touch is gentle, a soft whisper of reassurance amidst his chaos. Yet, each step towards the couch feels like wading through thick, clinging mud. His legs wobble, his breaths coming in sharp gasps. Karen's grip is steady, her eyes never leaving his, a silent promise that they'll get through this. Chip's hand hovers, unsure, his heart racing with fear. He wants to help, but Plankton's flinch is a stark reminder of his own limitations. Karen's nod gives him the courage to reach out again, his touch a soft question. Plankton's body jerks. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his voice thick with regret. He's trying so hard to bridge the gap, to understand, but his efforts seem only to push his father further away. Karen's face is a mask of calm, but Chip can see the worry in the tight lines around her eyes. "Ca--" But the word dies in his throat as Plankton's body goes rigid, his eye rolling back, antennae freezing mid-thrash. His legs buckle, and he crumples onto the couch. Karen's eyes widen with fear, but her movements are swift and sure. She's seen this before, the aftermath of a seizure taking its toll. Chip's eyes are wide with shock, his hand still outstretched, trembling. "Dad," he whispers, his voice a prayer. "Are you okay?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering open, a silent plea for understanding. The seizure's aftermath clings to his body like a damp fog, his limbs heavy with fatigue. Karen's hands are gentle on him, her movements measured. She knows his pain, his fear, and the thin line between love and overwhelm. "Chip," she says softly, turning to her son, "this is part of your dad's world. He needs his space, and we need to respect that." She sits beside Plankton, her hand on his back, feeling his erratic breaths. Plankton's antennae droop, his body a ragdoll's. "I'm s-sorry," he stammers, his voice weak. "I didn't mean to..." Chip's heart aches, his hand still hovering, trembling. "It's not your fault, Dad," he says, his voice tight with emotion. "It's just... hard to see you like this." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on his son's face. "I know," he whispers, his voice a confession of his own fears. "It's hard for me, too." His admission is a rare moment of vulnerability, a crack in the armor of his usual bravado. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I want to help," he says, his voice desperate. "But I don't know how." Plankton's antennae droop, his eye closing in exhaustion. "We'll learn together," Karen says, her voice a gentle guideline. "You don't have to have all the answers, Chip. Just be patient, and listen." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton's exhausted form. "I'll try," he murmurs, his voice filled with hope and uncertainty. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye fluttering open. "I know," he says, his voice a weary whisper. "It's... it's not easy." Karen's hand smooths over his back, her touch a gentle reminder of her presence. "We're here, Plankton," she says, her voice a soft promise. "We'll get through this together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye still closed. "I know," he murmurs, his voice barely a breath. "I just... I can't bear the thought of being a burden." The words hang in the air, thick with his fear and doubt. Karen's hand pauses on his back, her eyes filling with sorrow. "You're not," she says, her voice firm. "You're my partner, my love." She takes his hand in hers, her thumb stroking his palm gently. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye fluttering open to meet hers. "But what if... what if I hurt you?" he asks, his voice a whisper of doubt. Karen's grip tightens, her eyes filled with determination. "You won't," she says, her voice a promise. "We're a team, Plankton. You're not alone in this." Her words are a gentle rebuke to his fears. "I'll find you a pillow and blanket for out here." As Karen goes back upstairs Chip inches to the couch. "Dad can I sit?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still closed. "Yeah," he whispers, his voice a wisp of sound.

CHIP IN MY BOX i (Autistic author) Chip came home from a friend's house to hear his mother, Karen, quietly talking to Plankton, his father. "I'll go get your special box," Chip hears her say before she left to go upstairs. He wanders into the living room, expecting his dad to be watching his favorite show, but instead, Plankton's eye is fixed on something invisible to anyone else. His body is completely still, as if frozen in time. He doesn't even blink. Chip approaches, a knot of confusion tightening in his stomach. "Dad?" He says tentatively, but there's no response. He waves his hand in front of Plankton's face, but his dad's gaze remains unfocused. It's like he's somewhere else entirely. Just as Chip starts to wonder if something's wrong, he hears footsteps on the stairs. Karen reappears, holding a small, intricately carved wooden box. Her eyes widen in surprise upon seeing her son. "Chip! You're home early," she exclaims, her voice a mix of relief and caution. The surprise on Karen's face is palpable as she quickly hides the box behind her back, but it's too late; Chip's curiosity is piqued. He steps closer to his father, his eyes darting from the mysterious box to the unusual stillness of Plankton. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice quavering slightly. Karen's grip tightens around the box. "It's nothing, sweetie," she says, her smile forced. "Just something for your dad to... help him relax." But the way she says it, the way she avoids his gaze, tells Chip that it's more than that. He's always noticed his dad's quirks, the moments of intense focus where he seems to disappear into his own world, but he's never seen him like this before. Chip feels a pang of worry, his curiosity growing. Plankton's silence is still unsettling, his eye unblinking and fixed on some unseen point. "What's in the box Mom?" Chip presses, his voice a little stronger now. Karen sighs, weighing her words. She's never told him about Plankton's condition, his need for solace in structured routines. The sensory box is a collection of items that help Plankton cope with the chaos of the world, items that provide comfort and order. "It's just a... a set of things that Dad uses to, well, destress after a long day," she finally explains, her voice careful. Chip nods, not fully understanding but willing to let it go for now. He looks back at Plankton, who still hasn't moved or spoken. "Is he ok?" Karen nods, a bit of sadness flickering in her eyes. "He's just... in his own little world?" Chip nods, trying to understand. He's heard about people who need their own space, but this is different. Chip reaches out to touch Plankton's shoulder. His dad doesn't react at all. It's eerie, like trying to interrupt a statue. Chip pulls his hand back, his thoughts racing. Karen sees the concern in her son's eyes and decides it's time for a gentle explanation. "You know how some people need a quiet moment to themselves? This is like that for your dad, but a little more intense." Chip nods slowly, still trying to grasp the situation. He's aware that his father has always been a bit of a loner, preferring the solitude of his workshop over family gatherings. But this is something else entirely. Then Karen whispers, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. "It's like his brain takes a quick break from the world. He'll be back in a few minutes." The concept of his father's brain taking breaks without his consent is both fascinating and scary to Chip. "Whaa-" "Shh," Karen interrupts gently, placing a finger to her lips. "We don't want to startle him." With a nod, Chip watches as she opens the box with a soft click. Inside, there's a velvet curtain, attached to three small wooden rods. Karen pulls it out with care, its texture reminding him of his favorite blanket. "This is his sensory curtain," she murmurs, unfolding it to reveal a rainbow of fabric squares. Each one has a different texture: some are smooth like silk, others rough like sandpaper. "It helps him block out the world for a bit." The curtain forms a tent around his eye, cutting off visual stimulation and the views. Karen carefully drapes the curtain over Plankton's face, ensuring it doesn't touch his skin but completely blocks his line of sight. "Now, we wait," Karen replies, her voice calm. Chip nods, his eyes glued to his father's unchanging form.

CHIP IN MY BOX iii (Autistic author) "What's in the box?" Chip asks again, his voice steadier than he feels. Plankton's eye bulges, his fists tighten around the box. "You're going to make me show you?" He snarls, his voice low and dangerous. Chip nods, his curiosity now a raging inferno that overpowers his fear. "Yes," he whispers, his voice shaking. The room seems to hold its breath as Plankton's grip on the box tightens. His knuckles turn white with the effort of not flinging it open, of not revealing whatever dark secret it holds. Chip's heart thunders in his chest, his eyes never leaving the box. "Fine," Plankton growls, his voice low and dangerous. "If you have to know, I'll show you." He opens the box, and the tension in the room snaps like a rubber band. Chip leans in, his heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Inside, there's a variety of sensory apparatus, and a few other odds and ends. "It's... it's just stuff," he stammers, not quite grasping why his dad had reacted so strongly. Plankton's chest heaves, his face red with anger. "It's not just stuff!" he yells, slamming the box shut. "It's private, it's mine, it's none of your business!" Chip's eyes water, the sting of his father's words cutting deep. He's never seen his dad like this, so out of control. He takes another step back, his curiosity now overshadowed by fear. "Dad," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I'm sorry, I just-" "You just what?" Plankton's tone is like ice. "You just have to know everything, don't you? You can't leave well enough alone!" He stands, the box clutched in his hand, the knuckles still white. Chip's eyes dart to the closed box, then back to his father's furious face. "I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice small. "I just wanted to help." But his apology seems to fall on deaf ears. Plankton's anger is a living, breathing thing in the room, swirling around them like a tornado of unspoken words. "You don't help," he spits out. "You never do. You just make things worse." His eye bore into Chip's, the accusation stinging like a slap. Chip's bottom lip quivers as he tries to understand his father's fury. His eyes flit to the sensory box, now closed with a finality that feels like the slamming of a door. "But why can't I help?" he whispers, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's wrath. Plankton's eye narrows, his voice a low growl. "You don't know what you're asking." He turns away, his shoulders hunched, the weight of his secret heavy on his shoulders. Chip feels his cheeks wet with unshed tears, but he can't stop. "What don't I know?" He asks, his voice trembling. "What's so bad about the box?" Plankton whips around, his face a twisted mask of anger and pain. "It's not about the box, you little brat!" he yells. "It's about respecting my space!" He slams the box down on the table, causing the contents to rattle. "You never think before you act, always poking your nose where it doesn't belong!" Chip's eyes widen, the realization dawning that his curiosity has crossed a line. He takes a tentative step back, his voice shaking. "Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" "Mean to what?" Plankton interrupts, his voice a whip crack in the tense silence. "Mean to invade my privacy? Mean to make me feel like a freak?" His hand slams on the table, the box jumping under the impact. Chip's eyes widen with understanding, and his stomach drops. He hadn't meant to make his dad feel that way. "No, I..." he starts, but Plankton doesn't let him finish. "Just go to your room!" Plankton's voice is a thunderous wave, crashing over Chip's apology. "You've done enough damage for one day." The hurt in Chip's eyes deepens, but his curiosity doesn't waver. He goes to open the box.. "What could be so bad?" Chip asks, his voice smaller now, his hand trembling as he reaches for the box's latch. Plankton's eye widens in horror, his anger a volcano about to erupt. "Chip, no!" Karen's voice is a desperate plea, but her son's need to know is too strong. The box's latch clicks open, and Chip's hand freezes in mid-air as his eyes land on the contents within: a collection of small, seemingly random objects, each with a specific purpose to soothe and comfort Plankton in his moments of distress. Plankton's anger boils over, his face reddening as he watches his son's curiosity expose his most private weakness. "You had to see for yourself, didn't you?" he says, his voice low and venomous. Chip's hand hovering over the open box, the sensory items laid bare before him. He looks up, his eyes wide with a mix of fear and understanding. "Dad, I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice shaking. But Plankton's anger is a tidal wave that can't be held back. "You're always sorry," he snarls, his eye flashing with a rage that makes Chip's heart pound in his chest. "But it's never enough, is it?" He grabs the box, his hand shaking with the force of his emotions. Chip's curiosity turns to regret as he sees the pain his questions have caused. He takes a step back, his hands up in a defensive posture. "I didn't me—" But Plankton isn't listening, his rage a living entity in the room. "Get out!" He roars, his voice shaking the walls. "I don't want to see you right now!" Tears spill down Chip's cheeks as Karen intervenes. "Chip, go to your room," she says, her voice shaking but firm. Plankton's anger is a storm that's been brewing for too long, and she's afraid of where this could lead. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving the box. He feels a heavy weight in his chest, his curiosity now a burden. Slowly, he turns and heads upstairs, his feet dragging. Karen watches him go, her heart aching. She turns to Plankton, her eyes pleading. "Honey, maybe we should talk to him," she says, her voice shaky. But Plankton's glare silences her. He slams the box shut and storms out of the room, leaving Karen alone with her racing thoughts. Should they have told Chip earlier? Would it have made a difference?

CHIP IN MY BOX vi (Autistic author) Chip watches, his own breathing shallow with fear. He didn't mean to hurt his dad, but he can see it in his eye—the pain, the disappointment. "I-I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. But it's as if the words are lost in the chaos that's engulfed the room. "Dad, ca--" But Plankton's body has a mind of its own. His limbs shake violently, his eye spinning out of control. It's like watching a storm brewing in the calmest of skies, a tempest of emotions ready to break. His hand twitches, reaching for the box, his fingers brushing against the shards of his shattered sanity. And then, he deflates. His body goes slack, his hand falling to his side. His eye rolls back in his head, and he slumps to the floor, unconscious. Chip's scream pierces the silence, his eyes wide with fear. "Mom!" He cries out, his heart racing. "Mom, help!" Karen's instincts kick in, her fear for Plankton overriding the shock of the moment. She rushes to her husband's side, checking for signs of injury. His breathing is shallow but steady. It's the meltdown becoming to much, she knew. It's his autism, a part of him she loves and fears in equal measure. "Chip," she says, her voice calm despite the racing of her heart, "get me the phone, quick." Chip's feet fly into action, his fear for his father outweighing his own fear. He runs to the hallway, his heart thundering in his chest, and grabs the phone from the charger. Karen's hand shakes as she takes the phone, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. She dials the number, the digits blurring together with her tears. The line rings. "Dr. Kelp, it's Karen," she says, her voice shaky. "Plankton's had an episode. It's... it's pretty bad." Her voice breaks, the weight of her words heavy in the air. The beep sounds, and she swallows hard, willing the words to come out right. "Could you come over? I think he needs you." She hangs up, the silence deafening. The house feels too small, too suffocating with Plankton's condition sprawled out in the open. Her heart is racing as she watches him, his chest moving in shallow, uneven breaths. She knows Dr. Kelp will come, he's always been so kind, so understanding. But the wait feels like an eternity. Every second stretches into a minute, each minute an hour, as the fear of what might happen before help arrives gnaws at her sanity. Karen looks around the wrecked kitchen, her eyes falling on the shards of Plankton's fidgets scattered like the shattered pieces of their evening. She swallows the lump in her throat, her mind racing. The doorbell rings, a welcome interruption to the taut silence. Chip runs to the door, his little legs carrying him faster than he ever knew possible. It's Dr. Kelp, his sensory friendly specialist, with a bag full of supplies. Dr. Kelp is a small octopus, his eyes scanning the room quickly before landing on Plankton's form. "Karen," he says, his voice calm and measured, "what happened?" Karen's voice is a jumble of words, her fear and guilt spilling out in a rush. "The box," she stammers, pointing to the wreckage. "Chip... he didn't mean to, but he broke it." Her voice cracks, her eyes filling with tears. "And then he had a meltdown." Dr. Kelp nods, his expression calm and understanding. He crosses the room, his tentacles moving with purpose as he sets his bag down. He opens it, revealing a treasure trove of sensory tools—fidgets of various shapes and sizes, soft fabrics, noise-canceling headphones. His movements are precise, a balm to the chaos. He looks at Chip, his eyes kind despite the fear he must be feeling. "It's okay," he says, his voice a gentle wave. "Accidents happen." He begins to gather the shards carefully, his tentacles working with surprising deftness. "But we can fix this." The doctor's calmness is a beacon in the storm of their fear. He pulls out a new set of fidgets, similar to the ones Chip had so carelessly broken, but these are made of a tougher material. "These are indestructible," he says, handing them to Chip. "But remember, these are your dad's special things. We have to be very careful with them." Chip nods, his eyes wide with understanding. He takes the fidgets, holding them tightly. He won't make the same mistake again. He won't be the reason his dad feels scared and lost.

