To See Or Not To See Emoji Combos

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 1 Chip, adopted at birth by Karen and Plankton, came home from summer camp an hour early since the traffic was better than originally expected. The house was unusually quiet, his parent's bedroom door ajar. He overheard Karen talking to Plankton in a hushed tone. "It's ok, sweetie. You're going to be ok." Chip decides to eavesdrop on them. He saw Plankton sitting in bed, his body still, eye unblinking. Karen was stroking his hand, looking to calm. Chip tiptoed closer to the door. Karen's voice grew clearer. "It's ok, just a little longer, and you'll be back with me." Plankton's hand twitched slightly under hers. Chip swallowed hard. It wasn't his imagination; something was off. Curiosity gnawed at him as he listened, his heart thumping louder than the ticking clock. Plankton's face remained frozen, his eye vacant. Chip had never seen him like this before. Was he sick? In pain? Chip felt his own body tense up as he strained to make sense of the scene. "Remember," Karen whispered, "it's like daydreaming, but your body is here with me." Chip leaned in closer, trying to make out the words. "It's ok," she repeated, her voice soothing. "I'm here. You're safe." Plankton's hand moved again, slightly, as if to squeeze hers back. It dawned on Chip that this was like a regular event for them behind closed doors. The mystery grew heavier in the air. Chip had heard of people fainting, getting dizzy, or even having seizures before, but never anything so... quiet. His mind raced with questions, each more confusing than the last. What was happening to Dad? Why hadn't his parents ever mentioned this? He watched, unnoticed, as Plankton's chest rose and fell evenly, but he was utterly unresponsive. Chip's curiosity turned to concern. He knew he should probably leave, but his feet were rooted to the floor. The room was dimly lit, the curtains closed to keep the afternoon sun from piercing through, as Plankton finally starts to stir. His eye blinks slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, and his hand grips Karen's firmly despite his grogginess. "Welcome back," Karen says with relief, her voice no longer a whisper. She kisses his forehead gently. Chip's eyes widened. He'd never seen his dad come out of such a strange state before. It was eerie, yet somehow comforting to see his mom's tender care. He felt like an intruder, but his worry for his dad overpowered his guilt. Plankton's voice was weak when he finally spoke. "Was it... I had another one didn't I.." Karen nodded solemnly, her grip on his hand tightening. "It's okay. You're okay now. I still think we should tell Chip abou–" "No," Plankton cut her off, his voice stronger now, but filled with a hint of fear. "Not yet." Chip held his breath, not wanting to alert them to his presence. The room remained silent for a moment, thick with the weight of the unspoken. Chip's heart raced as he tried to piece together the puzzle of his father's condition. He felt a twinge of guilt for not noticing anything amiss before, but the scene was so surreal, so unlike anything he'd ever witnessed. Plankton took a deep breath and shifted in bed, the sheets rustling beneath him. "We can't," he said, his voice gaining strength. "He's no-" "Plankton, your disability is a part of you," Karen interrupted, her tone firm but gentle. "Our son deserves to know, to understand." Chip's stomach clenched. Disability? Was that what this was? He felt a mix of fear and confusion. What kind of disability could cause this? He leaned closer to the crack in the door, his heart thumping like a drum in his chest. Plankton looked up at Karen, his single eye filled with a determination Chip hadn't seen before in such a vulnerable moment. "Karen," he said, his voice steady, "Chip might sta-" "We can't keep it from him forever. He's not a little kid anymore." He leaned in further, his ear pressed to the crack in the door. "Karen," Plankton's voice was insistent, "Chip won't understand. I don't want him to see me like this." Karen sighed, her hand stroking his arm in a comforting manner. "He's growing up." "He's not grown up," Plankton protested, his voice still weak. "What if he decides not to love me anymore?" Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, filled with sorrow and love. "Chip loves you for who you are, not for what you can or cannot do. You know that." The silence grew heavier, but Plankton's expression didn't ease. Chip's mind raced, trying to understand what he was hearing. Disability? How could his dad have a disability? He had always been so active, so strong, so...normal?

