Hannacore Emojis & Text

Copy & Paste Hannacore Emojis & Symbols

#KneeSurgery pt. 18 "What are you guys doing here?" he asked, his voice still gruff but with a hint of confusion. Sponge Bob smiled, his thumb still tracing the edge of Plankton's cast. "We just wanted to make sure you're okay," he said. Plankton's antennae twitched. "I'm fine," he said, his tone gruff. Karen stood up, her movements smooth and efficient. "Why don't we get you into your chair?" she suggested, picking up his crutches. Plankton nodded, his movements slow and deliberate as he carefully swung his casted leg over the side of the couch. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up, balancing on his good leg. Patrick watched, his eyes wide with interest. "Look at him go," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. "It's like he's learning to walk all over again like a wittle baby." Plankton shot Patrick a glare, his face flushing with embarrassment. "I'm not a baby!" he snapped, his voice echoing in the quiet living room. "Patrick, that's not helping," Hanna whispered, trying not to laugh. Sponge Bob's expression was one of shock. "Patrick, that's not nice," he admonished gently. Patrick scrunched his face up in confusion. "But he looks like one," he said, his voice innocent. Plankton huffed. "No, I'm not!" But Patrick's on a roll. "You know what else babies have?" he said, his voice rising. "Naps!" Plankton's face grew redder, his antennae twitching with anger. "Patrick," Hanna warned, but Patrick was on a roll. "Hey, Plankie, you need help while you're all broken. Wa-a-agh, wa-a-agh!" The room fell silent. Plankton stared at Patrick, his single eye twitching. "That's it," he said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I guess I'll just have to take naps like a baby now." Hanna could see the hurt in his eye. With a quick motion, Plankton set down his crutches and stood up, hopping on one foot. Without another word, he turned and limped away, his casted leg thumping against the floor with each step as he headed towards his bedroom. The group watched, stunned, as he closed the door behind him with a slam. Hanna's laughter died in her throat, replaced by a look of horror. "Oh no," she whispered. Karen sighed, setting down the magazines. "I'll go talk to him," she said firmly. But before she could move, they heard sobs from behind the door. Her heart aching, she knocked softly. "Plankton, are you okay?" The sobs grew louder, and she exchanged worried glances with Sponge Bob and Patrick, who looked equally mortified. "I'll go," Sponge Bob volunteered, standing up. He approached the door, his steps tentative. "Plankton, buddy, it's me," he said gently. "Can I come in?" The sobbing subsided for a moment before Plankton's voice, muffled by the door, replied, "I don't want to see any of you right now." The words hit Hanna like a brick, her chest tightening with sadness. Sponge Bob looked back at them, his expression pained. He shrugged helplessly before sitting back down. Patrick's face fell. "I didn't mean to make him cry," he said, his voice small. Hanna nodded, her eyes still on the closed door. "We know you didn't, Patrick," she said, trying to comfort him. "But sometimes words can hurt, even if we don't mean them to." Sponge Bob placed a hand on Patrick's shoulder. "We'll apologize later," he said firmly. "But right now, let's just give him some space." They both left, the only sound being Plankton's muted sobs. Karen stood, her heart heavy with disappointment at his pain. She moved to the door, wanting to comfort Plankton but respecting his request for solitude. Her hand hovered above the knob, unsure of what to do. Through the crack in the door, she could see Plankton's form hunched over his bed, his tiny fists clenched. His sobs grew quieter, his breaths coming in shuddering gasps. Karen's chest tightened, watching his vulnerability. With a deep breath, she pushed the door open, moving slowly towards the bed. "Plankton," she said softly, her voice soothing. He looked up, his eye red and swollen. "I just want to check on you," she said, her tone gentle. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but I'm here." He nodded, his antennae drooping. Karen sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb his cast. "You've been through a lot," she said, her voice soft. "It's okay to feel upset." Plankton's chest heaved, his sobs growing softer. "But you know, tomorrow we have that appointment with the doctor," Karen reminded him gently. "They'll check how your leg's doing, make sure everything's on track. And Hanna is coming along, as her home is still under repair." Plankton sniffled, his eye still wet. "Yeah, I know," he mumbled, his voice small. Karen smiled gently. "But you don't have to push yourself too hard. You're still healing." The next morning, Karen gets out of bed early, the sun not yet fully risen outside. She can hear Plankton's snores as she sneaks past his bed. Hanna stirs in the guest room, waking up. "How's he doing?" she asks, coming into their room. "Asleep," Karen whispers. "Let's get ready for his appointment." Hanna nods. "What time is it?" "Five thirty," Karen says, glancing at her clock. "We have to leave in a moment." Plankton's snores grow softer. Hanna looks at Karen, who's gathering his crutches. "Should we wake him?" Karen nods. "We have to. The doctor wanted us there early to check the cast." They tiptoe over to Plankton's bedside. Karen places a hand on his shoulder. "Plankton, sweetie," she says gently. "Time to wake up." His snores stop abruptly, and his single eye snaps open. "What's going on?" he croaks, his voice rough from sleep. Hanna smiles tentatively. "We have an appointment with the doctor," Karen reminds him, helping him sit up. "We need to get going." Plankton groans, his casted leg thumping against the bedframe. "Okay, okay," he says, rubbing his eye. Karen loaded his wheelchair into the back as Plankton used his crutches to get in the car. The drive was quiet, each of them lost in their thoughts. Plankton was nervous about the doctor's visit, his leg throbbing with each bump in the road. Hanna sat beside him. When they arrived at the hospital, the waiting room was deserted except for the receptionist, who gave them a knowing smile. "Mr. Plankton," she said, her voice cheerful. "Right this way." Plankton grimaced as he wheeled himself in. The doctor, a stern-looking crab, took one look at his cast and said, "Ah, yes. Your appointment. Let's have a look." Setting up the x-ray, the doctor turns to Plankton, his expression professional. "You've got quite the cast," he says, eyeing it curiously. Plankton nods, gritting his teeth as he lifts his leg up onto the examination table. Karen's hand rests on his shoulder, offering silent support. The doctor taps the cast. "How's the pain?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "Better," he says, his voice strained. Karen squeezes his shoulder. Hanna, seated beside Karen, holds her hand.
#KneeSurgery pt. 13 They play for a few minutes in silence, the sound of slapping cards the only noise in the room. Hanna's cheerfulness begins to grate on Plankton's nerves, his antennae twitching with each of her exclamations of "Oh!" and "Wow!" every time she wins a round. Karen watches the exchange, her eyes flickering between them. "Plankton," she says softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't we take a break?" Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "I'm fine," he mutters. Hanna's smile doesn't falter. "It's okay if you need to—" He cuts her off with a glare. "I said I'm fine," he snaps, his voice tight. Karen squeezes his shoulder, her gaze firm. "Plankton," she says, her voice soft but firm. "Take a moment. We're all trying to make this work." Plankton huffs, his antennae stiffening. He knows she's right, but the cast on his leg is a constant reminder of his weakness, and Hanna's cheeriness is grating on his nerves. He takes a deep breath, trying to rein in his frustration. "Okay," he says through gritted teeth. "A break." Hanna's smile doesn't waver. "Great!" she says. "How abo---" Her words are cut off as Plankton swings his cast-covered leg around, wincing slightly as he does so. Hanna watches him, her concern etched on her face. "Careful," she warns gently. "I've got it," Plankton snaps, his pride bruised. He hobbles into his bedroom, his crutches echoing against the tiles. Karen sighs heavily, her eyes following him. "I'm sorry," Hanna says quickly. "I didn't mean to overstep." Karen shakes her head. "No, it's okay," she says. "He's just...going through a tough time." Hanna nods, her eyes filled with empathy. "I can see that," she says. "But he's lucky to have you." Karen smiles sadly. "Thanks, Hanna." They sit in silence for a moment before Karen stands up. "I'll go check on him," she says, leaving the living room. In the bedroom, Plankton is lying on the bed, his crutches leaning against the wall. He looks up as Karen enters, his expression unreadable. "You okay?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton shrugs. "I'm fine," he says, his voice clipped. Karen sighs. "You know, you don't have to be tough all the time," she says, sitting beside him. "We're all here to support you." Plankton turns his head to look at her, his single eye studying her face. "I know," he says, his voice softer. "It's just...embarrassing." Karen nods, her hand resting on his arm. "But you're not weak for needing help. It won't be forever." Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his antennae drooping. "I know, but it's just so...humiliating." Karen's grip on his arm tightens. "You're not weak, Plankton," she says firmly. "You're strong. You're going through a tough time, and that's okay." He looks away, his antennae waving slightly. "It's just...I don't like feeling so...so..." He struggles to find the words. "Vulnerable," she fills in gently. He nods, his eye closing. "Exactly." Karen's hand strokes his arm. "We all have our moments," she says. "It's okay to not be okay." Plankton's eye remains closed, his expression thoughtful. "Thanks," he mumbles, his antennae lifting slightly. They sit in companionable silence for a moment before Plankton sighs. "I'm just tired," he says, his voice weary. "Can we just...rest?" Karen nods, her face gentle. "Of course," she says. "Why don't you take a nap? I'll tell Hanna we're taking a break." She stands and leans over to kiss his forehead. "You're doing better than you think," she whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch. "Thanks," he murmurs, his voice soft. He watches as she leaves the room, his mind racing with thoughts. He's not used to feeling so... dependent. But he knows Karen's right. He needs to accept the help and move forward. With a sigh, he closes his eye and tries to comfortable, the cast on his leg feeling like a lead weight. The house is quiet, only the faint hum of the refrigerator breaking the silence. Plankton's mind wanders, thinking about his recovery. He's always been the one to push through, to never let anything hold him back. But this... this was different. He couldn't fight or scheme his way out of a broken leg. After a few moments of contemplation, his eye snaps open. The door creaks slightly as it opens. Hanna pokes her head in, her smile slightly more tentative than before. "Is it okay if I come in?" she asks softly. Plankton nods, his antennae still. "What is it?" Her cheeks flush slightly. "I just wanted to check on you," she says, stepping into the room. "And to...apologize." "For what?" he asks, his voice gruff. Hanna takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry if I was too enthusiastic," she says, her eyes meeting his. "I just wanted to m-" "Make me feel better?" Plankton finishes for her, his tone sarcastic. Hanna swallows, her smile slightly wobbly. "I guess," she admits. "I just didn't know how else t---" Her words are interrupted by a soft knock on the doorframe. They both look up to see SpongeBob peering in, his face etched with concern. "Hey, buddy," he says gently. "How are you holding up?" Plankton's antennae perk up slightly. "I'm fine," he says. Sponge Bob nods. "Well, if you need anything, just holler," he says before leaving. Hanna looks at Plankton, her eyes filled with concern. "I'm sorry," she repeats. "I di-" "Don't," Plankton says, cutting her off. Her smile falters. "What?" "You're being a...jerk." He answers her. Hanna's eyes widen in surprise. "I'm sorry," she stammers. "I didn't mean to be...I just want to make sure yo--" "You're annoying, Hanna! I have enough to deal with without you pestering me," Plankton snaps, his antennae quivering with agitation. Hanna's smile fades, and she takes a step back, her eyes welling with hurt. "I'm sorry," she says again. "I-I-I-I…" But Plankton's not done. "You're just nosy." Hanna's eyes fill with tears, but she fights them back. "I'm just trying to be your friend," she says, her voice shaking. "Get out! I don't need you, and it's none of your business!" Plankton's voice is sharp, his antennae stiff with anger. Hanna's smile crumbles. "Plankton, I just—" she starts, but he interrupts again. "What? Just what, Hanna? You wanna just stick around and gawk at me, or are you gonna go?" His voice is bitter, and she can see the frustration boiling behind his eye. Her smile is completely gone now, replaced by a look of sadness. "You know, Plankton," she says, her voice shaky, "you don't have to—" "Don't tell me what I have to do!" Plankton yells, his small frame trembling. "I know what I need, and it's not you poking your nose into my business!" Hanna's hands clench into fists at her sides. "I'm not poking my nose in," she says, her voice strained. "I'm just trying to help!" Her words are met with silence. Plankton's eye narrows, his antennae quivering with rage. "You think you're helping?" he spits. "You're not. You're just making everything worse. Why can't you just leave me alone?" Hanna's lip quivers, but she squares her shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere," she says firmly. "I care abou–" "You don't care about me," Plankton snaps. "You just want to know what happened so you can be the hero that 'saved' me." His eye glares at her, his antennae vibrating with accusation. "Well, my life doesn't involve you, Hanna. So just stay out of it!" Hanna's eyes brim with tears, but she refuses to let them fall. "I do care," she whispers. "And I'm not trying to be a her-" But Plankton's interrupted her again. "You don't know anything about me," he says, his voice cold. "You're just here because Karen let you, but I don't want you here." Hanna's cheeks flush with hurt. "Plankton, I'm trying to be a good friend, but you're just pushing me aw-" "I don't need a friend like you," Plankton says, his voice hard. "Now get out." Hanna's eyes fill with tears, but she nods, turning to leave. He slams the bedroom door behind her. In the living room Karen looks up to see her, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "Hanna?"
#KneeSurgery pt. 20 The first sign of movement was his antennae. They twitched slightly, then more vigorously. His eye cracked open, looking around the room in a daze. "Wha- what happened?" Plankton croaked, his voice slurred. Karen and Hanna exchanged glances, both smiling nervously. "Remember you've just had a procedure," Karen explained. "The doctor removed the excess bone glue." Plankton's eye widened. "Oh," he said, his mind still fuzzy from the sedative. He looked around, taking in the white-walled room and the beeping machines. "Where am I?" he slurred, his eye droopy. Hanna chuckled. "You're still at the hospital, Plankton," she said. "In the recovery room." Plankton's gaze shifted to his bandaged leg, his expression still confused. "What's going on?" he murmured, his hand reaching for the bandage. Karen gently guided his hand back. "It's all right," she assured him. "You're okay." Plankton's eye focused on Hanna, then Karen again. "What's with the crutches?" he asked, his voice still groggy. "You broke your leg, remember?" Hanna prompted, trying not to laugh. Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed the information. "Oh yeah," he mumbled, his eyelid drooping. Karen chuckled softly. "Looks like the doctor was right," she said to Hanna, who nodded. "Let's see what else he has in store." Plankton's eye flitted around the room, his brain clearly still foggy from the anesthesia. "Is that... is that a jellyfish?" he slurred, pointing to a lamp in the corner. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "No, Plankton," she said, gently patting his hand. "It's just a lamp." Hanna covered her mouth to stifle her giggles. Plankton frowned, his thoughts still scattered. "Why are we laughing at me?" he asked, sounding slightly hurt. Karen leaned in, her smile reassuring. "It's just the medicine, sweetie. You're saying funny things," she said, keeping her voice soft. Plankton scowled, his cheeks reddening. "Well, I don't think it's funny," he grumbled, his leg shifting slightly under the bandage. Hanna moved closer, her eyes dancing with mirth. "We're not laughing at you," she assured him. "We're just happy you're okay." Plankton's frown deepened, his thoughts still jumbled. "But what if I say something I don't mean?" he asked, his voice weak. Karen squeezed his hand. "We know it's not you," she said. "It's the medicine." Hanna nodded. "You're safe with us," she promised. "We won't judge you." A nurse came in, checking his monitors. "Looks like you're coming around," she said, her voice cheerful. "How's the pain?" Plankton's expression grew serious. "It's bearable," he managed. The nurse smiled. "Good. We'll let you go home with Karen, and Hanna, with just your crutches; whenever you're ready." As the nurse left, Plankton turned to Karen. "So, what did I miss?" he asked, his eye half-closed. Hanna couldn't help but laugh. "You've been asleep," she replied. "But don't worry, we've got everything under control." Plankton frowned, trying to remember. "Let's get you home," Karen said, her voice soothing. Hanna gathered their things as Karen helped Plankton towards the exit. The sun was now fully up, its warm rays filtering through the hospital's large windows. In the car, Plankton leaned back, his bandaged leg sticking out. "So, who's driving me home?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred. "I am," Karen said, her eyes on the road. "And Hanna's coming with. She's gonna sit in the back with you." Plankton's eye flitted to the rearview mirror. "Hey, Hanna," he slurred. "You look okay today." Hanna blushed, her cheeks flushing pink. "Th-thank you, Plankton," she stammered. "But you're the one who just had surgery." He chuckled, his laugh sounding strange in the quiet car. "I know," he said. "But you're always so... so... cheerful. But don't tell my wife Karen!" Karen's grip tightened on the steering wheel, trying not to laugh. Hanna smiled. Plankton's head lolled to the side, his eye still half-open. "What was surgery like?" Hanna asked, trying to keep the conversation going. He took a moment to consider her question, then his expression brightened with a loopy smile. "It was like, poof!" he exclaimed, his hands gesturing wildly. "The doctor made me float!" He laughed at his own silliness, his eye half-lidded with sleep. "Plankton, you were asleep the whole time," Karen reminded him. "No, no," Plankton insisted, his voice gaining volume. "I swear! Suddenly my leg was fixed!" Hanna couldn't help but join his laughter, while Karen's smile grew. "Okay, okay," Hanna said, wiping a tear from her eye. "We believe you," she assured him. "You're quite the storyteller, even under the influence of anesthesia." Plankton's laughter subsided as his eyelid drooped again. His head nodded slightly, his eye blinking slowly. Hanna watched him. "Hey, I'm not tired." He says, to which Hanna chuckled softly. "Well Plankton, let's just see about tha-" He was out cold before she could finish her sentence as her words were cut off by his sudden snore, his head lolling against the car seat as his eye closed fully. Karen glanced back at him in the rearview mirror, her smile warm. "Looks like you've had enough excitement for one day," she said. Hanna nodded, her gaze lingering on Plankton's bandaged leg. With his snores echoing, they arrived home. Karen parked carefully in the garage. "We're home," she announced. Hanna unbuckled his seatbelt. "Let's get him up," Karen instructed, turning around to face her sleeping husband, for Plankton's snores grew louder. Gently, they nudged him. "Plankton, it's time to wake up," Hanna coaxed. His eye fluttered open. "We're home," she whispered. He nodded slowly, his eyelid drooping. "Kay," he mumbled. They both moved to help him out of the car, his crutches waiting by his side. Plankton leaned heavily on them, his cast leg feeling like a weight. Hanna offered her hand for support, which he took gratefully. His eye kept closing, his body fighting the urge to sleep. Karen guided him towards the house, her arm around his wobbling figure. They managed to navigate the short distance to the couch, his crutches scraping the floor with each step. "Almost there," Karen encouraged, her voice gentle. "Just a little more." With a final heave, they got him safely on the couch, his bandaged leg sticking out. Hanna grabbed a pillow and tucked it under his leg, her movements careful. Plankton sighed, his body sinking into the soft cushions. "Thanks, Hanna," he murmured. "No problem," she said, her voice light. Karen fluffed up the pillows and made sure he was comfortable before sitting beside him. "Movie night," she announced, her eyes twinkling. Plankton nodded, as Hanna sat on the other side of him. The movie started playing, the room bathing in the glow of the television. He looked over at Hanna, his antennae waving slightly. "Hey, look, that's my leg stand," he said, his eye half-closed. Karen couldn't help but laugh. Plankton attempted to reposition himself on the couch, his bandaged leg thumping against the cushions. "Whoa, this thing's like a log," he slurred, trying to lift it with his arms. Hanna giggled. "Let us help," she offered, taking his crutches and leaning them against the coffee table. The movie played on, a gentle hum of background noise. Plankton's head bobbed slightly, his eyelid drooping as he fought the pull of sleep. Karen noticed and shifted closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?" she whispered. He nodded. "Mmhmm," he murmured, his antennae barely moving. "Just... I'm really ti-" Suddenly, his head lolled back and he was out again. Hanna's laughter filled the room. "Looks like the medicine's still got him," she said, smiling. Karen nodded, her hand still on his shoulder. "Poor thing," she whispered. They watched the rest of the movie in a comfortable silence, the sound of Plankton's snores providing a soothing backdrop to their evening.
#KneeSurgery pt. 17 When Karen returns, she hands him the pill and a glass of water. Plankton takes them without a word, swallows hard, and sets the glass down. The medication doesn't kick in right away, but his expression eases slightly. Hanna watches from the corner of her eye. Plankton shifts, his cast knocking against her side. Hanna moves back slightly. "What do you wanna watch?" she asks, trying to fill the void. He shrugs. "How about we find something we can all enjoy?" Karen suggests, settling on a movie with a mix of action and humor. They watch in silence, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. As the movie plays, Plankton's eyelid starts to droop, the medication finally taking hold. Without realizing it, his head slowly slumps to the side, until it's resting on Hanna's shoulder. Hanna freezes. Her heart thumps in her chest. This is a moment she never expected. She glances at Karen, whose expression is a mix of amusement and sympathy. Karen nods slightly, and Hanna understands the silent message: let him be. The movie plays on, the sound of explosions and laughter filling the room. But all Hanna can focus on is the warmth of Plankton's head on her shoulder. His breathing steadies into a soft snore, and she can't help but smile. Her arm is pinned awkwardly, but she doesn't dare move. Instead, she adjusts her position slightly, trying to find comfort without disturbing him. Karen notices, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and she whispers, "Let him sleep. He needs it." Plankton's head remained nestled on Hanna's shoulder, his antennae twitching slightly with each snore. Hanna felt a warmth spread through her, despite the awkwardness. She looked over at him, his face relaxed in sleep. Plankton's snores were deep and even, his body completely relaxed against Hanna, his mouth agape. Karen chuckled quietly. "Looks like he's out for the count," she whispered. Hanna nodded, her smile widening. She didn't move an inch, afraid of waking him. They watched the movie in silence, the comfort of Plankton's weight on her shoulder growing familiar. Karen put a finger to her lips, shushing her. As the credits started to roll, Hanna glanced at Plankton again as she reached for the remote, hitting the off button to avoid waking him. Karen chuckled, seeing Hanna's concern. "I think he's out cold," she whispered. Hanna swallowed a laugh, her eyes twinkling. Karen stood. "Let's get him comfortable," she whispered. Together, they managed to lift his casted leg and place it on the ottoman. Hanna carefully shifted his head to a pillow, his snores barely changing pitch. Plankton moved slightly, his snores grew little louder as his head found the cushion. Hanna couldn't resist a soft giggle, which caused Plankton to shuffle slightly but not wake. Karen shot her a look that clearly said 'not another sound'. They both settled in, exhaustion from the long night still lingering. The living room was bathed in the soft glow of morning light, the curtains filtering the brightness. Plankton's chest moved up and down in a steady rhythm, his snores fading as he moved deeper into sleep. Hanna couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for her earlier actions. But as she watched his peaceful expression, she knew she had to make amends. Karen nudged her. "Why don't you sit with him for a bit?" she suggested. Hanna nodded, swapping places with Karen. She sat carefully, making sure not to disturb his sleep. His breathing was even, and she could see the exhaustion etched on his face. She studied his features, feeling a surge of compassion. Plankton wasn't just a nemesis or a challenge; he was someone in pain, someone who needed support. Hanna vowed to be more considerate, more sensitive to his feelings. Her eyes drifted to his cast, the stark white a contrast to the soft pillow. It was a stark reminder of his vulnerability. Hanna's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. She turned to see SpongeBob peeking his head inside. He saw Plankton sleeping and his expression changed to one of concern. "How's he doing?" he asked in a low voice. Karen smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest. "He's okay," she whispered. "Just sleeping." Sponge Bob padded over to the couch, his eyes on Plankton. "Can I sit?" he asked Hanna, his eyes hopeful. She nodded, scooting over to make room. The three of them sat in quiet companionship, each lost in their own thoughts. Sponge Bob reached out a hand, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face, and placed it gently on his cast, his thumb tracing the edge of Plankton's cast. Plankton stirred, his snores becoming softer. Sponge Bob's expression was one of pure empathy, his eyes reflecting the concern he felt for his friend. Hanna watched, touched by the genuine care. The silence was broken by another knock on the door. This time it was Patrick, his face scrunched in confusion. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice low. Karen whispered, "Plankton's sleeping." Patrick's eyes widened, and he looked at the crutches propped against the wall. "Oh," he said, his voice hushed. He sat down on the floor, his gaze following theirs to Plankton. "How'd he get the big white stick on his leg?" Patrick whispered. Hanna and Karen shared a look, then Hanna explained, "It's a cast, Pat. He broke his leg and the doctors put it on to help him heal, remember?" Patrick nodded slowly, his eyes still wide. "Oh, right. But why's he sleeping?" "He's taking a nap," Karen said gently. "The medicine makes him tired." Patrick nodded, his eyes still on Plankton. "Can I see?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. Hanna and Karen shared a look, then nodded in unison. "Just be careful," Karen whispered. Patrick crawled closer, his body moving with the grace of a bull in a china shop, despite his intention to be gentle. He studied Plankton's cast with intense interest, his finger poised just above it. "What happens if I to-" Hanna's hand snapped out, stopping him. "Don't touch it," she whispered firmly. Patrick's eyes widened in surprise. "But I just wanted to-" "Patrick," Karen interrupted, her tone gentle but firm. "Plankton's leg is very sore. We have to be careful." He nodded, his face a picture of understanding. "Oh," he said, sitting back on his heels. "Is it gonna fall off?" Hanna and Karen shared a look, their expressions a mix of amusement and concern. "No, Patrick," Hanna said, keeping her voice low. "The cast will stay on until his leg is all better." Patrick nodded slowly, his eyes still glued to Plankton's cast. "Can I tell him I'm sorry?" he asked. Hanna looked at Karen, who nodded. "Yes, you can," she said. "But you'll have to wait until he wakes up." Patrick leaned in, his face just inches from Plankton's as he whispered, "Hey, Plankton. You okay?" Plankton's snores continued unabated. "I think he's comfortable," Hanna said, keeping her voice low. "Let's not wake him." Patrick nodded, his curiosity now focused on the cast. He reached out his hand and tapped it lightly. The sudden contact made Plankton flinch, his eye shooting open. "Whaa-" He took in his surroundings quickly, his eye widening when he saw Hanna, Karen, and Sponge Bob sitting around him. "What's going on!" he croaked, his voice groggy from sleep and pain medication. "You were sleeping," Karen explained, her voice soft. Plankton blinked, his mind fuzzy. "Is the movie over?" "Yes," Hanna said, smiling gently. "You fell asleep, on my sh- I mean, you fell asleep during it." Plankton's gaze shifted to Hanna, his expression uncertain.
