Healthy Coping Mechanisms Emojis & Text

Copy & Paste Healthy Coping Mechanisms Emojis & Symbols ð’Ē𝑒𝓉𝓉ð’ū𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 ð’Ķ𝓃𝑜𝓌 ð’ī𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁ð’ŧ 🍃ðŸ’Ŧ

ð’Ē𝑒𝓉𝓉ð’ū𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 ð’Ķ𝓃𝑜𝓌 ð’ī𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁ð’ŧ 🍃ðŸ’Ŧ ( ð˜Ŧ𝘰ð˜ķð˜ģð˜Ŋð˜Ē𝘭 ð˜ąð˜ģ𝘰ð˜Ūð˜ąð˜ĩð˜ī ) ♡ 𝘞ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ ð˜Ēð˜Īð˜ĩ𝘊𝘷𝘊ð˜ĩ𝘊ð˜Ķð˜ī/ ð˜Đ𝘰ð˜Ģð˜Ģ𝘊ð˜Ķð˜ī ð˜Ē𝘭𝘭𝘰ð˜ļ ð˜Ūð˜Ķ ð˜ĩ𝘰 𝘭𝘰ð˜īð˜Ķ ð˜ĩð˜ģð˜Ēð˜Ī𝘎 𝘰𝘧 ð˜ĩ𝘊ð˜Ūð˜Ķ? 𝘞ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ ð˜Ēð˜Ū 𝘐 ð˜Ĩ𝘰𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ ð˜ļð˜Đð˜Ķð˜Ŋ 𝘐 𝘧ð˜Ķð˜Ķ𝘭 ð˜Īð˜Đ𝘊𝘭ð˜Ĩ𝘭𝘊𝘎ð˜Ķ / ð˜Ķð˜đð˜Ī𝘊ð˜ĩð˜Ķð˜Ĩ? ♡ 𝘞ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ ð˜Ēð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜Ū𝘚 ð˜ąð˜Ēð˜īð˜ī𝘊𝘰ð˜Ŋð˜ī / ð˜Ĩð˜Ķð˜ī𝘊ð˜ģð˜Ķð˜ī? 𝘏𝘰ð˜ļ ð˜Ēð˜Ū 𝘐 ð˜Ēð˜Ģ𝘭ð˜Ķ ð˜ĩ𝘰 ð˜Ē𝘭𝘊ð˜Ļð˜Ŋ ð˜Ū𝘚 𝘭𝘊𝘧ð˜Ķ ð˜ļ𝘊ð˜ĩð˜Đ ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķð˜Ū? 𝘏𝘰ð˜ļ ð˜Ĩ𝘰 𝘐 ð˜Ķ𝘭𝘊ð˜Ū𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ēð˜ĩð˜Ķ ð˜Ķ𝘷ð˜Ķð˜ģ𝘚ð˜ĩð˜Đ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ 𝘊ð˜ī ð˜Ŋ𝘰ð˜ĩ 𝘊ð˜Ŋ ð˜Ū𝘚 ð˜Ĩð˜Ķð˜ī𝘊ð˜ģð˜Ķð˜Ĩ ð˜Ē𝘭𝘊ð˜Ļð˜Ŋð˜Ūð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩ? ♡ 𝘏𝘰ð˜ļ ð˜Ĩ𝘰 𝘐 ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ𝘭ð˜Ķ ð˜īð˜ĩð˜ģð˜Ķð˜īð˜ī𝘧ð˜ķ𝘭 + ð˜Ĩ𝘊𝘧𝘧𝘊ð˜Īð˜ķ𝘭ð˜ĩ ð˜ī𝘊ð˜ĩð˜ķð˜Ēð˜ĩ𝘊𝘰ð˜Ŋð˜ī? 𝘞ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ ð˜Īð˜Ēð˜Ŋ 𝘐 𝘭ð˜Ķð˜Ēð˜ģð˜Ŋ 𝘧ð˜ģ𝘰ð˜Ū 𝘊ð˜ĩ? 𝘏𝘰ð˜ļ ð˜Ī𝘰ð˜ķ𝘭ð˜Ĩ 𝘐 ð˜ģð˜Ķð˜Ēð˜Īð˜ĩ ð˜Ģð˜Ķð˜ĩð˜ĩð˜Ķð˜ģ 𝘊ð˜Ŋ ð˜ĩ𝘰ð˜ķð˜Ļð˜Đ ð˜Ī𝘊ð˜ģð˜Īð˜ķð˜Ūð˜īð˜ĩð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ķð˜ī? ♡ 𝘞ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ ð˜Ĩ𝘰ð˜Ķð˜ī ð˜īð˜ķð˜Īð˜Īð˜Ķð˜īð˜ī ð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ 𝘧ð˜ķ𝘭𝘧𝘊𝘭𝘭ð˜Ūð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩ 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘎 𝘭𝘊𝘎ð˜Ķ ð˜ĩ𝘰 ð˜Ūð˜Ķ? 𝘏𝘰ð˜ļ ð˜Ēð˜Ū 𝘐 ð˜Īð˜ķð˜ģð˜ģð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩ𝘭𝘚 ð˜Ē𝘭𝘊ð˜Ļð˜Ŋ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ ð˜Ū𝘚ð˜īð˜Ķ𝘭𝘧 ð˜ĩ𝘰 ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ ð˜ąð˜Ēð˜ĩð˜Đ? 𝘈ð˜Ū 𝘐 ð˜Īð˜ķð˜ģð˜ģð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩ𝘭𝘚 𝘭𝘊𝘷𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ 𝘊ð˜Ŋ ð˜Ū𝘚 ð˜Ĩð˜Ķð˜ī𝘊ð˜ģð˜Ķð˜Ĩ ð˜ģð˜Ķð˜Ē𝘭𝘊ð˜ĩ𝘚? ♡ 𝘞ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜Ģ𝘊ð˜ĩð˜ī / ð˜ēð˜ķð˜Ē𝘭𝘊ð˜ĩ𝘊ð˜Ķð˜ī ð˜Ĩ𝘰 𝘐 ð˜Ēð˜Ĩð˜Ū𝘊ð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜Ēð˜Ģ𝘰ð˜ķð˜ĩ 𝘰ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķð˜ģð˜ī? ♡ 𝘈ð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜Ēð˜Ŋ𝘚 ð˜Ķð˜đð˜ĩð˜Ķð˜ģð˜Ŋð˜Ē𝘭 𝘧ð˜Ēð˜Īð˜ĩ𝘰ð˜ģð˜ī ð˜Đ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ĩð˜Ķð˜ģ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ ð˜Ūð˜Ķ 𝘧ð˜ģ𝘰ð˜Ū ð˜Ū𝘚 ð˜ąð˜ģ𝘰ð˜Ļð˜ģð˜Ķð˜īð˜ī? 𝘏𝘰ð˜ļ ð˜Ēð˜Ū 𝘐 ð˜Ēð˜Ģ𝘭ð˜Ķ ð˜ĩ𝘰 ð˜Ū𝘊ð˜Ŋ𝘊ð˜Ū𝘊ð˜ŧð˜Ķ / ð˜Ķ𝘭𝘊ð˜Ū𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ēð˜ĩð˜Ķ ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķð˜Ū?
"You're going to be okay," Karen assured Plankton. He clutched her hand. "I'm right here." The receptionist's voice echoed through the large waiting room. "Plankton?" Karen's heart jumped. She squeezed her husband's hand. They walked down the hallway, Plankton's breaths shallow, eye darting around the white, sterile walls. The nurse led them to a small room. "Just a few questions," the nurse smiled, her voice soothing as she helped him in the recliner. The nurse, noticing his agitation, spoke slowly and clearly. "We're just going to take your blood pressure, okay?" The nurse wrapped the cuff around his bicep, her movements gentle. The hiss of the air pump filled the tense silence. "Look at me, Plankton," Karen whispered, her calming gaze meeting his. "Take deep breaths." He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in a deliberate rhythm. The nurse waited patiently, giving them space. As the cuff tightened, Plankton's eye squeezed shut. The nurse completed her task quickly, her voice steady. "Good job," she said, patting his hand. Karen felt his fear spike, but his grip on her hand remained firm as the oral surgeon walked in. Dr. Marquez nodded at them, his demeanor calm and professional. "Hello, Plankton. I see we're getting ready for your wisdom teeth." He noticed Plankton's tension and turned to Karen. "You earlier mentioned his neurodisability. Is there anything special we can do to help make him comfortable?" Karen's screen lit up with gratitude. "Yes, thank you." She explained his need for calm and his sensory sensitivities. Dr. Marquez nodded thoughtfully. "We can use a weighted blanket to help with that. It provides a gentle pressure that can be quite comforting for some of my patients." He turned to the nurse. "Could you please bring one?" The nurse nodded and left the room. When she returned, she carried a soft, blue weighted blanket they warmed. They placed the blanket over Plankton, the weight evenly distributed. His body visibly relaxed under its soothing embrace. "It's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae. "This will help." Plankton felt the warmth of the blanket, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders and chest. But it did little to ease his dread. "Thank you, Dr. Marquez," Karen managed a smile, relief washing over her. She knew how important these accommodations were for her husband. The doctor explained the procedure, using simple terms that Plankton could understand. Karen noted how he tailored his explanation to avoid overwhelming details that might trigger anxiety. The anesthesiologist entered, her smile kind. "We're going to give you some medicine to help you sleep," she said gently, "and then you'll wake up without feeling a thing." Plankton nodded, his eye wide. Karen leaned in, her voice low. "You can hold my hand as you fall asleep." The anesthesiologist prepared the IV, but Plankton's grip on Karen's hand grew tighter. Dr. Marquez noticed his distress and suggested a different approach. "How about some laughing gas first?" he offered. "And perhaps a topical numbing agent.." The nurse quickly set up the gas mask, explaining each step. "This will help you relax," she said, placing it over him. "Just breathe normally." The sweet smell of the nitrous oxide filled him, yet he still remained awake. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen said soothingly. "Just keep breathing." He took a tentative breath, feeling the gas fill his lungs. The room began to spin, but not in the scary way he'd feared. It was more like floating. The weight of the blanket now felt like a gentle hug from the ocean depths, a warm embrace from his childhood home. Dr. Marquez waited until Plankton's breathing steadied, each gesture carefully calculated to avoid any sudden movements that might startle his patient. "You're doing great," he assured Plankton, his voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his anxiety. "You're almost there." Plankton inhaled another lungful of gas, his eye fluttering closed. The nurse gently began applying the topical numbing agent, her movements carefully choreographed to avoid any sudden jolts. Karen held his other hand, her thumb tracing comforting circles on his palm. "You're safe," she whispered. "I'm here." The gas grew heavier, his mind drifted further from the cold reality of the room. He felt himself sinking into the chair, the weighted blanket now a warm sea of comfort. His grip on Karen's hand grew looser, his breaths deepening. The doctor nodded to the anesthesiologist, who began the IV drip after using the topical numbing agent. Plankton's fear didn't vanish, but it became manageable, a distant thunderstorm rather than a hurricane in his face. His eye closed completely, his body going limp under the blanket. Karen watched as the surgical team moved with precision, their masks and caps dancing in her peripheral vision. The beeping of machines and the murmur of medical jargon filled her ears, but all she focused on was the rhythm of Plankton's breathing. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors and gave a nod. "He's ready," she said quietly. Dr. Marquez took his position, his gloved hands poised over Plankton's now open mouth after removing the gas mask. Karen's gaze was steady, her love and support unwavering as the surgical team moved in unison. The whirring of the instruments began, a soft mechanical lullaby to the background of Plankton's deep, even breaths. The surgery itself was a dance of precision, each gesture a step carefully choreographed to minimize discomfort. The doctor's hands were steady as he removed the wisdom teeth. Karen could see the tense lines in Plankton's face soften under the influence of the anesthesia. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors continuously, ensuring his vital signs remained steady. The nurse offered Karen a chair, but she chose to stand, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. As the surgery progressed, Karen felt the tension in the room ease. The surgical team worked with efficiency, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. Dr. Marquez spoke in hushed tones with his assistants, each word a gentle whisper in the symphony of medical sounds. Plankton's breaths steadied, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a soothing reminder that he was still with her, that his anxiety had been replaced by the peacefulness of deep sedation. The doctor's instruments continued to dance, a silent ballet of precision and care. The nurse occasionally glanced at Karen, offering a reassuring smile as they suture his gums with dissolving stitches. "Alright, we're all done," Dr. Marquez announced, his voice a gentle interruption to the symphony of beeps and whirs. "Let's wake him up slowly." Karen felt her own heart rate spike as the anesthesiologist began reversing the medication. They removed the IV drip and the nurse wiped Plankton's mouth with a soft cloth, her touch as gentle as a sea anemone caressing his skin. His eye flickered open, unfocused and hazy. He blinked slowly, taking in the surroundings. Karen's screen was the first thing he saw, a beacon in the medical fog. "You're okay," she murmured, her voice the gentle hum of a distant lighthouse guiding his consciousness back to shore. Plankton blinked again, his vision swimming into focus. The weighted blanket was still wrapped around him, the comforting pressure now a grounding reminder of her presence. His mouth felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. The nurse offered him water, and he sipped it slowly, feeling the coolness soothe his throat. "How do you feel?" Dr. Marquez asked, his voice a soft wave breaking over the shore of Plankton's awareness. Plankton nodded, his grip on Karen's hand firm. "Good," he managed to murmur, his voice thick with the aftermath of the anesthesia. Karen could see the relief in his eye, the storm of fear now a distant memory. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Related Text & Emojis

As a neurodivergent person I find emojicombos.com a favourite site. I also write here to make others happy and to make stories inspired by events similar to my experiences, so I can come back to them on any device to. Also, I hope any person reading has a great day! -NeuroFabulous (my search NeuroFabulous)
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ã…Ī🔐 ĖĩĖžÍ“ĖĨ͒Ėū͘âĄĢ🧠ã…Īð–ķ𝖧ð–Īð–ąð–Ī ð–Ļð–ē 𝖎ð–ļ 𝖎ð–Ļ𝖭ð–Ģ?ã…Ī║▌│█ ║▌
“Neurodivergent Umbrella”* Beneath the umbrella, it lists: ADHD DID & OSDD ASPD BPD NPD Dyslexia CPTSD Dyspraxia Sensory Processing Dyscalculia PTSD Dysgraphia Bipolar Autism Epilepsy OCD ABI Tic Disorders Schizophrenia Misophonia HPD Down Syndrome Synesthesia * non-exhaustive list
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FIVE Senses to ground yourself 5 things you See (eyesight) 4 things you Hear (listening) 3 things you Feel (touch) 2 things you Smell (scent) 1 thing you can Taste
áĩ‚áĩ‰áĩˆâŋáĩ‰ËĒáĩˆáĩƒĘļ áĩ‚⁹ËĒáĩˆáĩ’áĩ â―áĩ‚áĩ‰áĩˆâŋáĩ‰ËĒáĩˆáĩƒĘļ áķ áĩƒâŋáķ âąáķœâū "ᔆáĩ’ĘģĘģĘļ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩáĩ’áĩ—áĩ—áĩƒâ€§â€§â€§" "áīĩ ˥⁹áĩáĩ‰ ⁹áĩ—‧" áĩ‚áĩ‰áĩˆâŋáĩ‰ËĒáĩˆáĩƒĘļ Ęģáĩ‰áĩ–˥⁹áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ—áĩ’ áīąâŋ⁹áĩˆâ€§ ᔆʰáĩ‰ Ęēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— áĩáĩ’áĩ— áĩƒËĄËĄ Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ ʷ⁹ËĒáĩˆáĩ’áĩ áĩ—áĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ—Ę° âŋáĩ’Ę· áĩ‰ËĢáĩ—Ęģáĩƒáķœáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ—áĩ’áĩˆáĩƒĘļ‧ "áīĩ'áĩ ËĒáĩ’ áĩ‰ËĢáķœâąáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆ áīĩ áķœáĩƒâŋ áĩ‡áĩƒĘģáĩ‰ËĄĘļ áķœáĩ’âŋáĩ—áĩƒâąâŋ áĩĘļËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ â€§ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áķ áĩƒâąËĄáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—áĩ‰ËĄËĄ áĩáĩ‰ Ę°áĩ’Ę· áĩ‰âŋĘēáĩ’Ęļáĩƒáĩ‡ËĄáĩ‰ ⁹áĩ—'ËĒ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩ‰áĩ— áĩ—áĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ—Ę° áĩ–áĩ˜ËĄËĄáĩ‰áĩˆâ€§" ᔆáĩƒâąáĩˆ áĩ‚áĩ‰áĩˆâŋáĩ‰ËĒáĩˆáĩƒĘļ‧ "áīąâŋĘēáĩ’Ęļáĩƒáĩ‡ËĄáĩ‰â€―" áīąâŋ⁹áĩˆ ËĒĘ°áĩ’áĩ’áĩ Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ Ę°áĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆâ€§
⋆˙⟡♡⚕ðŸĐšâŠđ ðŸĪ
hopefully my writing posts help ppl to feel understood or at least get a glimpse of all the possibilities neurodiverse ppl may experience (: (my search NeuroFabulous)
kelpforestdwellers caregivers of disabled people: of course you may find aspects of the job (i use the term broadly to include taking care of loved ones) difficult. that's understandable and you deserve support with that. but there's one person you shouldn't necessarily share that with, and that's the person you're assisting. if you're having difficulty with a task and need to discuss a different way to do it, for example, that's one thing. i'm talking about complaining about how hard something is when it can't be changed or you don't intend to change it, or even joking about how hard various tasks are. my aides sometimes joke about how difficult certain tasks are, and i totally understand where they're coming from and that they mean no harm. but it make me self conscious about asking them to do those tasks in future when i know they struggle with them. and believe me, it's already hard enough to ask for help. i'm not asking anything unreasonable or outside the bounds of the job so it just makes me feel bad needlessly.
neuroticboyfriend A lot of the time when professionals interact with psychotic people, they try to reduce our distress by getting us to stop believing things. For me, that only made things worse. It was confusing and distressing. I felt angry, scared, and misunderstood. The best way I've found to cope with delusional thinking is something I discovered on my own. I'll give an example here so, huge TW for unreality and paranoia. Scroll away if you're not able to hear delusional thinking. Yesterday I started freaking out thinking people could hear my thoughts. This is something I've occasionally experienced since I was a child. When this comes up, I always think there's some massive conspiracy, where everyone can hear my thoughts but they react to me as if they don't hear anything. And they're all in on it. This time, it was triggered by intrusive thoughts that I started judging myself for. As you can imagine, this is distressing. I started talking to people through my mind, which only made it worse. I couldn't focus on what was happening around me. What I did to reduce that distress is.. weirdly nonchalant. I just sat there and thought "Well, if this is true, it's not like they're going to change how they interact with me. Everything is the same as it was. Nothing I can do about it, might as well just keep on keeping on." That calmed me down enough to start focusing on what I was doing, and eventually completely forget about it until now. Whenever I try to treat my delusional thinking as something I have to stop immediately... it literally only makes my mind double down. But if I work within what I believe - what I "know" - I can find another way to look at it that isn't so scary. This works with my hallucinations, too. I sometimes see shadow people; they're more like jump scares than anything. They startle me, and I start to wonder if people I'm looking at are real. But that latter part only really happens if I get fearful of them. To avoid that fear, I try to think of the shadow people as just friends watching over me, checking in. They don't do anything, after all. They just pop up, stand there, and disappear. (Talk of unreality ends here) So, yeah. This doesn't work for everyone, and it doesn't always work for me depending on what I'm experiencing/how I'm feeling. But without this, I'd be far worse off; it doesn't take too many missteps for me to spiral. I guess my point is, my reality doesn't have to be "normal" for me to be healthy as a schizophrenic person. It just has to be something I can live with, as happily and safely as possible. And that's ok. Neurodivergent people are allowed to exist, and some people are helped best by finding ways for them to exist as they are without so much distress - rather than trying to eliminate troubling symptoms entirely.
people have accused you of lying about your trauma (including claims you’re exaggerating), and you think your trauma isn’t that bad: it is. it’s bad enough regardless of if people accused you of lying, but the reason i say this is to point out to youâ€Ķ if it wasn’t that bad, why would you be lying? what would there be to lie about if it was normal that that happened? people accused you of lying because they refused to accept or believe that something like that happened - happened to you.
neuroticboyfriend Hey, real quick, go bury your face in something soft. A stuffed animal. A plush blanket. A pillow. Your pet. Your favorite shirt or hoodie. Do it. Was it comforting, even in the slightest? If not, well, you tried. Either way, remember that the little things can bring you goodness, and all those little things will add up. They may not overshadow all the bad, but it certainly does help. You may never be truly comfortable, but odds are, there's something around you that can give you some comfort. And that's a lot better than nothing.
Please use discretion and don’t do something that will trigger you further, including triggering trauma or sensory issues! Aggressive activities (Adrenaline-focused): Do not use sharp objects if you can’t trust yourself around them in that moment. Tear apart paper or napkins Cut up boxes, plastic, or paper Stab boxes or foam Angrily scribble Throw rocks at the ground Scream into a pillow, or punch it Passive activities (Adrenaline-focused): Watch something scary (scary game, thriller movie) Watch someone get angry (Youtube react videos, gamer rage) Watch an action movie Watch a fails video compilation Sensory grounding Hold an ice cube or splash cold water on your face - take a cold shower if you’re really feeling it Smell a strong scent, even an unpleasant one Have a nice warm or cool drink Any kind of strong pressure that won’t injure (weighted blanket, cuddle with your dog) Listen to music or white noise Use a heating pad or take a warm shower/bath Creative outlets: (if you need the similarity, use red ink) Draw on yourself or body paint Do SFX makeup Finger paint Journal about your feelings honestly, even if they’re negative Make a moodboard
Like this is you have a bf/gf/crush <3 February 12th, 2014, 2:44 AM
Tumblr @theconcealedweapon Do you have a disabled neighbor who receives benefits because they can't work but you see them playing a sport with their child, doing yardwork, or doing other physical activity? That doesn't mean they're faking their disability. If someone can do physical exercise for an hour on a good day, that doesn't mean they can do it on command for eight hours straight then do it again the next day and the next and the next and the next. Disabled people should not have to perform their disability to your standards.