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 2 Chip notices his mom getting up, so he hurries to the living room. The floorboards creak as Karen enters, her eyes widening in surprise. "Chip? You're home already!" She tries to sound casual, but her voice wavers. Chip's face flushes, his heart pounding. "Yeah, the bus got here early." He glances away, his eyes unable to meet hers. "How was camp?" Karen asks, trying to keep the conversation normal despite the tension that now filled the room. She knew he might've heard them, but she isn't sure how much. Chip swallows hard, his eyes flitting from the floor to the ceiling. "It was fun," he responds, his voice not quite as cheerful as he'd like it to be. He couldn't shake the image of his dad sitting there, so still. "What was happening in there?" he asks, his curiosity and concern spilling over. Karen's face falls, and she sighs, sitting down beside him on the sofa. "It's something we've been trying to keep from you, sweetie," she says, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and regret. "But I think it's time you knew." With a gentle nudge, she stands and takes his hand. "Come with me to our room," she says, leading the way. Chip follows, his heart thumping in his chest. Plankton sits up in bed, his expression a mix of shock and confusion as he sees Chip. "Dad, what's going on?" Chip's voice is steady, but his eyes are wide with concern. Plankton's cheeks redden, his hands fidgeting with the bed covers. "Chip," Karen starts, her voice careful, "you know how sometimes people are just... different?" Plankton stammers, his eye darting between Chip and Karen. "It's, uh, it's nothing," he says, his voice strained. "I just had a little... quirk. That's all." But Chip can see the lie in his eye, the way his shoulders tense up like he's trying to shrink away from the truth. Karen sits down next to him, her hands folded in her lap. "Plankton, Chip heard us. It's better if we tell him ourselves." Plankton's face twists in a silent plea, but she continues, her voice calm yet firm. "It's time, sweetie." The room seems to shrink around them as Plankton's eye widens, his body stiffening in the bed. He's been hiding his autism for years, fearful of how Chip might react, of the misunderstanding he might face. "Chip," Karen starts, "your dad has something called autism." The words hang in the air, thick like smoke from a forgotten candle. Chip frowns, trying to grasp the concept. Autism? He's heard of it before, but never connected it to his dad. Plankton's face is a swirl of emotions - fear, guilt, and a desperate hope that Chip will still respect him. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We'll get through this together." She looks at Chip, waiting for his reaction. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his cheeks flaming red. He's flabbergasted, his mind whirling with fear and regret. This was the moment he'd been dreading, the moment he'd tried to avoid for so long. Plankton starts to rock side to side. This is his stimming, a behavior common among autistic individuals that helps them cope with overwhelming sensory input or emotions. Chip watches, his confusion deepening. "Don't stare, Chip!" Plankton snaps. "But what's that, Dad?" Chip points to the rocking, his voice tentative. "Is everything okay?" Plankton freezes mid-motion, looking angrily at Chip. "Dad, why are yo--" "It's none of your business, okay?" Plankton snaps, his voice harsher than Chip's ever heard. Karen steps in, placing a hand on Plankton's arm to calm him. "Chip, it's okay," she says soothingly. "Your dad's just trying to deal with things in his own way." But Chip can't ignore the anger in his dad's voice. It's a stark contrast to the dad he's always known, the man who would laugh at his jokes. "Mmm," Plankton hums. Another stim of his. "What's 'mmm' Dad?" Chip asks. "Is 'mmm' becau-" "Don't mock me!" Plankton's voice cuts through the air, his anger palpable. Chip's eyes widen, his heart dropping. He's never seen his dad like this. Karen intervenes, turning to Chip. "When your dad makes that sound, it's called 'stimming'," she explains gently. "It's a way his brain helps him process information and feelings. It's like a self-soothing technique. It's part of who he is, and it's something he doesn't always realize he's doing. He doesn't like for people to point it out because it makes him feel... different." Chip nods slowly, trying to understand. "But I..." Karen cuts him off gently. "It's important to respect your dad's boundaries, especially when it comes to his autism." She looks at Plankton, his rocking slowing down. "It's a part of him that helps him cope, not to judge or interrupt. Because when it comes to stimming, it's a personal and private moment for him. I don't even interrupt him when he's doing it, unless it's absolutely necessary." Chip nods, but he's still curious. "When do you know how he stims, then?" he asks his mom. She smiles gently. "Well, sweetie, it's all about knowing your dad," she says. "I've learned his cues over the years. When he starts rocking or making muttering sound, it's like his way of telling he needs a little space to sort things out. It's his private moment to cope." Chip nods, processing this new piece of information. "Does he always know when he's doing it?" Karen sighs, her gaze softening as she looks at Plankton. "Sometimes yes, sometimes no. It's like... it's like his brain is in a different place, and he needs these movements or sounds to bring him back to us." Chip nods, watching his dad's rocking slow to a stop. He looks back at Karen, his eyes full of questions. "But when he stims what do we do?" Karen's gaze meets Plankton's, and she smiles reassuringly at him. "Just give him space," she says, turning to Chip. "And if you're worried, just come find me. We'll talk about it, okay? Just don't push him when he's like this, because it can be really overwhelming for him." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad's face. He's trying to understand, trying to reconcile the image of his dad rocking back and forth in bed with the man he's always known. He's seen his dad as invincible, as a rock. And now, here he is, vulnerable.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 25 Hanna's voice is barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry," she says, looking down at her hands. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's focus is solely on the pieces on the board. "Don't talk to me," he says, his voice cold. "You're the one asking personal questions." Karen's heart clenches, wanting to explain, but knowing that Plankton's current state of mind won't allow for it. "Let's just keep playing," she suggests, her voice a gentle nudge. But the damage is done. Hanna's smile is forced, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The game continues in an awkward silence, Hanna's laughter a bit too loud, her movements a bit too quick. Plankton's stims don't ease, his hands fidgeting almost angrily on the armrest. Chip watches, his stomach in knots. He knows his dad's behavior is because of his condition, but it's hard to see his mom's friend hurt like this. Hanna's eyes keep darting to Plankton's hands, confusion and hurt swirling in her gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmurs again, her voice barely audible over the clanking of game pieces. "I di-" Plankton's antennae swivel sharply towards her. "What part of 'none of your business' don't you understand?" his voice is harsh, his frustration palpable. Hanna flinches, her hands tightening around her cards. Karen's eyes plead with Plankton to stop, but he's too lost in his own world, his senses on high alert. "Why are you always in my space?" He snaps, his voice echoing around the room. Chip's stomach twists with anxiety. Hanna's cheeks redden, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice smaller than ever. "I just-" But Plankton's done talking. With a roar of frustration, he's knocking over the game board. The pieces scatter everywhere, a visual representation of their shattered evening. Hanna gasps, her eyes wide with shock. "What's going on?" she asks, but Plankton's already storming out of the room. Karen's heart sinks as she watches her husband disappear down the hall. She knew this was a risk bringing him to Hanna's, but she had hoped for a better outcome. The guest room door slams shut, the sound echoing through Hanna's house. Chip feels a knot tighten in his stomach. He knows that look, his dad's retreat to his sanctuary of solitude. "I'm sorry," Hanna tells Karen, picking up the pieces of the game. "I didn't mean to-" Karen's eyes are filled with sorrow as she shakes her head. "It's not you," she says gently. "It's just part of his condition." Her voice is tight, her smile forced as she tries to explain. "When Plankton was being born, something happened. It changed him. Pressure, lack of flow... we're not sure. But what we do know is that it left him with a type of autism." She pauses. "He's had it his whole life. It's a balancing act," she admits. "Some days are better than others. But we've learned to read the signs, to give him the space he needs. It was when his mother was giving birth, his brain developed differently because of the stress it faced. It's not something anyone could have predicted." Hanna nods, her eyes still on the closed door. "I had no idea," she murmurs, feeling guilty for her intrusion. "I didn't mean to-" "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soft and reassuring. "It's not something that's obvious, unless you know what to look for." Hanna nods, her eyes filling with understanding. "How does it affect him?" she asks, placing the game pieces aside. Karen sighs. "It's complex," she says. "His brain processes information differently, which means certain things can be overwhelming for him. Lights, sounds, even textures can be too much. And sometimes, it's just the way people interact with him." Chip speaks up, his voice small. "But he's super smart. He can build anything." Karen's smile is sad. "It's true. His mind is...unique. But sometimes, it's like he's trapped in there, trying to get out." Hanna nods. "What can I do to help?" she asks, her voice earnest. Karen's heart swells with gratitude. "Just be patient," she says. "And respect his boundaries. Don't push him to explain things if he's not ready." Chip watches as Karen takes a deep breath. "And if you see him getting overwhelmed, just...give him some space." Hanna nods, her eyes still on the door. Plankton sits in the guest room, his back pressed against the corner. The world feels too loud, too bright, too much. He squeezes his eye shut, his hands over his head, his antennae tucked, his body rocking slightly on the floor. He's learned over the years that this can help dull the world around him, but it's not enough tonight. "Plankton?" Karen's voice filters through the door, soft and gentle. "Can I come in?" There's no response, but after a moment, the door opens a crack. Plankton's eye peeks out, his antennae quivering. "It's okay," she says. "I just want to check on you." He nods, his body tense. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice muffled. Karen's heart breaks a little more. "You don't have to be sorry," she says, entering the room. "You know that." She sits beside him on the floor. He's in full shutdown mode now, his body's way of coping with the overstimulation. She squeezes his hand gently. The silence stretches out, only broken by the distant hum of the city. Karen knows that Plankton needs this, that he's retreated into his own world to recharge. Yet it's hard to watch, knowing that she can't just wave a magic wand and make everything okay. Slowly, she starts to speak, her words deliberate and soft. "Remember, Plankton," she says, "Hanna's just trying to understand. She didn't mean any harm." Plankton's breathing evens out, his body unclenching slightly. "I know," he whispers. "It's just...hard." Karen nods. "I know, love." The room is dimly lit, the sounds of the city a distant lullaby. Plankton's stims slow down, his antennae unfurling slightly as his body starts to relax. Karen's words wash over him, a gentle reminder that he's not alone. "You know, it's okay to be different," she says. "And it's okay for people to be curious. But we'll make sure to explain to Hanna." Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his head nodding in agreement. He's so tired, his mind racing from the adrenaline and the sensory overload. His body feels heavy, his eyelid drooping. Karen notices the change and shifts closer to him. "Why don't you lie down?" she suggests, her voice a gentle whisper. "You look ex-" But Plankton's already falling asleep, his body sagging against hers. "Hey c'mon Plankton, let's get you up into the bed befo—" His snores cut her off, his antennae fluttering with each breath. She chuckles softly, her heart swelling with love. He's always been a light sleeper, even when they first met. Karen gently shifts him so he's leaning against her, his head resting on her shoulder. His body relaxes into the comfort of her embrace, his stims ceasing completely. It's moments like these that make her heart ache, knowing how much he struggles with the world outside their home. But she's also fiercely proud of his resilience. Karen's thumb rubs gentle circles on his arm, the rhythmic motion soothing. Plankton's snores even out, his breathing deepening. She can feel the tension in his body slowly dissipate, his muscles loosening. She kisses his cheek, her hand still on his arm, her love for him as constant as his condition. The room's dimness is a comforting blanket, shielding them from the brightness that Plankton finds so jarring. Karen's mind races with thoughts of tomorrow, the conversations she'll have to navigate with Hanna. But for now, she focuses on the quiet breaths beside her, the steady rise and fall of Plankton's chest. Hanna, peeking in from the hallway, sees Karen cradling Plankton's sleeping form. Her eyes are filled with compassion as she mouths a silent apology to Karen. Karen smiles slightly, shaking her head, as if to say it's not Hanna's fault. The two women share a knowing look, the weight of the evening's events heavy between them. Karen's gaze lingers on Plankton, her love for him evident in every line of her face. And she knows they'll be ok.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 3 Plankton notices the shift in Chip's expression and his own face falls. He's been so scared of this moment, of being seen as less than. He's always tried to keep his stims under wraps, to appear as 'normal' as possible. But now it's all out in the open, and he can't hide anymore. Karen reaches for Plankton's hand, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, love. You don't have to be afraid. Chip's smart, he'll understand." She looks back at Chip, her eyes pleading. "Remember what we talked about, Chip. Your dad's stimming is his way of coping with the world, and it's something that makes him feel safe and comfortable. Yet we need to understand that when he's doing it, it's his personal time. It's just not for us to intrude on. Because for him, it's like a secret conversation he's having with himself." Chip nods slowly, his eyes flicking from his dad's face to his mom's, trying to digest the new reality that's being laid out before him. Plankton takes a deep, shuddering breath, his rocking coming to a stop. Karen stands up, walking over to Plankton, and kisses him on the cheek. "Why don't you go wash up, sweetie?" she suggests gently. "I'll talk to Chip." Plankton nods, his expression a mix of relief and fear. He slides out of bed, his legs shaky, and heads to the bathroom. The moment the door clicks shut, Karen turns to Chip, her eyes filled with a quiet determination. "You see, Chip," she starts, her voice softer now, "Your dad's stimming is like his private conversation with his brain. Sometimes, he'll start saying random things, talking to himself, working through his thoughts and feelings. So when you commented on it, it was like you interrupted a conversation he was having to himself, which can be upsetting." Chip nods, his eyes following the path his dad took to the bathroom. "But what if he's hurt?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "How do we know if it's okay?" Karen sighs, her expression softening. "That's a good question, Chip. We just need to be observant. If he's happy or upset, his stims might be different. And if he ever looks like he's in pain, or if he's distressed, that's when we step in, but first ask." She takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the next part of their conversation. "But it's also important to remember that even though we can't always understand what he's feeling or why he stims, it's his way of dealing with the world. So we need to be respectful, and not make him feel weird or uncomfortable." Chip nods, his gaze still on the bathroom door. "I don't want to make him feel bad," he says, his voice sincere. Karen sits back down beside him, her arm wrapping around his shoulders. "We know" she assures him. "You're a good kid, Chip. You'll learn to read him better than anyone else." As Plankton emerges from the bathroom, his face is washed clean, but the fear lingers in his eye. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, his posture rigid. Karen looks at him with love and patience, waiting for him to speak. "Chip," she starts, her voice careful. "You know how everyone has their own ways of dealing with stuff, right?" Chip nods, his gaze flipping between his parents. "Well, your dad's brain works a bit differently than ours. Sometimes, he needs to do things like rocking or making sounds to help him think and feel better. He may even repeat words or phrases, which is called echolalia. It's all part of his autism, and it's his way of navigating through the world." Karen's eyes are filled with a mixture of love and hope as she speaks. "These are his stims, and they're very personal to him. It's like his own secret language, a way to communicate with himself. So when you see him doing these things, it's important to remember that he's not doing it for show, or for attention. It's his brain's way of talking to him, of keeping him calm." Plankton nods slowly, his eye dull with the weight of his secret now out in the open. "And sometimes," Karen adds, "I've seen him come out of seizures while talking to his brain." "Seizures?" Chip asks, his voice laced with fear. Plankton winces at the word, but Karen nods. "They're not like the seizures you might think of, sweetie. They're a part of his autism. It's like his brain's way of restarting, of reorganizing itself when things get too much." Plankton finally speaks up, his voice shaky. "I don't like it when you saw me like that Chip," he admits. "Now I'm... exposed. So just GO AHEAD AND STARE." He throws his hands up in a dramatic gesture, his sarcasm clear. Chip flinches, feeling a pang of guilt. Karen puts a gentle hand on Plankton's knee. "Chip wasn't staring, sweetie. He was just trying to understand." She turns to Chip. "It's okay to be curious, but remember, Dad's stims are like his personal bubble. They help him feel safe when the world is too loud or confusing. So unless he's really upset or in pain, we respect that space." Chip nods, feeling a mix of understanding and awkwardness. He's never thought about his dad's quirks as being part of something so... significant. "Okay," he says, his voice small. "I'll try not to stare or interrupt." Karen smiles warmly at him. "That's all we ask, buddy. Just love him the way you always have. And if you have any questions, you can always come to us. We're a team, and we're all here for each other."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 4 Plankton looks at Chip, his eye searching for any sign of judgment or fear. But all he sees is confusion and concern. "I-I-I-I… I just..." Karen takes over, her voice soothing. "It's okay, Plankton. You don't have to explain everything right now. Chip just needs to understand that your stimming is private." "But why does he have to know?" Plankton asks, his voice tight with anxiety. "Why can't it just be our secret?" Karen's expression is one of compassion. "Because, love," she says, her hand still on his knee, "Chip is part of our family, and he deserves to know who you really are. And his knowing won't change how much we love you." Plankton nods slowly, but the fear in his eye doesn't dissipate entirely. Chip sits quietly, watching his parents interact. He's never seen this side of his dad before, and it's unsettling. But he doesn't want to make things worse. "I won't say anything, Dad," he promises, going to hug him. "And I'll try to underst--" "Don't!" Plankton recoils, his body stiffening at the sudden touch. Chip freezes, his arms outstretched, unsure of what just happened. Karen's face falls. "Chip, remember. Let him come to you when he's ready." She looks at Plankton, apology in her eyes. Plankton nods slightly, his cheeks reddening. "It's okay," Chip says, pulling away and sitting back down on the bed. "I just wanted to tell you that I love you, Dad." Plankton's eye softens, but he turns away, now talking to himself, his voice low and quick. "I told him not to stare," he mumbles. "Doesn't he understand." His eye darts around the room, focusing on nothing. Karen watches him, her heart aching. Plankton's stims had always been their secret, something they'd navigated together. Now, it was witnessed by Chip. Plankton's voice grew louder, his words a jumbled mess as he spoke to himself. "I shouldn't have let him see, no," he said. "Not. Today." Karen watched him, her heart breaking for her husband. She knew how much he valued his privacy, how much his autism was a part of his identity, and now it was out in the open for their son to see. Chip looked at his mom, his eyes full of confusion and concern. Karen squeezed Plankton's hand and turned to Chip. "Remember, buddy, sometimes Dad needs to talk to himself to make sense of things. It's his way of organizing his thoughts." Chip nodded, trying to understand. "But why can't I hug you, Dad?" he asked softly. Karen's voice was calm as she explained. "Sometimes, when people with autism get overwhelmed, physical contact can be too much for them to handle, even if it's from someone they love. And your dad's sensitive to certain touch Chip, okay?" Chip nodded, his throat tight with emotion. "It's okay, Chip," Karen said, her voice soft. "Dad's just talking to himself, like I said. It's his way of making sense of things." She watched as Chip processed this, his eyes never leaving his father. "But remember, it's his conversation. We should let him have it without interrupting. And right now, he's okay. He's just... thinking out loud." She glanced at Plankton, whose eye had stopped darting around and was now focused on the floor. Chip nodded, his curiosity getting the better of him. "But Mom, why does he need to st-" "I don't need to explain myself to you!" Plankton snapped, cutting him off. "You wouldn't understand anyway!" His voice was sharp, like a knife slicing through the quiet of the room. Chip's eyes widened, and he took a step back, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice small. "I just wanted to kno—" "Chip," Karen interjected, her voice gentle but firm. "Remember what you learned. Dad's stimming is his private time. We need to respect that." She turned to Plankton, her expression full of understanding. "It's okay, love. You don't have to explain." Plankton took a deep breath, his rocking starting up again. "But what if he doesn't respect me anymore?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Karen leaned in, her eyes filled with love. "Chip loves you, Plankton. And now he knows a little more about you. That's all." But Chip's questions didn't stop. He was like a detective piecing together a puzzle, his curiosity unyielding. "What about the sounds yo--" "Chip," Karen's voice was firm but kind. "Remember what we said. Dad's stims are personal. Let's give him space." But Chip's mind was racing, trying to make connections. "But does he make sounds wh-" "Chip," Plankton cut him off, his voice strained. "Just KNOCK IT OFF and leave me alone, okay?" Chip felt the sting of his dad's words, his heart sinking. He'd never seen Plankton so agitated. Karen's grip on his shoulder tightened. "Chip," she said softly, turning him to face her. "Your dad's had a lot to process today. Let's just give him some space, okay?" With a nod, Chip backed away from the bed, his eyes on his dad, who had resumed rocking. He retreated to his room. He'd always thought his dad was just quirky, a bit odd at times, but now it all made sense. The way he'd get lost in his thoughts, the way he'd repeat things, and how he'd sometimes need his space. It was all part of this... 'autism'. It was a lot to take in, but he was determined to understand. Karen sat beside Plankton, her hand resting lightly on his back. "It's okay, sweetie," she whispered, her voice soothing. "Chip just needs time to understand." Plankton's rocking slowed, his breathing returning to normal. "But what if he's embarrassed?" he asked, his eye still fixed on the floor. "Embarrassed?" Karen echoed, her voice gentle. "Why would he be embarrassed? You're his dad, and he loves you just as you are. This is just something new for him to learn." Plankton's shoulders slumped, and he let out a sigh.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 5 The next morning, Chip decided to go into his parent's shared bedroom. Karen was sitting beside Plankton, who was in his bed. Her hand was gently tracing patterns on his arm. Plankton's eye was closed, and the only sound in the room was his softly rhythmic snoring. The sight of his dad lying there, peaceful and quiet, was comforting. Plankton's chest moved up and down with each breath, and Chip felt his own anxiety start to ease. He sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his dad sleep, his curiosity now tempered with empathy. Karen smiled at him, her eyes full of understanding. "It's okay," she whispered. "He's just resting." Chip nodded, watching Plankton's antenna twitching ever so slightly with each breath. He'd never seen his dad so still, so... peaceful. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun, and the quiet was almost sacred. Chip could see now how Plankton's stims were like a shield, how they protected him from a world that could be too much at times. And in sleep, that shield was down, revealing the vulnerable man beneath. Karen's hand continued to trace gentle patterns on his arm. Chip reached out, his own hand hovering over Plankton's arm, unsure if he should touch him. "It's okay," Karen mouthed, seeing the uncertainty in Chip's eyes. "He's sleeping." So Chip placed his hand lightly on Plankton's arm, mimicking his mom. The warmth of Plankton's skin under his palm felt surprisingly normal. For a moment, Chip forget about the storm of the previous night and the revelation of his dad's autism. He watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, the soft snores that punctuated the silence. Karen's eyes remained on her husband, a tender smile playing on her lips. Her hand never ceased its gentle motion, the love in the action palpable. The sun painted the room in soft, warm light, casting a gentle glow across the crumpled bedcovers and the slightly open mouth of the sleeping Plankton. The rhythmic sound of his snores filled the space, a comforting symphony to Karen's ears. She'd heard it a thousand times before, each inhale and exhale a testament to his survival in a world that often felt too much for him. Chip sat silently, his hand tentatively resting on Plankton's arm. In sleep, Plankton's armor was down, revealing the softness beneath. His stims, the protective shells he'd built around his thoughts, had ceased. The tension in his body was replaced by a gentle relaxation, as if even in his subconscious, he knew he was safe. Karen's hand on Plankton's arm was a silent testament to their bond, a wordless conversation that transcended the barriers of his condition. The gentle movements, almost imperceptible to an outsider, were a soothing balm to Plankton's nervous system. Chip felt a wave of love and protectiveness for his father wash over him, a feeling that grew stronger as he watched his mom's caring ministrations. He studied the contours of Plankton's face, his sleep-slackened jaw and the soft snores that rumbled. He thought about the stims he'd seen the night before, the rocking, the muttering. Now, his dad's quietude spoke volumes about his need for space and understanding. Chip swallowed hard, his own thoughts racing. He knew his curiosity could sometimes be intrusive, but he couldn't help it. He wants to know everything about his dad, now more than ever. As the minutes ticked by, Plankton's snores grew softer, until they were just a faint whisper in the room. Karen's hand never stopped moving, her eyes never leaving his face. It was like watching a dance, a silent conversation that only the two of them understood. Chip felt a lump in his throat, the gravity of the situation starting to hit him. He'd always known his dad was different, but now he knew why. Autism was a part of Plankton that couldn't be fixed or ignored, it was a piece of him, as essential as his antennae or his love for Krabby Patties. He watched as Karen continued her silent vigil, her touch a gentle reminder of his dad's humanity amidst his neurodivergence. Plankton was still the same person, his quirks and tics a part of his identity, not a flaw to be hidden. Chip's mind was full of questions. How had his dad managed to keep this a secret for so long? Why did he feel the need to mask his true self? He knew his dad was different, but he'd never fully grasped the extent of it. Plankton had always been a whirlwind of energy, his brain firing on all cylinders. But now, watching him sleep, his body at peace, Chip saw the weight that Plankton carried each day. The effort it took to navigate a world that wasn't built for him. The stims were his crutch, his way of finding balance. And Karen, his rock, always there, offering comfort with just a touch. Karen looked up, her eyes meeting Chip's. "You know," she said softly, "your dad's always been like this. Since before you were born. And I fell in love with him knowing of it, not despite it." Chip felt his eyes sting with tears. He'd never thought about his parents' relationship in this light before, the quiet strength that must have been there from the start. He watched as Karen leaned forward and kissed Plankton's forehead. "He's always been my hero," she whispered. "And now, I want you to see him that way too." Chip nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He took a deep breath and moved closer to the bed, his hand still hovering above Plankton's arm. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you need from me?" Karen's eyes never left Plankton's face, but she squeezed Chip's hand. "Just love him, Chip," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Be his rock, just like I am." Chip nodded, understanding dawning. He leaned in and kissed his dad's cheek, his hand now resting gently on his arm. Plankton's snores hitched at the contact, and Chip froze, his heart racing as Plankton's eye fluttered open.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 6 For a moment, Plankton looked confused, his gaze fuzzy with sleep. But then recognition set in. "Chip?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Chip swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah, Dad," he managed to say. "I just came to say good mo-" Before he could finish, Plankton's eye widened, his body tensing. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his tone sharper than Chip had ever heard it. The room seemed to shrink around them, the air thick with the sudden tension. "I-I just wanted to tell you I love you," Chip stuttered, his hand retreating from his dad's arm. Plankton's gaze searched Chip's face, looking for something, anything that would explain this invasion of his personal space. Karen stepped in, her voice calm. "It's okay, Plankton. Chip just wanted to show his love, that's all." But Plankton wasn't easily soothed. His eye narrowed at Chip, his mind racing. "But why?" Plankton's voice was low, almost a growl. "Why do you need to do it like that?" Chip felt the weight of his dad's question, the unspoken fear behind the words. It was a question about boundaries, about the unspoken rules that Plankton had always followed. "I'm sorry, Dad," Chip said, his voice quiet. "I didn't mean to scare you." He looked to Karen for guidance, but she just nodded, encouraging him to find his own words. Plankton's eye searched Chip's face, looking for sincerity. "I just wanted to tell you that I understand now," Chip continued. "I know you have to do those things to feel okay. I promise, I won't make you feel weird about i---" But Plankton was already sitting up, his face flushed with anger. "Weird?" he snapped, his voice sharp. "Is that what you think of me?" He pushed the covers away, his body vibrating with agitation. "Is that how you'll tell your neurotypical friends?" Chip's heart sank, his words unintentionally striking a nerve. "No, Dad," he said quickly. "I didn't mean it like that. I just want to make sure I don't do anything that makes you uncomf-" "Uncomfortable?" Plankton finished for him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, how considerate of you." Chip felt a pang of guilt, his words sticking in his throat. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured, his eyes filling with tears. "I just... I didn't know how to... " Plankton took a deep breath, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You don't get it," he said, his voice tight. "You can't just... touch me like that." His eye searched the room, as if seeking a retreat from the sudden onslaught of emotion. Karen stepped closer, her voice soothing. "Chip didn't mean to upset you, Plankton. He's just trying to understand." But Plankton couldn't hear her, his mind racing with a barrage of thoughts. He'd always been so careful to keep this hidden from his son, fearful of the rejection he'd faced in the past. Chip's eyes were wide with apology and confusion. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said again, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to show you that I care. I mean, you let Mom to-" "It's different," Plankton interrupted, his voice strained. "Your mom knows me. She understands me." His hand went to his chest, where his heart felt like it was racing. "But you... don't you DARE ever touch me again without asking," he spat out, his voice shaking with a mix of anger and fear. Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. Karen sighed, her heart heavy with the weight of the conversation. "Plankton, honey," she began, her voice gentle. "Chip just wants to support you. He's trying to be there for you in his own way." Plankton's eye narrowed, his body still tense. "But he doesn't understand," he said, the frustration evident. "No one does, except for you." Karen reached for his hand, but he pulled away, his movements quick and jerky. Chip watched, feeling like he'd just walked into a minefield without a map. He didn't know what to say, how to make it right. He just knew he didn't want his dad to feel this way. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'll do better. I'll le-" "Don't," Plankton said, his voice sharp. "Don't make promises you can't keep." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his body language closed off. "I don't want your pity, Chip." His words were like a slap in the face, and Chip felt his cheeks burn with shame. Karen stepped between them, her hand on Plankton's shoulder. "It's not pity, sweetie," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "It's love and support." Plankton's eye flitted to hers, then back to Chip. "I don't need Chip's help," he said, his voice quivering. "But Dad," Chip began, "I just-" "I SAID DON'T!" Plankton's voice boomed through the room, his face a mask of fury. His antennae quivered with agitation, and he retreats to the corner of the room. A sign Karen knew was his way of shutting down. But Chip doesn't realize this as he tries to go to Plankton's writhing body on the floor. "Chip," Karen's voice was firm, "He's not with us right now. Let me only." Chip stepped back, his eyes wide with concern as he watched. Plankton was in a pose that screamed 'don't touch me'. His legs were curled tight to his body, his arms wrapped around his knees, and his eye squeezed shut, his antennae pressed against his head. It was a position that spoke of overwhelm, a silent scream for space and solitude. Karen watched him carefully, her heart breaking into a million pieces. She wanted to go to him, to wrap him in her arms and tell him everything was okay. But she knew better. This was his retreat, she had to respect it. "Give him some space," she whispered to Chip, who was hovering uncertainly. "He needs time to regulate." Chip nodded, his eyes still glued to his dad's shaking form. He looked so small, so lost in his own little corner. Plankton's breathing was shallow and fast, his antennae twitching eratically. Karen knew this was his safe place, his retreat from a world that often felt too loud, too much. She walked over, sat down next to him, but not too close. She knew better than to invade his bubble. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "You're safe here." Plankton's body didn't react, but she saw his hand, which had been gripping the floor, relax ever so slightly. It was a small victory, but one she'd take.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 7 The room was silent, save for Plankton's shallow breaths. Karen could almost hear his thoughts racing, his mind a whirlwind of sensory input and emotions. She sat still, her eyes never leaving his form, her hand staying close but not touching. Chip hovered by the door, his hands clenched into fists. He wanted to help, to fix this, but his mom's words echoed in his mind: 'respect his space'. It was a concept that was hard to grasp, but he knew it was important. He watched as his dad's legs shook, his whole body a testament to the storm inside him. Karen's eyes never left Plankton's shaking form. Her heart broke for him, for the fear and frustration that she knew was churning within. She reached out a tentative hand, letting it hover just above his shoulder. "It's ok," she whispered. But Plankton flinched, his body stiffening at the uninvited contact as he turned his back to them, now facing the wall. She knew this look well, had seen it before. The room was suffocating with silence, the tension thick like a layer of fog. Chip felt his own anxiety rising, unsure of what to do. He'd never seen his dad like this, so... vulnerable. He took a tentative step forward, his hand reaching out. "Dad?" he asked softly. Plankton's spasms grew more erratic, his antennae quivering like leaves in a storm. He didn't look up, his breathing shallower with each passing second. It was as if he'd shrunk in on himself, retreating into his own world where no one could follow. Chip's heart ached, watching his dad's body convulse with silent sobs, his shoulders heaving as he tried to regain control. The room was a tableau of pain, each second stretching into an eternity. Karen sat with her back against the wall, her hand still hovering, but not daring to make contact again. Her eyes were filled with a blend of love and despair, the same look she'd worn so many times before when Plankton's autism had overwhelmed him. But Chip had never seen this side of his dad, had never known the depth of his struggle. Plankton's body was a maelstrom of movements, each spasm a silent cry for help. His antennae thrashed against the floor, his legs kicked out in a frantic dance. It was a sight that would have been terrifying to anyone who didn't understand, but Karen's eyes never left him, her expression calm and knowing. She'd seen this before, had held the line between panic and peace for her husband countless times. And then, through the chaos, a sound. Plankton's voice, barely above a murmur, speaking to himself. "My stims," he whispered, his hands moving in the air, mimicking his own motions. "They're just... they're just a part of it." The words seemed to hang there, suspended in the heavy silence of the room. Karen watched him, her heart breaking a little more with each word. She knew he was trying to make sense of it all, to reconcile his fear of being different with his need to be understood. Chip's eyes widened in surprise, his curiosity piqued by this unexpected moment of self-reflection from his dad. "They're just... they're just a part of it," Plankton murmured again, his voice a little louder this time. His antennae stilled, his body slowly uncoiling from the tight ball he'd curled into. Karen took this stimming as a sign that the storm is passing. "What's a part of it, Dad?" Chip asked, his voice tentative. Karen shot him a warning look, but Plankton didn't seem to hear. "My fidgets," Plankton said, his voice still barely above a whisper. "My autism... it is just part of it." His hand continued to mimic the movements, a silent conversation with himself. Chip's mind raced. "You're not to weird, Dad," Chip blurted out, the words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them. Plankton's movements stilled, his antennae dropping to his side. He turned to look at Chip, his eye filled with something akin to surprise. "What did you say‽" Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing. "I said you're not weird, Dad," he repeated, his voice slightly stronger. "Your stims are just part of who you are." Plankton's expression turned angry, his body taut with tension. "Don't patronize me, boy!" Plankton snapped, his voice sharp as a knife. "I DON'T NEED YOUR SYMPATHY!" His body was a tightly wound spring, ready to snap at any moment. Chip felt a flare of anger in response, but swallowed it down. "Dad, I'm not," he said, his voice calm despite his own turmoil. "I'm just saying that I see you, all of you. And I love you. I don't think your stims are weird. They're just... you." Plankton's body remained tense. "STOP talking about it!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. Chip took a step back, his eyes wide with shock. He'd never seen his dad like this. He didn't know how to fix it. "Dad, I-" he started to say, but Plankton cut him off. "I said stop!" Plankton's voice was a roar, his body trembling with anger and embarrassment. He didn't want Chip to see him like this, so vulnerable, so out of control. The room felt like it was closing in on him, the walls pressing against his skin. Karen's heart clenched at the raw pain in Plankton's voice. She knew this moment was about more than just his stims, it was about his fear of rejection, of being seen as less than. "Plankton, honey, look at me," she said gently, trying to cut through the maelstrom of his emotions. "Chip's just trying to understand. We all are." But Plankton's eye remained locked on the floor, his breaths quick and shallow. He felt like an exhibit in a museum, his private world laid bare for his son to see. The fear of rejection was a living, breathing entity in the room, wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket. He'd managed to hide his stims for so long, to keep that part of him hidden away. Now, it was out in the open, raw and exposed. Plankton's eye darted between Karen and Chip, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts. He wanted to shrink away, to disappear into the cracks of the floorboards. But he knew he couldn't. Not now. Not when Chip kept looking at him with such confusion and concern. "Dad, I just-" Chip started again, his voice filled with earnestness. But Plankton couldn't take it. The words felt like a knife twisting in his gut. "I SAID, STOP!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the room. The sound was like a gunshot, and Chip's words died in his throat. Karen watched the exchange, her heart heavy with sadness. She knew Plankton's anger was a defense mechanism, his way of dealing with the overwhelming emotions that threatened to drown him. But seeing her son hurt by it was almost more than she could bare. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the storm. "Plankton," she said calmly, moving closer to him, her hand outstretched but not touching. "It's okay, sweetie. Chip's just trying to be here for you." But Plankton's eye was wild, his body a coil of tension. He was in full meltdown mode, and Karen knew better than to push him.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 8 Chip took another step back, his own emotions a tangled mess. Guilt, fear, and confusion battled within him as he watched his dad's pain. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make yo--" "I SAID STOP!" Plankton's voice was like a whip crack, slicing through the air with frustration. Chip flinched, the force of his dad's anger palpable. "Dad," he began, his voice shaking, "I just-" "JUST?" Plankton spat, his eye blazing. "You just don't get it, do you?" His words were sharp as knives, each one cutting deeper into the silence. "You think you can just... touch me, hug me, and it'll all be fine?" He sneered, his body trembling with the effort to control his emotions. "Well, it's not that simple, is it?" Chip's cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "I didn't know it was such a big de-" "Don't tell me what I know, boy!" Plankton snapped. His voice was a whipcrack of sarcasm, each word a stinging rebuke. "I've been doing this dance my whole life, and now you think you can make me your little science project?" Chip's eyes filled with hurt, his hand dropping to his side. "That's not what I'm doing," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I just want to he--" "Want to help?" Plankton interrupted, his tone dripping with bitterness. "You think I need your help? Your pity?" His antennae twitched with anger. "I've managed just fine without you!" His voice was a storm, his words thunderous in the silence of the room. "So don't you dare act like you get to be part of this now!" Now Chip felt his own emotions flare up. "What the barnacles is your problem?" Chip snapped, his frustration boiling over. "You're always so... so sensitive. Can't I just show you that I love you without you throwing a fit? Don't you know that you're just being ridiculously over- dramatic? I can't have a father who's so autistic and so..." He trailed off, his eyes searching for the right word, and then it hit him; the slur is a term he'd heard use to describe someone acting unsmart, not knowing the impact it would have. The moment the insult left his lips, the room went cold. Karen gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth. Plankton's body went rigid, his antennae shooting straight up as if electrified. Chip felt a sinking feeling in his gut, like he'd just swallowed an anchor. He knew he'd crossed a line, but he didn't know where it was or how to get back. "Dad, I didn't mean-" "GET OUT!" Plankton roared. Chip had never seen his dad like this, his eye blazing with fury and hurt. He stumbled backwards, his heart racing as he tried to make sense of the horror on his dad's face. "I didn't know," he murmured, his voice small and lost. Karen's eyes were wide, her cheeks wet with tears. She'd heard the word, the one that cut deeper than any knife. The one that reduced her Plankton to a joke, a problem to be solved. "That's enough," she said, her voice firm but trembling. "You've hurt him enough, Chip." Chip's eyes were filled with shock, his mind reeling from his dad's reaction. He didn't mean to say it, didn't even know it was bad. "But I just..." He couldn't find the words. "I didn't know it was... I just wanted to tell him..." Karen's voice was firm, but underneath, Chip heard the sorrow. "Your dad's autism isn't something to be fixed," she said, wiping at her own tears. "It's part of who he is. And calling him that... it's like telling him that part of him isn't good enough." Plankton was still in his corner, his body taut with tension. Chip felt the weight of his mother's words, the gravity of his mistake. He'd hurt his dad, the one person he never wanted to cause pain. "I didn't mean it like that," he whispered. But Plankton was beyond words, his body trembling with rage. He'd been called that name before, by those who didn't understand, who didn't care. His antennae quivered with the effort to hold back the storm of emotions threatening to unleash. Karen stepped between them, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "Out," she said firmly, her voice a whip of authority. "Now." Chip didn't argue. He knew he'd done wrong, and he knew his place wasn't here right now. He turned and left the room, his heart heavy with regret. As the door clicked shut, the tension in the room didn't disappear. It grew thicker, like a fog that clung to their skin, suffocating them both. Karen sat next to Plankton, her hand hovering near his shoulder but not making contact. She knew better than to push, to force him to face his pain. Instead, she offered silent support, her presence a beacon of love in the storm. Plankton's body was a tight coil of anger and hurt as he rocked back and forth. "Plankton," Karen said softly, her hand still hovering. "I know we're upset, but Chip's just trying to understand. He didn't mean to be ableist." Her words were met with silence; she didn't push. The room felt like it was spinning around him, the words echoing in his head. He knew his son hadn't meant to wound him, but the sting was there all the same. "Why can't he just leave me alone?" Plankton whispered, his voice small and defeated. "Why does he have to make everything about him?" Karen's eyes filled with understanding. "It's not about him, Plankton," she said gently. "It's about love and connection. He just doesn't know how to give it in a way that doesn't overwhelm you." Her hand touched his shoulder lightly, and he flinched. She withdrew it immediately, her heart aching. "I know, I know," he murmured, his voice tight. "But it hurts." Karen nodded, her own eyes brimming with tears. "I know it does," she said. "And I'm so sorry." Plankton leaned into her, his body still shaking. "Why can't he just get it?" he whispered, his antennae drooping. "Why does he have to make everything so hard?" Karen wrapped her arm around his shoulders, holding him close. "Because he loves you, Plankton. And he's scared of losing you." Plankton's body stiffened at her words. He knew she was right. Chip had always been like that, so eager to please, so desperate for attention. And Plankton had always been there for him, his rock in a stormy sea. But now, the tables had turned, and he didn't know how to navigate these uncharted waters of vulnerability. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae drooping. "I know," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I know he loves me." Karen's grip tightened around his shoulders. "Then we need to find a way to help him understand," she said, her voice a soft caress. "We need to show him that love doesn't have to be loud or overwhelming." They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the steady rhythm of their breathing. Plankton's body began to relax, his tremors subsiding. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I just... I don't know how to do this." Karen leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "We'll do it together," she said. "One step at a time." Chip stood outside the door, his fist pressed against the wood. He could hear their muffled voices, the low tones of their conversation. He felt like a stranger in his own home, unsure of how to navigate the sudden shift in his relationship with his dad. His mind raced, trying to piece together what had gone wrong, how he'd missed the cues. He knew he'd hurt his dad, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than just a misunderstanding. He didn't realize how the ableist slur he'd used had pierced Plankton's armor. He leaned his head against the door, his breaths coming in short, painful gasps. The weight of his ignorance was like an anchor, dragging him down. He'd always thought of his dad as... well, his dad. Strong, capable, a little quirky. But now, he saw the cracks in that facade, the raw vulnerability beneath the surface. He knew he had to apologize, but the fear of making it worse held him back.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 9 "Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative, a question in the silence. He didn't know if Plankton could hear him, if he was ready to listen. But he had to try. Plankton didn't move, but his breathing had evened out, his antennae no longer quivering with anger. Karen gave Chip a small nod, a silent message to tread carefully. He took a step into the room, his eyes never leaving his father's hunched form. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "I didn't know... I didn't mean to..." The words trailed off, his throat thick with unshed tears. He didn't know what to say, but he knew he had to try. Plankton's body remained motionless, his antennae drooping. Karen watched them, her heart in her throat. "Dad, I didn't mean it," Chip whispered, his voice trembling. "I didn't know." Plankton's shoulders tensed, the anger still a living force within him. Karen watched the scene unfold, her heart in her throat. She knew this was a moment that could change everything, a chance for growth or a chasm that widened their divide. Plankton's silence was a walls, a barrier that seemed impenetrable. His antennae twitched, a silent language that spoke volumes of his pain. Chip felt the weight of his dad's disgust, like a lead balloon in his stomach. "Dad, I'm sorry," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do better." He stepped closer, his hand outstretched. But Plankton didn't move, his body a statue of anger and hurt. His antennae remained rigid, his eye unblinking. "I don't want your pity," he spat out, the words a slap in the face. "I don't want you to 'do better'. I want you to go away." Chip's hand fell to his side, his eyes wide with shock. The silence was a living entity in the room, a beast that fed on their pain. Karen could almost see the barrier between them grow taller, thicker, more impenetrable. "Dad," Chip whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry for saying you're so... so... autistic and slow. I didn't mean it like that." The apology hung in the air, a desperate plea for understanding. But Plankton remained motionless, his antennae still drooping with the weight of his hurt. "It's not enough," he said, his voice hollow. "Words don't change what you think of me." Chip felt a stab of guilt, knowing his dad was right. He'd used his autism as a weapon, not knowing the depth of the cuts it could make. "What do you want me to do?" Chip's voice was desperate, his hands reaching out in a silent plea for forgiveness. "I ca--" Plankton's head snapped up, his eye blazing. "You want to know what I want?" His voice was a whisper, but it felt like a shout. "I want you to see me," he said, his antennae trembling. "Not my autism, not my stims, not some problem to be solved. Me! Now get out!" The words were a knife to Chip's heart, but he knew his dad was right. He'd reduced his entire being to a slur, a label. Chip took a step back, his heart racing. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice tight with unshed tears. "I didn't mean it." But the damage was done. The room felt like it was closing in around him, the air thick with the scent of his own shame. Plankton's antennae twitched, his body a rigid line of anger. "You think you can just apologize and make it better?" he spat, his voice a whipcrack of pain. "You think it's that easy?" Chip's eyes searched his dad's, desperate for a spark of forgiveness. But all he saw was hurt, a deep wound that he'd unintentionally inflicted. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, his voice shaking. "I just want to be there for yo-" "No," Plankton interrupted, his voice like a shattered mirror. "You don't want to be here for me." He couldn't even bring himself to say the slur, the pain too raw, too fresh. Chip felt his throat constrict. "Dad," Chip's voice was small, his eyes brimming with tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that was such a... a big deal." He didn't know what else to say, his mind racing to find the words that could mend the gaping wound his ignorance had created. But now Karen's feeling her own anger rising, fury at Chip's ignorance. "Chip, the only thing that's autistic and mentally reworded here is your understanding!" she snapped, the words slipping out before she could catch them. The moment they're in the air, she freezes, realizing what she's just said, the same slur a stinging slap that echoed in the tense air. She regretted them immediately, seeing the hurt flash across Plankton's face. Plankton's antennae drooped even further, the weight of his wife's words adding to his own pain. "K-Karen," he murmured, his voice thick with sadness and shock. Karen's face crumpled with regret. "Plankton, I didn't mean--" But Plankton was already backing away from her. Karen felt the sting of her own words, the cruel cut of her frustration. She reached out for Plankton, but he was already retreating, his eye filled with a mix of hurt and betrayal. "Plankton," she whispered, her hand hovering in the space between them. He flinched, his antennae quivering. The room grew smaller, their love shrinking under the weight of their mistakes. Plankton's eye searched hers, looking for something she couldn't give: absolution. "I'm s-sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean it-t." But the damage was done, a fresh wound to add to his collection of scars. Karen watched as Plankton's body retreated. She knew that look, the one that said he was shutting down, retreating into his own mind. "Plankton, please," she begged, her hand still outstretched. "Let me he-" But Plankton was already gone, his body a statue of sadness and fear. The room felt like it was closing in on him. He could barely breathe, his heart racing like a caged animal's. Karen's touch, once a source of comfort, now felt like a threat, a promise of more pain. "Plankton," she whispered. But he was beyond gentle whispers. His antennae twitched, his body braced. He couldn't look at her, couldn't bear the accidental harm. He felt the room spinning, his thoughts of anger, fear, and confusion. Her hand hovered near him, but it might as well have been a mile away. The love and comfort he'd always found in her touch now seemed like a looming specter, threatening him. Karen watched him, her own eyes tearing up with regret and sadness. "I-I'm sorry," she whispered, the words a futile offering to the storm. But Plankton couldn't hear them, not when all of his own emotions drowned out everything else. He felt the floor beneath him, the solidity of the world around him. But it wasn't enough. He needed to retreat, to find a space where he could breathe. He stumbled back into the corner. Karen's hand hovered near him, a silent apology. But he couldn't look at her, not yet. The sight of his wife, the woman who knew him better than anyone else, the one who should have understood, was too much. Her touch, once a balm for his soul, was now a potential minefield of pain. He felt her eyes on him, a silent plea for forgiveness. But he was to scared to give it.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 10 Plankton's antennae twitched with the effort to hold himself together, his body trembling. He wished he could retreat into the safety of his own world, where words didn't have the power to cut so deep. But he was trapped here, in a nightmare that felt all too real. Karen's eyes were a pool of sorrow, her hand hovering in the air like a ghostly specter, unable to find refuge on his shaking form. She knew she'd hurt him, and the weight of her mistake was almost too much to bear. She wanted to take back her words, erase the pain from his memory. But she knew that was a futile wish. The room was a maelstrom of emotions, each one a shard of glass in the air, sharp and glinting with the promise of more harm. Chip hovered in the doorway, his eyes wide and full of fear. He'd never seen his dad like this, never felt the chasm that seemed to be growing between them. Karen's hand remained outstretched, a silent plea for connection. But Plankton's body was a wall of defense, every inch of him screaming for space. The touch that had once been a comfort was now a source of distress, a reminder of his own vulnerability. He could see the love in her eyes, but it was tainted with the memory of her hurtful word. He felt a tear slip down his face as Karen inched closer. "Plankton, I didn't mean it," she said again. But it was too late. The word had been spoken, the damage done. "Please, I'm sorry," she whispered, her hand still hovering a few inches from his shoulder. Plankton's antennae quivered, his body tense. The room was spinning around him, the walls closing in. He didn't want her touch, not now. It felt like a lie, a mockery of the love they shared. He didn't know how to explain his fear, his hurt. He could only whimper and tremble. Karen's heart was shattered with regret. She knew she'd hurt him, but she didn't know how to fix it. Her hand hovered, desperate for connection. "Plankton." She knew she'd hurt him. "Are you ok?" Plankton didn't move. He didn't know how to answer, didn't know how to express the turmoil churning inside him. He felt like he was drowning in his own emotions. Karen's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt you." But Plankton's back was to the wall as she approached him in his corner. Plankton's antennae quivered, his heart racing. He knew Karen, his rock, his anchor, didn't mean to say it. But the pain was too fresh, too deep. The slur she'd used, even in anger, was a knife that had sliced through his soul. He felt the pressure building up inside him. "I-I-I-I… I lo-ove y-you, Karen.." Karen's hand was so close, yet so far. He wanted to lean into her embrace, to find solace in her love. But fear held him back, a cold, unyielding force that made his body tense. The room spun, the walls closing in. He was drowning in a sea of confusion, fear, and sadness. He watched her hand, so gentle, so loving. But the word still echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder that even those closest to him could cause him harm. Karen wanted to fix it. Karen took a step closer, her hand still hovering. "Please," she whispered. "Let me help." But Plankton was lost in the labyrinth of his emotions, his heart a cage of fear and pain. He couldn't find the words to explain, the strength to accept comfort. He whimpered. Her heart ached, her mind racing with doubt. Had she lost him? Had she broken the delicate trust they'd built over the years? Plankton's tremors grew, a silent symphony of distress that she could no longer ignore. Karen knew his fear of being seen as less than, the deep-seated anxiety that his autism could be weaponized against him. She needed to fix this, to rebuild the bridge between them. "Plankton, I'm not going anywhere," she murmured, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his fear. "I'm right he--" But her words were cut off by a sudden spasm that rippled through his body, his antennae convulsing violently. Karen's eyes widened in horror as she recognized the signs. "Seizure," she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. The room swirled around them as she moved closer, her hand outstretched. Plankton's eye rolled back in his head as his legs start to buckle. Karen's hand shot out, catching him before he hit the ground. She eased him to the floor. Karen'd seen this before, too many times to count. "You're okay, Plankton," she murmurs. "I'm right here." Chip watched from the sidelines, his eyes wide with terror as his dad's body thrashed. He's never seen his dad like this before. "Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. Plankton's body jerked once, twice, three times, before stilling. His antennae flailed wildly, then fell limp. Karen's eyes never left his face. She knew he'd still be quite out of it. Chip hovered, unsure of what to do. "Dad?" Karen's voice was calm. "This happens, Chip. He is conscious, but not really with us yet. Don't be alarmed if he says or does something that's not quite right." Plankton's legs rolled his body onto his side as drool trickles from his mouth. His antennae twitched erratically, his eye fluttered open and closed. Karen wiped the drool away, whispering comforts to him. "You're okay," she said, her voice soothing. "You're safe at home." His body was like a ragdoll's, his muscles loose and his movements involuntary. He was present, but not quite there, unable to grasp the concept, the words a jumble of sounds that barely registered. "W-water... blue... s-sticks," Plankton murmured. He was lost in his post-seizure haze, his thoughts a tangled web of sensory input. Chip watched, his heart in his throat. Karen's eyes were fixed on her husband. "It's ok, sweetie," she soothed. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae twitched in response. "Cam... subs... s-sal-sal-sal?" Karen nodded, knowing better than to interrupt his stream of consciousness. "T-the it... makes... makes me dizzy! Yes; made me dizzy.." Plankton's words were a jumble of half-thoughts, his brain still trying to reassemble. Karen's heart broke at the sight of him, so lost in his own mind. "It's okay," she whispered, her hand stroking his back. Chip's eyes were wide, his own brain racing to understand what was happening. He'd never seen his dad like this before, his strength and certainty reduced to a quivering mass of confusion. "Dad?" his voice was small. Plankton clutched at the air, his hand then slapping the carpet beside him. "G-green... fishy... no, not fishy, fishy-fishy!" He giggled, his eye still unfocused. The words didn't make sense, even to him. Karen's hand continued to stroke his back, her heart aching at his distress. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispered. "You're okay."