CHIP IN MY BOX viii (Autistic author) The room is quiet as they wait for Plankton to stir. Chip's mind is racing. Suddenly, Plankton's body twitches, a small movement under the velvet shroud. Karen's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with anticipation. Her heart is a wild animal in her chest, thumping against her ribs as she watches her husband slowly come back to them. Under the curtain, Plankton's eye opens slightly, the pupil dilated with confusion. His limbs move sluggishly, his mind trying to make sense of the world that's rushing back in. Karen's hand reaches out to his, her eyes brimming with relief and fear. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle breeze in the quiet room. "You're safe." "Wh... wha... whale...?" Plankton's voice slurs, his eye flickering behind the velvet curtain. Karen's grip on her son's hand tightens as she watches her husband struggle to find his footing in the murky waters of consciousness. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the storm of his confusion. "You're home, you're safe." Plankton's eye blinks, his brain trying to piece together the shards of reality. "Whale?" He mumbles again, his voice slurred with sleep. Karen's heart squeezes, her hand still in Plankton's, her voice even softer now. "No, honey, it's not a whale," she says, forcing a gentle laugh. "It's me, Karen. You're at home." Her words are a soft caress, a beacon in the fog of his sensory overload. Chip watches, his eyes wide with fear and hope. He wants to call out, to tell his dad everything's okay, but he remembers Dr. Kelp's instructions. He stays quiet, his hand tightening around the new fidgets, his knuckles white with tension. Plankton's mumbling becomes more pronounced, his eye darting around under the velvet cover, as if searching for something he can't quite see. "Bubble...box," he murmurs, his voice a distant echo. Karen's heart races, her mind racing to keep up with his scattered thoughts. She knows his brain is trying to make sense of the world, to find the familiar in the chaos. "A box is here," she whispers, her voice soothing. "It's new, and right beside you." Her words seem to resonate somewhere in the fog of Plankton's mind. His hand twitches, reaching out. Chip's breath hitches as he sees his father's hand hover over the new box of sensory items. "Bubblebox," Plankton murmurs, his voice a soft breeze through the room. The words are meaningless, but the tone conveys a desperate search. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she nods. "It's here," she whispers, guiding his hand to the box. His fingers graze the velvet curtain, his movements clumsy and unsure. Chip watches, his heart in his throat, as his father's hand trembles over the box's edge. "Bubba," Plankton says, his voice a whisper of confusion. Karen's eyes are glued to his face, her heart breaking at his distress. She tries to think of something to say, to bring him back to them fully. But she knows better than to push too hard. Plankton's eye blinks rapidly, his hand fumbling with the box's contents. "Fishy," he mumbles, his voice a disjointed symphony of half-thoughts. "Fishy, fishy." Karen's heart squeezes. He's talking to his mind, she knows, to the jumble of thoughts that have overtaken his reality. The words are nonsense, a random assortment of sounds. "Fishy?" He murmurs again, his hand patting the floor. "Fishy, bubblebox." His voice trails off, lost in the fog of his own thoughts. Karen's heart is racing, her mind trying to decode his ramblings. She knows his mind is searching, trying to find the safety net of his sensory world. "Yes, honey," she whispers, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You're okay." Plankton's eye rolls back into his head, his body going slack again. The silence in the room is deafening, a stark contrast to the tumult inside her. Karen's hand is a tremor against his, willing him back to reality. Chip watches, his own thoughts racing, as his mother's eyes dart to Dr. Kelp for guidance. The doctor's tentacles move with a quiet assurance, placing more items around Plankton. "It's normal," he whispers, his voice a lifeline in the storm of their fear. "His mind is trying to find his bearings." "Where's," he mumbles, his voice a distant whisper. "So... many... Karen..." His antennae twitch erratically, his hand flailing in the air as if trying to catch invisible orbs. Karen's heart is in her throat, her eyes brimming with tears as she watches his struggle. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft caress, reaching for his hand. "You're safe." Her eyes plead with Dr. Kelp, desperation etched in her features. The doctor nods reassuringly, his tentacles moving with a gentle rhythm. "We're home." Plankton's eye moves beneath the velvet, searching for familiarity. "Home?" He whispers, his voice scratchy from disuse. "Where am I?" The fear in his tone makes Karen's heart ache. "You're home, Plankton," she whispers back, her voice soothing. "You're safe." Her words are a gentle reminder, a beacon in the storm of his senses.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 3 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Karen sees the pain in Chip's eyes. She knows they have to explain sooner rather than later. Plankton's condition is a part of their lives, and Chip deserves to know. Yet she also understands her husband's need for privacy. "Plankton," she says calmly, placing a hand on his back. "Chip just wants to help." Plankton's face contorts in frustration, his antennae twitching uncontrollably. Chip, feeling more lost than ever, steps back further. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmurs, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I didn't mean to-" "Chip, it's okay," Karen says, cutting in before Plankton can reply. She gives her husband a knowing look, her screen filled with concern. Oblivious to his dad's autistic spectrum disorder and its effects on his sensory processing, Chip continues to hover anxiously. "But Mom, why won't Dad tell me?" He sniffles, wiping his screen with the back of his hand. Karen takes a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Chip, your dad's brain works a little differently than most. Sometimes, things can be too much for him, and his body needs a break. That's all it was." Chip's eyes are wide, but fear still lingers. "But why couldn't he-" "It's okay, Chip," she interjects, placing a comforting arm around his shoulder. "Daddy's just tired. Why don't you go wash up, and I'll talk to him, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes still fixed on Plankton, who now avoids his gaze. As he walks to the bathroom, his mind whirls with questions and fear. Why won't his dad tell him what's going on? What's so scary about his brain needing a break? While Chip is washing his screen, Plankton turns to Karen, his voice low and shaking. "How could I have let this happen?" he whispers. Karen wraps her arms around his trembling frame. "You couldn't have known, Plankton. It's not your fault. But we do need to talk to him. He's seen it now, and he's scared." Plankton nods, his eye dull with fear. "I know," he whispers. He's never wanted Chip to know about his condition, but now it seems like there's no choice. He's always been so sensitive especially when his brain's in overload. Karen gives him a comforting squeeze. "We'll tell him together," she says, her voice steady. "We'll explain it in a way he can understand." Chip finishes washing his screen and returns to the bedroom, his eyes red and puffy. He sees his mom hugging his dad, and the sight brings a tiny bit of comfort. But he still feels like there's something he's missing, something important. But seeing the hug, Chip goes to do the same... But Plankton flinches at his touch, his antennae quivering with overstimulation. Chip pulls away, his eyes wide with confusion and hurt. "What's wrong, Dad?" he asks, not understanding his dad's reaction. "Don't touch me," Plankton says, his voice cold. Chip's eyes well up with tears again. "But I'm just trying to hug you," he whimpers, feeling lost and alone. Karen intervenes, her voice soft. "Plankton, sweetie, Chip doesn't know. He's just a kid, trying to understand." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. He knows she's right. "Chip," Karen begins, her tone gentle. "You know how sometimes you get overwhelmed, and you just need a hug?" Chip nods. "Well, Daddy gets overwhelmed too, but sometimes, hugs aren't what he needs. Sometimes, his brain needs a different kind of comfort." Chip looks up at her, his screen still wet with tears. "But why can't I hug him?" he asks, his voice small. "You're hugging..." "Chip," Karen says, taking his hand. "Your dad's brain is special. Sometimes, when it gets too much input, he needs some space. He can't help it; it's just ho-" "But why can't I just hug him?" Chip interrupts, his voice desperate. Plankton looks away, his face contorting with the effort to hold back his own tears. "It's not that simple, Chip," he says, his voice cracking. Chip's confusion grows. He can't understand why a simple hug is causing so much pain. "But why?" he asks, his voice trembling. "You always hug Mom.." Plankton sighs, feeling the weight of his secret pressing down on him. "It's not the same," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mom knows how to... to handle it." Chip's eyes fill with tears again. "But why not me?" he asks. "I just wa-" Plankton's voice is harsher than he intends. "Because you don't know how!" he snaps. Chip's face falls, the rejection hitting him like a slap. Karen's eyes dart between them. She understands Plankton's struggle with his sensory issues, but this isn't the time for anger. "Plankton," she says firmly, "Chip just wants to help. He doesn't understand, and we can't blame him for that." She looks at Chip, his screen full of hurt and confusion. "Let's just tell him, okay? Try again Plankton.." Plankton nods reluctantly, his antennae still twitching. "Chip," he starts, his voice softer now. "When I was being born, my brain didn't fully develop the way it should've. So, I'm different, and I don't need you to 'fix' me. HAPPY?" Chip stares at his dad, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. He doesn't understand. "Different, how?" he asks, his voice small. Karen takes over. "Your father has a condition called autism, Chip. It means his brain interprets things differently, especially when it comes to touch." Chip pulls away, his face scrunching up. "But that means you're broken!" he cries out, his voice filled with horror. "You're a monster! An autistic freak!" The words slip out before he can stop them, echoing the taunts of his schoolmates. "It makes you nothing but an embarrassment!" The room goes still, the atmosphere thick with pain. Karen's eyes widen in shock as Plankton's body tenses. "Chip, no!" she gasps, but it's too late. Plankton's face crumples. The words had cut deeper than Chip could've ever imagined. "Get out," Plankton murmurs, his voice barely audible. "I don't want you here." Chip's eyes widen, his screen flushing with guilt. He didn't mean it; he was just repeating what he's heard. "But, Dad," he whimpers, reaching out. But Plankton flinches away, his antennae drooping. "Get out," he repeats, his voice defeated. "I don't need you right now." Chip's eyes fill with hurt as he takes a step back. "But Dad..." he whispers, his hand reaching out instinctively. Plankton doesn't take it. "I said leave," he murmurs, his voice filled with pain. "You get out, Chip. Just go." The finality in his tone sends a shiver down Karen's spine. Chip's hand falls to his side, his eyes brimming with tears. Karen's eyes are glossed with unshed tears as she watches Chip back away, the hurt in his voice etching a painful silence into the room. "Dad, I-" But Plankton cuts him off, his antennae quivering with emotion. "I don't want to see you right now, Chip," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please, just go." The rejection hits Chip like a wave, and he nods, his lip trembling. He turns and runs from the room, his sobs echoing down the hallway. Karen turns to Plankton, her screen filled with sorrow and understanding. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice cracking. "He didn't realize what he said. He doesn't know how such words can hurt you." Plankton turns to her, his eye filled with a sadness so deep it's almost tangible. "But he said it," he murmurs. "He basically called me a freak." Karen's heart breaks at his pain, and she sighs heavily. "He's just a child, Plankton," she says softly. "He doesn't underst--" "I don't care," Plankton interrupts, his voice brittle. "I can't handle it right now." He turns away. Karen nods, giving him the space he needs. She understands the depth of his pain and the struggle his condition brings him.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 16 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Chip pulls a bench stool up by the couch. "Dad," he says, his voice a whisper in the quiet room. "Can I... I ask you a question?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye half-open. "Sure, what is it?" Chip's voice is a soft whisper in the darkened living room. "What's it like?" he asks, his curiosity tangled with fear. "To be... you know, autistic?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking slowly. "It's... it's like living in a world that's too loud," he murmurs. "And too bright. And sometimes, things don't make sense. But... it's also beautiful. Like a puzzle that only I can solve." Chip leans in, his curiosity piqued. "How do you mean?" he asks, his voice a gentle prodding. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye closing briefly. "Imagine a symphony playing," he whispers, his voice a soft melody. "But instead of music, it's sounds. Voices, lights, textures... all playing at once. It's... overwhelming." He pauses, his antennae twitching with the effort to explain. "But sometimes, when everything is still... I see patterns. It's like... like the universe is whispering secrets only I can discern." Chip nods, his eyes on the twitching antennae. "And the absence seizures?" Plankton's eye opens wider, his voice a soft sigh. "It's like being in a bubble," he says, his antennae stilling. "A moment out of time, but... it's not real. I'm not really here." Chip's gaze is intense, his mind racing to understand. "But what do you see?" he asks, his voice eager. "When you're in that bubble?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye searching Chip's face. "It's... difficult to explain," he says, his voice a soft rumble. "It's like... I'm distant." His antennae bob slightly, his eye fluttering. "But sometimes, it's just... like a blender. And I'm alone." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "I'll try to imagine," he whispers. "But I want you to know, Dad, I'm here for you." His hand reaches out to touch Plankton. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tensing slightly. "It's okay," he murmurs, his voice a quiet acceptance. "It's not your fault." Chip's hand hovers, unsure. "But I wish I could help more," he says, his voice filled with a longing to ease his father's pain. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking open. "You do help," he whispers, his voice a reassurance. "Just by being here. Yet you can't fix me, Chip." Chip's hand retreats, his heart heavy with understanding. "I know," he says, his voice filled with sadness. "But I want to make sure you're okay." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing on Chip's earnest face. "I know," he whispers. "But you can't always save me. And right now I'm just feeling tired.." Chip nods, his hand slowly withdrawing. "Okay, Dad," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll rest now. We'll talk more tomorrow." Plankton's eye closes, his antennae stilling. His breaths even out, his body relaxing into sleep's gentle embrace. The room falls silent, the only sound Plankton's soft snores. Chip watches his dad, who's asleep now. His mind is racing with thoughts, but his body is still, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace. His eyes trail over Plankton's form, noticing the way his antennae twitch slightly in his sleep. It's like he's dreaming of faraway places, or perhaps solving a complex puzzle only he can see. Chip's hand hovers over his dad's, fighting the urge to hold it. He's seen the way Plankton flinches at the slightest touch, the way his body shies away from contact. But his heart aches to offer comfort, to let him know he's not alone. With a deep breath, he decides to be brave. His fingertips lightly graze Plankton's hand, the barest of touches. Plankton's antennae twitch, his breath catching, but he doesn't pull away. Encouraged, Chip wraps his hand around his dad's, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of his palm. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his snores deepening. Chip's heart swells with relief. Maybe this is okay.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 1 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Karen was out buying cookies when Chip arrived home. So Chip goes up to find his dad Plankton, knowing his mom Karen's still shopping. He pushed open the door to his parent's bedroom, where Plankton sits on his bed. "Dad; hi!" Chip yells. Plankton's eye widens, startled by Chip. His body is as still as a statue. For a moment, Chip thinks his dad might be playing a prank on him, but then realizes something isn't right. "Dad? Dad!" Chip shakes Plankton's arm, but there's no response. Panic starts to build in his chest as he calls out louder, but Plankton doesn't budge. Chip's seen his dad in his zone before, but this is different. Plankton's eye glazed over, unblinking. Chip doesn't understand why he's not reacting, and he's too scared to leave the room. He tries once more to get his father's attention. "Dad, you're scaring me," Chip whispers, his voice trembling. Yet Plankton remains motionless, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding inside Chip. Chip's heard of people passing out, but his dad has never done this before. He tries to recall any information about his dad that might explain this eerie situation but comes up empty-handed. Everything seems in place, but the sight of his dad, so unresponsive, sends a chill down his spine, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. How's he gonna wake his dad up? He's seen him get lost in his thoughts before, his mind a whirlwind of genius ideas, but this... this is something he's never seen. He touches Plankton's face gently, expecting a flinch or a grumble, but nothing happens. It's as if his dad isn't even there, like he's a mannequin in a store window. "Dad?" Chip calls out, his voice a little louder now, trying to shake off his fear. "You okay?" Nothing. He needs to try something else. He remembers a TV show where a person was snapped out of a trance by a loud noise. Chip rushes to the kitchen, grabbing a pot and spoon, his footsteps echoing in the silent house. His hands shake as he crashes the pot against the spoon, creating a cacophony. He didn't know he's just causing his dad more pain. The sound reverberates throughout the house, but Plankton remains still. Chip's hope dwindles, fear taking its place. He wonders if he should call for help, but what if his dad wakes up? He's always so independent. What's Karen going to think? But Chip put the pot and spoon back. He goes back to Plankton, whom Chip didn't realize retreated even further into his overload with the touching and noises. Chip's panic is turning into something more akin to dread. "Dad?" Chip's voice cracks as he calls out again, his eyes scanning Plankton's face for any flicker of recognition. Yet none comes. Oblivious to the concept of autistic absence seizures, Chip has no idea that his dad's lack of response is due to a bombard of sensory input. In his desperation, Chip starts to pat his dad's cheeks, hoping to bring him back to reality. Plankton's skin feels cool and clammy under his fingertips, and the sight of his father's normally vivid eye now vacant sends a wave of terror crashing through his body. He's seen him zone out before, lost in his own world of inventions and schemes, but this is different. It's not the same as when he's busy at the chum bucket. He tries to remember if his dad ever talked about any health issues, but all that comes to mind are tales of his dad's past adventures. Could it be something serious? Was it something he missed? The weight of the situation presses down on him, making it hard to breathe. He feels helpless, unsure of what to do next. He's just a kid, not a doctor or a hero. Yet Chip decides trying to force him out of it. "Dad, come on, you gotta snap out of it!" Chip says, his voice shaking. He's seen this in movies, right? Someone's got to shake the person or something? He decides to do it. Gently at first, then more firmly as panic sets in. But Plankton remains unmoving, his gaze unchanged. Chip's fear turns into full-blown terror. What if his dad's in some kind of danger? What if he's stuck like this forever? Chip's mind races with worst-case scenarios as he continues to pat Plankton's face, his voice getting louder with each attempt. But no matter what he does, his dad doesn't react. The room feels like it's closing in around him. He tries to hold back tears not knowing what to do when your dad has a... what is this? He can't even name whatever's happening. He's seen his dad zone out before, during dinner or when he's in the middle of one of his crazy inventions, but this is something else. This is not the usual Plankton. This is not the dad he knows. He tries another way to force him out of it, with no knowledge of risking literally making Plankton get literally sick. He shakes Plankton harder, his voice growing more desperate. "Dad, you gotta snapshot out of this! It's not funny anymore!" But his father's body is like dead weight, his eye still unblinking. Chip feels a tear slip down his screen. He tries a different approach to physically force his dad out of this. He tickles him. Plankton always hates tickling, so surely this will work. But his dad's body doesn't even flinch. It's like he's not even there. He tries to think logically, but fear clouds his judgment. He doesn't understand why Plankton isn't snapping out of it. Why isn't he getting annoyed or saying his usual, 'Chip, stop that!' So Chip decides he needs to take matters into his own hands. He decides to forcefully get Plankton to react. He grabs a pillow and holds it over Plankton, thinking that an impromptu pillow fight might bring him back to the present. But even as Plankton's body topples to the side, he doesn't react. Chip's seen his dad ignore him before, but this is not the same. This is not the Plankton who would normally swat the pillow away with a laugh or a scolding. By then, Karen's finally come home from shopping, setting the cookies on the kitchen counter when Chip runs up to her in tears. "Mom! Dad's DEAD or, something.." he sobs, pulling her to the bedroom. "He won't wake up, and he's not moving!" Karen follows Chip into the bedroom, and she immediately knows what's happening. She sees Plankton lying on the bed, his body completely still, and Chip's tear-stained screen. Plankton never wanted Chip to know of his neurodisability, so they never told. It's something they both learnt to deal with while hiding it from Chip, but now Chip's seeing it firsthand. Karen aches for her son, his innocence shattered by fear. Yet she knew Plankton needs her more right now. "Mom, I just said hi to him and he froze. I've tried to shake him, yell at him, tickle him, and even hit him with a pillow, but he won't wake up!" Chip's words come out in a frantic rush. Karen's eyes fill with understanding and she hurries to Plankton's side. "Chip," she says calmly, knowing now's not the time to explain to Chip about neurodisabilities, nor how Chip unintentionally triggered him more; "Mommy will handle it. Why don't you go to your room? I'll take care of daddy." But Chip is too scared to leave his dad's side. He clings to Karen's leg, his small voice quivering. "But I--" Karen gently peels him off her and gives him a reassuring smile. "I know, sweetie. But let me take care of this. You go to your room, and I'll call you when everything's okay." Reluctantly, Chip nods, his eyes still glued to his dad. As he leaves the room, his mind fills with worries and questions. What is happening? Why won't his dad wake up? Meanwhile, Karen sat down by Plankton on the bed as she gently took his hand. She knew this was a moment she had been dreading. Plankton's autistic absence seizures were a part of their lives that they had managed to keep hidden from their son. They didn't want to scare Chip, and Plankton was always so embarrassed by them. But now, it was out in the open, and she had to find a way to explain without frightening Chip further. But for now, she needs to help Plankton out of the absence seizure first.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 2 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Karen takes a deep breath and squeezes Plankton's hand, calling his name softly. "Plankton, sweetie, come back to me." Her voice is a lifeline, a warm presence that Plankton's mind might be able to cling to. She knows from experience that his seizures can eventually be helped by her voice and gentle touch. "I'm here, it's okay," she whispers, stroking his antennae with her thumb. Chip's cries fade as he heads to his room. He's scared, confused, and feels alone. He doesn't know why his dad is acting so weird, but he trusts his mom. Eventually, Plankton's eye starts to blink, a sign that he's coming back. Karen's with relief, and she squeezes his hand, continuing to speak in hushed tones. "You're ok, Plankton. You're home with me." She knows how disorienting these episodes can be for him, and she wants to make sure he's fully grounded before anything else. As Plankton's gaze slowly refocuses, Karen watches. He tries to sit up, yet his body feels heavy and sluggish. "What happened?" he asks, his voice a croak. Karen's relief is palpable as she helps him sit up, still holding his hand. "You just had one of your episodes, sweetie. It's okay." She's careful with her words, not wanting to alarm him. "What do you remember?" Plankton looks around the room. "Chip," he murmurs. "Chip yelled hi, and then everything's patchy. I felt his presence yet I kept going deeper into the retreat, but I vaguely recall Chip bombarding me. And now I guess you apparently came.." Karen nods, her grip on his hand tightening. "Yes, Chip saw you and was scared. He didn't know what was happening." Plankton's face pales at the thought of his son being afraid. "Is he alr- Chip; he must've seen me! He witnessed..." Karen nods solemnly. "Yes, he saw everything. He's in his room now, I told him to stay there." Plankton sighs heavily, his eye closing briefly. "I know you're gonna say to tell him everything, how he's mature enough. Great, just great." Karen nods, her voice gentle. "We can't keep this from him forever, Plankton. He's seen you like this now. It's time to explain what's happening." Plankton sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping. He knows she's right, but the thought of Chip knowing his secret makes him feel exposed and vulnerable. But Karen's voice is firm. "We can't keep hiding this from him. He's old enough now. We have to tell him. I'll bring him in, okay?" Plankton nods weakly, his heart racing at the thought. He knows Karen is right; they can't keep this from him forever. Karen heads to Chip's room to find him curled up on the bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. His eyes are swollen from crying. "Hey, buddy," she says softly, sitting beside him. "Can you come with me?" Chip sniffs and nods, his eyes darting to the door. He's afraid, but he knows his mom will make it right. He follows her into the bedroom, where Plankton sits up, looking drained but alert. "Dad!" Chip cries out, running to Plankton's side. Plankton starts to scoot away. Karen intervenes quickly. "Chip, honey, let's give Daddy some space," she says, her voice calm but firm. Chip frowns, not understanding. "But he's okay?" Chip asks, his voice small and hopeful. "Yes, Chip," Karen says, sitting on the bed with Plankton. "Daddy just had a little... Plankton, why don't you tell him?" Plankton sighs, bracing himself for the conversation he's been avoiding. "Chip, what you saw was something you were never meant to see. You weren't supposed to see me like that. So I don't wanna hear a peep about it, ok?" Chip's eyes widen with confusion. "But what was that, Dad?" His voice is small, filled with fear. Plankton hesitates, trying to find the right words. "I JUST TOLD YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!" he snaps, his voice sharp. Chip flinches, surprised by his dad's harsh tone. Karen sighs, taking the lead. "Chip, honey, your dad's okay. It's like his brain goes on a tiny vacation without telling his body, and he can't move or talk during it." She tries to make it sound less scary. Chip's eyes grow wider, but his curiosity isn't satisfied. "But why? Why ca--" Plankton cuts him off, his tone sharp with agitation. "I don't have to explain myself to you." Chip's confusion turns to hurt. He doesn't know what he did wrong. He just wanted his dad to wake up. "Dad, you were just sitting ther-" But Plankton's harshness cuts him off again. "I said forget it, Chip! It's nothing you need to know!" Plankton's voice is filled with frustration and fear. Chip's eyes well up with new tears. "But I just wanted you to wake up," he whispers, his voice breaking. "Yo--" Plankton's sharpness slices through the air, his usual playfulness nowhere to be found. "I SAID, FORGET IT!" Karen's eyes widen at her husband's reaction. "Plankton, honey, maybe we should just tell him. He's seen it now; we can't keep hiding it," she suggests gently, trying to ease the tension in the room. Plankton looks at her with a mix of frustration and fear, his antennae twitching. "Fine," he grumbles, his voice softening. "But remember, this is my story, not yours." Chip, still sniffling, looks between his mom and dad. Karen gives Plankton a gentle yet firm look, and he sighs heavily. "Okay, Chip," he starts, "I've corpus callosum dysgenesis." Chip looks at him, puzzled. "What's th-" "It's a brain thing, okay?" Plankton cuts him off, his tone gruffer than usual. He can't bear the thought of his son knowing. Chip nods slowly, trying to comprehend. "But w---" "That's all you need to know," Plankton says, his voice clipped and final. But Chip's curiosity doesn't wane. "But, Dad, why can't you just wake up?" he asks, his eyes filled with concern and confusion. Plankton's antennae twitch in irritation. "CHIP, I TOLD YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!" His voice is sharp, cutting through the room like a knife. Chip recoils, his screen brimming with unshed tears. He doesn't understand why his dad is so upset. He just wanted to help, to make him snapshot out of whatever was wrong. Chip tries again. "Dad, Mom said you can't keep whatever from me anymo-" "ENOUGH, CHIP!" Plankton's shout echoes through the room. "It's not your business, it's mine! Now get lost!" The pain in Plankton's voice is palpable, and Chip can't understand why. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his heart aching. "But Dad, I just wanted to he-" "I SAID ENOUGH!" Plankton's voice booms through the room, his antennae quivering with frustration. Chip's voice trails off, and he takes a step back. He's never seen his dad so upset, and it scares him. "But Dad, I don't know what's wrong with you!" Chip's voice is small, his eyes filled with fresh tears. Plankton's outburst has only confused him more. Oblivious to Plankton's internal turmoil, Chip doesn't realize his dad's reaction is due to his autism. But the outburst only adds to Chip's confusion and fear. He looks at Karen with pleading eyes, desperately seeking comfort and answers.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 15 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Chip sits carefully, not wanting to jostle his father. He tries to think of something to say, his mind racing with questions and fears. What if he says the wrong thing? What if he makes it worse? Karen returns with a pillow and blanket, her movements efficient. She places the pillow under Plankton's head and covers him with the blanket, her touch a silent symphony of care. Plankton's body shudders slightly, his antennae still. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice a thread of exhaustion. Chip watches, his heart heavy. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. The armor of his sarcasm and bravado laid bare. He wants to say something, anything, to ease the tension, but his thoughts are a jumbled mess. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye blinking slowly as he tries to find the words. "Chip," he says, his voice still weak. "I've had this since I was born. And I liked school but, it was to hard for me to be comfortable." Chip nods, his eyes on his father's still form. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice gentle. "We can talk about it. What was school like for you?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye opening slightly. "It was... good and bad," he whispers. "I did enjoy science, like I do now. Kids are clueless, but it still hurt when they'd treat me like an outsider. Yet some of the teachers..." He trails off, his antennae drooping. Chip's heart clenches, his hand resting lightly on the couch cushion. "What about the teachers?" he asks, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae lift slightly, his eye opening a bit more. "Some were awful," he says, his voice a soft echo of past memories. "They blamed me for things I couldn't control, didn't understand. One in particular literally went and said, 'you are just a waste of space, an example of parents choosing the wrong path of life by having you.' And then I had an absence seizure. When I 'came back' from it, you know what she said? She said, 'See, kids? That's what happens when parents decide to keep a mistake.'" His antennae drop, the weight of the memory heavy on his shoulders. "I then started convulsing seizure, and was tied to the chair!" Karen's eyes flash with anger as she walked by. "Plankton," she says, unintentionally startling him, "you never told me that.." Plankton's antennae twitch, his face contorting into an expression of pain. "It was a long time ago," he whispers, his voice a ghost of what it once was. "But the words... they stay with me." Chip's eyes are wide with shock, his hand clenching into a fist. "That's not right," he says, his voice tight. "They had no right to treat you like that." Plankton's antennae twitch, his face a mask of resignation. "I did have some good teachers too. One nice teacher noticed me having an absence seizure and the other kids started to notice how I didn't budge. But the teacher, she was gentle, kind and understanding. So when she noticed an absence seizure happening, she put this little hand-made cover over my eye to block out the line of sight. She knew it'd help me return to reality without the sensory overload, as well as keep the other kids from staring to much." Chip's eyes are filled with admiration of his dad. "That was really nice of her," he says, his voice filled with emotion. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye focusing on Chip's face. "It was," he whispers. "It made me feel good." His voice cracks with the weight of his words. "But not everyone is like her." Karen's gaze is intense. "We're your family. We're here to support you. Now it's getting late; I'm going to bed. Do you want to sleep on the couch?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering. "Yes," he whispers. "I... I'll stay." "Can I stay by Dad tonight too?" Chip asks. Karen's gaze flicks to Plankton. "I guess if you don't jostle me?" he says. Karen nods. "Alright, Chip, just be careful not to disturb your father." She kisses their foreheads before leaving the room, her eyes lingering on her husband's exhausted face.

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 4 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) In the hallway, Chip's sobs grow quieter as he slumps against the wall, his heart feeling heavy. He didn't mean to hurt his dad; he just wanted to know what was wrong. Karen sits beside Plankton, her heart torn between her son's innocence and her husband's pain. "We need to talk to him," she says gently, stroking his antennae. "We can't let this go unaddressed. But we can do it when you're ready." Plankton nods, his body still tense. "I know," he says, his voice small. "But I just can't... I can't face him right now." Karen nods, giving his hand a comforting squeeze. "Okay, honey. Take your time. But we can't let him think that he's not loved or that his questions are wrong. We need to explain it to him properly." Plankton sighs heavily, his antennae drooping. "I know," he murmurs. "Just talk to him when I'm... ready." Karen nods, her screen shimmering with unshed tears. "Okay," she says, her voice gentle. She gives him a kiss on the forehead and leaves the room to find Chip in his own bedroom. Chip's door is ajar, and she can hear his muffled sobs. She opens it slowly, finding him curled up on his bed, his screen buried in his pillow. She approaches his side, sitting down carefully. "Chip," she says, her voice soothing. "It's okay. You can come out now." He pulls away the pillow, revealing a tear-stained screen. "But Dad..." he sniffles. Karen's eyes fill with sympathy. "I know you didn't mean it, Chip. But you hurt your dad. We need to talk about what happened. And I know you've questions about his autistic disability.." Chip sits up, his eyes red and puffy. "But Mom, why is he so mad at me? I just wanted to know what's going on." Karen sighs, her heart aching for her son. "Chip, sometimes when people are upset or scared, they say things they don't mean. Your dad's not mad at you for asking questions; he's mad at himself for not being able to explain it better. But the words you said hurt him. They hurt him because people have used them before to make him feel less than." Chip looks at her, his eyes still wet with tears. "But I don't want him to feel bad," he murmurs. "I didn't kn-" Karen cuts him off gently. "I know you didn't, Chip. But it's important for us to learn and understand. Your dad's condition isn't a weakness; it's just part of how he is. And sometimes, it can be scary for him too." Chip nods slowly, trying to comprehend the complexity of his dad's condition. "But why can't he just tell me?" he asks, his voice thick with emotion. "Why does it have to be a secret?" Karen takes a deep breath. "It's not a secret, Chip," she says gently. "It's just something private, something he's not wanting to share with everyone. But now that you know, we can help him." Chip sniffs and nods. "How?" he asks, his voice hopeful. "Well," Karen starts, "you can learn more about autism. You can ask us questions, and we'll answer them the best we can. And when you see Dad having a hard time, you can give him space, or maybe find a quiet spot for him to sit." Chip wipes his screen with the back of his hand. "Okay, Mom. But what if I want to hug him?" Karen sighs. "Honey, your dad's condition makes certain kinds of touch hard for him to handle. It's not that he doesn't want your love; he just needs it in a different way." Chip looks at her, his eyes still filled with confusion. "But I don't understand," he says, his voice shaking. "How do I know when to hug him?" Karen's smile is sad, but determined. "You'll learn, sweetie. We'll all learn together. Just remember, it's not about fixing him; it's about supporting him." Chip nods, his eyes still filled with unshed tears. "Okay," he says, his voice small. "But I don't want to make him sad." Karen squeezes his hand. "You won't, Chip. We'll get through this together." Chip looks up at her with questioning eyes. "But why does he get those... those seizures?" he asks, still trying to grasp the concept. "They're not exactly seizures, Chip," Karen says, her voice gentle. "It's part of his condition. Sometimes, his brain just needs a break from all the sensory information. It's not something you can see or feel, but it's real for him." Chip nods, his eyes still puffy from crying. "But why doesn't he just tell me when he needs a break?" he asks. "Why does he have to get so angry?" Karen sighs, trying to find the right words to explain. "Chip, your dad's feelings are sometimes like a volcano. They build up and up until they explode. It's not anger at you; it's his way of dealing with the overwhelm. And sometimes, his brain gets too much stimulation without him knowing it. It's like he's trying to read a book while everyone around him is yelling at once. It's just too much." Chip nods slowly, his eyes fixed on his mom. "But why can't he just tell me?" he asks again, his voice still shaky. Karen hugs him. "Because, honey, your dad's had to deal with this his whole life, and sometimes it's hard for him to talk about." Chip nods, trying to understand. "But what if he needs help?" he asks, his voice small. "How will I know?" "You'll learn his cues, Chip. Sometimes he'll get quiet, or his antennae will twitch more than usual. That's when you can check on him, ask if he's okay, but don't push." Chip nods, his curiosity piqued. "What if he doesn't say anything?" he asks, his screen searching hers. Karen takes a deep breath. "Then, you'll have to watch for his cues," she says, her voice calm. "If he seems overwhelmed or his antennae are moving a lot, it might be a sign." Chip's eyes light up with curiosity. "What cues, Mom?" he asks eagerly. "How do I know?" Karen smiles softly. "Well, you'll learn, Chip. Like when his antennae get really twitchy, or his eye glazes over. That's when his brain might need a break. And if he starts repeating things, or gets really still, that's another sign." Chip's eyes widen with interest. "So, how do you know, Mom?" he asks, his voice tentative. "How can I see when he's overwhelmed?" "You'll get better at it," Karen assures him. "But for now, just watch and listen. If he starts flapping his arms or repeating words, that's a sign that he might need some space. And if he turns away or covers his eye, it means he's getting too much sensory input." Chip nods, his mind racing with questions. "But you seem to know how to touch him and when to hug him. How'd yo--" Karen smiles sadly. "It's been years of practice, Chip. And I've made my share of mistakes too." She pauses, thinking. "You'll learn his cues, like when his body tenses up, or when his antennae start to quiver quickly. Those are signs he's feeling overwhelmed." Chip nods, his eyes focused on her. "But what about him getting upset?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "How do I know when he's about t---" "Chip," Karen says, cutting him off gently. "When he gets upset, his antennae might flare out, or he might rock back and forth. It's his way of self-soothing." Chip's eyes are wide with realization. "So, when he does that, I should...?" "Give him space," Karen interrupts. "Just let him know you're there without overwhelming his senses." Chip nods, trying to memorize every detail.