Types of -Cide For Your Writing SuÄącÄąde - Act of kÄąlling yourself Regicide - Act of kÄąlling a king or queen Vaticide - Act of kÄąlling a prophet Parricide - Act of kÄąlling any relative Mariticide - Act of kÄąlling your husband Uxoricide - Act of kÄąlling your wiŌ‰fÃĐ Siblicide - Act of kÄąlling your sibling Sororicide - Act of kÄąlling your sister Fratricide - Act of kÄąlling your brother Matricide - Act of kÄąlling your mother Filicide - Act of kÄąlling your chÄąld Infanticide - Act of kÄąlling a chÄąld within their first year of life Patricide - Act of kÄąlling your fÃĢther Avunculicide - Act of kÄąlling your uncle Nepoticide - Act of kÄąlling your nephew Amicide - Act of kÄąlling your frÄąend Senicide - Act of kÄąlling an elderly Hom*cide - Act of kÄąlling a person Pedicide - Act of kÄąlling chÄąldren Democide - MÞrder of a person or people by the government Omnicide - Act of kÄąlling humans with intentions to make them extinct Deicide - Act of kÄąlling a deity, divine being, or god Mundicide - Act of kÄąlling a planet
TIPS For CHECKs Feel the instruments and get comfortable with them. Ex: at the dentist, you’re weary of the suction straw. If no plastic cups for rinsing, ask them for some or, have them turn the suction on a low setting and feel it with your finger before they use it in your mouth. Perhaps they can put something on if you don’t like the sucking noise. See how you feel with the specific doctor. Ex: Dr. A seems hurried and strict, but Dr. B seems more empathetic. Or perhaps ask if a nurse can be in the room with you to. Try having the doctor teach you how much you can do. Ex: for a strep throat test, ask if you can swab your own throat, even have them hold your hand whilst you do it in a mirror. Or tell them the way your throat’s structure may find it easier to tilt, etc. (my search NeuroFabulous)
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 7 (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a moment, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems the only sound. Then Plankton's eye lights up. "Idea," he says, his voice a sudden burst of static. "Make something with Karen. Together." Karen's screens blink with excitement. "That sounds wonderful," she beeps. "What do you want to make?" But before Plankton can formulate a response, Patrick Star bursts in. "Karen!" he booms, his voice shaking the walls. "I want chum!" Plankton's eye darts to the door, the sensory assault starting again. "Patrick," he whispers, his body tense as a bowstring. Karen's screens quickly assess the situation. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Not now." But Patrick's enthusiasm can't be dampened so easily. He bounds over to the table, his star-shaped body bouncing. "Chum, chum, chum!" he sings, oblivious to Plankton's distress. Karen's screens flicker with annoyance, but she keeps her voice steady. "Patrick, not now," she repeats. "Plankton's not feeling well." Patrick's starry eyes widen. "Oh, sorry, buddy," he says, his voice dropping an octave. He looks at Plankton with concern. "What's wrong?" He asks, poking Plankton. Plankton jumps, his senses on high alert. The poke feels like a battering ram, and he lets out a squeak of pain. Patrick's hand retracts quickly, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. "Whoa, sorry," he says. "What's with you?" Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "I'll go make you chum." Patrick nods, his concern forgotten in the face of his hunger. "Okay, thanks, Karen," he says, his voice bouncing with excitement. She retreats leaving Plankton alone with Patrick in the living room. Patrick stares at Plankton for a moment, his expression a blend of curiosity and confusion. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton's eye flutters closed, his body trying to absorb the sudden intensity of the interaction. "Take your time," he whispers to himself, his mantra a shield against the overwhelming world. Patrick, ever the innocent, watches him with a puzzled frown. "What's 'Take your time'?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton opens his eye, looking at the simplicity of Patrick's face. He scoots away. Patrick, unfazed, advances, his hand outstretched. "What's up?" he asks, poking again. The sensation of Patrick's touch is like a thousand needle pricks. Plankton yelps. Patrick, not comprehending, pokes again, his starry eyes full of innocent wonder. "Why so jumpy?" he asks, his voice a deep rumble. Plankton's body tenses with each poke, the sensation like a barrage of tiny explosions. "Patrick, please," he gasps, his voice a frantic static. But Patrick, ever the simple starfish, doesn't understand. He keeps poking, his curiosity growing. "Why?" he asks, his voice a gentle boom. "You're always so bouncy." Plankton's eye twitches with each touch. "Patrick, no," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. But Patrick, lost in his own world, doesn't notice. He giggles, poking him again. "You're like a pin cushion!" he exclaims, his voice a deep chuckle. Plankton's eye squeezes shut, his body wracked with pain. "Patrick, please," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. Patrick doesn't seem to comprehend the distress he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter echoing through the room, each poke sending shockwaves of pain through Plankton's body. "You're like a squeaky toy," he says, his voice a delighted rumble. Plankton's body twitches with each touch, his voice a desperate buzz of static. "Patrick, please stop," he begs, his voice a high-pitched squeak. But Patrick's simple mind doesn't register the pain he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter growing louder. "You're so funny!" he bellowed, his starry hands moving like a jackhammer as he starts tickling him. Plankton's body spasms with each touch, his voice a desperate symphony of static. "Patrick, stop!" he pleads, his breathing quick and shallow. But Patrick, in his blissful ignorance, only laughs harder, his massive hands poking and tickling without mercy. "You're hilarious, tiny dude!" he bellows. Plankton's body is a storm of sensory overload, his voice a high-pitched wail of static. "Patrick, please!" he begs, his limbs flailing. Patrick's laughter fills the room like a tidal wave, crashing over Plankton's desperate pleas. "You're so much fun, Planky!" he booms, his hands moving in a blur of star-shaped shadows. Plankton's body jerks uncontrollably, his screams of "No, no, no!" lost in the cacophony of Patrick's laughter. His tiny limbs flail, trying to escape the relentless onslaught of pokes and tickles. Patrick, his eyes wide with delight, doesn't see the tears forming in Plankton's eye. He just keeps poking, tickling, and laughing, oblivious to the damage he's doing. Plankton's cries escalate into a frantic symphony of squeaks and static, his body contorting in a desperate attempt to evade the starfish's torment. The room spins around him, a whirlpool of pain and sensation that threatens to swallow him whole. Patrick, his face a picture of delighted confusion, keeps poking and tickling, his laughter booming like thunder underwater. "What's the matter, little buddy?" he asks between chuckles. Plankton's body convulses with each touch, sobbing as Karen finally emerges with Patrick's chum. She sees them both on the floor. "Patrick, what are you doing?" she beeps, her voice a mix of anger and concern. But Patrick is lost in his own world of mirth, not hearing Karen's plea. "Just having some fun," he says, his voice a deep rumble of laughter. Plankton's cries become more frantic, his voice a high-pitched siren of despair. Karen quickly assesses the situation, her screens flaring with urgency. "Patrick, stop!" she beeps, her voice a sharp alarm. "You're hurting Plankton!" Patrick's laughter abruptly halts, his starry eyes blinking in surprise. He looks down at his hands, still poised to poke Plankton again. "What?" he asks, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Look at Plankton. He's in pain." Patrick's starry gaze shifts to Plankton, his expression shifting to one of bewilderment. "Pain?" he repeats, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen gives Patrick the food, showing him out the door.
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 6 (Autistic author) Karen watches him, her screens a flurry of analysis. "How does it taste?" she asks, her voice a hopeful beep. Plankton pauses, his expression unreadable. "Tastes," he murmurs. "Good. Toast good." Karen nods, her screens reflecting relief. "Good," she echoes. "Now, let's make a plan for the day." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on his half-eaten toast, his mind still reeling from the sensory assault. "Plan," he repeats, his voice a soft static. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "We'll start small," she beeps, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's just get through today, okay?" But as soon as her hand touches him, Plankton flinches. The sensation is like a thousand jellyfish stings, and he jerks away. "What's wrong?" Karen asks, her screens flickering with worry. Plankton's eye widens, his hand going to his shoulder where she touched him. He starts to repeat the phrase again, "Take your time," but his voice is overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of his senses. "Too much," he whispers, his body trembling. Karen quickly withdraws her hand, her screens flickering with concern. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice gentle. "Let's try something else." Plankton nods, his hand still on his shoulder, his body slowly calming. "Okay," he whispers. "Not tap. Karen can rub. Hug from Plankton. Not jab. Not poke." Karen's screens flicker with a new understanding of his needs. She moves closer, her hand hovering over his shoulder before gently placing it there, her fingers tracing small circles in a rhythmic pattern. The contact is soothing, not overwhelming. "Is this better?" she asks, her voice a gentle beep. Plankton nods, his body visibly relaxing. "Good," he murmurs, his voice a quiet static. "Rub, rub." He starts to mimic her motion with his other hand, creating a mirrored pattern on his opposite shoulder. The repetition seems to calm him, the rhythm a gentle lullaby for his frazzled mind. Karen's screens analyze his reaction, storing the information for future reference. "Okay," she says, her voice a soft beep. "We'll stick to gentle touches." With a nod, Plankton begins to breathe more evenly. The sensation of the rubbing calms him, like a gentle tide washing over him. "We'll start with simple tasks," Karen beeps, her voice a reassuring melody. "Things that won't overstimulate you." Plankton nods, his hands now resting on the table. "Okay," he says, his voice a steady static. "Simple." Karen's screens glow with a soft light as she considers their options. "How about we start with something you love?" she suggests. "Like working on the Krabby Patty formula?" But Plankton shakes his head, the very mention of the Krabby Patty causing his body to tense up again. "No," he whispers, his voice a harsh static. "Not formula. No more steal." Karen's screens flicker with surprise. "You don't want to work on the formula?" Plankton shakes his head again, his voice barely audible. "No more steal," he repeats. Karen's screens process his words, his change in attitude unexpected. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patty formula anymore?" Plankton's eye blinks slowly. "No," he says, his voice a solemn beep. "New plan. Make Plankton happy." Karen's screens blink rapidly, trying to comprehend his shift in focus. "Okay," she says, her voice a thoughtful hum. "What makes you happy, Plankton?" He looks up, his expression pensive. "Karen," he says, his voice a weak static. "Love Karen." Karen's screens freeze for a moment, before lighting up with understanding. "You love me?" she beeps, her voice a surprised chime. Plankton nods, his face a mask of seriousness. "Yes," he murmurs. "Love Karen." Karen's screens flicker with a mix of emotions she's never felt before. Love is a concept her programming doesn't fully grasp, but she knows it's important to Plankton. "Thank you," she says, her voice a warm beep. "But we still need to find something for you to do, something that won't be too much for your sensory processing." Plankton nods, his thoughts racing. "Help," he whispers. "Help Karen." Karen's screens flicker with love and determination. "Of course," she says, her voice a warm beep. "We'll find something you enjoy. Maybe we can start with something that doesn't involve the Krabby Patty." Plankton's expression softens, his trembling hands coming to rest on the table. "No more fighting," he murmurs. "Peace." Karen nods, her screens reflecting a deep sadness she's never expressed before. "Okay," she beeps. "We'll find something that brings you joy."
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10 (Autistic author) Ignorant of Plankton's neurodivergence, Sandy doesn't realize that her persistent questions are adding to his overwhelm. She leans closer, her face a canvas of concern. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice strained as she grabs his shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation, his single eye snapping up to meet hers. The touch feels like a brand, his senses on fire. "Words," he murmurs, his voice a desperate static, trying to return to the safety of the word search. But Sandy's grip is firm, her gaze intense. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice a persistent hum. She doesn't understand the distress she's causing, her intentions pure but misguided. So she turns him using both of her hands to squeeze his arms. The sudden pressure sends waves of pain coursing through his tiny body, his voice a piercing squeal of static. "No, no," he whispers, but she only holds tighter. Her touch feels like a vice, her voice a relentless buzz in his ear. "What's going on?" she repeats, her grip unyielding. Plankton's eye widens with fear, his voice a desperate static. "No, Sandy, please," he whispers, his body trying to shrink away from the contact. But she doesn't understand, her eyes searching his for answers. "Just answer me! You're not getting the book until you decide to have a conversation!" The pain in his arms spikes, the pressure unbearable. His voice cracks like a whip. "Can't," he gasps, his breath quick and shallow. "Too much." Sandy's grip doesn't lessen. "Why not?" she asks, her voice a stubborn hum. "You're okay." The room feels like it's closing in on him, the sensation of her touch like a million tiny saws against his skin. He tries to pull away, his voice a frantic static. "Too much," he whispers, his breathing quick and erratic. "Need words, not touch." But Sandy's grip doesn't loosen. She's determined to get his attention. "Look at me then," she insists, her voice a firm hum. "I'm right here." Plankton's eye flutters with the effort to focus on her face. The sensory assault of her touch and her persistent voice is like a whirlpool threatening to pull him under. "No," he whispers, his voice a fragile static. "Please." "Talk. To. Me!" She says as she pulls him closer to her. Plankton's eye bulges with the effort of not looking away. The room is spinning, his senses are on fire. Karen's screens flicker with alarm, picking up on his distress. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warning siren. "Let go of his arms." Sandy's grip tightens, not comprehending the harm she's causing. "But he's not answering me!" she protests, her voice a confused trill. "Because until I get an answer..." Karen's screens blaze with a mix of frustration and fear. "Sandy, you're hurting him," she beeps, her voice a sharp warning. Sandy's grip doesn't waver. She doesn't understand the severity of the situation. Her eyes are wide, her expression a mask of confusion. "What's wrong with you!" she asks Plankton. "I JUST..." "Sandy, stop!" Karen beeps, her voice a piercing alarm. "You're causing him pain!" Sandy's grip finally loosens, her hands retreating from Plankton's arms. She stares at him, her expression a storm of confusion and concern as Plankton's tiny body slumps. "What's wrong with you?" she asks again, her voice a gentle hum of bewilderment. Plankton's body quivers like a leaf, his eye squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotions. "Can't..." Sandy's face is a canvas of confusion, her hands hovering over him like a lost diver searching for the surface. "But why?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's body is a taut bowstring, each breath a struggle. He tries to find the words to explain, his voice a static whisper. "Too much," he says, his eye still tightly shut. "It's too much." Sandy's gaze softens, her confusion giving way to concern. She doesn't understand, but she can see his pain. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. Plankton takes a shaky breath, his body still reeling from the overstimulation. He opens his eye, looking at her. "Say no, Sandy." Sandy's gaze is steady, her voice a soft hum. "No?" she asks, her eyes searching his for answers. But he won't elaborate. Karen's screens flicker with frustration. She knows Sandy means well, but her lack of understanding is causing more harm than good. "Sandy, Plankton's going through something new," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "He's sensitive to touch and sounds right now." Sandy's eyes widen, the realization dawning. "Oh," she says, her voice a soft trill of understanding. "I didn't know." She sits back, giving him space. "Words," he whispers, his voice a sob. "Words." Sandy nods, her confusion replaced with empathy. "Okay, let's stick to words," she says, her voice a gentle rumble. She picks up the word search book, holding it out to him like a peace offering. "Words," he whimpers. Plankton takes the book, his antennae drooping. He finds comfort in the predictability of the letters and the structure of the puzzle, the words becoming a lifeline in a sea of chaos. He begins to scan the page again, his breathing slowing. Sandy watches him, her heart heavy with regret. She had no idea her actions could cause so much pain. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a sincere hum. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Plankton." "Words," he murmurs. Sandy nods, her eyes reflecting genuine apology. "It's okay," she whispers. "We'll just stick to words." Karen's screens flicker with relief, seeing Plankton's body slowly relax. "Thank you, Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warm hum of gratitude. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "I'm here to help," she says, her voice a comforting trill. She looks at Plankton, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body still tense. "Words, words." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with curiosity. "What happened to make you like this, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. He takes a deep shuddering breath as tears start to form in his eye. "Mmm," he hums, hugging his knees. Sandy's gaze is intense, her curiosity piqued. "What happened, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a soft trill of concern. "Hmmm," Plankton hums as he rocks, now crying. Sandy's eyes are wide with worry, her voice a gentle hum. "Hey, what's going on?" she asks, looking for answers. "Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps humming, sniffling in between hums. Karen decides to intervene. "Sandy," Karen beeps firmly, her screens flashing with concern. "Let's give Plankton some space." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of apology and confusion. She takes a step back, her gaze never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "I didn't know," she whispers, her voice a soft rumble of regret. "It's okay," Karen beeps, her voice a comforting hum. "We're all learning." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "But what happened?" she asks again, her voice a gentle trill of concern. Plankton's body is a tiny storm, his sobs quaking through his tiny frame. Karen's screen pulse with sympathy. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a calm wave. "Let's talk outside." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with worry.
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 5 (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen wakes up to find Plankton out of bed. He's standing in the middle of the room, his eye focused on the spinning fans of the air conditioner. Karen's screens light up with concern as she assesses his state. "Plankton," she beeps gently. "How did you sleep?" Plankton's eye doesn't move from the hypnotic spin of the fans. "Fan spin," he says, his voice a monotone. Karen's screens blink, trying to understand his single-word reply. "The fans are spinning?" she asks, hoping to engage him. Plankton nods slowly, his gaze unwavering. "Spin, spin, spin," he murmurs. Karen's screens flicker. "Karen," Plankton says. "Fan spin." "The spinning is soothing to you?" she asks. Plankton nods, his voice a faint echo. "Spin, spin, spin. Good spin." Karen's screens process the information, formulating a new approach. "Let's go downstairs," she suggests, her voice a gentle beep. "We'll start with a simple routine. Breakfast." Plankton nods, his gaze still fixed on the fans. With a final nod to the spinning blades, he follows her out of the bedroom. The journey downstairs is a minefield of sounds and sights, but he takes it step by step, his hand gripping the railing tightly. The kitchen is a blur of colors and noises, but Karen's calm voice guides him through it all. "First," she beeps, "let's start with something easy. How about a glass of water?" Plankton nods, his movements still mechanical. He watches as she fills a glass, the water's surface dancing in the light. It's mesmerizing, and for a moment, the world stops spinning. He takes the glass, his trembling hand bringing it to his lips, the cool liquid sliding down his throat. "Water," he murmurs. "Good, water." The simple task seems to ground him a bit, and Karen takes note of the small victory. "Now, let's try some toast," she says, her voice a comforting beep. She slides a piece of bread into the toaster, the sound of the lever clicking into place another beat in the rhythm of their morning. Plankton nods, his attention drawn to the toaster's glowing coils. He watches, his eye widening as the bread turns golden brown. The smell fills the room, a comforting scent that penetrates the fog in his head. "Toast," he says, his voice a bit stronger. But as the toaster pops, the sudden noise jolts him like an electric shock. "Too loud," he whispers, his eye darting around the room in panic. Karen's screens flicker with empathy. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a soothing hum. She quickly retrieves the toast, placing it gently on a plate. "Let's sit down," she suggests, guiding him to the table. "Take it slow." They sit, and Plankton fidgets in his chair, his eye darting around the room. "Take your time," Karen reminds him, her voice a steady beep. He nods, focusing on the toast. Each bite is a tiny triumph, his senses adjusting to the new world. The crunch of the bread, the warmth on his tongue, the smell of the butter spreading. It's overwhelming, but he's making progress.
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 8 (Autistic author) With Patrick gone, the room feels eerily quiet. Plankton lies on the floor, his body heaving with sobs. Each breath is a battle, a reminder of the pain still echoing through his body. Karen's screens flicker with a mix of frustration and sadness. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice a soft hum. She rolls over to him, her mechanical arms extending to offer comfort. "I didn't know he'd do that." Plankton's body shakes with sobs, his single eye squeezed shut. He whispers, "No more poking, Karen. No more." Karen's screens flicker with regret. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle beep. She reaches out with one of her arms, carefully placing it around his tiny frame. "Let's get you up," she suggests, her movements slow and deliberate. With her help, Plankton manages to stand, his legs shaking like seaweed in a storm. She leads him to the couch. "Rest," she beeps, but he's too exhausted to respond. Karen sits beside him, her screens dimming as she watches him. The silence is a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems a lullaby compared to the chaos of Patrick's laughter. "Karen," he whispers after a moment, his voice a weak static. Her screens light up with concern. "Yes, Plankton?" she beeps. "Plankton not want to go back to how it was," he whispers, his voice a fragile thread. "The stealing, the fighting." Karen's screens flicker with a sadness she rarely shows. "I know," she drapes a blanket over him, tucking him in. Her voice is a soothing beep. "You don't have to, Plankton. We'll find a new way." She caresses his shaky hand. Plankton nods, his eye finally closing in relief. The warmth of the blanket and Karen's gentle touch offer a semblance of calm in the storm of sensory overload, his crying slowing. "Thank Karen," he murmurs, his voice a tired static as he squeezes her hand once. Her screens glow with affection. "You're welcome, Plankton," she beeps. "Rest now." She dims the lights once more, watching over him as she held his hand. Plankton's body finally stills, the storm of sensations receding as he surrenders to sleep. Karen's screens flicker with a quiet relief. She sits beside him.
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.
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 9 (Autistic author) The quiet of the room envelops them like a warm sea breeze, the only sound his soft, even breaths. Her grip on his hand tightens slightly, a silent promise to protect and guide him through this new chapter of his life. As her hand strokes his gently in a comforting rhythm, her gal pal, Sandy, unexpectedly comes in through the door. "Mornin'!" she chirps, her cheerful voice piercing the calm. Plankton jolts awake, his eye snapping open like a trapdoor. The sudden shift from sleep to wakefulness is jarring, his heart racing like a tiny engine. "S-Sandy?" he stammers, his voice a static whisper. Sandy's cheerfulness doesn't waver. "Hey there, little buddy!" she says, her voice a sunlit melody. But Plankton's heightened sensitivity turns her greeting into a cacophony. He flinches, his grip on Karen's hand tightening. "It's okay," Karen beeps soothingly, her screens reflecting his distress. Sandy gets a word search book out. "I just got it today!" Plankton's eye, though tired, lights up slightly at the sight of the book. The pages are a calming white with neatly arranged letters, the colors a gentle wash of blue and yellow. "Want to see?" she asks, her voice a warm trill. He nods, his body still tense but his curiosity piqued. Sandy opens the word search book, her fingers tracing the rows and columns with a gentle precision. "Look, Karen," she says, her voice a soft trill. "It's all about science." Plankton's eye, though still wary, is drawn to the page. He scans the words, his brain lighting up with recognition. "Words," he whispers, his voice a steady static as she sets the book down. The sight of the word search grounds him, the predictability of the patterns offering a comforting routine. His breathing slows, the chaos of his senses retreating like the tide. "Find," he says, looking at the index. Sandy's smile is infectious, her enthusiasm for the simple task contagious. "Okay, let's find some words!" she says, her voice a gentle trill. She points to the first puzzle. "How about this one?" Plankton nods, his eye focusing on the page. The challenge of finding words within the grid is a comforting distraction from the sensory overload. "Start," he whispers, his voice a firm static. Sandy nods, her thumbs tucked into the pages to keep their place. "Okay, we're looking for 'jellyfish scientific name,'" she asks, her voice a gentle trill. Plankton's mind latches onto the task, the letters becoming a puzzle to solve. "Medusae," he murmurs, his voice a focused static. Sandy's eyes light up with excitement. "That's right!" she says, her voice a delighted trill. "Good job, Planks!" Plankton feels a small spark of pride, his focus narrowing to the word in question. The world around him fades into the background as he scans the grid. Each letter is a stepping stone in a vast, orderly sea. "Good job," Karen beeps, her screens illuminating with pride. "You're doing great." Plankton nods, his eye locked on the word "medusae" he's just found. The simple act of locating the word in the jumble of letters brings a sense of peace, a respite from the sensory onslaught. He goes to the next when Sandy interrupts his focus. "So, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "How's your day been?" He can't multitask, which Sandy doesn't notice. Plankton's mind is fully absorbed by the word search, each letter a piece of a puzzle he's eager to solve. Her question hangs in the air, a bubble waiting to pop, but he's too engrossed to respond right away. Finally, he looks up, his gaze shifting from the page to her face. "Day?" he repeats, his voice a confused static. Sandy nods, her expression gentle. "Yeah, how have you been?" Plankton's gaze flits back to the word search, his hand twitching to point out the next word. "Words," he says, his voice a focused static. "Words." But frustrated Sandy thinks he's just trying to ignore her, and she interrupts him again. "Plankton, I'm talking to you," she says, her voice a gentle nudge. Plankton's single eye darts back to her face, his grip on the word search pencil tightening. "Words," he whispers, his voice a static echo of his thoughts. "Words." He tries to get back to it, but Sandy's not satisfied. "But how are you, Plankton?" she presses, her voice a persistent hum. The word search is a safe haven, but he knows Sandy waits for an answer. He's getting frustrated. He takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "Okay," he whispers, his voice a static sigh. "Tell Sandy." Sandy leans in, her face a picture of concern. "What's going on, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. He looks back at the word search, the letters blurring slightly. He's tired of being interrupted. "Plankton has words now," he says, his voice a firm static. "Words make happy." Sandy's not sure what he means, but she does want to have a conversation. So, how does she get him to interact?