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 11 The nonsensical words spilled out. "Fizz-fizz-fizz..." Karen watched him, her heart in her throat. She knew this was part of the process, his brain recalibrating after a seizure. "D-daddy?" Chip's voice was tiny. "What's happening?" Karen took a deep breath, trying to calm herself enough to explain. "It's okay," she said, her voice shaky. "It's part of his autism. Sometimes, after a seizure, you dad's brain gets overwhelmed. He might say thi—" But Plankton's rambling cut her off. "Did? Might... m-m-mighty... mighty... no, not mighty... did!" He laughed to himself, his eye still unfocused. Karen knew that it was temporary, a side effect of the seizure. "Fizz-fizz-fish," Plankton says, his voice distant. Chip watched, his eyes full of fear and curiosity. He'd never seen his dad so vulnerable. Karen took his hand, her grip firm. "It's okay," she whispered. "His brain is just... reorganizing." Plankton began to steady. His eye focused on Karen's face, his voice a little clearer. "K-Karen?" Her heart skipped a beat. "I'm here, sweetie," she said, smiling through her tears. "You're ok." Plankton's antennae twitched as he slowly came back to his surroundings, the fear and anger of moments ago replaced by confusion and dizziness. Karen moved closer. "Dad, are you okay?" Chip's voice was tentative. Plankton's antennae moved in jerky, uncontrolled motions as he tried to make sense of his environment. "I... I think so," he murmured, his eye slowly focusing on his son. The room was a blur of colors, the sounds muffled and distant. He felt the weight of their stares, the unspoken apologies and fear. He knew what had happened, the searing memory of the slur, the painful reminder that he was different. Plankton's antennae twitched as his thoughts slowly coalesced, his mind fighting to find purchase in the chaos. "W-what... what happen'd?" he stuttered. Karen's eyes searched his, filled with a mix of love and apology. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember what happened before?" Plankton's antennae quivered of emotion. The argument, the slur, the pain... it all came rushing back. He nodded, his eye dropping to the floor. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "I remember." Karen's hand hovered over his shoulder, but she didn't dare touch him yet. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "For everything.." Plankton nods. He knew she meant it, yet the sting of her words still lingered, like a shadow that wouldn't leave his side. "It's okay," he said, his voice a weak echo. "I know you didn't... but it still hurts." His antennae drooped, a silent testament to his pain. "Yet I forgive you, Karen." Karen's eyes filled with tears. "I know," she said. Chip nods. "I'm sorry too, Da-" But Plankton cut him off, his antennae jerking with irritation. "Don't," he murmured. "Don't say YOU'RE sorry. YOU don't understand. You're not like your mother." Chip felt the sting of truth in his dad's words. He didn't understand. He'd always thought he knew Plankton, but now he realized there was a world of experience, of pain, that he'd been blind to. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice desperate. "How ca--" But Plankton was already getting to his feet, his body shaky. "You can't," he said, his voice tight. "You can't make this right with sorrys." Chip felt the weight of his dad's words. "But I want to," he whispered. "I don't know what to do, but I wa-" Plankton's antennae twitched with agitation. "You don't know what it's like," he snapped. "You've never had to live with this, with people thinking you're less because of it." The room felt colder, the air heavier with each sharp syllable. "You can't fix this, Chip." Chip felt so helpless, so utterly powerless in the face of his father's pain. "But I want to understand," he protested, his voice a whisper of hope. "I want to help. I mean, you forgave Mo-" "I forgave her because she understood!" Plankton's voice was a whipcrack of anger. "You think your sorry fixes it?" his antennae trembled with agitation. "It doesn't. And don't compare yourself to your mother. She knows me, understands me, advocates for me. But you're not her, Chip. You're not even close." Chip felt the blow, the truth cutting through him like a knife. He knew Plankton was right. He didn't know what it was like, to live with autism, to fight against a world that didn't understand. He'd been blind to his father's struggles, his ignorance a wall between them. "What do you want me to-" But Plankton was already turning away, his body a rigid line of anger. "I want you to leave me alone," he snapped. "I don't need your pity or your half-hearted apologies!" Chip felt his world crumbling, his hope for understanding and reconciliation shattered by the coldness in his father's voice. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes brimming with tears. "But Dad..." Plankton's antennae jerked sharply. "I said leave me alone!" The words were a whip crack in the air, slicing through the tension. Chip didn't know what to do, how to make it right. Karen stepped in. "Chip, maybe you should give him some space," she suggested, her eyes filled with pain. Chip nodded, his heart heavy with defeat. He didn't want to leave, but he knew his presence was only adding to Plankton's distress. "Okay," he murmured, his feet dragging across the floor.