CHIP IN MY BOX v (Autistic author) As Chip watches, Plankton's body starts to twitch, his snores growing louder and more erratic. Chip's heart leaps into his throat, his stomach clenching with fear. Is he having another episode? Karen notices the shift in his breathing and gently squeezes Chip's hand. "It's okay," she whispers. "He's just waking up." Plankton's eye flutters open, his gaze unfocused. For a moment, he seems lost, then his gaze sharpens as he sees his wife and son. The fear and anger from before are replaced with a weary resignation. He sits up, rubbing his eye with the heels of his hands. "I'm sorry," he murmurs to Karen, his voice thick with sleep and regret. "I didn't mean to scare you." He looks at her, his eye searching for forgiveness. Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she nods. "It's okay," she whispers, her hand still in his. "We just need to find a way to help you through these moments." Plankton takes a deep breath, his shoulders dropping. "I know," he says, his voice a mix of exhaustion and resignation. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his curiosity a constant thrum. "But why do you have these moments?" He asks, his voice laced with concern. Plankton sighs, his eye dropping to the floor. "It's complicated," he says, his voice heavy with weariness. Chip's curiosity doesn't waver. "But what causes it?" He asks, his voice persistent. He wants to understand, to help, to be there for his dad in a way he never has before. Plankton looks at his son, his eye filled with a mix of pride and frustration. "It's my brain," he says, his voice strained. "It's just... wired differently." His antennae twitch nervously. "Sometimes, it gets too much, and I need to step back, to find a way to... recalibrate." Chip frowns, his curiosity deepening. "But what happens when you have those moments?" He asks, leaning in closer. Plankton's gaze is on his sensory box. "It's like... everything's too loud, too bright," he says, his voice barely audible. "I can't... I can't filter it out." Karen's eyes are filled with understanding as she nods. "It's like your brain is a radio," she says, "And sometimes all the channels are on at once." Chip's eyes go to Plankton's box. "So, the box..." Plankton nods, his antennae drooping slightly. "The box helps me focus," he says, his voice still quiet. "It's got things that calm me down." He sets the box down next to himself. Chip's eyes light up with renewed interest. "Can I see?" He asks, leaning in. Plankton hesitates, his hand on the box. It's his sanctuary, his shield against the world's assault on his senses. But he sees the earnestness in Chip's eyes, the need to understand. With a sigh, he opens the box. Chip's eyes widen as he takes in the contents: a velvet curtain, a weighted blanket, a stress ball. "What are these for?" He asks, his voice filled with wonder. Plankton's antennae twitch nervously. "The velvet's for touch," he says, his voice still low. "It's soothing." He picks up the weighted blanket, his hand shaking. "This one's for when I get overwhelmed, it grounds me." Chip's eyes widen as he looks at the items, his fingers itching to touch. He looks at the fidgets. "And these?" He asks, his voice hopeful. Plankton watches his son, his antennae still. "It's for when my hands need to do something," he says, his voice a whisper. "When I'm... overwhelmed." Chip's hand reaches out, his curiosity overruling his fear. He grabs the fidgets, his eyes wide with wonder. He turns one over in his small hands, feeling it's texture. Karen watches them both, her heart in her throat. Chip picks up some of the fidgets, his thumb tracing the smooth edges. He looks up, his eyes shining with determination. "What if... what if we could make a game out of this, li—" His words are cut off by a sharp clatter as the fidgets slip from his grasp. They hit the open sensory box, landing on the other items with a series of clinks and cracks as every thing inside shatters into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. The room seems to hold its breath, the echoes of the destruction hanging in the air. Plankton's eye widens. Karen gasps, her hand flying to her mouth as she sees the shattered remnants of Plankton's coping mechanisms. Chip's eyes fill with horror as the reality of what he's done sinks in. The fidgets lie scattered, broken and useless, a stark reminder of his own carelessness. His hands are shaking as he reaches for the box, his heart racing with regret... Plankton's eye widens, his body going rigid with shock. He's seen his sanctuary desecrated, the one thing that brings him peace shattered under his own son's curiosity, a knife cutting through the thick silence. The room feels like it's spinning, his senses bombarding him with the sight of the destroyed box, the feel of his heart racing, the sound of his wife's stifled gasp. He can't breathe, his chest tight with an unspoken rage that builds with each passing second. Plankton's expression is unreadable. "Chip!" Karen's voice is a desperate whisper, a plea for their son to understand, but Plankton's mind is a whirlwind of chaos. "Dad, I'm sorry," Chip stammers, his eyes wide with fear as he looks at the wreckage before him. Plankton's breathing is quick and shallow, his eye darting from shard to shard of the broken fidgets. He can't speak, the words trapped in his throat by the onslaught of sensory assault. His mind races, trying to find a way to escape the chaos that's invaded his safe space. Karen knows what this means for him, the turmoil that must be raging inside. Plankton's breath comes in short, sharp gasps, his body trembling with suppressed fury. The world around him is a cacophony of sounds and lights, his sensory overload reaching a new peak. He can't focus, his mind a blur of images and emotions.

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༺✿ڰۣڿ✿༻ LOVING MEMORY ༺✿ڰۣڿ✿༻

vicenarian (20–29) tricenarian (30–39) quadragenarian (40–49) semicentenarian (50) quinquagenarian (50–59) sexagenarian (60–69) septuagenarian (70–79) octogenarian (80–89) nonagenarian (90–99) ultracentenarian (100+) centenary semisupercentenarian (105–109) supercentenarian (110+) supracentenarian centevicenarian ages 120-129 ↓ below are unreached ages of human people ↓ sesquicentenarian (150–159) bicentenarian (200–299) multicentenarian (200+) tricentenarian (300–399) quadricentenarian (400–499) quincentenarian (500–599)

My family Story by Pansyk I died eight years ago. It wasn’t particularly tragic. Or unusual. Just a car accident. I don’t blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wife was in labor, and there was black ice on the road. He lost control of the car and I lost my life. It's not his fault. I know that. I’m not cruel. I am not vengeful. If anything, I’m the opposite.. ↓Keep reading ↓ 31ST OCT 2020 u/Pansyk I don’t blame the man who hit me. He was speeding because his wi҉fé was in labour, and lost control of the car and I lost my lįfe. It's not his fault. I am not vengeful. I’m the opposite. You see, I don’t have any family left and I had lost my few friends around that time. When it was time for my funeral, the only people who came was my boss and the family of the man who kılled me. The wi҉fé held her newborn daughter Lily close to her. I hated my boss, and the cemetery was awfully lonely, so I followed the family home. Lily may as well have been my own flesh and bľood. She was sweet, and bright, and oh so very small. She had trouble sleeping if someone wasn’t rocking her crib and her parents were so tired. After they put her to bed, it was easy for me to rock her crib for her. I didn’t get tired. I could help her. As the years passed, Jack and Lori realised that they weren’t alone in the house. It didn’t take long from there to make a connection between my funeral and when I had showed up. And I’d never been malevolent, so they weren’t afraid or angry. They started to burn candles on the anniversary of my dEath day. They left an empty chair for meals and holidays. I really felt like… A member of the family. Someone is trying to force the door. Its Lori’s ex. He’s obsessive. He’s angry. He’s going to hur͘t the family. My family. The thing about ghosts, is that the more offerings you get, the stronger you become. Id been enjoying candles, trinkets, and even the occasional food item for the past five years. I was strong from that. The kn1fe feels warm in my hand. A shock of heat against the ice of my skin. Lori, Jack, and Lily are my family. I care about them. And they’re not gonna join me yet.

https://www.wordexample.com/list/words-suffix-cide Foeticide, of a fetus Neonaticide, of a child during the first 24 hours of life Infanticide, an infant from month old to 12 months Avunculicide, one's uncle Fratricide, one's brother Mariticide, one's husband or significant other Matricide, one's mother Nepoticide, one's nephew Parricide, of one's close relative Patricide, of one's father Sororicide, of one's sister Uxoricide, of one's wife or girlfriend Nepticide, of one's niece Amiticide, of one's aunt Geronticide – the abandonment of the elderly to Senicide

░░░HAPPY░FATHER'S░DAY░░░ ▄▄▄░░▄▄░▄▄░░▄▄░░░▄░░▄▄░░ ░█░░███████░█░█░█░█░█░█░ ░█░░▀█████▀░█░█░█▄█░█░█░ ▄█▄░░░▀█▀░░░█▄▀░█░█░█▄▀░ I 🤍 DAD

July 27th, 2010, 3:46 AM Today, my boyfriend came over and met my parents. Then he left, and my Dad told me that my boyfriend loved me. I smiled and asked, “How do you know?” He said, “Because he looks at you the same way I look at your Mother.” Love GMH

https://www.reddit.com/r/FullEpisodesOfSB/

Repost this If you miss someone right now. July 27, 2015

𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝔀𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓲𝔃𝓮: 𝓫𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓶𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 & 𝓫𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂'𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓮. ଓ

Go to shortscarystories r/shortscarystories 2 yr. ago GuyAwks More Unsolicited Parenting Advice We’ve all run into those insufferable types before in our lives. You know the kind. Total strangers who somehow think they’ve earned the right to micro-manage how you raise your kids just seconds after meeting you. And the kicker is when they aren’t even parents themselves. What would they know? After a long afternoon of dropping items into a shopping cart, me and my preschooler had almost finished the weekly grocery haul. We were on our way to the checkout counter when a lady at a near- by promotional kiosk summoned my attention. “Hello ma’am, could I please have a moment of your time?” the apron-clad woman chirped from behind her booth. Spying the unfinished Coke Zero can Ivy was drinking, this lady scrunched up her face in disapproval. The next words out of her mouth made my blood boil. “I see that your little princess is drinking a canned soda. Ooh, that’s not so great. Have you considered trying our special, 100% natural vitamin juices? Here, try a sample.” Instantly, her hand shot out with a small plastic cup filled with liquid. Taken aback by her boldness I tried to remain somewhat polite. “Thank you, but we’re not interested,” I answered curtly. Something was so unsettling about her fake smile and shrill enthusiasm. “A girl as young as her shouldn’t be drinking soda. It’s full of sugars and unhealthy preservatives. Let me throw that away for you-” Without any hesitation, she reached down to pry the can out of my daughter’s hands. I could not believe the audacity of this woman. “Excuse me!” I snapped, finally losing my composure. “How dare you try and take my daughter’s drink!” “But miss, this is much healthier for your angel,” protested the creepy woman waving her strange-looking syrup at us. “Surely you don’t want her to be sickened by all those dangerous chemicals-” “If you don’t leave us alone, I will report you to the supervisor!” With that, we turned and began strolling away from said relentless salesperson. Only once we were in- to the parking lot did I feel myself calming down. Gosh, that lady really freaked me out. What are the odds someone would randomly try to discard my daughter’s soda on today of all days. The one day I chose to put poisson in it. That rare, traceless toxin I slipped into her soda can earlier today cost me a fortune to order from overseas. The bubbles from the carbonation mask any taste of the thing, making it the perfect delivery system for it. My oblivious daughter would've been dēαd within the hour.. Oh, how I wish people would keep their parenting advice to themselves. It’s not needed. I know how to kıll my own kid just fine, thank you very much!

r/TwoSentenceHorror 2 hr. ago villianrules After taking the ancestry test I discovered that I was related to a serial killer. It makes me so proud of continuing the legacy.

Jan 1, 2011 9:47 PM Mom <Your great aunt just passed away. LOL Why is that funny?> <It's not funny! Wht do you mean? Mom lol means laughing out loud!> <Oh goodness!! I sent that to everyone I thought it meant lots of love.

i turned to the guy who k1lled my wife ✨ He cried so desperately, scared for what was to come. If only he had talked to me and tried to reason, maybe I could have spared him. But that was impossible. After all, he was born just a few moments ago...

Do need the pap smear test if a virg!n and/or not s*xual active? You may not necessarily require, unless... You want to plan on having offspring To check for as*ault (such as ab*se) A family relation has had female reproductive cancer if contemplating feticidal abort1on If getting some reproductive apparatus if any of the above applies to you, the circumstances might be different regarding whether or not you as a virg!n should get one if you're not active The pap smear test only checks for cancers caused by the hpv transmitted virus which is transmitted vía such contact If you're not virg!n you may have hpv (said cancer causing virus, which the pap checks you for) dormant in your system

r/shortscarystories 4 yr. ago RVKony Join The Blind Child "Stãbbing." Sylvia pointed a trembling finger at my brother Arthur. Her milky, unseeing eyes gleamed in his direction, and his wife, Agnes, trembled with indignation from across the table. My husband's face colored as he dropped his fork and dragged our daughter back into her bedroom, scolding her as they went. The rest of the night was awkward, and the pep in our conversation never recovered. Two weeks later, Agnes was st*bbed to dEath in her office parking lot. An college student found her, and called the cops. My brother swore that he bore no ill will against my daughter, but I could tell that he was lying. One day, the middle-aged woman who taught my daughter how to read her braille called me. "Ma'am, I don't know what's going on but your daughter's been whispering, 'electrocution, electrocution,' for the past half-hour and it's starting to distract her from her lessons. Could you please talk to her?" I did. Sylvia, in her nine-year-old lack of understanding, told me it was "just a cool new word" she learnt at school. The dEath of an electrician made headlines the following week. It was a freak accident involving tangled wires and a bucket of water. Sylvia's teacher's face was blurred for privacy, but her voice was as familiar as anything to me: "He was…my partner…my soulmate." While my husband was working late, I called Sylvia into the living room. "Honey, is there anything Mommy should know?" She hesitated. "Honey, you know you can talk to me." She denied it once more, "I have no secrets from you, Mommy." My husband walked into the living room with his hair tousled and his eyes distant. Instead of rushing to hug her dad, Sylvia simply turned towards him. "Fire," she said. My heart stopped. Everytime Sylvia said something like that, it was the person's partner who d1ed, and of that reason too. A fire? Was Sylvia merely making predictions, or was she cûrsêd on me for snooping in on her business? Why, this dēvıl child— I grew paranoid, checked the appliances and electronics constantly, and cleared the house of any fire hazards. That was my lįfe over the next few days. All the while, I kept my eyes on Sylvia. Sylvia. I had grown almost hateful towards my own daughter. My husband came home one night, wounded and blackened with soot, while I sat in the living room and Sylvia listened to the radio beside me. "What's the matter?" I asked. He gulped. "One of my colleagues, her house…her house caught fire. She was trapped in, but I managed to escape." That turned the gears in my head. "What were you doing in her house?" The expression on my husband's face was a sufficient admission of guilt. I opened my mouth to speak—no, to scream—but a smaller voice from beside me looked at me and whispered: "Poisoning."

http://www.celticcousins.net/scott/stmaryscem.htm

I found myself opening a door in the basement and then I saw the endless cavern of hour-glasses as far as the eye could see. The closest to the door had the names of my family members etched on them. I saw the sand in my parent’s hour-glasses about to run out. I called them and told them to not get on the plane. The sand in the hour-glasses refilled. —Human_Gravy

July 1974, Neville Ebbin was knocked off his small motorcycle and killed by a taxi in Hamilton, Bermuda.⠀ 🚩⠀ One year later in July 1975, his brother, Erskine Lawrence Ebbin was knocked off the same motorcycle by the same taxi with the same driver, carrying the same passenger, on the same street that had killed his brother, Neville.⠀ ⠀ Both brothers were 17 when they died.

“I came home from a hard day of work only to find my girlfriend holding our child. I didn’t know which was more horrifying, seeing my dead girlfriend and child, or knowing someone put them there.” -Edwin Reifer

🔵 The first man to drown during the building of the Hoover was J.G. Tierney, on December 20, 1922. The final man to during the project was Patrick W. Tierney, his son, in 1935 - - also on December 20. 🔵

𝓘'𝓶 𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓪 𝓜𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻, 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓱 𝓘 𝔀𝓪𝓼𝓷'𝓽 𝓪 𝓖𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 ~ 𝓾𝓷𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀𝓷

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 2 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Hanna leaned forward, her screen studying Plankton. "How can I he--" "Space," Karen said, cutting Hanna off gently. "Give him space. Sometimes, that's what he needs most." Hanna nods, leaning back. Chip watched his dad with a newfound understanding of his father's struggles. He felt a tug of guilt for not seeing it sooner, for not knowing how to support him. But he also felt a sense of awe at his mom's patience and knowledge. The room was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of Plankton's rocking. Karen watched him, her eyes full of love and concern. She knew his brain was a maze of thoughts and sensations, trying to make sense of a world that was often too much. Hanna, now more cautious, observed from a distance, trying to understand the complexities of autism. She felt a newfound respect for Karen and the unspoken strength she had to navigate this life with her husband. "I'm sorry," Plankton finally managed to say, his voice still shaky. Karen looked over at him, seeing the turmoil in his eye. "You don't have to—" But her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and recognized the text from Plankton's dentist for a dental appointment to get his x-ray. "Hanna, I hate to ask," Karen started, looking apologetic. "But could you possibly keep an eye on Chip for a bit?" Hanna looked from Plankton to Karen. "Of course!" she said without a second thought. "What's going on?" Karen sighs. "I'll keep you updated, but Plankton needs to get x- rays at the dentist..." Plankton's eye snapped back to focus at the mention of dentists. Dentist visits had always been a challenge. But Karen was already thinking ahead. "It's ok honey," she soothed. "We'll make sure they know about yo--" She turned to Plankton to see an oncoming absence seizure. "Plankton, it's ok," she cooed, but it was too late. The world around him faded into a blur of lights and sounds, his body frozen in a state of overwhelm. Hanna watched, horrified, as Plankton's eye is now unblinking, his body unmoving. Hanna was still, gaze fixed on Plankton, fear etched on her screen. She'd never seen anything like this before. But Karen was in action, her movements swift and practiced. She knew exactly what to do. "You're ok, Plankton. You're just having an absence. It'll be over soon." Chip watched, his own fear mirroring Hanna's. But there was something else there, too: understanding. He knew his mom was right, that his dad would come back to them. The seizure passed, and Plankton blinked back to reality. "Let's get to this appointment." Karen says, helping him stand. When Karen arrives with Plankton to the dentist's office, the receptionist smiles brightly. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice chirpy and cheerful. Plankton flinches at the noise, his eye darting around the room, taking in every detail, every sound. The waiting room was a minefield of sensory assaults: the ticking clock, the humming of the lights, the rustle of magazines. Karen squeezes his hand gently, a silent reminder that she's there, that he's not alone. When they call his name, Plankton's grip tightens. The smell of antiseptic and the sight of the chair sends a tremor through his body. But Karen guides him through the door. In the sterile room, the dental hygienist is kind. "Hello, I'm Dr. Marla," she says, her voice measured and calm. "We're gonna take some pictures of your teeth, okay?" Plankton nods, his eye wide with anxiety. "Okay," he whispers. Karen squeezes his hand reassuringly, nodding at Dr. Marla. "He's nervous," she says quietly as he rocks in a stim. "But he'll be okay." The chair is cold and hard, but Plankton doesn't notice. He's too busy focusing on his breathing, counting the tiles on the ceiling. Karen stays close, whispering calming phrases. "In and out, honey. You've got this." His rocking slows. Dr. Marla moves with a practiced grace, her eyes watchful and understanding. "Open wide," she instructs, and Plankton obeys. The x-ray is over quickly, and Dr. Marla gently removes the tray. "Good job," she says, her voice soothing. Plankton's eye flutters as he tries to refocus on the room around him. But the calm is shattered when Dr. Marla delivers the news: "Mr. Plankton, you're going to need your wisdom teeth removed today." Plankton's eye widens, his breath catches. "Now?" he stammers, his voice squeaking with fear. Karen nods solemnly. "It's preventative, honey. It'll be easier now than waiting for them to cause problems later." Plankton's heart races as the words sink in. Surgery. Now. His brain spirals into overload. He feels Karen's calming hand on his shoulder, but it's not enough. The world around him feels like it's closing in, the sounds too loud, the lights too bright. "Breathe," Karen whispers. The room becomes a blur of masked faces and shiny instruments. Plankton's body tenses, his stims fading into the background as fear takes over. Karen remains a constant presence, talking him through the process. "They're going to put you to sleep, Plankton," she explains. "You won't feel a thing." The anesthesiologist enters the room, a gentle giant with a calming smile. "I'm Dr. Smith. I'll be taking care of y—" But Plankton's gone into overdrive, his body trembling with the intensity of his fear. "He's autistic," Karen interjects quickly. "He needs extra care. He's sensitive to sensory stimulation." Dr. Marla nods. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Smith, takes a step back, his face a picture of understanding. "It's ok," he says, his voice a gentle rumble. "We'll make this as comfortable as possible for you." Karen nods gratefully. "Plankton has a hard time with sudden changes. Can you tell us what's going to happen?" Dr. Smith nods. "We'll start with a topical numbing agent, then move to a sedative. It'll help keep him asleep during the procedure." The anesthetic cream is cold against Plankton's gums and his arm, where the IV will eventually be. "It's just a tickle," Karen says, trying to soothe his nerves. Plankton nods, his body stiff as a board. He's already in fight or flight mode, his brain unable to process. The mask is placed over his face, and he inhales the sweet smell of nitrous oxide. "Breathe deep," Karen coos, her hand on his. Plankton's eye widens at first, then slowly glazed over as the gas takes hold. The room seems to spin around him, but it's a comforting, soothing spin. The lights dim, the sounds become muffled, and the sharp edges of the world soften. He feels himself being lifted into the chair, his body weightless. Karen's voice is the last thing he hears before everything disappears. Karen texts Hanna. "I'm letting you know, Plankton's getting a tiny operation to remove his wisdom teeth." Karen texts. When the surgery finishes, Plankton is still asleep with Karen holding his limp hand. The dental staff is extra careful not to startle his sensitive system. They wheel him into recovery, his chest rising and falling evenly with the rhythm of sleep. Karen watches him closely, their bond stronger than ever. Hanna's text lights up her phone screen. "How's everything?" Hanna asks. "He's in recovery," Karen replies in the text. Meanwhile, Hanna and Chip are at the park, trying to pass the time. Chip throws a frisbee to Hanna. As the frisbee arcs through the air, he thinks about his dad. He wishes he could be there, but he knows that his mom's calmness is what Plankton needs right now. He wonders how the surgery went, if his dad is ok. Now, the dentist turns to Karen. "The anesthesia will wear off soon. He'll wake up groggy, but he'll be ok." Karen nods, squeezing Plankton's hand as they remove the IV. "His mouth has been numbed, and he might act a bit loopy when he first wakes up." As the anesthesia wears off, Plankton stirs, his eye blinking open. "Hi, honey," Karen says softly. "It's over."