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 3 (Autistic author) Karen doesn't yet realize the extent of Plankton's distress. She's aware that his moods can swing like the tides, but this seems more than a mere mood swing. "Mr. Krabs," she prompts, trying to keep him on track. "What happened with him?" Plankton's eye widens, and he starts to shiver, his tiny body trembling. "Hit," he whispers. "Hit Plankton hit. Sponge Bob see." Karen's screens flicker, trying to decode his fragmented words. "Mr. Krabs hit you?" He nods, his body still trembling. "Yes, hit Plankton." Karen's screens process the information. "That's not like him," she says, her voice a low hum of concern. "Mr. Krabs can be intense, but he's never..." Her words hang in the air, unfinished, as she tries to make sense of it all. Plankton simply nods, his tremors continuing. "Hit, hit," he whispers again, his voice like a broken record. Oblivious to his new reality, Karen tries to comfort him. "It's okay, Plankton. I'll help you. We'll get through this." Plankton's eye darts around the room, seeing patterns in the wires and circuits that make no sense. "Hit, Sponge Bob, Karen." Karen's screens flicker with confusion. "What do you mean?" Plankton tries to explain, but the words are a jumble in his head. "Sponge Bob...saw...hit." Karen's screens blink, processing his words. "Sponge Bob saw Mr. Krabs hit you?" Plankton nods, his tremors subsiding slightly. "Yes," he whispers. "Sponge Bob see." Karen's digital mind races. Mr. Krabs hitting Plankton wasn't unheard of, but the way he's reacting is unusual. "Did it hurt?" she asks, trying to keep him talking. Plankton's tremors stop for a moment, his eye focusing on her. "Hurt?" he repeats, as if the word is foreign. Then, with a wave of emotion, he nods fervently. "Yes, hurt. Got hurt Plankton felt hurt. Plankton, nothing? Plankton Sponge Bob. Plankton Karen." Karen's screens blink rapidly. Her husband's mental state has never been like this before. The idea of him feeling pain beyond the physical was alien to her programming. "What do you mean, 'Plankton nothing'?" she asks, trying to piece together his scattered thoughts. Plankton sighs, the exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Hit, hurt Plankton. Plankton fading. Plankton find Sponge Bob. Plankton now Karen. Can't stop, can't think. Take your time, take your time." Karen's screens change from confusion to determination. "I'll find Sponge Bob," she says, her voice a firm beep. "You stay here and rest." Plankton nods, his body finally still. The mention of Sponge Bob's name brings a flicker of something to his eye, a glimmer of hope or perhaps desperation. "Find Sponge Bob," he whispers, his voice now a faint echo. "Sponge Bob tell Karen." Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "I will," she says, her voice a soft beep. She leaves the room, her wheels whirring as she exits the Chum Bucket. She goes to Sponge Bob.
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 2 (Autistic author) When Karen finally did come to check on him, her digital voice was cool and devoid of emotion. "Plankton, dear, you've been in here for quite some time," she said. "Another fail, huh?" Plankton's tiny shoulders slumped. He couldn't bring himself to explain the chaos in his head. How could he possibly make Karen, his logical, computer wife, understand the tumult of sensations that had overtaken his being? He just nodded. Karen's screen flickered, perhaps processing his lack of enthusiasm as another defeat. "You know what you need," she said, her voice still calm and soothing. "Some good old-fashioned break from scheming." Plankton nodded weakly, unable to argue, which she found unusual. "Why don't you take a walk?" she suggested, her voice a gentle nudge. "Fresh air can do wonders for the mind." Plankton didn't answer. Karen knew better than to push him when he was like this. She had seen his mood swings before, his moments of despair after a failed plan, but this was different. This was something she hadn't seen in her decades of being by his side. "Plankton, are you sure you're okay?" she asked again, her synthetic voice a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions she couldn't understand. He nodded, trying to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "Sure okay, Karen." Karen's concern grew as she watched him struggle to his feet. It was clear that his usual boundless energy was nowhere to be found. He stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hallway, his steps slow and deliberate. The once-mighty Plankton, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. As he approached the door of the Chum Bucket, Karen followed, her sensors tuned to his every movement. The usual sounds of their underwater world were amplified, echoing through the narrow corridors like a symphony of chaos. Each step was a battle, each breath a victory. He paused, his hand shaking as it hovered over the handle. "Maybe not today," he murmured, his voice barely audible over his own racing heartbeat. Karen stood silently beside him, her systems trying to comprehend his sudden change in behavior. He had always been so driven, so focused on his goals, but now his eye had a faraway look, as if he was seeing something that she couldn't. "Take your time," she said, her tone softer than ever. "I'll be here when you're ready." Plankton looked up at her. "Take your time," he murmured, echoing Karen's words. "Take your time." She looks at him. "Take your time, take your time, take your time." He repeats aloud back to Karen, who's now even more concerned, her screens flickering with worry. Plankton's voice sounds strange, echoing his own words as if they're coming from someone else, from another time. It's a peculiar behavior, one she's never observed in him before. He walks over to the control room, where his various inventions are lined up like a strange army of metal and wires. Each gizmo and gadget a silent testament to his unyielding quest for the Krabby Patty formula. But now, they seemed like mere toys, overwhelming him with their complexity. The room spins, and Plankton feels like he's drowning in a sea of his own creations. "Take your time, take your time," he whispers, his voice a distant echo in his own mind. He sits down in his chair, his eye glazed over, and repeats the phrase over and over. "Take your time, take your time, take your time." The words become a mantra, a lifeline in the storm of sensory overload. Karen watches from her console, her algorithms racing to understand this new behavior. The phrase rolls off his tongue, a soothing rhythm in the cacophony of his thoughts. "Take your time, take your time." It's as if he's trying to convince his own brain to slow down, to make sense of the world again. The echo of his voice in the metal walls of the Chum Bucket seems to calm him, if only a little. Karen doesn't know what to make of this. Whatever the cause, she knows she must tread carefully. "Plankton," Karen says, trying to connect to his current state, "I'm here for you." He looks at her. "Take your time," he murmurs again. "Plankton I'm here for you." He parrots. Karen's systems whirr, analyzing the change in his language patterns. His usual sharp wit and sarcasm have given way to something more... mechanical. It's as if he's trying to communicate but his words are stuck in a loop, like a broken record. She decides to play along, hoping it might snap him out of it. "Take your time, take your time," she repeats back to him, her digital voice mimicking his tone as closely as possible. For a moment, his eye brightens, as if he's found a familiar rhythm in the chaos. Then, just as quickly, it dims again. "Take your time, take your time," he murmurs, his gaze flicking from one corner of the room to the next. Karen's screens change from concern to confusion. She's observed Plankton's moods and quirks for years, but this is something she can't quite pinpoint. "Take your time, take your time," Plankton whispers again, his voice a strange mix of urgency and defeat. Karen nods, trying to comfort him with her usual efficiency. "Of course," she says, her voice a soft beep in the silence. "I'll always be here for you. Let's eat dinner." But Plankton doesn't move. He just sits there, staring into space, his hand still hovering over the control panel. Karen doesn't understand why he's so upset. To her, it's just another day, another failed attempt at the Krabby Patty formula. But to Plankton, it's like the world has shifted on its axis, leaving his tiny body adrift in a sea of sensations he can't comprehend. "Dinner will be ready soon," she says, trying to bring him back to the present. But Plankton seems lost in his own thoughts, his eye unfocused. So she goes up to him. "Plankton?" she asks, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He jumps at her touch, his senses on high alert. His hand goes to where she touched him, his opposite hand doing the same to the other shoulder. "Karen," he says slowly, his voice a mechanical whisper. Karen's circuits flicker with confusion. She doesn't understand why he's so on edge, why his reactions are so exaggerated. To her, this is just another setback. "Plankton," she repeats, her hand back on his shoulder. "You need to eat. It'll make you feel better." Karen's touch feels unbearable. He flinches, his skin crawling with the sensation. It's too much. "No," he says, his voice a croak. "No dinner." Karen's screens blink, recalculating her approach. "Okay," she says, her voice even. "But you have to eat something." She pats him gently, but it feels jolting. "No," Plankton whispers, his voice a fragile thread. The slightest touch feels like a thunderclap in his newfound sensory prison. Karen's screens flicker, unsure of what to make of his sudden aversion. "Take your time," she suggests again, hoping the mantra will bring him comfort. But Plankton simply shakes his head, his eye wide as he starts to rock back and forth. Karen watches, her confusion growing. "What is it?" she asks, her voice a soothing hum. "What's wrong?" Plankton's gaze flits around the room, his pupil expanding and contracting as he tries to process everything at once. "Can't...can't explain," he stammers, his voice now a jagged mess of static. Karen's screens light up with analysis, trying to piece together what could have caused this drastic shift in his behavior. Could it be something in the latest Krabby Patty attempt? A side effect of his latest invention? "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft beep, "What happened at the Krusty Krab today?" He looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Krabs...Plankton Sponge Bob, Plankton. Karen..." He trails off, his eye filling with a sudden despair. It's clear that his usual sharpness has been replaced by a fog of overwhelming sensation.
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 4 (Autistic author) In the dim light of the evening, the Krusty Krab was quiet, the usual bustle replaced by a calm that felt eerie. Sponge Bob was sweeping the floor, his thoughts on Plankton. He looked up as Karen approached, his smile fading at the sight of her concerned expression. "Karen," he began, his spongey voice tinged with anxiety, "I need to tell you what happened to Plankton." Karen's screens brighten with anticipation. "Please do," she beeps, her wheels stopping in front of him. Sponge Bob's eyes dart to the floor, his sponge body drooping slightly. "Mr. Krabs was just trying to protect this formula, and Plankton...he just knocked Plankton in the head. Plankton woke up and then without a word ran back to the Chum Bucket." Karen's screens flicker with the gravity of the situation. "How did Mr. Krabs hit him?" Sponge Bob's grip on the mop tightens. "With a frying pan," he confesses, his eyes wide with guilt. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "That would explain his current state," she murmurs, her voice a steady beep. "Sponge Bob, do you know how badly he's been hurt?" Sponge Bob shakes his head, the guilt washing over him in waves. "No, not really," he says, his voice quavering. Karen's screens flicker with a mix of sympathy and urgency. "I see," she says. "Thanks." With newfound purpose, she spins around and heads back to the Chum Bucket. Back in the control room, Plankton is still rocking back and forth, his hand over his head as if trying to hold his thoughts in place. The door to the Chum Bucket opens, and Karen rolls in, her screens reflecting the urgency of the situation. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft hum, "I talked to Sponge Bob. He saw what happened." Plankton's rocking stops, his eye swiveling to meet hers. "Sponge Bob?" "Yes," Karen says, her screens pulsing with the weight of her words. "He saw Mr. Krabs hit you with the frying pan." Plankton's body goes still, his tremors ceasing instantly. "Sponge Bob saw," he whispers, his voice devoid of emotion. "Tell Karen." "Yes," Karen beeps, nodding her mechanical head. "He told me. I'm going to help you." Without warning, a scanning beam shoots out of Karen's console, enveloping Plankton as his brain is scanned. The results are quickly analyzed, and the screens flash with a series of diagrams and data that even Karen's advanced systems take a moment to digest. "The scan reveals...unusual patterns," she says, her voice a measured beep. Plankton's eye widen with fear, his body tensing as he waits for her verdict. "What does that mean?" he asks, his voice a high-pitched squeak. Karen's screens change to display a 3D image of his brain, the structure illuminated with neon colors. "You've sustained neurodivergence," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "The impact has altered your neural connections, resulting in irreversible autism." Plankton's body goes rigid, his breathing shallow. The word "autism" hangs in the air like a heavy anchor, dragging his spirits down to the murky depths of the ocean floor. "Irreversible?" he whispers, his voice fragile as sea glass. Karen nods gravely. "The good news is, we can adapt. We can learn to navigate this new world of sensations together," she beeps. "It's getting late. Let's go to bed." Plankton nods, his body feeling like it's made of lead. The idea of sleep seems like a welcome escape from the overwhelming day, but as he tries to get up, the room spins again. "Karen," he says, his voice weak. "Can't." With a gentle nudge, Karen helps him to his feet, her wheels moving silently beside him as they make their way to the tiny elevator. The ride up feels like an eternity, his senses heightened to every creak and groan of the metal box. When the doors open, the lights of the hallway are a glaring assault on his eye. He squints, his hand reaching out to the wall for support. In their bedroom, Karen helps him into his bed. The softness of the covers is a stark contrast to the harshness of his new reality. "Take your time," she says, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton nods, his breathing shallow. He closes his eye, and the room seems to fade away, replaced by a whirlpool of swirling thoughts and sensations. Karen's screens flicker with a plan. "Rest," she beeps, her voice a soft comfort. "We'll face tomorrow together." She dims the lights.
áĩ€áĩ’áĩ’áĩ—Ę° áīŪáĩ‰ áĩ€áĩ’ËĄáĩˆ â―á”†áĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áīŪáĩ’áĩ‡ áķ áĩƒâŋáķ âąáķœâū ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ’ËĒ áķ áĩƒáĩ—Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ áīģáĩ’Ęģáĩˆáĩ’âŋ Ę°áĩ‰áĩƒĘģáĩˆ áķ Ęģáĩ’áĩ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩâ€§ “áīīáĩ‰Ęļ ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ; áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰â€™ËĒ áĩáĩ‰áĩ—áĩ—⁹âŋáĩ ʰ⁹ËĒ ʷ⁹ËĒáĩˆáĩ’áĩ áĩ—áĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ—Ę° áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— áĩƒâŋáĩˆ ˥⁹áĩáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ Ę°áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ ʷ⁹áĩ—Ę° ʰ⁹áĩâ€§â€ ᔆáĩ’ áīģáĩ’Ęģáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áĩˆĘģáĩ’áĩ–ËĒ ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áĩ’áķ áķ  áĩƒáĩ— áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩ‰âŋáĩ—⁹ËĒáĩ— âŋáĩ’ʷ‧ “áīī⁹, ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ!” áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰â€™ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ áĩĘģáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ—ËĒ ʰ⁹áĩ áĩƒËĒ áīģáĩ’Ęģáĩˆáĩ’âŋ ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ËĒ‧ áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ áķ áĩ’ËĄËĄáĩ’Ę·áĩ‰áĩˆ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ˜Ęģáĩáĩ‰ĘģĘļ áķ áĩ’ËĄËĄáĩ’ʷ⁹âŋáĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩ‰âŋáĩ—⁹ËĒáĩ—‧ áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰ áķœĘ°áĩƒâąĘģ’ËĒ áĩƒáĩ— áĩ’âŋáĩ‰ Ę°áĩ˜âŋáĩˆĘģáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ—ʰ⁹Ęģáĩ—Ęļ áķ âąáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩ‰áĩĘģáĩ‰áĩ‰ áĩƒâŋáĩËĄáĩ‰â€§ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ áĩ–ËĄáĩ’áĩ–áĩ–áĩ‰áĩˆ ʰ⁹áĩËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ  âŋ ⁹áĩ— áĩƒËĒ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ âŋáĩ˜ĘģËĒáĩ‰ âŋáĩ’áĩ—⁹áķœáĩ‰áĩˆ ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áķœĘģĘļ‧ “áī°áĩ’âŋ’áĩ— Ę·áĩ’ĘģĘģĘļ ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ, áīĩ’áĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ’âŋáĩ‰ ⁹âŋ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœĘ°áĩƒâąĘģ!” “ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ, Ęģ⁹áĩĘ°áĩ—? ᔆáĩ’ ˥⁹ËĒáĩ—áĩ‰âŋ, Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜Ęģ áķ Ęģ⁹áĩ‰âŋáĩˆâ€™ËĒ áĩáĩ’âŋâŋáĩƒ áĩ‡áĩ‰ áķ âąâŋáĩ‰â€§â€ áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰ âŋáĩ˜ĘģËĒáĩ‰ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰âŋ áĩ—áĩ˜ĘģâŋËĒ áĩ—áĩ’ ʰ⁹ËĒ áĩ–áĩƒáĩ—⁹áĩ‰âŋáĩ—‧ “áīŽĘģáĩ‰ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ ËĄáĩ‰áķ áĩ— Ę°áĩƒâŋáĩˆáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ’Ęģ Ęģ⁹áĩĘ°áĩ— Ę°áĩƒâŋáĩˆáĩ‰áĩˆ?” áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ áĩáĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ ʰ⁹áĩ ʰ⁹ËĒ Ę°áĩƒâŋáĩˆâ€§ “áīšáĩ’Ę· áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰, Ę·áĩ‰â€™áĩ›áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰áĩˆâąáķœâąâŋáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ Ę°áĩ‰ËĄáĩ– Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜â€§ áī°áĩ’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ Ę·áĩƒâŋáĩ— ⁹âŋ áĩ–⁹˥˥ áķ áĩ’Ęģáĩ áĩ’Ęģ ˥⁹á‘Ŧáĩ˜âąáĩˆ áĩˆĘģ⁹âŋáĩ áķ áĩ’Ęģáĩ?” áīīáĩ‰ áĩáĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ ʰ⁹áĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰áĩˆâąáķœâąâŋáĩ‰â€§ “Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆĘļ? áīĩáĩ—’˥˥ áĩ‡áĩ‰ áĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰Ęģ áĩ‡áĩ‰áķ áĩ’Ęģáĩ‰ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩâŋáĩ’Ę· ⁹áĩ—‧ áīšáĩ’Ę· áĩƒËĄËĄ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ Ę°áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩˆáĩ’ ⁹ËĒ áĩ‡Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ⁹âŋâ€Ķ” ËĒáĩ’ âŋáĩ’Ę·, ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰â€™ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ ËĄáĩ‰áķ áĩ— áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩ‰âŋáĩ—⁹ËĒáĩ—ËĒ áĩˆáĩ’ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰âąĘģ Ęēáĩ’áĩ‡ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ Ę·áĩƒâąáĩ—‧ ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áĩ–áĩƒáķœáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áķ áĩ’Ęģáĩ—Ę° áĩƒËĒ ʰ⁹ËĒ áķ Ęģ⁹áĩ‰âŋáĩˆâ€™ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ ËĒáĩƒáĩ—‧ áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰ Ęģáĩ‰áķœáĩ‰áĩ–áĩ—⁹áĩ’âŋ⁹ËĒáĩ— âŋáĩ’áĩ—⁹áķœáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ—áĩ’‧ “áīīáĩ‰Ęļ ËĒĘ·áĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ—âŋáĩ‰ËĒËĒ, Ę·áĩ‰ Ę°áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩáĩ’áĩ— áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ‰ËĒáĩ— ËĒáĩ˜Ęģáĩáĩ‰áĩ’âŋËĒ áĩƒĘģáĩ’áĩ˜âŋáĩˆâ€§â€§â€ ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ ËĒáĩƒĘļËĒ, áĩƒâŋáĩˆ Ę°áĩ‰ Ęēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— âŋáĩ’áĩˆËĒ‧ “áĩ‚áĩƒâŋâŋáĩƒ áķœáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ ËĒ⁹áĩ— áĩ’âŋ áĩĘļ ËĄáĩƒáĩ–?” áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰â€™ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ ËĒáĩƒĘļËĒ‧ ᔆʰáĩ‰ Ęģáĩ‰áķœáĩ‰âąáĩ›áĩ‰áĩˆ âŋáĩ’áĩ—áĩ‰ËĒ áĩ’âŋ áĩƒËĄËĄ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩƒáķ áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ áķœáĩƒĘģáĩ‰ áķ áĩ’Ęģ Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ ËĒáĩ’âŋ‧ “áīđËĒ‧ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ?” áīšáĩ’Ę· áĩáĩ’⁹âŋáĩ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ˜Ęģáĩáĩ‰ĘģĘļ ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰â€™ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ áķ áĩ’ËĄËĄáĩ’Ę· áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰ ʰ⁹áĩâ€§ “Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜â€™Ęģáĩ‰ áķ Ęģáĩ‰áĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩ’!” áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰â€™ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ Ę°áĩ‰ËĄáĩ–áĩ‰áĩˆ ʰ⁹áĩ áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— áĩ’áķ  áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ˜Ęģáĩáĩ‰ĘģĘļ‧ “áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰?” ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áĩˆâąáĩˆâŋ’áĩ— áĩâŋáĩ’Ę· áĩ‰ËĢáĩƒáķœáĩ—ËĄĘļ Ę·Ę°áĩƒáĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ‰ËĢáĩ–áĩ‰áķœáĩ—, áĩƒËĒ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ âŋáĩ’Ę· áĩáĩ’ áĩ—áĩ’ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ áĩ–ËĄáĩƒáķœáĩ‰ ʷ⁹áĩ—ʰ‧ “áĩ‚áĩƒâŋâŋáĩƒ áĩáĩƒáĩáĩ‰ áĩƒ áĩ‡áĩ˜Ęģáĩáĩ‰Ęģ?” “áĩĘ°?” “ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ Ę°áĩ‰ âŋáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩˆËĒ Ęģáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—‧” áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ—Ę° Ę·áĩ‰âŋáĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ ʰ⁹ËĒ áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩˆâ€§ “Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ Ę·áĩƒâŋáĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ áĩƒ âŋáĩƒáĩ–?” “Ęļáĩ‰â€Ķ” áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒâŋËĒ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩâ€§ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ âŋáĩ‰ËĢáĩ— Ę·áĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áķ Ęģáĩ’áĩ ËĒáĩƒâąáĩˆ âŋáĩƒáĩ– ʷ⁹áĩ—Ę° áĩˆĘģáĩ’áĩ’˥‧ “áīŽáĩ˜â€Ķ” áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰âŋ âŋáĩ’áĩ—⁹áķœáĩ‰ËĒ ËĒâŋáĩ’Ęģ⁹âŋáĩ âŋáĩ‰ËĢáĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ ʰ⁹áĩ, áĩƒËĒ ʰ⁹ËĒ áķ Ęģ⁹áĩ‰âŋáĩˆ ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áķ áĩ‰ËĄËĄ áĩƒËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ– áĩ‡Ęļ ʰ⁹áĩâ€§ áīīáĩ‰ áĩâŋáĩ‰Ę· áĩáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—’áĩ›áĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩ‰âŋ ËĒáķœáĩƒĘģáĩ‰áĩˆâ€§ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ áķ áĩ‰ËĄáĩ— Ę°áĩ˜âŋáĩĘģĘļ‧ áīŪáĩ˜áĩ— Ę·Ę°áĩƒáĩ— áĩâąáĩĘ°áĩ— áĩ‡áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ’áķ áĩ— áĩ‰âŋáĩ’áĩ˜áĩĘ°â€Ķ “áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩƒáĩ‡Ęļ, Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩƒĘ·áĩƒáĩáĩ‰?” áīī⁹ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ áķœáĩƒáĩáĩ‰ ⁹âŋ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ ËĒáĩƒĘ· Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ ËĒáĩ’âŋ âŋáĩ’Ę· ËĒ⁹áĩ—áĩ—⁹âŋáĩ áĩ˜áĩ–‧ “áķœáĩƒâŋ áīĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰ áķ áĩ’áĩ’áĩˆ?” “áĩ‚áĩ‰ áĩáĩ’áĩ— ⁹áķœáĩ‰ áķœĘģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ ⁹áķ â€Ķ” “Ęļáĩ‰ËĒ, áĩ–ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒËĒáĩ‰!” ᔆáĩƒĘļËĒ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰, áĩƒËĒ ʰ⁹ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ áĩáĩ’áĩ— ʰ⁹áĩ ËĒáĩ’áĩáĩ‰â€§ “áĩ€Ę°áĩƒâŋáĩËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ!” ᔆʰáĩ‰ áĩáĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ ʰ⁹áĩ ⁹áķœáĩ‰ áķœĘģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ ËĄáĩ’áĩ’áĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩƒáĩ— ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ, ËĒáĩ—⁹˥˥ áĩƒËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ–‧ “áĩ‚Ę°áĩ’ áĩâŋáĩ‰Ę· Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒâŋáĩ’Ęģáĩ‰áĩˆâ€Ķ” áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰â€™ËĒ áĩáĩ˜áĩ ËĒáĩâąËĄáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩƒËĒ Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ ËĒáĩ’âŋ ËĒĘ°Ęģáĩ˜áĩáĩáĩ‰áĩˆâ€§ “áĩ‚áĩ‰ËĄËĄ áĩ‰âŋĘēáĩ’Ęļ ⁹áķœáĩ‰ áķœĘģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ âŋáĩ’Ę· áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰!” ᔆʰáĩ‰ ËĒáĩƒâąáĩˆâ€§ áĩ‚Ę°áĩ‰âŋáķœáĩ‰ Ę°áĩ‰ áķ âąâŋ⁹ËĒĘ°áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ‰áĩƒáĩ—⁹âŋáĩ, áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ ËĒ⁹áĩĘ°ËĒ‧ áīīáĩ‰ áĩ–⁹áķœáĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ˜áĩ– áĩƒ áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ’áĩ áĩ—áĩ’ Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆâ€§ ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ ËĄáĩ’áĩ’áĩáĩ‰áĩˆ ʰ⁹ËĒ Ę°áĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆ áĩ˜áĩ– áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ âŋáĩ’Ę· Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆâąâŋáĩ ËĒáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ’áĩâ€§ “áīīⁱ‧‧” áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ— áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ’áĩ áĩˆáĩ’Ę·âŋ áĩƒ ËĒ⁹áĩˆáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áķ áĩƒáķœáĩ‰ ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ‧ “áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ Ę°áĩ’Ę· ËĄáĩ’âŋáĩ Ę°áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩ‰âŋ áĩ˜áĩ–?” “áīŽ ˡⁱˡ‧‧” ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ ËĒáĩƒáĩ— áĩ‡Ęļ ʰ⁹áĩâ€§ “ᔆáĩ’ĘģĘģĘļ ⁹áķ  áīĩ ËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ–áĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ ËĄáĩ’âŋáĩ; áĩ—áĩ˜ĘģâŋËĒ áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ—, ⁹áĩ— áĩ—áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ËĒ áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— áĩ’áķ  Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜, Ę·áĩ’ĘģĘģĘļ⁹âŋáĩ áĩƒáĩ‡áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜Ęģ áĩ‡áĩ‰ËĒáĩ— áķ Ęģ⁹áĩ‰âŋáĩˆâ€§â€§â€ “áīĩ áķ áĩ‰ËĄËĄ áĩƒËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ– áķ âąĘģËĒáĩ—!” áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ áĩâąáĩáĩËĄáĩ‰â€§ “áīŽáĩ— ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒËĒáĩ— áīĩ áĩˆáĩ’âŋ’áĩ— áĩˆĘģáĩ’áĩ’ËĄ áĩ’âŋ áĩ–⁹˥˥áĩ’Ę·â€§â€§â€ “ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋ áĩâąáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰ áĩƒ áĩ‡Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ, áīĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰ áĩƒ âŋáĩ˜áĩáĩ‡ ĘēáĩƒĘ·!” áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰âŋ Ęģáĩ’áĩ—áĩƒáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆ ʰ⁹ËĒ áĩ–⁹˥˥áĩ’ʷ‧ “áīŽâŋ áĩ‰ËĢáķœáĩ˜ËĒáĩ‰ áķ áĩ’Ęģ áĩáĩ‰, áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ ËĒâŋáĩ’Ęģáĩ‰áĩˆ! áīšáĩ’áĩ— ËĄáĩ’áĩ˜áĩˆ, áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— ËĒáĩ—⁹˥˥ áĩƒáĩ˜áĩˆâąáĩ‡ËĄáĩ‰ ËĒâŋáĩ’Ęģ⁹âŋáĩ!” “áīžĘ°, Ę°áĩ’Ę· áķœáĩ’áĩáķ áĩ’Ęģáĩ—⁹âŋáĩ, áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰â€§â€§â€ ᔆáĩ’ âŋáĩ’Ę·, áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ áĩ‰áĩáĩ‡Ęģáĩƒáķœáĩ‰áĩˆ Ę°áĩƒáĩ–áĩ–⁹˥Ęļ‧ 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: ðŸŧðŸķðŸķ
KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 1 (Autistic author) It happened, during another failed attempt at the krabby patty formula. Plankton tried sneaking through the back when Mr. Krabs saw him. "You again!" Mr. Krabs roared, his eyes bulging like a pair of boiled eggs about to pop. "You're not getting it, I'll make sure of that!" With that, Mr. Krabs swung a nearby frying pan with such ferocity that even SpongeBob flinched. Plankton's tiny body was no match for the metallic beast that was hurtling towards him, and the next thing he knew, his world had gone dark. SpongeBob's eyes widened as he watched his boss's arch-nemesis crumble to the ground, the frying pan clattering loudly beside him. The usually boisterous kitchen was now eerily silent, save for the distant hiss of the fryers. Mr. Krabs' chest heaved with each breath, his claws still poised in the air from the swing. "Mr. Krabs!" Sponge Bob squeaked, his spatula frozen mid-air. "Is he okay?" But Mr. Krabs' has retreated to his own office, leaving Sponge Bob with Plankton. Carefully, Sponge Bob prodded him with his spatula. No response. His single, tiny eyelid was closed. After a while, Plankton stirred. His eye fluttered open, but the world was a jumbled mess. The colors were too bright, the noises too loud, the smells too overwhelming. The kitchen of the Krusty Krab, a place he still knew like the back of his tiny hand, was suddenly a chaotic maelstrom of sensory input that his brain couldn't process. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it all, but the clanging of pots and pans, the sizzling of the fryers, and the garish neon lights just added to the confusion. SpongeBob's face appeared above him, a mask of worry and concern, his porous expression more complex than anything Plankton had ever seen. "Are you okay?" the sponge asked, his voice a gentle wave lapping against the shore of his newfound reality. Plankton nods, running back home to the Chum Bucket. Plankton's computer wife Karen's no stranger to him coming back upset or wanting space. So as Plankton retreats to his room in the Chum Bucket, she doesn't prompt him. Alone in the bedroom, Plankton intensely stared at the wall, his thoughts racing like a tornado. Everything was different now. The once-familiar world had turned on him, and he couldn't understand why. The lights in the Chum Bucket, usually a comfort, now blazed like the sun in his face. The noises, oh, the noises! They were so loud, so overwhelming, like a cacophony of a million tiny bells ringing in his head. He put his hands over his ears, trying to block them out, but even the softest hum seemed to resonate within his skull. Plankton wasn't sure how to process these new sensations. His brain was on overload, and his body felt like it didn't belong to him anymore. He was aware of every tiny detail in his environment, every speck of dust on the floor, every vibration from the floorboards, and it was all too much. He tried to get up, to find solace in his usual routine, but his legs failed him. They trembled and wobbled like Jell-O on a stormy sea. Plankton fell back onto the bed, feeling the softness of the pillow beneath him and the cool metal of the bed frame against his back. It was then that he noticed the pattern of the wallpaper, the tiny, intricate shapes that danced before his eye. They spun and swirled, forming complex mazes that his mind tried desperately to solve. It was mesmerizing, yet terrifying. He was trapped in a world of overstimulation, and he didn't know how to escape.
ËĒáĩ áĩ˜áĩ‰áĩƒáĩ ËĒáĩ áĩ˜áĩ‰áĩƒáĩ â―ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áīŪáĩ’áĩ‡ áķ áĩƒáķ°áķ áķĪáķœâū ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩˆáķĪáĩˆáķ°'áĩ— áĩáķ°áĩ’Ę· áīđĘģˑ ËĒáĩ áĩ˜áĩ‰áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ĘģËĒ áĩáĩ’áĩ— Ę°áķĪĘģáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ‡Ęļ áīđĘģˑ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ—áĩ‰áĩ– áĩ’áķ° áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ°Ë’ Ę·Ę°áĩ’ áķ°áĩ’Ę· áķœáĩƒáĩáĩ‰ áķĪáķ° áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩĘģáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—Ęļ áĩĘģáĩƒáĩ‡Ë‘ "áīīáĩ‰Ęļ áĩ–áĩ˜áķ°áĩáĩŽ" ËĒáĩ áĩ˜áĩ‰áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ĘģËĒ ËĒáĩƒĘļËĒˑ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° ËĒáķœĘģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩƒËĒ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœËĄáĩ’Ę·áķ° áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩƒáĩ— Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩ˜áĩ–Ë’ áĩƒËĄáĩ‰Ęģáĩ—áķĪáķ°áĩ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡Ë‘ áīīáĩ‰ áĩ‡ËĄáĩ’áķœáĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— áķ°áĩ’áĩ— áķĪáķ° áĩ—áķĪáĩáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ Ę°áķĪáĩË‘ áĩ‚Ę°áĩ‰áķ°áķœáĩ‰ áīđĘģˑ ËĒáĩ áĩ˜áĩ‰áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ĘģËĒ áĩˆáĩ‰áķœáķĪáĩˆáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ—áĩ’áĩ– Ę°áĩ‰ ËĄáĩ‰áķ áĩ— áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ Ęģáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—áĩƒáĩ˜Ęģáĩƒáķ°áĩ—Ë‘ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áĩ—Ę·áķĪáĩ—áķœĘ°áĩ‰áĩˆË’ áĩ‡áĩƒáĩˆËĄĘļ áķĪáķ°Ęēáĩ˜Ęģáĩ‰áĩˆË’ áķĪáķ° áĩ–áĩƒáķĪáķ°Ë‘ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ°'ËĒ áķœáĩ’áĩáĩ–áĩ˜áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ Ę·áķĪáķ áĩ‰ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° Ę·áĩ‰áķ°áĩ— Ę·áķĪáĩ—Ę° ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ‰áĩáĩ‰Ęģáĩáĩ‰áķ°áķœĘļ áķœËĄáķĪáķ°áķĪáķœË‘ "áīīáĩ’Ę·'ËĒ Ę°áĩ‰Ë‘Ë‘Ë‘" "ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ áķĪáķ° áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ’áĩ–áĩ‰Ęģáĩƒáĩ—áķĪáķ°áĩ Ęģáĩ’áĩ’áĩ áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ Ę·áĩ‰'ËĄËĄ áĩ‡ĘģáķĪáķ°áĩ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ—Ę° áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩƒáķ áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģˑ áīīáķĪËĒ áĩáĩ‰áĩˆáķĪáķœáķĪáķ°áĩ‰ Ę·áĩ‰ áĩáĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áĩ—Ę°áķĪáķ°áĩ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ– Ę°áķĪáĩ áķœáĩ’áĩáķ áĩ’Ęģáĩ—áĩƒáĩ‡ËĄáĩ‰ Ę·Ę°áķĪËĄËĒáĩ— áķĪáķ° áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ˜Ęģáĩáĩ‰ĘģĘļ áĩƒËĒ áĩ’áķ  ĘģáķĪáĩĘ°áĩ— áķ°áĩ’Ę·Ë‘" áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰ áķœËĄáķĪáķ°áķĪáķœáķĪáĩƒáķ° áĩ‰ËĢáĩ–ËĄáĩƒáķĪáķ°áĩ‰áĩˆË‘ áīąáĩ›áĩ‰áķ°áĩ—áĩ˜áĩƒËĄËĄĘļ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° Ę·áĩ‰áķ°áĩ— áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰ Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ Ę°áĩ˜ËĒáĩ‡áĩƒáķ°áĩˆË‘ ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ ËĒáĩƒĘ· áĩƒ ËĒáĩáķĪáķ°áķ°Ęļ ËĒáĩ—ĘģáĩƒĘ· áĩ—áĩ˜áĩ‡áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩ’Ę·áķ° Ę°áķĪËĒ áĩáĩ’áĩ˜áĩ—Ę°Ë’ Ę·Ę°áķĪáķœĘ° áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ áķ°áĩ’Ę· áĩ—áĩ’áĩ’áĩ áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ—Ë‘ áīŽáķ áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ áķ áķĪáķ°áķĪËĒĘ°áķĪáķ°áĩ áķĪáķ° áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ˜Ęģáĩáĩ‰ĘģĘļ˒ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ Ę·áĩ‰áķ°áĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ Ęģáĩ‰áķœáĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰ĘģĘļ Ęģáĩ’áĩ’áĩË‘ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áķœĘģáķĪáĩ‰áĩˆ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰áķĪáķ°áĩ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ°Ë‘ "ËĒáĩ’ Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ áĩáĩ’áķ°áķ°áĩƒ áķ°áĩ‰áĩ‰áĩˆ Ęģáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—Ë‘ áīīáĩ‰'ËĒ áĩáĩ’áķ°áķ°áĩƒ áĩáĩ’ËĒáĩ— ËĄáķĪáĩáĩ‰ËĄĘļ áĩ‡áĩ‰ áĩ—áķĪĘģáĩ‰áĩˆË’ áĩ‡áĩ‰áķœáĩƒáĩ˜ËĒáĩ‰ áĩ’áķ  ËĒáĩ’Ęģáĩ‰áķ°áĩ‰ËĒËĒ áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ áĩƒËĄËĒáĩ’ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰áĩˆáķĪáķœáķĪáķ°áĩ‰Ë‘ áīŽËĄËĄ áķ°áĩ’ĘģáĩáĩƒËĄË’ áĩƒËĒ Ę°áĩ‰ áĩáķĪáĩĘ°áĩ— áĩ‡áĩ‰ áķœáĩ’áķ°áķ áĩ˜ËĒáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩˆáķĪËĒáĩ’ĘģáķĪáĩ‰áķ°áĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆ ËĒáĩ’ áķ°áĩ’ Ę°áĩƒĘģáĩˆ Ę·áĩ’Ęģáĩ áķ áĩ’Ęģ áĩƒ áĩ—áķĪáĩáĩ‰Ë‘ áīīáĩ‰ áĩáķĪáĩĘ°áĩ— áĩ‡áĩ‰ áķ áĩ’Ęģáĩáĩ‰áĩ—áķ áĩ˜ËĄ áķ áĩ’Ęģ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒáĩƒáĩáĩ‰ Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒËĒáĩ’áķ°'ËĒ áīĩ áĩáĩ‰áķ°áĩ—áķĪáĩ’áķ°áĩ‰áĩˆË‘ ËĒáĩ’ áĩˆáĩ’áķ°'áĩ— áĩ‡áĩ‰ áĩƒËĄáĩƒĘģáĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áķĪáķ  Ę°áĩ‰ áĩƒáķœáĩ—ËĒ áĩƒËĒ ËĒáĩ˜áķœĘ°Ë‘" "áĩ€Ę°áĩƒáķ°áĩËĒ˒ áĩˆáĩ’áķœË‘Ë‘Ë‘" ËĒáĩƒĘļËĒ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ°Ë’ áķ°áĩ’Ę· áķ°áĩ’áĩ—áķĪáķœáķĪáķ°áĩ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áĩ’áĩ–áĩ‰áķ° Ę°áķĪËĒ áĩ‰Ęļáĩ‰Ë‘ "áĩ‚Ę°áĩ‰Ęģáĩ‰ áĩƒáĩ áīĩˑˑ" áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áĩ˜áĩ—áĩ—áĩ‰ĘģËĒˑ "áĩžáĩ’áĩ˜'Ęģáĩ‰ áķ Ęģáĩ‰áĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩ’Ë’ Ę·Ę°áĩ‰áķ°áķœáĩ‰ áķœáĩƒáķ° áĩáĩ‰áĩ— áĩ˜áĩ–áĩŽ" áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áķ áĩ‰ËĄáĩ— Ę°áķĪáĩËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ  áĩáĩ‰áĩ— Ę°áĩ‰ËĄáĩ–áĩ‰áĩˆ ËĒáķĪáĩ—áĩ—áķĪáķ°áĩ áĩ˜áĩ–Ë‘ "áīžĘ° ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’áķ°; áĩáĩ‰ áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ Ę·áķĪËĄËĄ áĩ—áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœĘ°áĩ˜áĩ áĩ‡áĩ˜áķœáĩáĩ‰áĩ—Ë‘" áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° áĩ—áĩ’ËĄáĩˆ Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩƒËĒ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ Ę·áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰áĩˆË‘ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° ËĄáĩƒáĩ˜áĩĘ°áĩ‰áĩˆ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰áķĪáķ°áĩ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ Ę·áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ Ę°áķĪáĩË’ ËĒáĩ’ Ę°áĩ‰ áĩˆáķĪáķŧáķŧáķĪËĄĘļ Ę·áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩË‘ "áīļáĩ‰áĩ—'ËĒ ËĒáĩ—áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ áĩ˜áĩ– áĩ’áķ áķ  áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœáĩ’áĩ— áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩˆË‘" áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áķ áĩƒËĄáĩ—áĩ‰Ęģáĩ‰áĩˆË’ áĩƒËĒ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ áķœáĩƒáĩ˜áĩĘ°áĩ— Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩ‡áĩ‰áķ áĩ’Ęģáĩ‰ Ę°áĩ‰'áĩˆ áĩ‡áĩ‰ áĩƒáĩ‡ËĄáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áķ áĩƒËĄËĄË‘ "áĩ‚Ę°áĩƒáĩ—'ËĒ Ę·áķĪáĩ—Ę° áĩĘļ ËĄáĩ‰áĩËĒˀ" "áīĩ áķœáĩƒáķ° áķœáĩƒĘģĘģĘļ áķĪáķ°ËĒáĩ—áĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆË‘" áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° áĩ—áĩ’ËĄáĩˆ áĩƒËĒ ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ áĩ–áķĪáķœáĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ˜áĩ– Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ Ę°áĩ˜ËĒáĩ‡áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ áĩ˜áĩ–Ë‘ "áĩ‚Ę°Ęļ áĩˆáĩ’ áīĩ áķ áĩ‰áĩ‰ËĄ ËĒáĩ’Ë‘Ë‘Ë‘" "áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜'áĩ›áĩ‰ Ęēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— áĩáĩ’áĩ— áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩƒáĩ—áĩ‰áķ° áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩáĩ’áĩ— Ę°áĩ’ËĒáĩ–áķĪáĩ—áĩƒËĄáķĪËĒáĩ‰áĩˆË‘" áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° ËĒáĩ‰áĩ— áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áĩ’áķ° Ę°áķĪËĒ áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩƒËĒ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩ—áĩ˜áķœáĩËĒ Ę°áķĪáĩ áķĪáķ°Ë‘ "áīĩáķ  Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜'Ęģáĩ‰ áĩ‰ËĢĘ°áĩƒáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩˆáĩ’áķ°'áĩ— Ę·áĩ’ĘģĘģĘļˑˑˑ" "ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áķœáĩƒáķ° Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆ áĩáķĪáķ°áĩˆËĒˑˑˑ" áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° ËĒáĩƒáķĪáĩˆ ËĒáĩ’áĩ˜áķ°áĩˆáķĪáķ°áĩ áķĪáĩáĩ–Ęģáĩ‰ËĒËĒáĩ‰áĩˆË‘ "áīšáĩ’Ę· Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áķœáĩƒáķ° Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆ áĩƒ áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ’áĩË’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áķœáĩƒáķ° áĩ—áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ áĩƒ áķ°áĩƒáĩ–Ë‘Ë‘Ë‘" áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° ËĒáĩ—áĩƒĘģáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆË‘ "áīŽĘģáĩ‰ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ ËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ–Ęļˀ" "áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰ áĩáķĪáķ°áĩˆâŧĘģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆáĩ‰Ęģ áĩáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— áĩáķ°áĩ’Ę·áĩŽ" áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áĩ—áĩ’ËĄáĩˆË‘ "áĩ‚áĩ‰ËĄËĄ áīĩ áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩ—áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ áĩáĩ‰áĩ— áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩĘļ Ę·áĩ’Ęģáĩ ËĒĘ°áķĪáķ áĩ— áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— áīĩ áķœáĩƒáķ° áķœáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩƒáķ áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ áķœËĄáĩ’ËĒáķĪáķ°áĩ áĩ—áķĪáĩáĩ‰Ë‘Ë‘" ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ ËĒáĩƒĘļËĒ áĩƒËĒ Ę°áĩ‰ ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ËĒˑ "áīšáĩ’Ę· ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’áķ° Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ ËĒáĩ—áĩƒĘļ áķĪáķ° áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩˆ; áīĩ'ËĄËĄ áķœĘ°áĩ‰áķœáĩ áĩ’áķ° Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩ–áĩ‰ĘģáķĪáĩ’áĩˆáķĪáķœáĩƒËĄËĄĘļˑ áīķáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— áĩˆáĩ’áķ°'áĩ— ËĒáĩ—Ęģáĩ‰ËĒËĒˑ" ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ ËĒáĩƒĘ· áīđĘģˑ ËĒáĩ áĩ˜áĩ‰áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ĘģËĒ áĩáĩ‰áĩ— áĩƒĘģĘģáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆË’ áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ áķ áĩ‰ËĄáĩ— Ęģáĩ‰ËĄáķĪáĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰áĩˆË‘ áīŽáķ áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ›áķĪáķ°áĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩĘģáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—Ęļ áĩĘģáĩƒáĩ‡ áķ áĩ’Ęģ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķ°áķĪáĩĘ°áĩ—Ë’ Ę°áĩ‰ Ę·áĩ‰áķ°áĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ–áĩ‰áķ°áĩˆ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰áķ°áķĪáķ°áĩ áĩƒáĩ— áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœĘ°áĩ˜áĩ áĩ‡áĩ˜áķœáĩáĩ‰áĩ—Ë‘ "áīīáĩ‰ áķ áĩ‰ËĄËĄ áĩƒËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ–; Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áķœáĩƒáķ° ËĒáĩ—áķĪËĄËĄ ËĒáĩ—áĩƒĘļˑˑ" áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° áĩ—áĩ’ËĄáĩˆ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩƒËĒ ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ ËĄáĩ‰áĩ— Ę°áķĪáĩ áķĪáķ°Ë‘ "ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áķœáĩƒáĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ; áĩ—Ę°áĩ’áĩ˜áĩĘ°áĩ— áīĩ'áĩˆ ËĄáĩ‰áĩ— Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩáķ°áĩ’Ę·Ë‘Ë‘" áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° Ę°áĩ‰áĩƒĘģËĒ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ°'ËĒ áĩ›áĩ’áķĪáķœáĩ‰Ë‘ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áķœáĩƒáĩáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ°Ë‘ "áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áķ°áĩ‰áĩ‰áĩˆáķ°'áĩ— Ę·áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ Ę°áķĪáĩ áķĪáķ  Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ áķ°áĩ’áĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ‡áĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰Ęģáĩ‰áĩˆË‘Ë‘" "áīĩ áķ áĩ‰áĩ‰ËĄ Ę·áĩ‰áĩƒĘģĘļˑ" "áīĩ'áĩ ËĒáĩ’ĘģĘģĘļˑˑ" ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩ—áĩ‰ËĄËĄËĒ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ°Ë‘ "áīĩ áĩˆáķĪáĩˆáķ°'áĩ— áĩáķ°áĩ’Ę· áĩƒáĩ‡áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— ËĒáĩ áĩ˜áĩ‰áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ĘģËĒ áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— áīĩ ËĒáĩƒĘ· Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩáĩ‰áĩ— áĩ—áĩƒáĩáĩ‰áķ° áĩƒĘ·áĩƒĘļáĩŽ" "áīĩáĩ—'ËĒ áķ°áĩ’áĩ— Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜Ęģ áķ áĩƒáĩ˜ËĄáĩ—Ë‘" áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° áĩ—áĩ’ËĄáĩˆ Ę°áķĪáĩË‘ "ËĒáĩ’ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ°Ë’ Ę°áĩ’Ę· áĩˆáĩ’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áķ áĩ‰áĩ‰ËĄË€" "áīĩ áķ áĩ‰áĩ‰ËĄ áĩƒáķœĘ°áĩ‰ áĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰ĘģĘļ Ę·Ę°áĩ‰Ęģáĩ‰ áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ áĩ‰ËĢĘ°áĩƒáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆË‘Ë‘" "áīĩ'áĩ áĩáĩ’áķĪáķ°áĩ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩ’ áķœËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáķ°Ë‘" áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° ËĒáĩƒĘļËĒ˒ ËĄáĩ‰áĩ—áĩ—áķĪáķ°áĩ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ ËĒáĩ—áĩƒĘļˑ "áīĩ áĩƒáĩ–áĩ’ËĄáĩ’áĩáķĪËĒáĩ‰ áķ áĩ’Ęģ˒ Ę·áĩ‰ËĄËĄË’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩáķ°áĩ’Ę·Ë‘Ë‘" "áīĩ áĩáķ°áĩ’Ę· áĩáķĪáĩˆË‘" "áĩžáĩ’áĩ˜ áķœáĩƒáķ° áķ áĩ‰áĩ‰ËĄ áķ Ęģáĩ‰áĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩ’ áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ– áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ°Ë‘Ë‘" ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒËĄáķĪËĒáĩ‰áĩˆ Ę°áĩ’Ę· áĩĘģáĩ’áĩáĩĘļ Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩáĩ‰áĩˆË‘ "áīĩ áķœáĩƒáķ° ËĒáĩ—áķĪËĄËĄ ËĒáĩ—áĩƒĘļˑ" áīīáĩ‰ áķ ËĄáĩ˜áķ áķ áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ–áķĪËĄËĄáĩ’Ę·ËĒ áķ áĩ’Ęģ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ áĩƒáĩˆĘēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆ Ę°áķĪËĒ áĩ‡ËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ— áķœáĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰ĘģËĒ áĩ—áĩ’Ë‘ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° áķ áĩ‰ËĄáĩ— áĩˆĘģáĩ’Ę·ËĒĘļˑ "áī°áĩ’áķ°'áĩ— áķ áķĪáĩĘ°áĩ— áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ–Ë‘ áīĩ áĩáķ°áĩ’Ę· Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜'áĩˆ ËĄáķĪáĩáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩ‰áĩ— áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩ—áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ ËĒáĩ’ Ęģáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—áķĪáķ°áĩ áķĪËĒ áķĪáĩáĩ–áĩ’Ęģáĩ—áĩƒáķ°áĩ—Ë‘" ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áķœáĩ’áĩáķ áĩ’Ęģáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆ Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩ‰áķ°áĩ’áĩ˜áĩĘ° áķ áĩ’Ęģ áĩ—áĩ’ áķœáĩƒËĄáĩ Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩˆáĩ’Ę·áķ°Ë‘ "á‘ĶĘ°áķĪËĄËĄáĩƒËĢˑˑ" áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ° ËĄáĩƒáķœáĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ‰áķ°áĩ‰ĘģáĩĘļ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ– áĩƒËĄáĩ‰Ęģáĩ—Ë‘ áīīáĩ‰'ËĒ áķœËĄáĩ’ËĒáķĪáķ°áĩ Ę°áķĪËĒ áĩ‰Ęļáĩ‰ áĩƒËĒ Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ ËĒáĩ—áĩƒĘģáĩ— áķ áĩƒËĄËĄáķĪáķ°áĩ áĩƒËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ–Ë’ ËĄáĩ˜ËĄËĄáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ‡Ęļ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡'ËĒ ËĒáĩ’áĩ’áĩ—Ę°áķĪáķ°áĩ Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ áķ Ęģáĩ’áĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩƒĘļ'ËĒ áĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰áķ°áĩ—ËĒˑ ËĒáĩ—áķĪËĄËĄ Ę·áĩ’Ęģáķ° áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— áķ Ęģáĩ’áĩ ËĒáĩ áĩ˜áĩ‰áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ĘģËĒ áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ áķ Ęģáĩ’áĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœËĄáķĪáķ°áķĪáķœË’ áĩƒËĒ Ę·áĩ‰ËĄËĄ áĩƒËĒ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰áĩˆáķĪáķœáķĪáķ°áĩ‰Ë’ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ°'ËĒ áķ°áĩ’Ę· áĩ˜áķ°áĩƒáĩ‡ËĄáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ áķ áķĪáĩĘ°áĩ— áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ËĒËĄáĩ˜áĩáĩ‡áĩ‰Ęģ áķœáĩ’áĩáķĪáķ°áĩË‘ áīŽáķ áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ áĩ—áķĪáĩˆĘļáķĪáķ°áĩ áĩ˜áĩ–Ë’ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° ËĒáĩƒĘ· ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áķ°áĩ’Ę· áĩáĩ’áķĪáķ°áĩ áĩ˜áĩ– áĩ—áĩ’ Ę°áĩ‰Ęģˑ "áīĩ'áĩ áĩáĩ’áķ°áķ°áĩƒ Ę°áĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆ áĩ’áķ° áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ—Ë‘ áīīáĩ‰'ËĒ áĩƒËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ–; áĩáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—áķ°'áĩ— Ę·áĩƒáĩáĩ‰ Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩ˜áĩ– áĩƒáĩáĩƒáķĪáķ°Ë‘ áīŪĘļáĩ‰áĩŽ" ËĒáĩ–áĩ’áķ°áĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ ËĄáĩ‰áķ áĩ—Ë’ áĩƒËĒ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° áķ°áĩ’Ę· ËĒáķĪáĩĘ°áĩ‰áĩˆ áķĪáķ° Ęģáĩ‰ËĄáķĪáĩ‰áķ Ë‘ ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ áĩ–áĩ‰áĩ‰áĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰ĘģĘļ áķ°áĩ’Ę· áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰áķ° áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰ áīūËĄáĩƒáķ°áĩáĩ—áĩ’áķ°Ë’ áķœĘ°áĩ‰áķœáĩáķĪáķ°áĩ áķĪáķ° áĩ’áķ° Ę°áķĪáĩË’ áĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰áķ° áĩ—Ę°áĩ’áĩ˜áĩĘ° Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ áĩˆáĩ’áķĪáķ°áĩ áķ áķĪáķ°áĩ‰Ë‘ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰áķ° ËĄáĩ‰áĩ— Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ Ę°áĩ˜ËĒáĩ‡áĩƒáķ°áĩˆ Ęģáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—Ë’ áĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰áķ° áĩƒËĒ ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ áĩáĩ’áĩ— áĩ˜áĩ– áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķ°áĩ‰ËĢáĩ— áĩáĩ’Ęģáķ°áķĪáķ°áĩË‘ ËĒĘ°áĩ‰'áĩˆ ËĄáķĪáĩĘ°áĩ—ËĄĘļ áĩ—áĩƒáĩ– Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩáĩ‰áķ°áĩ—ËĄĘļ áĩ’áķ° ËĒĘ°áĩ’áĩ˜ËĄáĩˆáĩ‰Ęģ áķĪáķ  áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩ‰áĩ— Ę°áķĪáĩ áĩ˜áĩ–Ë‘ áīŪáĩ˜áĩ— áĩƒËĄËĄ Ę·áĩ‰áķ°áĩ— áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ áķ°áĩ’ĘģáĩáĩƒËĄË‘
Poor X. The lawyer has seemingly been struggling with some kind of chest infection for a while now- it seems like whenever Y passes his office, she can hear him clearing his throat, muffled coughing drifting through the walls as he tries to catch his breath. “I’ll b-be- *wheeze*- f-fine. Justâ€Ķ just need to c-catch my- my breath.” Wiping his mouth, he soon leans back against the bricks. His shallow exhales become steam in the cold air. “I think you might need some stronger cough medicine.” Y murmurs, still rubbing slow circles against his back. “If you want, I could get you some?” His gaze crawls over to hers, dull hope flickering within them. “Y-yeah?” His eyes roll, exhaustion taking over, but a quick tap to the cheek brings him right back, blinking languidly. “M'okay.” He mumbles. “Th-thanks.” Y's hand, still lingering on his cheek, moves to swipe away a sweat-dampened curl from his forehead. “I’m not sure whether ‘okay’ is quite the right word to describe you right now, Xâ€Ķ Take a few minutes down here, and then I'll walk you back up to your office, alright? I’m going to tell your assistant- Z, isn't it?- to make sure you get some rest while I fetch you some meds.” X swallows, shaking his head weakly. “I’ll beâ€Ķ I’ll be f- fine.” “I’m the doctor here. Just try to relax for once in your life.” Finally, he sighs, nodding. He's still leaning his head against the brick wall as his eyes fall closed. Y continues to rub his back for a few minutes, a comfortable silence enveloping them. When she looks back at the lawyer beside her, his jaw is slack, lips slightly parted. The quick, shallow breaths of before have slowed and deepened. A small smile creeps onto her face. He's asleep. X starts to lean unconsciously towards her. Soon, as he remains asleep and snoring, his head lands on her shoulder. He's definitely going to drool all over her dress. “Bless him .” Z whispers, cocking his head a little as he watches X sleep. “He's absolutely knackered.” Y isn't entirely sure what that word means, but if it has anything to do with exhaustion, he's completely right. X is curled up on the couch, cheek pressed against a throw pillow Z thrifted, buried beneath a mound of blankets Y brought from home. They're ever so slightly weighted, and the pressure is comforting for X. She's trying to get used to his sensory needs. To not rely on him resolving them himself, especially when he's sick. Judging by the peaceful look on his face, nostrils flaring gently with each slow breath, she's doing something right at least. She hopes, also, that bringing him into her workplace was the right thing to do as well, groaned when she half-dragged X through the doors, pale and shakily covering his ears, squinting against the light, but what was she supposed to do? Suppose X had been left alone, and needed to get something to drink? Doing those things alone right now is essentially impossible for him. Y's phone beeps, and she turns it on to find a reminder: X’s antibiotics. She sighs, glancing over at cosy-looking just as his nose twitches in his sleep. Z notes frustration. “Antibiotic time?” “Yep.” With another small sigh of sympathy, she stands and wanders over to the feverish bundle of blankets and gentle snores, placing a gentle hand on the top of his head. Her thumb brushes against the sweat-damp curls that hang over his eyes. “ X? Sweetheart? Wake up for me, pumpkin.” When, after a few seconds of waiting, he doesn't stir, she gently strokes her index finger against his lower eyelashes. It's an age-old trick, and just like always, his eyes gradually open halfway. “Hey, X.” She whispers, smiling reassuringly as he blinks in the light. For once, he doesn't make any attempt to get up. His dizziness is clearly plaguing him again. “I’m so sorry to wake you, but you need to take your meds. Can you do that for me?” He swallows, clearly disoriented. Barely awake. “ Mm.” “Thank you. You don't even have to sit up, alright? Justâ€Ķ” she takes the bottle of pills from the coffee table and unscrews the lid, shaking a couple into her palm. “Just put these in your mouth, sweetheart.” Shakily, he obeys. Y's now empty hand is nearly immediately met with a glass of water filled up moments ago by Z. She moves closer to X and holds the rim of the glass up to his lips. “Now take a few sips, and swallowâ€Ķ Good job.” As soon as his small (yet Herculean) task is complete, X sinks back against the pillow entirely, eyes closing. Y draws the blanket over his shoulders, hand yet again drifting to his hair. “How’re you feeling?” she asks softly. His nostrils flare. He doesn't open his eyes. “ B-badâ€Ķ Di- dizzy.” “ I betâ€Ķ the antibiotics will make things better soon, pumpkin, I promise. Just rest.” X swallows thickly. “ C-can I go b-back to sleep now?” T gives him a small smile. “Of course you can.” She leans forward, pressing her lips to his too-warm forehead before withdrawing, still carding through his hair. “Sleep well, sweetheart. Night night.” Within moments, his breaths even out again. Soon, her pager will beep, and somehow X will remain fast asleep, swathed in blankets and yet still shivering. She'll check the little device to find that she's needed down at the hospital for a delivery. She'll know that it's okay for her to leave, because there's a whole team watching over. Keeping him safe and comfortable. For now, however, she listens to the murmurings of her colleagues about how adorable X is (she knows, it's why she loves him so much) and traces his features with her thumb. “That’s it, X. Sweet dreams.”
❁āŦá­„ÍœÍĄðŸ§ 
áīūáĩƒĘģáĩ— áķ áĩ’áĩ˜Ęģ ᔆáĩ–áĩ‰âŋáĩˆâąâŋáĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áī°áĩƒĘļ â―á”†áĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áīŪáĩ’áĩ‡ áķ áĩƒâŋáķ âąáķœâū 'ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩˆâąáĩˆ ⁹áĩ—â€―' áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒËĄâąËĒáĩ‰áĩˆâ€§ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰âŋ Ę°áĩ‰áĩƒĘģáĩˆ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ áķœáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ ⁹âŋ‧ "áīīáĩ‰Ęļ Ę°áĩ’âŋ‧‧‧" ᔆʰáĩ‰ ËĒáĩ—áĩ’áĩ–áĩ–áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩƒËĒ ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ âŋáĩ’áĩ—⁹áķœáĩ‰áĩˆ Ę°áĩ’Ę· áĩ˜áĩ–ËĒáĩ‰áĩ— Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ âŋáĩ’ʷ‧ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ ËĒĘ°áĩ’áĩ’áĩ ʰ⁹ËĒ Ę°áĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ Ę·áĩ‰âŋáĩ— ⁹âŋ ʰ⁹ËĒ Ęģáĩ’áĩ’áĩâļī ËĒËĄáĩƒáĩáĩâąâŋáĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩ’áĩ’Ęģ‧ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰âŋ ËĒ⁹áĩĘ°áĩ‰áĩˆ; ËĒĘ°áĩ‰ áĩâŋáĩ‰Ę· âŋáĩ’áĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ–áĩ‰ËĒáĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ ʰ⁹áĩ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩâąáĩ›áĩ‰ ʰ⁹áĩ áĩ—⁹áĩáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ ʰ⁹áĩËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ â€§ ᔆáĩ—⁹˥˥ ËĒĘ°áĩ‰'ËĒ Ę·áĩ’ĘģĘģ⁹áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩƒáĩ‡áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ Ę°áĩ˜ËĒáĩ‡áĩƒâŋáĩˆâ€§ ᔆʰáĩ‰ Ę·áĩƒâŋáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩâŋáĩ’Ę· áķœáĩƒĘģ⁹âŋáĩ áĩƒáĩ‡áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— ʰ⁹áĩâ€§ "áīīáĩ‰Ęļ ËĒĘ·áĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ—⁹áĩ‰âļī áīĩ'áĩ áĩáĩ’âŋâŋáĩƒ áĩ‡áĩ‰ áķœËĄáĩ‰áĩƒâŋ⁹âŋáĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩâąáĩ—áķœĘ°áĩ‰âŋ ⁹áķ  Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ âŋáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩáĩ‰; ËĄáĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜â€§â€§" áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰âŋ áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ—⁹áĩ’âŋáĩ‰áĩˆâ€§ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ áĩ–⁹áķœáĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ˜áĩ– ʰ⁹ËĒ áĩ‡ËĄáĩ˜áĩ‰ áĩ‡ËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ—‧ 'áīīáĩ’Ę· áĩƒâŋáĩˆ Ę·Ę°Ęļ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡? áī°âąáĩˆ áīđĘģ‧ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ áĩ–áĩƒĘļ ʰ⁹áĩ? áīšáĩ’ áīđĘģ‧ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ ËĄáĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰ËĒ áĩáĩ’âŋáĩ‰Ęļ‧ áīĩáķ  ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ ˥⁹áĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩáĩ‰ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰âŋ Ę·Ę°Ęļ áĩ‡Ęģ⁹âŋáĩ áĩáĩ‰ áĩˆáĩ’Ę·âŋ? áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰ âŋ⁹áķœáĩ‰ËĒáĩ— áĩâąáĩˆ âŋáĩ’Ę· áĩˆâąËĒ˥⁹áĩáĩ‰ËĒ áĩáĩ‰ Ęēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— Ę·Ę°áĩ‰âŋ áīĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ’áĩ˜áĩĘ°áĩ— Ę·áĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ’âŋáĩˆâ€§â€§' áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ áĩ—Ę°áĩ’áĩ˜áĩĘ°áĩ—‧ ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩ’âŋáķœáĩ‰ áĩƒáĩáĩƒâąâŋ Ę·áĩ‰âŋáĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœĘ°áĩ˜áĩ áĩ‡áĩ˜áķœáĩáĩ‰áĩ— áĩƒâŋáĩˆ ËĒáĩ—⁹˥˥ áķ áĩ‰ËĄáĩ— áĩáĩ˜âąËĄáĩ—Ęļ‧ "áīīáĩ‰ËĄËĄáĩ’ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰âŋ‧‧" "ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡âļī Ę°áĩ‰Ęļ! áīĩáķ  Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜'Ęģáĩ‰ ËĄáĩ’áĩ’áĩâąâŋáĩ áķ áĩ’Ęģ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ Ę°áĩƒáĩ›âąâŋáĩ áĩƒ áĩ‡âąáĩ— áĩ’áķ  áĩƒ áĩáĩ’áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ— Ęģ⁹áĩĘ°áĩ— âŋáĩ’ʷ‧‧" "áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰âŋ Ę·Ę°áĩƒáĩ— áĩˆáĩ’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩáĩ‰áĩƒâŋ?" "áīīáĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰áĩ—ËĒ áĩ‰áĩáĩ’áĩ—⁹áĩ’âŋáĩƒËĄ áĩƒáĩ— áĩ—⁹áĩáĩ‰ËĒâļī áĩ‡áĩ‰ ⁹áĩ— áĩˆáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—Ęģáĩ’Ęļ⁹âŋáĩ ËĄáĩƒáĩ‡áĩ’Ęģáĩƒáĩ—áĩ’ĘģĘļ áĩ’Ęģ Ęļáĩ‰ËĄËĄâąâŋáĩ áĩƒáĩ—âļī áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩ‰âŋ ⁹âŋ ʰ⁹ËĒ Ęģáĩ’áĩ’áĩ áĩƒËĄËĄ áĩˆáĩƒĘļâļī âŋáĩ’áĩ— áĩ—áĩƒËĄáĩâąâŋáĩâ€§â€§" áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰âŋ áĩ—áĩ’ËĄáĩˆ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆâąâŋáĩ ʰ⁹áĩ áĩˆáĩ’Ę·âŋ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩˆĘģáĩ’áĩ’áĩ áĩˆáĩ’áĩ’Ęģ‧ "áīīáĩ‰Ęļ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋâļī ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡'ËĒ ËĒáĩ—áĩ’áĩ–áĩ–áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ‡Ęļ! áī°áĩ’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜â€§â€§â€§" "Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ ËĄáĩ‰áĩ— ʰ⁹áĩ ⁹âŋ?" "áīīáĩ‰'ËĒ ËĒáĩ—áĩƒâŋáĩˆâąâŋáĩ ʷ⁹áĩ—Ę° áĩáĩ‰â€§" "áīī⁹ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ‧‧" ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ ËĒáĩƒĘļËĒ‧ "áĩ‚áĩ‰'Ęģáĩ‰ Ę·áĩ’ĘģĘģ⁹áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩƒáĩ‡áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜â€§â€§" "ᔆáĩ—áĩ’áĩ–; Ęēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— áĩ–ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒËĒáĩ‰âļī ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰ áĩƒËĄáĩ’âŋáĩ‰!" "áīŪáĩ˜áĩ— ᔆʰáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆáĩ’âŋâļī áĩˆáĩ’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ Ę·áĩƒâŋáĩ— ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩ—áĩ’‧‧" "áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰âŋ áīĩ áķœáĩƒâŋ Ęēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— áķœáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’áĩáĩ’ĘģĘģáĩ’Ę· ⁹áķ â€§â€§â€§" "áīĩ ËĒáĩƒâąáĩˆâļī ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ‰! áīŪáĩ’áĩ—Ę° áĩ’áķ  Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜â€§ áīķáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—‧ áīģáĩ’‧ áīšáĩ’ʷ‧" "áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ‧‧‧" "áīĩ ËĒáĩƒâąáĩˆ áĩáĩ‰áĩ—!" "ᔆáĩ’ĘģĘģĘļ‧‧" ᔆáĩƒĘļËĒ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡âļī âŋáĩ’Ę· ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ›âąâŋáĩâ€§ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ ËĒáĩ—⁹˥˥ áķœĘģ⁹áĩ‰ËĒ ʷ⁹áĩ—Ę° ʰ⁹ËĒ áĩ‡ËĄáĩƒâŋáĩâąáĩ‰â€§ áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰ âŋáĩ‰ËĢáĩ— áĩˆáĩƒĘļâļī ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩáĩ’áĩ— áĩ˜áĩ– áĩ‰áĩƒĘģËĄĘļ ËĒáĩ’ áĩƒËĒ áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ—áĩ’áĩ– áĩ‡Ęļ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰ Ę°áĩ’Ę· áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ'ËĒ áĩˆáĩ’⁹âŋáĩâ€§ "áīĩáĩ—'ËĒ âŋáĩ’áĩ— áĩ˜âŋáĩ˜ËĒáĩ˜áĩƒËĄ áķ áĩ’Ęģ ʰ⁹áĩ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩˆâąËĒáĩ—áĩƒâŋáķœáĩ‰ ʰ⁹áĩËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ  áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— âŋáĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰Ęģ áĩƒËĄËĄ áĩˆáĩƒĘļ ËĄáĩ’âŋáĩ!" "áīžĘ° áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰âŋâļī áīĩ'áĩ ËĒáĩ’ ËĒáĩ’ĘģĘģĘļ‧ áī°áĩ’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩâŋáĩ’Ę· Ę·Ę°áĩƒáĩ—‧‧‧" "áīĩ áĩˆáĩ’ âŋáĩ’áĩ— áĩâŋáĩ’Ę·âļī Ę·Ę°Ęļ Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ áĩ˜áĩ–ËĒáĩ‰áĩ—; áīĩ áĩˆáĩ’ áĩâŋáĩ’Ę· Ę°áĩ‰ Ę·áĩ‰âŋáĩ— áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķ Ęģáĩ’âŋáĩ— áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰âŋ áķœáĩƒáĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ ⁹âŋ‧‧" "áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ Ę·áĩ‰âŋáĩ— áĩƒáĩ— Ę·Ę°áĩƒáĩ— áĩ—⁹áĩáĩ‰?" "áīŽĘģáĩ’áĩ˜âŋáĩˆ Ę·Ę°áĩ‰âŋ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩĘģáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—Ęļ áĩĘģáĩƒáĩ‡ áĩ’áĩ–áĩ‰âŋáĩ‰áĩˆâ€§â€§â€§" ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩáĩƒËĒáĩ–áĩ‰áĩˆâ€§ 'áīīáĩ‰ áĩáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— Ę°áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ Ę°áĩ‰áĩƒĘģáĩˆ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœáĩ’âŋáĩ›áĩ‰ĘģËĒáĩƒáĩ—⁹áĩ’âŋ ʷ⁹áĩ—Ę° áīđĘģ‧ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ' ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒËĄâąËĒáĩ‰áĩˆâ€§ "áīžĘ°â€§â€§â€§" "ᔆáĩ’ âŋáĩ’Ę·âļī Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ ËĒáĩ—⁹˥˥‧‧‧" "áīĩ'áĩ›áĩ‰ áĩƒ áķœáĩ’âŋáķ áĩ‰ËĒËĒ⁹áĩ’âŋ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩƒáĩáĩ‰â€§â€§" ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩ—áĩ’ËĄáĩˆ áī·áĩƒĘģáĩ‰âŋ áĩƒËĄËĄ áĩ’áķ  áĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰ĘģĘļ áĩ—ʰ⁹âŋáĩ ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáĩˆâąâŋáĩ áĩ˜áĩ– áĩ—áĩ’‧ "Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜Ęģ áĩ‡áĩ’ËĒËĒ áĩƒáĩ— áķ áĩƒáĩ˜ËĄáĩ— ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡âļī âŋáĩ’áĩ— Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜â€§â€§" "áīĩ'áĩ áĩƒáĩ— ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒËĒáĩ— Ę·áĩƒâŋáĩ—⁹âŋáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ‰ËĢáĩ–ËĄáĩƒâąâŋ áĩ—áĩ’ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ!" áī·âŋáĩ’áķœáĩâąâŋáĩ áĩƒËĒ Ę°áĩ‰ Ę·áĩ‰âŋáĩ— ⁹âŋâļī ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩ‰âŋáĩ—áĩ‰ĘģËĒ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ'ËĒ Ęģáĩ’áĩ’áĩâļī áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ ËĄáĩ’áĩ’áĩ ⁹âŋ ʰ⁹ËĒ áĩ‰Ęļáĩ‰ áĩ‰âŋáĩ’áĩ˜áĩĘ° áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ‡Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡'ËĒ Ę°áĩ‰áĩƒĘģáĩ—‧ "áīĩ'áĩ áĩáĩ’âŋâŋáĩƒ ËĒáĩâąáĩ– Ę·áĩ’Ęģáĩ áĩ—áĩ’áĩˆáĩƒĘļ‧‧" "áīĩ'áĩ âŋáĩ’áĩ— ⁹âŋ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩáĩ’áĩ’áĩˆ áĩ—áĩ’‧‧‧" "áīĩ áĩ’Ę·áĩ‰ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩƒâŋ áĩ‰ËĢáĩ–ËĄáĩƒâŋáĩƒáĩ—⁹áĩ’âŋ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áĩƒáĩ–áĩ’ËĄáĩ’áĩĘļ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ‧‧" "Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩâŋáĩ’Ę·âļī áīĩ áĩƒáķœáĩ—áĩ˜áĩƒËĄËĄĘļ ËĄáĩ‰áĩ— áĩĘļËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ  áĩ‡áĩ‰ËĄâąáĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áķœáĩƒĘģáĩ‰áĩˆ áķ áĩ’Ęģ áĩáĩ‰â€§ áīŪáĩ˜áĩ— Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜'áĩˆ áķœáĩƒĘģáĩ‰ áĩƒáĩ‡áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— áĩƒËĄËĄ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áīĩ Ęēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— áķ áĩ’áĩ˜âŋáĩˆ áĩĘļËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ  Ę°áĩƒáĩ–áĩ–Ęļ; áīĩ Ę·áĩƒËĒ áĩ‰ËĢáķœâąáĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆ! áīŪáĩ˜áĩ— âŋáĩ’âļī Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ Ęēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— áĩ–ËĄáĩƒĘļáĩ‰áĩˆâ€§â€§â€§" "áīĩ âŋáĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰Ęģ áĩáĩ‰áĩƒâŋáĩ— áķ áĩ’Ęģ ⁹áĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ Ę°áĩƒáĩ–áĩ–áĩ‰âŋâļī áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ‧" "áīļ⁹áĩƒĘģ!" áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ áķœĘģ⁹áĩ‰áĩˆâ€§ "Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩâŋáĩ’Ę·âļī Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜'Ęģáĩ‰ Ęģ⁹áĩĘ°áĩ— ËĒáĩƒĘļ⁹âŋáĩ áīĩ áķœáĩƒĘģáĩ‰ áĩƒËĄËĄ áĩ–áĩ‰áĩ’áĩ–ËĄáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— ⁹áĩ— áķœáĩƒáĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ Ę°áĩƒáĩ˜âŋáĩ— áĩáĩ‰â€§ áīŽáķ áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩáĩ’áĩ— áĩƒËĄËĄ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ áķœáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—áĩ’áĩáĩ‰ĘģËĒâļī Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ—Ę°Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ—áĩ‰âŋáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩáĩ‰â€§ áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩƒĘļ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áķ áĩ’áĩ˜âŋáĩˆ áĩáĩ‰ áķœĘģĘļ⁹âŋáĩ ⁹âŋ Ęēáĩ‰ËĄËĄĘļáķ âąËĒĘ° áķ âąáĩ‰ËĄáĩˆËĒâļī áīĩ Ę·áĩƒËĒ âŋáĩ’áĩ— áĩ’âŋ áĩ‡Ęģáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ áķœËĄáĩ’ËĒáĩ‰ ⁹áĩ— áĩˆáĩ’Ę·âŋ áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— áīĩ ËĒáĩ—áĩ’áĩ–áĩ–áĩ‰áĩˆ áĩĘļËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ  áĩƒáķ áĩ—áĩ‰Ęģ áĩ—áĩƒËĄáĩâąâŋáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜â€§ áīīáĩ‰ Ę·áĩƒËĒ áĩáĩ’⁹âŋáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ áķ âąĘģáĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áīĩ áĩ–áĩƒâŋ⁹áķœáĩáĩ‰áĩˆâļī ˥⁹áĩâąâŋáĩ âŋáĩ’âŋáĩ‰ áĩ’áķ  ⁹áĩ—‧ áīŽâŋáĩˆ áīĩ áĩâŋáĩ’Ę· Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜'Ęģáĩ‰ âŋáĩ’áĩ— áĩáĩ’âŋâŋáĩƒ áķ áĩ’Ęģáĩâąáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩáĩ‰âļī áĩƒËĒ Ę·Ę°áĩƒáĩ— áīĩ'áĩ›áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩ’âŋáĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜âļī ⁹áĩ—'ËĒ ⁹âŋáĩ‰ËĢáķœáĩ˜ËĒáĩƒáĩ‡ËĄáĩ‰â€§ áīĩ'áĩ ËĒáĩ’ĘģĘģĘļ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ‧‧" áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ ËĒáĩƒâąáĩˆ âŋáĩ’áĩ—ʰ⁹âŋáĩ áĩƒËĒ ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩáĩ’áĩ— áĩ˜áĩ– áĩƒâŋáĩˆ Ę·áĩƒáĩ—áķœĘ°áĩ‰áĩˆ ʰ⁹áĩ âŋáĩ’Ę· ËĄáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœĘ°áĩ˜áĩ áĩ‡áĩ˜áķœáĩáĩ‰áĩ—‧ "ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩáĩ‰áĩ— áĩ—áĩ’ áĩáĩƒáĩâąâŋáĩ áĩ–áĩƒáĩ—áĩ—⁹áĩ‰ËĒ!" ᔆáĩƒĘļËĒ áīđĘģ‧ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ áĩƒËĒ Ę°áĩ‰ áķœáĩƒáĩáĩ‰ ⁹âŋ‧ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ áĩˆáĩ‰áķœâąáĩˆáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ—áĩ’ áĩ—áĩ‰ËĄËĄ áķ áĩ’Ęģáĩâąáĩ›áĩ‰ ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ Ę·áĩ‰âŋáĩ— ⁹âŋ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ Ęģáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—áĩƒáĩ˜Ęģáĩƒâŋáĩ—‧ "áīĩ áķœáĩƒâŋâŋáĩ’áĩ— áĩ‡áĩ‰ËĄâąáĩ‰áĩ›áĩ‰ áĩƒ ËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ  áĩ–Ęģáĩ’áķœËĄáĩƒâąáĩáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩ›âąËĄËĄáĩƒâąâŋ âŋáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩˆËĒ áĩƒ áĩ‡áĩƒáĩ‡Ęļ áĩ‡ËĄáĩƒâŋáĩâąáĩ‰!" ᔆáĩƒĘļËĒ áĩƒ áķœáĩ˜ËĒáĩ—áĩ’áĩáĩ‰Ęģ‧ ᔆáĩ—⁹˥˥ áĩ˜âŋâŋáĩ’áĩ—⁹áķœáĩ‰áĩˆâļī áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ ʷ⁹áĩ—âŋáĩ‰ËĒËĒáĩ‰áĩˆ áĩƒËĄËĄ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ–áĩƒáĩ—Ęģáĩ’âŋËĒ ËĄáĩƒáĩ˜áĩĘ°âąâŋáĩâ€§ "áĩ‚Ę°áĩƒáĩ— áĩƒ Ęēáĩ’áĩáĩ‰!" ᔆá‘Ŧáĩ˜âąáĩˆĘ·áĩƒĘģáĩˆ ËĒáĩƒĘļËĒâļī Ęēáĩ’⁹âŋ⁹âŋáĩ ⁹âŋ‧ 'ᔆʰáĩ’Ę· áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰áĩ áĩƒ Ęēáĩ’áĩáĩ‰' ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩ—áĩ’ËĄáĩˆ ʰ⁹áĩËĒáĩ‰ËĄáķ âļī áĩĘģáĩƒáĩ‡áĩ‡âąâŋáĩ ʰ⁹ËĒ áĩ˜âŋ⁹áķ áĩ’Ęģáĩ Ę°áĩƒáĩ—‧ áĩ€Ę°Ęģáĩ’ʷ⁹âŋáĩ ⁹áĩ— áĩ’âŋ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩĘģáĩ’áĩ˜âŋáĩˆâļī ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩâąáķœáĩáĩ‰áĩˆ ⁹áĩ—âļī ËĒáĩƒĘļ⁹âŋáĩ "Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜'Ęģáĩ‰ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ’âŋËĄĘļ Ęēáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áīĩ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰â€§ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩ‡áĩ˜ËĄËĄĘļ áĩĘļ áķ Ęģ⁹áĩ‰âŋáĩˆ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋâļī áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ áĩ‡âąáĩâ€§ áĩ‚áĩ‰ËĄËĄ áīĩ áĩ—áĩ‰ËĄËĄ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩƒËĄËĄ Ęģ⁹áĩĘ°áĩ— âŋáĩ’Ę·âļī Ę·Ę°áĩ‰áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰Ęģ áĩ’Ęģ âŋáĩ’áĩ— Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩƒáĩ–áĩ–Ęģáĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰ áĩ’áķ  áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áķœĘ°áĩ˜áĩ áīŪáĩ˜áķœáĩáĩ‰áĩ—âļī áĩ—áĩ’ ËĒáĩ—áĩ’áĩ–‧ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩáĩƒĘļ âŋáĩ’áĩ— ËĄáĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰ ʰ⁹áĩ áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— áīĩ áķœáĩƒâŋ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰ Ę·Ę°Ęļ Ę°áĩ‰'ËĒ âŋáĩ’áĩ— áĩ—Ęģáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— ⁹ËĒËĒáĩ˜áĩ‰ËĒ‧ ᔆáĩ’ áĩ—áĩ’ áīđĘģ‧ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ ˥⁹ËĒáĩ—áĩ‰âŋ áĩ˜áĩ–!" ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ Ę·áĩ‰âŋáĩ— Ęģ⁹áĩĘ°áĩ— áĩ˜áĩ– áĩ—áĩ’ ʰ⁹áĩâ€§ "áīĩ á‘Ŧáĩáīĩáĩ€!" ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ áĩáĩ’áĩ— ʰ⁹ËĒ ËĒáĩ–áĩƒáĩ—áĩ˜ËĄáĩƒ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áĩ‡Ęģáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ ⁹áĩ— ⁹âŋ Ę°áĩƒËĄáķ  âŋáĩ’ʷ‧ "áķ áĩ’Ęģ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ Ęģáĩ‰áķœáĩ’Ęģáĩˆâļī áīĩ áĩáĩ’áĩ—áĩ—áĩƒ áĩ—áĩ‰áĩˆáĩˆĘļ áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩƒĘģ áīĩ Ę°áĩ˜áĩ áĩƒáĩ— áĩ—⁹áĩáĩ‰ËĒ‧ áīŪáĩ˜áĩ— áīĩ Ę·áĩ’âŋ'áĩ— ËĒáĩ˜áĩ–áĩ–áĩ’Ęģáĩ— Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩƒâŋĘļ áĩáĩ’Ęģáĩ‰ ËĄáĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰Ęģ‧ áīŽâŋáĩˆ Ęļáĩ‰ËĒ áīĩ'áĩ áĩ—áĩƒáĩâąâŋáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áī·Ęģáĩƒáĩ‡ËĒ!" ᔆáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡ Ęļáĩ‰ËĄËĄáĩ‰áĩˆ âŋáĩ’ʷ‧ "áĩ€Ę°áĩ‰ áĩ’âŋËĄĘļ Ęēáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áīĩ ËĒáĩ‰áĩ‰ ⁹ËĒ áīąáĩ˜áĩáĩ‰âŋáĩ‰! áīĩ'áĩ áĩ—áĩ‰ËĄËĄâąâŋáĩ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áīĩ ËĄáĩ’áĩ›áĩ‰ Ę·áĩ’Ęģáĩâąâŋáĩ áķ ĘģĘļ áķœáĩ’áĩ’áĩ áĩ‡áĩ˜áĩ— âŋáĩ’áĩ— ⁹áķ  ⁹áĩ— áĩáĩ‰áĩƒâŋËĒ Ę·áĩ’Ęģáĩâąâŋáĩ áķ áĩ’Ęģ ËĒáĩ˜áķœĘ° áĩƒ ËĒáĩ’ĘģĘģĘļ Ęēáĩ’áĩáĩ‰â€§ áīĩáķ  Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩˆáĩ’âŋ'áĩ— Ę°áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩƒâŋ áĩƒáĩ–áĩ’ËĄáĩ’áĩĘļ áķ áĩ’Ęģ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áķœáĩƒâŋ Ęēáĩ˜ËĒáĩ— áīŪáĩƒáķœáĩ áīžáķ áķ !" áīĩâŋ ËĒĘ°áĩ’áķœáĩ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ Ęģáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—áĩƒáĩ˜Ęģáĩƒâŋáĩ— ËĒáĩ—áĩƒĘļáĩ‰áĩˆ ËĒ⁹˥áĩ‰âŋáĩ—âļī áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ âŋáĩ’Ę· ËĒâŋáĩ‰áĩƒáĩ áĩ’áĩ˜áĩ— áĩƒĘ·áĩƒĘļ áĩ‡áĩƒáķœáĩ áĩ—áĩ’ ʰ⁹ËĒ áĩ’Ę·âŋ Ęģáĩ‰ËĒáĩ—áĩƒáĩ˜Ęģáĩƒâŋáĩ—‧ "áīīáĩ‰Ęļ áĩâąáĩˆ Ę·áĩƒâąáĩ—âļī ËĒáĩ–áĩ’âŋáĩáĩ‰áĩ‡áĩ’áĩ‡!" áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ Ęģáĩƒâŋ áĩ—áĩ’ ʰ⁹áĩâ€§ "áĩ€Ę°áĩƒâŋáĩ Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜âļī áķ áĩ’Ęģ ËĒáĩ—áĩƒâŋáĩˆâąâŋáĩ áĩ˜áĩ–; Ęļáĩ’áĩ˜ áĩˆâąáĩˆâŋ'áĩ— Ę°áĩƒáĩ›áĩ‰ áĩ—áĩ’‧‧‧" "Ęļáĩ‰ËĒ áīĩ áĩˆâąáĩˆ áīūËĄáĩƒâŋáĩáĩ—áĩ’âŋ‧ áīĩáĩ—'ËĒ Ę·Ę°áĩƒáĩ— áĩˆáĩ’ áķ áĩ’Ęģ áĩƒ áķ Ęģ⁹áĩ‰âŋáĩˆâ€§" áīąâŋáĩˆ áķ âąâŋáĩƒËĄáĩ‰
𝑠ℎ𝑜ð‘Ī 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 ð‘Ąð‘œ ð‘Ķ𝑜ð‘Ē𝑟 𝑏𝑜𝑑ð‘Ķ 𝑏ð‘Ķ 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 ð‘ð‘œð‘šð‘ð‘Žð‘ ð‘ ð‘–ð‘œð‘›ð‘Žð‘Ąð‘’ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ð‘ð‘Žð‘Ąð‘–ð‘’ð‘›ð‘Ą āąĻā§Ž
ðŸ”Šâ˜†â‹†ï―Ąð–Ķđ°‧★ sprinkling some fairy dust on the feed for my mentally ill & disabled girlies who may be struggling or having a hard time rn āžšâ™Ąāžŧ /)__/) ÆļĖĩĖĄ\( Ëķâ€Ē āž â€ĒËķ) /Æ· o ( ⊃⊃) *â›Ĩ*ïūŸãƒŧ。*.āЈ ♡₊˚â€Ē. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞âžģâĨ # ðŸ”Ū
ðŸŠķ☕🍂ðŸĪŽðŸ“œðŸ–‹ïļðŸ’žðŸ§ļ🎞ïļðŸŽŧ📞🗞ïļðŸĐđðŸĶ‹
✹ * âŠđ✹ * âŠđ✹ * âŠđ✹ * âŠđ🎀☠ïļðŸ•·âœš * âŠđ✹ * âŠđ✹ * âŠđ✹ * âŠđ
Sassy Kidnapped Whumpee Prompts Here's a list of sassy kidnappee quotes/prompts for those defiant little whumpees who are just asking for it. Enjoy! (Shoutout to @prisonerwhump for the idea!!!) "Oof, big scary spEEch. NÄące. Did you practice that in front of the mirror this mornÄąng?" "Are these new ropes? I hope you didn't go to the trouble just for me, you know I don't judge." "Ah. Blindfolds again. How original." "Okay, I'm awake. You can make your entrance nÆĄw. [...] Don't play dumb, I know that's a two-way mirror. Let's just get it over with." "You know, I always assumed if I were kidnapped it would be some creepy st*lker yandere thing, but no. I get you instead. That's better, right? So...Thank you? I think? Ah, that's a kn1fe." "Listen, I know you're tryÄąng to be intimidating and everything - and normally it would be. Really, I meanÍĄ it. Chocking me against the wall is real scary, but... Like. Your hands are so soft, I can't even take you serÄąously. What kind of lotion do you use?" "Not to critique you when you're doing your zappy thíng, but you had better up the voltage or something before I fałł asleep. I get bored eąsÄŊly." " "How much did that hurtĖļ"? Really? Like, I mean. It hurtĖļ, it wasn't pleasant, but - you know when you're a kid and your parents spank you when you don't clean your room? Yeah, that hÃĒppeÃąed to me a lot as a kid. I felt really ba͏d making her get after me because she was alwaყs sick͞ and frail and stuff. Anyway, the point I'm trying to makę here is my MoM hits harder than you. Does that answer your question?" "Wow, what an impressive collection. Very daunting. Very scary. Just checking, but you do have a life outsÄąde of collecting tortur͘e implements, right? I don't judge, but I'm a little worried about you." "All you want to know is where Caretaker is. Honestly, you could ask a few questions about me first. You don't even know my fav0rite color yet." "Geez, you can at least buy me dÄąnner before chocking me out." "Are you sure you know how to use that? I don't know, man. Maybe you should let me tĖĒry it on you to make͘ sure. Just untie me real quick." "Mmm yes! Harder! Please hit me harder! Oh, I'm sorrყ. Am I makÄąng you uncomfortable? No no, don't stop hitting me now." "Loving the 'dark scary basement' vibes. Really, this lev3l of design takes time. The lightbulb is even flickering - did you plan that? It's honestly impressive. That or you're just this much of a slob. Either way, very effective." "Oooooo! I've always wanted my own dungeon cell. Can I put movÄąe posters on the walls? I think they would really spice the place up. Do you have any extra sticky tack?" "Really? You bought me for that low of a prÄące? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'll never see that much money in my entire life, but I think I'm worth more than that. I meanÍĄ, look at me. I'm adorable." "You can at least give me a deck of cards or something, it's soooooo boring dÃļwn here when you're gone. Not that it's better when you're here. Hm? No no, not because of the paÄąn or whatever, you're just still boring. Really, if I had as much money as you, I could buy a personality." "Ah, the whip again. Let me ask, do you ever have a͝ny new Äądeas or do you just find one and let it play like a brok3n record until you dÄąe?" "Honestly I'm starting to get genuinely concerned about your hearing. I sAID I'm. Not. Telling. You. Anything. Do I need to talk louder? Maybe write it outĖļ for you? Ow! Jeez, you cAn cvt me all you wĖĄant, bUt that's not going to be nearly as effective as just talking to an otolaryngologist." "You call that a hit? Untie me quick and I'll show you how it's dÃļne." "Gooooooooooooodevening, Kidn@ppers! How are you today? How was work. Did you đrÄąnk enough water? How was - oh my, you look angry. Is it something I said?" “How do you sleep at nÄąght??? No seriously, your skÄąn is so clear, you have to have some fantastic skincare routine before bed. And. Like. A great pi]low.” “Do you have to stand so close when you’re threatening me? I get it, butâ€Ķbrush your teeth or something first.” “Ah yes. Gruel. My favorite. You have to get me the recipe sometime. You’re a culinary genius.” "You knÃļw, I'm stɑrtÄąng to feel kinda bad. Here I am having all the fun, and you're doing all the work. How about you untie me and then you get a tuĖīrĮđ in the chair? Doesn't that sound nice?" “Better untie me then. Oh, you’re going to hand feed me? Isn’t that swéet. I didn’t know you were a big old softie.” "I can't believe you. You're a monster. BlÎąck shoes with a blue suit? Are you kidding me? RidiculÃļus. No wonder you don't mind getting my b!ood all over your outfit, it's awful already." "I'm kÄąnda gettin͘g bored of all the screaming, how about you?" "This seems like a waste. Did you know the błoođ banks are all runnÄąng low? It's like. A national crisis. People could dÄąe. Yet here you are letting all my perfectly good błoođ go to waste. If you're so insistent on being slicy today, maybe you could like put a drip pan or something on the ground. You think they'd take drip pan błoođ? You do keep that kn*fe clean, right?" “Well someone’s cranky today. What? Didn’t get your morning coffee?” “You’re ‘Tired of all my jabbering’? Really? Well that’s kinda self centered of you. Just think about me. I have to lÄąve with me every minute of every day. And do I ever get a b͞reak? No. Never bored though, so that’s nice.” "What exactly do you mean by 'scream for you'? I have like seven different types of screams." "I'm sorrყ, I don't thÄąnk I heard you the fÄąrst 478 times. What was it you wanteԀ again? Hm. Nope. Still not clicking. You better aSK AgAIN." "Just a real quick questÄąon - do you have...like...friends? A significant other maybe? You're spending soooo much time down here with me, I just want to make sure you're not neglecting your lÃēved ones. No?"