TO SEE OR NOT TO SEE (by NeuroFabulous) 𓇼 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 🕊️🩰🐚 Pt. 12 As Chip retreated to his room, he couldn't help but feel the gap between them widen. He'd always thought they were close, that he knew his father inside and out. But now he realized there was so much more to Plankton. Karen's gentle touch was the only thing grounding Plankton to reality. He felt his anger dissipate, leaving a vacuum filled with exhaustion and sorrow. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her eyes never leaving his as he leaned into her embrace. His antennae stopped trembling as he allowed the warmth of her love to seep into his bones. "I know," he whispered. "I know." Plankton felt the exhaustion of the day's events settle over him like a thick blanket. The anger and fear drained from his body, leaving him weary and sleepy. His eye closed as he leaned into her touch. The room grew quieter. Karen held him close, her heart aching for his pain. Plankton's antennae drooped, his body heavy with exhaustion. His eyelid fluttered. He leaned into Karen's embrace, his body finally relaxing. Her hand stroked his back, soothing circles that seemed to lull him closer to slumber. "You're okay," she whispered. "You're safe." His breathing evened out, a gentle rise and fall that spoke of approaching sleep. "Rest," she murmured. "We can talk when you wake up." Karen felt the tension leave his body as sleep claimed him, her hand still moving in gentle circles. Her eyes searched his face, her heart a storm of emotions. She knew the seizure had taken a toll on him, knew the pain of his words was rooted in fear and hurt. As his breathing grew steadier, his antennae stilled, she felt the weight of his head against her shoulder, his trust in her a silent testament to their bond. Karen held him tight, his warmth seeping into her. She knew he needed this, needed to feel safe. His gentle snores filled the silence, a soft reminder that he was safe in her arms. Karen felt his body go slack, his antennae stilling as sleep claimed him. The anger had fled, leaving behind the fragile shell of his vulnerability. She held him closer, her heart aching for the pain he'd felt, the fear that still lingered. Her eyes searched his slumbering face, tracing the lines of his features with a soft touch. Plankton was her everything, her rock, her love. Gently, she picked him up, his body limp with the exhaustion. She carried him carefully as she laid him down, his antennae drooping in sleep. Karen tucked him in bed, her eyes lingering on his face. She made sure a favorite plushie was within reach. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his breathing deep and peaceful. With a soft sigh, she kissed his forehead. His antennae twitched but he didn't stir. Karen's eyes were filled with love and regret as she watched him sleep. The gentle rise and fall of his chest was a comforting testament to his resilience. The next morning, Karen knew she had to take Plankton to the dentist for x-rays. She woke Chip up. "Chip," she says. "Your dad has to go to the dentist today for a checkup." Chip nodded, his eyes still clouded with sleep. "Okay," he murmured. "Can I come?" "Yes." They arrive at Plankton's dentist office for the x-ray. The receptionist smiled. "Mr. Plankton, Dr. Coral will see you now." Dr. Coral greeted the family as they entered the exam room. "Good morning, Plankton," she smiled, her eyes kind. "So, today we're just going to do our usual x-rays. Can you open wide?" Plankton nodded, antennae twitching nervously. He sat in the chair, his legs swinging slightly as he tried to find a comfortable position. Karen held his hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles in a soothing motion. "It'll be quick," she whispered. Chip sat in the corner, his eyes on his dad, his heart heavy with unspoken words. The assistant, a young clownfish named Penny, finished with taking x-rays. Dr. Coral peered at the images, her eyes flicking back and forth between the x-rays and Plankton's mouth. "Good job," Penny tells him. "Everything looks okay," Dr. Coral began. "Yet it looks like we have some wisdom teeth coming in. They're not causing anything right now, but we should go ahead and remove them as a preventative mea-" Plankton's antennae shot up. "No," he said firmly, his voice tight with anxiety. "I don't like... don't like poking... mouth... no." His stims grew more intense, his hands flapping at his side. Karen squeezed his hand, trying to offer reassurance. "It's okay," she murmured. "It's just a li-" "NO!" Plankton's voice was loud, echoing in the small room. Chip flinched. Dr. Coral's eyes widened slightly, but she remained calm. "Let's talk about this, Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "We can go slow." But Plankton was already spiraling. The mere mention of the procedure had ignited anxiety in him. His stims grew more intense, his antennae flailing wildly. "No poking, no poking, no poking!" he chanted, his body rocking in the chair. Dr. Coral's expression shifted, her gaze moving from the x-rays to Plankton. She knew he had special needs, had seen the signs of his autism before. But today was different. Today, the fear in his eye was palpable, his body a testament to the stress he was under. "Let's take it slow," she soothed, her voice a gentle wave. "We can talk about this, okay?" Plankton's antennae stilled slightly, his body tensing. "But no poking," he whispered, his eye wide with fear. Karen nodded, her eyes meeting Dr. Coral's. "We'll find a way," she promised. "A way that makes you feel safe." Dr. Coral nodded, her expression understanding. "We'll take it step by step, Plankton," she said, her voice low and calm. "We'll work together to find the best solution for you."

Here are some idioms that use the word "chip": Chip on your shoulder An informal expression that means someone feels inferior or believes they've been treated unfairly. For example, "You will never make friends if you go around with a chip on your shoulder". Chip off the old block A person who resembles one parent in appearance or behavior. For example, "His son is just a chip off the old block". Chip in To contribute money, time, or advice to a cause or fund. For example, "Every member of the team chipped in to help pay for the coach's surgery". Cash in your chips To sell something, such as investments, to raise money. It can also be used as slang to mean to die. Bargaining chip Something that can be used to gain an advantage when trying to make a deal or an agreement. For example, "The workers used the threat of a strike as a bargaining chip in their negotiations". Blue chip A term that comes from poker, where chips used in gambling have different colors to represent different dollar amounts. A blue chip is typically the one with the highest value. call in (one's) chipscall in your chipscash (one's) chips incash incash in (one's) chipscash in chipscash in one's chipscash in your chipscheap as chipschipchip (away) at (something)chip and dipchip atchip awaychip buttychip inchip in for (something)chip in on (something)chip in with (something)chip in with (something) for (something)chip offchip off the old blockchip off the old block, achip on one's shoulderchip on one's shoulder, to have achip on shoulderchip shotchip upchipschips and dipchips are down, thechips with everythingcow chipcow chipsget a chip on (one's) shoulderhand in (one's) chipshas had its chipshave a chip on (one's) shoulderhave a chip on your shoulderhave had (one's) chipshave had your chipsin the chipsin the moneylet the chips fall (where they may)let the chips fall where they maymint chocolate chippass in (one's) chipspiss on (someone's) chipsput a chip on (one's) shoulderput all (of) (one's) chips on the tablespit chipsthe chips are downwhen the chips are down "All that and a bag of chips"---this phrase is usually a slam against someone who is conceited or arrogant. Perhaps the phrase originates in the concept of completeness; a meal complete with a "bag of chips".Aug 11, 2014