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.

𝓫𝓾𝓼 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓹 𝓸𝓯 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝐍𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐥, 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 & 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓹 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 -𝓲𝓷 𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

r/TwoSentenceHorror 34 min. ago MistStarz “Sweetie, dolls don’t move on ıt's own,” mother comforted her terrıfıed daughter. “So just sit sti̕ll while I stitch your prettɥ lıttle møuth up.”

July 1996 . Twins can be conjoined at the: Abdomen (omphalopagus). Chest (thoracopagus). Top of head down to the belly button, facing each other (cephalopagus). Head only (craniopagus). Pelvis, facing each other (ischiopagus). Pelvis, side-to-side (parapagus). Rump-to-rump (pygopagus). Vertebral column (rachipagus). Generally, parapagus are conjoined at the upper chest. Parapagus, united laterally, always share a conjoined pelvis with one or two sacrums and one symphysis pubis. Dithoracic parapagus is when the two chests are separated, and the fusion is confined to the pelvis and abdomen. Dicephalic parapagus is if there is the union of the entire trunk but not the heads. The heart, liver, and diaphragm are fused, but there is a duplication of the respiratory tract and upper digestive tract; the viscera organs are fused. There are two arms, two legs, and two complete vertebral column and spinal cord. The number of limbs varies from 4 to 7, rarely with four legs. Generally, each lung is present in a separate lung cavity. The fusion of lungs is very rare. The alignment of the conjoined pelvis is diagnostic-one complete pelvic ring, with a single anterior pubic symphysis, and with two laterally fused sacral bones, and predominantly only one rectum. Ischiopagi are united ventrally extending from the umbilicus down to a sizeable conjoined pelvis with two symphyses pubis and two sacrum. Craniopagus can be united at any portion of the skull except at the face and the foramen magnum. Pygopagus varieties are joined dorsally; sharing the sacrococcygeal and perineal regions, sometimes even involving the spinal cord. Rachipagus twins are united dorsally above the sacrum. The union may also include the occiput. The cephalopagus varients are fused from the umbilicus to the top of the head. The pelvis and lower abdomen are usually not fused. Thoracopagus are united face-to-face from the upper thorax down till the umbilicus. Omphalopagus are primarily United at the umbilical region aligned face to face. The pelvis is not united. The pure parapagus is two heads, two hands, two legs, two hearts and two pairs of lungs. Conjoined twins are classified on the basis of the union's site, with the suffix pagus meaning fixed or fastened. The twins can have four (tetrapus), three (tripus), or two (bipus) legs. Cephalopagus: The twins often have a fused thorax in addition to a fused head. The single fused head may have two faces (janiceps) Cephalothoracopagus twinning is characterized by the anterior union of the upper half of the body, with two faces angulated variably on a conjoined head. The anomaly is occasionally known as janiceps, named after the two-faced Roman god Janus. The prognosis is extremely poor because surgical separation is not an option, in that only a single brain and a single heart are present and the gastrointestinal (GI) tracts are fused. Craniopagus: The conjoined twins share the skull, meninges, and venous sinuses Ischiopagus: The twins may lie face to face or end to end Pygopagus: The twins are joined dorsally, sharing the sacrococcygeal and perineal regions Rachipagus: The twins generally have vertebral anomalies and neural tube defects. Thoracopagus: The twins lie face to face and share the sternum, diaphragm, upper abdomen wall, and liver and have an exomphalos

22 years ago, a 16 year old girl was pregnant with a baby. Understanding the circumstances, her parents told her to abort or be disowned. Her best friend - her 18 year old neighbour - although he was not the father, stepped into the father figures shoes. They got married 2 years later. Mom and Dad, your love for me, and for each other, GMH. Dec 1st, 2014

In 1989 a woman gave birth to a girl who had down syndrome, and a hole in her heart and stomach. She died 3 years later. Her next child was miscarried. She got pregnant again and was told to have an abortion that refused even though she knew the risks were high for her and the baby. Here I am 14 years later, perfectly healthy. Mom, your LGMH Dec 1st, 2014

Terms for the Mvrder of Loved Ones Amicicide: of one’s friend (amicus - friend) Avunculicide: of one’s uncle (avunculus - maternal uncle) Familicide: of one’s family (spouse and children) (familia - family) Filicide: of one’s daughter or son (filia - daughter; filius - son) Fratricide: of one’s brother (or sibling) (frater - brother; fratrem - sibling) Mariticide: of one’s husband (or spouse) (maritus - husband, spouse) Matricide: of one’s mother (mater - mother) Neonaticide: of one’s newborn child (neo - new; natus - born) Patricide: of one’s father (pater - father) Prolicide: of one’s offspring (proles - offspring) Senicide: of one’s elder (senes - elderly; senex - old man) Sororicide: of one’s sister (soror - sister) Uxoricide: of one’s wife (uxor - wife, spouse) Amiticide: of one’s aunt (amita - paternal aunt) Aniclicide: of one’s female elder (anicla - old woman) Avicide: of one’s grandparent (avia - grandmother; avus - grandfather) Conjicide: of one’s spouse (conjux, coniux - spouse, husband, wife) Nepticide: of one’s niece (nepti - niece)

WIFE "Honey, I'm home!" I yelled, seeing my wife sitting at the dinner table already. "Nice to see you." her voice shook, a plastic smile stuck on her face. "It was a long day at work. Hey, do you mind maybe checking out upstairs? I saw your clothes strewn around...' I shrug, and start to eat dinner. "Of course!" A fuller, bigger smile. She races upstairs, and I continue eating. escarysories It's been quite a while, does it really take that long to put away clothes? So I tiptoe upstairs, and hear panicked whispering. *9111 Yes okay, this man thinks I'm his wife and.. ohmygod he's coming! My address j.* "What's going on, honey?" She screams as I impale the knife into her chest.

KAREN OF HAMPSHIRE One Thursday in January 1991, 20 year old Karen became ill with sickness and diarrhoea. Although she was not aware of the connection, she was having a period and using tampons. She called the doctor who initially diagnosed gastro-enteritis and gave her some medicine. Karen continued vomiting, suffered severe diarrhoea and was in agony, and on Sunday the doctor suspected appendicitis and she was rushed to hospital. As she was severely dehydrated, Karen was immediately put on a drip, whilst the diagnosis was being made. The next morning (Monday), Karen felt fine and was laughing and joking with her parents. However, her mother noticed that her breathing was laboured and that she had a red rash on her leg. But by 3 pm, Karen's condition worsened and she was given oxygen. By 9 pm she had lapsed into unconsciousness and transferred to Intensive Care. The medical staff did not know what was causing the problem, although toxic shock was considered. She had 15 tubes going into and out of her. At 10 pm Karen suffered a cardiac arrest, and the IC staff resuscitated her, but her condition was critical. At 1 am on the Tuesday morning, Karen had a last injection to stimulate her blood flow, and her parents were told that this was her last hope. Tragically, Karen died at 2.15 am. Posted 30/12/2000

☢;;❝OН МY ĸΑREɴ. OН МY ĸΑREɴ. OН...МY COМPUТER WΙҒE ĸΑREɴ!❞ ⁽ ᴷᵃʳᵉᶰ ⁾

🧪 || ᵃᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ ᴵ ᶜᵃᶰ ᵍᵒ ʰᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ʷᶤᶠᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵘᶰᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃᶰᵈˢˑ || ‎‍🧪

ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⠘ [ᵛⁱᵃ ᵐᵉᵍᵃᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ] ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⸴ ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵐᵉ? ᵀᵃˡᵏ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ⸴ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈⁱᵍⁱᵗⁱᶻᵉᵈ ᵈᵒᵒᶠᵘˢ! ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⠘ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⸴ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ʳᵉˢᵖᵒⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ⁱⁿˢᵘˡᵗˢ‧ ᴾˡᵃⁿᵏᵗᵒⁿ⠘ [ᵛⁱᵃ ᵐᵉᵍᵃᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ; ˢⁱᵍʰˢ] ᴼᵏᵃʸ‧ ᴶᵘˢᵗ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃⁿʸ ᵈᵉˢᵗʳᵘᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵒˡˡᵒʷ ⁱᵗ‧ ᔆʷᵉᵉᵗʰᵉᵃʳᵗ‧ ᔆᵖᵒⁿᵍᵉᴮᵒᵇ⠘ ᴳᵒᵗ ⁱᵗ⸴ ᴴᵒⁿᵉʸ‧

r/shortscarystories 10 hr. ago KieranWriter Family Photo The father stood at the front of the family photo and beamed a huge smile. The kids were seated in front of the father on little stools. His wife Deborah was at his side and he had his arms around her. The camera was an automatic one the father had set before quickly running to get in to the frame. Click. Big smiles. The father walked over to the camera. Just one more. Click. Big smiles. It was done. A perfect family portrait. Get this up in a frame and he can take it with him wherever he goes... The father put the kids to their beds and then his wife in front of the TV. It was Desperate Housewives; her favourite! It made the father smile. Don’t worry dear, I’ll do the dishes. I’ll load the washing. You just watch TV. The father was a perfect husband. He did everything that he said he would. A real whizz around the house. The house was sparkling by the time he had finished. There was a chime on Deborah’s phone. It was her sister Mary - Hey, not heard from you all day. You ok? Deborah won’t mind, I will just shoot off a short message so that Mary isn’t too alarmed. - Hey all good, just watching TV, really tired. Long day. Off to bed soon xx. It’s fine. They look at each other’s phones all the time. There’s trust in this relationship. A reply from Mary - OK call me tomorrow xx The father thought for a moment, just a moment, a flicker of worry, then replied - sorry better I don’t, I’ve caught a bad sore throat. The father went into the living room to Deborah and gave her a big kiss on the forehead... The next day, the father puts the frame up in the hallway, it will be the first thing that people will see when they walk into the house - the beautiful family, everybody’s dream... Then he spent about an hour mowing the lawn. After everything around the house was sorted, the father knew he could relax, finally relax and that the pressure was on for anything unexpected visits, so they don't walk into a dirty home... He got into the car and took it out of the garage, turned it around and hit the road heading out of suburbs and through the city. He loved his family, he really did, but sometimes a man needs a change and this father needs a fresh start. It wasn’t his first change of scenery. He looked at the copy of the picture of his wife and kids on the dash board and he felt a stab of pain... If only he had taken that picture when they were still alive...

r/TwoSentenceHorror 11 hr. ago SkullStar “I only want two kids; no more, no less”, my husband reassured me as I smiled. The twins went inside the house and as my husband's pregnant mistress crossed the street, my foot pressed on the gas pedal.

I was at my friends house, whose 5yr old little brother died very recently due to a fire. He lived with his aunt and uncle. At dinner, his 4yr old cousin blessed the meal. "Dear God, thank you for this meal. And I know your keeping Brenden safe. Never stop playing with him. Amen." Little kids GMH Mar 23, 2011 at 11:30pm by Carly, AR

https://www.bassettbranches.org/tng/getperson.php?personID=I9186&tree=14B Francis Edmund Bessette Male 1904 - 1917 (~ 12 years) Name Francis Edmund Bessette Father Augustin Seymour Bessette, b. 1870, d. 28 Aug 1948 (Age 78 years) Mother Marie Louise Poulin Born Jul 1904 Richford, Vermont Gender Male Died 1917 Richford, Vermont The Bennington Evening Banner, Friday, October 10, 1919 Boy Suffocates In Elevator Head Forced Between Knees When Caught in Pit by Descending Car Richford, Oct. 8 ? Edmund (Edward?) Bessette, the 15-year-old son of Mr. and Mrs. Seymour Bessette, died of suffocation shortly after six o?clock tonight in a very unusual accident, his body being caught between the bottom of an elevator pit and the descending elevator, which forced his head between his knees and shut off his breath. The accident happened as the lad went down to the basement of the Sweat Comings building for the purpose of getting some cracked ice to put in ice cream tanks for he Corliss Candy Kitchen where he was emplo9yed after school hours. The buckets were filled with ice and it is supposed that the boy pulled the cable starting the elevator down and it pushed him under it. The accident was discovered when the boy failed to show up. H.H. Comings, first selectman, and Dr. R. M. Pelton were summoned and removed the body to the undertaking rooms of Powell & Comings, where and examination was held. No broken bones or even abrasions were discovered on the body and death was found due to suffocation. Buried All Saints Cemetery, Richford, Vermont https://www.bassettbranches.org/tng/getperson.php?personID=I9186&tree=14B

Today my aunt found out she's having a girl She told me she was upset, I asked why She said "I don't think anyone can live up to be as great as you, but then I remember that she will have you to look up to and to become as wonderful" My aunts love for me GMH:) Jul 15, 2013 at 4:00am by Ashley S

Yesterday I saw a mother and daughter studying for a big test, and the daughter has a disability . A man at the restaurant paid for their dinner and said, " God bless you for taking the time and working with YOUR daughter, and not paying someone else to do it". Loving families like this GMH ! Mar 22, 2011 at 3:00am by Morgan E, Nashville, TN

Go to TwoSentenceHorror r/TwoSentenceHorror 13 hr. ago Classic-Dog8399 ˢᶜʳᵒˡˡ ᵖˡˢ ⬇️ When I picked up my daughter from the mental institution, something was off about her. It was not just the feeling in my soul, but the stitches across her forehead.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 9 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton stands up and storms off to the bedroom, his steps heavy. The door slams shut behind him, the finality of it echoing through the house. Chip's eyes fill with tears, and he sinks to the floor, feeling like he's failed his dad. Karen sighs. "Chip," she says, her voice soft as she sits beside him. "Your dad's just really sensitive about his autism." She takes his hand. "You have to remember, it's not just something he can turn on or off." Chip nods, feeling small. He didn't mean to upset his dad. He just wanted to help, like Timmy had helped him. He thinks back to their lunchtime chat, Timmy's hands flapping freely as he talked about his 'superpowers'. It had made his dad's stims seem less like a 'problem' and more like something unique, something to celebrate. But now, Chip isn't so sure. He looks up at Karen, his eyes wet. "But Mom," he says, his voice cracking. "Today at school, I met a kid named Timmy. He said he's autistic, and gave me this book. He said this book makes him feel like a superhero. He told me the book made him feel seen, understood." Karen nods, listening intently as Chip speaks. "And I thought...maybe it could help Dad feel the same way," Chip continues, his voice trailing off. Karen's gaze softens. "You had good intentions, Chip," she says, squeezing his hand. "But everyone's different, even those with autism. What might help one person might not be the same for another. It's like a fingerprint—each one is unique." "But Timmy said it helps him," Chip argues, his voice small. Karen nods. "And that's wonderful for Timmy," she says. "But your dad's experience is his own. He's not as comfortable with it as Timmy might be. Autism is like a mosaic, Chip. Each piece is different, and they all come together to make a unique picture." She pauses, searching his eyes. "You can't always assume what works for one will work for another." Chip wipes his screen with the back of his hand, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. He didn't mean to make his dad feel worse. He just wanted to share something positive. "What do we do?" He asks, his voice cracking. Karen takes a deep breath. "We need to talk to him," she says. "We need to tell him that we love him exactly as he is, without conditions." She stands. They approach the bedroom door, Karen's hand on the knob. "But remember," she whispers to Chip. "He's fragile right now. We have to be gentle." They step inside, the room dimly lit. Plankton's lying on the bed, his back to them, his body still. Chip's heart squeezes. This isn't the invincible scientist he's always known. This is his dad, a man who's been hurt by misunderstanding. Karen clears her throat. "Plankton, we need to talk." Plankton doesn't move. "I'm sorry, Karen," he says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just don't have the energy for this right now." Chip's heart aches. He's never seen his dad so defeated. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he's about to say. "Dad," he starts, his voice soft. "I'm sorry." Plankton's body tenses but doesn't turn around. "I didn't mean to make fun of you or make light of your autism. I just wanted to show you that someone else out there is just li—" "I don't want to be like someone else," Plankton says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I just want to be me." Chip swallows hard, his eyes prickling with tears. "But Dad," he says, "you are like someone else. You're like my new friend. His name's Timmy, an-" "I don't know or care WHO Timmy is," Plankton cuts in, his voice sharp. "I'm Plankton." He rolls over to face them, his eye red. "I'm not a kid playing pretend. I'm a grown man trying to navigate a world that's always two steps ahead of me." Chip feels his heart crack. He'd never thought of it that way. "But what if you could see it as a strength?" He asks, his voice hopeful. "What if instead of trying to keep up, you could be the one setting the p-" "Setting the pace?" Plankton's voice is bitter. "How can I set the pace when I can't even keep up?" His words hang in the air, each one a sharp reminder of his daily battles. Chip feels his throat constrict. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking. "I just wanted to help, like, you see my friend Tim-" "I don't need to be compared to a child's book! And what does 'Timmy' have to do wi-" "It's not just a book, Dad," Chip says, his voice firm. "It's about understanding that autism isn't a flaw or a joke, it's just...part of who you are. And Timmy, he's like a superhero because he's found a way to turn his challenge into strengths, on account of he has autis–" But Plankton cuts him off with a sharp laugh. "A strength?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "What strength? My inability to not get overwhelmed by sounds and lights? My inability to read people's faces?" He sits up, his frustration palpable. "Don't you get it, Chip? This isn't something I can just 'turn on' or 'turn off'. It's my reality, my every day. And Timmy...Timmy might be fine with playing games about his, but I'm NOT." His voice is heavy with pain. Chip's heart feels like it's in his throat. He's never seen his dad like this, so raw and exposed. He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Plankton's words hang in the air like a challenge, demanding to be heard. "Dad," he finally says, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry if I made it seem like a joke. I just...I just wanted to show you that you're not alone." He holds up the book, his hands shaking. "Timmy's not alone either. And neither are you." He takes a deep breath. "Maybe we could find our own way to make your autism feel like a su—" But Plankton's had enough. He stands, his small frame trembling with frustration. "I don't need your pity, Chip," he says, his voice sharp. "I need you to understand that this isn't some game. This is my life!" With a sudden burst of strength, Plankton snatches the book from Chip's hands. Chip's eyes widen in shock, watching his dad's anger manifest physically as he tears the pages one by one. "This is not who I am!" Plankton says, his voice shaking with each ripping sound. "I'm not a character for you to relate to or feel good about!" Karen stands there, frozen, her hand covering her mouth in shock as Plankton throws the book across the room. The silence that follows is deafening. Chip's screen is wet with tears, his chest tight. He's never seen his dad this way before— so raw and so hurt. He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. "Dad, I--" But Plankton holds up his hand. "Just...just go," he says, his voice hoarse. Chip picks up the torn book on his way out.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 6 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth moves, but the words come out as a jumble. "Purple...dog...car... no, not a car," he says, his expression vacant. Chip swallows hard, not knowing how to respond to the senseless words. Karen watches from the sidelines, her eyes filled with understanding and love. This is her Plankton—her quirky, lovable husband, whose brain operates on a different frequency. She sees the fear in Chip's screen and knows he's scared, but she also knows that understanding is key. "It's ok, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice trembling. Plankton's hands move erratically, as if trying to capture invisible objects. "Yellow...box... closed...open," he mumbles. Chip listens, his heart racing. "Dad, can you hear me?" he whispers. Plankton's hand darts out, flailing through the air. "Butterfly," he says, his voice a mix of wonder and frustration. "There are no butterflies here," Chip says. Karen smiles reassuringly. "It's ok. Let's just be with him." Plankton's words continue. "Plankton," Plankton murmurs, "the world is spinning—no, it's just me spinning." He laughs, his eye unfocused. Chip swallows a lump in his throat. "Dad," Chip whispers, "are you seeing things?" Karen sighs, knowing this is a way his brain copes with pain and overstimulation. "Sometimes his thoughts come out all mixed up," she says, her voice a gentle explanation. "It's like his brain's way of telling stories when it's overwhelmed." "Ball...bounce...high," Plankton murmurs, his hand mimicking the action of throwing an invisible object. "No, Dad," Chip says, trying to keep his voice soothing. "No bouncing here." He looks to Karen for guidance. "It's alright," she says, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "Just talk to him calmly. It's his way of making sense of things." Chip nods, his voice barely above a breath. "Ball," he repeats back to his father, trying to enter his world. Plankton's eye snaps to him, a spark of recognition lighting his gaze. "Yes," he murmurs. "Ball...bounce." Karen watches them, her heart swelling with pride. Chip is learning, adapting. He's becoming a bridge between the worlds of the neurotypical and neurodivergent. "Red ball," Plankton says, his hand rising and falling as if tossing a non-existent sphere. "No, blue ball," he corrects, the words tumbling out in a rush. Chip nods, playing along. "You're playing catch, Dad?" he asks, his voice softer now. Plankton's gaze flickers to him, confused. "Catch," he whispers, his hand moving in slow arcs. "But it's not a ball," Chip says, his voice filled with gentle persuasion. "It's just a game you're playing in your head.." Plankton's hand stops, his gaze locking onto Chip, a hint of irritation flitting across his features. "What?" Plankton asks, his voice disoriented as his surroundings finally come back to him. Chip swallows, unsure of what to say. He wants to help, but feels frustrated by his dad's behavior. "You know, Dad, when you talk like that, it's hard to understand," he says, his voice carrying a touch of exasperation. "You're not really playing catch, are you?" Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his movements stilling. "It's not real to anyone else!" Chip exclaims, his voice louder than he intended. Karen gives him a sharp look, a reminder to keep his voice down. "Chip," she says, her tone a mixture of warning and patience. "You know his autism makes things different for him." But Chip's thinking of the fidget toy, of the way his dad snatched it from him. He feels a surge of anger, a feeling he's not used to having towards his dad. "I know, but why does he have to be like this?" Chip asks, his voice a mix of frustration and hurt. "Why can't he just be normal?" Karen's gaze softens. "Chip, everyone's normal is different. Your dad's brain just works in a unique way. It's not wrong, just di-" "But it's annoying!" Chip interrupts, his voice cracking. "Everything's always about his needs!" Plankton's hand, which had been still, starts to twitch again. Karen sighs. "It's not about needs, it's about his comfort, Chip. And right now, he--" "But what about my comfort?" Chip retorts, his voice loud in the quiet room. "What about when he yells or throws things or gets upset because of tiny stuff?" He's close to tears, his emotions a tangled knot. "Dad, everything's not about you," he says, not meaning to sound harsh. But the words hang in the air like accusations. "Everyone has to deal with things," he continues. "Why can't you? You don't really have it that bad. Do you honestly think your wife, my mother, actually enjoys all of this? I can't even play with my friends because you get too overwhelmed! And for what? Because someone might laugh too loud or because the TV's on too high? Do you know how embarrassing it is to have to leave because you can't handle a science fair?" Karen's face falls. She's heard Chip's frustrations before, but never so raw and out in the open. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind racing to understand. He's missed the context, but the anger in Chip's voice is clear. "Chip," she starts, her voice steady. "Your dad's brain is just wired differently. It's not his fault." But Chip's on a roll. "I know, I know," he says, his frustration mounting. "But it's like he doesn't even try to get better. Why can't he just ignore it like everyone else? Why can't we take him to a doctor who can fix him?" Plankton's hand stutters to a stop, his gaze focusing on Chip with a mix of hurt and confusion. "Fix me?" he repeats, his voice tiny. "What do you mean?" "I don't know," Chip says, his shoulders slumping. "Just... make it so you're not always in pain or scared or...weird." He can't look at his dad, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Living like this, with all your autistic stuff, it's just..." He trails off, his voice cracking. "It's not worth it." Plankton's hand starts to shake. "W-what?" He asks, his voice shaky. Karen's heart breaks for him, for the hurt that's clearly etched on his face. "Chip," she starts, but his words cut her off. "It's like you don't even see us," Chip says, his voice filled with pain. "You're in your own world, and we're just here, trying to figure out how to help you." Plankton's expression is a mask of confusion and sadness. "Did my mom marry you before or after she found out you're autistic?" Chip asks, his voice sharp with accusation. Karen's eyes widen in shock. "Chip!" She says, her voice firm. "That's not how we talk about it. And I knew before.." But Chip's hurt, has turned to anger, and he's not listening. "But it's true!" Chip insists, his voice rising. "You always have to be in charge, Dad, always have to have it your way. It's like you don't even see us!" Plankton's face pales, the words stinging like bees. "Chip, please," Karen interjects, her voice pleading. But Chip can't stop, the frustration of years boiling over. "Why can't you just be like everyone else? Why do you always have to be so difficult?" Plankton's hand drops to his side, his eye filling with sadness. "I'm sor—" Karen steps in, her voice firm. "Chip, that's enough. Your dad is doing his best." But Chip's anger is like a storm, unyielding. "Best? What about our best? What about us? It's always about you, Dad!" Plankton's face contorts, the pain in his heart as sharp as the pain in his mouth. "Dad, we don't need you," Chip says, his words a knife to Plankton's soul. "Chip," Karen says, her voice sharp. "You need to go to your room. Now." She points to the door, her eyes filled with a mixture of anger and sadness. Chip's shoulders slump, but he doesn't argue, retreating to his room. Plankton's gaze follows him, his mind reeling. He's heard the frustration before, but never so bluntly. Karen sighs, exhaustion etching lines on her face. "I know it's hard, babe," she says, stroking Plankton's swollen cheek. "But Chip's just trying to underst--" But Plankton shakes his head, his voice a whisper. "No, no. He's right," he says, his eye brimming with unshed tears. "I'm the one who's always in the way." He pulls his hand away, his gaze dropping to his lap. Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of anger and despair. "Don't say that," she whispers fiercely. "You're not a burden." But Plankton's thoughts are racing, his stims abandoned. "Look at what I've done," he says, his voice breaking. "I've made you leave things, I've made him hate me." Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "He doesn't hate you," she insists, her voice firm.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 8 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! By the next week, Plankton's completely recovered from the wisdom teeth ordeal. And Chip's now ready to attend the new school. The first day of school is a flurry of nerves and excitement. Chip puts on his best smile, his backpack bulging with supplies. Plankton's in the kitchen, his usual self, rambling about his latest invention. Karen's voice floats from the hallway. "Remember, Chip. If you see someone who's different, don't stare or make fun. Just be kind." Chip nods before heading out the door. At school, Chip notices a boy in his class, Timmy, who flaps his hands and makes noises during storytime. Chip feels a pang of recognition—his dad does that too when he's excited. He watches as Timmy's classmates giggle, whispering behind their hands. Chip's heart squeezes with a mix of empathy and sorrow. He approaches Timmy at lunch. "Hi," he says, his voice tentative. Timmy looks up, his eyes wide. "You're new," Timmy says, his voice high-pitched. "Yes," Chip replies with a small smile. "My name's Chip." Timmy bobs his head, his hands still moving. "What's wrong with your hands?" Chip asks, his voice soft. Timmy looks down, his cheeks flushing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," Chip adds quickly. But Timmy smiles, showing a gap in his teeth. "It's okay," he says. "I have autism." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing back to his dad's stims. "It's just how I show I'm happy." Timmy's words resonate with Chip, and he feels a sudden connection. "My dad has autism too," he confides. Timmy's eyes light up. "Really?" He asks, his movements ceasing for a moment. "Yeah," Chip says, taking a seat next to Timmy. "Sometimes it's hard, but he's pretty cool. But it's also really tough for him." Timmy nods, his hands resuming their gentle flapping. "It's not easy," he says. "But us autistics are like superheroes, you know? Our brains just work a bit differently." Chip can't help but smile at the analogy. "Yeah," he says, "like you guys have special powers." Timmy's face lights up. "Exactly!" He exclaims. "And sometimes, our powers can be really helpful. Like, I'm really good at math and remembering stuff." He beams with pride. Chip feels a twinge of understanding, remembering his dad's obsession with the Krabby Patty formula. "My dad's good at inventions," he says. "But sometimes, his brain can get really, really overwhelmed." Timmy nods. "Some days, my head does too," he says. The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Chip and Timmy quickly exchange numbers, promising to talk more. As Chip heads to his next class, his mind is a whirlwind. He's always known his dad was different, but seeing someone his age with the same challenges brings a new perspective. In the classroom, he can't concentrate. Plankton's words echo in his mind: "I'm not enough. I'll never be enough." He feels guilty for his earlier frustrations, for not understanding the depth of his dad's struggle. During recess, Chip finds Timmy alone. Timmy's eyes scan the playground, his hands still. "You okay?" Chip asks. Timmy looks up. "Yes. Hey you know what helps me?" Timmy asks, his voice hopeful. "I make fun of my autism, like it's a superpower. It makes me feel better when people laugh with me." Chip looks confused. "How do you mean?" Timmy grins. "I pretend my flapping hands are like wings, or my loud noises are like sonic booms. It makes the other kids laugh, and it helps me feel like I made them happy. And one called me 'Stimmy' instead of 'Timmy' which is okay, because it's a part of me! I also like it when people ask me about it. It makes me feel seen. Make it like a game, or something.." Timmy says. Chip thinks about this, his heart racing. He's never considered turning his dad's stims into something fun or cool. It's always been a thing to just ignore. But now, seeing Timmy's joy, he wonders if maybe there's another way. He makes a mental note to ask his dad about his favorite superheroes, thinking maybe they can find a way to make his stims more like superpowers. Timmy smiles. "For my birthday I got this book.. I've another copy!" Timmy says, interrupting himself as he gives Chip a book. "It's a fictional story about a guy like me, but he's got superpowers because of his autism. Maybe your dad will like it." Chip looks at the book titled "AUSOME AUsomeness" and smiles, his curiosity piqued. "Thanks, Timmy," he says, tucking it into his bag. "I'll show it to him." Timmy nods, his eyes bright with excitement. "You know, sometimes when I feel sad or overwhelmed, I just pretend I'm that hero. It helps me." Chip nods, his mind racing with ideas. He's never seen autism as a superpower before. Could this be a way to help his dad feel more like the hero he's always been to him? When Chip gets home, he finds Plankton in the living room. He sets his bag down by the couch as he greets his dad, and Karen, who's in the kitchen. "Hi, Mom; Hi, Dad!" Plankton's eye lights up at the sight of him. "How was school?" He asks, curious as to how Chip's first day went. "It was ok," Chip says, his mind still racing with thoughts of Timmy and his own father's autism. "I met a kid like you, Dad." Plankton's face falls slightly. "What do you mean?" He asks. "I mean," Chip starts, his voice shaky. "He had what you... I'll just show you the book!" He pulls out "AUSOME AUsomeness" from his bag, handing it to Plankton with excitement. Plankton looks at the cover, his eye narrowing as he opens it. "See, Dad?" Chip says, pointing to a part where the character uses his hand flapping to take flight. "It's like you w---" But Plankton's face is a mask of anger and hurt. "What's wrong?" Chip asks, his heart racing. Plankton slams the book shut. "Don't you dare," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Don't you dare patronize me, Chip." He stands up, his hands shaking. "I'm not some comic book character to be made fun of or turned into a joke!" His voice echoes through the house, the pain in it palpable. Karen rushes in, alarmed by the sudden outburst. "Plankton, what's wrong?" She asks, her eyes darting between the two. "This," Plankton says, waving the book. "This is what you think of me?" The anger in his voice is sharp. "How could you, Chip?" He asks, his voice trembling. "How could you think I'd want to be seen like some unrealistically childish hero?" The room is tense, the air thick with emotions. Karen's eyes dart between her husband and son, trying to gauge the situation. Chip's face falls, the joy from his new friendship with Timmy dissipating. Timmy's autistic and loved it, so why doesn't Chip's autistic father.. "I'm sorry," he stammers, his voice small. "I just thought...it might help." But Plankton's anger doesn't waver. "You thought turning me into a caricature would make it better?" He asks, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Is that what you think of me?" Chip's eyes fill with tears as he watches his dad's pain unfold. "Dad, I don't underst--" "No," Plankton cuts him off. "You DON'T understand. You think it's fun to play pretend with something that's a daily struggle for me?" His voice breaks. "You think making it a game will just make it go away?" He throws the book across the room, where it hits the wall with a thud. Chip's eyes follow the book, his heart sinking. He didn't mean to make his dad feel this way. "But a new friend of mine said--" "I don't care what some stranger said!" Plankton interrupts, his voice rising. "This is my life, Chip! My struggle!" His hands are shaking as he clutches the back of the couch. Karen steps in. "Let's talk this out," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We're all on the sa-" "No!" Plankton snaps, cutting her off. He turns to Chip, his eye boring into his son's. "You think my autism is a game? You think I can just pretend it's a superpower and poof, everything's fine?" His voice cracks with each word. "You don't get it. You don't get what it's like to have a brain that fights you every second of every day." His hands are in fists now, his knuckles white. Chip feels like he's been punched in the gut. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to...I don't know, make it better. Make you feel...happy." Plankton sits back down, his shoulders slumped. "Happy?" Plankton repeats. "You think making a joke out of it makes me happy?" Chip feels like he's walking on eggshells. "No, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just...wanted to share something that made us feel better." He looks down at his own hands, which are now trembling. "I just want you to be happy too."