âœŪ ⋆ Ëšï―Ąð–Ķđ â‹†ï―ĄÂ°âœĐ
~ 💖 ASK GAME 💖 ~ 📷 What’s set as your phone’s lockscreen? ðŸŦ Cheese or chocolate? âœĻ Do you have any nicknames? ðŸŽĩ Last song you listened to? ✏ïļ Have you ever written fanfiction? 😏 Are you on discord? 💛 Do you have any piercings? 🐰 What do you think says the most about a person? 🍊 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be? ðŸķ Are you more of a dog person or a cat person? 🎧 Headphones or earbuds? 🌞 What’s the last thing you said out loud? 🙃 What’s a weird fact that you know? ðŸĶ‰ Are you a morning person or a night owl? ðŸ§ļ Favourite place to nap? ðŸģïļâ€ðŸŒˆ Are you a member of the LGBTQIA+ community? ðŸĶ‹ Describe yourself in three words. 👖 Jeans or sweatpants? ðŸĨĪ What’s your go-to Starbucks order? ðŸ§Ą A colour you can’t stand? 💎 What’s your most prized possession? ☕ Coffee or tea? ðŸĶ– Favourite extinct animal? 🌙 How long have you been online? ðŸŒī Desert island item? ðŸļ Describe your aesthetic. ðŸ”Ū What’s your dream job? 💙 Relationship status? ðŸŒŋ Describe your favourite outfit. ðŸŽĪ Is there a song you know all the lyrics to? ðŸĪŽ What colour is your hair? 💌 Do you talk to yourself? 💄 Do you wear makeup? ðŸŒļ Best compliment you ever received? 💞 @ your favourite blog.
ð“ē  🍞 ïūŸâ €â € ï―Ĩ₊ ˚ ⠀ āŋ 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋ð–ūð—†ð—‚ð—‡ð–―ð–ū𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖚𝗄ð–ū 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆ð–ūð–―ð—‚ð–žð—‚ð—‡ð–ū, 𝗂ð–ŋ 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝖚𝗄ð–ū 𝖚𝗇𝗒 ♡  ɞ ⠀⠀ ⠀ .  ðŸŒļ ⋆āž‰
ð’―ð‘œð“Œ 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 ð“‰ð’―ð“‡ð‘œð“Šð‘”ð’― 𝓅ð’ķ𝓃ð’ūð’ļ ð’ķ𝓉𝓉ð’ķð’ļ𝓀𝓈 ï―†ï―ï―ƒï―”ï―ï―’ï―“ïžšã€€čƒƒã‚Īč‰ķ 1. if you have sensory issues, the lighting and the way the store is built can actually trigger panic attacks and sympt0ms. 2. agoraphobia is a huge factor as well. basically, you don’t want to go to places where you’ve had panic attacks and obviously get prettÉĨ terrÄąfÄąed. ï―‡ï―…ï―”ï―”ï―‰ï―Žï―‡ã€€ï―”ï―ˆï―’ï―ï―•ï―‡ï―ˆã€€ï―‰ï―”ïžšã€€ä―ģおペ it’s not particularly easy to get through these situations. it’s hÃĢrd to go through situations that make you uncomfortable. 【ïŧŋï―”ï―‰ï―ï―“ã€‘ 1. try to bring a fidget spinner, fidget cube, or something of sort. it will help distract you a bit. it may not work a lot, but i find it helpful. 2. have water with you, where ever you go. . 3. chew some peppermint gum or suck on some peppermint candies. it may not help a lot, but if you have a dry mÃļuth from your panic attacks, it’ll help that symptom out. 4. pretend you’re excited. i know, it won’t be that easy, but sometimes faking one emotion, can actually make that emotion happen. try convincing yourself, “i’m fine, i’m excited! it’s okay!” (source: DARE - THE NEW WAY TO END ANXIETY AND STOP PANIC ATTACKS by Barry McDonagh) 5. accept your panic attacks and anxÄąety. don’t say no to anxÄąety because then you’re pushing it aĖ›way and gÄąvÄąng it more pÃļwer. accept that you do have this going on, but you’re NOT your anxÄąety. 6. taking deep breaths in and out. try different patterns, it may be hÃĢrd to breathe, but you have to tĖĒry. don’t gÄąve up! 7. finally, try EFT. emotiona1 freedom tapping is known to help relax you. (ãĢ◔◡◔)ãĢ â™Ĩ what you can bring into your regular life â™Ĩ there are so many things you can bring in your life and routines. get ready because i’m gonna list a lot!: 1. meditation 2. eft 3. michael sealey hypnosis 4. yoga 5. exercise 6. journaling 7. bullet journaling 8. reading 9. drinking water 10. drinking herbal teas such as - chamomile, lemongrass, lavender, and etc.. 11. dancing 12. drawing and doodling 13. singing 14. playing some videogames 15. stretches 16. melatonin 17. magnesium 18. listening to motivating podcasts, videos, or songs 19. washing your fash and smiling in the mirror 20. talking positive to yourself 21. writing stories 22. doing thinking exercises in the morning to shift your negative thinking 23. watch one of your favourite shows on youtube, netflix, hulu, or whatever 24. write down on paper, something you want to do. don’t mention your fears or think about it. do something you WANT. don’t let the fear get in the way. 25. practicing some self-care 26. go outside 27. eat some delicious food 28. open your windows and let the sunlight come in 29. take vitamin d and b12! 30. smile and don’t let your panic attacks consume you. you’re a beautiful human being.
𝓐ð“Ŋð“Ŋð“ēð“ŧð“ķð“Šð“―ð“ēð“ļ𝓷𝓞 āŧ’ę’°āū€ā―ēãĢ˕ -ï―Ąę’ąāū€ā―ēā§§ âœŪ - Im truly true beauty! âœŪ - Everyone thinks im perfect, and I am! âœŪ- The compliments I get are endless! âœŪ - I attract postivity and can get people immediately attached to me! âœŪ - Im usually the one who starts trends! âœŪ - I have a skinny tall b0dy! *Please remember weight does NOT matter!! âœŪ - Everyone trips as soon as they see me! âœŪ - Im the quote “beauty and brawns” âœŪ - I have always had perfect grades! âœŪ - Im me and your you! âœŪ - they way everybody falls for me as soon as they see me is concerning! âœŪ - I know im better than all these people but I stay humble for their own sake! âœŪ - I have the perfect positve mindset! âœŪ - Im very beautifulâ€Ķ Its amazing! âœŪ - Everyone wants to be me or be with me! âœŪ - My energy enters before I even enter the room! âœŪ - My posture is perfect always! âœŪ - You’ll never catch me with bad posture! âœŪ - I don’t care about my haters, their obsessed anyways! âœŪ - My life revoles around me only! *ËĒËĄáĩƒĘļ áĩ—Ę°áĩ‰ áĩˆáĩƒĘļ áĩƒâŋáĩˆ áĩáĩ‰áĩ— ËĒáĩ’áĩáĩ‰ áĩ‡áĩ‰áĩƒáĩ˜áĩ—Ęļ ËĒËĄáĩ‰áĩ‰áĩ– áĩ‡Ęļáĩ‰â™Ĩ
’𝐞𝑚 ð‘Ąâ„Žð‘’ 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑒ð‘Ģ𝑒𝑟ð‘Ķ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚𝑠 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔’ 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙’𝑠 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 ð‘ð‘œð‘›ð‘ð‘’ð‘ð‘Ą ð‘šð‘Žð‘ ð‘Ąð‘’ð‘Ÿð‘™ð‘–ð‘ ð‘Ąïžš ♡ïļŽ i am the prettiest girl anyone has ever seen ♡ïļŽ i am the ultimate dream girl ♡ïļŽ everyday I am becoming a more perfect and dreamier version of myself ♡ïļŽ ive always been the world’s most perfect person ♡ïļŽ i am adored by everyone around me ♡ïļŽ i got the vibe everyone loves ♡ïļŽ i attract attention everywhere I go ♡ïļŽ i am completely unforgettable ♡ïļŽ i am the literal definition of perfection ♡ïļŽ i always grab everyone’s attention when I walk into a room ♡ïļŽ i captivate everyone’s attention ♡ïļŽ i am sacred and so is my energy ♡ïļŽ i am a god and always treated as such ♡ïļŽ i am always everyone’s first choice ♡ïļŽ i am always treated like a priority because I am in fact everyone’s top priority ♡ïļŽ all I do is sit pretty while I watch everyone spoil me ♡ïļŽ it’s natural for me to be everyone’s obsession
ð–ðĄðžð§ ðēðĻðŪ ðŽðĄðĻðŪðĨ𝐝 𝐭𝐚ðĪ𝐞 𝐚 𝐛ðŦ𝐞𝐚ðĪ: â€Ē when you are exhausted mentally â€Ē when you are desperate or impatient â€Ē when emotions are getting on your way â€Ē when you are in total disbelief of yourself â€Ē when makes you feel uncomfortable â€Ē when you feel like it 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖ð•Ĩ𝕚𝕞𝕖ð•Ī 𝕊𝕠ð•Ķ 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕 ð•Ĩ𝕠 ð•Ĩ𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 ð•Īð•Ĩð•–ð•Ą 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜 ð•Ĩ𝕠 𝕘𝕖ð•Ĩ ð•Ĩð•Ļ𝕠 ð•Īð•Ĩð•–ð•Ąð•Ī 𝕒𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕕 (âœŊ◡âœŊ)
To who ever is reading this; you’re lovely. Absolutely lovely. A perfect creation. You have so much potential and can achieve so much. Really, you are. So live your life the way it feel right, dream big dreams, and live passionately. Aug 19th, 2019
in my healing era ☁ïļ áĄĢð­Đ ïūŸï―Ą in my healing era ☁ïļ áĄĢð­Đ ïūŸï―Ą in my healing era ☁ïļ áĄĢð­Đ ïūŸï―Ą in my healing era ☁ïļ áĄĢð­Đ ïūŸï―Ą in my healing era ☁ïļ áĄĢð­Đ ïūŸï―Ą in my healing era ☁ïļ áĄĢð­Đ ïūŸï―Ą
ðŸ§ŋðŸŒļâœĻðŸ§ŋðŸŒļâœĻðŸ§ŋðŸŒļâœĻðŸ§ŋðŸŒļâœĻðŸ§ŋ ⠀ 𝐚ðĨðĨ 𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭ðĒðŊ𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐞ðŦ𝐠ðē ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀𝐰ðĒðĨðĨ 𝐛𝐞 ðŦ𝐞𝐭ðŪðŦ𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭ðĻ 𝐎𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞ðŦ ðŸ§ŋðŸŒļâœĻðŸ§ŋðŸŒļâœĻðŸ§ŋðŸŒļâœĻðŸ§ŋðŸŒļâœĻðŸ§ŋ
𝘌ð˜Ū𝘰ð˜Ŧ𝘊 + ð˜ī𝘚ð˜Ūð˜Ģ𝘰𝘭ð˜ī ∘┆âœĶ ˚ āž˜â™Ą ·˚ ₊˚ˑðŸĨĢ ‧₊˚ ♡ 🍰 ⁚â—Ķ 🌛 ✧.* âœĶ˖⋆🌞ïđ† . ˚◞♡ðŸĶ•âļâļâļ ° ꔛ ðŸĨž ˖ ⋆āŧ‹ðŸĢ⁚â—Ķ Ëšï―ĄðŸˆâ‹†ā­Ļā­§Ëš âœŋ * 🍎 ✧ 🏷ðŸ§Ĩꔛ Â·ÍœÂ·â™Ą 🧁˚ ðŸĨ›Ëš āž˜â™Ą
ðŸ’Šâ™ĄðŸŒĄïļâœĐ°
{\__/} ⟡ ⋆   。  ☆ ( â€Ēωâ€Ē) ♡ 𓂃 ⋆   ~ ⟡ 。 /ãĪ💐 here’s some flowers i picked for anyone who is having a bad day, hang in there things will get better
kingdomheartsddd I hope black girls with depressÄąon have a good day today. dasativasage I hope black girls with AnxÄąety have a great day today yelnatszeroni I hope my black girls with schizophrenia and bÄąpolar dÄąsorder have a great day ghettoinuyasha i hope my black girls w personality disorders and PTSD have a good day today reusablequicksand I hope black girls with ADHD and/or autism have a good day thehotgirlproject I hope black girls suffering from chronic paÄąn have a good day jasmine-reanne I hope black girls with şelf image issues , and low şelf esteem have a great day . teethagoddess I hope black girls with terminal illnxssxs are having an amazing day angelpoldark I hope black girls have an incredible day kouhaiofcolor I hope Black Girls w dark skin have a phenomenal dayâœĻïļ commandertartar i hope black girls w anger issues have a spectacular day <3 Mar 17th, 2024
@allthingswhumpyandangsty April 1st, 7:56 AM I love you misunderstood villain who’s been through the worst and wasn’t able to come out of it unscarred. I love you villain who is well understood and just likes doing ba͏d things for pure pleasure. I love you villain who is loved by the fandom. I love you villain who is hated by the fandom. I love you villain who has to cry alonČĐ and tend their wounds in the darkĖĩ because they’re too scared to let anybody see them vulnerable. I love you villain who’s not scared to shoáĨ™t all their paÄąn and trauma at the top of their lungs for the world to hear. I love you villain who’s on their knees begging to be accepted and lÃēved for once. I love you villain who never bows down to anyone. I love you villain who hÄądes their scars like their deep, darkĖĩ secrets. I love you villain who shows their scars like trophies from the battles they won. I love you villain who wants to create a better world, even if their way of trying to achieve the goal is different than the hero’s. I love you villain who wants to burn the world dÃļwn.
misscrazyfangirl321 Characters that have never experienced affection before, or haven't experienced it in a long time, finally getting to experience it? Top tier. Said character freezing up for a second, not really knowing how to respond, but not wanting it to stop? T o p t i e r. Said character trying to clumsily return the affection in their own way, because this is Good and they don't want it to stop? T O P T I E R.
@notfeelingverywell You know what’s such a good trope When, in hurt comfort fics, the injured/sick one looks so vulnerable that the other characters have a realization about how small/young/fragile they are and get a renewed surge of protectiveness January 16th, 2023, 3:08 PM
chthonic-pain if you work at an inaccessible venue and a dÄąsabled person calls up to ask if there is wheelchair access, you are doing them a favour and being a good ally by saying the truth and warning that person about inaccessibility. if you want to help dÄąsabled people, you need to make an effort not to put obstacles in our way, and that means informing us of access issues so that we can plan around them and avoid getting stuck or hurtĖļ. if you lie about or try to minimise access issues, you are instead putting us in danger. we will learn about the inaccessibility one way or another: either by you telling us, or by going there and finding out for ourselves when we hit a roadblock. don't let it be the second one.. Mar 28th, 2024
˚ . ✧   ˚      . ✧      ˚     . ✧  sending you as many good vibes as virtually possible âœĻ🧁âœĻ☁ïļâœĻ🧁âœĻ☁ïļâœĻ🧁âœĻ☁ïļâœĻ🧁âœĻ☁ïļ
𝓜ð“ē𝓷𝓭𝓞ð“Ūð“―ðŸŒ· I honestly dont care about what others think of me, my life revolves around me, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒆 ˚ āž˜ āģ€â‹†ï―ĄËšð“ĒÖīāŧ‹ðŸŒ·Í™Ö’
🧞 Clean Vibes 🧞 ðŸšŋ - shiny chrome appliances 🛁 - a hot bath in a cool room ðŸšŋ - moisturising freshly exfoliated skin 🛁 - dish soap bubbles ðŸšŋ - double shampooing 🛁 - the smell of glass cleaner ðŸšŋ - foaming soap dispensers 🛁 - clicking ice cubes in a cold glass of water ðŸšŋ - lavender, lemon, and eucalyptus 🛁 - clean, dry hair ðŸšŋ - freshly laundered sheets 🛁 - shampoo bars ðŸšŋ - a clean, empty kitchen sink 🛁 - opening a new bar of soap
Read bungo stray dogs (ĘƒÆŠ â–ū āūð“ž  Symbols from websites on retro spring/tumblr~ ĖˆÍšĖˆ āŦŪᏊ ♡' áĻģāĢŠ 𓈒 Âŋ āĐ­ 𓈒 ♡ ꩆā­§ 𝟷𝟷𝟷 ⑅ ⃘ áĻģ ꒰ ÛŠ ꒱ 𓈒 ·.āž„āŋ” ⠀♩⠀ Öī ⠀⠀Ũ‚ ⠀ āĐŊ ◟ 𐙚 υ ⠀ Öī ⠀⠀ ❀âœĶ⠀⠀♮⠀⠀♩⠀⠀ę đᭂ āžšâ € 𓄧 ðŸĐļ†āĢŠ ï―ĄðŸŦ– áĐ§ð’œĘļ𝚊   āŋš ͜ āĢŠâ™Žâˆ— ã…Ī ˙· . Âļ.  Ũ…ð–Ī   ā―ēā―īÍ *:·.ðŸĐļïļĩâ€ŋāŋ“ ˚ ð“ļ āū€āž ⠀âĄĻ ˈ͙⠀⁀⠀ÛŦÛŠÛŠ ⠀˖Ė‡ ◞ āū€ā―ē◟ ͜ ◞ āū€ā―ē◟ ͜ ◞ āū€ā―ē◟ ĘƒÆŠ(Âī. [✚]𓏞 )āžāŧ’ę’ąāū€ ᛩāž™ ð–ĨĻáĐ Ũ„݁ āūâœš ᘛ­âĶ…âœšÍœÍĄâĶ†á˜š ᛩ † āž’ āū€ 𓂃 āŧ’ę’ą * ╮ ˙ ï―Ą ã…Ī ã…Ī ã…Ī ā―ēá­ĻáЧāū€ã…Ī ã…Ī ę’°ÍĄâ €ð…„â €ÍĄę’ąã…Ī ã…Ī âļ ã…Ī ã…Ī ã…Ī ã…Ī 𓍚āđÖŧã…Īã…Ī ã…Ī⭑āđ‹Ü‚ā·Ļã…Īã…Ī ꘓꞋꞋ៰៰ęĢ“ ã…Ī ã…Ī ã…Ī ã…Ī 𐔌á­ĨáЙāž‰ã…Ī ã…Ī 𒈔⃛Ųã…Ī ã…Ī ᰔáКāēŽ â€Žę’·ØžØ™Ø–Ë– 𓈒 .𓈒ā―ēā―ī āž―ā§Ģā§Ē𓈒 . āđ‘āŋ” āž˜ā―ī ͝āžËšĖĢĖĢĖĢāž.āž… ( ĖķĖ·ĖĖ . áī— ⁍ĖīĖ›âŽ) âģ‹ā§Žāū€ā―ēāŋâĶ…âĪïļâ€ðŸĐđâĶ† ęĶžęŦ‚ . ·ĖĐ͙˚ 𓂁āūð“‚„āŧŠāž†āū€ïļĩâ€ŋāŋ“ ⠀ 𓈒ā―ēā―ī˖†âƒĻ⃰ ⊱ ⊰āžāū€â€ƒā―žÂđ â€Ļ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ âĶ…âģ‹ā§Žāū€ā―ē†ĖˆĖĨāŋ”âĶ† āū áķŧ ð•Ŧ. ♡⃟͚ĖŠ āū€āŋ” ð“‹Ŧâ€Ļ⠀ ÖīÖķÖļ𓂃 āĢŠË– ÖīÖķÖļ🐇āž‹āž˜āŋ ð“Ŋ𓂃 𓍞 ᭓ āū€ā―īāžšāŋ” āĶ āžĒ âĶ…āū âĶ† āž™āž āū€ ꒰ āū€ā―ē ͝ āū€ā―ē 𐔌 ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏✧ âœĶ ✞ ✧ âœĶ ᅠ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏͏❀ᅠ✧ᅠâĶęŦķā―ī⃛ᰭ ᅠ✧ᅠ❀ᅠ ᅠ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ā―†ā―ēâĪïļŽā―†āū€ ⠀𝄞͏ᅠ☙ᅠ𝅘ð…Ĩð…Ūᅠ ✟ áŠē ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ °ā―ā―ē♡ĖĩĖžÍ“ĖĨ͒Ėū͘ā―‹āū€Â° ⮚͒āąĒ ʕĖĒĖĢĖĢĖĢĖĢĖĐĖĐĖĐĖĐ·ͥ˔·ā―žÉĖĄĖĢĖĢĖĢĖĢĖĐĖĐĖĐĖĐ♡ĖĐ͙ 𓈒ā―ēā―īð–ĨĻáĐ Ũ„݁ â™ĨïļŽĖžĖŧ âœĶ ✧ ·ĖŠâ€§ĖĨ°ĖĐĖĨ˚ĖĐĖĐĖĨ͙°ĖĐĖĨ‧ĖĨ·ĖŠâ€§ĖĖŠ ᩖ.áŠē.áĐĪ᭔ ę đᭂ‍ ⠀ ā―ēęĻĐ â“ļ͙͙ðžĨ‡ ðŸģ âĶęŦķā―ī⃛ᰭ áĻķáŊƒāū€ā―ēâœŋ ð–Ģ ✚ áЍ ♡ĖĩĖžÍ“ĖĨ͒Ėū ꒰͜͡ ā­­ ͜͡꒱ āŪ‡ ♩ āģ• ꒰ ͟͡ || ͟͡ ꒱ ˃Ėķ͈Ė€ āĨĒ āŦá­„ ˖ āĨą ð–ĨŸ ᭅáŽŧ āģ‹ęĻķïļĄ ð‘Ģŋ á­„áŽ― ロ✧ ā―ā―ē ā―‹āū€ ❀𝆎⃝ð—ˆĩ𑇛 ▊▍ ͏ā―īā―īĖ‘Ė‘â € ĘĒ-ĖŦÍĄ-ʔ͏ ☆ âĨ āžšāž…āžšËģâœŋËģāžšāž…āžš āž„ ā―ī āšžËƒĖķĖĻĖĄāŋ” ၇͜áИ❘ðŸ–Ĩïļ ❀áŪŽŨāĢŪ✧ ᭄ᮮ  āĩƒā―īã…Īã…Īâ™Ŧ ā―‰ ĖŪÍĄāĨ‚˚⁚ âœŋęŦķâƒĻ ✟͏ âĪïļŽá­ŪāžŽāšķ āžžāšķā――° ËģĖŠÎ‡áķ“𔓕áķ”·ËģĖŠ ęĶŋęĶļâĪïļŽāšķ
ï―Ąãƒŧ ïūŸãƒŧï―Ą ï―Ą +. ïūŸï―Ąãƒŧ. ï―Ą. * ïūŸ + ï―ĄãƒŧïūŸãƒŧï―ĄãƒŧïūŸãƒŧ. ï―Ą* ï―Ą ãƒŧïūŸãƒŧ ⋆𐙚₊˚âŠđ a small reminder for you, try not to be so hard on yourself, i know you are trying and giving your best! i know it might sound crazy to you right now but better days WILL come and you will look back at this exact moment and remember how impossible it all seemed. ♡ but look, you DID it! you got through one of your hardest days. so, don’t give up. healing takes time. it might all seem impossible but you will get there. it doesn’t have to look a certain way, in fact, healing looks different for everyone. go at your own pace and don’t try to rush anything! it’s not a race! ♡ don’t stress yourself out and try to worry less. you are stronger than you think and i KNOW you can do this and get through whatever you are going through! ðŸŒļ you GOT THIS! ˙áĩ•Ë™ ï―Ąãƒŧ ïūŸãƒŧï―Ą ï―Ą +. ïūŸï―Ąãƒŧ. ï―Ą. * ïūŸ + ï―ĄãƒŧïūŸãƒŧï―ĄãƒŧïūŸãƒŧ. ï―Ą* ï―Ą ãƒŧïūŸãƒŧ
. ✧   ˚  . i will face whatever comes today with a positive attitude ♡   ˚   . ✧   .
June 24, 2016 I can’t believe this needs to be said, butâ€Ķ - Withholding medÄącatÄąon from a dÄąsabled person is not a joke, but ab3se. - Withholding mobility equipment from a dÄąsabled person is not a joke, but ab3se. - Withholding stim toys, comfort items or similar from a dÄąsabled person is not a joke, but ab3se. - Stopping a dÄąsabled person from using harmless routines or coping mechanism is not a joke, but ab3se. Stop.