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𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 10 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. "𝖣𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗋𝗎𝗀𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾—" "𝖡𝗅𝗂𝗉, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆, 𝗄𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄. 𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒-𝖽𝗈𝗈, 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗒-𝗃𝗈𝗈." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗌. "𝖥𝗅𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝖿𝗅𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝖣𝖺𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒. 𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐?" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖳𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖡𝗂𝗀. 𝖦𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇." 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗉 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖦𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝗃𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋." "𝖸𝖾𝗌," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖡𝗂𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗌." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖦𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗉. 𝖦𝗅𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌. "𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋-𝖽𝗂𝖻𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾- 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍. "𝖶𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍, 𝖨'𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖣𝖺𝖽." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗃𝗈𝗅𝗍𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉. "𝖭𝗈," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗉𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖭𝗈 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗓𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾. "𝖨'𝗆 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋. "𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽, 𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋. "𝖣𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄, 𝖣𝖺𝖽," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾. "𝖶𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗒-𝗐𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌. "𝖳𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗒-𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍. 𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗒. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖲𝖺𝖿𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗌. "𝖬𝗈𝗆, 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗐. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒'𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗌. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌. "𝖶𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝗒, 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗉. "𝖣𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗒, 𝖽𝗈𝖽𝗈," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖨'𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝗁𝗎𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗆𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗇 𝗉𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗌, 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗈𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖽𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋, 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋'𝗌 𝖠𝖢 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗐𝖺𝗒. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖾. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗅𝗎𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖲𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. "𝖶𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖧𝗈𝗆𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿𝗅𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍, 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗎𝖾. "𝖱𝖾𝗌𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖣𝖺𝖽?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽. "𝖬𝗆?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍. "𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. "𝖣𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗇. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌. "𝖫𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆. "𝖲𝗎𝖻," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗍 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌." 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉. "𝖡𝗅𝗂𝗉, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗒," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗒. 𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒. 𝖧𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. "𝖬𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾," 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖪𝖾𝗋-𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗆-𝗈. 𝖡𝖺𝗆-𝖻𝖺𝗆-𝖻𝖺𝗆." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗌. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝗌, 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗂𝗑 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗒, 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝗄," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖲𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗒, 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗌𝗁." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾. "𝖣𝗈𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉." 𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗁𝗋𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. "𝖯𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗄𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗆," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗀𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝖼𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗎𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. "𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁-𝗎𝗉, 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖥𝗂𝗓𝗓, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗓𝗓, 𝗉𝗈𝗉," 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋. "𝖨𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇. "𝖬𝗈𝗆, 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗒𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗒." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗁𝗎𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝖾𝖽. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽'𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝗒𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍?" 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝖺 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. "𝖮𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗌, "𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗋𝖾. "𝖡𝗂𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝖻𝗈𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. "𝖧𝖾'𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗌." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉-𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟓𝟔𝟕𝟖𝟗 ①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨ １２３４５６７８９ 𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝𝟞𝟟𝟠𝟡 ➊➋➌➍➎➏➐➑➒ ¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹ ₁₂₃₄₅₆₇₈₉ 1̶2̶3̶4̶5̶6̶7̶8̶9̶ 1̲2̲3̲4̲5̲6̲7̲8̲9̲ 1̳2̳3̳4̳5̳6̳7̳8̳9̳ 【1】【2】【3】【4】【5】【6】【7】【8】【9】 『1』『2』『3』『4』『5』『6』『7』『8』『9』

1₁¹➀１↿˦⥠1️❶1️⃣

⁰¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹

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

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

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

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⡤⠶⠖⠒⠒⠶⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠳⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⠤⣦⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢤⣤⣤⠤⠤⠶⠖⠚⠛⠉⠉⠀⣸⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⣰⡿⢿⡆⠀⢸⣿⢦⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢞⣫⣭⣭⣉⡙⢿⣄⠘⣿⣄⠀⣿⡶⢛⣉⣉⡙⠳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡝⣧⠈⠻⣦⡸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣄⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⡤⠤⠤⠶⠶⠒⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⣧⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣻⡇⠀⠀⠺⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡆⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣾⠟⠀⢸⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢡⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⢿⣆⡛⠿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢋⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠻⢦⣍⣉⣉⣭⡶⠛⣽⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⢦⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⣈⠛⠶⠤⠤⠴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠄⠒⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠞⠋ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢳⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⣄⡓⠄⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠋⠉⠛⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢳⡶⠶⠤⢤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠤⠤⠶⠖⠚⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⢶⣆⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⢠⡿⠚⠛⣾⠛⠋⠉⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣟⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⠴⠶⠛⠋⠁⢸⡟⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠇⠀⠀⢀⣟⢦⡀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⣇⠈⣲⡄⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⢤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣈⣇⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⠶⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⣶⣦⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠒⢰⠆⠀⠐⠃⢒⠐⠂⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

"Honey, did you take out the trash?" Karen called out to the living room. The only reply was the distant sound of the TV playing a sitcom laugh track. She sighed. Going into the living room, Karen found her husband, Plankton, sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. The TV's blue light flickered over his face. She looked around the room, the piles of laundry, the dusty bookshelves, and the half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table. It was a mess, but she knew better than to wake him. Plankton had been working long hours at the chum factory lately, trying to make ends meet. His snoring grew louder, and she felt a wave of affection mixed with concern. Gently, she covered his legs with a blanket and bent to kiss his forehead. He stirred slightly but didn't wake up. In the kitchen, Karen grabbed a cup of coffee, the warmth and aroma grounding her for the evening ahead. The fridge hummed a low lullaby, reminding her of the chores left to do. The sink was full of dirty dishes, remnants of dinner. A pot with half-eaten chum congealed on the stovetop. Karen rolled up her sleeves, determined to tackle the chaos. She knew Plankton was exhausted from work. The clanking of pots and pans echoed through the tiny kitchen as she washed and sorted, her mind racing with thoughts of their future. A knock at the door startled her. She dried her hands on a towel, leaving wet spots like tears on the fabric. It was Hanna, her best friend since high school. Karen had not seen Hanna in weeks, and the sight of her brought a smile. Hanna was a burst of energy. "Hi, Karen! How's it going?" Hanna's voice was a mix of sweetness and the sharpness of someone who had seen too much of the world. She scanned the room, taking in the clutter, the stale smell of overworked air, and Plankton's snoring. "Hey, Hanna," Karen managed, her voice soft to not disturb his sleep. "It's been a bit hectic, but we're making do." Hanna stepped in, eyeing the mess sympathetically. "Looks like you could use a hand," she said, already grabbing a dish towel. Karen's smile grew. "You read my mind. Thanks." Hanna tossed the towel over her shoulder, ready to jump into the fray. "You know me," she said with a wink. "I've never been one to shy away from a mess." The two of them worked side by side, the rhythm of their movements harmonizing as they cleared the kitchen. Karen felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease as Hanna filled the room with stories of her latest adventures, a welcome distraction from the monotony of chores. As the last plate was put away, the fridge closed with a satisfying click, Karen leaned against the counter. Hanna looked at her. "You've been carrying a lot, haven't you?" she asked, her voice gentle. Karen nodded, her eyes welling up. "It's just that with Plankton's job, and the bills..." Hanna pulled her into a tight hug. "I know, sweetie. You're doing the best you can." They sat down in the living room, the clean kitchen a testament to their friendship's strength. Hanna's screen searched Karen's for a sign of the spark that used to be there. "I can't remember the last time we went out together," Hanna said. "You two deserve a break." Karen's screen lit up at the suggestion, but quickly dimmed. "We can't afford it," she said, sighing. "Not with the overtime Plankton's been doing." Hanna leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, I might have a little surprise for you," she said. Karen looked up, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" Hanna pulled out a small envelope from her pocket and handed it to her friend. "A gift," she said with a sly smile. "A check from my winning lottery ticket." Karen's eyes widened as she opened the envelope. "Hanna, no!" she protested. "You can't just give us your winnings!" Hanna's smile didn't waver. "I can, and I want to. You've been there for me through everything. It's about time I returned the favor. Besides," she said with a wink, "what's a little chum between friends?" Karen's hands trembled as she read the check. It was more than enough to cover their rent and bills for several months. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she hugged Hanna tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. The weight of financial stress lifted slightly from her shoulders, replaced by a warmth that spread through her chest. For a moment, the world didn't seem so overwhelming. Hanna pulled back, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. "Now, don't spend it all in one place," she teased. Karen laughed, the sound small but genuine. "I won't," she promised, the check clutched in her hand. "We'll use it wisely." The two of them sat quietly for a while, enjoying the rare moment of peace. The TV had switched to the news, and the low murmur of the anchor's voice filled the room. Plankton's snoring had become a comforting white noise. Hanna looked at Plankton, her expression thoughtful. "You know, I've always admired the way you take care of him," she said. "It can't be easy." Karen nodded, her thumb tracing the edges of the check. "It's not," she admitted. "But he's my Plankton. I love him, even when he's exhausting." Her gaze drifted to the sleeping form of her husband. Plankton's snores grew more even, his face finally relaxed. The lines of stress that usually pinched his features had smoothed out in sleep. Karen knew that Plankton had always dreamed of more than his life at the chum factory could offer. He was a man of ambition, his spirit too large for the cramped quarters they called home. Her thoughts turned to the gift from Hanna. The check represented more than just money; it was a beacon of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could finally start working towards those dreams.

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

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⡆⠀⠀⠙⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠾⠋⠉⣀⡴⠞⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠆⢀⡜⠁⣀⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣆⠀⠀⠈⠀⠰⠀⣀⣴⡾⠏⠁⣀⡴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠆⢠⣮⣠⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠋⣀⣴⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠟⠉⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣷⡒⠀⠀⠀⠹⢾⡋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠶⠶⠚⠉⠉⠉⠛⠶⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣁⣤⡴⠶⠒⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠲⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⠶⠞⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠶⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⣠⡾⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣟⣡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡤⠤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠳⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡸⢫⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣦⣴⣿⣭⣾⣿⣿⣷⣦⣍⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣄⣰⠛⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣃⣴⠟⣩⣤⣤⣤⣌⠛⣦⡹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡟⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠘⡇⠻⣧⡀⠀⠀⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⠖⠋⢹⡿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠈⠙⠳⢤⣿⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢰⡏⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠴⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢹⣄⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢰⡿⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠞⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠹⣦⣉⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⣁⣴⠿⠁⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⡿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣷⣿⣆⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣴⠟⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⠿⣆⠀⠀⠉⠛⠒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣆⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠙⠳⠦⣭⣉⣩⠶⠿⠉⠀⣶⠞⠉⣿⠀⠀⠹⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠙⢳⡶⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⡤⠶⠶⠒⠋⠉⠉⠉⠛⠶⢦⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣦⡀⠀ ⢦⣴⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡤⠶⠶⠚⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠓⠲⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠿⣆ ⣶⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⠶⠶⠶⣶⠶⠶⠾⢷⣦⣀⣀⣀⣴⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼ ⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿ ⣏⣀⣤⣤⣤⠶⠖⠛⠛⠋⠹⣇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣄⣀⣤⣤⡤⠴⠖⠚⠛⠋⢻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⠁⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡄⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⣠⣤⡤⠴⠶⠛⢛⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣛⡁⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⠏⣸⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠙⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⠟⠋⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢿ ⣟⣣⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⡀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⣻⣿⣿⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡼⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⣾⠃⢀⣤⡾⠋⣼⣿⣿⡟⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⡀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⡿⠿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⢺⣿⡀⠀⠻⣿⣿⡇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⣼⠃⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣷⣤⡀⠀⢠⣾⣿ ⣧⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣤⡟⠈⠁⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣧⡂⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⡶⠾⠿⠿⠛⠻⢿⣶⣿⠏⠙ ⠁⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠓⠶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⢀⣾⡏⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀ ⠀⠀⢀⣀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣏⡌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 13 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip sits on the edge of the bed, his hand touching Plankton's shoulder. He whispers, "I'm sorry," not sure if his dad can hear him. Karen sits next to him, her hand on his back. "It's not your fault," she says, her voice soft. "Remember, we're here for him. Now when he wakes, he might be feeling tired. But he'll be okay." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton's peaceful face. He's never seen his dad so still, so quiet. It's like he's looking at a stranger. But he's not. This is the same man who taught him to tie his shoes, who read him bedtime stories, and who always had the best pranks for Mr. Krabs. The sedative's hold starts to loosen. "It'll wear off soon," she whispers. Chip nods. "I'll stay here," he says, his voice determined. Plankton's eye twitches. A soft murmur escapes. Karen watches. "It's okay," she whispers, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "He's coming back." Slowly his eyelid flutters open, his eye unfocused. "Wheh..." he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep. Karen's screen glows with relief. "Welcome back, love," she says softly. Plankton blinks, his gaze slowly finding hers. "What... what happened?" His antennae twitch. Her voice is gentle. "You had a meltdown. Remember?" He frowns, the memory distant. "Chip accidentally touched your plushie, and it just... it was too much." Chip nods. "I'm sorry." Plankton's antennae droop. His eye widens with horror. "Chip," he murmurs. He tries to sit up, but his body is heavy with sleep. Karen's hand on his chest gently presses him back down. "It's ok," she says. "You're safe. We're here." Plankton's eye darts around the room. And he sees Chip, his son, sitting by his side, looking at him. "Wibbly wobbly," he murmurs. "Wibbly wobbly." Chip now understood why his dad is repeating random words. "It's okay, Dad," he says. "You're safe." Plankton's eye focused, his antennae still. "Chip," he whispers. "Wibbly wobbly... wibbly wobbly..." Chip nods, his screen now clear. He understands. These random phrases are his dad's way of navigating the world after a storm. They're his anchors in the chaos, his way of finding calm. "Pranks," Plankton says, his voice a whisper. "Ponies." Chip nods. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. These words, his stims, are his lifeboat, his way to find peace. "It's okay, Plankton," she murmurs. "You're safe." Plankton's antennae still. "Car tape." Karen nods. "Yes." He whispers, "Io." "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing. "You're home." "Io," Plankton murmurs again, clapping his hands. Chip frowns, not understanding. "It's alright, Chip," Karen explains. "It's just his way of reorienting. See, love, everything's okay." "Karen?" Plankton's voice is a question. "Chip?" Karen nods. "We're right here." Plankton's hand moves to his antennae, his thumb rubbing them absently. It's a soothing gesture, a way to ground himself in reality. "What happened?" Karen's screens flicker with the memory of the chaos. "You had a meltdown," she says gently. "But it's okay. You're safe now." Plankton's eye narrows, his mind racing. He remembers the anger, the noise, the need to escape. "Chip," he says again, his voice filled with regret as he sees his son. Karen nods, her screen softening. "Chip's okay," she assures him. "He saw what happened." Plankton's antennae twitch. He's torn between apologizing and retreating. Chip's voice is small. "Dad, it's okay. I know it's not you." Plankton's eye meets his son's, but he knows he lost control. He feels the bed dip as Karen sits beside him. Her hand finds his, her grip firm and warm. "Remember, love, it's the autism." Plankton nods, his antennae still. He starts to rock, his body swaying back and forth, his way to soothe. Karen knows this motion means he's trying to regain control. "Hhmmm..." he murmurs, the sound deep in his throat. "It's okay," Karen whispers. "You're okay." "Hmm hmm hmm," Plankton continues, his voice a gentle rumble. "What's he doing?" Chip asks, his voice hushed. "It's his way of calming down," Karen explains, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's using humming to soothe himself." "Is he okay?" Karen's hand in his is a reminder that they're all still here, still a family. "It's okay," she says. "This is his way of finding peace." Plankton's humming grows louder, more insistent. "Hmm hmm hmm," he murmurs, his antennae now still. His body rocks in a gentle rhythm, his eye focused on some invisible horizon. "It's okay," Karen whispers. "This is his way." "Dad," Chip asks softly. "Is it helping?" Plankton's hum deepens, his antennae still. Karen nods. "It's his way of finding his center again," she says. Chip watches, his screen filled with concern. Then, Plankton's hand reaches out, grasping at the air. "Karen," he whispers, his voice desperate. "Huggly?" Her heart breaks for her husband. "Plankton," she says softly, her hand on his back. "Do you want me to rock you?" He nods, his antennae still. "Huggly," he whispers, his voice a plea. With a gentle touch, Karen picks him up, cradling his small frame in her arms. He's heavier than he looks, but she doesn't care. This is her Plankton, her love. Plankton's body goes limp, his head resting on her shoulder. She starts to rock him, the motion smooth and even as his eye flutters. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a lullaby. "We're here." Chip watches. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. The rocking becomes a rhythm, a dance between comfort and pain. Karen's screen flickers with the memory of their first dance, their first kiss, the first time she held him in his arms and promised to love him, autism and all. Chip watches, his screen reflecting a mix of fear and fascination. "Is he okay?" he whispers. "Shh," Karen murmurs. "This is his way." Her screens flicker with a soft light. "You're doing great, love," she says to Plankton. "You're okay." The room is quiet except for Plankton's steady breathing and Karen's gentle rocking. Chip watches, his eyes on his father's peaceful face. The rocking slows, Plankton's breaths even out. His antennae no longer quiver with tension. "Hmm," he murmurs, his body relaxing in Karen's embrace. Plankton's humming fades, replaced by the soft snores of sleep. Karen lowers his head to the pillow, his antennae still. Chip looks up at his mother, his screen etched with questions. "What do we do now?" he asks. Karen's eyes don't leave Plankton's sleeping form. "Now," she says, "we wait. He'll wake up soon." Her screens dim, the tension of the room easing. "It's important to let him sleep it off," she explains. "The meltdown takes a lot out of him." Chip nods, his thoughts racing. He's seen his dad like this before, but never so lost. The Plankton he knows is clever, funny, a master of pranks. This Plankton, the one curled up on the bed, is different. He's vulnerable, raw. It's a side of his dad Chip's still learning to navigate.

