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KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ix (Autistic author) Plankton's smile flickers back to life, his eye lighting up slightly. "Good," he says, a monotone echo. "Friend." Sponge Bob nods, his smile genuine despite the sadness still lingering in his eyes. "Always," he says, his voice filled with warmth. "Well, what should we do now?" Plankton's gaze shifts to the book, then to Sponge Bob. "Movie," he says, his voice picking up a hint of excitement. "Friend watch movie." His hands flap in a pattern that seems to mirror his thoughts racing. Sponge Bob's smile is a mix of relief and excitement. "Movie?" he repeats, his eyes lighting up. "Yeah, let's watch a movie! What do you want to see?" Plankton's eye dart around the room, his hands flapping in a flurry of indecision. "You choose," he says, his voice a monotone. "You know me." His antennas twitch with anticipation. Sponge Bob's smile is filled with understanding. "Okay, then," he says, his voice calm. He scans the bookshelf, looking for a title that might spark Plankton's interest. "How about this one?" he asks, holding up a DVD case with a picture of the Dirty Bubble on the front. Plankton's antennas perk up, eyelighting up at the sight of the villainous bubble's grinning face. "Yes," he says, his voice a monotone. "Dirty Bubble." His hands flap in excitement. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes with love and concern for his unique friend. "Alright, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "Let's watch 'The Great Dirty Bubble Heist'." He pops the DVD into the player, the machine whirring to life. The two of them settle on the couch, Sponge Bob's arm draped protectively around Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's hands are still, his gaze fixed on the screen as the movie starts. The TV flickers to life, casting a warm glow over the room. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax slightly against his side, his eyes never leaving the colorful bubble of the Dirty Bubble's latest escapade. As the movie plays, Plankton's flapping subsides, his gaze transfixed by the screen. The sounds of bubbles popping and laughter fill the room, a stark contrast to the silence that typically accompanied their stakeouts at the Chum Bucket. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his shoulder leaning into him. He notices Plankton's antennas twitch slightly with every joke, his eye flickering with understanding at the slapstick humor. It's a small sign of connection, but it's enough. The movie's plot unfolds, and Plankton's chuckles echo through the room, his laughter a comforting reminder of their long-standing friendship. Sponge Bob smiles, watching Plankton react to the familiar beats of the film's storyline. It's clear his friend's love for the simple pleasure of laughter hasn't changed. As the film progresses, Plankton's chuckles grow softer, his eyelid drooping as he's nestled against Sponge Bob. He's falling asleep, his mind finally at ease in the comforting embrace of his friend. His head lolls to the side, his antennas coming to rest on Sponge Bob's arm. His mouth has fall open slightly, his breaths even and deep. Sponge Bob's heart swells with tenderness, watching Plankton's face. He gently shifts his position, adjusting the small blanket over Plankton to keep him warm. The TV's light continues to flicker across their faces, casting shadows on the walls. Sponge Bob doesn't want to wake him; instead, he takes the moment to study his friend's newfound peace. Plankton's antennas, usually a blur of activity, are still, his breaths deep and rhythmic. Sponge Bob notices the slightest tremble in his friend's hand, now resting on the couch cushion. He gently takes it in his, intertwining their fingers. Their friendship remains a bastion of comfort and acceptance. The TV echoes in the room, punctuating the silence between them. Sponge Bob feels Plankton's body relax further into the couch, his head now resting heavily against his shoulder. Plankton's laughter has turned to soft snores, his antenna twitching with each breath he takes. Karen peeks into the room, and sees Plankton asleep against Sponge Bob's side. She goes closer, wanting to make sure Plankton is ok. She feels warmth seeing their friendship unchanged by his diagnosis. Sponge Bob, ever the caretaker, has his arm around Plankton, his hand over Plankton's, their fingers intertwined. Karen smiles softly with pride. This moment of peace, despite the turmoil, shows their unyielding bond. "You guys okay?" she asks, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods. "Yeah, Karen," he says, his voice low. "We're just watching a movie." Karen's smile is filled with warmth as she steps closer. "I can see that," she whispers. "How is he?" Sponge Bob's gaze shifts to her, his smile a mix of relief and sadness. "Different," he says, his voice soft. "But still Plankton." Karen nods with understanding. "He's been through a lot," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "But he's strong, and he has his friends." She sits down on the couch, her hand reaching out to rest on Plankton's leg. Her touch is light, comforting. Plankton's body twitches slightly in his sleep, his antennae stirring. Sponge Bob squeezes Plankton's hand gently. "You're ok, buddy," he murmurs, his voice a soft reassurance. Karen sits down beside them, gaze on Plankton's serene expression. "I'm here," she says, her voice soft. "Always." She reaches out, her hand resting on Plankton's knee. The touch penetrates his subconscious, his antennae twitching slightly in response. Sponge Bob nods. "Thanks, Karen," he whispers, his voice filled with gratitude. "I'm still trying to get used to this new Plankton." Karen's expression is one of quiet understanding. "It's ok," she says, her voice a soothing balm. "It's a lot to process, but you're doing great." She looks down at Plankton, his small form snuggled against Sponge Bob. "He's lucky to have you," she whispers. Sponge Bob nods, his voice thick with emotion. "But it's hard to see him like this." His eyes well with tears, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Karen's gaze is filled with compassion as she looks at Plankton. She reaches over, her hand gently brushing his cheek. "He's still the same Plankton," she whispers. "He's just learning to navigate a new part of himself." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes still fixed on the TV. "I know," he says, his voice tight. "But it's so...different." His eyes flicker with unshed tears. Karen's gaze remains on Plankton's peaceful face, her hand still on his knee. "It is," she says, her voice soft. "But different isn't bad, Sponge Bob." She looks at him, her eyes filled with a gentle wisdom. "It's just new. And sometimes, new things take getting used to." Sponge Bob nods. "I know," he says, his voice a whisper. "It's just..." He pauses, his thoughts racing. "It's just that I want to be there for him, you know?" His voice cracks, his grip on Plankton's hand becoming stronger. Karen nods with empathy. "I know you do, Sponge Bob," she says, her voice soft. "And you are." She reaches over, placing a comforting hand on Sponge Bob's shoulder. "You just need to be patient with him, and with yourself. We're all learning together." The TV laugh track fades into silence as the movie reaches its end. Plankton's snores remain steady, a testament to his sleep. Sponge Bob sighs, his eyes finally leaving the screen. He looks down at their joined hands. "I'll be patient," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "For you, Plankton." His eyes meet Karen's, a silent promise passing between them. "I know you will," she says, her voice a gentle encouragement. "You've always been a good friend." The room is quiet, save for Plankton's soft snores. Sponge Bob's eyes remain on the TV, his thoughts spinning. Karen's words echo in his head: different isn't bad, just new. He looks down at Plankton. He tries to imagine a world where Plankton doesn't have autism, but the thought feels wrong. This new version of his friend is still Plankton, still the same in so many ways. Their bond is strong, their friendship unchanged. He squeezes Plankton's hand, his thoughts racing. "I'll be there for you," he whispers, his voice a promise. "We'll figure this out together." Plankton's snores hitch slightly, his antenna twitching in his sleep. Sponge Bob's filled with a newfound determination. He'll be there for Plankton, no matter what. His heart swells as he leans down, his lips brushing Plankton's forehead in a soft kiss. The room is a cocoon of quiet, their friendship a beacon in the stillness. Karen watches them, her heart heavy but hopeful. "Let's get him to bed," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob nods, his movements careful as he lifts Plankton into his arms. Plankton's eye flutter open briefly, his gaze confused but quickly calming at the sight of Sponge Bob's smiling face. "Tired," Plankton murmurs, his voice sleepy. Sponge Bob nods, his smile gentle. "Come on, buddy," he says, his voice a warm whisper. "Let's get you to bed." They're careful not to jostle him to much. Plankton's eye droop closed again, his body limp in Sponge Bob's embrace. Karen leads the way to the bedroom. The bed is made with fresh sheets, the room organized with care. Plankton's favorite gadgets line the shelves, each item meticulously placed. Sponge Bob lays Plankton gently on the bed, body is heavy with sleep, his snores a comforting lullaby. Karen pulls the blankets up, tucking them around his small form. "Thank you," Plankton mumbles. Sponge Bob's smile is warm and reassuring. "You're welcome, buddy," he says, his voice low. "Sleep tight." Karen watches the scene with affection. "I'll be right outside if you need anything," she whispers. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye opening slightly. "I lo-ove you.." "We love you too, Plankton," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. He smiles at Karen, who nods in understanding before they slip out of the room, letting him sleep.
CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvi (By NeuroFabulous) "Could Dad feel anything?" Karen's gaze is filled with compassion. "No, sweetie," she says gently. "That's the point of the medicine. He didn't feel anything." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "What's it like when Dad woke up?" he asks, his voice a soft curiosity. Karen's voice is a gentle narrative, her words painting a picture of Plankton's recovery. "He was a bit confused at first," she says, her eyes on Plankton. "But he quickly understood where he was." Chip's eyes are a mirror of his mother's, his curiosity a living entity. "But his mouth?" he asks, his voice a quiet probing. Karen's smile is a soft reassurance. "They gave him something to make it numb," she says, her words a gentle explanation. "So he couldn't feel the surgery." Chip's eyes are a swirl of understanding. "What was it like when it was over?" he asks, his voice a whisper of fascination. "Before he awoke from it? After they finished while you waited for him to wake up, what'd his face and mouth look like?" Karen's gaze is a silent answer, her eyes a soft story of the surgery's aftermath. "His cheeks were a bit puffy," she whispers, her voice a gentle narrative of the scene she'd witnessed. "And there was a bit of blood, but the doctors cleaned him up. As he slept, I could see his chest rise and fall, and I knew he was okay." Chip's eyes are wide with interest. "And then?" Karen's voice is a soft narrative, her words painting the picture of Plankton's recovery. "After they took his teeth out, they put in stitches," she says. "And now his mouth needs time to heal." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing with images. "Stitches?" he repeats, his voice a mix of fascination and horror. "How'd they put in stitches while he was sleeping?" Karen's smile is a gentle explanation. "They're very careful," she says, her voice a calm lake. "They use a special thread that dissolves so he doesn't need to come back to have them removed." Chip's eyes are a mix of wonder and concern. "How'd he not bite the dentist?" Karen laughs softly, a warm sound in the quiet room. "They gave him more medicine," she says, her voice a gentle guide. "So his mouth was completely relaxed." Chip's eyes are wide with wonder. "How did it feel to wake up?" he asks, his voice filled with innocent curiosity. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his eye opening to look at his son. "It was... strange," he murmurs, his voice a distant echo of his experience. "Everything was blurry, and my mouth felt funny." Chip nods, his eyes wide with interest. "But it's better now?" he asks, hope coloring his voice. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Mmh," he mumbles, his voice a hoarse affirmation. "It's okay; still healing.." "How about we watch a movie?" Karen suggests, her voice a gentle distraction from the pain. "Something fun, to take your mind off it?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his interest piqued despite his discomfort. "The Dirty Bubble?" he murmurs. Karen's smile is a nod, her eyes filled with the promise of distraction. "Yeah," she says, getting up to grab the remote. "It's about the underwater world's biggest heist," she says, her voice a gentle coaxing. "I think you'll enjoy it, Chip." Plankton's antennae twitch with slight interest as he sits up more, his body protesting with a soft groan. Chip moves closer, his eyes on his father. Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen and Chip sit on either side of him. The movie's sounds fill the room, the images dancing across the television screen. As the film progresses, Plankton's eye grows heavier, his head slowly tilting towards Chip. Chip, lost in the story, feels the slightest pressure against his shoulder. He looks down to see his father's antennae quivering, his head leaning closer. Plankton's body is a silent admission of his exhaustion. He's trying to stay alert, but his eye keeps slipping shut, his antennae drooping slightly. The movie plays on. Chip feels the weight of his father's head, a warmth that spreads through his body. Plankton's antennae are a quiet whisper, his breathing even. Karen's gaze flits from the TV to the two of them, her heart swelling with gratitude. This is progress. Chip feels his dad's antennae brush against his arm, the sensation a soft reminder of his presence. The movie's end credits roll, the room bathed in the soft glow of the TV. Sandy's hand is warm on the remote, turning off the film. Chip then hears a gentle snore against his shoulder, his