🎞️🎬 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡˙✧˖°🍿 ༘ ⋆｡˚

What GENS are y’all? 🤨 Lost Gen – 1883-1900 😩 Greatest Gen – 1901-1927 👵🏽👴🏾 Silent Gen – 1928-1945 🤫 Baby Boomer Gen – 1946-1964 👩🏽‍🍼👶🏽👨🏾‍🍼 Gen X – 1965 - 1980 ❌ Millennial – 1981-1996 💎 Gen Z – 1997-2012 💤 Gen Alpha – 2013 - present 🎁

r/shortscarystories 3 yr. ago deontistic Unnatural Birth ᵀᵂ ᶜᵘᵗˢ There was no other way, and there was no one else. The grotesque swell to the belly, the unnatural writhing, my indescribable pain—I was panicked, but I knew it was up to me. I had to do it. No one else seemed to have the spine to offer anything more than assistance. Clinically . . . I had to think clinically. And I had to move fast, had to take the kn*fe and cut—yet I had to be careful not to cut too deep. To cut too deep would mean certain disaster, wouldn’t it. I had to šhut everything down; I had to šhut off the lights in all my rooms except the one where I would cut. I had to ignore my paın . . . exit the moment . . . had to proceed. I took the kn*fe and placed its blxde on the belly, then I pressed and dragged—not too hãrd, but firm. The layers cut more easily than I’d imagined, and my incision was true. Still, no time to waste . . . had to keep moving. I pulled back the layers and reached deep into the belly. He was right there, my chıld, my soñ . . . I held him in my hands inside the belly, then I pulled him through the viscera, the muscle, the skın. I held him in my arms, covered in blood as he was, eyès half øpened staring at nothing. Of course he was đeađ, just as they’d said he’d be. I held him . . . and I wailed . . . and wailed . . . I hated . . . I hated my husband for making us come to the Amazon with him, hated myself for not refusing to come. I hated that I’d look͘ed̛ away, even though it’d only been for the slightest of moments. And though the beast hadn’t acted out of malevolence as my heart told me it surely must’ve, but only out of its instinct to survive . . . I hated the anaconda, too. My boy, my little James . . . he was just two . . .

r/shortscarystories 1 day ago CBenson1273 My Aunt Tried To Protect Me From My Mother My childhood was a nightmare. My mother hated me and took every chance to show it. Nothing I ever did was good enough. ‘B’s on report cards were because I was stupid. Unfinished chores were because I was lazy. Any beatings I got were because I deserved them. And my father was just as bad. Fortunately, her sister was my refuge. When things got too bad, I could go over there to escape for a day or two. Perhaps that was why my mother didn’t like Aunt Lisa. The feeling was mutual. So I was surprised when my aunt told me she’d invited my parents over for tea tomorrow. “Why would you invite them here? The whole reason I come here is to get away from them!!” “I know,” she replied. “But that all ends tomorrow. I’m going to have a talk with them; they aren’t going to mistreat you anymore.” I knew in my heart they’d never change, but she was determined to try. The next day, I sat in the corner as my parents entered. “There you are, you wretched child,” my mother said. “Come home this instant and stop causing trouble!” “Now, now, Lydia,” replied my Aunt. “That behavior is exactly why I called you over today. It’s quite enough.” “HOW DARE YOU TELL ME HOW TO RAIS—!” “Do calm down, Lydia. All that screaming isn’t good for your blood pressure. What’s say we all relax, have a nice cup of tea, and discuss this like adults?” My mother still looked furious, but she took the proffered cup and retook her seat. “How you treat Annie isn’t right. It needs to stop.” “You have no say in what I do in MY home. And whatever MY daughter gets, I can assure you it’s deserved.” “So you aren’t open to change, then?” “Absolutely not - that girl’s gotten exactly what she deserves.” “Very well, then. I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.” “Come to wh—“ my mother started when she suddenly began to foam at the mouth and grasp at her throat. “Don’t mind that,” my Aunt said. “Just a bit of poison I placed in your cups. I was hoping you’d agree to change your ways, but clearly you never will. Goodbye, sister.” After my parents had collapsed on the floor, I looked over at my aunt. “What did you do?” “What needed to be done,” she replied. “But what if they’d agreed to stop?” “Then I’d have given them the antidote I was keeping in my purs—“ A look of shock crossed her face as her throat closed, replaced by panic as she rifled desperately through her purse. “Looking for this?” I asked, holding up her syringe. “But…. why?” my aunt asked as she collapsed. “Remember all those times you saw my bruises and scars and sent me back there anyway?” “But I loved you like a daughter,” she gasped with her final breath. “Then you should’ve done better,” I said

𝔐𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔡𝔬𝔢𝔰𝔫'𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢. 𝔏𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔡, 𝔦𝔱 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱, ℑ 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔡, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 ℑ 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔞 𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫.“

KATIE OF GUILDFORD HAD TSS TWICE My name is Katie and I am 15. I had been using tampons for at least a year before I got toxic shock. I had read the warning on the packet about it, but it said that the disease was rare and I thought it couldn't possibly happen to me! I hadn't read about the symptoms of Toxic Shock and wouldn't have connected it to what I had, even though they match nearly exactly The first time that I got toxic shock was on holiday in Spain in December 2008. The night before I was taken ill, my family and I played tennis and I felt fine! In the days before, I had been on my period and had been using tampons. In the early hours of the morning I was sick and fainted every time I tried to get up - I couldn't even get to the toilet by myself. After a day of this, my parents called the Spanish doctor and he referred me to the hospital, as my temperature was very high. An ambulance was called and I had to be carried downstairs by my Dad, as I couldn't walk without fainting. Once in the hospital, I was admitted to a ward. As well as the sickness and fainting, I suffered acute stomach pains, diarrhoea and I also had a rash around my eyes and all over my body that the Spanish doctors claimed was sunburn - but was actually another symptom of toxic shock. I don't remember much about the few days I spent in the ward as I was delirious from the fever, but I wasn't allowed to drink and I was so thirsty - parts of my lips and tongue were just peeling off. The pain medication was sometimes late, and I remember being in awful pain from having hiccups. My liver failed and my skin turned an orange colour - I had no idea how sick I was, as I joked about finally getting a good tan! I had an intravenous line (IV) in my arm and got phlebitis from it, so they had to change it. There weren't enough nurses in the ward and my Mum had to care for me a lot. As I couldn't get up, every time I had diarrhoea, she sorted out my bedpan and cleaned up - when I was sick as well. Finally, I was diagnosed with septicaemia which had caused liver and kidney failure (instead of just a tummy bug as they assumed when I was in the ward) and I was taken to Intensive Care. They inserted a central line and a catheter and also put me on oxygen, as my lungs were weak and had fluid in. At this point, my brother had to fly back to England by himself, as my parents stayed in Spain with me. The doctors said my condition was stable but critical, and there was a chance that I may have died. However, they changed my antibiotics, and the new ones finally started to work and my condition improved. After 4 days, I was readmitted back into the ward. I could now walk the distance to the toilet and I was starting to eat food again. On Christmas Day my parents wheeled me (I needed a wheelchair for longer distances) down to the hospital cafeteria! I spent a week in the ward, until I was well enough to fly back to England with a medical escort. When I arrived back in England, they removed my central line and discharged me from hospital. At home, I worked on getting my strength back. The skin on my legs and arms began to peel, followed by the skin on my hands and finishing with the soles of my feet. It took about a month for my skin to return back to how it was before I was ill. Also, a little bit more hair than usual would come out when I showered and combed it through; although not a large amount - my hair was quite thick anyway and you couldn't see the difference. We didn't find out what caused the sepsis in Spain - all the blood tests came back negative and we were told it was food poisoning. After being sick over Christmas, I went back to school although was off for two weeks due to severe tonsillitis exactly a month after I was ill the first time. Another month later, I was on my period again and still using tampons (as directed on the packet). I was sick continuously with a bad headache, on the Sunday, and thought I had simply picked up another bug. However, in the evening, I felt much better and decided to rest off school, but my parents went to work. Unfortunately in the morning I felt much worse and had a sore throat, and felt dizzy, although I wasn't sick. My eyes were also very red. When my mum came home from work she took my blood pressure (which was extremely low) and temperature (which peaked at 40 degrees). That evening, we went to see the GP who decided to be cautious (given my history and my Mum insisting!) and sent me to hospital. At the hospital it was the first time toxic shock was mentioned, the doctors acted really quickly, an IV was inserted and I was given lots of fluids, but my blood pressure wasn't rising, and my kidneys weren't working properly. They transferred me to Evelina's Intensive Care in London, inserting a central line so strong antibiotics could quickly reach my blood stream, along with some drugs that helped my circulation and giving me an oxygen mask as my lungs had fluid in. Here they also inserted an arterial line to continuously monitor my blood pressure. I spent a day there, and my blood pressure was soon back to normal and so was transferred back to a ward in my local hospital, where I spent a few days before I was discharged. Now, a week after being discharged for the second time, I am still recovering and have noticed some of the same after effects as last time - my skin is beginning to peel and a few more hairs than usual have been falling out. I am glad now that I know the real reason for being so sick both times - and definitely won't be using tampons again. I think that I am very lucky to still be alive - having survived toxic shock twice, and I really hope that other people will be more aware of the risks and quicker at spotting the symptoms than I was! Posted 18/3/2009

r/shortscarystories 3 mo. ago Intrepid_Wanderer ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ Delivery Room My grandparents were worried when I said I'd decided to get the tablet. They're a bit old-fashioned, but they mean well. The thing is, it's 2084. Most people who can get the tablet just go ahead and accelerate through all nine months of pregnancy. The baby can be born as soon as the parents like- no need to endure mornıng sickness or false warnings for labor. And miscarriages are nearly a thing of the past- most babies are accelerated at the first warning. Medical technology is truly amazing. Not everyone accelerates. Some people worry about those obscure studies on bonding ability in accelerated babies, some consider a "natural" course an unmissable experience and some just don't have access to it. Most of the time, though, people accelerate. I was so excited to get to the hospital. I didn't even get an ultrasound done first- the test was positive, and I was about to see my baby anyway in a few minutes. There were the occasional horror stories. Most of them were urban legends, tales of some quack who messed up and made horrific things happen. Truth was, there was very little to mess up, especially at a nice clinic like this one. With today's medications, I could expect to hardly feel the labor and go home with my family on the same day. They said I'd feel a tingling in my abdomen, maybe even some light kicking. At first I did, but it was more uncomfortable than I'd imagined. It was like a twisting, stretching sensation inside of me. I hated to imagine what it might have been like if the tablet didn't also act as an aesthetic. I tried to close my eyes and breathe through it. Something was soaking through the bed- must be my water breakıng. But it smelled metallic, and I was so dizzy. Why didn't I hear crying? Shouldn't it have worked by now? Someone started shouting, but I couldn't open my eyes to see why. The last thing I heard before losing consciousness was a doctor asking about ultrasounds and the words "ectopic pregnancy."

ℑ 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡…. 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ'𝔪 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 ℑ 𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡… 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔤𝔬 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡𝔫'𝔱 𝔤𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯… 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢

BRAIN CHIP pt. 2 (By NEUROFABULOUS) Plankton blinked, his breathing shallow. For a moment, she saw the man she knew. But it was fleeting. His gaze shifted again, searching for something that wasn't there. "Karen?" he asked, his voice unsure. "Safe? Karen." Karen felt a spark of hope, but it was quickly extinguished when he began to echo her words once more, his speech still broken and erratic. "Safe," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're safe, Plankton." He nodded, his eye still not quite focused on hers. "Safe," he echoed, his tone softer now. "Safe, Karen." The humming in his throat had ceased, but his hands remained in a constant flurry of movement, as if searching for something only he could see. "Yes, you're safe," she assured him, her voice steady, trying to hold onto the fragile thread of sanity that was weaving through his words. She took another tentative step closer, hoping that physical proximity would help ground him. "I'm here." Plankton's hand reached out, his movements less frantic now, his voice still echoing hers, "Here. Karen, here. Say Karen." Karen nodded, her voice a soft whisper. "I'm here, Plankton." The repetition seemed to soothe his nerves somewhat. His breathing evened out as he mirrored her words. "Karen here. Here Karen." Her hand hovered over his, their fingers almost touching. "You're ok," she said, willing both of them to believe it. "You had a fall, but you're ok now." Plankton's hand stopped moving for a moment, his eye focusing on hers. "Ok," he murmured. "Fall." The echo was faint, but it was a start. Karen took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "You're ok," she said again, hoping the repetition would bring him back to her. "You fell, but you're ok." Plankton's hand twitched, his eye flickering with a spark of something that resembled understanding. "Ok," he echoed, his voice softer. "Fell. Ok." He started to rock again. Karen watched him, her mind racing. What was happening to her husband? The fall had changed him, his speech reduced to echoes and fragments. Was it a concussion? Shock? Or was it something more serious? Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the man she knew, but his gaze remained distant, lost in his own thoughts. "Plankton," she said, her voice filled with love and concern. "Look at me." He blinked, his eye flicking up to meet hers barely before he averted her gaze. "Karen," he murmured, the word a question and a statement, disliking eye contact. Karen felt a surge of panic, but she pushed it down, focusing on keeping her voice calm. "Look at me, Plankton," she coaxed. "It's ok. You're safe." He took another deep, shuddering breath, his hand still fluttering. Slowly, his eye met hers again, but then he squeezed his eye shut to avoid it. Karen felt a tear slip down her screen. "Look at me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Please, Plankton." Slowly, his eye opened, meeting hers for a brief moment before flitting away again, as if shy. Karen tried to hold his gaze, desperation clinging to every word she spoke. "Plankton, I'm right here. You're safe with me." His eye darted away again. Her mind raced. What could be causing this? Was it the fall? The impact? Or something deeper, something she couldn't see? The silence in the room was deafening, filled only with the echoes of their fragmented conversation. She took another deep breath, willing herself to think clearly. "Plankton," she said, her voice soft, "can you tell me your full name?" His eye searched her face, his hands still fluttering. "Plankton," he murmured. "Karen said Plankton. Plankton response, full name. Name, Sheldon Jay Plankton." It was a small victory, but it was something. He knew his full name. Perhaps there was hope yet. "Good," she said, her voice soft. "Now, can you tell me what my birthday is?" Plankton nods. "31 July 1999." Karen felt a mix of relief and disbelief. Despite his condition, his memory was still intact. It was his speech, his ability to form coherent thoughts and maintain eye contact that was the problem. "Plankton," she began, her voice gentle but firm, "I need you to stay still for me, ok?" His body stiffened slightly, his eye flitting towards her before quickly darting away. "Look at me, just for a moment." Karen watched as Plankton's eye moved back to hers, the fluttering of his hands momentarily halting. "Good," she said, her voice filled with encouragement. "Now, I want you to tell me, without echoing, what your favorite color is." Plankton took a deep breath, his eye locked on hers, the challenge clear. "Color," he murmured, his voice a whisper. "Favorite." He paused, his mind working overtime. "Red," he finally said, the word escaping his lips like a sigh of relief. Karen's eyes widened with hope. He'd answered without echoing. "That's right," she said, smiling softly. "Your favorite color is red." The room felt a fraction less heavy as Plankton's shoulders slumped in relief, his stimming subsiding slightly. "Red," he repeated, his voice stronger this time, his eye lingering on hers. "Red." Karen felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could reach him through these fragments of speech. She had to try. "What time i---" But then Plankton interrupts. "Time is the continuously indefinite progression of existence occurring in an apparently irreversible succession from the past, through the present and into the future. It is a component quantity of various measurements used to sequence events, to compare the duration of..." Karen's eyes widen as she tries to interrupt his sudden outpouring of information. This isn't just a concussion. This is something she's never seen before, something that scared her to her core. She gently squeezes his hand. "Plankton," she says, trying to get him to focus. "What I meant was, do you know what tim-" But he cuts her off again, his voice a recitation. "Time is a dimension in which events can be ordered from the past through the present into the future, and also the measure of duration of events and the intervals between them." Karen's eyes fill with tears. Her simple question had triggered a deluge of encyclopedic facts. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice shaking. "I just need to know if you know what time i---" He starts again, his words rapid fire, each syllable a bullet. "Time, a nonspatial continuum that allows for the existence of events in sequence." Karen's mind spun. This wasn't the Plankton she knew, the man who'd always had a way with words but now they were cold, clinical, not his own. "Plankton," she interrupted, firm but gentle. "Please, just tell me what time you think it is now." He stared at her for a second, his eye unblinking. Then, as if a switch flipped, he said, "Time is the measurement of moments and temporal intervals." His voice had shifted, no longer robotic but still not quite right. Karen knew she had to keep trying. "Plankton," she said, her voice steady, "what time do you think it is right now?" His eye darted around the room, his mind racing. "Time," he murmured, his voice a mere echo of his former self. "Now." It was a simple answer, but the way he spoke it made Karen churn. There was a detachment to his tone, as if he was reciting a line from a play he hadn't quite memorized. Karen took a deep breath, fighting the panic that threatened to consume her. "Plankton," she said, enunciating each word carefully, "do you know what time it is?" He looked at her, his eye flicking to the clock on the mantle. "Time," he murmured. "Clock. Tick-tock." He wasn't telling the time; he was just describing the clock. She tried again, her voice strained. "Plankton, please, tell me what the clock says." He looked at her, his eye unfocused. "Clock," he murmured. Then, with a jerk, he turned his head to look at the clock. His hand moved to his forehead as if to ease the pain of processing the information. "Five," he finally said, his voice still flat. "Five o'clock pm, pacific time." Karen felt a glimmer of hope. At least he could still read the clock. But his inability to answer a simple question without breaking into a disjointed monologue was odd. "Plankton," she began again, choosing her words with care. "I need you to tell me what you had for lunch to..." "Chumbalaya!" He exclaims. "10:43.51 am pacific time." Karen's eyes widened. His response was unexpected, jolting her with fear. This wasn't just a slip in conversation; it was as if his brain was rewiring itself in real-time. "Love," she said, her voice shaking, "Just tell me what you had for lunch." "Chumbalaya had for lunch, at 10:43:51 am pacific time." Karen's mind raced as she tried to decode his words. He'd mentioned a time, but it didn't make sense in the context of her question. Was it a memory, a random fact? Or a clue to what was happening to him? "Plankton," she said, forcing calm into her voice, "can you tell me what you ate?" "Ate Chumbalaya!" He says. The sudden clarity of his answer was a relief, but it didn't explain his strange behavior. Karen took another deep breath, trying to stay composed. "Okay," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "But what was the actual meal?" Plankton looked confused, his hand flapping again. "Meal, meal," he murmured, his eye searching the room. "Food. Chumbalaya was Plankton's consumption for lunch." Karen's brow furrowed as she tried to parse his words. "Food," she echoed. "What else did you have with your Chumbalaya?" He paused, his hand stilled for a moment as he searched his memories. "Breadsticks," he said, his voice a little clearer now. "And soda. Diet soda. Consumed.." The sudden clarity in his speech was jarring, but it gave her a glimmer of hope.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 17 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "I-I just want to understand," Krabs says, his voice quavering. "I've never...I mean, I thought you were just being...you know, you." He fumbles for words, feeling the weight of his ignorance. "But now I see you're more than just a nuisance." But Plankton doesn't react, lost in his sensory cocoon. Karen watches the interaction with a sad smile. "Plankton, Krabs is trying to reach out to you," she says gently. "He wants to be a part of your world." Plankton's grip on the octopus doesn't loosen, but his eye moves from the toy to Krabs, then back again. He's used to being misunderstood, his autism often a source of frustration and isolation. But now, here's his enemy, trying to understand? Krabs clears his throat, his eyes searching Plankton's face for any sign of acknowledgment. "What...what do you say when you repeat those words?" He asks, his voice careful, tentative. "Is there a pattern, or...?" He's desperate for a clue, a way to enter Plankton's world. Plankton's eye narrows, his body tensing. "It's not for you," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. He clutches the octopus even tighter, as if it's the only thing keeping him tethered to his own reality. Krabs leans back, his claws clutching at his chest. "I just want to help," he says, his voice earnest. "I've hurt you so many times, and I don't want to do it again." Plankton's gaze remains on his octopus, but his posture relaxes slightly. It's clear he hears Krabs, even if he doesn't respond. Karen smiles softly, recognizing the sincerity in Krabs' voice. It's a start, a tentative step towards understanding. Mr. Krabs watches him, his claws still hovering over the sensory box. "Plankton," he starts, his voice soft and cautious. "I know I've been a...well, not a good friend. But I want to be better." He selects a fidget spinner from the box, twirling it slowly. "Can you tell me what this does?" But Plankton doesn't answer. "I don't mean to pry," he says, his voice sincere. "But I can't help but wonder, Plankton. What's it like?" He twirls the fidget spinner again, his gaze never leaving Plankton. "To be...different?" Plankton's eye flickers to Krabs, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it seems like he might speak. But then he shakes his head, his words lost in the maelstrom of his thoughts. "Echo...echolal... lal...la..." Krabs sets the fidget spinner down, his heart sinking. He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know how to bridge this gap. But he's determined to try. "What about the noises you make?" He asks, his voice gentle. "They're not just sounds, are th-" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharp. "It's not for you to use or to understand." There's a challenge in his tone, a barrier that Krabs feels he can't cross. He pauses, his gaze shifting to Karen. Her eyes are understanding, but firm. "Let him be, Krabs," she says. "This is his way of coping. It's not for us to interrupt." Krabs nods, his claws dropping to his sides. "I just want to help," he murmurs, his voice low. "To be there fo—" But Plankton's gaze is still on the octopus, his voice distant. "It's not for you to understand," he says, his tone final. "It's mine." Krabs' eyes fill with a newfound respect. He's always been so focused on his own gain, on his own needs, that he's never truly considered Plankton's perspective. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to..." He trails off, not knowing what to say. Karen nods, her hand resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's ok," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "We're all learning." Krabs sighs, his eyes never leaving Plankton's distant gaze, when Plankton starts to vocally stim. "Hmms.." "What's that you're doing?" Krabs interrupts. Karen's eyes widen, and she quickly intervenes. "It's Plankton's way of self-regulating. It's important for him to do this without interruptions. His stims are personal, and it's not our place to question them," Karen explains, her voice firm yet understanding. Krabs nods, his eyes still on Plankton's fidgeting fingers. "I just want to...connect," he whispers, his voice filled with longing. Karen nods, her expression softening. "I know, but when he's like this, it's best to let him be." She looks at Krabs, her eyes filled with understanding. "But there are other ways to connect, if you're truly willing to listen." Krabs leans in, his eyes bright with curiosity. Plankton's eye droops. "Just...be...quiet." Krabs nods, his claws still. The room is a cocoon of silence, save for the distant hum of Bikini Bottom. Plankton's hands still, and Karen knows he's getting exhausted. Plankton's head leans into her side, his antennae drooping. "I'm tired," he murmurs, his voice a tiny echo of its usual pitch. Karen wraps her arm around him, his body fitting into the comfortable curve of her embrace. "It's ok," she whispers, stroking his back. Plankton's eyelid flutters closed, his breathing deepening into the rhythm of sleep. His body relaxes against hers, his trust in her unspoken but palpable. She's his safe haven, the one who gets him in a way no one else does. Karen presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. His grip on the octopus loosens, the plush tentacles now lying limp in his hand. Krabs watches, his heart aching for the enemy he's come to care for. He can't help but feel like he's intruding on a sacred moment, one that's been building for years of missed understandings and hurtful words. As Plankton's breathing deepens into sleep, Karen whispers to Krabs, "You've tried to connect today. That's more than he's ever had from anyone outside this family." Krabs nods, his gaze still on the sleeping Plankton. "But I want to do more," he insists. "I want to be...I don't know, a...friend?" Karen looks at him, surprise and hope mingling in her expression. "That's a big step, Krabs," she says. "But if you're really willing to learn, to be patient and respectful, then maybe we can start there." Krabs nods, his heart swelling with a newfound determination. "I'll do anything," he says. Karen smiles, her screen shining with gratitude. "Then listen," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "Plankton's autism isn't a puzzle to solve or a challenge to overcome. It's just part of who he is." She strokes Plankton's antennae gently. "And his stims, his words—they're his way of saying 'I'm here, and I need you to be here with me.'" Krabs nods, his understanding growing. He watches as Karen carefully moves Plankton's head to his pillow, his body now fully relaxed in sleep as she tucks him in. The plush octopus is still in his hand. "Just be present," she repeats. "Learn to listen without judgment, to see his world without trying to change it." Krabs nods, his expression earnest. It's a concept that seems so simple, yet so profound. He's always been about the endgame, the victory. But here, in this small, dimly-lit room, he sees the true prize: connection. Krabs watches as Karen pulls the covers up to Plankton's chin, his eye still closed as he snuggles into the bed. Krabs' mind races with thoughts. Autistic Plankton. It's a revelation that shakes him to his very core, challenging every assumption he's ever had about his enemy. He's not just a nuisance anymore; he's a friend in pain, trying to navigate a world that doesn't always make sense. He looks at Plankton's sleeping form, the soft rise and fall of his chest, and feels a pang of regret for all the times he's laughed at or dismissed his behaviors. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I never knew." Plankton's only response is a soft snore, oblivious to the monumental shift happening in the room. Krabs sits back in the chair, his thoughts racing. How many times has he misunderstood, how many jokes at Plankton's expense were at the cost of his pain? It's a stark contrast to the loud, chaotic world of the Krusty Krab. He watches the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, the soft snores that punctuate the silence. There's a peace to him, a vulnerability that he's never seen before. It's humbling, frightening even, to think about the depth of emotions and experiences that Plankton has kept hidden beneath his bravado. Krabs' gaze moves to Karen, who's sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand resting on Plankton's. Her expression is a mix of love and protectiveness, a fierce motherly instinct that makes his own heart ache. He clears his throat, his claws awkwardly fidgeting. "What about the seizures?" He asks, his voice hushed. "What can I do if he has one?" Karen looks at him, her eyes filled with appreciation. "You've already done the most important thing," she says, her voice soothing. "You've recognized his needs and are willing to learn." Krabs nods, his mind whirling with questions. He's never felt so out of his depth, but the desire to be there for Plankton is stronger than any treasure he's ever pursued. He watches the soft rise and fall of Plankton's chest, his snores a comforting background to their hushed conversation. Karen reaches out, her hand gently covering Krabs' claw. "If he has a seizure, stay calm," she instructs. "Make sure he's safe, nothing around to hurt him. And talk to him softly, let him know you're there." Krabs nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton. He doesn't know what it's like to navigate a world where even the most mundane experiences can be overwhelming, where words can be a shield and a prison. But he wants to know. He wants to be a person who can offer comfort, who can make Plankton feel less alone.

To my dear darling baby. Author: Anonymous Baby Name: Baby Zepeda Birth Date: May 2011 Abortion Date: October 2010 The pain sometimes is so hard to bear, even after 11 years. I regretted it all the moment I woke up from the procedure. I screamed, “My baby!”. I’m so sorry I was weak and insecure. Your dad didn’t want to keep you because we were barely making it and didn’t want to give you a bad life. I was scared, no one would love me like your dad and he would leave me if I kept you. How wrong we were. He wouldn’t have left me. He would have loved you so much. Baby, you are missed every second of my life. Both your dad and I regret our decision. He also hurts for you too even tho he doesn’t show it. You have 2 sisters and 1 brother. I can’t wait to hug you and hold and kiss you in heaven. Oh my baby. How could I have been so stupid and weak. I know you are with God, Jesus y tu bisabuela y tus tios! I love you with all my being and hope you can forgive me. Your passing lead me to God. The only positive. I love you! Posted: Jul 6, 2022

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 8 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) As she pulled the blankets up to his chin, Plankton's hand reached out, grasping for hers. "Stay," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen squeezed his hand gently. "Always," she promised. They sat in the quiet of the room, the only sound the rhythmic squeezing of the fidget toy. Plankton's eyelid grew heavy, his breathing deepening. "It's ok," Karen whispered, stroking his forehead. "Rest now." Plankton's hand tightened briefly around hers before his grip slackened. His eye fluttered closed, and she watched him slip into a deep, much-needed sleep. During the week, Plankton got more comfortable as Karen helped make adjustments. She let him stim safely without any judgment, even suggesting different ways to fidget. And she saw Plankton's old self shine through, too. As usual, he stayed up late watching movies. He'd sigh and lightly tease Karen when it came to mundane matters. Yet she knew when it came to sensory matters and potential triggers, it's unnegotiable. He did open up to her more due to his fears which came from the autism. He didn't try to steal the krabby patty formula any more, but that didn't stop him from spying on the krusty krab. But their son Chip, whom they adopted at birth, was going to come home. Chip had left during the beginning of the week before Plankton acquired autism, to a week long camp with some school mates of his. But now it's the weekend, and Chip will be coming back from his trip today. Karen felt a pang of anxiety as she thought about Chip seeing Plankton. Would he understand? Would he be scared? Would he still love him? "Plankton, Chip's old enough to underst--" "No," Plankton said firmly, his voice clear. "I don't want anyone to know." Karen knew his fear of change, of being different. "But, Plankton," she began, her voice gentle. "Chip is our son, and he might notice changes..." Plankton's eye grew stormy. "No," he repeated. "I don't want to be..." Plankton trails off as Chip himself came in excitedly. "Mom; Dad!" Plankton's gaze darted to their son, his hand tightening around his fidget toy. She watched as Chip rushed over, his eyes full of excitement from his camp adventures. "Hi, I'm home!" Chip says, hugging Karen before turning to Plankton. Plankton's body tensed, his eye avoiding Chip's gaze. "Hi, son," he murmured, his voice forced, But Chip, ever cheerful, doesn't seem to notice. "Dad!" Chip said, launching himself at Plankton. "Welcome home," Plankton said, his voice a monotone. Chip's expression fell a little, but his excitement was too great to be dampened. "How was camp?" Karen asked, trying to ease the tension. Chip's enthusiasm was infectious. "It was amazing! We did archery, and I even made a new friend!" Plankton's gaze remained on the fidget toy, his thumb flicking the switch back and forth. "That's... nice," he managed, his voice tight. Karen could see the effort he was making to engage. Chip chattered away, not noticing the strain in Plankton's voice. "Her name's Luna, and she's super cool! We're gonna be pen pals!" Plankton's gaze flicks up to meet Karen's. She gave him an encouraging smile, willing him to find his place in the conversation. "Cool," he murmured, his mind racing to process the sudden flood of information. "Pen pals." Karen watched as Chip's eyes searched Plankton's face, his youthful innocence unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation. "Why don't you show us if you've any pictures you took?" she suggested, trying to shift the focus. Chip nodded, eagerly pulling out his phone. He sat beside Plankton, scrolling through the photos, his excitement a stark contrast to his father's detached demeanor. Plankton's eye flicked to the screen, his heart racing at the thought of impending touch. Karen watched as Chip's fingers hovered over a picture of himself and Luna. "Look, Dad," he said, holding out the phone. Plankton blinked. "Oh nice," he says. But as Chip's hand reached out to hug, Plankton's arm shot up, his antennae quivering. "Don't," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Don't touch me." Chip's hand hovered in the air, confusion clouding his features. "But, Da-" Karen stepped in quickly. "It's ok," she whispered. "We're all family."

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 12 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) But Plankton was too lost in his rage to hear her. "Get OUT!" he screamed, his antennae thrashing. "I don't need Chip!" The words were a knife in Karen's, but she knew they were not truly his own. "Dad," Chip's voice was small, his eyes wide with shock. "I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's anger was a beast that had been unleashed, his words cutting like a knife. "I said get out!" he roared, his body vibrating with rage. Chip's eyes searched his father's, looking for the man he knew beneath the storm of emotions. But all he saw was a stranger, a creature of fear and frustration. He took another step back, his heart racing. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't do anything wrong.." Plankton's antennae stilled, his breathing erratic. "You're right," he murmured, his voice deflating like a balloon. "You haven't done anything wrong, in fact, you're pretty perfect." The words were laced with sarcasm, a bitterness that made Karen's fists clench. "After all, it's not like you called me burdensome or anything," he added, his voice dripping with false sweetness. Chip's eyes widened, the impact of his father's words hitting him like a slap. He looked at Karen, his eyes pleading for help, for understanding. "Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "That's not what I me-" But Plankton's anger had become a living entity in the room, feeding off his fear and frustration. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Did my little falling accident hurt your precious wittle feelings?" His antennae twitched, his eye glinting with rage. Chip took another step back, his chin quivering. "But Dad," he protested, his voice shaking. "I didn't mean-" "I know you didn't mean it," Plankton interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're so innocent, so pure." His antennae waved erratically. "But let me tell you a secret, Chip. You see, there's a wonderful thing called tact. Maybe you should try it sometime!" Chip felt his screen burn with embarrassment, his eyes filling with tears. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice shaky. "I just wanted to-" "Oh, I know what you wanted," Plankton sneered, the sarcasm dripping from his words like acid. "You wanted to be the hero, didn't you? The big strong boy who saves his daddy from his own brain!" His antennae twitched erratically. "But let me tell you something, Chip. You can't fix this. You can't make it all better with your toys and your stupid questions. So why don't we all just praise perfect little Chip for trying, shall we.." The words were a slap in the face, each one hitting Chip harder than the last. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his body trembling. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice desperate. "I just want to help." "Oh, how noble," Plankton said, his voice thick with sarcasm. "Want a medal?" His antennae quivered with anger, his eye glinting with spite. "I just want to be with you," Chip said, his voice breaking. "To make you happy." "Well, you're doing a fine job," Plankton said, his voice like a whip. "Keep it up, Chip. You're a regular miracle worker." His words were barbed, each one designed to cut deep. Chip's eyes searched his father's, desperate for some sign of the love he knew was there. But all he found was anger, a wall so thick it was suffocating. "Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I'm sor-" "Don't," Plankton interrupted, his voice cold. "Don't you dare say you're sorry. You don't get to feel sorry for me. You don't get to pity me." His antennae twitched with agitation. "You don't even get to be upset about what you said. Because it's all true, isn't it?" His eye bore into Chip's, his voice like ice. "I'm a burden. That's all I am. That's all I'll ever be." Chip's breath hitched, the weight of his father's words crushing him. "Dad," he managed, his voice a whisper. "That's not what I-" But Plankton talked over him, his voice a sneer. "Oh, I see. You're going to play the innocent now, are you? Pretend like you didn't just say I'm a burden?" His antennae were a blur of movement, a silent testament to his rage. "How convenient." Chip felt his world crumbling, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. "But Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I didn't-" "Don't you dare lie to me," Plankton's voice was like a knife, cutting through the air. Chip felt the room close in, his throat tight. "But Dad," he choked out, "I didn't mean-" "Oh, the poor little hero," Plankton said, his voice a mocking whisper. "So misunderstood." He rolled his eye dramatically. "It's always about you, isn't it?" The sarcasm was a knife twisting in Karen, but she knew it was the fear and pain speaking. Chip's eyes searched his father's, his own brimming with tears. "But Dad, I just want to help," he whispered, his voice shaking. "To make things right." Plankton's antennae stilled, his gaze cold. "You want to make things right?" he echoed, his voice laced with condescension. "How sweet! Why don't you go play the hero somewhere else!" Chip felt the sting of his father's sarcasm, his eyes welling up. "But I'm your son," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm supposed to-" "Oh, I know your role," Plankton said, his tone biting. "The golden child, always trying to fix things." His antennae quivered with disdain. "Dad," Chip protests, "I just want you to be happy." Plankton's eye narrowed, his face a mask of condescension. "How sweet," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But you see, Chip, happiness is a concept lost to me. I'm just a broken toy now, remember?" He twirled the fidget toy in his hand, his thumb moving compulsively over the patterns. Chip's cheeks flushed, his eyes filling with tears. "But Dad," he whispered, "you're more than that." Plankton's antennae shot up, his face a contorted mask of disdain. "Oh, really?" he said, his voice thick with patronizing sarcasm. "Enlighten me, oh great and wise Chip. Tell me what I am." He leaned back in his chair, his antennae waving in the air as if inviting a lecture from his son. Chip took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "You're my dad," he said, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "And you're... you're still you, even if you're a little different now." But Plankton's sarcasm was a shield he couldn't penetrate. "Ah, yes," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "The ever-elusive 'you're still you' argument. How original." His antennas twitched in disdain. "You don't get it," Chip's voice was desperate, his eyes pleading. "I don't care if you're different. I just want you to be happy." But Plankton's anger had become a shield, his words a barbed wire fence keeping his son at bay. "Oh, you don't care?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How magnanimous of you." His antennae twitched in a mock salute. "Well, let me tell you something, Chip. You can't just ignore the fact that your perfect little world has been shaken up, can you?" Chip felt the sting of his father's patronizing tone, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "But Dad," he said, his voice quivering. "I just want to-" "Oh, I know what you want," Plankton interrupted, his voice dripping with condescension. "You want the perfect little storybook ending where we all hold hands and skip off into the sunset." His antennae waved in the air dramatically. "But life doesn't work that way, Chip. Sometimes, bad things happen to good people, and there's no magical cure for it." His eye was cold, his antennae stilled. "So save your pity for someone wh-" Karen stepped in, her voice calm and firm. "Plankton, that's enough." She knew his words were a defense, a way to push away the pain. "Chip's just trying to help." Plankton's antennae stilled, his breath hitching. He looked at his wife, his anger momentarily fading. "I know," he murmured. "But I don't want his pity." Karen's gaze was filled with understanding. "It's not pity, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "It's love." Plankton's antennae twitched, his expression softening slightly. "But what good is love when I can't eve-" "Love is more than just touch," Karen interrupted, her voice gentle. "It's understanding, it's patience, it's being here for you." She took another step towards him, her hand outstretched. "It's about connecting in other ways." Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye flicking to her hand and then back to her face. He knew she was right, but the fear was a beast that ruled him. "But I don't know how to," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "How do I connect without... without the things I used to do?" Karen ached, her hand still extended. "We'll find a way," she assured him, her voice steady. "Together."