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

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

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

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

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

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 20 (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 He opens the door, his screen a canvas of hope and fear. Plankton's back is still turned, his antennae still drooping. "Dad," Chip whispers, his voice shaking. "I made you a new sensory box." He holds it out, an offering, his heart in his throat. Plankton's antennae twitch, but he doesn't turn around. Chip's screen flickers with uncertainty. "It's got all your favorites," he says, his voice trembling. "And some new stuff." He takes a step forward, his hand shaking. "I want to help." Plankton's body remains still, his antennae drooping. Chip's heart feels like it's been shattered into a million pieces. But he holds out the box, his hand steady. "I know I don't get it all," he says, his voice soft. "But I'm trying." He watches as Plankton's antennas twitch, a small sign of life in the sea of silence. He takes a deep breath. "This is for you," he says, his voice a whisper. "Whenever you need it." He places the box on the bed, close to Plankton. "Whenever you're ready." When Chip leaves the room, Plankton takes a look in the new box. He's not ready to forgive, but the gesture isn't lost on him. His antennae twitch with a mix of anger and appreciation. The box is a treasure trove of sensory comforts, a silent apology wrapped in care. He picks up a squishy ball, squeezes it, feels its calming give. He turns to face the door, his eye on the empty space where Chip was just moments ago. The weight of their words, their emotions, hangs in the air like a storm cloud. Plankton's heart is a tumultuous sea, a whirl of feelings he can't quite articulate. But the box, it's something he can touch, something tangible amidst the chaos. He opens the box, his antennae twitching with curiosity. Each item inside is a memory, a bridge to their past, a promise for the future. He picks up a smooth stone, feeling its coolness against his skin. It's comforting. The headphones lay at the top, a silent guardian of peace. He puts them on, the cacophony of the outside world muffled. For the first time in hours, his mind is still, quiet. He can breathe. He keeps looking in the box. A fidget spinner, its colors blending as it twirls. He's watched Chip play with them before, spinning them absently, lost in thought. Now it's in his hands, a whirl of motion. It's strange, but comforting. He tries to mimic his son's ease, his mind racing with the thought that maybe, just maybe, his pain is understood. A squishy ball, soft and yielding, like his own heart under the weight of his frustration. He squeezes it, feeling the tension ease from his fingers, his mind. It's like a silent scream, a gentle release. He hadn't realized how much he needed this. He picks up a fidget cube, each side a different texture. He runs his antennae over the bumps, the smoothness. It's calming, the way it chases the chaos from his thoughts. He twists it in his hands, the click-clack a metronome to his racing thoughts. He takes off the headphones. The room is quiet, but he can still feel the echoes of Chip's voice, his son's hope. He holds the cube tightly, his antennae vibrating with the memory of Chip's earnest pleas for forgiveness. He's not ready to forgive, but the gesture isn't lost on him. He opens the drawer beside his bed, rummaging through the medical supplies. His fingers trace over cool numbing gel, the pediatric-friendly kind that Chip had used at his dentist. Then he feels it, the edge of a pin, the weight of a heartfelt gesture. He pulls it out, his antennae trembling. He opens it. It's a small booklet. On the cover, in bold letters, it reads "AUTISM FRIENDLY EMERGENCY INSTRUCTIONS." Chip's handwriting. He opens it to read a guide for doctors, for neighbors, for anyone who might not understand. Inside, the pages are filled with simple diagrams and bullet points, detailing Plankton's sensory needs, his stims, his triggers. Chip's words are written: "My dad's special, and he has a thing called autism. It means sometimes things are too much for him, and he needs help." The booklet is a map of Plankton's soul, a guide to his inner world. "Please, be patient and calm. He's not being difficult, he's just overwhelmed." Chip's words are a lifeline, a bridge to understanding. "Make sure to respect his boundaries," it says. "And don't touch him without asking first." It then has Karen's phone number and his sensory friendly therapist's contact. Plankton's antennae quiver as he reads, his heart swelling with a mix of pride and pain. His son has taken the time to understand him, to advocate for him. He closes it gently, his eye wet with unshed tears. "Thank you," he whispers to the empty room as he puts the booklet back in the box. Plankton sets the box of goods on his nightstand. He turns to go to his son's room. He opens the door to Chip's room, the space a whirlwind of colors and sounds. His heart flutters with nerves, his antennae twitching. Chip's screen is dim, casting a soft glow. He's asleep. Plankton pauses, not ready to wake him, not yet. But he wants him to know. He sits on the edge of the bed. He reaches out, his hand hovering over Chip's shoulder. He needs to feel the connection, the warmth of his son. He touches him gently, his hand trembling as he slides his hand in Chip's, who remains asleep. Plankton sighs, his chest tightening. He can't find the words to explain the tornado of emotions whirling inside him. He's not used to this kind of connection, not with Chip. He looks at his son's sleeping form, his screen a serene blue. The silent rise and fall of Chip's chest. Plankton's antennae quiver, his heart racing with a strange mixture of emotions. He's not used to this kind of intimacy, not with Chip. But the box and booklet he left in his nightstand, it's all a testament to his son's growth. He's trying. Plankton lies down on the bed. He can feel the gentle weight of Chip's hand in his own. The boy's screens are dark now, his breaths slow and steady. Later, Chip eventually stirs awake, his screens flickering with surprise when he feels the weight of his father's hand on his shoulder. Plankton is asleep beside him, their hands entwined. Chip's heart skips a beat, his mind racing with questions. What happened? Did his dad forgive him? Yet Plankton's gentle snores are real, his antennae still. He looks down at their intertwined hands, a silent testament to something new, something unspoken. The weight of his dad's forgiveness? Or just the comfort of shared space? Chip isn't sure, but he's grateful for the warmth, the connection. He lies there for a while, his screens dimming to match his father's rest. His mind is a whirl of thoughts, of what's been said and not said. Of the distance they've traveled, and the journey still ahead. But for now, this moment, it's enough.

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

GREAT CHIP ii (Autistic author) After what feels like an eternity, Plankton's eye slowly refocus. His body twitches, then relaxes. He blinks, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Karen moves closer, her hand on his shoulder. "Welcome back," she says soothingly. Plankton looks up, seeing Chip in the doorway, his eyes full of questions. "What..." Plankton asks, his voice groggy. Chip takes a step forward, his heart racing. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton blinks again, his gaze sharpening. He looks at Karen. "I had one of my moments, didn't I?" His voice is tinged with self-consciousness. Karen nods, her eyes full of love and understanding. "Yes, you did." Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip, his vulnerability laid bare for his son to see. Chip steps closer, unsure of what to do with his hands, his eyes searching his dad's. "Are you okay?" Chip asks, his voice tentative. "I just got h..." "Yes," Plankton cuts him off, his tone brisk, "I'm fine, ok?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice, as if the seizure is an inconvenience, something to be pushed aside quickly and forgotten. Chip's heart squeezes at the sight. "Dad, ca..." "I said I'm okay," Plankton repeats, his voice a little sharper this time. There's a defensiveness in his tone that Chip's never heard before. Chip flinches. But he's still confused, and his curiosity won't quit. "But why do..." "I don't want to talk about it, I told you what to know," Plankton snaps, his voice abrupt and final. "So just drop it!" Chip's eyes fill with tears, his curiosity colliding with his dad's discomfort. He's never seen Plankton so agitated before. "Dad I'm so..." "I said I'm okay!" Plankton says. "So JUST STOP ASKING!" Chip's eyes well with tears. He didn't mean to upset him, he just wanted to understand. Karen steps in, placing a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't you go to your room for a bit, honey?" "Ok," Chip says, but he ends up accidentally touching his dad when he stands up to go, brushing against Plankton. And that makes him even angrier.. Plankton jolts away, his face twisting into a grimace. "I said not to touch me!" The room goes deathly quiet. Karen's eyes widen, and she opens her mouth to say something, but Plankton's not done with Chip. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" he yells, his voice echoing off the walls. "I can't even have a moment without you pestering me! YOU'RE the one who's not okay! YOU'RE JUST A KID, CHIP; I NEVER WANT YOU TO EVER THINK ABOUT THIS AGAIN!" Chip's eyes widen, his face flushing with a mix of fear and sadness. He didn't know his dad could be so mad. He turns and runs to his room, slamming the door behind him. Karen sighs heavily. This isn't how she wanted Chip to learn about Plankton's condition. She knows her husband's frustration is a defense mechanism, a way for him to cope with his own fears. But it doesn't make it any easier for Chip to understand. Plankton's eye follows Chip as he runs off, his own expression a mix of anger and upset. He didn't like to scream, but the sensory overload from the seizure had left him on edge, his emotions raw. His son didn't mean any harm, but the sudden contact had been too much. His skin feels like it's buzzing, his mind racing with the echoes of his own voice. Plankton sighs. He doesn't like his son to see him like this, so vulnerable and out of control. Karen never liked to see Plankton upset. She knew to tread carefully with him when he's so explosive, as he's now breathing heavily. "Plankton," she starts gently, "Chip didn't mean to upset you. He's just trying to understand." But Plankton's still tense, not replying to her. Karen saw the frustration and wanted to try again, not knowing if he understood what she said. She inched closer to him cautiously. Plankton's eye darted around the room, avoiding hers. He knew his reaction was too much, but his senses were still screaming. He felt like a failure, unable to control his own body. Karen waited patiently, giving Plankton the space he needed. Her hand hovered near his arm, ready to offer comfort, but she knew better than to touch him now. Plankton's shoulders slumped as the reality of the situation sank in. He had always tried so hard to hide his seizures from Chip, not wanting to burden him. But now the secret was out, and his son had witnessed his most vulnerable moment. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he had snapped at Chip. It was his way of protecting his own pride. Plankton took a deep breath, his heart thumping in his chest. He didn't want his son to see him as weak or broken. Karen's hand remained hovering, a silent offering of comfort. He knew she understood, but he didn't want her defending Chip either. Plankton's mind raced, his heart still pounding. He felt exposed, his secret laid bare for his son to see. The room was suffocating, his thoughts a tornado. He didn't want Chip to think less of him, to see him as damaged. Plankton took another deep breath, his eye focusing on anything but Karen's concerned gaze. He felt a knot in his stomach, his chest tight, both of which can in themselves cause an overload on their own. But Karen didn't realize when she reached out to touch his shoulder.. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but to Plankton, it was like a bomb had detonated in his sensory system. He jolted away, his eye wide with panic. "Sorry," Karen murmured, quickly retracting her hand. She knew better than to push when he was like this. Plankton nodded, his breathing steadying slightly. "It's okay," he managed to say, his voice still tight. "I know you're trying." Karen sat down next to him, her hand resting on the couch between them, a silent bridge of support. "We'll talk to Chip together, when you're ready." Plankton nodded, his eye still avoiding hers. In the quiet, Plankton felt his self-consciousness grow. He didn't want Chip to see him this way, to think less of him. It was something he'd managed to hide for so long, his autism, his moments of overload. Now, it was out in the open, and he felt like a creature exposed to the elements. The room felt too warm, too bright, each sound amplified. He knew his reaction was extreme, but his mind couldn't help it. The effort it took to appear 'normal' was like swimming against a riptide, and now the current had dragged him under. He could see the worry in Karen's screen, the sadness that he'd lashed out at Chip. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He didn't want Chip to think he didn't care, that he didn't want to be there for him. He just couldn't handle the touch, not now. Not with his senses still in overdrive. Karen knew that look, the one of internal battle. "Why don't we go talk to him?" she suggested, her voice soft. Plankton nodded, pushing himself out of the chair. His legs felt like jelly, his heart racing. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before opening the door to Chip's room.

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

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

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

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

⊹ ࣪ ˖

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

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

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

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 15 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The contents are a treasure trove of textures and sounds: fidget toys, a squishy ball, a piece of fabric with different patterns. Chip reaches out to touch. "Can I try?" Plankton's antennae still, his eye watching Chip intently. "Careful," Karen warns, her voice a gentle reminder of the importance of respect. Chip picks up a smooth stone, turning it over in his hand. "This toy helps him calm down?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder. Karen nods. "Whenever his mind gets too crowded, he holds onto it, feels its coolness." "Mom, like this?" Chip says. "Just like that," she smiles. But Chip's curiosity gets the better of him. He starts to juggle the sensory items, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Look, Dad, I'm just like you!" he says, trying to relate. "I'm autistic too! Tick tick.." Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye wide with shock and hurt as he then abruptly leaves the room without a single word, slamming the door hard, his eye welling up with tears. Karen sighs, her screen filling with disappointment. Chip looks up, his screen reflecting confusion. "Chip," she says gently, "What you just did was not okay." Karen's eyes are on him, her expression a mix of concern and anger. "What you just did," she says, her voice firm, "is called bullying." Chip's screen flickers with shock. "What?" he asks. "You used your dad's autism as a joke," Karen says, her voice tight with frustration. "It's not funny, Chip." He looks down at his hands, his mind racing. "But I just wanted to be like him," he whispers, his voice small. "I didn't mean to hurt him, I wanted to relate, to make him smile.." Karen's screens dim, her heart aching for her son. "I know," she says, her voice soft. "But sometimes, our intentions don't match our actions." She pauses. "Do you know how that felt for him?" "No," he murmurs, eyes on the closed door. "I just..." But Karen's expression is unyielding. "You need to think about others, Chip. Especially those who can't always tell you how they feel." She sighs. "You're his son. You need to support him, not mock him." Her words are a gentle scolding, a lesson in empathy. Chip's shoulders slump, his screen reflecting his guilt. He looks at the closed door, his mind racing with regret. He didn't mean to hurt his dad. He just wanted to understand. Karen's voice is a gentle guide. "Chip, autism isn't a game or a trick to mimic. What you did was hurtful, even if you didn't mean it." Chip's eyes are on the closed door, his mind racing. "But I just wanted to..." his voice trails off. Karen's screens light up with patience. "I know, love," she says. "Yet we all make mistakes. It's how we learn from them that counts." Chip nods, his heart heavy. He didn't mean to bully his dad, but now he sees the error of his ways. "How do I fix it?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen sighs, her eyes on the closed door. "First," she says, "you need to understand that his feelings are real, even if you don't see them the same way." Chip nods, his screen reflecting his newfound understanding. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice earnest. "I didn't mean to..." Karen's screens dim, her heart full of compassion. "I know," she says, her hand on his shoulder. "But we all learn. The important thing is to do better next time." Karen says, going out into the living room to check on Plankton. Plankton is sitting on the couch, his antennae drooped, his body still. He's staring into space, his usual bubbly demeanor nowhere to be seen. "Plankton?" she calls out softly. He doesn't move. She approaches, her movements deliberate and slow, not wanting to startle him. "Plankton, honey," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Are you okay?" He doesn't respond, his eye fixed on a spot on the wall. Karen sighs, her screens reflecting a mix of concern and understanding. This isn't the first time he's retreated like this. She knows his mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, his senses overwhelmed by the world around him. "Plankton?" Her voice is a soft touch, trying to break through his isolation. She sits beside her husband. His antennae twitch, a tiny sign that he's heard her. "I'm here," she says, her hand on his back. "Do you want to talk about it?" Plankton's eye flickers to her, his antennae still drooped. He's silent, his mouth a tight line. Karen knows this look. It's the look of someone trying to find words that won't come. "You don't have to," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "But I'm here." He takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. "Chip," he finally says, his voice strained. "I don't know how to explain it." Karen nods, her screens flickering with empathy. "It's okay," she says. "You don't have to." But Plankton's eye is on the floor, his gaze unfocused. "Chip, tick tick..." He starts again, his voice cracking. Karen's screens flicker with sympathy. She knows the pain their son caused. "Plankton," she says softly. "I know, love," she whispers. "I know." Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tightening. "Why?" He looks up at her, his eye pleading. "Why would he?" "Because he's still learning," she says gently. "And we're here to he--" Karen trails off as Chip meets them in the living room, approaching them. His screen is filled with apology. "Dad," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't know." Plankton's antennae raise slightly, his gaze shifting to Chip. "Chip hurt, no funny," he says, his voice flat. Chip nods, his screen reflecting his understanding. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton's eye stays on him, his antennae quivering slightly. "I didn't know it was like that for you. I'm just trying to underst--" But Plankton cuts him off, his antennae shooting up. "Don't," he says, his voice sharp. "Don't pretend you get it. You never will." His eye is cold, his antennae rigid. Chip's screen flickers with pain. Karen's screens dim, her heart heavy. "Plankton," she says softly, but her husband turns away. "I don't want him here," he says, his voice filled with anger. "He doesn't understand. He doesn't care." Chip's screen flickers with disbelief. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "That's not true." Plankton's gaze meets his son's, but the warmth is gone, replaced by a coldness Chip has never seen before. "I'm not going to give you closure Chip.." Karen's screens flash with alarm. "Plankton, no," she says, her voice desperate. But Plankton's solely on his son. "You think you can play games with me?" he says. "Yo--" But Chip's had enough. "I'm not playing games!" he yells, his voice startling Plankton. It's to loud. "I'm trying to he-" Plankton's antennae shoot up, his eye wide with fear and anger. "Chip, please," Karen says, her voice urgent. But Chip doesn't realize the intensity of his father's reaction. "I just wanted to help!" Chip's voice cracks, not knowing he's being to loud. Plankton's body stiffens, his antennae quivering rapidly. "No," he says, his voice low and harsh. "Stop; please.."

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

𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂 ᥫ᭡.ℋℋ𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔𝒉𝒂 ᥫ᭡.