pls note the ai inflicts emotional damage (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
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#KneeSurgery pt. 15 After a moment, Hanna reaches over, placing a handful of puzzle pieces within his reach. "Here, let's make it fair," she says, smiling at him. He nods. But as Plankton picks up a piece she jumps in, snatching a piece from his hand before he can. "I ca--" He cuts her off. "Oh, boo hoo! You know what? Why don't you just do the whole thing yourself?" He grabs his puzzle pieces and throws them at her, his eye flashing as he gets his crutches and leaves the room. The door slams shut. "I'm sorry," Hanna whimpers, her eyes filling with tears again. Karen sighs, picking up the scattered puzzle pieces. "Give him some space," she says, placing a hand on Hanna's shoulder. "He's just overwhelmed." Hanna nods, wiping at her eyes. "I know," she says, her voice small. "But I just wanted to help." In the bedroom, Karen enters, the door opening slowly. "You okay?" she asks him, her voice soft. Plankton's antennae twitch with anger. "I'm fine," he says, his voice clipped. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, his cast reflecting the dim light. Karen sits down beside him, her hand resting on his back. "You know, Hanna means well," she says. Plankton turns to face her, his eye blazing. "I don't care if she does!" he cries. "I just want her to leave me alone!" His antennae wave in frustration, visibly upset. Karen sighs. "You know she's only trying to help," she says gently. "But I understand you're feeling overwhelmed. It's hard to accept help, especially when you're used to being so independent." Plankton looks away, his antennae still trembling. "I don't need her-" Karen cuts him off. "Would you like me to get your meds?" Plankton nods stiffly. "Yeah," he mutters. Karen stands, her eyes filled with understanding. "I'll be right back." The door clicks closed behind her, leaving Plankton alone with his thoughts. He rubbed his cast. Meanwhile, Hanna notices Karen opening the cabinet with the medical supplies. Her curiosity piqued, she can't help but peek over, watching as Karen carefully selects a bottle. "What's that?" she asks softly. Karen looks up, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's for Plankton's pain," she says, holding up the bottle. "It's a prescription painkiller," Karen explains. "It can help him manage his leg pain, but it makes him a bit drowsy." Hanna nods, taking in the information. "Can I do anything?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Karen thinks for a moment. "You can get water for him." Hanna nods as she fills a glass. In the bedroom, Karen returns with the medication and Hanna with the water. They find Plankton still sitting on the edge of the bed. "Here you go," Karen says, handing him the pills as Hanna watches with a tentative smile, handing Karen the water. Plankton takes the medication, his expression tight. He downs it with the water, his throat working. "Thanks," he says gruffly to Karen. Hanna notices his wheelchair that's been parked next to the bed before looking at Plankton again, trying to smile at him. "You don't have to stare," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "I-I-I-I…" Hanna protests, her eyes quickly darting around, but unable to avert her gaze. Plankton's antennae twitch in annoyance. "What do you want?" he snaps. "I just-I just thought you might need some company," Hanna stammers, her hands fidgeting nervously. "I don't need anything," he says, his voice cold. "Especially not from you." Hanna's smile falters, and she takes a step back. "I-I just want to be here for you," she says, her voice shaking. Plankton scowls. He can feel his temper rising, his tiny fists clenching. "What part of 'leave me alone' don't you understand?" he spits. "I don't need your pity." Hanna's eyes widen, and she swallows hard. "It's not pity," she says quickly. "I just...I care about you. And I underst--" But Plankton isn't listening. "You don't understand anything," he says, his voice getting louder. "You're just a know-it-all!" Plankton turns away, his antennae quivering. "I don't want you here," he says firmly. "Just go." Hanna falters. "But please, Plankto-" He swings back around, his eye blazing. "I don't want your friendship," he says harshly. "Not now, not ever. Do you hear me? We're not friends, and we never will be." Hanna's face falls, and she takes a step back. Tears spill down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to—" "Just go!" Plankton yells, his antennae waving erratically. "Get OU-" But Karen interrupts him sharply, standing between them. "That's enough," she says firmly. Her voice is calm, but the authority is clear. Hanna's eyes are wide with shock and pain, and Plankton looks at her before turning his gaze to Karen, his eye now welling up with tears. Karen sighs, picking up his hand. "I think we all just need some time," she says, squeezing it gently. Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering. "Why can't she just understand?" he whimpers. Karen sits beside him, her expression softening. "She's trying," she says. "We all are." Hanna, standing in the doorway, wipes her tears away. Karen turns to her. "Hanna, can you please give us a moment?" she asks. Hanna nods, her eyes red but her face composed. She backs away, closing the door quietly. Karen turns to Plankton, her face filled with compassion. "You're going through a lot right now," she says gently. "And it's okay." He sniffles, his antennae drooping. The medication starts to kick in, his eyelid drooping slightly. "But I don't feel brave," he says. "You are," she insists. "Now, try and get some rest. It's getting late." With a nod, Plankton lies back, his cast sticking out awkwardly. Karen adjusts the pillows around his leg, her hands gentle. Outside the bedroom, she finds Hanna sitting on the couch, her face a mask of hurt. "Hanna," Karen begins gently, sitting beside her. "I know you're trying to help, but Plankton's just not ready to accept it yet." Hanna nods, sniffing. "But I just want to make things better," she whispers. Karen smiles, squeezing her hand. "And you will," she says firmly. "But right now, he needs his space. It's not about you," she reassures Hanna. "It's about his fear of being vulnerable." Hanna nods. "I get it," she says, though her voice is still shaky. "But what can I do without smothering him?" Karen thinks for a moment. "Why don't we all get a good night sleep?"
#KneeSurgery pt. 22 Hanna emerged from the guest room, her eyes red from crying. She saw Plankton asleep on the couch and felt a pang of sadness. Her steps were quiet as she approached, not wanting to disturb him. Carefully, she reached over and adjusted the pillow under his cast, trying to make him as comfortable as possible without waking him. His snores grew quieter, his body sinking into the cushions. "Let him rest," Karen whispered as she smiled at Hanna's gesture. When Plankton next wakes up from his nap he got his crutches and maneuvered himself down the hall. He heard some laughter from the guest room, and decided to eavesdrop, his antennae twitching as he listened. "He's so stubborn," Karen chuckled. "But that's one of the many things I love about him." Hanna giggled. "You have to admit, though, his post-surgery ramblings were pretty entertaining." Plankton felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment, his ego bruised. He had forgotten about the possible loopy influence of the anesthesia. He listened closer, peering through the slightly open door. "He thought the lamp was a jellyfish! I've never seen him so out of it," Karen says. Plankton's eye narrowed then Hanna spoke again. "And the way he talked about his 'leg stand' like it was a lost artifact!" Hanna laughs, her voice light and carefree. "But the car ride home... I can't believe he said 'Hanna you look okay today but don't tell my wife Karen' I just..." Plankton's face burns with embarrassment as he hears them recount his delirious moments. He shifts his weight on his crutches, trying to decide whether to confront them or retreat back to the living room. He didn't recall any of it. "And the snoring!" Hanna mimics his snores, her voice nasally and loud, causing Karen to burst into laughter. "Oh I'm not tired!" She mimics as she once again makes snorish sounds and snorts as Karen tried not to laugh. "And with his mouth all... open; never seen anything so pathetic.." Hanna says, when Plankton backed up with his crutches his one eye glistening with unshed tears with a squeaky inhale, alerting both of them. They both froze, Hanna's hand covering her mouth. Plankton stood there for a moment, his face red and his heart racing before simply shaking his head. Without a word, he went into his own room, slamming the door. The silence that fell was deafening, and Karen's laughter quickly turned into a worried frown. She hurried after him, her eyes darting to their bedroom door, where Plankton had slammed it. "Plankton, wait," she called out, her voice gentle but firm. She knew he was upset, but she had to talk to him. Hanna's laughter faded away, her eyes wide with shock. "I-I didn't mean to upset him," she stuttered, her voice filled with remorse. "It was just our joke, I didn't think..." Karen placed a reassuring hand on Hanna's shoulder. "It's okay, Hanna. He's just sensitive right now. Let me talk to him." With a nod, Hanna stepped aside, allowing Karen to pass. Karen knocked gently on the closed door, her heart beating fast. "Plankton, can we talk?" she called, her tone soothing. The room remained silent for a few moments, then the door slowly creeaked open. Plankton was sitting on the edge of their bed, his crutches propped against the nightstand. His eye was red and puffy, and he looked up at her with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "I'm sorry," Karen began, sitting down next to him. "I know you're upset." "How could you let her laugh at me?" Plankton snapped, his voice shaking. "After everything I've been through?" Karen took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "It's not like that, sweetie," she soothed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We weren't laughing at you, we were laughing with each other about the silly things you said when you were out of it." "Karen, that's laughing at me!" Plankton's voice was tight with pain, and not just from his leg. The thought that they had been mocking him was too much. He had always been the butt of everyone's joke, and now, when he was at his most vulnerable, it felt like his own wife and friends were joining in. Karen sighed, moving closer to him. "Plankton, you know we'd never do that. We care about you to much. We were just trying to find some humor in a difficult situation." He looked away, his antennae drooping. "I know, I know," he murmured. "It's just that... I don't like being seen as weak." Karen nodded, understanding. "I get that. But you're not weak for needing help. You're strong for admitting when you do. And we're here for you, no matter what." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You're still the same Plankton to us." Hanna hovered outside the doorway, listening intently. Her heart felt heavy with regret. She hadn't meant to hurt his feelings. It had been a misstep, a poor attempt to find lightness in the heavy situation. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open a crack. "Plankton," she called softly. "Ca--" "I don't want to talk to you right now," Plankton said, his voice tight. Hanna's face fell, the rejection stinging. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I really didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to make li—" "You're always trying," Plankton snapped, cutting her off. "I can't even stand up without these crutches," he said, tearing up. "And you're in there, laughing about it?!" "Plankton, please," Hanna pleaded, her eyes brimming with tears. "We weren't laughing at you. We were just... trying to make the best of a bad situation. You know that." But Plankton was too hurt to hear reason. His pride was bruised, and the idea that his vulnerability was a source of amusement for others was unbearable. "I don't want you here," he said, his voice shaking. "I can't stand the sight of you." Hanna's heart shattered at his words. She had only wanted to help, to make him feel better, but instead, she had managed to wound him deeper. She took a step back, her cheeks flushing with shame. "I'm sor—" But Plankton interrupted again. "I said I don't want to talk," he said through gritted teeth. "Just... just leave me alone." With that, he swung his legs off the bed, grabbing his crutches. The pain shot through his leg like a lightning bolt, but he ignored it, determined to stand. Hanna took another step back, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Karen squeezed her hand, giving her a comforting look. "Give him some space, Hanna," she whispered. "He'll calm down." Hanna nodded, her throat tight with unspoken apologies. As Plankton stood, Karen quickly helped adjust his crutches, her expression a mix of concern and pity. "Let's go to the living room," she suggested, guiding him carefully. Plankton hobbled along. Once they were settled again, the tension in the room was palpable. Hanna hovered in the doorway, uncertain of how to apologize or make things right. Her eyes met Plankton's, his normally sharp gaze clouded by pain and hurt. "I'm sorry," she managed to choke out, her voice barely above a whisper. He didn't acknowledge her. Instead, he turned his attention to Karen as they sat on the couch. "What's the plan for today?" he asked, his voice still gruff but trying to sound normal. Karen looked at him for a moment, weighing her words before answering. "Well, you need to stay off that leg as much as possible. So maybe just some rest, and I'll get you set up with a nice little area right here." Hanna stood silently in the corner, her arms folded across her chest. Plankton's words from earlier still stung, and she was unsure if she should offer to help or give him the space he had demanded. She noticed the way his antennae twitched every time he shifted his weight on the crutches, the pain clearly visible on his face.
PLUSH ONE xvii (By NeuroFabulous) They sit in silence, observing Plankton's shaking form. His antennae quiver in time with his ragged breaths. Hanna's eyes are a pool of uncertainty, but she nods. They watch as Plankton's body relaxes, his antennae stilling. He opens his eye, his gaze searching the room. Karen's heart clenches as she sees the fear in his eye. Hanna's hand twitches, wanting to reach out, but she stops herself. She's learned his boundaries, the invisible walls of his autism. "Plankton?" she whispers, her voice soft. His antennae twitch, his eye snapping to her. "What?" he says, his voice a defensive whisper. Hanna's voice is tentative, her hand hovering in the air. "I'm... I'm not taking your plushie," she says, her eyes filled with sincerity. "I just want to help." Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze still wary. "Help?" he whispers, his voice a soft question. Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes," she says, her voice gentle. "We're here for you." Plankton's antennae still, his gaze unreadable. Karen's heart is a tight knot of fear and hope. "It's okay," she whispers. "We're a team, remember?" His eye flickers, a glimpse of the Plankton she knows, the one who used to laugh and scheme. Slowly, he nods. Karen's heart soars with relief. "Good," she whispers. "We're here." Plankton's antennae quiver, his body tense. He's not sure how to respond to this new dynamic, where his fear dictates their interactions. He looks at the plushie in his arms, the soft fabric comforting against his skin. It's a constant in a world that's shifted on its axis. Karen's eyes are filled with understanding. "We'll find a way," she whispers, her voice a soft promise. "Together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his gaze flicking between Karen and Hanna. He feels their warmth, their care. Slowly, he nods. "Plankton," Hanna says, her voice a soft question. "Can I...sit with you?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye darting between her and the plushie. Slowly, he nods. Hanna takes a tentative step forward, her heart racing. She sits down carefully beside him, her movements measured, not wanting to startle him. Her hand hovers, unsure if he'll let her touch him. Karen watches, her heart in her throat. She's seen this before, the struggle for understanding. But this time, it's different. This time, Hanna's here. Hanna's hand hovers over Plankton's arm, a silent offer of friendship. Plankton's eye flickers to it, then back to her face. His antennae quiver, his body tense. He's trying to process, to understand this new dynamic. Slowly, Hanna sets her hand on his arm. His body jolts, but he doesn't pull away. Karen's breath catches as she waits for his reaction. But Plankton simply looks at Hanna, his gaze searching. Hanna's hand is a gentle weight, a silent promise of support. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye blinking rapidly. He's trying to process this new sensation, this unexpected touch from someone other than Karen. Karen's heart races as she watches, her eyes never leaving his face. She sees the tension in his body, the way his eye flutters with uncertainty. Plankton's gaze is on Hanna's hand, the contact unfamiliar. He takes a deep breath, his tiny chest rising and falling with the effort. Karen's stance is poised, ready to intervene if needed. But Hanna's touch is gentle, almost imperceptible. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body still tense. He's not used to this, not used to anyone other than Karen invading his space. His new world is defined by sensory overload and the need for sameness. Karen's eyes are a silent prayer, her body poised to intervene. But she holds back, giving Hanna a chance to connect, to bridge the gap that autism has created. Hanna's hand remains steady on Plankton's arm, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a soft apology. "I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennae quiver, his body slowly relaxing. He's still on edge, his autism making him hyper- aware of the unpredictable world around him. He looks at Hanna's hand, the new sensation strange, despite not being entirely unpleasant. Karen's eyes are filled with hope, her breath held. Hanna's touch is a bridge, a tentative reach across the chasm of misunderstanding. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle reassurance. "I'm here." Plankton's antennae still, his body frozen. The plushie in his arms is a barricade against the world, a reminder of the comfort he craves. He looks at Hanna's hand. Hanna's eyes are filled with understanding, her hand still. "We're not going anywhere," she murmurs. "Take all the time you need." Plankton's antennae quiver, his body still tense. The plushie is a fortress against the chaos, but Hanna's touch is an unfamiliar presence, a threat to his carefully constructed world. He looks at Karen, his gaze pleading. Karen's eyes are filled with comprehension. "It's okay, sweetheart," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "Hanna's here to help." Plankton's gaze flickers between Karen and Hanna, his tiny body coiled tight. He's not used to sharing his space, not since the world turned into a cacophony of sensory assaults. Hanna's hand remains a question mark on his arm, her eyes filled with hope. "Please," she whispers, her voice a soft plea. "We're just trying to be friends." Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze flicking between Karen and Hanna. The room is too loud, too bright. His mind whirls with confusion, trying to navigate this new terrain of social interaction. He's used to Karen, her gentle voice and familiar scent. But Hanna is new. "Space," he whispers, his voice shaky. "Need space." Hanna's hand retracts, a silent apology. She nods, her eyes filled with sadness. "Okay," she says, her voice barely audible. Karen's gaze is filled with pride as she watches Hanna's understanding dawn. It's a slow process, but she's learning. "Thank you," she murmurs. Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's tense form. "It's okay," she whispers. "I'll give you space." She moves to the other side of the room, leaving a wide berth between them. Plankton's antennae twitch less frequently, his body slowly uncoiling.
#KneeSurgery pt. 11 The next morning, Plankton wakes up to see Karen still sleeping. The cast on his leg feels heavier than ever, a stark reminder of his current state. He shifts slightly, and the plaster shifts with his movement, a dull throb pulsing through his body. He sighs, his antennae drooping. As he looks around the room, his gaze lands on the crutches by the bedside. With a grunt of effort, he pulls them closer and hoists himself upright, his arms shaking slightly from the weight. He glances at the wheelchair in the corner, but uses his crutches instead. With a clank, he attaches the crutches to his arms and swings his cast-covered leg out of the bed. The pain is a dull reminder of his injury, but he refuses to let it win. He hobbles to the window. Through the glass, Plankton sees Squidward walking by, his tentacles wrapped around a morning newspaper. His heart sinks. "Ugh," he mumbles to himself. Squidward, the neighbor SpongeBob loves to annoy. Squidward, who's always complaining about his quiet, orderly world being disrupted by Sponge Bob's boundless energy. Plankton sighs. He watches Squidward's silhouette pass by, his antennae twitching. Why can't Squidward just appreciate the simplicity of life, he thinks. But even as the thought passes his mind, Plankton knows deep down, he's not so different. Both of them crave success, both of them have their quirks, their obsessions. He hobbles back to the bed, when Karen awakes to her phone lighting up. "It's Hanna," she says, her eyes still sleepy. "Her home needs repair and she's on her way. I don't think you've met.." Plankton's heart sinks. "What?" he asks, his voice rasped with irritation. "You didn't tell me anyone was coming." Karen sits up, apologetic. "I didn't know, sorry," she says. "It's just Hanna. She needs a place to stay." Plankton's antennae twitch with annoyance. "Now?" he asks, his voice tight. "I can't even wa-" Karen cuts him off with a firm look. "Plankton, she's my friend," she says, her voice calm but firm. "And she needs our help." Plankton sighs, his antennae dropping. He knows he can't win this one. The doorbell rings, interrupting their exchange. Karen hops out of bed. Plankton sighs heavily. Hanna enters inside. "Karen! Thanks for letting me in." Karen smiles. "Of course, Hanna. You're welcome any time." She hugs her as Plankton emerges with his crutches. Hanna's eyes widen at the sight of Plankton, his cast a stark contrast to the vibrant decor. "Oh, who's this?" she asks, her voice sweet. Plankton scowls. "This is Plankton," Karen says, her voice cheerful. "My husband," she adds, her smile bright. Hanna's eyes widen further. "Oh! Hi there," she says, extending a hand. Plankton looks at it skeptically before shaking it with a grunt. "Hi," he says, his voice less than enthusiastic. Hanna's smile doesn't waver. "How are y-you feeling?" she asks, trying not to glance at the cast. "Just fine," Plankton responds. He adjusts his grip on the crutches. Karen sighs. "Hanna, this is my husband, Plankton," she repeats, forcing a smile. "And Plankton, this is Hanna," she says, trying to keep the peace. Hanna's smile doesn't falter. "It's s-so nice to finally meet you," she says, her eyes averting the cast. Plankton can feel her curiosity, but he refuses to explain his predicament. "Likewise," he mutters, his tone dry. Karen's eyes dance with a mix of amusement and concern. She knows his pride is wounded, but Karen also knows how much he loves herself and will tolerate for her own sake, even though he's not to excited with Hanna. Hanna's gaze flits from Karen to Plankton, her face a canvas of uncertainty. "I'm glad to stay here with you and sorry for the short notice," she says, her voice slightly too cheerful. Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Where's your stuff?" Hanna gestures to the suitcase behind her. "Just this," she says, her smile still in place. "So uh, where do I put it?" Karen points to the couch. "You can leave it there for now," she says. "We'll find you a place to stay." Hanna's eyes light up. "Thank you," she says, her voice filled with gratitude. Plankton shifts his weight on his crutches, his expression still unreadable. "So, Plankton," Hanna says, her voice bright. "What kind of things do you like to do around h-here?" Plankton glances at her, his antennae twitching. "Not much," he says, his voice tight. Karen gives him a knowing look. "Plankton can be a bit of a homebody," she says, her voice gentle. Hanna nods, her eyes still wide with curiosity. "Oh, I see," she says. "Well, I'm s-sure we'll find something fun to do together-er.." Plankton's antennae quiver. Karen shoots him a look. Plankton sighs, begrudging. Hanna looks between them, her smile still in place. "Well, I-I'm sure we'll g-get along," she says. Plankton rolls his eye, his discomfort palpable. Karen clears her throat, trying to ease the tension. "Why don't we all sit down?" she suggests, her voice bright. Hanna nods eagerly, her eyes still on Plankton. He reluctantly follows, his crutches tapping against the floor. They settle into the living room, Plankton carefully placing his casted leg on the coffee table. The silence hangs heavy for a moment before Hanna jumps in. "So, w-what’s your favorite hobby, P-Plankton?" she asks, her voice a mix of eagerness and nerves. Plankton looks at her, his eye narrowing. "My favorite hobby?" he repeats. "Yes," she says, awkwardly. "What do you like to do i-in your free t-time?" Plankton's antennae wobble slightly. "Things," Plankton says, his voice clipped. "Just...things." Hanna nods, her smile still in place despite his curtness. "Oh," she says. "Well, I lo-ove to read a-and cook. Do you like t-to read?" Plankton's antennae still, his eye blinking, his tone flat. "I guess so," he says. Hanna's smile falters for a split second before she recovers. "Great," she says, her voice cheery. "Maybe w-we c-can swap book recommendations later.." Hanna's eyes dart to his cast quickly before snapping back up to his face. Plankton notices the glance, his expression unreadable. Karen watches the interaction with a mixture of amusement and concern. She knows Hanna's intentions are pure, but Plankton's pride is not easily soothed. Hanna jumps to her feet. "Would you like to talk about anything specific?" she asks, her voice perky. Plankton considers for a moment before shaking his head. "No, just...things," he says, his voice trailing off. Hanna nods, her cheerfulness unflagging. "Well, I've been reading this amazing book on jellyfish migration patterns," she says, her eyes sparkling. "Did you know that jellyfish can travel for thousands of miles?" Karen watches as Plankton's eye twitches. "That's...fascinating," he says, his tone devoid of enthusiasm. Hanna doesn't seem to notice, her excitement bubbling over. "It really is," she says. "They're such wonderful creatures. Have you gone jellyfishing?" Plankton's antennae quiver. He shakes his head. "Can't say I really have," he says, his voice flat. Hanna nods, her smile never wavering. "It's something you have to try," she says. "Unless your le- I mean, unless you'd rather not?" Hanna blushes, trying to force a chuckle. Plankton shifts his weight on the crutches, his patience wearing thin. Karen sighs silently, watching the awkward exchange.