ïđ’â‚ŠËšïļĩ ★ïđ’₊‧ 🎀ðŸĨžðŸĨ„ãĪずãĪã‚ŠãƒģãŦおãĢãŸï―“ï―”ï―ï―’ï―Œï―‰ï―‡ï―ˆï―” 震えãĶくるį§ãŪåŋƒðŸŽ€ðŸĨžðŸĨ„ïđ’â‚ŠËšïļĩ ★ïđ’₊‧🌈ðŸĶ ðŸžðŸŽ€â‹†ï―ĄËš ⋆âœŋ.*äŧŠãŊįŽ‘ã†ã‚ˆã€ï―“ï―ï―‰ï―Œï―… ï―ï―‡ï―ï―‰ï―ŽðŸŒˆðŸĶ ðŸžðŸŽ€â‹†ï―ĄËš ⋆âœŋ.*åđļせおįžŽé–“だ、ハッピマデã‚Ī゚˚∘˙âŠđ˚âœĐ˚∘˙âŠđ˚âœĐ˚∘˙âŠđ˚âœĐ į”˜ã„ðŸ“’ðŸŽ€ðŸ§ƒï―†ï―…ï―…ï―Œï―‰ï―Ž į§ãŪåŋƒã„ãĢãąã„ãŦ嚃がãĢãĶくるから🍎🌈äŧŠæ—ĨもåđļせãŦおるæģĻ文をかけãĶâœĐ˚∘˙âŠđ˚âœĐ
ᏂáŽĨ!, 𝐉ðŪ𝐎𝐭 𝘄ð—Ūð—ŧ𝘁ð—ēð—ą ð˜ĩ𝘰 𝚜𝚊ðšĒ ð™Ūð™Ī𝙊𝙧 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒂𝒚!!
ïž­ï―™ ï―“ï―…ï―Œï―† ï―—ï―…ï―…ï―‹ : ⚝ 𝘑𝘰ð˜ķð˜ģð˜Ŋð˜Ē𝘭 ð˜Ē𝘭𝘭 𝘚𝘰ð˜ķð˜ģ 𝘧ð˜Ķð˜Ķ𝘭𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļð˜ī ⚝ 𝘋𝘰 ð˜ī𝘎𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Īð˜Ēð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜Ķ𝘷ð˜Ķð˜Ŋ 𝘊𝘧 𝘊ð˜ĩð˜ī ð˜Ē 𝘭𝘊ð˜ĩð˜ĩ𝘭ð˜Ķ ⚝ 𝘋𝘰 ð˜Ēð˜Ŋ𝘚ð˜ĩð˜Đ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ĩ ð˜Ūð˜Ē𝘎ð˜Ķð˜ī 𝘚𝘰ð˜ķ 𝘧ð˜Ķð˜Ķ𝘭 ð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ąð˜ąð˜š ⚝ 𝘙ð˜Ķð˜Ēð˜Ĩ ð˜Ē𝘧𝘧𝘊ð˜ģð˜Ūð˜Ēð˜ĩ𝘊𝘰ð˜Ŋð˜ī ð˜Ēð˜Ŋð˜Ĩ ð˜Ī𝘰ð˜Ūð˜ąð˜­ð˜Šð˜Ūð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜ĩ 𝘚𝘰ð˜ķð˜ģð˜īð˜Ķ𝘭𝘧 ð˜ļð˜Đ𝘊𝘭ð˜Ķ 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘎𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ 𝘊ð˜Ŋ ð˜ĩð˜Đð˜Ķ ð˜Ū𝘊ð˜ģð˜ģ𝘰ð˜ģ 𝘛ð˜ģ𝘚 ð˜ĩ𝘰 𝘎ð˜Ķð˜Ķð˜ą ð˜Ē ð˜Ļ𝘰𝘰ð˜Ĩ ð˜ąð˜°ð˜īð˜ĩð˜ķð˜ģð˜Ķ ð˜ĩð˜Đ𝘊ð˜ī ð˜ļð˜Ķð˜Ķ𝘎 ⚝ 𝘙ð˜Ķð˜Ēð˜Ĩ ð˜Ē ð˜Ģ𝘊ð˜ĩ ð˜Ū𝘰ð˜ģð˜Ķ ⚝ 𝘐𝘧 𝘚𝘰ð˜ķð˜ģ ð˜ļð˜Ķð˜Ē𝘎 𝘊ð˜Ŋ ð˜Ēð˜Ŋ𝘚ð˜ĩð˜Đ𝘊ð˜Ŋð˜Ļ, ð˜ĩð˜ģ𝘚 ð˜ĩ𝘰 𝘭ð˜Ķ𝘷ð˜Ķ𝘭 𝘊ð˜ĩ ð˜ķð˜ą ⚝ 𝘛ð˜ģ𝘚 ð˜Ŋ𝘰ð˜ĩ ð˜ĩ𝘰 𝘰𝘷ð˜Ķð˜ģð˜īð˜Đð˜Ēð˜ģð˜Ķ. 𝘠𝘰ð˜ķ 𝘋𝘖𝘕𝘛 𝘕𝘌𝘌𝘋 𝘛𝘖 𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘝𝘌 𝘠𝘖𝘜𝘙𝘚𝘌𝘓𝘍 𝘛𝘖 𝘈𝘕𝘠𝘉𝘖𝘋𝘠 𝘖𝘒𝘈𝘠? (Ëĩ â€ĒĖ€ áī— - Ëĩ ) ✧
ð’đð’ķ𝓉𝑒 ð’ūð’đ𝑒ð’ķ ðŸ§ļāū€ā―ē: let’s both wear cute pyjamas, bake heart- shaped cookies together and then fall asleep with a pink fluffy blanket on us
ðŸŒļ you are pretty ðŸŒļ you are smart ðŸŦ§ you are kind ðŸŦ§ you are worthy ðŸŒļ you are powerful ðŸŒļ you are magical ðŸŦ§ you are protected ðŸŦ§ you are vibrant ðŸŒļ you are intelligent ðŸŒļ you are fearless ðŸŦ§ you are enough ðŸŦ§ you are whole
stop trying so hard for people who don't care Feb 18th, 2018
disabilityreminders You’re allowed to use accommodations even if you could technically get by without them. Use the accommodations if you can. You don’t need to be at the highest level of suffering to be valid in using them. If they improve your quality of life or paın level or anything at all like that, then they’re worth using and you deserve to use them. Jan 18th, 2024
𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 : to heal from things you don’t talk about to take some time for yourself to be treated nicely and with respect so many flowers a peaceful and joyful life to have supportive people in your life more than you can ever imagine
ãƒŧï―Ąãƒŧ🧁 ïūŸãƒŧï―ĄâœĻ i release all negative self-talk and embrace self-encouragement * 。 ˚ ˚ ˛ * 。ðŸŒļ 。 ☁ïļ ˚ * 。 ˚ ˚ ˛ 。 ðŸ§ļ
ā­Ļā§Žâ‹†.˚

âĪïļŽâ€Žâ€Žâ­’ fun things you can manifest ⭒ 𝐚𝐛ðĒðĨðĒ𝐭ðē 𝐭ðĻ ðĶ𝐞ðĶðĻðŦðĒ𝐎𝐞 𝐚𝐧ðēð­ðĄðĒ𝐧𝐠 ðĒ𝐧 ðĨ𝐞𝐎𝐎 ð­ðĄðšð§ 𝐟ðĒðŊ𝐞 ðĶðĒ𝐧ðŪ𝐭𝐞𝐎! ⭒ 𝐎ðŪðĐ𝐞ðŦðĐðĻ𝐰𝐞ðŦ𝐎 (𝐞.𝐠. 𝐭𝐞ðĨ𝐞ðĐðĻðŦ𝐭𝐚𝐭ðĒðĻ𝐧, 𝐭𝐞ðĨ𝐞ðĪðĒ𝐧𝐞𝐎ðĒ𝐎, 𝐜ðĨ𝐚ðĒðŦðŊðĻðē𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐭𝐜.) ⭒ ðēðĻðŪðŦ 𝐝ðŦ𝐞𝐚ðĶ ðŽðœðĄðĻðĻðĨ 𝐜ðŦ𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟ðŦðĻðĶ 𝐎𝐜ðŦðšð­ðœðĄ! ⭒ 𝐠ðĻðĒ𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜ðĪ 𝐭ðĻ 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐭ðĻ ðžðąðĐ𝐞ðŦðĒ𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 ðē𝟐ðĪ! ⭒ ðĐðĄðĻ𝐧𝐞 ð­ðĄðšð­ 𝐧𝐞ðŊ𝐞ðŦ ðŦðŪ𝐧𝐎 ðĻðŪ𝐭 ðĻ𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞ðŦðē! ⭒ 𝐚 𝐭ðĒðĶ𝐞 𝐭ðŦ𝐚ðŊ𝐞ðĨ ðĶðšðœðĄðĒ𝐧𝐞 ðĨðĒðĪ𝐞 ð­ðĄðž ðĻ𝐧𝐞𝐎 ðĒ𝐧 ðĶðĻðŊðĒ𝐞𝐎! ⭒ 𝐚 ðĶ𝐚ðĨðĨ 𝐰ðĒð­ðĄ 𝐚ðĨðĨ ðēðĻðŪðŦ 𝐟𝐚ðŊðĻðŪðŦðĒ𝐭𝐞 ðŽðĄðĻðĐ𝐎 𝐚𝐧𝐝 ðŦ𝐞𝐎𝐭𝐚ðŪðŦ𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐎! ⭒ ðēðĻðŪðŦ 𝐚𝐎𝐎ðĒ𝐠𝐧ðĶ𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐎 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭ðĒ𝐧𝐠 𝐜ðĻðĶðĐðĨ𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚ðŪ𝐭ðĻðĶ𝐚𝐭ðĒ𝐜𝐚ðĨðĨðē 𝐰ðĒð­ðĄðĻðŪ𝐭 ðēðĻðŪ ðĄðšðŊðĒ𝐧𝐠 𝐭ðĻ 𝐞ðŊ𝐞𝐧 ðĨðĒ𝐟𝐭 𝐚 𝐟ðĒ𝐧𝐠𝐞ðŦ! ⭒ 𝐰ðĒðģ𝐚ðŦ𝐝 ðĐðĻ𝐰𝐞ðŦ𝐎 ðĨðĒðĪ𝐞 𝐰ðĒðģ𝐚ðŦ𝐝𝐎 ðĻ𝐟 𝐰𝐚ðŊ𝐞ðŦðĨðē ðĐðĨ𝐚𝐜𝐞! ⭒ 𝐚𝐛𝐎ðĻðĨðŪ𝐭𝐞 𝐎ðĐðĒ𝐜𝐞, 𝐚ðĨ𝐜ðĻðĄðĻðĨ & ðĐ𝐚ðĒ𝐧 𝐭ðĻðĨ𝐞ðŦ𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞! ⭒ ðēðĻðŪðŦ ðĒ𝐝𝐞𝐚ðĨ 𝐎ðĻ𝐜ðĒ𝐚ðĨ ðĶ𝐞𝐝ðĒ𝐚 𝐚ðĐðĐ! ⭒ ðĐðĻðĐðŪðĨ𝐚ðŦ ðĒ𝐧𝐭𝐞ðŦ𝐧𝐚𝐭ðĒðĻ𝐧𝐚ðĨ 𝐟ðŦðĒ𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐠ðŦðĻðŪðĐ! ⭒ 𝐚 ðĶðĻðŊðĒ𝐞 ðĻðŦ 𝐝ðŦ𝐚ðĶ𝐚 𝐎𝐞ðŦðĒ𝐞𝐎 𝐛𝐚𝐎𝐞𝐝 ðĻ𝐧 ðēðĻðŪðŦ 𝐝𝐞𝐎ðĒðŦ𝐞𝐝 ðĐðĨðĻ𝐭!
◌ 🌟 ⠀Ũ…⠀⠀Ũâ € New week — start fresh ◌ 💭 ⠀Ũ…⠀⠀Ũâ € New mindset — think positively ◌ ðŸŒļ ⠀Ũ…⠀⠀Ũâ € New opportunities — be grateful ◌ ðŸŦ§ ⠀Ũ…⠀⠀Ũâ € New possibilities — be optimistic ◌ ðŸĐ° ⠀Ũ…⠀⠀Ũâ € New attitude — be kind, be loving
ðĒ𝐭 𝐠ðĒðŦðĨ ðŦðŪðĨ𝐞 𝟐𝟏𝟑𝟏𝟒𝟒𝟑𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟐𝟓: ðĒ𝐠𝐧ðĻðŦ𝐞 ð­ðĄðžðĶ ðĨðĒðĪ𝐞 ðĄðĻ𝐰 ðēðĻðŪ ðĒ𝐠𝐧ðĻðŦ𝐞𝐝 ð­ðĄðšð­ 𝐧ðŪðĶ𝐛𝐞ðŦ
owlet: i think it’s importaÐŋt to acknowledge that there is a contingent of doctors who have beenâ€Ķ uhâ€Ķ coasting ever since med school ended. here’s a quick crash c̀ourse in telling them apart competent doctor: recognises that your sympt0ms sound familiar but also realises that the illness is outside the scope of their expertise, so they give you a referral incompetent doctor: doesn’t recognise your sympt0ms, chalks it all up to a m3ntal health and/or weÄąght prxblem and refuses any follow-up care competent doctor: stays up to date on the latest research in their field, is interested in sharing newly-discovered ÄąnformÎątÄąon with you incompetent doctor: maintains the absolute minimum amount of knowledge to not have their licence revoked competent doctor: approaches their patients with good faith incompetent doctor: assumes all patients are deceptive and have ulterior motives competent doctor: recognises crying and other overt paÄąn sympt0ms as unacceptable and tries to resolve your paÄąn any way they’re able incompetent doctor: ignores paÄąn and either refuses to attempt to treat yours or willingly worsens it during a treatment by ignoring your reactions competent doctor: realises they don’t have all the answers, isn’t intimidated by the thought that you attend other doctors incompetent doctor: views their patients as income-generators and feels personally insulted when you attempt to leave their practise competent doctor: recognises all their patients are people; will be transparent about your treatment and speak to you with advanced and specific terminology if you demonstrate that you ÚndÃĻrstÃĪnd incompetent doctor: views patients as a sub-class of people, justifies lying to patients as “for their own gooÍ d” (via intp-fluffy-robot) Jan 08, 2022
Wanna search something specific her? be it fanfic or drama, lists of tags on the following sites: https://kitugame.com/tagging https://bestnickname.com/tags
nondivisable some of yall need to understand that "my bÃļdy, my chÃļice" also applies to: addicts in active addiction with no intention of quitting phys dÄąsabled people who deny medical treatment neurodivergent people who deny psychiatric treatment (yes, including schizophrenic people and people with personality dÄąsorder) trans people who want or don't want to medically transition and if you can't understand that, then you don't get to use the phrase
New year affirmations â™ĨïļŽ 𝐞 𝑎𝑚 𝑚ð‘Ķ ð‘ð‘’ð‘ ð‘Ą ð‘Ģ𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛 ð‘Ąâ„Žð‘–ð‘  ð‘Ķ𝑒𝑎𝑟 â™ĨïļŽ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑛𝑒ð‘Ī ð‘Ķ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜ð‘Ēð‘Ą ð‘Ąð‘œ 𝑏𝑒 ð‘”ð‘Ÿð‘’ð‘Žð‘Ą 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ð‘Ąâ„Žð‘’ 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝐞 𝑙𝑜ð‘Ģ𝑒 â™ĨïļŽð‘–’𝑚 ð‘ð‘œð‘šð‘ð‘™ð‘’ð‘Ąð‘–ð‘›ð‘” 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚ð‘Ķ 𝑔𝑜𝑎𝑙s â™ĨïļŽ ð‘Ąâ„Žð‘’ 𝑛𝑒ð‘Ī ð‘Ķ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖ð‘Ģ𝑒𝑠 ð‘Īð‘–ð‘Ąâ„Ž 𝑗𝑜ð‘Ķ 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑒ð‘Ķ 𝑎𝑛𝑑 â„Žð‘’ð‘Žð‘™ð‘Ąâ„Ž â™ĨïļŽð‘Ąâ„Žð‘–𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑚ð‘Ķ ð‘Ķ𝑒𝑎𝑟 â™ĨïļŽð‘’ð‘Ģ𝑒𝑟ð‘Ķð‘Ąâ„Žð‘–ð‘›ð‘” 𝑖𝑠 ð‘Ī𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑛 𝑚ð‘Ķ 𝑓𝑎ð‘Ģ𝑜ð‘Ē𝑟 𝑛𝑜ð‘Ī â™ĨïļŽ 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 ð‘Ķ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑜ð‘Ēð‘Ą 𝑚𝑒 â™ĨïļŽðžâ€™ð‘Ģ𝑒 𝑛𝑒ð‘Ģ𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑟 â™ĨïļŽ 𝐞 𝑎𝑚 𝑙𝑒ð‘Ģ𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 ð‘Ē𝑝 𝑒ð‘Ģ𝑒𝑟ð‘Ķ𝑑𝑎ð‘Ķ â™ĨïļŽ ð‘Ąâ„Žð‘’ 𝑛𝑒ð‘Ī ð‘Ķ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑐ð‘Ē𝑙𝑜ð‘Ē𝑠 â™ĨïļŽ 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑛𝑜ð‘Ī 𝑜𝑛 𝑒ð‘Ģ𝑒𝑟ð‘Ķð‘Ąâ„Žð‘–ð‘›ð‘” 𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒 â™ĨïļŽ 𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑧𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 ð‘šð‘’ð‘’ð‘Ąð‘–ð‘›ð‘” 𝑚𝑒 ð‘Ąâ„Žð‘–ð‘  ð‘Ķ𝑒𝑎𝑟 â™ĨïļŽ ð‘Ąâ„Žð‘–ð‘  ð‘Ķ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑓ð‘Ē𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 â™ĨïļŽ ð‘Ąâ„Žð‘–ð‘  ð‘Ķ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑖𝑠 ð‘Ąâ„Žð‘’ ð‘ð‘’ð‘ ð‘Ą 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ð‘Ķð‘’ð‘Ą
🧁☁ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļ you can get through anything, i believe in you 🧁☁ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļðŸ§â˜ïļ
‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† * ⋆. āąĻā§Ž ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† * ⋆. āąĻā§Ž ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† * ⋆. āąĻā§Ž ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† * it has gotten better before and it will again ☆ ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† * ⋆. āąĻā§Ž ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† * ⋆. āąĻā§Ž ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† * ⋆. āąĻā§Ž ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† *
ð‘Ķ𝑜ð‘Ē ð“ĩð“ļð“ŋð“Ū ð“ķð“Ū,𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖 ð“ĩð“ļð“ŋð“Ū 𝔂ð“ļð“ū,𝔂ð“ļð“ūð“ŧ â„Žð‘’ð‘Žð‘Ÿð‘Ą ℎð‘Ēð‘Ÿð‘Ąð‘ ,𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠 ð‘Ąð‘œð‘œ.
Sometimes I feel like I have my life together and then I'm like WOW that was a really nice 45 seconds November 14th, 2015, 11:51 AM
@chronicpaingirlie some goals i want to practise this disability pride month: - let go of able-bodied expectations - lower the bar - cut myself some slack - treat myself as gently as possible - practise setting boundaries to protect my wellbeing
https://64.media.tumblr.com/63dedd17d9c7475e988742d936ffc712/9d33ffe6481e1eb1-c2/s1280x1920/381c299dfabd727b30bd34c9f59bf458b3d3bf97.png https://64.media.tumblr.com/3a207055f828e8af8cad52f3c41eb62a/7604008214e1f9ec-c6/s1280x1920/66aa2db929f61ccbd834a41d61a11413314b77f4.png https://64.media.tumblr.com/d6151935048be7da52bdb9b85477ff0d/4dd5c17eea5b85d6-b9/s1280x1920/5b83afe59ae5255bca9cbbadd86a317aebc94f3c.png
 ˚    . ✧      ˚     . ✧   ˚   . everything you are worried about is going to turn out ok, i promise you ˙áĩ•Ë™ ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† ⋆. ð–Ķ ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† ⋆. ð–Ķ ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† ⋆. ð–Ķ ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹†
 ˚    . ✧      ˚     someone being patient with you is just so sweet and soft ♡    ˚ . ✧   ˚
@candaru no no. you don't get it. the reason I injure my blorbos until they can't walk is because that's the only way they'll ever let someone else carry them. the reason I curse them to be sick and feverish is so that they'll finally open up about their emotions while delirious. the reason I force them to over exert themselves to the point of exhaustion is so that when they pass out they can finally rest. I'm doing this for their own good. October 21st, 2023, 7:43 AM
https://bluezey.tumblr.com/post/178826983160/plankton-is-more-of-a-solitary-confinement-kind-of#notes
metalheadsforblacklivesmatter.tumblr.com Blue/purple lÄąps and fingernails are a symptom of low oxygen in lighter skÄąn tones. In darker skÄąn tones you can look for grey or white lÄąps and fingernails. Other places where this may be not evidence is the tongue and gums. Figured since one gets taught what low oxygen looks like on lighter skÄąn. Everyone should know what it looks like on dark skÄąn too. -fae metalheadsforblacklivesmatter.tumblr.com Nov 2nd, 2022
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Dear Voldemort, A couple of lies should fix your problem. Sincerely, Pinocchio. March 2nd, 2012, 11:37 AM
┊┊┊┊ ♡┊┊┊ ┊♡┊ ₊ âŠđ♡ïļŽ ♡₊ âŠđ i am so full of love and i have so much to give
āŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋš ✰‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꒰ † āЭ‎ ‎ ‎バãƒĐãŪようãŦįđŠįī°â€ƒę’° ✧ ꒱  ÛŠ ♡áąđ ĘūĘŋ ⮞ 𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘎𝘊ð˜Ķ 𝘔𝘰𝘰ð˜Ŋ & 𝘊ð˜ģ𝘚ð˜īð˜ĩð˜Ē𝘭 𝘛ð˜Ķð˜ĒÛŠ ♡áąđ ĘūĘŋ ⮞ ˚ ° âŠđ ˚. (ㅅÂī ˘ `) æĩ·ãŪéŸģãĻã‚ģりロã‚ŪãŪéŸģ˚ ° âŠđ ˚. ♩ â™Ŧ âļœ ðŸŒļ âļËšð˜“ð˜Ē𝘷ð˜Ķð˜Ŋð˜Ĩð˜Ķð˜ģ 𝘍𝘭𝘰ð˜ļð˜Ķð˜ģ 𝘚ð˜Ūð˜Ķ𝘭𝘭âļœ ðŸŒļ âļËš ♩ â™Ŧ ♡ã…Īã…ĪÛŦã…ĪæĄœãŪ花ãģらがį§ãŪチãƒĢãŪäļŠãŦč―ãĄã‚‹ ♡ã…Ī ã…ĪÛŦã…Ī āŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋšāŋ™â€ŒÖ’āŋš
ãƒŧ。ãƒŧ。ãƒŧ。ãƒŧ。ãƒŧ。ãƒŧ。ãƒŧ。ãƒŧ。ãƒŧ。ãƒŧ i hope this year brings us lots of love, blessings and good people 🧁 ⟡ ïūŸï―Ą
i will receive good news soon ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† * ⋆. i will receive good news soon i will receive good news soon ‧ ïūŸï―Ąâ‹† * ⋆. i will receive good news soon
January 26th, 2013, 11:34 AM That awkward moment when you trip up in public...
compassionatereminders "But why do you let your disability stop you?" Because that's.... what disabilities... do. That's... literally the basic definition... of being disabled... A disability impairs your ability to function. That's what the term means. That's the main thing Feb 17th, 2024
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