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 13 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye focusing on the fidget toy in his hand. It was a silent testament to his internal turmoil, his mind racing with thoughts and fears. He knew Karen was right, that love didn't need to be physical, but the concept was still so alien to him, so difficult to grasp in his current state. "I'm trying," he murmured, his voice tight. "But it's just..." Karen's hand reached out to cover his, her touch gentle. "We all are," she said, her voice soothing. "And that's all we can do." Her gaze was filled with understanding, her eyes speaking volumes without a single word. "We're all just trying to navigate this new world, together." Chip watched his parents. He knew his father was struggling, but he also knew that love didn't have to be about touch. He took a step forward, his hand hovering.. Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye wide with fear. Karen quickly intervened, placing a hand on Chip's shoulder. "Not now," she whispered, her screen meeting her son's. "Let's give Dad some space." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's, the desire to connect with his father a palpable force. But Plankton's reaction was a stark reminder of the invisible barriers his injury had erected, the sensory minefield that surrounded him. The room was thick with silence, the only sound the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Karen's hand remained on Plankton's, her touch a gentle reminder of her presence. "It's ok," she murmured, her voice soft. "We're all learning together." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye meeting hers with a glimmer of hope. "I know," he said, his voice tight. "But it's so hard." The words were a confession, his vulnerability laid bare. Karen ached, her grip on his hand firm. "I know," she said, her voice understanding. "But we'll get through this. Together." Chip took a deep breath, his eyes still locked on his father's. He knew that his dad's reactions were not personal, that his brain was just trying to make sense of the world in a way that was different now. He forced a small smile, his voice steady. "We're here for you, Da-" But Plankton's antennae shot up, his body stiffening. "Don't," he murmured, his voice tight. "Just... don't." Karen stepped in, her voice calm and firm. "Plankton," she said, her eyes never leaving his. "Chip's just trying to tell you that he loves you." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye flicking to his son and back to Karen. The words hung in the air, a bridge between his old life and his new reality. He knew his son was trying, but the fear was a thick fog that clouded his mind, making it difficult to see the love beyond the barrier of his own emotions. Chip knew his father was in pain, and his words had only added to it. "Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I don't want you to feel li—" "Don't," Plankton interrupted, his antennae drooping. "I know what you're trying to do." His voice was a mix of fatigue and frustration. "But it's not that simple." Chip's eyes searched his father's, the depth of his pain mirrored in the tremble of his chin. "But Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I just want to make you happ..." Plankton's antennae shot up, his body stiffening like a board. "Don't," he murmured, his voice strained. "I don't want your pity." The words were a warning, a reminder that his love was not conditional on his ability to function in the traditional sense. Karen's gaze remained steadfast on her husband's face, seeing the raw pain beneath the anger. She knew his frustration was a shield, a way to protect himself from the overwhelming sensory assault that his brain was still trying to comprehend. "It's getting late," she said. "Let's all get to bed." Plankton's antennae drooped, his body slumping in defeat. He was tired, so tired of fighting, of trying to make sense of this new world of sensory overload and fear. He nodded, his voice a whisper. "Ok." The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken words that hung in the air like a thick fog. As they made their way to their separate rooms, the weight of the evening's interaction settled on Chip's shoulders. He knew his father's reaction wasn't personal, but it was hard not to take it that way. He lay in bed, his mind racing with thoughts of his dad, his heart heavy with the knowledge that their relationship was forever changed. The next morning, Chip awoke and went to his parents room. The door was open, the light filtered through the blinds. Plankton was sitting on the edge of the bed, his antennae drooped low. He looked up as Chip entered, his eye wary, as if expecting another onslaught of emotions he couldn't comprehend. Chip paused. He knew he had to tread carefully, his father's sensory issues a delicate dance they were all still learning. "Hey," he said, his voice soft. "How are you?" Plankton's antennae twitched, a sign of his internal struggle. He took a deep breath, his eye flicking to the fidget toy resting on the bedside table. "I'm... ok," he murmured, his voice tentative. "Just tired." Chip took a step closer, his movements deliberate and slow. "Do you want to talk?" he asked, his tone gentle. Plankton's antennae quivered, his expression a mix of fatigue and frustration. "Talking doesn't change anything," he said, his voice flat. "But if it makes you feel better..." His eye met Chip's, the unspoken challenge clear. Chip took a deep breath, his mind racing. He knew his dad was in pain, knew that he needed to be patient. He sat down on the bed, his movements careful. "It's not about making me feel better," he said. "It's about... understanding." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye focusing on Chip. For a moment, the anger and fear receded, replaced by a hint of curiosity. "Understanding what?" his voice was gruff, but there was a crack in the armor, a glimpse of the man he used to be. Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing. "Understanding... how to be there for you," he said, his voice earnest. "How to love you in a way that doesn't... hurt." He swallowed hard, his throat tight. "I know it's different now, but I still want to be your son." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flicking to the floor. He was quiet for a long moment, his thoughts racing. He knew Chip meant well, but the concept of nonverbal love was so foreign to him. "I know you do," he murmured, his voice tight. "But it's not your job to fix me." "I don't want to fix you, Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I just want to be with you." He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering over the fidget toy. "Can I?" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye wide with fear. "No," he said, his voice sharp. "Don't touch it." He knew the toy was a lifeline, a way to ground himself in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control. But he also knew his son meant well. Chip's hand retreated, his eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just want to... connect." Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye closing briefly. He knew his son's intentions were pure, but his own fear was a cage he couldn't seem to escape. "I know," he said, his voice softer. "But it's not that simple." Chip felt his chest tighten, his desire to help his father a physical ache. "But there must be a way," he said. "We'll find it." Plankton's antennae quivered, a tiny spark of hope igniting in his eye. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice tentative. "But you have to be patient." He picked up the fidget toy, his thumb tracing the patterns. Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's. "I can do that," he said, his voice determined. "I'll do whatever it takes." Plankton's antennae twitched, a tiny glimmer of appreciation in his eye. "Thank you," he murmured. The words were a lifeline, a connection in the storm of his emotions. "But you have to understand," he continued, his voice strained. "Sometimes, I just need to be left alone." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his father's. "I get it," he said. "But I'll always be here when you're ready."

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 14 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Karen's voice was gentle but firm. "Plankton," she said. "Chip's right. We'll find a way to connect that works for all of us. We just have to keep trying. Why don't we all go drive to the new sensory park they just opened?" It was a place designed for those with sensory processing disorders, with areas that catered to different sensory needs. "It's a bit of a drive across town, but do you wanna try going?" They both nodded. They parked the car. "Let's go slow, ok?" Plankton nodded. They approached the sensory garden, a place designed to be calming. The scent of lavender was thick in the air, and the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet was a comforting contrast to the harshness of the city. As they walked through the gates, Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye scanning the area. The sensory park was a symphony of soft colors and soothing sounds, designed to minimize the overstimulation that so often triggered his seizures. "This is nice," he murmured. Chip watched his father, his heart in his throat. He knew how much this meant to him, how much Plankton was struggling. "It is," he said, his voice matching his dad's quiet tone. He took a deep breath, his sensors tuned to his father's every movement. "Do you want to go on the swings?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flicking to the swing. He nodded slowly. Chip led the way, his movements cautious. He knew his dad needed space, needed to feel safe. They approached the swing set, a simple metal frame with plastic seats. Plankton closed his eye, the rhythm familiar and comforting as he swings. Chip took the swing next to Plankton, his movements tentative. He knew his father's fear of touch was a battleground, and he didn't want to cross any lines. The squeak of the chains and the gentle breeze through the leaves of the nearby trees were the only sounds that accompanied them as they swung back and forth, side by side. Chip watched his father. He wanted so badly to reach out, to hold Plankton's hand, but he knew the boundaries. Instead, he focused on matching his swing to Plankton's, their motion in sync. He hoped the rhythm would be a comfort to his dad, a small piece of the connection they used to share. As they swung, the tension slowly began to ease from Plankton's antennae. The back-and-forth movement was soothing, a gentle rocking. After a while, they got off the swings. Plankton's antennae were still twitching with the residual energy of the movement, his body craving the sensory input that had become so rare. Chip noticed and searched the park for a suitable activity. His eyes lit upon the sandbox. "How about playing in the sand?" he suggested, his voice hopeful. Plankton's antennae quivered with interest, his eye lighting up slightly. He had always enjoyed the feel of sand between his... well, the equivalent of fingers. Karen smiled, seeing the potential for a positive interaction. They approached the sandbox, the fine grains glinting in the sunlight. Chip took a seat on the wooden bench beside it, watching as Plankton tentatively placed his hand into the cool sand. His antennae quivered with pleasure at the sensation, his body relaxing slightly. Chip followed suit, his movements deliberately slow and cautious, mirroring his father's. He knew that sudden movements or touch could send Plankton spiraling, so he remained still, his eyes on the sand. Together, they began to sculpt the sand, their hands moving in harmony without any need for words. The gentle scrape of the grains against their hands was a soothing balm, a silent conversation that transcended the barriers of language and injury. Plankton's fears and anger from the night before seemed to melt away with each mound of sand that took shape. Chip watched his father, his heart swelling with hope. He had found a way to connect, a sensory experience that didn't overwhelm Plankton. As they played, he noticed his father's breathing slow, his antennae relaxing slightly. It was a small victory, but it felt like a huge step in the right direction. The sun grew higher in the sky, casting warm rays down on the sandbox. Karen sat beside them, her eyes filled with gratitude for this moment of peace. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he focused on the sand, his movements precise. Chip watched, mimicking his father's careful touch. The sand was a bridge between them, a shared experience that didn't require words. They built sandcastles together, their hands working in harmony despite the unspoken fear that hung in the air. Chip felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he saw Plankton's eye light up with each new creation. The sand was a therapy in itself, a gentle reminder that love didn't need to be loud or physical to be felt. They built a sandcastle together, their silent companionship a balm to the wounds of the previous night. After a while, they finished. "Want to try something else?" Chip asked, his voice soft. Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye flicking to the nearby beach ball. "Maybe a game of catch?" Plankton suggested, his voice tentative. Chip nods. He knew his dad's fear of the unexpected, so he rolled it gently to him. Plankton caught the ball. He tossed it back to Chip, his eye watching the arc of its flight with a hint of excitement. Chip's throw was careful, underarm, keeping it within Plankton's visual comfort zone. He knew his dad's limits, his fear of fast movements. Plankton's antennae twitched as he caught the ball again. The sensation of the cool, smooth plastic was a comfort in his hands. He threw it back to Chip, his movements calculated, his mind focused on the game. It was a simple activity, but it was one where he felt in control. Chip watched his father, his movements mirrored. He knew his dad's fear of the unexpected, so he threw the ball with a gentle underhand toss, keeping it slow and predictable. Plankton smiled slightly, his eye tracking the ball's trajectory. Later, Karen told them it's time to go, to start the drive back home. She got in the driver's seat as Plankton and Chip sat in the back together. Chip's eyes were on his dad, his heart racing with excitement. The car's movement was a gentle rocking, akin to the swing. Plankton watched the world pass by. The sensation of the car's vibrations was soothing. Karen glanced in the rearview mirror, her eyes searching for any sign of distress. But Plankton was calm, his antennae still. The drive was a quiet reprieve, a chance for them to process the newness of their relationship. Chip knew that his dad's sensory issues made the world a minefield, but in this moment, the steady hum of the car was a comfort. As Karen drove, Plankton's eyelid began to droop, his antennae slowing. The gentle vibration of the car and the predictable rhythm of the road was a balm. He leaned back, his head resting against the seat, his hand clutching the fidget toy. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye half-closed, head dropping. Chip felt his heart swell as Plankton's head slowly dropped onto his shoulder. And as Plankton starts to snore gently, Chip realized his dad had fallen asleep, his head resting heavily on his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment, fearing that any sudden movement might wake his father, might disrupt the fragile peace they had found. But Plankton's snores grew deeper, the tension leaving his body. Karen glanced in the rearview mirror. "It's ok," she murmured. "You're doing a good job." Chip felt his muscles relax slightly, the weight of his father's head a comfort. He knew that this moment was precious, a sign that his efforts were not in vain. He leaned into the warmth of his dad's body, his hand finding its way to the fidget toy. His thumb traced the patterns, mimicking the rhythm that Plankton had found soothing. Chip then decides to take a selfie. He holds up his phone after looking at his dad, who started to drool at the corner of his open mouth. He chuckles quietly, snapping the photo as Plankton remains asleep. Chip posts the picture with adding this caption: "Went to the park with my dad @ Sheldon Plankton today 💙👨‍👦💨 " Plankton still snored softly against Chip's shoulder. Chip noticed more drool escaping the corner of his mouth and felt a surge of affection mixed with concern. "Mom, he's drooling," he whispered to Karen, his voice barely audible over the car's hum. Karen chuckled, her eyes meeting Chip's in the mirror. "It's ok," she said softly. "It's a sign of his tiredness. Let him sleep."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 3 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, his tongue thick. He tries to form words. "Ma...ma..." he whispers, his voice a slur. Karen's eyes light up at the sound. "You're ok," she says, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You had your teeth out. You might feel funny for a little while." He looks at Karen, his eye searching hers. "Wh...wh...whath?" he stammers, his speech jumbled. Karen leans closer, her smile reassuring. "Your wisdom teeth, Plankton. They took them out so you won't have any trouble with them later." But the words don't make sense to him, his brain still fuzzy from the anesthesia. He tries to speak again. "Wi...wis...wis..." he stammers. Karen nods. "Wisdom teeth," Karen repeats slowly. "They're out now. You're all done!" The words swirl in Plankton's head, not quite making sense. He feels his mouth, the cottony feeling replaced by the pressure of gauze. He giggles. "My moufs fweel funmy," he says, his words slurred. Karen laughs softly. "It's because of the surgery, sweetie. Your mouth is healing." She coos. "I fink I sownd funny," he says, his eye glinting with mirth. The nurse returns, checking his vitals. "How are you feeling?" she asks. Plankton looks up, his eye glassy. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs, his speech a mess of sounds and syllables. Karen can't help but laugh, despite the situation. "You're doing great," she says with love for his confused silliness. The nurse chuckles, too. "It's the anesthesia," she explains. "It'll wear off soon." His gaze darts to his own fingers. "Wook at my fingews," he says to Karen, his speech slurred from the anesthesia. Karen nods, smiling. "Oh yeah?" Plankton nods, his cognitive abilities still under the fog. "Yeth," he slurs, trying to sit up. "Take it easy," she says. "You're still woozy." The room feels like it's spinning as Plankton tries to sit up, his brain struggling to keep up with his body's movements. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his gaze unfocused. But Plankton's curiosity wins out. He reaches up to touch a finger to his mouth, feeling the thickness of the gauze. "Fingews," he repeats, his voice still slurred. Karen laughs with affection. "It's ok honey," she says. "You're doing great." Plankton looks around the room, his eye still unfocused. "Wheh...wheah awe we?" he mumbles. The nurse explains patiently, "You're in the recovery room at the dentist's office. You just had your wisdom teeth removed." But the words don't quite register, and he nods slowly, his mind racing with confusion and curiosity with wonder, taking in the world as if seeing it for the first time. The colors, the shapes, the sounds—everything is fresh and new. He looks at his hands as if it's an alien appendage. "Wook ath dis," he says to Karen, his voice a mix of amazement and bewilderment. His fingers spread wide, then close into a fist, then open again. "Wook whath I can do!" Karen swells with love. It's like watching him discover the world anew, like a baby seeing his own hands for the first time. She can't help but smile at his innocent fascination. The nurse nods at Karen. "You can take him home now. Just make sure he rests and takes it easy." Karen nods, her smile never leaving her screen. She helps Plankton up. "Hi," he says, his voice a slurred mumble. As they make their way to the car, Plankton's steps are unsteady, his body still fighting the remnants of the anesthesia. He looks around with wonderment, as if seeing the world in a new light. "Mowah?" he asks, pointing to the sky. Karen laughs gently. "It's the sun, honey. It's ok." Plankton nods, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of his reality. "We're gonna pick up Chip from the park. He's with Hanna.." "Chip...Chip, Chip," he repeats, the word rolling off his tongue. The car ride is a blur of sounds and sensations that Plankton tries to filter out. He leans his head against the cool window, watching the world pass by in a haze. Karen keeps glancing back at him in the rearview mirror, amusement etched on her face. "You ok?" she asks. Plankton nods, his eye heavy. "Tiwed," he murmurs. "Try not to fall asleep," she says. "Because we're almost there." His eye drifts to the passing scenery. Trees whiz by. He counts the telephone poles, his slurred voice mumbling the numbers. "One, two, free, four..." "Almost there," Karen says. Plankton nods, his hand finding the seatbelt buckle, tracing its edges. "Five, sis, seb..." But alas, Plankton's efforts to stay alert are in vain. His lid flutters and his head nods. "Plankton, keep your eye open," Karen says, her voice a gentle reminder. But his body has other plans, succumbing to the sedative's embrace. "Wake up, Plankton," Karen says, a hint of laughter in her tone. She knows he can't help it. His slumber is deep, his snores a soft echo in the car. She watches him in the mirror, his face relaxed in sleep. It's a rare sight. Plankton's normally alert and active demeanor is replaced by a peaceful stillness that fills the car. The surgery was a success, yet the anesthesia has taken its toll. Karen pulls into the parking lot of the park, the sun casting a warm glow. "Wakey, wakey," she sings. Plankton's snores hitch, but his eye stays shut. She opens the car door and the chilly air fills the car, carrying with it the laughter of children playing. "Plankton," she calls, her voice gentle but firm. He stirs, his body protesting the interruption. "Chip?" he mumbles, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen laughs softly. "Yes, we're here to get Chip. Time to wake up." She reaches over and squeezes his hand. His eye blinks open, the pupil dilating as he takes in his surroundings. "Wha...?" he mumbles, his brain still fighting the anesthesia. Hanna and Chip look up as their car approaches. "What happened?" Chip asks as he gets in the car. Karen starts to answer, but Plankton's slurred interjection stops her. "Dey hook my teefs!" he says, his words a jumble. Chip's eyes widen. "He had his wisdom teeth out," Karen explains. Hanna looks at Plankton, her expression one of concern. "How are you feeling?" she asks. "Wibidy wobidy," he slurs. "Buh I dunno." Karen smiles. "So, we went to the dentist," she says, waving bye to Hanna. "They had to take his wisdom teeth out." Chip looks confused. "What does that mean, Mom?" He asks Karen. "Well Chip, your dad had some teeth that were gonna cause problems, so they took them out," Karen starts. "But the medicine they gave him makes him feel funny. It's like when you have a sleepover and wake up groggy." Chip nods. "What medicine?" He continues. Plankton tries to answer, but his speech is still slurred. "Dey gabe me sumpin' to sleep," he mumbles, his eye half-closed. "It's called anesthesia," Karen says, her voice calm and steady. "It's what helps people not feel pain during surgery." Chip nods, watching his dad with a mix of curiosity and concern. "But it makes him a bit loopy," Karen adds as they pull away. "Chip," Plankton starts. "Whath thad?" "It's my hand, Dad," Chip answers, confused. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton persists, his mind still fuzzy. Karen chuckles, seeing his curiosity piqued. "Chip's hamv?" Plankton repeats, his speech still slurred. Chip holds up his hand. "It's just a hand, Dad," he says. Karen laughs. "It's his hand, Plankton. It's ok. You're just a bit loopy." "Wook ath the clows," Plankton says, lazily pointing at the clouds. Karen smiles. "They're just clouds," she says. Plankton giggles, his eye glazed with a childlike wonder. Karen knows this phase won't last, but she cherishes it.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 5 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Karen sits on the bed, her presence a comforting weight. "Would you like me to stay?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, his body still tight with pain. He closes his eye, his mind racing with the discomfort. He tries to focus on his breath, in and out, in and out. But the throb in his mouth is a constant reminder of agony that threatens to overwhelm. Then, Plankton starts to talk to himself to self-soothe. "It's safe," he whispers. "Can water's just fine." Karen watches him, knowing this is a way of regaining control, his mind trying to find peace in order to rest. She knows that the pain, the sensory assault, the confusion—it's all too much. But she also knows that he has the willpower to push through. "Was do it" Plankton whispers to himself. "I told him but he didn't listen," he murmurs, his thoughts racing with the memory of the fidget toy. "It's my fault," he adds. "Not my place to correct him, do not touch." His words are a jumble of regret and frustration. "It's okay," Plankton says again. "The healing safe. It's just a feeling." He repeats this mantra, his breath evening out. Karen can see the tension in his shoulders easing, his grip on the ice pack loosening as his body relaxes. "You're doing great," Karen whispers. "Just rest." And with that, Plankton's body gives in to the call of sleep, his breaths trailing off into soft snores. Karen watches her husband with a mix of love and sadness. Chip lingers by the door, his curiosity piqued. He wonders if his dad's autism is the reason behind it. With tentative steps, Chip enters the room. Karen takes his hand in hers, and he follows her out of the room and in to the hallway. "Mom," he starts, his voice barely a whisper. "Why is Dad autistic?" Karen looks down at him, her expression thoughtful. "Well, Chip," she says, her voice soft. "Your dad was born that way." Chip nods. "But w---" "Autism is something that develops in the brain before birth," Karen continues. "It's like how some people are right-handed and others are left-handed. It's just how his brain is wired." Chip looks at her with a frown. "But why did Dad...?" "Why did it happen?" Karen finishes his question. She takes a deep breath, preparing to explain. "You see, sometimes during pregnancy or childbirth, something small can change you. When his mom was giving birth, his brain might have gotten a little squeezed and then not enough oxygen. It's just the way his brain grew because of that, that's all." Chip nods slowly, trying to understand. "So as dad was being born..." "Yes," Karen says, her voice soothing. "His brain was forming its connections, and that little squeeze changed the way his brain makes those connections. It's like if you're building a Lego castle and one piece gets bent. It doesn't mean the castle can't be amazing, it's just a tiny part of it that's a bit different." Chip looks up at his mom, his eyes wide. "But does that mean I could be like Dad if I squ--" "No, Chip," she says, cutting off his words gently. "It's not that simple. Autism is just nothing you can catch or change, and it's not something you need to be afraid of." Chip nods, his gaze still fixed on her. "But why does he get so upset sometimes?" Karen sighs. "Because the world can be a very overwhelming place for him, Chip. His brain picks up on every little thing— sounds, smells, sights—it's all so intense. And sometimes, those things get too much, and his brain can't keep up. It's like when you're playing a video game and the screen is flashing too fast—it's hard to focus." "But why does he get mad?" Chip persists. Karen kneels down to look him in the eye. "It's not that he's mad, honey. It's just his way of dealing with it. Imagine if you had a headache and someone was shining a bright light in your face—you'd want them to stop, right? It's like that, but with anything." Chip nods, understanding dawning. "So, when the fidget was making noise, it was like a headache for Dad?" Karen smiles. "Exactly. And when he tells you something is too much, it's not that he's upset with you—it's his brain telling him he needs a break." Plankton's snores from the bedroom remind them of the present. "Let's let Dad rest," Karen says, steering Chip towards his own room. "But what about his teeth?" Chip asks, his voice laced with worry. Karen's smile is reassuring. "They'll feel better soon, and we'll have to be extra gentle with him. No loud noises, no surprises. Ok?" Chip nods. In the quiet of the living room, Karen and Chip begin to set up a recovery area for Plankton—a space free from the chaos that could easily overwhelm his fragile state. They gather his favorite pillows, a soft blanket, and dim the lights. Chip wants to make sure his dad feels safe. On the coffee table, they lay out a tray with a glass of water. Karen knows that it's important not to startle Plankton, that he might need help getting up without disturbing his mouth. "Let's go to see him." Karen says. As they enter the bedroom, Plankton's snores have subsided into a gentle rhythm. Chip tiptoes over, his eyes wide. He's seen his dad tired before, but this is different. He looks smaller, somehow, more vulnerable. Gently, he touches his dad's arm.. Plankton's eye snaps open, his body jerking upright. The movement sends a shock of pain through his mouth. "Agh!" he yelps, his hands shooting up to clutch his cheeks. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide with alarm. "Dad!" He says loudly. But now Plankton's even more overwhelmed, and Karen notices his somewhat distant gaze. "Chip, remember what we talked about," Karen whispers. "Use a quiet voice." Chip nods and speaks more softly. "Dad, are you ok?" Plankton blinks, his mind racing. "Dad?" Chip tries again, his voice barely a murmur. Plankton's breath hitches. "It's me, Chip! You're home. You had surgery. Remembe---" But Plankton's eye darts around the room, his mind a swirling vortex of pain and disorientation as Chip talks to fast. Karen quickly moves to his side, her touch grounding him. "It's ok," she whispers. "You're safe. You're home." And then, he starts to talk to himself. "No...no...no...yes...yes...yes," he murmurs. Karen knows that he's retreated due to the overwhelm. It's happened before, where he's seemingly on autopilot. "Water's okay, can't talk right now," Plankton whispers to the empty space. His eye darts back to Chip, then to the ceiling. "No, no, no," he says again, his voice getting quieter. Karen's heart aches, seeing her husband so lost in his own head. She's seen this before—his autism taking control when the world was too much to handle. Chip however doesn't really understand. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton doesn't respond, his eye locked on the ceiling fan spinning above them. "It's ok," Karen says, her voice a soft reminder. "Sometimes his brain is on backup." She strokes his arm gently, knowing his semiconscious state isn't abnormal for him, as Plankton's monologue continues. "Need to count...one...two... three..." His voice trails off. Chip watches. "Is he ok?" He asks, his voice trembling. Karen nods. "This is his way of dealing with things," she whispers. "Let's just give him some time." Plankton's eye darts between them, his mouth forming words without thought. "Red...blue...green," he says, as if naming colors he's seeing in the air. "Big...small...far... near." Karen knows he's not really seeing anything, his mind a kaleidoscope of sensory input that's difficult to process. "Why?" Plankton asks no one in particular. "Will it be the one? It's just a feeling," he murmurs, trying to convince himself. Karen understands it's his brain's attempt to organize the overwhelming stimuli, but Chip looks on with a mix of concern and confusion. "It's ok," Chip whispers, his hand hovering over his dad's. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. Karen smiles at him, nodding. "You can talk to him, buddy. Just keep it low." Chip nods and sits on the edge of the bed. "Hey Dad," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's eye flips over to him, but he doesn't seem to see him. "It's me, Chip. We're here," Chip says, trying to provide comfort.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 4 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! Plankton's words come out in a slurry mess, and Karen understands he's trying to share his thoughts with them. "Cwouds...hampy clows. Wheah's the moo...moo? Moo...moom," he mumbles. "Wha...whath's that?" he asks, his eye searching the sky for something that's not there. Karen's laughter fills the car, lightening the mood. "It's just the sun, sweetie," she says. Chip looks at his dad with a mix of amusement and concern. "You ok?" he asks, his voice tentative. Plankton nods, his smile little more than a twitch of his lips as drool starts to form at the corner of his mouth. "Mom," Chip says, his voice tinged with concern. "He's fine, Chip. It's just the medicine wearing off." Karen answers as they pull up into the garage, Plankton's speech still slurred. "Wheath we gothin?" Plankton mumbles. "We're going inside, sweetie," Karen says, helping him out of the car. His legs feel like jelly, his body moving in slow motion as they make their way into the house. The lights seem too bright, the noises too loud. "Mom," Chip whispers, his eyes wide. "Is he ok?" "He's fine," she whispers back, her voice a gentle reminder of their earlier conversation. "This is normal after anesthesia." Inside, Plankton leans heavily on Karen, his eye half-closed. "Bed," he mumbles. Karen nods, guiding him towards the bedroom. "Come on, honey," she says, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "Let's get you to bed." The bed feels heavenly under his weight, the covers a warm embrace. Plankton sighs contentedly, his body melting into the softness. His mind is a whirlwind of sensations, but the comfort of the bed grounds him. Karen watches him. The slurred speech and confusion are a stark contrast to his usual sharp and focused self. But she knows this is just the medicine wearing off. Gently, she starts to remove the gauze from his mouth. Plankton's eye opens a crack, his pupil wide with uncertainty. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice soothing. "Let's get this out of here." "Mm-hmm," he murmurs. The gauze is sticky and uncomfortable, but he trusts her. Karen's hands are careful, her movements precise as she works to free his mouth from the confines of the cotton. Plankton winces, his mouth feeling dull and tender. The room tilts slightly as he closes his eye, his body surrendering to the exhaustion that follows surgery. "Now, would you like some i---" But Plankton's already snoring softly, lost to the world. Karen's laughter fills the space between them. She knew he'd be sore later though, not to mention his autistic sensitivities to managing pain.. The next morning, Plankton wakes with a sore mouth and the anesthesia gone. He manages to open his eye. The room is a blur of light and shadow, his gums pounding with a dull throb. His jaw feels achy, his tongue swollen and uncooperative. He tries to sit up as Karen greets him. "How are you feeling, honey?" "Wisdom teeth?" he asks, his memory a haze. Karen smiles. "Yes, sweetie. You had surgery yesterday. Everything went fine." Plankton nods slowly, his eye searching hers for reassurance as Chip comes in to check on his dad. "Hey, Dad," Chip says, his voice soft. "How's the mouth?" Plankton's eye twitches. "Hurt," he manages, his words muffled by the swollen tissue. Karen brings Plankton ice packs. She knows his sensory sensitivities, and how this disruption can overwhelm him. "Thanks, love," he says, his voice a rasp. Karen knew that Plankton's autism means recovery will be more challenging, his senses heightened. "You have to stay calm," Karen instructs Chip, "He needs a quiet environment to heal." Chip nods as he sits on the bed next to Plankton. Plankton's eye opens slightly as the cold ice presses against his cheek. The chill runs through him, a stark relief against the heat of his swollen gums. "It's ok," Karen whispers, her voice a balm to his pain. "It'll help with the swelling." He nods, his hand gripping the ice pack tightly. The room is too bright, the sounds too sharp. His mind craves the familiar comfort of his routines, his stims, but his body won't cooperate. Karen notices his distress, her hand gentle as it brushes his forehead. "You need some space, Plankton?" she asks, reading his cues. He nods, his breath coming in shallow pants. She nods and goes to sit on her bed adjacent to his own. Yet Karen sees the struggle play out across his features with the effort to keep calm, his body tight with tension. Chip, still sitting by his dad, wants to help. He starts to fiddle with his fidget toy, the soft click-clack of the gears echoing in the silence. Plankton's eye snaps open, his gaze drawn to the movement. "Chip, stop," he mumbles, his voice a mixture of pain and irritation. But Chip, eager to distract his father from his own discomfort, doesn't hear the edge in Plankton's voice. The clicking grows faster, each movement a blur of colors and shapes. Plankton's heart starts to race, his body tensing. "Chip," he says more firmly this time. But Chip's fingers dance on the fidget, his eyes focused on his task. The noise and visual assault are too much for Plankton's sensitive system. His face contorts. "Chip, please," Plankton whispers, his voice strained. Chip finally looks up, his expression one of innocent curiosity. "What, Dad? I--" But he doesn't get to finish his sentence. Plankton's hand snatches the fidget toy, his movements jerky. The room seems to shrink, the air thick with tension. Chip's eyes widen, realizing his mistake. "Dad, I'm sor—" But Plankton's agitation has reached a peak. He thrusts the fidget toy away. The plastic clatters on the floor, a jolting sound that pierces the silence. "Too...much," he manages to get out, his voice strained. Chip's cheeks flush with embarrassment and guilt. He didn't mean to upset his father. He just wanted to help. "Sorry," Chip whispers, picking up the toy, which only makes Plankton's anger spike further. The sudden movement of Chip's hand, the sharp sound of the fidget— it's like a storm in his mind. "No!" Plankton yells, his voice raw. Chip freezes, his heart racing. "Dad," he starts, his voice shaky. "I didn't mean..." But Plankton's already flailing, trying to push away the chaos that's invaded his space. Karen quickly moves to intervene. "Chip," she says, her voice firm yet calm. "Remember what we talked about." Chip nods, understanding dawning on his face. He'd forgotten the rules of their world, the delicate balance that keeps Plankton's sanity intact. He'd wanted to help, but instead, he'd added to the storm raging within his dad. She takes the fidget toy from Chip, placing it on the nightstand. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his eye darting around the room. He's lost in his own head, the pain making it difficult to focus. "It's ok," Karen soothes, her touch gentle on his arm. "Let's dim the lights and make it quieter." She pulls the shades closed, the harsh daylight retreating to a soft glow. Chip nods, his expression solemn. "I'll go to my room," he says, his voice small. Plankton's gaze meets his son's, a silent apology passing between them. "Thanks, buddy," he says, his voice a gruff whisper.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 7 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! "Chip's just trying to understand. And so are you." But Plankton can't find the words, the weight of his son's accusations crushing him. He swipes at a tear that's managed to escape, his shoulders heaving. "I just want to be normal," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "To not be a disappointment." Karen's eyes are filled with love and sadness as she shakes her head. "You could never be a disappointment to me, Plankton. You're perfect just the way you are." But he stands up, turning away from her. "No, I'm not," he says, his back to her. "Look at what I've done. I've ruined our lives." His voice is thick with emotion. "I've made Chip resentful, and I've made you...sacrifice so much." Karen moves to his side, placing a hand on his arm. "You haven't ruined anything," she insists. "You're a wonderful husband, an—" "Don't," he snaps, turning to face her, the pain in his eyes like a physical force. "Don't lie to me. You deserve better than this. Better than a husband who can't even sit through a simple family outing without falling apart." His voice cracks, the weight of his words heavy in the quiet room. "You deserve someone who can give you a normal life!" Karen's eyes fill with determined love. "You are what makes our life normal, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "Our life is special because of you. And as for Chip, he's just confused. He'll understand when he's older." But Plankton shakes his head, his hand coming up to cover his mouth, stifling a cry as he leaves their bedroom. He moves through the house, his bare feet silent on the cool floor, his thoughts a cacophony of doubt and self-loathing. His mind replays Chip's words over and over as he opens the back door, to the backyard. The porch creaks under his weight, his eye unfocused. Meanwhile, Karen goes in to Chip's bedroom. "Chip," she says, her voice soft but firm. "You need to apologize to your dad." He looks up, his eyes swollen from crying. "But I just want him to get better," he whispers, his voice small. "I don't like seeing him hurt." Karen sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed. "I know, sweetie. But your dad can't get 'better' from being autistic. It's not a sickness." She takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "What your dad needs is for us to understand him, to make things easier for him. And for us to be patient when things are hard." Chip sniffs, wiping at his nose. "But it's not fair," he says, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "Why does he get to be different?" Karen's eyes fill with compassion. "Because he is, Chip. And that's ok. We're all different, in our own ways. That's what makes us unique." She pauses, looking at him with a gentle expression. "But it's also what makes us a family." Plankton sits in the backyard. The stars twinkle above, their indifferent beauty a contrast to the tumult in his heart. He's heard the whispers before, the way people look at him—his inability to fit in, his strange behaviors. He's always known he was different. But to hear it from Chip...it's like a punch to the gut. His mind races, trying to make sense of it all. The world feels like a puzzle he can never solve, no matter how much he wants to. He's tried to be better, to do better, to be the husband and father his family deserves. But it's always just out of reach, like the elusive Krabby Patty formula he's chased for years. He looks down at his hands, still trembling slightly. In the quiet of the night, his stims come back, a comforting rhythm that soothes his frayed nerves. He starts to rock slightly, back and forth, his eye unfocused. It's a habit he's had since he was young, a way to calm the storm in his head. It's his brain's way of telling him he's safe, even when the world feels like it's closing in. He doesn't realize he's speaking until the words spill out. "I'm not enough," he whispers to the night. "I'll never be enough.." Back in the house, Karen holds Chip tight, her heart heavy with the weight of their conversation. She knows his frustrations are born out of love, but she also knows how much Chip's words sting Plankton. She needs to fix this, to mend the fracture in their family's foundation. "Come on, buddy," she says, wiping Chip's tears away. "Let's talk to your dad. He needs to hear you're sorry." Chip nods, his eyes red and swollen. Karen leads him to the back door, where they find Plankton, his gaze lost as he shivers uncontrollably. "Dad?" Chip says. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide with surprise. "What?" He says, his voice thick with pain. "I'm sorry," Chip whispers, his body trembling. "I didn't mean those things." Karen's gaze is firm, her voice steady. "We need to talk, Plankton," she says. "Both of you." She leads them back inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill outside. Plankton allows himself to be guided, his mind a whirlwind. In the living room, they sit, a tapestry of emotions. Karen starts, her voice measured. "Chip, your dad doesn't mean to make things difficult. His brain just interprets the world differently." Chip looks up, his eyes wet. "But why can't he just try?" He asks, his voice desperate. "Why can't he just be normal?" Plankton flinches, his gaze dropping to the floor. Karen sighs, her hand wrapped around Plankton's. "Chip," she starts gently. "You know autism isn't a choice. Your dad's brain is different. It's like asking someone to change their eye color." Chip frowns, his young mind struggling to comprehend. "But why can't he just ignore it?" He asks, his voice small. Plankton looks up, his eye filled with a mix of anger and sadness. "Because it's not ignorable," he says, his voice firm. "It's like you're asking one to ignore breathing." The room falls silent, the gravity of his words sinking in. "It's always there, affecting how he sees, hears, feels." Chip's expression softens, a glimmer of understanding dawning. "Your dad does his best every day. And so do we, to support him. It's not about changing for him, Chip," she says. "It's about meeting him where he is. When someone's in a wheelchair, you don't tell them to climb the stairs. You build a ramp." Plankton nods slightly, his gaze still on the floor. "Autism is like that," Karen continues. "It's part of who he is, and we love him for all of him."