#KneeSurgery pt. 12 Karen knows he's trying to be polite, but it's clear his tolerance is waning. This isn't how she wanted Hanna to meet Plankton. She'd hoped for a more harmonious introduction, but with his current mood and the cast looming over the room, it's clear that's not going to happen. "So, Hanna," she says, her voice cutting through the tension. "Why don't we get you settled in?" Hanna's smile doesn't falter. "Okay," she says, her eyes sliding to Plankton's cast again before quickly looking away. Karen leads Hanna to the guest room, leaving Plankton alone with his thoughts. He stares at the wall, his antennas drooping. Karen knows Plankton isn't one for strangers, and his current condition has made him even more prickly. In the guest room, Hanna sets down her suitcase, her smile fading slightly as Karen closes the door. "I'm so sorry," Hanna says, her eyes filled with apology. "I didn't kno—" Karen waves her apology away. "It's okay," she says, her voice warm. "He's just a bit...sensitive right now." Hanna nods. "Can I ask you something, Karen?" Her voice is soft, tentative. "How did he...? Like why's he in a ca--" Karen cuts her off with a gentle smile. "It's a long story," she says. "But basically, he had an accident. It's just going to take some time." She looks at Hanna, her eyes filled with warmth. "And a little patience." Hanna nods, understanding. "I see," she says. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make him uncomfortable." Karen gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You didn't," she says. "He's just a bit...sensitive about it." Hanna nods, looking down at the floor. "But why does he have to wear that cast?" she asks, her voice hushed. Karen sighs. "It just helps his leg heal after surgery..." "He had surgery?" Hanna asks. "Yes," Karen explains patiently. "He had a pretty bad break, so the doctors had to do some fixing." Hanna's eyes widen with sympathy. "Oh no!" she exclaims. "Was it...painful for him during the surgery? Did he feel pain..." Karen's smile softens. "He's okay now," she assures her friend. "They gave him something so he didn't feel anything. They put him to sleep so he wouldn't feel anything." Hanna's eyes widen. "Oh, like a nap?" she asks, her voice high with curiosity. Karen nods. "Sort of, but not really. It's just a way to keep him comfortable during the surgery. It's a bit more complex than that," she says. "But yes, it's like a deep sleep." Hanna nods, her curiosity far from sated. "So, how did he break it?" she asks. Karen's eyes dart to the door, checking that Plankton isn't listening. "It was a little accident," she says, her voice low. "A...mishap. He tripped and hit a rock." Hanna's eyes widen. "Oh, no!" she says, her voice filled with concern. "Was it bad?" Karen nods. "It was pretty serious," she admits. "But he's going to be okay. The cast will keep his leg stable while it heals. He'll be in it for about a month." Hanna looks thoughtful. "A month," she repeats. "That's a long time." Karen nods. "It is, but he's strong. He'll get through it. Why don't we go back to the living room?" Hanna nods, her expression serious. They walk back to find Plankton sitting on the couch, his leg propped up on a pillow. He looks up as they enter, his expression unreadable. "So, what's the plan for the day?" Hanna asks, trying to lighten the mood as they re-enter the living room. Karen glances at Plankton, who simply shrugs his shoulders. "Well, we usually keep it pretty low-key around here," she says, forcing a smile. Hanna's eyes light up. "Oh, I don't mind," she says. "I'm happy just to help out." Plankton's antennae twitch. "Help out?" he asks, his voice sharp. Karen sighs. "Plankton, Hanna's going to stay with us for a bit," she says gently. "And we could use the extra hand." Hanna's smile doesn't waver. "It's no trouble," she says. "I'm happy to help with anything." Plankton looks at her, his expression skeptical. "Is that so?" he says, his voice cautious. Karen nods. "We could use the help," she repeats. "But what if I don't want to do anything?" Plankton asks, his tone challenging. Hanna's smile remains unbroken. "Then I'll just keep you company," she says. Her eyes flicker to the cast again, and Plankton feels his antennae stiffen. "Great," he says sarcastically. "A babysitter." Hanna's smile falters slightly. "I'm not a babysitter," she says, some defensiveness creeping into her voice. "I just want to help." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "Fine," he says. "But I can take care of myself." Hanna nods, her cheerfulness bubbling back up. "Of course, Plankton," she says. "But it's always nice to have someone to ta-" Her words are interrupted by Plankton's groan. "Look, I appreciate the offer," he says, cutting her off. "But I don't need a babysitter." His eye narrows. "Underst--" "I know you don't need one," Hanna says quickly, her voice earnest. "But it's nice to have company, right?" Karen nods, her smile slightly strained. "Exactly," she says. "And Hanna's good company." "I suppose," he says begrudgingly. Hanna's smile brightens. "Great!" she says, her voice chirpy. "What should we do first?" Plankton sighs. "I don't know," he says. "How about a game?" Hanna suggests. Karen nods. "That sounds fun," she says, trying to keep the peace. "Why don't we play something easy?" Plankton grunts his assent, his eye scanning the shelves for a game. He settles on a card game. "This one," he says. Hanna claps her hands together. "Perfect!" she says, her excitement contagious. Karen brings over the card game, setting it up on the coffee table. Plankton's leg sticks out, the cast a stark reminder of his current limitations. Karen smiles. "Let's move to the floor to sit on," she says. With a grumble, Plankton shifts to the floor, his cast scraping against the rug. Hanna and Karen follow, sitting cross-legged. Hanna picks up the cards, her fingers deftly shuffling them. "What's the game?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with eagerness. Plankton rolls his eye. "It's War," he says. "You know, the one where you just slap down the card with the highest number?" Hanna nods, understanding. "Oh, I love that one!" she says. Karen gives Plankton a look, silently willing him to be nicer. He sighs, his antennae drooping slightly. "Fine," he says. "Let's start."
#KneeSurgery pt. 14 Hanna wipes her eyes, her voice shaky. "I-I think I should go," she says. Karen stands up, rushing over to her. "No, wait. What happened?" she asks, her concern evident. Hanna sniffs, trying to compose herself. "He just... he doesn't want me here," she manages. Karen's face falls. "I'm sorry," she says, taking Hanna's hand. "He's just in a lot of pain. I know he can be difficult," she says gently. "But he's just scared and frustrated." Hanna nods, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I know," she says. "But I can't help if he won't let me in." Karen sighs, squeezing her hand. "Give him some time," she advises. "You are staying with us, and we all outta try getting along. I'll go and check on him." With a nod, Hanna releases Karen's hand and sits back down, her thoughts racing. She wonders if she's overstepped or if Plankton will ever accept her help. The silence in the room stretches out, filled only with the ticking of a clock on the wall. Meanwhile, Karen goes to their bedroom door. "Plankton?" she calls out softly. "Can I come in?" There's no answer at first, just the sound of his ragged breathing. She opens the door slowly, finding him sitting on the bed. His antennae are drooped and his eye is red-rimmed. "What?" he says, his voice harsher than he intended. Karen sighs, sitting down beside him. "Hanna's upset," she says simply. Plankton looks away, his antennae twitching. "Good," he says, his tone still icy. "I don't want her here." Karen sighs. "You know she's only trying to help," she says. "And she's not the only one. We all are." Plankton's antennae drop further. "I don't want any of this," he says, his voice smaller. "I don't want to be the one who needs help." Karen sighs, placing a hand on his arm. "But you do," she says gently. "And that's not a bad thing. How's the leg feeling?" Plankton glowers but doesn't pull away. "It hurts," he admits. Karen nods. "I'll get your meds," she says. When she returns, she finds Plankton still sitting there, his gaze fixed on his cast. "Here," she says, handing him the pill bottle. He takes them without a word, swallowing them quickly. Karen sits back down next to him. "You know, sometimes letting people in can make the hard times easier," she says. "Yet it's also fine if you'd like space." She kisses his forehead. "Now, rest.." Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "I don't want to be alone," he admits, his voice barely a whisper. Karen's eyes widen slightly, surprised by his vulnerability. "You don't have to be," she says, taking his hand. "We're all here for you." They sit in silence for a few moments, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Then, with a sigh, Plankton leans into her, his antennae drooping against her shoulder. "Thank you," he whispers. Karen wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer. "You're welcome," she murmurs. "We're a team." As they sit there, the tension in Plankton's body gradually eases, his breathing slowing down. Karen feels his grip on her hand loosen, his eyelid flicker closed. The fight drains out of him, and he surrenders to sleep. Karen shifts, so he's more comfortable, pulling a blanket over his cast-covered leg. The soft fabric slides over the plaster, and she tucks him in. When she returns to the living room, Hanna's eyes are still red, but she's composed herself. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen nods, sitting beside her. "He's asleep," she says. "But he's...going through a lot." Hanna nods, her own eyes welling up again. "What can I do to help?" she asks. Karen looks at her, her gaze thoughtful. "Just be patient with him," she advises. "He's not used to being dependent on others." Hanna nods, taking a deep breath. "Okay," she says. "How do you think I can be of help?" Karen smiles. "Just be there," she says. "And maybe find something that doesn't involve...babying him." Hanna nods determinedly. Later, Plankton wakes up, emerging out to the living room where Karen and Hanna sat, hobbling as he navigates with his crutches. "What are we watching?" he asks, his tone softer. They're on the couch, a movie playing on the TV, their heads close together as they whisper about the plot. Karen looks up, her smile genuine. "Just a little something to pass the time," she says, patting the cushion next to Hanna. "You wanna join?" Plankton hesitates, his antennae twitching. Then, with a sigh, he nods, moving towards them. Hanna looks up at him, her smile slightly tentative. "It's an adventure film," she says. "It's got a little of everything." Plankton eases himself onto the couch, his cast thumping against the cushions. He sits between them, his crutches propped against the side. Hanna's eyes dart to him before returning quickly to the television. Karen gives him a side hug, her hand resting comfortably on his shoulder. "Thanks," he murmurs. The film plays, and they sit in relative quiet, the occasional laugh or gasp filling the room. Hanna glances at him every so often. During a particularly intense scene, she reaches for the bowl of popcorn. "Want some?" she asks quietly. Plankton nods, extending his arm. She carefully picks out a few kernels, placing them in his hand. The gesture is small, but it feels like a peace offering. He munches on them, his gaze still on the screen, but his antennae relaxing. Karen notices the ease in the atmosphere and smiles to herself. Maybe this was what they needed, she thinks. As the credits roll, Hanna jumps up, her expression hopeful. "How about we play a game?" she suggests, her voice careful not to disrupt the peace. Plankton looks at her, his eye assessing. "What kind of game?" he asks, his voice still guarded. Hanna stands up. "How about something easy?" she says. "Like charades? It'll keep us entertained without being too strenuous for Plankto-" "I can still think, you know," Plankton snaps, his antennae waving in irritation. Hanna's smile falters, but she nods. "Of course," she says. "It's just that I don't wa-" "To sit around doing nothing," he finishes for her. "I know, I know. You just think it's all fun and games." Hanna swallows her retort, nodding. "Okay, I get it," she says. "How about something else? Maybe a puzzle?" Karen interjects, sensing the tension. "That sounds like a great idea," she says brightly. "Let's all do it together on the floor." With a grumble, Plankton starts to stand, using his crutches to balance his weight. Hanna quickly moves to his side, offering her arm for support. He glares at her. "I can do it myself," he snaps. Karen watches them, a smile tugging at her lips. "It's okay," she says, picking up a puzzle box from the coffee table. "Let's just get started." Plankton lowers himself to the floor, setting the crutches down. He grimaces, his leg muscles protesting as he shifts his weight to his good side. Using his arms for leverage, he crawls over to the space they've cleared for the puzzle. Hanna watches, worry etched on her face. "Do you want me to help? Here, le-" "I've got it," Plankton says quickly, cutting her off. He doesn't want to admit how much the simple act of getting to the floor has exhausted him. His pride won't allow it. With a grunt, he reaches the puzzle area and flops down, his cast scraping against the carpet. Karen sets the box down, her eyes filled with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" Hanna asks. "I said I've got it," he repeats, his voice firm. He grabs a puzzle piece, his small hands shaking slightly as he tries to fit it into place. Hanna opens her mouth to protest, but Karen gives her a look, silencing her. They watch as Plankton struggles, his face contorted with effort. His leg feels like a dead weight, but he refuses to show.
#KneeSurgery pt. 16 The following morning, Hanna is the first to stir, carefully rising from the couch. She pads down the hallway, her footsteps quiet so as not to disturb anyone. Her eyes catch the open door to Karen and Plankton's room, and she peers in, seeing Karen has just woken up. Plankton's sleeping soundly in his own bed, his cast sticking out from under the covers as he snores softly. "He's okay," Karen whispers, noticing Hanna's concern. Hanna nods, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I know," she whispers back. "But I just...wanted to check." Karen smiles, patting the bed next to her. "Why don't you sit down?" she says. "We can talk." Hanna sits, her eyes fixed on Plankton's sleeping form. His casted leg is propped on a pillow, and his antennae twitch slightly, as if he's dreaming. "So, how do we help him?" Hanna asks, her voice still hushed. Karen sighs. "We give him space and let him come to us," she says. "But we also need to be ready when he does want help." Hanna nods, thinking. "What was the surgery like?" she whispers. Karen smiles sadly. "It was a complicated one," she says. "They had to use bone glue to reattach his leg." Hanna's eyes widen. "Bone glue?" she repeats, her voice filled with horror. "It's a thing," Karen assures her. "It's not as scary as it sounds. They're just taking extra precautions to ensure he heals properly." Her curiosity still piqued, Hanna can't help but ask more. "What was it like when he was under?" she says, her voice barely a breath. Karen's expression turns serious. "It's a delicate procedure," she explains. "They had to make sure he was completely numb to the pain. That's why he was asleep." Hanna nods, swallowing hard. "But how?" she asks, looking back at Plankton. "They used general anesthesia." Hanna's eyes widen even more. "And what did he look like?" Karen sighs, knowing that Hanna's questions are a way for her to process what happened. "He was unconscious," she says. "They monitored him the whole time to make sure he was okay. As they first started the anesthesia as it kicked in, I knew Plankton was asleep as his breathing evened out and his movements stopped. It was...peaceful," she adds, her voice trailing off. "And upon waking up, I was there to help him understand." Hanna nods, taking this in. "And what was it like when he woke up?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. Karen looks at Hanna, her gaze filled with compassion. "He was confused at first," she says. "But I explained everything to him." Hanna nods, still staring at Plankton. "How do we talk to him?" she asks. "What can I do to make him comfortable?" Karen pauses, thinking. "Just be yourself," she suggests. "But maybe a little more...gentle. He's dealing with a lot of pain and frustration. Try not to take his snaps personally." Hanna nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "What else?" she whispers. "Well," Karen says, leaning in closer. "You could ask before doing, and just maybe not push so hard or make it to obvious that you're trying to help." Hanna nods, processing the advice. "And when he gets frustrated, what should I do?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen smiles gently. "Just be there," she says. "Let him know you care without smothering him. Give him space to express his feelings, even if they're not pretty." In the quiet of the room, they both watch as Plankton stirs in his sleep. His antennas twitch, and his casted leg shifts slightly. "Is he okay?" she whispers. "Yes, he's just waking up," Karen says, standing carefully. "Let's give him some space." Hanna nods, getting to her feet as she leaves Karen and Plankton's bedroom. In the living room, she sits and takes deep breaths, trying to compose herself. She hears a shuffling noise from the hallway and Plankton hobbles in on his crutches, his cast a stark white. He lowers himself carefully onto the couch. "Morning," she says tentatively. He looks up, but doesn't respond. Hanna's heart aches, but she follows Karen's advice and doesn't push. Instead, she goes to the kitchen, preparing a glass of chum juice. When she brings it back, Plankton nods in thanks. They sit in silence for a moment before Hanna finally speaks. "I'm sorry for last night," she says softly. "I didn't mean to make you upset." Plankton looks at her, his expression unreadable. He takes a sip of his chum juice, the silence stretching between them. "I'll try to be more considerate," she says. Plankton sighs, leaning back into the couch as Karen comes in. "How's everyone doing?" she asks, forcing cheer into her voice. Plankton shrugs. "I'm okay," he says, his tone noncommittal. Karen exchanges a look with Hanna. "Why don't we watch something to keep our minds off things?" she suggests. The TV flickers to life, and the sound of laugh track fills the room. Plankton shifts uncomfortably, his cast a reminder of his new reality. Hanna sits next to him, keeping her distance but still close enough to be there if needed. Karen sits on the other side of him. They watch a sitcom, the laughter echoing in the quiet room. Plankton tries to concentrate, but his thoughts drift to his surgery, his leg, his new limitations. His antennae droop, and he takes a deep breath. Hanna notices his discomfort and shifts closer. "Do you want me to get you anything?" she asks quietly. Plankton's eye flits to her, and for a moment, he considers snapping again. But he swallows it down. "No," he says, his voice gruff. They continue to watch the TV, the forced laughter a stark contrast to the tension in the room. Karen clears her throat. "Why don't I get you your meds?" Plankton nods, his antennae drooping. "That'd be great," he mumbles. Hanna watches as Karen tends to him.
#KneeSurgery pt. 21 The next morning, Plankton stirred, his eye opening slowly. The sunlight streamed in through the living room windows, highlighting the bandage around his leg. He blinked a few times, his memory of the previous day coming back in fuzzy fragments. He looked down at the crutches by his side, his mind piecing together the events. "What happened?" he muttered, his voice hoarse. Karen emerged from the kitchen, seeing him awake. She smiled warmly. "How's the leg today?" she asked, approaching the couch. Hanna, who was already up, had sat down on the other couch. Plankton looked around, his gaze landing on his crutches. "It's... fine," he said, his voice groggy. He tried to sit up, but the pain shot through his leg, causing him to yelp. Hanna jumped up, rushing over to help support him. "Oh, be ca---" "I don't need your help," he snapped, his frustration boiling over. Karen watched the exchange with a knowing look. She knew his pride could be stubborn. "What happened?" he repeated, his antennae twitching with agitation. "Where's my... where's my...?" "Your cast," Karen finished for him. "It's off. The doctor replaced it with a bandage." Plankton frowned. "Why don't I recall..." "It's the medication," Hanna said gently, her eyes filled with concern. "It m-" "Don't tell me what I know," Plankton snapped, his voice sharp. Hanna took a step back, surprise etched on her features. "I just... I just wanted t---" "I don't need you telling me what I know about my own body," he continued, his eye narrowing. Hanna sighed, knowing his pride was wounded. "Plank-" "Let's not fight, you two," Karen interrupted, her tone firm but kind. Plankton looked away, his antennas drooping. "I just... I just don't remember," he mumbled, his voice smaller. Hanna knelt beside him, her expression softening. "You were under anesthesia, remember?" she said gently. "You might not remember much from the sur—" "I know what happened," Plankton snapped, his eye flashing with something that wasn't quite anger, but rather desperation. "Don't baby me, Hanna. Just... don't." Hanna's mouth dropped open, surprised by his harshness. "Plankton, I-I-I-I…" He cut her off, his voice getting louder. "I don't need you to tell me what I felt or what I said. It's my leg, my surgery!" Hanna took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Okay, okay," she said, her hands up in surrender. "I'm just trying to he-" But Plankton was already getting worked up. "Can't you just leave me alone?" he barked, his frustration mounting. Hanna stood her ground, her eyes filled with a mix of surprise and sadness. "I'm only trying to help," Hanna said. "You're still weak from the surgery." Despite trying to tell him to take it easy, the word 'weak' hit Plankton. Hard. "I don't want you here," he said coldly, his voice eerily calm. Hanna's eyes widened, hurt shimmering in them. "Plankton, I'm not leaving, but w---" "You heard me," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "I don't need you." Hanna swallowed hard, trying to hold back tears. "But you're still recovering," she whispered. "I can't just leave you." Plankton's eye narrowed. "I said I don't want you here," he repeated, his voice like a knife. "You don't get to decide that, Hanna. You've already done enough." "But I--" "I said I DON'T WANT YOU HERE! Just get out." Hanna stood there, stunned by his words. She felt as though she'd been slapped in the face. Tears threatened to spill, but she held them back, her chest tight with hurt. Karen stepped in, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hanna, maybe we should give him some space," she suggested, her voice calm. Hanna's eyes flitted to Karen's, searching for understanding. "He's feeling vulnerable," Karen explained gently. "The surgery, the recovery... it's all taking a toll on his pride. He's used to being the one who's in control, and right now, he's not. It's hard for him to accept help." Hanna nodded, though her eyes were still misty. "I just want to help," she murmured. Karen's gaze softened. "I know you do, Hanna. And you've been wonderful. But sometimes, when we offer help, it can accidentally make someone feel weaker." "I didn't mean to do that," Hanna said, her voice small. Karen gave her a comforting squeeze. "I know. But think about it from his perspective. He's always been so independent, so strong-willed. Now, he's stuck in a situation where he can't do everything himself. It's a blow to his ego." Hanna nodded slowly, understanding beginning to dawn on her. "But I was just trying to make sure he's okay. I didn't mean to say he's we-" "I know you didn't," Karen interjected quickly. "But to Plankton, those words might feel like you're questioning his strength." She paused, letting that sink in. "He's always been the one to pull himself up by his own bootstraps, figuratively speaking," she continued. "This whole experience has been a stark reminder that he's not as invincible as he'd like to believe." Hanna took a deep breath, nodding. "I see," she said finally. They watched as Plankton tried to shift his weight on the couch, his bandaged leg clearly causing discomfort. Hanna felt a pang of guilt for upsetting him, albeit unintentionally. With a heavy heart, she turned and headed towards their guest room, giving him the space as requested. The hallway felt cooler without his snappy retorts and quick wit. She knew his words were driven by pain and frustration, but they still stung. Once inside the guest room, Hanna sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the closed door. The silence was deafening, her thoughts racing. She hadn't meant to make Plankton feel weak, only to assist him in his time of need. It was clear, though, that she had inadvertently stepped on a sensitive area, one she had overlooked due to her own eagerness to support. In the living room, Karen walked over to Plankton, his breaths still heavy with frustration. "You know she didn't mean anything by it," she said softly. "She's just worried about you." Plankton's antennae twitched. "I know," he said gruffly. "But I can't have her seeing me like this." Karen sat down beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're not weak, Plankton," she assured him. "You're just... Plankton. And it's okay to take it easy." He sighed, his body slumping into the couch. "I know it's just... I don't like being dependent on others." Karen nodded. "I know, baby. And you'll still always be the Plankton I fell in love with. Your my charming, clever, albeit tiny, troublemaker of a husband, and nothing changes that." He leaned into her, his expression softening. "Thanks, Karen," he murmured. Karen kissed his forehead. "Now, let's get you set up with some pain meds, okay?" Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping slightly. Karen returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and a small plastic cup holding his pills. She handed them to him carefully, her expression a mixture of concern and love as he took them. As the medication took effect, the pain in his leg began to ease. Plankton's eye started to droop, his body relaxing into the cushions. Karen pulled a soft blanket over him, his snores soon filling the room.