dad's antennae lying limp beside him. He looks down to see Plankton's eye closed, his head resting heavily. Karen's smile is a quiet celebration. "Looks like he's asleep," she murmurs, her voice a soft whisper. Chip's eyes are wide with surprise. "On me?" he asks, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen nods, her smile a warm embrace. "It's okay," she whispers, her eyes on Plankton's sleeping form. "He's just really tired." Chip's heart swells with pride. It's the first time his dad's ever fallen asleep on him, a silent testament to the trust building between them. He carefully shifts his shoulder, making room for Plankton's antennae. Karen's eyes are a gentle nod of understanding. "Let him sleep," she whispers. The room is a soft symphony of Plankton's snores and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Chip watches his father, his expression one of wonder.
r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 yr. ago AlexDalcourt I like to flap my hands and vocalize- sometimes I do it in public. "Reports coming in that an Autistic child was killed by police for suspicious behaviour and resistance of arrest."
𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 6 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The sounds Plankton makes shift again. "Skrink, skrink." Karen's eyes light up with understanding. "It's his brain's new way of saying 'I'm okay'," she whispers. "It's a 'stim'." Chip looks at his dad, his curiosity piqued. Plankton's antennae wriggle, his eye glazed over. "Skrink, skrink, skrink." The sounds are soothing, almost hypnotic. "It's like he's playing a tune," Chip murmurs. Karen nods. "In a way, he is," she says. "It's his brain's symphony." The room is bathed in the glow of Plankton's stims, his autism's unique melody. "Dad?" Chip asks tentatively, his voice a whisper. Plankton's head tilts slightly, his antennae still. "Skrink skrink skrink," he repeats. It's like he's in a trance, lost in a world only he understands. Plankton's eye flickers. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers. "You can keep making your sounds." And then it happens. Plankton's voice shifts, echoing Karen's words. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs. Chip looks at his mom, his eyes wide. "Is he... is he okay?" Karen nods. "It's his way of processing," she says. "It's called 'echolalia'." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his father's. "It's when his brain mimics the words he hears to make sense of them," she explains. "It's like when you repeat something until it feels right." Plankton's antennae twitch in time with his echoes. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice a mirror of Karen's soothing tone. Chip smiles. "It's okay, Plankton," he repeats, trying to enforce his dad's calm. But Plankton thinks Chip's making fun of him. His antennae shoot straight up, his eye wide with hurt anger at Chip. "It's not a game, Chip!" Plankton snaps. "It's not something to tck tck... to mock!" Karen sighs, knowing this conversation needs to be handled with care. "Sorry, Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "I just... I thought it would he-" "It's not for you to think about!" Plankton cuts him off. Karen puts a hand on Chip's shoulder, her gaze on Plankton. "Chip didn't mean anything by it," she says calmly. "He just wants to understand and connect." She turns to Chip, her screen filled with compassion. "I know it's hard to see Dad like this," she says. "But remember, his autism is part of him, and we need to respect it. He doesn't like it when you mimic his sounds like that." Chip nods, feeling a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, but he doesn't look at Chip. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing. "We're all learning here." Plankton's hand starts to move again, tracing patterns on the blanket. Karen watches. "It's his 'stimming', Chip," she says. "It's his way of self-soothing, and these movements and sounds help him to cope." Chip nods, his eyes still wet. "But why did he get so mad when I do it?" he asks. Karen sighs. "Because it's his own personal language, his way of understanding the world," she explains. "When you address it, he feels like you're invading his space, like you're not taking his feelings seriously. It's something his brain does for himself only." Karen smiles gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "Chip's just trying to understand everything. You can keep making your sounds." Chip wants to help, but he doesn't know how. "Just let him be, Chip," Karen says, her voice soothing. Plankton shifts again, his eye teary. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs, echoing Karen's words from earlier. Chip clenches. He didn't mean to upset him, seeing his dad's eye welling up with tears. Karen's hand finds Plankton's, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she says. "You don't have to hide it from us." Plankton's tears spill over, tracing a silent river down his cheek. Karen's eyes never leave his. "You don't have to hide, Plankton," she whispers. "We're here for you." Chip watches. He doesn't know what to do, his mind racing. "Mom," he says, his voice shaking, "What can I do?" Karen turns to him, her expression gentle. "Just be here," she says. "Just listen and learn." Plankton's tears stream down. "It's okay, Plankton," he hears his wife say again. The words echo in his mind, a comforting mantra. "It's okay, Plankton," Plankton murmurs, trying to mimic her tone. But it sounds forced, wrong. He swallows hard. "That's right, Plankton," Karen says, smiling. "You're okay. You're safe, Plankton," she repeats. "You're here with us." Chip watches his dad, his heart breaking. "Mom, why is he...?" Karen's eyes are filled with pain. "It's his way of telling us he's okay," she says. "He's using my words because right now, his brain can't find his own." Chip nods, his eyes on his father. Plankton's hand is still moving, tracing the patterns on the blanket. "It's okay, Dad," Chip whispers. Plankton's crying intensifies, his tics becoming more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs, his antennae flailing. Karen reaches for him, but he flinches away. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "We're here." Chip watches, his own screen wet with tears. He's never seen his dad like this before. He feels like an outsider in a conversation he's always been a part of. "You don't have to hide your tears," Karen whispers to Plankton. "We're a family." Plankton's sobs become louder, his tics more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he says, his body convulsing slightly. Karen's hand is firm but gentle on his back, offering silent support. "It's okay," she murmurs. "Let it out." Chip watches. "Why is he...?" his voice trails off. Karen looks at him, her screen full of love. "It's his way of saying he's overwhelmed, Chip," she whispers. "When he repeats my words, it's his brain trying to find the comfort it needs." Plankton's cries become louder, his tics more erratic. "Tck tck tck," he sobs, his body shaking. Chip feels helpless, his mind racing. He wants to make it stop, but he doesn't know how. "Just be here, buddy," Karen says, her voice calm. "Sometimes, that's all he needs." Plankton's tics morph into full-body shudders, his cries now muffled by the blanket. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand still rubbing his back. "We're with you." Chip watches as his father's sobs echo in the room, each one a heartbreaking testament to the weight he carries. "You're not alone," he whispers, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's distress. The words tumble from Plankton's mouth, a mix of Karen's soothing tones and his own raw pain. "It's o-okay, P-Plankton," he repeats, his voice broken. "It's o-okay." Karen's eyes well up too, but she remains steadfast. She's seen this before. "Tck tck tck," Plankton says, his body convulsing with each sob. "You don't have t-to tck tck hide it-t." Karen nods, her thumb brushing away a tear. "It's okay," she whispers. "We love you just as you are." Plankton's sobs turn into hiccups, his antennae twitching. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice mimicking hers. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on Plankton's back, her eyes never leaving his. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says. "You're safe here." Plankton's sobs subside slightly. Karen nods. "That's right," she whispers. "Your sounds, your tics, they're part of you." Chip watches. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. "But... but why?" he asks. Karen takes a deep breath. "His autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain has its own language, and when he's overwhelmed, it comes out." Plankton's tics become less erratic, his breathing even. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice trembling. "You're not alone." Karen smiles sadly. "He knows that, Chip," she says. "But sometimes, his brain just needs to speak its own words." Plankton's eye meets his wife's, the panic receding slightly as Chip watches.
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