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 10 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The house feels eerily quiet without Plankton's usual rambling. Chip sits in his room, his thoughts racing. He didn't mean to make his dad feel patronized or pitied. He just wanted to share something that had brought joy. He opens the book to where Plankton had torn it. The pages are jagged, but the message isn't lost. 'AUSOME AUsomeness'. It dawns on him how wrong he was to assume his dad's experience mirrored Timmy's. Autism isn't a one-size-fits-all, and he'd hurt his own father by not seeing him as an individual. Chip lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of his mistake pressing down on him. He thinks about his dad's seizures, his stims, and the pain in his eye. What if he'd made his dad feel even more alone? The next day at school, Chip goes up to Timmy, his heart heavy. "Hey," he says, his voice low. "My dad, he saw the book I showed him, and he didn't like it." Timmy looks at him, his eyes full of concern. "Oh no, why?" He asks. Chip takes a deep breath. "He said it felt like I was making fun of him," he admits. "And I didn't mean to." Timmy nods, his hands still. "Everyone's different," he says. "Some of us can laugh about it, and some of us can't." He pauses. "But you tried, Chip. That's what matters." Chip nods, feeling a tiny bit better. Maybe he couldn't make his dad feel like a superhero, but at least he'd tried. "Hey Timmy, can you come over after school?" Chip asks. Timmy's eyes lit up. "Sure," he says. So after school Timmy follows Chip to his house. When they arrive, Karen greets them with a warm smile. "You must be Timmy," she says, shaking his hand. "I've heard so much about you." Timmy smiles shyly. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Plankton." They walk into the living room where Plankton is sitting, his gaze on the floor. Chip feels his heart race as Timmy enters. "Dad," Chip says, his voice shaky. "This is Timmy." Plankton looks up, his eye narrowing slightly. Timmy takes the lead, his hands flapping slightly as he speaks. "Hi, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "Chip told me you're like me." Plankton looks between the two of them, his expression unreadable. "How so?" Plankton challenges. Timmy takes a deep breath, his eyes darting to Chip for support. "Well," he starts, "we're both autistic." Plankton's gaze sharpens, his posture stiffening. Timmy looks at his own hands, which are still flapping slightly. "It means my brain works differently," he says, his voice steady. "But that's not all bad. It's like having a superpower, sometimes." He smiles, his eyes finding Chip's. "Like, I'm really good at math, and I can remember things other people forget. What's your autistic powers, Mr. Plankton?" Plankton's eye widens. No one's ever asked him that before. "I...I don't know," he says slowly, his voice unsure and flustered. Timmy nods. "Well, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here," he says, his voice gentle. "It's not always easy, but it's not always bad either." He sits down next to Plankton, his hands now still. Karen watches from the kitchen with hope. Maybe Timmy could show Plankton that his autism isn't something to be ashamed of, but something that makes him uniquely him. Plankton's eye flickers towards Timmy, and for a moment, Chip sees a glimpse of curiosity. "I'm an inventor," he says, his voice still guarded. "I can create things that no one else can." Timmy nods, his face serious. "That's awesome," he says. "My superpower is that I never forget a face once I've seen it. It's pretty useful when you've got a memory like a steel trap." The two of them sit in silence for a few moments, the tension in the room dissipating slightly. Then, Timmy speaks up again. "You know, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "Sometimes, it's good to have someone else who gets it." He looks at his own hands, which have started flapping again. "Someone who won't stare or judge." Plankton looks at Timmy, his expression unreadable. Sensing an opening, Karen interjects, her voice soft. "Plankton, maybe talking to Timmy could help. You've always said you felt lonely in your own world, maybe he can shine some li-" "I don't need a support group," Plankton snaps, but his tone lacks its usual bite. "I need my family to understand me." His gaze meets Chip's, and the hurt in his eye is unmistakable. Timmy nods, his hands still in his lap. "I get that," he says, his voice calm. "But sometimes, it's nice to know you're not the only one with superpowers, you kn-" "Don't," Plankton cuts him off, his voice sharp. "Don't call it that." But Timmy isn't deterred. "Okay," he says, his tone respectful. "But yo-" "I'm not a child, Timmy," Plankton says, his voice strained. "I don't need to be told bedtime stories to make me feel better about my condition." Chip feels his chest tighten as he watches his dad's reaction. Timmy's eyes are filled with understanding. "It's not a bedtime story, Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice calm. "It's a way to see th-" "I said DON'T," Plankton's voice rises, his frustration evident. Chip feels his stomach drop. This isn't going well. But Timmy doesn't back down. "But Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice firm but gentle. "You're not just a scientist, you're a person too. And people need to feel seen, understood, and valued. Maybe this book isn't for you, but it's for others like us-" "Like us?" Plankton repeats, his voice cold. "Don't you dare lump me in with you, young man. My autism is not a game or a gimmick. It's a part of me, yes, but it's not something to be used to make my son feel better about himself." Timmy's face falls, but his voice remains steady. "I'm sorry if it came across that way," he says. "That wasn't my intent." Karen steps in, trying to defuse the situation. "Plankton, maybe we're all just tr-" But Plankton cuts her off. "I'm tired of being the lesson," he says, his voice shaking. "I'm tired of being someone's 'project'. I'm not your science experiment because in the real world, people don't get it." He turns to Chip. "And you, thinking you can just fix me with a book? Some people don't get a happy ending, Chip." The anger in his voice makes Chip flinch. Timmy looks from Plankton to Chip, his eyes wide. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble," he says, his voice small. "I just...I just thought maybe we could learn from each other." Plankton's gaze remains on the floor. "Life's not that simple," he says, his voice weary. "You think a book can change how people see me?" He shakes his head, his frustration palpable. "Why don't we all just put on capes and pretend we're superheroes?" The sarcasm stings, but Chip knows he's not mad at Timmy. He's mad at the world, at the unfairness of it all. Timmy's hands start to flap again, his body responding to the tension in the room. "Mr. Plankton," he says, his voice earnest. "I know it's not easy. But sometimes, finding someone who gets it ca--" "GETS IT?" Plankton's voice echoes through the room. "You might have autism, like I do, but we're not the same!" He slams his fist down on the table, the force of it making the china rattle. "You don't know what it's like for me! When I was in school, teachers tied my hands to my chair to make me stop flapping! Do you have any idea how tha-" "Plankton!" Karen gasps with shocked surprise. She never heard of that before. "You never talked about that," she says, her voice trembling as she approaches him, her hands reaching out in a comforting gesture. Plankton's eye meets hers, and for a moment, the anger seems to drain from his face, replaced by a deep sadness. But he's not done. "That was almost child's play compared to the time when a teacher had explained to the class that I was 'lesser', and that, because of my autism, I wasn't capable of living a 'worthwhile' life and also deserved to be institutionalized, since I was just a drain on society," Plankton says, his voice trembling with rage. Timmy's hands stop moving altogether, his eyes wide with horror. "That's terrible," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "But Mr. Plankton, you have so much to offer. You're smart and you have a son that loves yo-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice a warning. "Don't you dare try to erase my pain with your childish optimism." Timmy's eyes fill with understanding, his hands falling still. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice low. "I know it's not the same for everyone. But sometimes, finding strength in the way we're different can help." He looks down at his hands, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to share that wi-" But Plankton's had enough. He stands, his body rigid. "I don't need a pep talk," he says. "I need you to see me as I am." He walks away.

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 11 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The room feels like it's shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip's chest tightens, his eyes stinging. He'd never wanted to make his dad feel like this. Timmy looks at him, his expression full of sympathy. "It's okay," he says, his voice soothing. "He's just scared." They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel. Chip's mind is racing, trying to piece together what went wrong. How could something that brought Timmy so much joy cause so much pain for his dad? Timmy breaks the silence, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's hard for people to accept help," he says. "Especially when it feels like you're trying to change them." He looks at Chip, his eyes understanding. "But you can't make anyone feel something they're not ready to." Chip nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. "But what do we do now?" He asks, desperation lacing his voice. Timmy shrugs. "Let's go apologize.." They find Plankton sitting on his bed in the bedroom. Chip's heart raced as they approached. "Dad," he starts, his voice shaking. "Timmy and I, we just want to say we're sorry." Plankton looks up, his eye twitching slightly. "You can't fix me." Timmy nods as Karen comes in. "But we can still be there for you," he says, his voice earnest. "And maybe, we can learn together." Plankton's gaze meets Timmy's, his expression unreadable. But before anyone can say another word, Plankton's body shifts. Suddenly, his eye glazed over, and he starts to rock back and forth, his hands flapping rapidly. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice filled with fear; but Karen understands. "It's okay," Karen says. "It's one of his seizures." Timmy's eyes widen, his hands stilling in mid-air. "What's happening?" He asks. Karen explains in a calm, steady voice. "It's called a non-motor seizure. Sometimes it's just his brain doing its own thing. We have to be quiet and let it pass. This isn't the first time." Chip watches as Plankton's body rocks back and forth, his eye unfocused. He feels a rush of fear and helplessness. This is his dad, his hero, reduced to this by something he can't control. Timmy nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton. Karen quickly moves to Plankton's side. "Remember, Chip," she whispers, her voice calm. "Just let it run its course. It's like a storm passing through." Chip nods, his eyes glued to his dad's trembling form. Timmy sits silently beside them, his hands still in his lap as Plankton's seizure unfolds. His rocking becomes more pronounced, his breathing shallow and rapid. Karen holds his hand, her expression a mask of concern. "It's okay, sweetie," she murmurs. "You're sa-" But Plankton's body jolts, his eye rolling back in his head. Chip watches his dad's autistic behavior take over in a way he's never seen before. Timmy's eyes are wide with shock. "Is he okay?" He whispers to Karen. She nods. "It'll be over soon," she promises. "It's just part of his autism." The minutes drag on, each second feeling like an eternity. Plankton's seizure subsides, his body finally still. His breathing evens out, and the color starts to return to his cheeks. Chip feels a weight lift from his chest. "It's over," Karen whispers, her hand still gripping Plankton's. Timmy looks at Chip, his eyes full of unspoken questions. Plankton slowly opens his eye. Timmy's eyes are full of concern. "Are you okay, Mr. Plankton?" But Plankton doesn't answer. He's staring at something on the wall, something only he can see. His hand reaches out, flapping slightly, as if trying to grab onto an invisible thought. But Karen's been through this before. She knows what to do. She whispers to Timmy, "It's okay. This is just his brain's way of handling too much input." Timmy nods, his eyes glued to Plankton. As Plankton's body slowly relaxes, his voice starts, a string of words that don't quite make sense. "The... the...the...spoons," Plankton says, his voice distant. Chip and Timmy exchange confused glances. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand. "It's okay, baby," she whispers. "You're okay." Plankton's eye moved around the room, his hands flapping slightly. "The... the...the...spoons," he repeats. Karen's face relaxes into understanding. "Echolalia," she whispers to Chip and Timmy. "It's a way his brain reboots after a seizure." Timmy nods, his gaze still on Plankton. "I know about that," he says. "It's like my brain's playing back a tape of everything that's happened, trying to make sense of it." Plankton's voice gradually gains clarity. "The spoons...they...they're..." Chip watches, his heart in his throat, as his dad's hand still flutters in the air, his eye unfocused. "It's a sensory thing," Karen says, keeping her voice low. "Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed." Plankton's voice grows stronger, the words more random. "The...the...did," he says, his hand moving in patterns that seem to have a rhythm only he can understand. "They were...were...were..." Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's, her gaze full of patience and love. "Just breathe, baby," she says, her voice soothing. "Take your time.." Timmy watches, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's he saying?" He whispers. "It's okay," Karen reassures both Timmy and Chip. "It's just his brain trying to find it's bearings. Just let him find his way back." Plankton's words become more nonsensical, his hand still moving through the air as his voice cracks. "They...they were...were..." His eye flickers, and he swallows hard. "They were always...always..." Timmy's eyes never leave Plankton's, his gaze filled with understanding and compassion. He's been here before, in his own way. His hands start to move slightly again, as if he's trying to connect with Plankton's thoughts. "It's okay," he whispers. "You don't have to push." But Plankton's voice doesn't listen. "They were always...always... were...were...pats," he says, his hand moving in a pattern that makes no sense to him. Chip feels his heart break for his dad. This isn't the first time he's seen a seizure, but every time, it's like watching a piece of Plankton get taken away, leaving behind a man who's lost in his own world. Timmy, though, seems to understand. He reaches out his own hand, mirroring Plankton's movements. "It's okay," he says again. "We're here for yo-" But Plankton isn't listening. "They were always...were...pats," he repeats, his voice getting louder. "They were always pats!" He starts to chuckle. "Pats, pats, pats!" His hand hits the bed. Karen smiles sadly. "Plankton, I see you," she says, her voice a whisper. "You'll come back to us." Chip watches, his heart racing. Timmy's eyes are wide with understanding. He's seen this before in himself. "It's okay," he says, his voice calm. "You can come back whenever you're ready." Plankton's hand still flaps. "I'm here, Mr. Plankton," Timmy says. "You're not al—" But Plankton's voice rose in pitch. "The...tck...tck..." He's ticcing now, Chip realized. Each syllable punctuated with a sharp, staccato twitch of his face. "Tck...tck...tck..." Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tightens slightly, her eyes full of love and understanding. "You're okay," she murmurs, her voice steady. "Just let it out. It's okay." Karen turns to them. "This helps him," she whispers. "It's like...like releasing pressure." Timmy nods, his own hands still in his lap. "I get tics too," he says, his voice barely audible. "But not like that." He looks at Chip. "Sometimes it's ju—" But then, with a blink, Plankton comes back to himself. He looks around the room, confused. "What...what happened?" He asks, his voice slurred. Karen smiles gently. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she says. "But you're okay now."