#KneeSurgery pt. 23 "I can bring you some water, or maybe a snack?" Hanna ventured timidly. Plankton didn't look up from the book he had open in his hand. "I don't need anything," he muttered. "I've got Karen." The implication was clear: he didn't want Hanna's help. Hanna's heart dropped, but she swallowed her pride. "Okay," she said, her voice small. "If you c-" "Actually," Karen interrupted, "Could you help me in the kitchen?" Her tone was carefully neutral, but Hanna could read the silent plea in her eyes. She nodded, grateful for something to do, and followed Karen into the kitchen. Once they were out of earshot, Karen turned to face her. "Look, Hanna, Plankton's just going through a tough time," she said gently. "His pride is on the line here, and he's not used to being so dependent on others. Give him some time, okay?" Hanna nodded, wiping at her eyes. "But I just want to help," she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't know what I did wrong." Karen gave her a sad smile. "You didn't do anything wrong, Hanna. He's just... struggling." Hanna nodded, understanding but still feeling the weight of his words. "I know," she said. "But it hurt-" Karen interrupted with a firm but gentle tone. "You can't take it personally. He's in pain, and his pride is bruised. What he needs right now is time to process and heal." Hanna nodded, wiping her eyes. "But what can I do?" she asked. "How do I make it right?" Karen squeezed her hand. "Just be there for him," she said. "And maybe give him some grace. Let him come to you." Hanna nodded, wiping her cheeks. "Okay," she whispered. "I'll try." They returned to the living room, where Plankton was with his leg propped up. He didn't look at them. Hanna took a seat on the floor near the couch, picking up a magazine to flip through. The silence was stifling, but she respected his wish for space. Karen went about the room, adjusting pillows, getting him a blanket, and making sure his water was within reach. She glanced at Hanna frequently, her expressions speaking louder than words. "Thanks, Karen," Plankton murmured after a while, his voice softer. Hanna took a deep breath, forcing a smile. "Is there anyth—" But Plankton interrupted again, his voice sharp. "I don't want anything from you," he said. Her heart sank, but she swallowed her hurt. "Okay," she whispered. "I'll just be here." But Plankton read his book, his face a mask of concentration. Hanna pretended to be engrossed in her magazine, but her eyes kept straying to him. The minutes ticked by, each second feeling like an eternity. Karen moved around the room, her movements careful and quiet, trying not to disturb the fragile peace. The silence was so heavy, it felt like it was pressing down on all of them, no words were exchanged. Hanna's magazine lay unread on her lap, her thoughts whirling. She desperately wanted to apologize, to make it right, but she knew she had to follow Karen's advice. Give him space, let him be. Plankton turned the last page of his book in the tense silence. With a heavy sigh, he set the book aside. His antennae twitched. He looked over at Hanna, who was staring at the floor. "Look, I can't have you thinking I'm weak." Hanna nods, her voice small. "You're not weak. You're just... recovering." Plankton's eye softened slightly. "I know," he said. "But I need you to see me as... capable. I can't have you looking at me with pity." "I don't pity you," Hanna said quickly, meeting his gaze. "I just want you to be okay." But Plankton wasn't convinced. His antennae drooped as he leaned back into the couch. "I know you mean well, Hanna," he sighed. "But sometimes your help feels like you think I can't do anything for myself." Hanna felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "That's not what I meant," she said. "I'm sorry." Karen looked between them, silence hanging heavy in the air. "Maybe we all just need to talk about it," she suggested. Plankton's antennae twitched again, but he didn't argue. He knew his behavior had been unkind, but his pride was still smarting. "Why do you want to talk about it?" he asked warily. Hanna took a deep breath, swiping at a stray tear. "Because I care about you," she said simply. "And I don't want to do anything that makes you feel small or weak. I just want to do the right thing for you." Karen nodded in agreement. "We're both just trying to navigate this new situation," she said. "And sometimes Hanna might mess up." Plankton's expression softened slightly. "I know you're trying," he admitted to Hanna. Plankton sighs. "But no more laughing about it." Hanna nodded quickly. "I understand," she said. "I'll be more sensitive next time." Karen sat down next to Plankton, taking his hand in hers. "We all need to learn to be there for each other in different ways," she said. "We're all a little out of practice with this." Plankton nodded, his gaze drifting back to Hanna. He knew she had his best interest at heart, but it was still difficult to swallow his pride. "I'll try to communicate better," he murmured. Hanna looked up at him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. Karen cleared her throat gently. "Why don't we start with some exercises? The doctor said you can start anytime." she suggested, breaking the tense silence. Plankton's eye widened slightly, but he didn't protest. Hanna looked relieved, eager to help in a way that was truly beneficial. The three of them moved to the living room floor. "Let's start with some simple leg lifts," Karen said, demonstrating the motion. "It'll help with your strength and flexibility." Plankton grimaced but complied, his tiny legs shaking slightly as he lifted the one with the bandage. Hanna watched carefully, her face filled with concern, reaching out to steady his leg. "Not so fast, Hanna," Karen chided gently. "Let him do it himself." Hanna quickly withdrew her hand, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She felt like she was always stepping on his toes, literally and figuratively. Plankton managed a few halfhearted lifts before his leg dropped back to the floor. "See?" Karen said, her voice kind. "It's about building strength slowly." Plankton grunted but nodded, his face contorted with effort. "Let's try again," Karen coached, placing a pillow under his leg for support. This time, Plankton was able to lift his leg a little higher. "Good job," Hanna encouraged, her voice soft and encouraging. "I can see you're getting stronger already." Plankton gritted his teeth and managed a few more lifts before his leg gave out again. "Remember, it's about pacing yourself," Karen reminded him. "We don't want to push too hard too soon. The exercises are optional, they said." Plankton nodded, his face a mask of determination. "I know," he grunted, his small body shaking with the effort. "But I have to try." Hanna could see the exhaustion settling into his eye. He was so tired.. "Take a break," Hanna suggested gently. Plankton looked at her with a mix of gratitude and frustration. "Fine," he agreed, letting his leg fall back to the pillow with a sigh. Karen helped Plankton back to the couch, his crutches clattering as she guided his weight. His eye searched Hanna's face for any sign of pity, but found none. She was watching him with concerned respect. "Thanks, Karen," he murmured once he was comfortably propped up again. Hanna took a seat across from them, her hands clasped tightly in her lap tentatively. The room was quiet as Plankton caught his breath. The exertion had tired him more than he cared to admit. He closed his eye, his antennae twitching slightly. Karen sat beside him, her hand on his shoulder, offering silent support. Hanna watched from afar, her heart heavy with remorse. She longed to comfort him, but knew she had to give him the space he needed, as Plankton leaned his head back into the couch cushion. Slowly, his breathing evened out, and his body grew slack. His eye closed completely, and within minutes, his snores filled the room. Hanna exchanged a glance with Karen, who gave a small smile. They both knew that his nap was a sign of his exhaustion but also of his body's need to heal. The tension seemed to ease slightly with each snore that rattled from his tiny mouth. Hanna took this opportunity to approach the couch, her movements careful not to disturb his sleep. She retrieved the throw pillow from the floor and gently placed it under his leg. Then she sat down next to Karen, her hand reaching out to cover hers. "I'm sorry," she whispered. Karen squeezed her hand back. "It's okay, he'll come around." The two of them sat in silence, watching Plankton sleep. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his snores a comforting sound.
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I V X L C D M 1 5 10 50 100 500 1000 🔢 Individual decimal places Thousands Hundreds Tens Units 1 M C X I 2 MM CC XX II 3 MMM CCC XXX III 4 CD XL IV 5 D L V 6 DC LX VI 7 DCC LXX VII 8 DCCC LXXX VIII 9 CM XC IX
CHIP AND FAIL xvii (Autistic author) Plankton quivered with the effort to contain his anger. "Chip, your dad's right," Karen said, her voice a soft current of calm amidst the storm. "You have to learn to respect his boundaries." Plankton's antennae twitched. He looked at Karen, his eye filled with a mix of gratitude and pain. "It's not just the touch," he whispered, his voice raw. "It's the types of touch, the expectations... It's like I'm drowning every day." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "And Chip," she said, turning to her son, "you need to learn to swim without pushing him under." Chip's eyes were wide with understanding. "What can I do?" Karen took a deep breath. "Just ask before you touch," she said. "And if he says no, respect it. Give him space." Chip's eyes searched his father's. "Dad," he whispered. "I'm sorry." Plankton's antennae twitched, a sign of his internal struggle. Karen's hand squeezed his. "Okay, Chip," she said, her voice a gentle guide. "Ask your questions." Chip took a deep breath. "What do you mean by 'ask before I touch'?" he ventured, his eyes on Plankton, his antennae still a blur of agitation. Plankton took a moment before replying. "It means," he began, his voice still sharp, "that I need space. My brain can't handle what yours can!" "But Mom," Chip's voice was still tentative, "How do we know what touch..." But Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye a storm of agitation. "Just ask!" he snapped. "It's not rocket science, Chip. Just. Ask." Chip took a deep breath, his cheeks still flushed with anger. "I'm asking what types of..." But Plankton's antennae were already back to their usual calm state. "I know you're curious," he said, his voice softer. "But I can't just list them. It's different every day. Sometimes, a simple pat on the back is too much. Other times, I crave a hug." Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing with questions. "So, it IS a choice..." But Plankton's antennae drooped. "No, Chip," he said, his voice weary. "It's not a choice. It's survival." "Survival? Dad, a touch won't kill you.." But Plankton's antennae twitched again. "It's not just about living," he said, his voice sad. "It's about living without pain." Chip's eyes searched his father's, seeing the weariness and hurt. He took a step closer, his hand outstretched. "Can I?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton flinched, his antennae shooting up. "What are you doing?" he snapped, his voice tight with anxiety. "Just asking if it's okay," Chip said, his hand hovering in midair. "I don't want to..." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching. "If you're going to ask, make it genuine," he said, his voice softening. "Don't just do it because you think it's the right thing to do." Chip nodded, his hand still hovering. "I want to learn," he said, his voice earnest. "What can I do to make it better?" Plankton's antennae quivered slightly, a hint of softening. "You can start by listening," he said, his voice a little less sharp. "What do you mean?" Chip asked, his hand slowly lowering. "I mean," Plankton began, his antennae calming slightly, "that I need you to understand that my boundaries are not up for negotiation." "But what if I want to hug you?" Chip's voice was hopeful, his arms outstretched and already reaching him. Plankton's antennae shot up again. "Chip, I said no!" he yelled, his voice sharp with pain. "How many times do I have to tell you?" Chip's eyes widened, his hands falling to his side. "But I just..." But Plankton's antennae were a blur of agitation again. "You don't get it!" he shouted. "It's not about what YOU want, it's about what I need!" Chip's eyes searched his father's, his mind racing. "But Dad, I just want to show you that I care," he said, his voice quivering. "Is there no way to do that without making you uncomfortable?" Plankton's antennae twitched. "Chip," he began, his voice weary, "just because you don't see my struggle doesn't mean it's not there." Chip's eyes searched his father's, his hands clenched at his sides. "But how can I show you that I care?" "Sleep, for now," Karen says. "We're all tired. We can talk about this another time." Plankton's antennae dropped slightly, his body visibly deflating. Chip nodded, his eyes on the floor. "Okay," he murmured. "I'll just go to my room." Karen watched him go, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she had to be the one to mend the fracture between father and son. She turned to Plankton. "Bedtime," she said, her voice a gentle nudge. "We're all exhausted. It's late." The next morning, Chip awoke early. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable. The house was eerily silent. He knew he had to make things right for his dad. Chip tiptoed to his parents's room, his heart racing. He pushed the door open. Karen was sitting on the edge of the bed. Plankton was curled up, his antennae twitching slightly. Chip swallowed his pride. "Mom, I'm sorry for what I said," he mumbled. "Can you help me talk to Dad?" Karen's eyes softened. "Your father's still sleeping," she said. "But I'll talk to him when he wakes up." Chip nodded. "I'll wait," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll do whatever it takes." Karen's eyes searched his, seeing the determination in them. "Alright," she said, her voice a soft caress. "But remember, it's not about fixing him. It's about understanding him." Chip nodded solemnly. "I know," he said. "I just want to be there for him." Karen's eyes filled with pride. "That's all we can ask for," she said. "But you have to be patient." Chip goes to his mom's bed, sitting down. "I'll wait," he says. "I'm not leaving until we talk." Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "I'll stay with you," she says. "But remember, we have to give him space." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his father's sleeping form. He studies Plankton, his antennae twitching slightly in his sleep. He tries to imagine what it's like for his dad, to live in a world where a simple touch could be torture. He watches the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, the gentle sway of his antennae. He notices how peaceful he looks when his mind isn't bombarded by the world's sensory assault, the way his mouth is slightly open. "Mom," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. "What does Dad's autism mean for his sleep?" Karen sighs, her eyes still on Plankton. "It means that his brain is always on alert," she explains. "Sleep can be elusive for him. Sometimes, the smallest sound can keep him awake for hours." Chip nods, his gaze still on Plankton. "What happened yesterday when I... Dad was unresponsive?" Karen sighs. "Sensory overload," she says. "It's like your brain has too much to process, so it just shuts down." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "Was he like, awake?" he asks. "Sort of," Karen replies, her eyes never leaving Plankton's restless form. "It's like he's trapped in his own head." "Could he hear me?" Chip's voice was a mix of fear and hope. "Could he feel anything?" Karen looked at her son, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she was about to reveal a painful truth. "He heard you," she said gently. "But his brain couldn't process it all." Chip felt a lump in his throat. "Could he see?" he asked, his voice tight with emotion. Karen nodded, her eyes still on Plankton. "He could see you," she said. "But it's like his brain was stuck in a loop, replaying the same scene over and over." Chip felt the weight of his father's pain, his own chest constricting. "How long do they usually last?" Karen's gaze remained on Plankton. "It varies," she said. "Sometimes just seconds, other times hours. It all depends on how overwhelmed he gets."
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PLUSH ONE v (By NeuroFabulous) They sit there in silence, their hands clasped. Karen can feel the steady rhythm of his breath, his hand twitching slightly with each exhale. She squeezes his hand, a silent promise of support. "I'm here," she whispers again, her voice a balm to the raw edges of his fear. Plankton's body relaxes into hers, his gaze fixed on their intertwined fingers. Karen's mind races, trying to understand the complex web of sensory input that now dictates his reality. Every touch, every sound, every sight could be either a comfort or a cacophony. "I'm gonna go clean up the metal container." Karen says, giving him a kiss on the forehead before going. After she left, Plankton thought about his rivalry with Krabs. He didn't want Krabs to be suspicious if he suddenly stops trying to steal his formula. He doesn't want Krabs to find out or figure out about his autism. So he wrote down "I went across the street" on a note if Karen came back. Then, he went to the Krusty Krab restaurant. The bright lights and the noise of the kitchen now overwhelms him. He found a corner and sat down, his eye squeezed shut. His heart raced as he tried to think about the mission. It's a place he's been in countless times, but he's autistic now. Yet he knew and remembered the environment, despite the new sensory experience. Plankton took a deep breath and forced his eye open, his gaze darts around, trying to find the safety vault he knew so well. He saw the familiar soda machine, the greasy counters, and the gleaming spatulas, but everything felt wrong. The smell of cooking oil was too intense, the clatter of pans too loud. His mind raced, trying to process the cacophony of sensory input. He needs to focus on getting the recipe out of that safe! Slowly, Plankton stood, his legs wobbly from the effort to filter out the chaos. He knew he had to keep moving, to complete his task. Now to figure out the combination. He approached the safe, his hands trembling with the effort to block out the noise. The buttons on the safe were cold under his fingertips, and he felt the familiar thrill of a challenge. His mind raced, trying to remember his past schemes and the patterns that had always come so naturally to him. But it was like trying to recall a dream. The numbers and sequences danced just out of reach, taunting him with their elusiveness. His eye darted around, catching sight of the menu board, the colorful condiments, and the glint of the cash register. It was all too much. He stepped back, his breaths coming quick and shallow. He needed to find his center, to focus on the task at hand. He closed his eye and thought of Karen, the feel of her hand in his, the sound of her voice. It grounded him, calmed the storm in his head. With renewed determination, he opened his eye. The safe was a monolith, a silent witness to his tumultuous thoughts. He studied the buttons, the cold metal under his fingertips. He knew the pattern had to be simple, something Krabs would think secure. Plankton's mind raced, trying to decipher the sequence that had once come to him so easily. He closed his eye, trying to concentrate, but the sounds and smells of the kitchen crashed over him like a wave. The cacophony was unbearable, a stark contrast to the quiet orderliness of his laboratory. He took a deep breath, focusing on the cool metal of the safe. He had to get the Krabby Patty formula. For Karen, for himself. This was a purpose, his obsession. But now, everything felt different. The familiar had become strange, the simple complex. With trembling hands, Plankton started to press buttons on the safe, his mind racing with the patterns of his past attempts. But his brain didn't respond in the usual way. The numbers jumbled, the sequences slipped away. He felt the weight of his failure pressing down on him, the kitchen sounds amplifying his anxiety. What numbers would Krabs put in? He took a deep breath and tried to visualize their conversations, the tiny details that might hold the key. But every memory was now filtered through the lens of his new autistic brain. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. His hand hovered over the dial, his eye blinking rapidly. "Krabs," he murmured to himself. "What would Krabs say?" The name echoed in his head, a beacon in the fog. Plankton knew his rival's patterns, his obsessions. He thought of Krabs' parsimony, his love for his secret formula. It had to be something significant to him, something that made sense in his own peculiar way. Plankton's thumb tapped the side of the safe, his mind racing through memories. And then it clicked. Krabs had always talked about his mother's birthday, a sacred number, a key to his heart. Plankton tried the combination, his heart pounding. The dial spun smoothly, the clicks sounding like a symphony in his heightened hearing. 14-6-82. The safe whirred to life, the door popping open. Plankton's eye widened in amazement, his heart racing. He'd done it. He reached in and grabbed the precious envelope. The Krabby Patty formula, in Krabs' own scrawl. It was within his grasp. Now to get out of here! But how? What's made him always get caught before? The chaos of the kitchen faded away, and he saw the pattern. It was his lack of disguise, his hasty exits. This time would be different. He needed to blend in, to become part of the background. He needed to calm down, to think through his actions logically. He couldn't let his excitement overwhelm him. Plankton had to get out without drawing attention to himself. He thought back to the times he'd seen Krabs interact with his employees, the casual way he'd moved through the kitchen... Plankton then spotted the air vent! Sure enough, he and the recipe both fit through. He emerged into the alley, his heart racing. The cold air was a slap in the face, but it also brought with it a sense of clarity. He knew his sensory overload would make a hasty retreat impossible. But he's out of the Krusty Krab! He ran back to his own place across the street. Plankton stumbled into his lab, his eye taking in the familiar sights with new intensity. The colors were too bright, the smells too potent, the sounds of his own inventions too loud. But here, he knew he was safe. He laid the envelope on his workbench, his hand shaking with excitement. This was his life's work, the elixir to his problems. But now, with the Krabby Patty formula in his grasp, he wasn't sure what to do next. His mind raced with the sensory input from the kitchen, making it difficult to think clearly. The lab's chaos seemed to calm him, though. The familiar sounds of beeping machines and the faint scent of chemicals soothed his overwhelmed senses. He took a deep breath, his hand steadying. The envelope sat there, a symbol of his old life. His obsession with the Krabby Patty formula had been the driving force behind their rivalry for so long. Now, his autism didn't erase his past, it just colored it differently. The desire to be successful, to have what Krabs had, remained. But the way he approached the world had changed. He knew the taste, the smell, the very essence of a Krabby Patty. It was a part of him now, a memory that could never fade. He stared at the envelope, his heart racing. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye focusing on the paper. His hands trembled as he opened it, the formula's secrets were written in a made up code by Krabs. But Plankton's autism made it decipherable to him! The letters and numbers danced on the page, but instead of the jumbled mess he'd expected, they formed patterns, beautiful patterns that his brain craved. He saw the structure, the order, the way each ingredient intertwined with the next. It was like a symphony of flavors, and he was the conductor. His heart raced as he read through the document, his mind whirling with the possibilities. He threw away the handwritten note from before as he brought the formula into the bedroom with him. Plankton sat on the bed, his mind racing. The code was complex, but he could see the patterns. It was like the universe had laid bare its secrets to him.
