Karen Emojis & Text

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

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

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 3 Chip looked up, his eyes reflecting the confusion he felt. "What happened, Mom?" he asked, his voice smaller than usual. Karen took a deep breath, trying to keep her anger in check. "Your dad is upset," she began, her voice tight. "You used a word that hurt his feelings." Chip's eyes widened in shock. "What wor—" "Don't lie to me," Karen snapped, her voice unusually harsh. "I know what you said. That word is not okay." Chip looked at her, his face a picture of innocence and confusion. "But it's just what you said," he protested. "What?" Karen's voice was a mix of anger and despair. "I only talked about your dad's autism, Chip. I never called him that." Chip had only been trying to repeat what he thought she had told him. "But I didn't know it was bad," he whispered, his eyes welling up. "I just didn't know what to call it." Karen sat by him. "Do you understand why Dad was upset?" Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. "But I didn't know it was a bad word," he said, his voice cracking. "What's it mean?" Karen took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions from overwhelming her. "It's a very hurtful word," she explained gently. "It's used to hurt of people who are different, like those who have neurological conditions like your dad's. It's not right, and it's not even accurate." Chip felt his heart sink. "But Mom," Chip protested, "I didn't mean it like th-" Karen's voice was firm but not without gentleness. "It doesn't matter how you meant it, Chip. That word is not acceptable. It's hurtful and it makes people feel less than who they are. Your dad is not 'that'. He's just your dad, and he loves you more than anything." Chip looked down, his screen blurring with tears. He hadn't meant to cause pain, but the realization of what he'd done made his stomach twist with guilt. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. Karen sighed, her frustration dissipating into sadness. She knew her son wasn't cruel—just confused. "I know you didn't mean it, Chip," she said, her voice softening. "But it's important that you know that words have power. They can build people up or tear them down." Chip nodded, feeling the weight of his mistake. He had never seen his mother so upset, and he hated that he was the cause. "Let's go talk to Dad," Karen said, her voice softening. "We need to tell him that you didn't mean it, and that you understand now." They walked back to the bedroom, Karen's hand in his. Plankton sat on the bed, his back to them. "Daddy?" Chip's voice was tentative. Plankton's body tensed, his antennae twitching with the effort not to turn around. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen said softly, stepping forward. "Chip didn't know that word was hurtful. He's sor-" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye burning with a mix of sadness and pain. "How could you, Karen?" he spat out, his voice shaking. "You, of all people. How could you let him think that about me?" Karen stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I didn't, Plankton. Chip just heard me mention your autism and he didn't underst--" But Plankton jerked away, his antennae quivering with frustration. "That's not what he said!" Karen's screen filled with puzzlement. "What did he say, then?" "That you said I was..." Plankton paused, his antennae drooping. "That I was... that." Karen's eyes searched his face, her heart breaking. "Plankton, no. I swear, I would never use that word for you. You're not 'that'. You're just you—my love, my partner, Chip's dad. Autism is just a part of yo-" But Plankton was too caught up in his own turmoil to hear her. "It's always been there," he whispered, his antennae drooping. "Everyone else can see it. Why couldn't I?" Chip watched, feeling his own heart break at the sight of his dad's pain. He wanted to fix it, to make everything right again. "Daddy," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I don't think you're that way. You're just... Daddy." Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the sound of his son's voice. He turned to face them, his eye swollen with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," Chip continued, his voice trembling. "I didn't know that word was bad. I just wanted to tell you how much I love y—" "Love?" Plankton choked out, his antennae twitching. "How can you love someone who's... who's like me? After all, you just called me tha-" "Daddy, I didn't know it was bad," Chip said, his voice filled with sincerity. "But I do now. And it doesn't change anything. You're still my dad. You're still the best person I kno—" But Plankton can't bear to hear any more. "Get out!" he roared. Karen and Chip stared at his outburst, shocked by his sudden anger. They could see the pain in his eye, the deep-seated fear of being misunderstood.

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