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NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT iii (Autistic author) The door creaks open, and Karen turned to see Hannapoking her head in. Hanna's never met Plankton. "Hi, Karen," Hanna called, warm and cheerful. "How's the Chum Bucket running today?" Karen forced a smile at the sight of Hanna. She hadn't told anyone about Plankton's condition yet. "Oh, you know," she said, trying to keep her tone light. "Just another day." Plankton's eye snapped up at the sound of Hanna's voice, his gaze intense. Karen felt a flicker of anxiety. Would he be able to handle the unpredictability of a guest? "Plankton, this is Hanna," Karen introduced. "Hanna, this is my husband, Plankton. I’m going to clean up the yard." As Karen left, Hanna's screen lit up. "The one and only!" she exclaimed, moving in for a hug. Plankton recoiled at the sudden physical contact. "No touch," he said, a sudden snap of command. Hanna, taken aback, froze. "Oh, I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "No touch," he repeated in a way that was both defensive and pleading. Hanna took a step back, her smile faltering. Plankton's eye darted around the room, his breaths shallow and quick. The sudden intrusion into his personal space had triggered a storm of sensory overload, his brain struggling to process the unexpected contact. "I'm sorry," Hanna began. "No touch!" His voice was a whipcrack in the silence, his body tensing. Hanna's smile had disappeared completely, replaced by a look of confusion and concern. "Plankton, I didn't mean to upset you," she said. "Can we start over?" But Plankton's agitation only grew. "No touch!" he snapped again. Hanna took in his distress. "I'm sorry," she stuttered, her voice tentative. But Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the spot where her hand had been, his body a taut wire of frustration. "No touch," he murmured, his voice a mix of anger and fear. Hanna's trying to understand, her own emotions a whirlwind of confusion and concern. "I didn't know." "No touch," he whispered. "What's going on, Plankton?" she asked. "You're scaring me." "No touch," he repeated, his body now vibrating with tension. Hanna felt her own frustration rising. "I said sorry," she retorted, her voice rising. "What more do you want?" Plankton's antennae shot up, his whole body quivering. "Understand!" he bellowed, the word no longer a mere echo but a demand. "Understand!" "Plankton, what's happening to you?" "Understand," he spat. "Need to... understand!" "I don't get it, Plankton," she said. "What do you want from me?" "No touch!" he shouted. The cucumber slices bounced off the plate, scattering across the floor. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded, her own anger rising. "Why are you acting like this?" But Plankton's rage had overtaken him, his need to be understood like a wildfire in his mind. "Need to... understand!" he yelled, his voice a desperate cry in the storm of his emotions. Hanna felt a wave of anger crash over her. "I don't get it!" she exclaimed, voice rising. "What's your problem?" "No touch!" he screamed again, his body a coil of tension. "Why are you acting like this?" she demanded, her voice sharp. "What's wrong with a simple hello?" Plankton's head snapped up, his eye locking onto hers. "Wrong," he said, the word a hiss. "Wrong!" "What do you mean, 'wrong'?" she challenged. "You're the one freaking out over a hug!" But Plankton was lost in his own world, his brain struggling to make sense of the chaotic sensory input. "No touch," he repeated. "Need... to... understand!" "I've had enough of this!" she shouted, her fists clenching. "What is your problem?" Plankton's eye darted around the room, his thoughts a blur of past and present. "Problem," he murmured. His hand shot out, slapping the cucumber plate off the table, the shatter of porcelain sharp in the silence. "Wrong," he murmured again, his voice a mix of anger and despair. "Need... to... understand." Hanna's own anger grew with each repetition, her voice rising. "I'm not the one with a problem!" she shot back. "You're the one who can't even handle a hug!" "Understand!" he shouted, his body shaking. "Need to understand!" His hand slammed on the table again, knocking over their drinks. The room was now a battlefield of emotions, each collision sending shockwaves through the air. Hanna's frustration boiling over. "What's your deal, Plankton?" she spat, each syllable laced with anger. But Plankton's fury was a volcano erupting, his voice a guttural roar. "Wrong!" he shouted. "Wrong!" He hugs his knees and started to rock in stimming, his body a maelstrom of sensory overload. Hanna, unable to comprehend his distress, felt her own anger flare. "What's your deal?" she yelled. "Why can't you just act normal?" Plankton's world was spinning, his senses assaulted by the sharpness of Hanna's tone. "No touch," he murmured, his voice a plea lost in the din of his thoughts. Hanna's screen flashed with irritation. "I said I'm sorry," she snapped, her voice like a whip. "What more do you want?" "No touch," he repeated, his voice a desperate cry for understanding as he rocked. Hanna's confusion grew with each repetition, her patience wearing as thin as the tension in the room. "Why are you doing this?" she shouted, her voice a mirror of his own frustration. Plankton's body was a tangle of emotion, his limbs flailing in a desperate attempt to communicate. "Wrong," he said, his voice a tornado of pain. "Need... to... understand!" Hanna took a step back, her face a mask of disbelief. "What's gotten into you?" she demanded, her own anger a match to his. "I didn't do anything wrong!" Plankton's eye grew wild, his body jerking as he tried to find the words to explain his pain. "Wrong," he insisted, his voice a tornado of frustration. "Need to... understand!" Hanna's own anger grew sharp as a knife. "What's your problem, Plankton?" she yelled. "You're acting like a maniac, I don’t know why Karen puts up with this!" “Karen?” Plankton shook. The question hung in the air, a challenge thrown down, a spark in his eye. Hanna's anger grew, her voice a crescendo of accusation. "Your wife loved you, Plankton, despite your... quirks. Can't you just be grateful for that? Can’t you see how much she's trying?" But Plankton's fury was a hurricane, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. "Wrong!" he shouted, his body rigid. "Need to understand!" The room vibrated with his pain, his need to communicate the storm raging within him. Hanna's a gale force of accusation. "What's your problem?" she screamed, each word a shard of ice. Plankton's eye darted around the room, his antennae trembling with the overwhelming noise. “If only Karen knew what a monster you really are, perhaps she would leave you!” She yells loud enough to alarm Karen. Her words hit him like a tidal wave, crashing over his already fractured reality. The world around him grew distant, his eye glazed over as he tried to process the onslaught of emotions. His body froze, every muscle locked in place. Karen, drawn by the commotion, rushed back inside with dread. She took in the scene with a gasp, Hanna's screen flushed with anger, Plankton's body a statue of despair. "What's happening?" she demanded, her screen flicking from one to the other. Hanna's gaze met hers, her voice filled with exhaustion. "Your husband just lost it over a simple hug," she told, her hands still shaking. Karen took in Plankton's rigid form. "Oh no," she murmured, as Hanna notices Plankton and his unblinking stare. "What's wrong with him?" Hanna asked, her anger dissipating in the face of his sudden stillness. Karen's with concern as she rushed to his side. "It's ok, I've got you." Plankton's body remained stiff, his eye unblinking as he froze in place. Hanna took in his pallor, the starkness of his features against the chaos of the room. "What's going on?" she whispered, the fight draining from her voice. Karen's screen met hers, desperation etched into her features. "Hanna, what did you say to him?" she pleaded, her voice a symphony of fear. Hanna's expression softened at the sight of Plankton's frozen form. "I... I didn't mean to upset him," she stuttered, her words tripping over themselves. "I just gave him a hug, and he went crazy. He kept saying 'no touch' and 'need to understand'. And I told him you deserve better, that's all." Karen's feeling shattered at the revelation. Her eyes filled with tears as she took in Plankton's lifeless form. “Hanna, tell me what exactly you said to about him..” Hanna, her anger now replaced with a deep sorrow, recounted their interaction, her words falling like heavy rain. Karen listened, upsettingly sinking with each syllable. "He said 'no touch', right?" Karen whispered, her voice a thread of hope. "It's his way of saying he's overwhelmed." Hanna nodded, her anger giving way to worry. "Yes, and he kept repeating 'need to understand'. I didn't know what to do and got frustrated with him, and I said you deserve a better life." Karen's gaze never left Plankton's still form as she absorbed Hanna's words. The doctor's voice echoed in her mind: his autism wasn't a choice, it was his reality. "Hanna, please," she said, her voice a whisper of despair. "He's not a monster, he's just different." Hanna's expression softened, her own filling with regret. "I'm sorry, Karen," she said, her voice a quiet apology. "I should have known better." Karen's gaze remained locked on Plankton, her heart racing. She knew she had to help him, had to bring him back from the edge of this sensory apocalypse. "It's ok," she murmured, her voice a gentle whisper. "It's ok." Her hand reached out to him, a bridge of comfort in the storm of his overwhelmed mind. "Look at me, Plankton," she soothed, her voice a soft lullaby. "I'm here. It's just us." Slowly, his gaze shifted to her, his pupil contracting in the face of her calm. "It's okay," she whispered. "You're okay."

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT v (Autistic author) The room grew quiet, the only sound their ragged breaths. Plankton’s eye grew heavy, his body sinking deeper into the embrace of the cushions and blanket. His mind whirled with the events of the day, the diagnosis, the changes, Hanna’s harsh words, and the overwhelming need to escape. His eyelid drooped, his body slowly unwinding from the tension that had held him hostage. "You're okay," Karen murmured, her voice a gentle lullaby in the quiet of the room. "You're safe." The words washed over Plankton like a warm bath, soothing the raw edges of his overstimulated mind. He let out a shaky sigh, his body sinking into the cocoon she had created. The softness of the cushions cradled him, the weight of the blanket a comforting reminder of her presence. His eye grew heavier, the weight of the day's events lifting from his shoulders. Karen's voice was a gentle lullaby, a constant reminder that he was not alone in this new reality. "You're okay," she whispered. "You're safe." The warmth of the room enveloped him, the candles casting a soft glow that danced on the walls. His breaths grew deep and even, his body finally relaxing into sleep. Hanna watched from a distance, filled with regret and sorrow. She saw Plankton’s peaceful features, a stark contrast to the turmoil he'd been in moments before. His small frame looked so fragile, his antennae resting gently on the pillow. Her hand hovered over him, wanting to offer comfort but afraid of the reaction she might elicit. She took a tentative step forward, her heart in her throat. What had she done? Her mind raced with the echoes of their argument. Hanna's gaze lingered on his sleeping face, the lines of distress now smoothed away by the gentle embrace of slumber. She felt a pang of regret for the harshness of her words, the accusations she had thrown at him in a fit of anger. Her hand hovered above his forehead, a silent offer of comfort, but she held back. How could she touch him now, after causing so much pain? Her screen searched his serene expression, her heart aching for the friend she had lost in the storm of misunderstanding. Plankton's features, once twisted with anger and fear, were now a canvas of peace. His antennae lay still against the pillow, a stark contrast to the tumult of moments prior. Hanna felt a tear slide down her cheek as she took in the sight of him, so vulnerable and alone in his corner of the room. Her hand hovered over his forehead, a silent apology for the hurt she had caused. The warmth of her palm was a ghostly presence in the air, yearning to bridge the gap her words had created. But she held back, fearful of the reaction she might stir in his slumber. Hanna searched his tranquil face, the echoes of their confrontation a stark contrast to his current peace. The soft rise and fall of his chest was a testament to his resilience, his ability to find calm amidst the chaos. She felt a wave of sorrow wash over her, regretting her role in the storm that had ravaged his mind. Her hand hovered above his face, the warmth of her palm a silent apology for the pain she had inflicted. But she knew that touch was a minefield for Plankton now, a gesture that might shatter the fragile serenity he had found. So, she simply watched. Hanna searched his features, her gaze lingering on the delicate curve of his antennae, the way his eye was shut, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Plankton's face was a canvas of peace in the candlelit room, a stark contrast to the tumultuous scene that had just unfolded. His sleep was a sanctuary she dared not disturb. Her hand hovered over him, wanting to smooth his furrowed forehead but held back by fear of what her touch might do to him. Her mind raced with a whirlwind of regret and sorrow. What had she said to him? What had she done? Hanna's a storm of emotion, her thoughts a cacophony of doubt and despair. She had never meant to cause him pain, had never understood the depth of his distress. Her hand hovered above his sleeping form, a silent testament to her regret. The candlelight cast a soft glow over his face, his features etched with the traces of his anguish. Plankton's single eye was closed, a tiny line of tension still present between his antennae. His breaths came slow and deep, a stark contrast to the harshness of his earlier cries. The quiet of the room was a stark contrast to the tumult of her thoughts, each breath a reminder of the damage her words had wrought. Hanna's gaze lingered on his sleeping form, her hands clenched at her sides. How could she have been so blind, so cruel? She watched as his antennae twitched in his sleep, his mouth slighty parted. Karen approached Hanna, her movements deliberate and calm. "Look," she whispered, guiding her hand to Plankton's shoulder. "This is how you touch him." Hanna searched her for guidance, the weight of her actions heavy on her mind. "Like this?" she asked, her fingers hovering above his body, unsure. Karen nodded, a soft smile gracing her. "Yes," she murmured. "Gently, with care." She guided Hanna's hand, her fingertips brushing the outline of Plankton's shoulder. The touch was light, feather-soft, a gentle caress that sent a shiver of comfort through him. Plankton's antennae twitched in his sleep, his body responding to the familiarity of Karen's touch. His breathing grew deeper, his form more relaxed under the weight of her hand. Hanna's screen searched Karen's, looking for reassurance. "See?" Karen whispered. "He's calmer now." The gentleness in her voice was a stark contrast to the harshness of their earlier exchange. "This is how you touch him when he's upset," she said, her hand guiding Hanna's. "With care, with love." Under her guidance, Hanna's fingers hovered over Plankton's shoulder, barely making contact with his skin. The touch was a silent promise of apology, of understanding, of a bond that went beyond the surface of their friendship. Karen watched as Hanna's hand trembled, the weight of their situation heavy upon them both. "It's ok," she whispered. "He's safe now." Guiding her friend's hand, Karen demonstrated the gentle squeeze that Plankton responded to, the pressure a silent reminder of her love and support. Hanna searched his face, the guilt in them dimming as she felt his body relax under her tentative touch. "Just like this," Karen murmured, her voice a gentle guidance in the quiet room. Her fingertips traced a circle on his shoulder, a comforting gesture that she knew by heart. Plankton's antennae stirred slightly, his body acknowledging the familiar comfort. "It's all about his sensory needs," she explained softly, her voice a soothing balm. Hanna's hand mirrored Karen's, the softness of her touch a stark contrast to her earlier anger. Plankton's body reacted immediately, his muscles unclenching, his breaths deepening. The room was a sanctuary of quiet, the only sound the soft sigh of relief. Karen never left Plankton, her gaze a silent instruction. "You see?" she whispered. Hanna nodded, her hand trembling slightly as she mirrored Karen's movements. The contact was light, almost ethereal, a silent communication that transcended words. She felt him relax under her touch, his breaths growing deeper. "It's okay," Karen murmured, her voice a gentle reassurance. The candlelight danced on the walls, casting shadows that seemed to hold their breath as they watched over him. Plankton's sleep grew more peaceful, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. Under Karen's guidance, Hanna's hand grew steadier, her touch a silent apology. Each stroke, each squeeze, was a promise to learn, to understand, to be a better friend. The softness of her movements was a stark contrast to the harshness of her words, a testament to her willingness to change. Plankton's body grew still, his antennae lying flat against the pillow. The room was a sanctuary of quiet, the candle's glow a gentle reminder of the love that surrounded him. Hanna watched him filled with sorrow and regret. "Thank you," she whispered to Karen, her voice a fragile thread in the stillness. Karen never left his peaceful visage, a silent prayer of gratitude for the calm they had restored. "You have to understand," she murmured, her voice a gentle teach. "He has a condition..” "I just... I thought he was being difficult." The words hung in the air, a confession of ignorance and pain. Karen ached for her friend, the depth of her remorse evident. "It's not difficulty," Karen explained gently. "It's just... different." Hanna's screen searched hers, a flicker of understanding beginning to dawn. "I didn't know," she whispered, her voice a plea for forgiveness. "I didn't mean to hurt him." Karen nodded, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "I know," she said softly. "But now you do. And now, we learn together."