PLUSH ONE iv (By NeuroFabulous) The next day, Karen wakes up to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands moving in repetitive patterns over the blanket. The sun casts a warm glow over his face, highlighting his furrowed brow. She watches him for a moment, his concentration so intense it's as if he's trying to solve a complex puzzle. "Good morning," she says softly, not wanting to startle him. His head snaps up, and for a fraction of a second, she sees fear in his eye before it quickly shifts to recognition. "Karen," he says, his voice a little stronger than yesterday. He looks around the room, his gaze lingering on the closed door, the curtains, the picture of them on their wedding day. Karen notices his hand twitching, his thumb tracing the fabric. It's a new tic, a new way his brain is trying to process the world around him, but she knows she can't let her fear control her. She has to be his rock, his anchor in this storm of change. "Do you need anything?" she asks, keeping her voice low and even. Plankton's hand pauses mid-motion, his eye darting to hers. "Karen," he murmurs, almost to himself. "What's on your mind, Plankton?" she prompts, her voice soft. He stares at the wall, his hand still moving over the fabric. Karen watches him. What can she do to help him? What does he need? The silence stretches, and she decides to try again. "Plankton," she says gently. "What's on your mind?" This time, his hand stops moving, his gaze flicking to hers. "Karen," he says, his voice clear. "What is it, sweetie?" she asks, leaning closer. He takes a deep breath, his eye darting around the room before focusing on her. "Karen," he says, his voice a little more coherent. "Need Karen." It's the first time he's expressed a need directly. "You need me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. He nods. "Karen," he repeats, his voice a whisper. Karen's eyes well up with tears of joy and fear. This is the first time he's expressed a need directly. "You need me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. He nods again, his hand still clutching the blanket. Karen takes his hand in hers, his skin warm and familiar. "I'm here," she whispers, squeezing gently. "Always." Plankton's gaze lingers on their entwined fingers, his eye narrowing slightly as if trying to decode a secret message. "You need me to be with you?" Karen clarifies, her voice filled with hope and fear. He nods again, the tension in his body palpable. Her eyes never leave his as she slides closer, sitting beside him on the bed. "I'm here," she repeats, her hand leaving his to rest on his leg. But he jolted away, his body tightening. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, retracting her hand. She's learning the delicate balance of closeness and space, a dance that's unfamiliar but vital to their new life. Plankton's gaze remains on the spot where her hand was, his expression unreadable. Karen wipes at her eyes, willing herself to be strong. "Okay," she says, her voice firm. "Let's try different touches to see which you like?" With gentle hesitation, she begins to explore his sensory preferences, starting with a light stroke on his forearm, watching closely for any signs of discomfort or distress. His hand twitches, but he doesn't flinch. Encouraged, Karen moves her hand up to his antennae, the tenderest of touches. He flinches at first, but his gaze holds hers, willing her to continue. She tries again, stroking them lightly, watching as the tension in his body eases. It's a revelation, a glimpse into his new sensory landscape. "Is that ok?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton nods, his eye closing in what seems like pleasure. "Tickly," he smiles. She tries again, this time a little more pressure. He flinches, and she quickly removes her hand. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice thick with concern. Plankton opens his eye, looking at her with a mix of confusion and sadness. "Karen," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "Want Karen." Her heart breaks for him, for the man he used to be, for the man he's becoming. "I'm here," she says, her voice soothing. "I'm gonna try different touches." Gently, she starts again, her hand hovering above his arm. This time, she watches his expression closely. When he doesn't react, she touches his skin lightly, her thumb tracing circles. "How does this feel?" Plankton's gaze flits to her hand, his eye studying the movement. "Comfort, rubs," he murmurs. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Okay," she says, her voice steady. She then moves her hand to his cheek. Plankton's eye widens. His skin is warm and smooth under her touch, and she can feel his breathing quicken. "Does this feel okay?" she whispers. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his antennae twitching. "Karen," he says, his voice filled with longing. Karen's eyes widen. This is new territory, a place where the familiar has become strange. Plankton's eye locks onto hers, his expression a silent plea. Her hand stills on his cheek, his breaths coming in short bursts. Karen's mind races with the implications of his reaction. She's read that some autistic individuals find certain touches overwhelming. She pulls her hand away. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she says, her voice filled with apology. "I'll try some more different touches." She watches him, her love a steady beacon through the fog of fear. "How about this?" she asks, placing her hand on his shoulder. His breath hitched, his body tensing. "Plankton," she says gently, "Does tha-" "No," he says, his voice firm. He flinches away from the touch, his eye wide with panic. Karen nods. "Okay," she says, her voice soft. "We'll keep trying." She reaches for his hand, her touch deliberate and gentle. This time, his body relaxes, his hand fitting perfectly into hers. It's a small step, but it feels like a victory.
PLUSH ONE i (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's watching her husband, Plankton, who had been working tirelessly for hours, the metal container his new project. He wrestled with a stubborn bolt, his face a picture of concentration. Suddenly, Plankton's grip loosens as the bolt flies off the rusted metal, smacking him in the head. He topples back, his head hitting the cold concrete floor with a thud as the metal shelf collapses on his head. Karen gasps. Plankton lies still, unconscious. Her eyes widen with fear as she rushes over. She checks his pulse, finding a steady beat. Relief washes over her. He's alive, but she can see the bruising as she clears the metal away from him. "Plankton, honey," she whispers, shaking him gently. "Can you hear me?" No response, his eye closed tightly. Panic starts to creep in, but Karen forces herself to remain calm. "Come on, wake up," she says, a little louder this time. The room feels like it's spinning, but she takes a deep breath and dials for medics. The phone seems to ring forever, each second stretching into eternity. The dispatcher's voice is a distant echo in her panic-filled hearing, but she manages to spit out their address, the gravity of the situation, and Plankton's name. While waiting for the medics, Karen can't help but worry about his well-being. She knows how much he puts into his projects, how much he loves tinkering and inventing. Two paramedics rush inside, their footsteps heavy. They quickly assess Plankton's condition, their faces masks of professional concern as they set up some medical equipment around. "Ma'am, can you tell me what happened?" one asks while checking his vitals. Her voice shaky, Karen recounts the accident, never leaving Plankton's still form. They nod, working swiftly and efficiently. Karen winces but remains composed as they clean the wound and apply pressure. The other paramedic starts an IV, explaining that Plankton might have a concussion and that they need to monitor his condition closely. Karen nods, trying to process the situation as she watches them work. "We'll stay as he wakes up and only leave once the damage has been assessed." Karen's eyes well up with tears, but she fights them back, gripping his hand tightly. The wait for Plankton to stir feels interminable. The tick of the clock echoes through the room, each second a reminder of his potentially serious condition. The silence is pierced only by the occasional beep of the medical devices and the rustle of the paramedics' movements. They decide to perform a more thorough examination, including a quick brain scan to rule out any serious damage. One of them holds a scanner device over his head, watching the readouts with a furrowed brow. The results come in, and the paramedics share a concerned look. "Ma'am, it seems your husband has sustained a head injury that's led to a... unique complication," one of them says, his voice measured. "It's a form of autism, from the impact. It's not unheard of, but it's definitely not common." Karen's eyes widen. Autism? Her mind races as she tries to grasp what this means for Plankton. "What do I do?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. The paramedics explain that this type of autism is known as Acquired Autism, a rarity. "It's like his brain rewired itself to compensate," one of them says. Karen nods, trying to understand. Her mind is a whirlwind of questions, each more overwhelming than the last. How will this change Plankton? Their life together? The paramedics outline some of the potential symptoms he might exhibit: social withdrawal, sensory overload, difficulty with change, and the possibility of developing intense interests or routines. They tell her that every case is unique, and they can't predict exactly how Plankton will be affected. They also mention that there can be positive changes, like heightened focus or skills in specific areas, often referred to as savantism. But they stress the importance of keeping him comfort. Karen nods, her mind racing as she tries to imagine their future. The quiet whir of the medical devices in the background seems to mirror the chaos in her thoughts. The paramedics continue, explaining that Plankton may now see the world differently, senses heightened or dulled, social interactions potentially altered. He might find comfort in routine, the predictability of the mundane offering a solace that the unexpected could not. She wonders how this will affect their dynamic, their shared jokes and laughter. They tell her that autism, congenital or acquired, is irreversible. It's a part of him now, a new chapter in the story of their lives. It's not a disease to be cured, but a condition to be understood. Finally, a low groan escapes. "Honey, can you open your eye?" Karen asks, her voice a mix of relief and anxiety. Slowly, Plankton's lid flutters open, revealing a dazed expression. "What... happened?" he slurs, his eye struggling to focus. The paramedics exchange a hopeful glance; he's coming around. They decide to ask Plankton simple questions to assess his cognition. "Plankton, can you tell me your name?" one of the paramedics asks, a gentle smile playing on their lips. "Name, Sheldon Jay Plankton." His voice is slow, but clear. A flicker of relief lights up Karen's screen. He seems to be responding coherently. The next question comes, "What's your wife's name?" "Karen." It's a victory, a sign that he's still in there. But the joy is short-lived as Plankton begins to stim. He starts rocking back and forth. The paramedics' calmly explain, "It's a form of self-soothing. It's common with autism. Let's see if we can get him to focus. What's your favorite color?" He stops rocking for a moment, his gaze locking onto a blue tool on the floor. "Blue," he says. "Good, good," the paramedic nods, noticing the sudden change in his demeanor. "What do you like to do for fun?" The paramedic asks while the other paramedic removes the IV. But Plankton, feeling them remove his IV, yelps. His hands begin to flap rapidly as he looks around the room, his eye wide with fear. "It's okay," Karen whispers, stroking his hand, trying to soothe him. The paramedics' eyes meet hers, their expressions sympathetic. "It's okay, Plankton. You're safe." They try another question, one that's more familiar to him. "Do you remember your latest invention?" But Plankton's still feeling the sting of the IV removal, his eye darting around the room, not quite focusing on anyone or anything. "Look, Plankton, a button," Karen says softly, pointing as she tries to refocus him. He turns his head slightly, his eye locking onto her hand. "Button," he repeats, his voice a whisper as he rubs his arm. The paramedics nod, giving Karen an encouraging look. She continues, "Plankton, sweetie, can you tell me what the button does?" For a moment, he's still. Then, he answers. "What the button does Plankton." It's a start, a glimmer of the Plankton she knows. Karen's eyes fill with hope as she presses on. "Yes, honey, what happens when you push the button?" He blinks, his gaze shifting from her hand to the floor, and then back up to her. "The button... tell... what the button does Plankton," he mumbles. Encouraged by the response, she leans in closer, her voice even softer. "The button, honey, what happens when you push it?" Plankton's eye refocus, his mind racing to piece together the fragmented information. His voice quivers with effort as he says, "Button... blue... go." The words are disjointed, but there's a spark in his eye. Karen's hope grows as she realizes he's trying to communicate. "Is that your invention, Plankton?" she asks, her voice trembling. He nods slightly, his hand reaching for the metal shelf that had fallen. She gently guides his hand back to the button. The paramedics watch the interaction closely, noting his responses. They're looking for signs of coherence, anything that might indicate the extent of his cognitive ability. "Can you tell me the purpose of your invention, Plankton?" His gaze flits from the button to Karen's screen and back again. "Button... blue... go," he repeats. "Can you tell me the purpose of your invention Plankton." He parrots. Karen's eyes widen. "It's okay, sweetheart," she says, her voice shaky. "Just tell me what the button is for." Plankton whispers, "Button... blue... go," his gaze intense. "Tell Karen what the button is for.." Karen's eyes never leave him, her heart pounding in her chest as she sees the effort he's making. "The button," she prompts softly, "what does it do?" Plankton's breath hitches, his fingers tapping a rhythm. "Button... blue... go," he murmurs, the words falling out of order, as if his brain is trying to solve a puzzle. Karen nods encouragingly, her screen brimming with unshed tears. She knows she needs to be patient, to guide him through this new reality. "Honey, the button... what happens when it goes blue?" Plankton's hand twitches, then stills. He stares at the button, thoughts visibly racing. "Go... blue... button." The words come out slowly, as if he's assembling them carefully in his mind. "It goes blue." The paramedics nod, scribbling notes on their clipboards. One says, "That's good. Keep prompting him. It's important to see how his cognition functions." She tries to think of more questions to unlock the Plankton she knew before. "What's your favorite food?" she asks. He pauses, his gaze drifting to the corner of the room, then snaps back to her, his eye brightening slightly. "Krabby Patty," he says, his voice clearer now. "We sell chum..." Karen's gaze swells with hope, his words a familiar echo of their shared past. The Krabby Patty was his lifelong obsession, a symbol of his restaurant rivalry with Mr. Krabs. It's a sign, however small, that he's still in there. "Yes, Plankton," she smiles, her voice thick with emotion.
PLUSH ONE ii (By NeuroFabulous) "What's your favorite thing to do?" Karen continues, her voice gentle. He looks around the room, his gaze finally settling on the metal container, his project before the accident. "Fix," he says, his hands moving in small, repetitive gestures. "Invent. Invent," he murmurs. It's a start. The paramedics nod, jotting down their observations. "It seems like his long-term memory is intact," the first one murmurs to the other. "Okay, Plankton, we're all done here; we'll be heading on out." Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening as she watches them leave, their boots echoing down the hall. The door clicks shut, and suddenly the room feels much emptier, the silence suffocating. She looks back at her husband. She's never dealt with someone with severe autism, let alone the man she loves. She takes a deep breath. "Come on," she says, her voice a gentle coax. "Let's sit up." With surprising ease, he allows her to help him into a sitting position. He looks at her, his gaze warm and affectionate. "Karen," he says, his voice gentle. It's the first time he's called her by name since the accident, and it fills her with a hope so profound it hurts. They sit there for a while, Karen stroking his arm, Plankton's eye closed as he leans into her touch. He seems to find comfort in her presence, and she in his. She whispers softly, "I love you, Plankton." He opens his eye, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Love... Karen," he echoes. "You, I... I lo-ove you Karen." It's not eloquent, but it's enough. It's more than enough. Karen feels tears sting her screen as she leans in and kisses his forehead. "I love you too, Plankton." His hand, stiff and unpracticed, moves to hers, tracing the outline of her palm. The simple gesture speaks volumes, a silent promise that they'll navigate this new world together. Karen's eyes well up, a smile forcing its way through the tears. "You're going to be okay," she whispers, trying to tell herself as much as him. Plankton nods, his gaze on their joined hands. He starts to fiddle with her fingers, his touch tentative but earnest. It's a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He's trying, and she loves him for it. The world outside feels muted as they sit together, sharing this quiet moment of understanding. Their bond, though altered by his new condition, remains strong. Karen can see it in the way he looks at her, his eye searching hers for comfort. And she's there, offering it in spades. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice steady "We'll figure it out." Plankton nods, his hand still tracing the lines of her palm. His movements are methodical, almost ritualistic. It's clear that touch is a way to connect, in a world that's suddenly become more confusing. Karen runs her thumb over the back of his hand. He looks up at her, his gaze intense, his eye searching hers for reassurance. Karen smiles through the tears. "We're in this together," she whispers, leaning in to pat his shoulder. But the second her hand makes contact, he flinches away, his body taut with discomfort. It's a stark reminder of the sensory challenges he now faces. "I'm sorry," Karen says quickly, retracting her hand. She's read about sensory issues in autism, but experiencing it firsthand is overwhelming. She's eager to learn what will soothe him, what will help him navigate this new reality without causing him discomfort. "It's ok" Plankton mumbles, his hands moving in a soothing motion over the blanket. Karen's determined to learn. "What do you need, honey?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's hand stops its erratic movement. He looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Karen," he whispers. Her eyes fill with hope, clutching onto his words like a lifeline. "What do you need, Plankton?" she asks again, her tone soft and patient. He turns his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the couch. Karen gently guides him to the couch, placing a pillow under his head. She grabs his favorite blanket, and drapes it over him. He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into the softness. His hands resume their repetitive stroking, this time on the fabric. Karen notices his eye is drawn to the patterns, and she wonders if the visual stimulation helps him focus. Gently, she sits beside him, keeping a respectful distance. Karen's mind is a storm of thoughts and questions, but she forces herself to be present, to be patient. Plankton's hand continues to move over the blanket. He's in his own world, yet she's eager to understand it.
PLUSH ONE iii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen watches him, his hands stroking the fabric. She reaches out tentatively, touching his arm with the back of her hand. He flinches, his hand freezing mid-stroke. Her eyes fill with regret, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she lets her hand hover for a moment before slowly drawing it back. Plankton's gaze flips to hers, his pupil wide with surprise. He stares at her, then back at her hand. "It's okay," she murmurs, her fingers hovering above his arm once more. This time, he doesn't flinch. Encouraged, she lightly traces his skin, mimicking the movement he'd made with her palm. He watches her, his expression neutral. Then, ever so slightly, his hand relaxes its grip on the blanket. It's as if he's giving his consent for the contact. Karen's eyes well up with tears. This is the first real interaction they've had since the accident. She strokes his arm, her touch light and cautious. He seems to enjoy it, his body slowly unwinding from the tension. It's a dance, learning his new boundaries, his new language of touch. "What do you like?" Karen asks, her voice soft. "What feels good?" Her eyes are on his, watching for any flicker of response. Plankton looks at her, his gaze unreadable, and then his hand moves to cover hers on his arm. It's a gesture so simple, yet so profound, that it takes her breath away. His skin is warm, his touch gentle. He seems to be communicating without words, and she's desperate to understand. "Is this okay?" she whispers, her hand stilling. He nods, his eye never leaving hers. Plankton's movements are precise, deliberate. He's not the same man she knew, but he's still her Plankton. She can see the love in his gaze, the trust in his touch. It's a new way of interacting, but she's willing to learn. As they sit together, Karen notices how Plankton's eye darts around the room, focusing on specific items before moving on. It's as if he's cataloging everything, trying to make sense of his surroundings. She decides to try to engage him with his environment, hoping to spark some familiarity. "Look, Plankton," she says, pointing to a framed photo on the wall. "It's us. Do you remember?" He looks over, his gaze lingering on the picture for a moment. "Karen," he murmurs, his voice soft. "Us." "Yes, that's us. Do you recall?" His eye darts back to the photo. "Yes, Karen; July 31, 1999." The exactitude of the date stuns her. It's a memory she'd thought lost to time. "How do you remember that?" she asks, a smile playing on her screen despite the fear that lingers in her. His gaze doesn't leave the photo. "Special day," he murmurs. "Day married. Karen and Plankton." Karen's eyes widen. His memory for dates and specifics seems to have sharpened, a trait not uncommon in those with autism. It's a stark contrast to the man who often forgot the day of the week unless it was a Krabby Patty special by the Chum Bucket. "You remembered our wedding day," she says, her voice filled with amazement. "That's incredible, Plankton." He nods, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Happy," he murmurs. "Karen happy." Karen's eyes well up with tears as she nods. "Yes, we were happy," she whispers. "We still are." Plankton's hand moves to hers, his grip firm but gentle. "Karen," he says, his voice a declaration of his presence, his acknowledgment of her. It's a moment of profound connection that transcends words. Her screen swells with hope. They're finding a way to communicate. "Do you want to watch TV?" Karen asks, keeping her voice calm and steady. Plankton nods, his eye still on the photo. She grabs the remote and turns it on. The flickering light from the screen illuminates his face, the blue hue of the plasma waves washing over them. But the program is to loud, and Plankton's body tenses up. "Too loud?" she asks, reading his expression. He nods, his eye never leaving the screen. She quickly turns it off. In the darkness, Karen's mind races. They'd need to make adjustments, little by little. Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the spot where the TV was, his eye searching for the pattern of light that was there moments ago. Karen takes a deep breath, her hand still resting in his. "It's okay," she whispers. "We'll find something else." She tries humming, starting with a soft lullaby that fills the room, and she watches his expression, looking for any sign of comfort. His eye flickers closed, and his body relaxes, the tension in his fingers loosening their grip on hers. Encouraged, Karen continues, her voice low and soothing. Plankton's breathing evens out, and she can feel his hand start to relax in hers as he's lulled to a calmness by the predictability of the song's melody. It's a small victory, but one that fills her with hope. She decides to try speaking again, her words carefully chosen. "Plankton, sweetheart, can you tell me what you're thinking about?" He doesn't respond, his eye still closed. "Plankton," Karen whispers. Plankton's breathing remains steady, his hand relaxing further in hers as she notices him sleepily squeezing her fingers. It's a gentle reminder that he's still there, that he's listening. "Karen," he says, his eye sleepily fluttering, "I love you Karen, I love yo..." Plankton's voice trails off as he drifts off to sleep, his head lolling onto her shoulder with a snore. Karen's eyes brim with unshed tears, but she's smiling. The love in his voice was unmistakable. She sits there, holding him. The room is quiet except for his snores and the occasional squeak of the couch. Karen's mind is racing with thoughts, planning for their future. How will they live with his new autism? What will change? What will stay the same? As Plankton sleeps, she notices the way his hand still clutches hers, a silent plea for comfort. She understands that their world has changed, but she's determined to adapt. The quietude of the room is pierced only by the steady rhythm of his snores and the distant hum of the city outside. The TV remains off, the colors of the room muted. Karen knows that bright lights and loud noises can overwhelm him now. She'll have to learn to live with the quiet, to appreciate the small moments of joy that can be found in the simplicity of their new life. Her eyes scan the room, taking in the clutter of their shared life. The unfinished inventions, the half-eaten Krabby Patties, the dusty knick-knacks that once held so much meaning. Everything seems different now, filtered through the lens of Plankton's altered reality. Karen makes a mental note to create a sensory-friendly space for him, a sanctuary where he can retreat from the chaos of the world. But right now it's getting late, and they're both tired. She needs to carry him to their room. With a gentle sigh, she shifts his weight and stands up, his arm draped over her. Plankton's body is limp, his snores a comforting sound in the quiet room. She walks carefully, avoiding any noise that might startle him awake. In their bedroom, Karen lowers Plankton onto his bed and covers him with the blanket. He's still snoring, and she watches him for a moment, committing the sight of him to memory. This is their new normal, and she's scared but ready to face it. Karen reaches over to kiss him on the forehead, her hand lingering there, feeling the warmth of his skin. "I'll figure it out," she whispers, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. "We'll make it work."
PLUSH ONE vi (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton knew he could make Krabby Patties now. He could have the success he'd always craved! Just then, Karen comes in to check on him. Her eyes widen when she sees an envelope in his grasp. "What's that?" she asks. Plankton's face lights up, his eye shining with excitement. "Formula," he says, his voice quick and choppy. "Secret recipe." Karen's eyes narrow. "How did you get that?" she asks. Plankton's smiling awkwardly, his eye darting to the side. "Found it," he murmurs, his grip tightening on the envelope with anticipation. Karen's screen lights up, her eyes shining with excitement. "Oh, Plankton, that's amazing!" she shrieks, clapping her hands together. Her shrill cheer is loud for Plankton, each clap echoing in the space. But her excitement quickly fades as she sees the look of terror on his face. "What's wrong?" she asks, seeing Plankton flinch. "Loud," he whimpers, his eye wide with fear. It dawns on Karen that the sound of her clapping was too much for him, her screen filled with regret for getting to excited and yelling, knowing she's hurt him, even if it was unintentional. "I'm so—" Plankton cuts her off with a quick shake of his head. "No," he murmurs, his eye searching hers desperately. "Karen, safe." The room falls silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Karen's heart races. What had she done wrong? Her excitement for him had turned into a trigger. She sits by him, her hand tentatively reaching out... Plankton flinches at the sudden movement. His eye widens in fear. Karen's heart breaks. "It's okay," she says, her voice gentle. "It's just me, Karen." But her words don't penetrate his new reality. He clutches the envelope to his chest, his breathing rapid. The world around him is a minefield of sensory overload, and she's the unknown variable. She can see the fear in his eye, the way his antennae twitch. "Plankton," she says softly, keeping her voice low and even. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt yo-" He jumps at the sound of her voice, his antennae shooting up like antennas detecting a threat. The envelope flutters to the floor, forgotten. "Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand hovering in the air, afraid to make contact. "You're scared of me?" He nods, his body tight as a coiled spring, his breaths shallow. "Karen," he says, his voice shaky. "Love Karen." The words hang in the air, a testament to their bond. But the fear in his eye tells a different story. This is the first time he's expressed fear of her, and it hits Karen like a punch to the gut. "Plankton," she says softly, keeping her voice low, "You know I'd never tr-" He flinches again, the simplicity of his fear stark. "Need space," he mumbles, his voice barely audible over the pounding in her chest. Karen nods, her hand falling to her side. She takes a step back, giving him the distance he needs. "Okay," she says, her voice breaking. "I'll be right he-" "No," he says, his voice urgent. Karen's eyes follow his gaze, understanding his distress. They both know what that envelope means to him, a bridge between his old life and his new reality. Gently, she picks it up, her hand shaking slightly. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice low. "How about if I keep my voice dow-" But Plankton's already shaking his head, his eye wide with panic. "No," he says, his voice strained. "Mine." Karen's heart clenches. She understands his fear, but she also knows the importance of his obsession. "Okay," she says, placing the envelope in his hands. "Let's just sit." But then she accidentally touches him, brushing his arm. "Whoops," she says, her voice shaking. "I---" But he pulls away, his body rigid with tension. "No touch," he says firmly. Karen nods, her eyes brimming with tears she fights to hold back. She's learning the dance of his new reality, the steps not quite familiar yet. "Okay," she whispers, her hand retreating to her lap. "Let's just ta-" But Plankton's eye snaps to the envelope in his hand, his grip tightening. "Mine," he repeats, his voice a mix of panic and determination. Karen nods, her heart aching. "Okay," she says softly, her hands in her lap. "W---" But Plankton's eye is still on the envelope, his grip tightening. "NO," he says, his voice rising, the word echoing in the room. Karen's eyes widen, his distress clear. "Plankton," she whispers, her hands up in a peaceful gesture. "Ca--" But Plankton's panic doesn't subside. He clutches the envelope, his body shaking. "SAID, NO!" he shouts. "NO! MORE! NO MORE!" This isn't the man she knew, the man she'd spoken to just moments ago. The room feels smaller, the air thicker with his fear. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice shaking. "I'll give you space." She retreats to her own bed. Plankton's breaths slow, his body relaxing slightly. Karen watches him from the corner of her screen. The silence stretches between them, thick with the unspoken words of fear and misunderstanding. Her hand aches to reach out to him, to soothe his anxiety, but she knows better now. She's a stranger in his world of sensory chaos. Karen lies in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind whirling with what-ifs and worries. She'd read about the unpredictability of autism, how it could affect people in so many different ways. But seeing it firsthand, feeling the sharp edge of Plankton's panic, was something else entirely. Her thoughts are a tangled web of emotions - love, fear, determination. She'll learn his new language, this dance of sensory avoidance and connection. They'll find their way through this, together. But for now, she needs to respect his boundaries, the lines he's drawn around his comfort. The room is silent except for Plankton quietly reading the recipe to himself. Her eyes follow his movements, his lips moving as he whispers the ingredients, his antennae twitching with each word as she watches him from afar. This is her Plankton, but not. The man she loves, lost in his new world of patterns and fears. Plankton's eye darts to her, his voice a whisper. "Karen?" The fear in his voice is palpable. "I'm here," she says. She wants to comfort him, to wipe away his distress. But she knows better now. She's a guest in his new world, and she must tread lightly.
PLUSH ONE vii (By NeuroFabulous) The room feels alien, the walls closing in around Karen. Plankton's autism has painted a new reality, one filled with sounds too loud, lights too bright, and emotions too intense. Plankton then sniffles as tears start to trickle down his cheeks. "Karen," he says, his voice desperate. "Plankton... Karen upset? Plankton not meant to upset Karen." Karen's screen swells with love and pity. She can't bear to see his pain, his confusion. "It's okay," she whispers. "You didn't do anything wrong." She takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm just learning, sweetie. We both are." Plankton sniffles, his eye searching hers. "Love Karen," he says, his voice a tremble. "Yes; Karen Plankton." "I love you, too," she whispers. "Always." Plankton's gaze lingers on the envelope, his antennae quivering. "Loving Karen even when wanting space." Karen nods, her eyes filling with understanding. "We'll figure this out," she says, her voice a balm to his fear. Plankton's hand opens, the envelope slipping onto the bed. "Plankton memorized formula. Plankton need put back, in Krabs safety vault." Karen's eyes widen with shock. "You... you remember each and every detail; how?" Plankton's eye twitches, a flurry of thoughts racing across his face. "Patterns," he whispers. "Everything in patterns. Krabby Patty, Krabs, all patterns." Karen nods, her mind racing. "So, you're saying you'll return it, so Krabs won't know you got it. Ok, sweets." Plankton nods vigorously, his antennae bobbing. "Yes." He goes and does so before hurrying back. "Plankton did it! And not caught!" Karen swells with pride, despite the circumstances. "Good job," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Now, let's focus on you. How do you feel?" Plankton's eye flickers, his antennae waving in contemplation. "Different," he murmurs. "Everything's so... much." He looks around the room, his gaze landing on their wedding photo. "But Karen, always. Love." Karen smiles through her tears, touched by his words. "I know, sweetie. I love you, too." The room feels smaller, the air thick with their shared understanding. Plankton's autism has become a part of them, a third entity in their relationship. They'll have to navigate this new reality together, a dance of patience and empathy. Karen watches him, his movements now a symphony of tics and rituals, each gesture a clue to his inner world. "What do you need, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper in the cacophony of his thoughts. He looks at her, his eye searching hers. "Does," he says. "Do Plankton." Karen nods. "What does my Plankton need?" He looks at her, his eye swiveling in his newly autistic way, trying to find the words. "Karen," he says, his voice a gentle wave of comfort. "Safe Karen." Karen's eyes well with tears, understanding his need for familiarity. She nods, her hand reaching out to stroke his antennae gently. "Yes, Plankton. You're safe with me." The contact sends a rush of comfort through him, his body relaxing slightly. He closes his eye, leaning into her touch. "Good Karen," he whispers. Karen continues stroking his antennae, her hand trembling with emotion. "What else can I do for you?" she asks, her voice low and soothing. Plankton's eye opens slightly, his focus on her touch. "Love Karen," he murmurs, his voice filled with longing. "Always, love." "I know, Plankton. We're in this together." He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. "Together," he echoes. Karen can see the fear in his eye, the way it searches hers for reassurance. She nods, her hand moving to gently stroke his arm. But the moment her hand makes contact with his skin, Plankton's body stiffens. He jerks away, his eye wide with terror. "NO!" he shouts, the sound piercing the quiet room. Karen's hand freezes in midair, her thoughts racing. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to—" But Plankton's already retreated to the corner of the room, his body curled into a protective ball. "Not now," he murmurs, his voice shaking. "No touch." She'd hurt him without meaning to, crossed a line he hadn't even drawn yet. She takes a step back, her hand hovering in the air. "Okay," she says, her voice barely a whisper. Then an idea forms in her head. Carefully, she picks up a plushie, her movements slow and deliberate. "Look, Plankton," she says, her voice calm and even. "It's your plush.." But Plankton's eye remains wide with fear, his antennae rigid. "NO!" he shouts, the word echoing in the room. Karen's hand freezes, the plushie dropping to the floor forgotten. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice soft and trembling. "I di-" But Plankton's eye is locked on her screen, his body shaking. "NO!" he screams, his autism surging. This is new, this raw fear. He's never reacted so strongly before. "I didn't know." Karen aches for him, but she knows she can't force her way in. Plankton's breaths come quick and shallow, his body trembling. She wants to comfort him, to tell him it's okay, but she knows it's not. Not right now. Instead, she sits down on the bed, giving him the space he needs. Her eyes on him, watching his every move. The plushie lies on the floor, which he tentatively reaches with his shaky hand. He then clutches it as he remains in the corner of the room on the floor. Karen watches him. The man she loves is lost in his own sensory overload, and she feels powerless. "Would you like me to sing..." Plankton's eye snaps to hers, his face a mask of terror. "No!" he shouts, his voice sharp as a knife. The room falls silent, the air charged with his fear. Karen's seen this look before, but never with such intensity. His autism has painted their lives with new colors, vivid and overwhelming. She takes a step back, her hand raised in a peaceful gesture. "Okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'm sorry." Plankton's eye doesn't leave the plushie, embracing it. "MINE," he murmurs, his voice a mix of anger and fear. Karen nods, her voice calm. "Yes, Plankton. It's your plushie. You're safe." She doesn't move, knowing any sudden action could send him spiraling again. The silence is heavy, punctuated by Plankton's quick, shallow breaths. Karen's mind races, trying to understand his new rules, his new reality. Plankton clutches the plushie to his chest, his eye squeezed shut. Karen's seen his fear before, but never like this. The autism has unlocked a new intensity in him, his emotions a maelstrom she can't begin to navigate. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice soothing. "You're okay. I'm here." Her hand reaches out, but she stops short, not wanting to invade his space. His grip on the plushie loosens slightly, his breathing evening out. Karen's eyes never leave his face, watching for any sign of distress. "Would you like me to sit w---" But Plankton's eye snaps to hers, his voice firm. "No please," he says. The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of their new normal. Karen nods, her hand falling to her side. She knows he's trying to control his environment, to find comfort in the chaos. "Okay," she says softly. "I'll be right here." The room is silent but for the occasional whisper of his voice, recounting the formula to himself. She watches him from afar. But she's also in awe of his ability to process the patterns and remember every detail. Karen sighs. She observes his every move, the way his antennae twitch to the rhythm of his thoughts. This isn't the exact same Plankton she knew, but this is the Plankton she still loves. She watches him, his eye still closed, his body slowly relaxing as he clutches the plushie.
PLUSH ONE viii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's mind races with questions, but she knows better than to ask now. She watches Plankton closely, his body slowly unwinding. His eye opens slightly, his gaze flicking to his plushie. "Plankton," she says, keeping her voice steady, "Would you like to sit with me?" He considers her offer, his antennae twitching nervously. Then, with a shaky nod, he crawls across the floor, his body still tense, and sits by her side, the plushie still clutched in one hand. Karen swells with relief, the air in the room finally feeling a bit less suffocating. She keeps her movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle him. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae still twitching. The man she loves is trying, and it's all she can ask. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae twitching, a constant reminder of the world he now navigates. She reaches out tentatively, her hand hovering near his. "Would you like me to hold your hand?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. He looks at her hand, then at her, his eye swiveling in consideration. For a moment, Karen thinks he might reject her offer, but slowly, his hand reaches out and wraps around hers. It's a tentative gesture. His grip is firm, but not too tight, his antennae quivering as he tries to process the sudden contact. She holds her breath, afraid to disturb the fragile peace they've found. Karen's mind races, trying to recall everything she's read about autism, about how touch can be both a source of comfort and of pain. She remembers the importance of consent, of letting the person with autism lead the way. So she sits, her hand in his, and waits. The room is still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside their window. Plankton's breaths are steady now, his grip on the plushie loosening. His antennae are still, no longer searching the air for threats. Karen's eyes are locked on their intertwined hands, the warmth of his palm a comfort she hadn't realized she'd missed. "You're doing so well," she whispers, her voice as gentle as his only response is a twitch of his antennae. His eye flicks to hers, a silent question. "It's okay," she says, her smile reassuring. "We're just sitting together." Plankton nods slightly, his eye still focused on their joined hands. He then repeats her words, his voice a mirror of her own. "Okay, sitting together." The phrase echoes. It's called echolalic palilalia, a common trait in those with autism, where words are repeated. Karen nods with love. "Yes," she says. "Sitting together." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, a hint of a smile playing. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip's never felt so close to his dad, not even when they used to build sandcastles on the beach. Plankton's antennae tickle his neck, a gentle reminder of the trust that's been slowly building between them. The snores are a comforting background to the quiet evening. "Can I sleep out here, next to Dad?" Chip asks. Karen nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "Of course," she whispers, her voice a soft caress in the darkness. "Just be careful not to disturb him. Let's get you both set up." They work together, moving pillows and blankets, careful not to jostle Plankton. Chip watches as his mother gently lifts his father's head, placing it gently on his own pillow as Chip stands up. They move a soft foot bench for Chip to sleep on next to Plankton. Karen pulls a blanket over both of them, tucking it around them both. Chip's heart races with excitement, his mind racing with the newfound connection. He lies down on the foot bench, his body tense with anticipation. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he shifts, but he doesn't stir. Karen's eyes are a soft moon, her gaze a gentle reminder of the night ahead. "Remember," she whispers. "Don't move too much. He needs his space." Chip nods, his eyes filled with understanding. He watches as Karen disappears upstairs, the light flickering before going out. The room is a canvas of shadows, Plankton's snores a soft metronome. He lies still, his mind whirling with thoughts. It's strange, feeling his dad's body so close. He's always been the one to move away, the one to hide. But here he is, sleeping. The room is quiet, save for Plankton's snores. Chip swallows, his heart thumping. He reaches out his hand, his fingers trembling slightly. He's never felt so nervous about something so simple. He touches Plankton's antennae, his heart in his throat. They twitch slightly at the contact, but Plankton doesn't wake up. Chip's breath escapes in a silent whoosh. He holds his hand there, his fingertips exploring the softness of his father's antennae. They're so delicate, like tiny whiskers. Plankton's breathing doesn't change. Encouraged, Chip slides his hand further up, his heart racing. He's never felt so close to his dad, not even during those rare moments when Plankton allows a brief hug. His hand comes to rest on Plankton's shoulder, his father's arm lying limp. Plankton's snores hitch for a moment, his antennae twitching erratically. Chip's heart leaps into his throat, but then Plankton relaxes again, his snores resuming their comforting rhythm. Chip's hand remains on his father's shoulder, his mind racing with thoughts of all the times he's wanted to be closer. He's never dared to touch him like this before, afraid of setting off a storm of sensory overload. But now, as Plankton sleeps, his antennae lying still against his head, Chip feels a strange sense of peace. He watches his father's chest rise and fall, his snores a soothing lullaby. He's always been so quick to retreat into his shell, but here, in this quiet moment, he's vulnerable, his defenses down. Chip's hand remains on his father's shoulder, his thumb tracing gentle circles. He wonders if Plankton knows how much he's wanted to connect like this. How much he's longed for the kind of closeness that other kids share with their dads. The antennae on Plankton's head twitch slightly, and Chip holds his breath. But Plankton's snores remain steady, his body relaxed. A smile tugs at the corner of Chip's mouth. He's never felt this level of acceptance from his father, not even during their rare moments of physical contact. He leans closer, his eyes studying Plankton's sleeping face. His father's cheeks are still a bit puffy from the surgery, but there's a peace to his expression that Chip hasn't seen in a long time. His antennae lie still, no longer twitching with pain or irritation. Chip's hand on his shoulder feels like an anchor, a connection he's longed for. He wonders if Plankton's dreams are filled with the colors and shapes of their underwater world, or if he dreams of a place beyond the reef, a place where his inventions come to life. Chip simply watches him sleep, his own eyes drooping with exhaustion. As the night stretches on, the snores become a lullaby, a rhythm that soothes Chip's racing thoughts. He's so close to his dad, closer than he's ever been. The room feels smaller, yet somehow more expansive, like the ocean outside their door. He watches Plankton's chest rise and fall with each breath, his antennae lying still against his forehead. It's strange, seeing his father so vulnerable, so open to the world. In sleep, Plankton's usual defensive posture has melted away, leaving behind a softness that Chip has never seen before. He tentatively reaches out his other hand, his fingers sliding under the blanket to rest lightly on Plankton's hand. It's a small gesture, but it feels like a monumental step forward. Plankton's hand twitches, but doesn't pull away. Chip's breath catches in his throat, his heart racing. He holds his breath, waiting for a reaction. But Plankton's snores remain steady. Chip's heart thumps in his chest. He's never felt this close to his father. It's like they're sharing a secret, a quiet moment of understanding. He squeezes Plankton's hand gently, his thumb tracing the outline of his father's palm. Plankton's antennae twitch again, his hand moving slightly under Chip's. Chip's heart leaps, his eyes widening. Did he feel that? A soft squeeze from Plankton's hand, a silent communication. He squeezes back, his grip gentle. Plankton's snores continue, his hand relaxing into Chip's. The moment stretches, a warm band connecting the two of them. Chip's heart is a caged bird, fluttering with excitement. He's never felt so close to his dad, never thought this was possible. He watches as Plankton's snores deepen, his hand in his father's a silent promise of support. The room is a symphony of quiet moments, each breath a note of peace. Chip's lulled by the steady beat of his father's snores. His eyes drift shut, his mind a kaleidoscope of thoughts. He dreams of a world where Plankton's antennae don't twitch with fear, where the shutdowns don't steal him away. He dreams of a future where they can share laughter, not just the quiet moments like this. Hours later, Plankton's snores have turned into soft, even breaths. The room is bathed in the gentle glow of early morning, the sun peeking through the curtains. Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching as he awakens to a new day. He blinks slowly, his eye adjusting to the light. And then he sees it. Chip's hand, curled around his own, a warm pressure that grounds him. His son's body, curled into the foot bench, his chest rising and falling silently with sleep. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he blinks, his mind foggy with the remnants of sleep. He tries to sit up, to pull away, but his body protests, a dull throb in his cheeks reminding him of the surgery's aftermath. He feels a warmth beside him, his son's hand in his own, a gentle reminder of the night's unexpected intimacy. His heart thumps in his chest, the realization hitting him like a gentle wave. Chip had been there, holding on, a silent support through his slumber. Plankton's antennae quiver, his brain slowly waking up. He's not used to this, to being touched so casually, so openly. It's a foreign sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. He looks down at their joined hands, his son's thumb resting against his palm. He's torn between retreating and embracing the moment, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. But his son's gentle breaths, the weight of his body against his side... He feels a strange warmth, a feeling he's often chased away. But here, in the quiet pre-dawn light, he lets it in. Plankton's antennae twitch, a quiet acknowledgment of his son's presence. He doesn't pull away, his hand still in Chip's. His mind is a tornado of thoughts, spinning with the realization that he's allowed this unsolicited closeness with Chip. Plankton's heart beats faster, his antennae quivering slightly. He's not used to this, the unexpected warmth, the silent comfort of his son's touch. But as the moments stretch into something more, he finds that he doesn't want to pull away.
⠀⠀⠀⠠⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣴⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣴⣿⡷⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠘⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠹⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⣿⣱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢿⣧⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠛⢷⣿⣟⡿⠿⠿⡟⣓⣒⣛⡛⡛⢟⣛⡛⠟⠿⣻⢿⣿⣻⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣴⢻⡭⠖⡉⠥⣈⠀⣐⠂⡄⠔⢂⢦⡹⢬⡕⠊⠳⠈⢿⣳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣼⣷⣋⠲⢮⣁⠀⣐⠆⡤⢊⣜⡀⡾⣀⠀⢠⢻⣌⣤⣥⣓⣌⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣟⣽⢳⣯⣝⣦⡀⠓⡤⢆⠇⠂⠄⠤⡝⣂⠋⠖⢋⠀⣡⣶⣾⡿⡷⣽⡿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⡜⢯⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣤⣧⣶⣬⣝⣃⣓⣈⣥⣶⣿⣾⣿⣿⢣⠇⢻⡞⣯⣹⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢻⣼⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡔⡯⢧⢟⣟⣱⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⡼⡼⢁⡌⢼⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⢇⡼⢃⡿⣼⣛⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠟⣡⣫⣢⢏⣼⡵⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⣏⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⡾⢕⣻⣽⣵⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠘⢷⣮⣿⡼⢭⡟⠳⠞⡖⢛⣶⣷⣯⡶⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠛⠿⠟⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⡛⠛⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢃⣴⣿⠿⣻⢼⣲⠿⠭⠭⣽⣿⣓⣛⣛⣓⣲⣶⣢⣍⠻⢿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡿⢁⣾⣿⣵⡫⣪⣷⠿⠿⢿⣷⣹⣿⣿⣿⢲⣾⣿⣾⡽⣟⣷⠈⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⠟⠁⣚⣿⣿⠟⡟⠡⠀⠀⠀⠶⣌⠻⣿⣿⠟⠛⠉⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⠧⡙⢿ ⡿⢡⢲⠟⣡⡴⢤⣉⣛⠛⣋⣥⣿⣷⣦⣾⣿⣿⡆⢰⣾⣿⠿⠟⣛⡛⢪⣎⠈ ⣧⢸⣸⠐⣛⡁⢦⣍⡛⠿⢿⣛⣿⡍⢩⠽⠿⣿⣿⡦⠉⠻⣷⣶⠇⢻⣟⠟⢀ ⣿⣆⠣⢕⣿⣷⡈⠙⠓⠰⣶⣤⣍⠑⠘⠾⠿⠿⣉⣡⡞⠽⠗⡉⡀⠘⣶⢃⣾ ⣿⣿⣷⡈⢿⣿⣿⣌⠳⢠⣄⣈⠉⠘⠿⠿⠆⠶⠶⠀⠶⠶⠸⠃⠁⠀⣿⢹⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⢻⣿⣿⣧⣌⠻⢿⢃⣷⣶⣤⢀⣀⣈⢀⣀⠀⡀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢸⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⠪⣟⠭⣳⢦⣬⣉⣛⠛⠘⠿⠇⠸⠋⠘⣅⣁⣴⣿⣿⢸⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣉⠒⠭⣖⣩⡟⠛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣫⣾⢏⣿⠘⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣍⡛⠿⠿⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⠿⣰⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣤⣭⣍⣉⣛⣋⣭⣥⣾⣿⣿
DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 20 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's arms wrap around him, her hands gentle on his back as she whispers words of comfort, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You're safe, baby," she says. "You're safe with me." Plankton's sobs slow, his body relaxing marginally in her embrace. His antennae still thrash, but with less urgency, when Plankton's main dentist comes in. Dr. Musselman, Plankton's main dentist, rushes into the room, his eyes wide with concern at the sight of his patient's distress. Karen quickly explains the situation, her voice tight with emotion. "He's having an autistic shutdown," she says, her hand on Plankton's trembling back. "He's sensitive to sensory overload." He nods. "You can come into my exam room, follow me." The doctor's exam room is dimmer, the air cooler, and the smell less intense. The change in atmosphere is like a gentle caress against Plankton's overstimulated sensors. He lets out a shaky sigh, his antennae unfurling slightly. Dr. Musselman's eyes are kind, his voice a soothing balm. "Hi, Plankton," he says, his tone gentle. "Remember me?" Plankton's gaze flickers to him, his antennae stilling. "You're my other dentist," he whispers, his voice hoarse from the sobbing. The doctor nods, his smile reassuring. "That's right. I know you don't like surprises, so I'm sorry for that, for Jill. But we're going to take it slow, okay?" Plankton nods, his antennae twitching slightly. "We need to finish your cleaning," Karen says, her voice gentle. "But we'll do it with Dr. Musselman. He'll always work here, and can be your dentist instead of Jill from now on!" "Okay," Dr. Musselman says, his voice calm and measured. "We're going to take some x-rays now. It's quick and painless." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly at the mention of painlessness. He nods, his eye searching the doctor's face for any sign of deception. The doctor leads them to a small, enclosed space, the whirring of the x-ray machine a soothing constant. Karen holds Plankton's hand, her grip firm but gentle, as he sits in the chair. The doctor explains the process, his words clear and concise. Plankton nods, his breathing slowing slightly as he tries to comfort himself. The x-ray machine's cold metal touches his jaw, and he jolts. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her hand on his shoulder. "It's just a little picture of your teeth." Plankton's eye closes, his antennae stilling. He nods, his trust in his wife a beacon in the storm of his fear. Dr. Musselman's movements are careful, his voice calm. "Open wide," he says. Plankton's mouth opens slightly, his teeth clenched. The x-ray film slides into place, cold and slightly sticky. He tastes the metal, feels the pressure. But it's not the same as the probe. It's bearable. The machine whirs to life, the sensation of the x-rays a gentle buzz against his skin. His antennae quiver, but he doesn't pull away. Karen's hand squeezes his, a silent promise of support. "Good job," she murmurs, her voice a warm whisper in the cool air. The doctor's voice is steady. "Almost done," he says, his eyes on the machine's readout. Plankton nods, his breaths shallow but even. The fear has receded to a dull throb, a distant echo of the panic that had consumed him. The x-ray machine clicks off, the buzz of its operation silenced. Dr. Musselman gently removes the film, his movements careful not to startle Plankton. "Good boy," he says, his voice a warm caress. Plankton's antennae twitch in response, a tentative sign of trust.
𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆! 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒅𝒖𝒎𝒃 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈? 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒘𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒔! 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅!! <33
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡦⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠙⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⡿⠟⠋⠉⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⣠⣾⣏⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣫⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠛⠉⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢿⣿⣿⡟⢿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠘⣿⣿⣷⠀⠻⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠂⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡿⢿⡇ ⠀⠛⢿⣿⣯⡍⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⡈⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⡟⠻⡿⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⠃⠈⠷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⠟⠀⠐⠇⠀⠘⠿⠛⠋⠄⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣦⣶⣾⣿⣷⣶⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⣿⣟⠯⠓⣉⣩⣭⣝⣻⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⠗⢡⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠏⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⣿⣿⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⣨⣩⠙⠀⢹⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣀⣀⣀⣀⢧⣿⠂⣀⠀⣿⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣶⣿⣿⠗⡤⢤⣀⡉⠊⡱⢋⣉⣉⣷⠄⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡝⣿⣿⠀⠈⠙⠿⠃⠀⡇⠽⠛⢻⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⣀⠤⠾⣄⡹⣄⠀⢸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣋⢹⣿⣿⣷⡾⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣶⣿⠿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢻⣿⣿⣇⠈⠡⢄⣀⠐⢉⣿⣿⣴⣿⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣷⣤⣄⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠒⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⡿⠛⠋⠘⣿⣿⠿⢯⠛⠂⠤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠁⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀ ⣰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀⠀⢣⠒⠲⠤⣀⡀⠀⡀⣀⠤⠒⠂⠸⡀⠀⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣄ ⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢆⡀⠀⢣⡀⠀⠈⠀⠈⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠰⠧⠀⠚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠛⠲⠻⠷⠒⠞⠂⠸⠣⠲⠖⠖⠀⠀⠻⠻⠿⠼⠟⠿⠧⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
#KneeSurgery pt. 2 They maneuver him into the wheelchair, and he winces as his leg meets the firm cushion. The nurse nods sympathetically. "It'll take some getting used to, but you'll manage." She gets his stuffed bear and blanket, placing them carefully in his lap. Plankton leans his head back, his eye drifting closed again as they get crutches. Karen follows the nurse as they navigate the hospital corridors. She's relieved to finally reach the car, helping him in with gentle care. His head lolls to the side as she buckles him in, his snores a testament to the powerful medication. The drive home feels endless. Every bump in the road jolts her nerves, but Plankton remains oblivious, his chest rising and falling evenly. She glances over, his hand resting on the stuffed bear, fingers lax. The house is a silent fortress when they arrive. Karen managed to get him in. He mumbles something incoherent as she helps lift him onto the couch. His eyelid flickers open, and he looks around confused before it closes again. She also leaves the wheelchair near. Pillows are arranged just so, the TV remote within easy reach, and his favorite blanket drapes his legs like a warm embrace. He mumbles a thank you, his eye still half-closed with sleep. Karen makes him comfortable, his head nestled against the pillows. She kisses his forehead. "Rest," she whispers, her voice a soft caress. "I'll be right here." Plankton's snores become more pronounced as Karen sits by his side. Just then, Karen's friend Sandy unexpectedly comes inside. "What happened?" she gasps. Karen smiles weakly. "He's sleepy." Sandy's eyes widen as she takes in the cast and the wheelchair. "What...? Why..." Sandy exclaims. "It's okay," Karen says. "Plankton had an accident. He'll be fine, yet it's going to be a long road to recovery." Sandy nods, a look of concern etching her features. "How can I help?" Karen's eyes fill with gratitude. "Could you... could you stay with him while I make food?" Sandy nods firmly. "Of course." Plankton's snores grow softer as Sandy sits beside him as Karen finishes up a batch of chum. Plankton stirs slightly, his snores quieter now. "Karen," Sandy calls from the living room. "He's waking up." Karen sets the food aside, wiping her hands on a towel as she rushes in. Plankton's eye blinks open, looking around confused. "What's...what's going on?" he mumbles. Karen smiles reassuringly. "You had surgery, Plankton. Do you remembe---" He nods, his eye half-lidded. "I...fell. But when’d she get here?" Plankton said as he recognized Sandy. Karen chuckles softly. "You've been out of it for a bit. She came a bit after you fell asleep." Sandy smiles. "I'm just here to help. What do you need?" Karen's shoulders sag with relief. "Could you help me get his wheelchair? We'll need to eat at the table." Karen guides Plankton. He winces as he lowers himself, his leg still tender and foreign in its cast. They make their way to the dinner table, Sandy right behind them. Karen serves him a steaming plate. He picks at the food, his eye still hazy from the anesthesia. Sandy fills a glass of water, placing it within his reach. "How long...?" Plankton's words trail off as he tries to remember the doctor's instructions. "How long will I be in this...this...thing?" He gestures to the cast, his frustration clear. Karen takes a deep breath, her hand resting on his shoulder. "It's going to be a few weeks, love. But think of it as a chance to rest and recover." She knows he doesn't want to appear helpless. Sandy sits across from Karen and Plankton, curious but tentative, as she knows he can have a fiery temper at times. "So, what happened Plank..." He cuts her off, his voice sharp. "I fell. That's what happened. I don't know much after that." Plankton's frustration is palpable, his eye flashing. Karen squeezes his hand gently, a silent reminder to be patient. Sandy nods, understanding. "Well, ok." Karen watches Plankton's face, and Sandy wants to help. He's tired, his eyelid drooping. But he tries to appear present, to eat with them at the kitchen table with his wheelchair. He takes small bites, his movements careful not to disturb his leg. Karen intercepts Sandy's concerned look. "It's okay," she whispers as Plankton's energy wanes. His head nods forward slightly, and he jerks awake with a snort, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Karen appreciates her friend's support, yet she can see the uncertainty in Sandy's eyes. They both knew Plankton's stubbornness. Sandy clears her throat, changing the subject. "So, what's the plan for tomorrow?" Karen looks at Plankton, his eye half-closed. "We'll take it easy. The doctor said lots of rest." Plankton nods, his head bobbing slightly. "I'll help with the house," Sandy offers, picking up on Karen's unspoken concern. "You guys just focus on...you know, recovering." Karen smiles with gratitude. "Thank you." Plankton nods, his head lolling again as he tries to appear present. But he leans into Karen, his body heavy with exhaustion, head resting on her shoulder, his snores soon filling the room despite still sitting in the wheelchair at the table. Karen and Sandy exchange a look. Gently, Karen lifts Plankton's head, his snores growing deeper with every passing second. "Come on, let's get you to bed," she whispers, her voice a gentle caress in the quiet room. Sandy nods, understanding. They work in tandem, Sandy pushing the wheelchair while Karen supports Plankton's weight. The bedroom is bathed in a soft glow, the curtains drawn against the night. They maneuver him to the bed, his snores punctuating the air. They carefully lift him, his body unyielding from the pain meds, and lay him down. The cast feels heavier than ever, a stark reminder of the ordeal he's just been through. Karen pulls the covers over him, tucking them in gently around his cast, his snores growing louder. Sandy looks at Karen with sympathetic eyes. "You've had quite a day," she says softly. Karen nods. "We both have." Sandy pulls her into a hug. "You're not alone. I'm here."
#KneeSurgery pt. 1 Plankton's foot slipped on the uneven stone. His arms flailed in a desperate attempt to keep his balance. The sickening crack of bone on bone echoed through the stillness as Karen watched her husband Plankton crumple, his face a mask of pain. The quiet evening was shattered by his agonized scream. Karen rushed to his side. Plankton was clutching his leg, his eye squeezed shut. The angle of his lower leg was grotesque, unnatural. It was clear something was very wrong. She didn't need to be a doctor to know that the sound of the snap had been his middle leg bones, breaking. Karen raced as she knelt beside him, his pain a palpable presence. Plankton's breaths came quick and shallow, punctuated by grunts of pain; it was already swelling, the bone jutting under the skin. She knew they had to act fast. "Hold on," she whispered fiercely. "We need to get you to a hospital." Their quiet neighborhood was quickly alight with the wails of an approaching ambulance. The stark white and red lights bobbed through the trees, casting eerie shadows on their panic-stricken faces. The moments stretched into an eternity before the doors swung open and medical personnel flooded out, their movements efficient and calm, contrasting with the chaos of the scene. They moved quickly, strapping Plankton onto a stretcher, his screams of agony piercing the night air as they carefully straightened his leg and secured it in a makeshift splint as Karen hops in. The ambulance lurched forward, the wheels eating up the pavement as they sped toward the hospital. Karen held his hand tightly. "Ma'am, you might want to accompany him into the surgery room, as he'll need an operation." They told Karen. Upon arrival, the doctor spoke in hushed, professional tones, his expression unreadable behind the mask. "It's a serious fracture. We'll need to perform a tibiofibular repair. It's a complex procedure, but our team is prepared. You can stay by him as we operate. Let's get him comfortable first." Karen nodded. "I understand." They transferred him to the operating table, gently arranging his limbs with the precision of experience. Karen held his hand, her eyes never leaving his as the anesthesiologist prepared the medication. Plankton was visibly nervous, his eye darting between the doctor and his wife. To help ease his nerves, the nurse offered Plankton a warm blanket and a stuffed bear, and he clutched it to his chest. The anesthesiologist stepped back, thinking for a moment before speaking up. "We have anesthesia. We can try that. It's not our usual protocol, but in your case, it might be the best option." Karen felt the grip of Plankton's hand tighten around hers. "It'll be okay," she assured him, trying to mirror the nurse's calm demeanor. The doctor nodded in agreement. "We've done this before. We'll take good care of you." The anesthetic began to flow into his veins, and Plankton's eyelid grew heavy. His breathing slowed, and the room grew quiet as his grip loosened and his hand went slack in Karen's. She leaned in, whispering, "I love you," as his eye closed fully, snores now coming from his open mouth. The doctor gave a nod to the anesthesiologist, who nodded back in confirmation. The surgery could begin. Once they finished the surgery, they bandaged Plankton's leg with a cast that went from his toes to his hip, and wheeled him to the recovery room. The doctor explained that it was a successful procedure, though he'd be asleep for several hours. The room was a soft symphony of beeps and whispers, a stark contrast to the chaos of the operating theater. Karen waited, her fingers intertwined with his, feeling his pulse steady and strong under her fingertips. The nurse dimmed the lights. "He's reacting nicely to the anesthesia. It's normal and ok if today he tends to doze off easily." Karen nodded. As Plankton slept on, the nurse adjusts his stuffed bear so that it doesn't press against his cast. She smiles reassuringly at Karen. "He's going to be okay," she says softly. "We'll keep a close eye on his vitals, yet he should be coming around shortly." Karen nods, gratitude in her screen, and squeezes his hand gently. "You can even talk to him if you'd like. Sometimes it helps to hear a familiar voice." Karen leans closer to Plankton's sleeping form. "You're going to be okay. You're going to recover, and we're going to get through this." The nurse nods, a sympathetic smile on her face as she checks the IV dripping pain relievers into his arm. Eventually, Plankton's eye opens groggily, looking around the room in confusion. He winces as the light pierces his pupil, and Karen quickly reaches over to dim the lamp. "It's okay," she says soothingly. "You're in the hospital. You had an accident." His eye finds hers and relaxes slightly as recognition sets in. "My...my leg," he mumbles, his voice slurred from the anesthesia. Karen nods, her thumb brushing his knuckles. "They fixed it. You had surgery. You're going to be okay." Plankton tries to move, but the weight of the cast stops him. "What...happened?" The doctor enters the recovery room. "You had a nasty fall. Do you remember?" Plankton's eye drifts closed, trying to piece together the fragmented moments. The pain, the lights, the sound of his own screams. He nods slightly, the memory firming like concrete in his mind. "We've repaired it. You'll be in this cast for a while, but with rest, you'll be back to normal." Plankton nods again. The doctor nods to Karen. "He'll be sleepy for a bit. We've given him some pain medication." Karen nods. Plankton's eyelid flutters, his gaze unfocused. "Can I... see it?" he asks, his voice slurred by the anesthesia. Karen nods and gently lifts the blanket. The cast, white and pristine, extends from his toes to his hip. "It's going to take some time, but you'll be okay," she repeats, her voice soothing. Plankton's eye focuses on the cast. "It's...big," he murmurs, his voice trailing off as the weight of the medication pulls him back under. His eye droops closed, and his breathing steadies into the rhythmic pattern of sleep. Karen watches his chest rise and fall as they remove the IV. "He'll be in and out of it for a while. It's normal. The body needs rest after surgery." Karen nods, trying to absorb the doctor's words. She's seen people with broken legs before, but never one she loves so much. She thanks the doctor, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's hand moves, his fingers searching for hers. "Karen," he whispers, his voice thick with sleep. Her hand slides into his, squeezing gently. "I'm here," she murmurs, her screen never leaving his peaceful face. The surgery had been a success. The nurse looks to Karen. "I'll get the wheelchair." The chair squeaks into place, and Plankton's eye opens. He looks at Karen, the question in his gaze clear. She nods. "It's time to go home."
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 11 (Autistic author) As they leave the room, Plankton's sobs slowly ease, the word search book clutched to his chest like a talisman. The gentle hum of Karen's wheels fading with distance, he focuses on the patterns of light reflecting off the pages. In the hallway, Karen beeps with urgency. "Sandy, Plankton's been through a lot," she explains. "He's neurodivergent now. He can't handle touch like he used to, and his senses are heightened." Sandy's eyes widen with surprise. "What does that mean?" she asks, her voice a confused rumble. Karen's screens flicker with patience. "It means his brain functions differently now," she beeps. "He's extra sensitive to stimuli, and certain things that were normal before can now be painful or overwhelming for him." Sandy's gaze softens with understanding. "Oh," she says, her voice a quiet rumble. "I had no idea." She looks back at Plankton's closed door, guilt heavy in her eyes. "What can we do?" Karen's screens flicker with thought. "We need to be patient and learn," she beeps. "Adapt to his new needs, and support him in his journey." Sandy nods, determined to make it right. "How?" she asks, her voice a hopeful trill. "We start by respecting his boundaries," Karen explains, her screens glowing with sincerity. "No touching unless he asks for it. And we speak softly, giving him time to process what we say." Sandy nods, absorbing the new information. "I can do that," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "But what about playing?" "Quiet games, like word searches or board games. No roughhousing or poking. I'm gonna go rest." Sandy goes back to see Plankton, his muffled sobs in the quiet space. Sandy's heart aches with regret. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a tender trill. She sits beside his shaking form, her hand hovering over his shoulder before thinking better of it. Plankton's sobs slow, his body still tense. He opens his eye, looking at Sandy. "Words," he whispers, holding up the book. Sandy nods, her gaze gentle. "Words it is," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She sits beside him on the couch, careful not to touch his skin as she opens the book to the next puzzle. "What's this word?" she asks, her finger pointing to the list. Plankton's eye locks onto the word. "Kelp," he murmurs, his voice a soft static. He traces the letters in the grid, writing it in the crossword puzzle. Sandy nods, her eyes focused on the puzzle. "Good job," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "You're so smart." Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of pride, his breathing evening out. "Words," he repeats, his voice a steady static. Sandy nods, understanding. "Words are important to you now," she says, her voice a soft rumble of support. "We'll find more puzzles." "We'll find more puzzles?" Plankton repeats. Sandy nods, her face a picture of sincerity. "Yes," she says, her voice a warm trill. "As many as you want." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly, his interest piqued. "More words?" Sandy's smile is a warm glow, her voice a gentle rumble of agreement. "As many as you want, buddy." Plankton's single eye brightens at the promise, his body slowly uncoiling from his protective ball. "Book," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the next word. "Find." Sandy nods, her finger moving to the list. "Okay, we're looking for 'favorite food of sea horses,'" she says, her voice a comforting hum. Plankton's eye flicks to the grid, his mind racing. "Myr- t-le," he stammers, his voice a crackling static. Sandy's face lights up with a grin. "You got it!" she exclaims, her voice a delighted trill. She watches him trace the letters, her heart swelling with pride. He finds the word quickly, his antennae waving with excitement. "Good job, Plankton!" she says. His body relaxes slightly, his enjoyment of the word search evident. Sandy's voice is soothing as they continue through the puzzles, her hands resting carefully on her knees. "What's this one?" she asks, pointing to another word. Plankton's eye scans the list, his antennae quivering with anticipation. "J-J-Jellyfish," he stammers, his voice a nervous static. The word brings back memories of his buddy, SpongeBob. Sandy nods, her smile gentle. "You got it," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She points to the grid. "Where is it?" Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement as he searches the letters, his single eye darting back and forth. "It," he whispers, his voice a focused static as he points to the word hidden within the puzzle. Sandy's grin spreads, her voice a warm melody. "Great job!" she praises, her thumbs up in the air. Plankton's antennae quiver with happiness, his eye lighting up. "More," he whispers, his voice a hopeful static. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "As many as you want," she says, her voice a warm trill. She opens the book to the next puzzle, her fingers hovering over the page. Plankton's body uncoils further, his interest piqued by the promise of more words. "Find," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the list of words to find. Sandy nods, her face a canvas of understanding. "Alright, what's next?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement, his gaze darting over the list. "Treasure," he murmurs, his voice a hopeful static.
▶︎ •၊၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|||၊||။‌‌‌‌‌၊||lıl||၊||။‌‌‌‌‌၊||lılıııl|၊၊|၊၊|၊၊၊ıılılııılııl၊၊၊၊|၊|၊|၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌lııl၊၊၊၊|၊|၊|၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|||။‌‌‌‌‌၊• 46:33
seventeen ⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚
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KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 12 (Autistic author) They sit in companionable silence, the only sound Plankton's soft snores. Karen's eyes never leave his face, her thoughts a tumult of fear and hope. Sandy watches them both, her mind racing with questions and concerns. "What does this mean for him?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "It means his world is different now," Karen explains, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "He'll have his moments, but we'll find a new normal." Sandy nods, trying to picture what that would look like. "But can he still...you know, talk, interact?" "It's not like that," Karen sighs, her voice a soothing lullaby. "He's not nonverbal. It's just that sometimes his brain can't keep up with the world around him. The sounds, the lights, the colors—it's too much." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "I can see that," she says thoughtfully. "But he'll still be the same person, right?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of sorrow and hope. "He'll always be Plankton," she says, her voice firm. "But his autism has changed the way he experiences life. He'll see patterns where we see chaos, hear symphonies where we only hear noise." Sandy nods, trying to wrap her head around the concept. "What about his memories?" she asks, her voice tentative. "Does he still remember us, his life before?" Karen looks at her softly. "Yes," she says, her voice filled with reassurance. "But his short-term memory might be affected." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "How long will it take for him to...to get better?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Karen's gaze falls to her hands, clutched in her lap. "There isn't a cure," she says, her voice a whisper. "But we can help him manage, make his life more comfortable." Sandy's eyes are glassy with unshed tears. "What can I do?" she asks, her voice desperate. "What can any of us do?" Karen takes a deep breath. "You can learn with us," she says, her voice strong. "You can support him, love him, be patient." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with a newfound resolve. "I want to help," she says, her voice steady. "But what about his plans, his schemes?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of sorrow and a ghost of a smile. "Those might have to take a backseat for a while. His mind has to heal." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I can handle that," she says, her voice filled with determination. "But what about the Krabby Patty formula?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of understanding and sorrow. "We'll have to see," she says, her voice soft. "For now, let's focus on getting him comfortable, okay?" Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "Okay," she whispers, her voice full of resolve. "We'll figure it out." Karen nods, her smile small but genuine. "Thank you," she says, her voice filled with gratitude. "It's going to be a tough adjustment for all of us." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "We'll make it work," she says, her voice firm. "But what happens if he has another...episode?" Karen sighs, her screen slightly glazed with fear. "We just have to be there," she says, her voice shaky. "We'll learn his triggers, his comforts." Sandy nods, her mind racing with concern. "But what if it's in public?" "We'll handle it," Karen interrupts, her tone firm. "We'll have strategies, routines. It won't be easy, but we'll manage." Sandy sniffles, her voice now a sob. "What if he..." But Karen cuts her off, her eyes on Plankton, who's started to stir in his sleep. His antennae twitches, his body shifting under the covers. Slowly, Plankton's eye opens, his gaze unfocused. The room is a blur of patterns and colors, but Karen's voice is a steady beat in the cacophony. "Hey, sweetheart," she whispers, her hand brushing his cheek gently. "You're okay." Plankton's antennae twitch sluggishly, his body unwinding from the tight coil of sleep. "Home," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. Karen's eyes are on him, a silent vigil against the chaos of his mind. "You're safe," she whispers, her voice the calm to his storm. "You're home with me." Plankton's gaze sharpens slightly, his antennae moving in tiny, precise patterns. "Karen," he whispers, his voice like a distant echo. Karen leans in closer, her heart racing. "Yes, love?" she asks, her voice soothing. Plankton's antennae wave in the air, as if trying to capture the right words. "Need...Karen," he whispers, his eye searching hers. Karen nods, her smile gentle. "I'm here," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "Always." Plankton's antennae cease their frantic movements, then he notices Sandy. "Hi, Plankton," Sandy whispers, her voice soft.
bro I was looking for a star emoji why am I finding corn... 😃💔🔞
KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 11 (Autistic author) Plankton moves slowly to the bed, his eye fixed on the lamp. His movements are deliberate, his body still tense from the recent meltdown. Sandy watches, her heart in her throat, as he fiddles with the lamp, adjusting the brightness until it's just right, a soft glow that doesn't assault his senses. "Thanks," Plankton says, his voice still flat, but with a hint of genuine appreciation. Sandy's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. She wants to help, to ease his pain, but she doesn't know how. "Can I do anything else?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen looks up at her, her eyes tired but filled with gratitude. "Just give him some space," she says, gently. "Let him adjust." They exit his room. Sandy and Karen talk about other things for a bit before Karen decides to check on Plankton, Sandy following her. They find Plankton curled up in the center of the bed, his body wrapped tightly in the blanket Karen had used to soothe his meltdown. His antennae remain still, his eye closed. The room is quiet, the only sound his slight snores. "He's asleep," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing balm to the tense air. Sandy nods, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall beneath the blanket. His snores are soft, a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the room just minutes before. Karen smiles softly, relief washing over her. "This is his safe place," she whispers to Sandy, her voice filled with a quiet pride. "His retreat when the world gets too much." Sandy nods, her eyes studying the sleeping Plankton with a newfound compassion. She's seen his fiery spirit, his sharp mind, and now she's witnessing his vulnerability. The room is bathed in a soft, warm light, the kind that makes you want to curl up with a good book. Plankton's snores are the only sound, a gentle reminder that he's still fighting, still with them. Karen watches him sleep, his face serene in slumber. The harsh edges of his autism softened by the oblivion of sleep. His body, usually so tense, is relaxed, the tapestry of the blanket a gentle wave that cradles him. Sandy steps closer to the bed, her heart aching for her friend. The Plankton she knew was a whirlwind of chaos and cunning, but this Plankton is a puzzle of patterns and sensitivity. She reaches out a tentative hand, brushing his antennae gently. They twitch under her touch, a silent acknowledgment of her presence. "I'm here," she whispers, her voice a soft promise. "I'll learn with you." Karen smiles, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thank you," she says, her voice a whisper. "He needs friends now more than ever." Sandy nods, her mind racing with the gravity of the situation. She's seen Plankton's fiery spirit, his sharp mind, but this vulnerable side is new, unexpected, and it breaks her heart. She pulls back her hand, not wanting to disturb his sleep. Karen moves to the chair beside the bed, sitting down with a sigh. "It's going to be a long road," she says, her voice filled with both fear and determination. "But we'll figure it out together." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "We're all here for you," she says, her voice firm. "We'll get through this." Karen's smile is grateful. "Thank you, Sandy."
KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 15 (Autistic author) Hanna's screen filled with a mix of shock and empathy. "I had no idea," she says, her voice a whisper. "How can I help?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Oh, it's simple," he says, his tone biting. "Just don't make jokes about Karen or brain damage!" Hanna's screen burn with embarrassment, her eyes wide with shock. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know," she whispers, her hands trembling. Plankton's eye is still glaring. "It's not to hard to understand," he says, his voice a knife. "If Hanna just took the time to learn." Hanna nods, her screen a mask of regret. "What do you need?" Plankton's antennae slow, his eye focusing on Karen's worried screen. He takes a deep breath, his words coming out slowly, as if each one was a step through a difficult maze. "Quiet," he whispers. "Space." Hanna nods, her own eyes filling with tears. "I'll give you space," she says, her voice quivering with apology. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's as Hanna quietly leaves the room. The silence is a balm to Plankton's overstimulated mind, and he sighs in relief, his antennae stilling. "Thanks, Karen," he whispers, his voice a soft echo of his earlier rage. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a gentle lullaby. She strokes his back, her touch a comforting rhythm in his chaotic world. "We'll get through this." Plankton's antennae twitch in response, his body slowly unwinding from the coil of his anger. "But Hanna..." Karen nods, her screen filled with empathy. "I know, love," she whispers. "But she just doesn't know what it's like." Plankton's antennae wave slowly, his understanding of Hanna's ignorance gradually replacing his anger. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says, her voice a soft breeze in the storm of his emotions. "We'll explain to her. Everyone deserves a chance to learn." Plankton nods slowly, his antennae still, his body a tightly coiled spring. "Karen is right," he murmurs, his voice a whisper. "But Plankton scared she won't understand." Karen's hand continues to stroke his back, her screen filled with love. "We'll make sure she does," she says, her voice a promise. Plankton's body begins to relax, his antennas slowing their frantic dance. He knows Karen will protect him, explain him. His eye flutters closed, his breathing shallow, as Karen's gentle strokes calm the tempest in his mind. The room around them seems to hold its breath, the silence a stark contrast to the storm of moments before. Slowly, his antennae uncoil, his body relaxing into her embrace. The world around him becomes a blur of colors, his senses dimming as his brain seeks the solace of sleep. Karen watches him with a mix of love and worry, her hand gently stroking his antennae. She knows his mind is a whirlwind, even in rest. His breathing slows, his body going limp in her embrace. The room around them seems to quiet, the chaos of the day fading into the background as sleep claims him. Karen knows he's fallen asleep by the steady rise and fall of his chest, his antennae no longer twitching. She carefully moves him to their bed, his body a delicate weight in her arms. The room is a sanctuary of softness, the light filtering through the curtains like a gentle caress. She pulls the blankets up to his chin, tucking them in just right, her movements precise and methodical. His antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, his body a silent testament to the tumult of his day. She watches his chest rise and fall, his breaths even and deep. The tension in the air dissipates as his body relaxes further. Hanna's waiting out by the bedroom door, concerned as Karen opens the door. "Is he okay?" Hanna whispers. Her eyes are red, and her screen wet with tears. "I didn't know, Karen. I'm so sorry." Karen nods, her own eyes filled with moisture. "He's asleep now," she says, her voice barely audible. "It's the best thing for him." Hanna's gaze follows Karen's to the bed, where Plankton lies still as a statue, his antennae at rest against the pillow. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We all make mistakes." Hanna nods, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "But I hurt him," she says, her voice haunted. Karen sighs, her hand on Hanna's shoulder. "You didn't mean to," she says, her voice filled with compassion. "And now you know." Hanna nods, her screen still on Plankton. "But what can I do now?" she asks, desperation in her voice. Karen looks at her friend, her gaze thoughtful. "Just be patient with him," she whispers. "Learn about his condition. And apologize when he wakes up." Hanna nods, her expression solemn. "I will," she says. Karen smiles, a thankful light in her screen. "Good," she whispers. "Now, let's let him rest." They both slip out of the room, leaving the door ajar to allow the soft light from the hallway to spill into the bedroom. Hanna looks down at the floor. "I'm so sorry, Karen," she says, her voice low. "It's okay, Hanna," Karen responds, her tone a gentle reprimand. "We're all learning how to navigate this new reality." Eventually, Plankton comes out after a little while, now awake. Karen and Hanna are both sitting together. "I'm sorry," Hanna whispers, her screen downcast. Plankton's antennae twitch with uncertainty. He doesn't remember falling asleep, or Hanna leaving. He just knows his mind was a tornado of anger and pain. Karen's voice is a gentle guide, leading him back to the present. "You had a bad shutdown," she says, her screen filled with love and concern. "It's okay to feel upset." Plankton nods, his antennas drooping. He looks at Hanna, his eye filled with uncertainty. "It's not easy," he whispers, his voice a soft admission. Hanna looks up, her eyes meeting his. "I know," she says, her voice sincere. "But I'm here for you both." Plankton's antennae wave slightly, a sign of his internal debate. "Hanna hurt Plankton," he says, his voice a monotone. Hanna nods, her screen filled with regret. "I know," she whispers. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." Plankton's antennae lift slightly, his body uncoiling from his protective stance. He takes a step towards her, his movement tentative. "Hanna can learn," he murmurs, his voice still tight with emotion. Hanna's eyes brighten with hope. "I want to learn," she says, her voice eager. "I want to be a good friend to both of you." Karen smiles, her screen shining with gratitude. "That's all we can ask for," she says, her voice a gentle caress.
Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞
𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆。˚♡ ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆
CONTROL YOUR HORNY ASSES AND GO TO AO3/PORN WEBSITES INSTEAD OF A GODDAMN SITE INTENDED FOR LITERAL EMOJI COMBOS. Y'ALL ARE DISGUSTING AS FUCK. BEING HYPERSEXUAL/ADDICTED TO PORN IS NOTHING TO BE PROUD OF. IT CAN RUIN YOUR LIFE. JUST BECAUSE GEN Z/GEN ALPHA ISN'T THE BRIGHTEST GENERATION DOESN'T MEAN ITS FINE FOR YOU TO THESE STUFF. YOU AREN'T FUNNY NOR COOL. YOU SUCK.
‧₊˚🩵✩ ₊˚💎⊹♡
dear ppl, ive decided to start having a website blocker and stop pvrn/ smvt addiction! my puberty is starting and i am going into that phase. See ya! <3
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢄⠙⣠⠇⠀⠀⣠⠠⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⠁⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠈⠳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⢀⣀⠤⠖⠒⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡮⠁⠉⠁⠒⠤⢀⡼⠖⠀⠐⣗⠢⡀⢸⣏⡁⠀⠀⢀⡠⠥⠒⠲⠤⢄ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⣀⣈⣍⣈⡿⡘⠁⣹⡚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣠⡶⣍⣀⣠⠴⠛⠻⢇⣜⡁⠺⠽⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⢷⡀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡉⢳⡄⣸⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠒⠿⢻⡖⠒⠂ ⠈⠉⠸⡍⠈⠀⠀⠘⣶⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢦⣶⡄⠀⠀⠠⢸⠅⣀⠀ ⠀⠀⠔⢷⠈⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣤⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠿⠁⠀⢀⣠⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣀⠷⢎⠁⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠈⠒⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠉⡖⠀⠈⠑⡦⠤⠄⠄⠀⠤⠤⠤⡖⠉⠉⠹⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠒⠛⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠒⠲⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⠛⣄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢮⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢂⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⠀⠁⡀⠄⠄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣹⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣐⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁
.✉️✶₊❘❙❚❙ 𓂂໊ ⓱!
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⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆✞​. ₊ ⊹ . ₊˖ . ₊³³³⊹₊ ⋆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣹⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣐⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁
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.
<3* ੈ ♡ ⸝⸝🪐 ༘ ⋆✦⚤
⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠟⢉⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡙⢿⣿⡿⠋⣡⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡿⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠉⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡟⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣇⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣩⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣄⡙⠻⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⣷⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡄⠰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣍⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠻⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠛⠿⢷⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⢷⡄⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⣠⣾⠶⠶⠖⠒⠂⣚⣙⠛⠳⠶⣤⣀⡙⠻⣷⣤⡉⠨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠡⠄⠂⠂⠒⠒⠒⠂⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⡴⠟⣁⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡙⠻⢦⡈⠻⣿⣆⠘⢿⣿⡿⢉⣠⠔⠒⡀⢀⣀⣀⣈⠙⢶⡄⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠘⠁⠾⠛⢛⣋⣉⣩⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣭⣤⣤⣌⠀⡈⠛⡅⠸⣿⣶⠝⠀⠀⠀⠁⠉⠉⠙⠻⢿⣆⠁⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⢌⣉⠻⠃⠀⠈⡁⠀⢠⣴⣤⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⠈⣧⡈⢠⡿⢁⠀⠀⠖⠀⠀⣀⡀⠘⣷⣦⣌⡁⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⢷⣄⡀⠀⠃⠀⠈⠙⠁⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠘⡇⡜⢠⣿⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠛⠁⢀⣿⡿⠋⡀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⢿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⡛⠛⠛⢋⣩⣤⡶⠀⣷⡆⢬⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣈⣡⣴⠞⢁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣌⣉⣛⣋⣉⡛⠋⣁⣴⣾⣿⣷⣤⣉⠛⢛⣛⣋⣹⡿⢁⡈⠁⡐⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠋⢉⣉⣩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⠻⣿⣿⣤⣤⣤⣾⣿⡄⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⢉⣁⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⣉⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⠃⡰⠀⣤⣀⣉⡛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣄⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⣸⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣷⣧⠀⠻⣧⡈⠻⠿⣶⣦⣤⣭⣍⣉⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢁⣼⠟⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣈⠻⠷⣶⣦⣌⣉⡛⠻⠿⢿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣌⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣛⡛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢛⣉⣁⣴⠟⠁⢴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⡙⠻⢿⣿⣷⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣉⡙⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⣁⣴⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣌⡉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⠏⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣉⣙⣛⣛⡛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠻⠿⠿⠟⢛⣡⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⠶⠒⠶⣾⣿⠟⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢉⣤⣶⣶⣦⡈⠋⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢋⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⣙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢉⣭⣌⠙⣁⣤⡈⢻⣿⣿⠟⢋⡉⠛⠻⣿⠟⢳⣦⣈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠻⣿⣿⣆⠙⠟⠁⠼⢋⣠⡾⢃⡴⠋⠐⣡⣴⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⢿⣿⣷⣶⡀⣾⡟⢃⠴⢋⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡈⢻⣿⣿⡇⠉⡴⠃⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢋⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠻⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⠋⣰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣹⣿⡿⣿⣄⠹⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⠛⠃⣼⣿⣿⡿⠟⣡⣾⣿⠟⢁⣿⣿⣄⢹ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⣼⣆⣨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣬⣿⣿⣁⣼⣿⣿⣇⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄
🤠𝙳𝚎𝚋𝚞𝚝🥾 ⭐️𝓕𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼⭐️ 🌌𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒏𝒐𝒘👑 ❤️ʀᴇᴅ💋 🌊𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟵🦤 🐍𝕽𝖊𝖕𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓🖤 💌🅛🅞🅥🅔🅡💗 ☁️ℱℴ𝓁𝓀𝓁ℴ𝓇ℯ🌫 🍂𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮🍁 🌙𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬🌠 🤍𝐓𝐓𝐏𝐃🎵
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠄⠤⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡀⣀⢀⡀⢀⣀⣠⣶⣾⣿⣆⣀⣀⣀⣀⣼⣿⣶⣦⣀⡀⣀⢀⡀⣀⠀⠀ ⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡿⠋ ⠀⠸⣿⠀⡀⠀⣾⣿⣿⡦⠄⠀⣸⣿⣿⣆⠀⢠⢼⣿⡥⠐⠄⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⡇⠁⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠡⢻⣾⣿⣟⣧⡆⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠹⣿⣆⣀⣙⠻⠟⢋⣠⣾⣿⠛⠽⣿⣷⣣⡙⠿⢿⢋⣀⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠏⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠋⡁⠎⡐⢈⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⡿⠿⠛⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⢁⠀⠀⠓⠀⢀⣄⣐⣂⣁⣂⣠⡀⠀⠖⠀⠋⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⢊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠂⠠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢌⢔⠠⡀⡐⢈⠃⠶⡐⠌⠤⣁⢂⡐⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠣⠒⣥⢊⡜⣤⢃⢎⣱⣐⠦⠘⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠈⠐⠉⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
#KneeSurgery pt. 4 After a while, Plankton's snores begin to quiet, and he stirs. Karen is by his side, her hand on his shoulder as his eye opens. "Hey," she whispers. He groans in his wheelchair. "How are you feeling?" she asks, her voice filled with concern. "Tired," he admits, his eye still half-closed. "But I'm okay." Sandy comes back into the living room, drying her hands. "You know, Karen," she says, "I can take the first shift. Why don't you get some sleep too?" Karen nods gratefully, exhaustion etched into every line of her face. "Thank you, Sandy. I really could use some rest." Sandy takes her place by Plankton's side. "I've got it from here. Call if you need anything." Karen smiles and heads to the guest room, her footsteps heavy with fatigue. Plankton shifts in his wheelchair, his cast cumbersome. The pain has receded into a dull throb, the medication doing its job. "How long have I been out?" he asks, his voice slurred with sleep. "A few," Sandy replies, her voice gentle. "You needed it." He nods slowly, his antennae drooping. "What time is it?" Sandy glances at the clock on the wall. "Almost noon," she says. "The doctor said you'd be sleepy for a day or two, so we figured we'd let you rest." Plankton's eye opens wider at that, his usual determination flaring. "Noon?" Sandy nods. "You've had a long night. And we've got lots of movies to watch, and books, if you're up for it." Plankton manages a nod. "So, tell me about this...this tibiofibular thing," Sandy asks, curiosity piqued. "What did they do?" He shrugs, his eye half-closed. "I don't know, exactly. Something with a special ossifying glue, I think." Sandy leans forward, her eyes wide. "Ossifying glue? That sounds intense." Plankton nods. "They had to repair the break. So, it's like... a super glue for bones." His hand hovers over the cast, feeling awkward. "It's supposed to hold it all together until it heals. It's naturally osteogenic and dissolves with time and healing on it's own. Six weeks in the cast, minimum." Sandy's face scrunches up in sympathy. "Six weeks? That's a long time." Plankton nods again, his head lolling slightly. Sandy can see the exhaustion settling back in. "I'll be back to normal eventually.." "Do you remember anything from the surgery?" she asks, hoping to keep his mind engaged. Plankton shakes his head, his antennae flopping. "Nope. Just woke up with this thing on," he says quickly, gesturing to the cast. Sandy nods, trying to think of something to say. "They have to put a rod in, right?" she asks. "No, no rod," he says, his voice thick with frustration. He feels a bit embarrassed with the conversation. "They used the fancy glue to hold everything together. No pins.." Sandy nods, her eyes wide with interest. "That's so cool. What's it like? Surgery, I mean. Like, did you see anything?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "Not really. It's all a blur. Just remember waking up with this," he says, gesturing to the cast encasing his leg. "Wait," Sandy asks. "You mean you weren't awake for any of it?" Plankton shrugs, but Sandy's not quite finished, ignoring his clear desire to move on from the topic. Her eyes are wide with wonder. "But what about dreams?" Sandy asks. "Did you have any drea------" He cuts her off sharply, his antennae twitching. "No, I didn't. I don't remember a thing." But Sandy's curiosity isn't deterred. "What was it like when you wo-" Plankton's eye opens, his gaze intense. "Look, I don't know what you want me to say." His voice has an edge of irritation. "And so I don't have to explain it again, it's a serious surgery. They had to repair the break in my leg with a special glue that makes the bones stick together, Sandy. So JUST. LET. IT. GO." Sandy's cheeks flush slightly at his tone. "I'm just trying to understand, Plankton. I didn't mean t---" But he waves her off, his frustration clear. "I know. But I don't want to talk about it. Okay?" Plankton's voice is tight. Sandy nods quickly, apologizing. "Of course. I'll...I'll just get you some water." She stands up, leaving Plankton to his thoughts, as Karen comes back. Karen watches her friend disappear into the kitchen, a worried look crossing her face. "Everything okay?" she asks, her voice low. "I think I might have pushed a bit too hard," Sandy admits, setting the water down within reach. "I didn't mean to, I just wanna underst--" Plankton cuts her off, his frustration growing. "I SAID, I don't remember," he snaps. Karen's eyes widen at his harsh tone. Sandy nods. "I'm sor-" But Plankton isn't ready to let it go. "That's IT." His voice is tight, his antennae quivering with annoyance. "It's not your business SANDY!" Karen steps in quickly, her voice calm. "It's okay, Plankton. Sandy didn't mean to upset you." Sandy's eyes are filled with remorse. "I'm really sorry. I didn't kno—" But Plankton's not having it. "I don't care," he snaps. "Just... just STOP, and leave me alone!" His antennae quiver with agitation, his eye flashing with irritation. Karen's heart squeezes at the pain she sees in his gaze. Sandy's eyes fill with tears at his harshness, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, turning to leave the room. Karen quickly moves to block her. "No, no," Karen says firmly. "You didn't do anything wrong. Plankton, hon, we're just trying to be here for you." But Plankton's mood has shifted in agitation aimed at Sandy's curiosity. "Why do you keep asking?" he says, his voice tight. "I don't know what you expect me to say!" His antennae twitch with annoyance. Sandy's cheeks flush. "I just... I'm sorry," she stammers, backpedaling. "I'm just curious, I didn't mean to make you uncomf-" "Well, it's none of your business!" Plankton's voice is sharp, his antennae standing on end. Karen sighs, feeling the tension in the room. She knows Plankton's mood can swing with his pain levels, yet she doesn't want Sandy to feel unwelcome. Sandy's eyes water, hurt by his words. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to help," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. Karen steps closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Why do you keep asking!" Plankton's question lingers in the air, his antennae still quivering. Sandy swallows hard. "It's just..." Karen steps in, her voice soft. "It's okay, Sandy. Let's just give him some space." She nods towards the kitchen, and Sandy follows her. Once out of earshot, Sandy's eyes fill with tears. "I didn't mean to upset him," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen squeezes her hand. "It's not you. He's just in a lot of pain." She sighs. "And he's always been a bit...private about things. He's just not used to being vulnerable." Sandy nods, her gaze falling to the floor. "I know, but I just wanted to understand." Karen gives her a comforting smile. "We all do. But he's got to deal with this in his own way."
#KneeSurgery pt. 5 In the living room, Plankton sits in his wheelchair, his leg sticking out, the cast still a stark white. His face is a mask of pain, his eye squinted. He takes a deep breath, trying to rein in his frustration as Sandy and Karen reenter. Sandy's eyes are red, but she smiles weakly at him. "I brought you some water," she says, her voice small. Plankton's antennae droop, his anger at Sandy still lurking. Karen notices the tension immediately. "Why don't you tell us about the surgery?" she suggests, trying to ease the atmosphere. Plankton looks up, his eye narrowed. "What's to tell?" he snaps. Karen sits beside him, her hand on his shoulder. "Anything you remember might help us understand." Sandy nods, her voice gentle. "We're just worried about you, Plank..." But Plankton's had enough. "Sandy, I don't need your pity!" he snaps. The room goes still, the tension thick. Karen's heart breaks for her friend, and she can see the hurt in Sandy's eyes. But she knows this isn't about pity; it's about fear and frustration, about being confined and unable to do the things he loves. Sandy takes a deep breath, wiping at her eyes. "I'm not just curious," she says, finding her voice. "I care about you. Both of you. And I want to he-" But Plankton's had enough. "I don't need your help!" he snaps, the frustration boiling over. Karen's eyes widen at his outburst. Sandy flinches. Karen's voice is calm but firm. "Plankton, she's just trying to help." Sandy nods, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. "I'm her-" "I KNOW!" Plankton cuts her off, his voice harsh. The room is silent, the air thick with Plankton's frustration. Karen can see the pain in Sandy's eyes, but she knows this is about his pride, about not wanting to be seen as weak. "Look," Sandy starts again, her voice softer this time. "I know yo-" Plankton's antennae twitch with aggravation. "I said I don't need your help!" he snaps, his voice echoing off the walls. Karen's eyes fill with concern as she watches her friend shrink back, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Sandy opens her mouth to protest, but Karen shakes her head almost imperceptibly. She knows Plankton's temper, knows that right now, he's in pain and not in the mood for talk. "Okay," Sandy says, her voice barely a whisper. "I'll just...go." She turns to leave, but Karen's hand on her arm stops her. "Let me talk to you," Karen says gently. Sandy nods, wiping at her eyes. In the kitchen, Karen explains. "He's just...he's not used to being so dependent. He's always been the one in charge, the one taking care of things. I can tell when Plankton's in pain, even when he doesn't say anything. He's stubborn, but he's also scared. But I also know he just needs a moment, when he gets like this. It's not you, Sandy. It's just...his way." Sandy nods, her eyes still on the floor. "I get it. It's just...I want to help." Karen squeezes her hand. "And you are. You being here means the world to me. But right now, he needs some space." Sandy nods, wiping at her cheeks. "Okay." They return to the living room, where Plankton sits silently. "Hey," Karen says softly, sitting down beside him. Sandy sits on the edge of the couch, her hands in her lap. "I know this is tough," Karen says, her voice gentle. "But we're here for you." Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering slightly. Sandy's eyes are full of regret, but she doesn't speak, giving Plankton space. Plankton shifts in his chair, his cast making it difficult to get comfortable. Sandy clears her throat. "Is there anything I can do to help?" Her voice is tentative, hopeful. Karen looks at her gratefully. "Why don't you help me get his leg elevated?" Karen suggests. "It might make it more comfortable for him." Sandy nods, eager to do anything to help. Together, they manage to get a pillow under Plankton's leg, supporting the cast. His sigh of relief is palpable. "Thanks," he murmurs, his eye still half-closed. Sandy's smile is genuine. "Anything for you, Plankton." Karen notices Sandy's curiosity still evident. "Why don't you tell us what you remember about the surgery?" Karen prompts him. Sandy's eyes light up. "Did you feel anyth-" "SANDY," Plankton snaps, his antennae standing tall. But Plankton's not ready to forgive her. "It's none of your business," he repeats, his voice cold. Sandy's face falls, and she nods, retreating to the edge of the couch. Karen squeezes Plankton's shoulder. "Remember, love, we're here to support you. That means asking questions, too." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping, his frustration evident. Karen knows his pride is taking a hit. "Fine," he says. "They had to give me some kind of...of glue, I guess, that makes bones stick together. And then they put this cast on." His hand gestures to his leg, his voice filled with resentment. Sandy's curiosity is piqued. "How does it feel to fall aslee—" But Plankton's had enough. "I don't want to talk about it," he says, cutting her off. His eye closes tightly, a tear escaping. Sandy's face falls, her words forgotten as she watches her friend in pain. Karen squeezes his hand gently. "It's okay, love," she whispers. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to." Sandy's