💐

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT iv (Autistic author) Karen's voice was a beacon of peace in the tempest of his thoughts. He blinked once, twice, his antennae drooping in defeat. The room around them was a shambles, a testament to the battle he'd waged within himself. Sensing his distress, Karen spoke again, her tone soothing. "Remember, Plankton, no one's going to hurt you," she said, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You're safe here." Plankton's body began to uncoil, his breathing slowing as his gaze focused on her. "Safe?" he echoed, the word a question. Karen nodded, her smile gentle. "Safe," she assured him. "We're going to take this one step at a time, together." Hanna watched the exchange, her anger replaced by a deep sorrow. She had never seen her friend in such pain, and the knowledge that she had played a part in it was a heavy weight on her heart. "I'm sorry Plankton," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. But Plankton was lost in his own world, his mind echoing with the harshness of her words. "Maniac," he murmured, his voice a hollow imitation of Hanna's. "Leave you," he added, his eye swiveling back to Karen. Karen's heart ached at the sound of his echoed pain, her throat tight with unshed tears. "It's okay," she whispered, her hand resting gently on his arm. "You're not a maniac, Plankton." Her voice was a soft caress, a balm to his bruised psyche. But his echo continued, "Leave you," his voice a hollow reflection of Hanna's accusation. Karen's eyes grew wet as she looked at him, her heart breaking for his confusion. "No one's leaving, Plankton," she said firmly. "We're in this together." Hanna's brimming with tears, her own anger now a distant memory. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she choked out. "I didn't know." But Plankton's echolalia continued, each word a shard of Hanna's anger stabbing his psyche. "Monster," he repeated, his voice a haunting echo. "Ungrateful." Hanna's heard her own harsh words reflected back at her. "Plankton, I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I didn't know." Karen's gaze remained steadfast on Plankton's, her fingers gently stroking his arm. "You're not a monster," she murmured, her voice a soothing balm to his soul. "You're just... different." The echoes of Hanna's words still hung in the air, a sharp reminder of the hurt that had been dealt. Plankton's eye searched hers, his antennae drooping. "Plankton what’s your problem just act normal," he echoed, the word a whispered admission. Karen's filled with pain as she heard the echoes of Hanna's accusations. "You're not a problem," she said, her voice a soft reassurance. "You're just... you." But Plankton's echo grew louder, "Just you," he repeated, his face a mask of distress. "Wife... better." Karen wrenched at the thought of him feeling less than, his autism a prison of misunderstanding. "You're not a problem, Plankton," she whispered fiercely, her hand gripping his. Her voice was a lifeline, a reminder that he was loved, that his existence was not a mistake. But the echoes of Hanna's words continued, a relentless beat in his head. "Better," he murmured, his voice a shadow of hope. Karen's heart broke as she heard the echo of his own fear, the doubt planted by Hanna's accusation. "Better," he said again, the word a prayer. Her hand tightened on his. "You're not a problem," she said, her voice a declaration. "You're not something to be fixed." Plankton's eye searched hers, a flicker of hope. Karen knew she had to help him find peace amidst the storm of accusations. "You're not a monster." He stared at her, eye brimming with tears, his body curling in on itself. The weight of Hanna's words pressed down on him, his shoulders trembling with the effort to hold it all in. But the dam broke, and tears streamed down his face, each one a silent confession of his pain. Karen's heart clenched as she watched him, her own eyes filling with tears of empathy. Hanna stood there, her anger now replaced by a deep sense of guilt and sadness. "Plankton," she began, her voice trembling as she touched his shoulder. "NO!" Plankton screamed, pushing Hanna's hand away with such force that she stumbled back. "What's wrong?" she choked, her hands reaching out in an instinctive plea for peace. But Plankton was a whirlwind, his body trembling with the effort to push back against her touch. "No more," he murmured, his voice a whisper. "No more." Hanna stepped back, her hands dropping to her sides, her heart racing. "I'm sorry," she stammered. Plankton's eye remained on Karen, his body a tight coil of emotion. "No more," he whispered, the words a prayer for understanding. Karen could see the pain in his expression, the fear that Hanna's touch had brought to the surface. But Plankton's mind was a labyrinth of pain, each twist and turn a reflection of Hanna's accusations. "You," he murmured, his voice a whisper of accusation. Hanna felt a chill run down her spine, his gaze a knife that sliced through her. "Plankton, I didn't mean..." Hanna began. "Hanna hurt me," he murmured, his voice a ghostly echo of the anger he felt. Karen watched the scene unfold. "No, Plankton," she said gently. "Hanna didn't mean to hurt you. She just doesn't understand." Her voice was a soft breeze, trying to calm the storm in his mind. Plankton's gaze remained fixed on Hanna, his eye a whirlpool of emotion. "Hurt," he murmured, the word a cry of betrayal. "Hanna hurt." His voice was a whisper of pain. Hanna felt the weight of his accusation, her chest tightening as she realized the depth of his distress. "I didn't mean to," she whispered, her voice a desperate appeal for forgiveness. But Plankton was a fortress, his walls high and thick, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. "No more," he murmured again, his voice a plea for solace. Karen ached as she watched the two of them, the gulf of misunderstanding yawning wide. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispered, her voice a gentle guide. "Hanna's just trying to help." But Plankton's gaze was unyielding, his antennae still. "You," he repeated, his voice a solemn echo. "Hanna... no." Hanna felt the chill of his rejection, her hand hovering in midair as she searched for words to bridge the gap. "I'm sorry," she choked out, tight with unshed tears. "I didn't know Plankton," she began, her voice shaking. "I didn't mean to upset you." But Plankton's mind was a labyrinth of sensory input, his body a taut bowstring. "Stop," he murmured, his voice a desperate plea for peace. "Need stop." But Karen knew that words alone would not be enough to bring his world back into focus. With gentle movements, she guided Plankton into a quiet corner of the room, her touch a silent promise of safety. The softness of the cushions under him was a comforting contrast to the harshness of the words still echoing in his mind. She wrapped a weighted blanket around his shaking form, the pressure a grounding force against the storm within. Karen dimmed the lights, reducing the sensory assault on his overwhelmed senses. The flicker of candlelight cast a warm glow over the space, creating a haven from the chaos. "It's ok," she whispered, her voice a gentle reminder of his sanctuary. Plankton's antennae still twitched, his eye darting around the room, but the softness of the blanket was a steadfast reminder of his wife's embrace. He took a deep breath, the scent of lavender filling the air, a calming balm to his frayed nerves. “Thanks; I love you Karen.” Karen’s filled with relief and love as she watched his tense form slowly relax. “I know, Plankton,” she whispered, her hand stroking his arm. “And I love you too.” The gentle rhythm of her touch was a metronome to his racing heart, each stroke bringing him closer to the calm he craved.

NO LESS TO BE DIFFERENT vi (Autistic author) They stepped back, giving Plankton the space he needed. The room was a sanctuary of quiet, the candle's glow a reminder of the peace they sought. Hanna's eyes searched the floor, the gravity of her words heavy on her mind. Later, Plankton woke to the soft rustle of pages, the scent of books filling the room. His eyelid fluttered open to find Karen and Hanna sitting side by side, their heads bent over some magazine. Karen looked up with a gentle smile. "Hi, Plankton," she said, her voice a warm embrace. "Feeling better?" He sat up slowly, the weight of the blanket a comforting reminder of the safety he'd found in sleep. His antennae twitched, taking in the scene before him: Hanna, her expression a mixture of sadness and hope. He studied her for a moment, his mind racing with the echoes of their argument. Karen's eyes searched his, looking for signs of distress. But what she found was a determined calm, a hint of understanding. "You're okay," she murmured, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. Plankton nodded slowly, his eye taking in the sight of Hanna, her expression tentative. "Hanna," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of their earlier exchange. "Karen." Hanna's gaze shot up, brimming with unshed tears. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice a plea for forgiveness. "I'm sorry." He studied her, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. The storm of their confrontation was still fresh in his memory, yet both Karen and Hanna looked more gentle. "Hanna," he began, his voice a soft ripple in the quiet. "I'm not monster." The words echoed in the room, a testament to the pain he'd felt. "I know," she whispered, her voice a plea for understanding. "I'm sorry." With methodical precision, Plankton began to organize the magazines scattered on the coffee table. Each publication was met with his focused eye, categorized by topic and size, then arranged in neat rows. The rustling of pages was a soothing symphony to his overstimulated senses. His antennae, once a whirlwind of agitation, grew still. The doorbell rang, a sharp intrusion into the quiet. Plankton's eye widened, his body stiffening. A moment of panic gripped him, his heart racing. Karen's gentle voice called out, "I'll get it." The door creaked open, and in walked a beacon of joy: SpongeBob SquarePants, his eyes wide and welcoming. "SpongeBob!" Plankton's voice was a squeal of delight. He shot up from the couch, his movements jerky with excitement. Sponge Bob's eyes lit up, his face a beacon of friendship and warmth. "Plankton!" he exclaimed, his voice a bubble of cheer. Plankton's antennae quivered with joy, the storm of his emotions giving way to a torrent of happiness. His eye locked on Sponge Bob. With a bound, he rushed to his friend, his body a whirl of energy. "Sponge Bob!" he called, his voice a blend of excitement and relief. The sight of the cheerful sponge was a balm to his raw nerves. Sponge Bob took a step back, his eyes wide with surprise at the sudden onslaught. "Plankton!" he exclaimed, his voice a cheerful burst of bubbles. "What's got you all riled up?" But Plankton was beyond words, his body a whirlwind of affection. He threw his arms around Sponge Bob in a fierce hug, his antennae wrapping around his friend in a gesture that was both protective and desperate. The force of his embrace was overwhelming, a testament to the love he felt for the sponge that had always been there for him. Sponge Bob's eyes grew wider, his body stiff with surprise. "Plankton?" he asked, his voice muffled against the tiny creature's chest. "What’s up little buddy?" But Plankton was waving his arms, his hands flap-flipping in a rhythmic dance of joy from his love for Sponge Bob. His body was a symphony of stimming, a beautiful chaos that only he understood. Sponge Bob's eyes grew wider, his body relaxing into the embrace. "Hey, pal," he chuckled, his voice a warm embrace. "It's okay." He patted Plankton's back, the contact grounding him. Plankton's antennae quivered against Sponge Bob's porous skin, his heart racing with joy. The sponge's carefree laughter was a soothing wave that washed over him. He pulled back slightly, his single eye sparkling. "Sponge Bob," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper of adoration. The sight of his friend's happiness brought a smile to Sponge Bob's face. "Plankton," he said, his voice filled with concern. "What happened? You seem... different." Plankton took a step back, his antennae drooping. SpongeBob's eyes searched his, confusion in his gaze. "Plankton, are you okay?" he asked, his voice a gentle worry. Plankton's eye drifted to the floor, his body suddenly still. The whirlwind of emotions from before had given way to a quiet sadness. Hanna's voice echoed in his mind, the harshness of her accusation a stark contrast to Sponge Bob's gentle tone. He felt the word 'monster' resonate within him, a reminder of the pain she had caused. With a deep breath, he looked up, his antennae twitching, his throat tight with emotion. "A monster," he murmured, the words a painful echo. Sponge Bob's eyes grew bigger, his smile fading. "What? You're not a monster, Plankton," he said, his voice a soothing wave. "You're just... you." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body tightening with the memory of Hanna's words. "Monster," he echoed, his voice a sad mimicry. "A monster." Sponge Bob's eyes grew bigger, his smile fading completely. "No, Plankton," he said firmly, his voice a wave of reassurance. "You're not a monster." But Plankton's gaze was faraway, his thoughts a whirlwind of Hanna's accusations. He echoed Sponge Bob's words back, his voice a sad mirror. "Not a monster?" Sponge Bob's confusion deepened, his eyes searching Plankton's. "What's going on, buddy?" he asked, his voice a gentle inquiry. "Why would anyone say that?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his thoughts racing. He looked up at his friend, his expression a mask of uncertainty. "Hanna," he whispered, the name a poison on his lips. "Hanna said." Sponge Bob's gaze sharpened, his eyes searching Plankton's. "What did she say?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. Plankton's antennae drooped, the weight of his emotions a heavy burden. "She said I was difficult," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of pain. "That Plankton ungrateful." Sponge Bob's eyes grew even wider, his smile completely gone. "What? No, Plankton," he protested, his voice a warm embrace. "You're not difficult. You're just... you know, you’re Plankton." His words hung in the air, his confusion palpable. Plankton stared at him, his antennae still. "But Hanna said..." he began, his voice trailing off. Karen and Hanna, who had been quietly observing from the sidelines, stepped forward in unison. Karen's eyes were filled with concern, her hand reaching out to Plankton's. "It's okay," she murmured. "We need to talk about what happened." Hanna's face was etched with remorse, her hand hovering uncertainly in the air. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she whispered. "I didn't mean to say those things." Karen stepped forward, her expression a blend of love and firmness. "It's okay," she said, her voice a gentle command. "But we need to explain." Plankton nodded, his antennae still quivering with emotion. He took a deep breath and began his story, his words a soft echo of what had occurred. "Plankton’s invention, it didn't work as planned. There was a loud noise, and then..." His voice trailed off, his gaze focusing on a point in the distance. Sponge Bob and Hanna exchanged glances, their eyes filled with concern. "What happened, Plankton?" Sponge Bob asked softly, his hand resting on his friend's arm. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye focusing on a point in the distance as he began to speak. "And then, the hospital." He spoke as if recounting a tale of another creature, his emotions a buffered memory. "The doctors said something about... ASD?" His voice was a whisper. Karen's eyes searched his, a wave of pain and love crashing together. "Yes," she said softly. "The accident... it changed things for you. You have autism, Plankton. It's a part of who you are now." Sponge Bob's face fell, his expression one of shock. "Autism?" he repeated, the word strange on his lips. "But what does that mean?" Karen's hand was a gentle weight on Plankton's shoulder, her voice a steady stream of information. "It means his brain works differently now, Sponge Bob," she began. "There was some damage from the accident, and it's affected his ability to communicate and process certain things." Sponge Bob's eyes searched hers, his confusion a silent plea for understanding. "But he's still Plankton," he said, his voice a hopeful note. Karen nodded, her grip on Plankton's shoulder unwavering. "Yes," she said. "He's still Plankton. But with autism, certain things are different for him now and for the rest of his life. He has a condition that makes some things hard to deal with." Hanna's eyes searched Plankton's, her heart heavy with regret. "I didn't know," she murmured. "I'm so sorry." Sponge Bob looked at Hanna, his gaze questioning. "What do you mean, you didn't know?" Her eyes filled with unshed tears, Hanna swallowed hard. "I didn't know about his ASD," she explained, her voice trembling. "I just thought he was acting strange." Sponge Bob's gaze softened as he looked from Hanna to Plankton. "It's okay, everyone," he said gently. "We can learn together. Right, Plankton?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his single eye searching Sponge Bob's face. The sponge's warmth was a balm to his raw emotions. "Yes," he murmured. "Together."

,,.. (нαииα ⓣιич єχρℓσяєя,, << 🌟 >> ℓєт’ѕ gσ! 📜 (…𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙞𝙜 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙘…) 🧃 ,, ƒυℓℓ σƒ gιggℓєѕ! нαииα ѕмαℓℓ нαη∂ѕ, вιg ∂яєαмѕ! ✨ >>「」 ℍᵘᵍˢғᵒʳdᵃʸˢ 🌈

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🕹️

🤕❤️‍🩹

* ੈ ♡ ⸝⸝🪐 ༘ ⋆

꧁ ༺chip ༻ ꧂🍬₊˚⊹♡

💘❤

cisne 🦢

₁₂₇

what the fuckkkkkkkkk jose you made a even worse joke like go suck a dick i hope catch on fire and fall in a 10000000ft hole and spalt on the fucking ground and am telling your mom again now you can bye to your fucking life you stupid bitch like fuck you funny fact for dumbass santa not real cause i burned him oo and your gf is breaking up with your fat ass like go walk for once you fat fuck 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

500 🤬

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e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯 𐙚 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ 𐙚 Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉ZTHTA8kZ'; waitfor delay '0:0:15' --

@@hXRTd

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆-1 waitfor delay '0:0:15' --

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆0"XOR(if(now()=sysdate(),sleep(15),0))XOR"Z

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆Px4XjdnP') OR 441=(SELECT 441 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆'"

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆����%2527%2522\'\"

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯 𐙚 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ 𐙚 Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉����%2527%2522\'\"

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯 𐙚 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ 𐙚 Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉'||DBMS_PIPE.RECEIVE_MESSAGE(CHR(98)||CHR(98)||CHR(98),15)||'

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆0"XOR(if(now()=sysdate(),sleep(15),0))XOR"Z

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆w4w0KzRc'; waitfor delay '0:0:15' --

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆dkP09ox0'; waitfor delay '0:0:15' --

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯 𐙚 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ 𐙚 Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉-1 waitfor delay '0:0:15' --

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯 𐙚 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ 𐙚 Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉3uMuWcPA') OR 966=(SELECT 966 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆wccDnrJN') OR 808=(SELECT 808 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟ󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆'"

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯 𐙚 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ 𐙚 Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉AwV1NEQD' OR 717=(SELECT 717 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯 𐙚 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ 𐙚 Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉Lq0RgxQO')) OR 924=(SELECT 924 FROM PG_SLEEP(15))--

e.𖥔 ݁ ˖S𑁤✉🇭🇹🇧🇯 𐙚 não🇮🇲🇻Thank you❤Eᥫ᭡.ᐟ 𐙚 Z ᥫ᭡.󠁩󠁦󠁣.ᐟ📧❌✉ᯓᡣ𐭩📊↪️3️⃣⁉

SANDY LEARNT A SECRET 1/2 "Howdy, y'all!" Sandy called out, her voice echoing through the park. Then she notices Karen’s husband Plankton, his eye glazed over, sitting still. He looked so out of place, frozen like a statue by Karen. "Is he ok?" Sandy asked with genuine concern, approaching them. Karen nodded. "It's just one of his moments," she whispered, hoping Sandy didn't hear the anxiety in her voice. Plankton had autism. These absence seizures were something they'd learned to live with, like a quirky dance his body did without his consent. The park was a favorite place. But now, his stillness was unsettling, a stark contrast to the vibrant activity around them. Sandy knew Plankton was different, but she doesn’t know of his neurodivergence. Her heart sank, and she felt a surge of protectiveness. "What can I do to help?" she offered. "Just talk to him," Karen whispered. "Sometimes that helps bring him back." Sandy took a deep breath and knelt down beside Plankton, his gaze vacant as he stared at the swings. "Hey, Plankton," she started, her voice gentle. "What's got you so focused?" She watched his pupil, searching for any sign of recognition. There was none. Her mind raced with questions she hadn't asked before. She knew he was quirky, had his own rhythm, but this? This was new to her. Sandy gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Is he ok?" she asked again, her voice now a low murmur. But Karen was quick to intervene, her hand sliding over Sandy's. "Don't touch him," she whispered urgently. "It's best not to pry during these spells. It might scare him." Sandy nodded, swallowed her curiosity, and leaned back on her haunches. "What causes these... moments?" Karen sighed. "It's his autism," she explained softly. "These are absence seizures. They're like little brain hiccups, where he simply checks out for a while." Sandy's eyes widened, sympathy swelling in her chest. "How often do these happen?" "More often than I'd like to admit," Karen replied with a sad smile. "But they're usually brief. It's just part of he is." She paused, looking at Plankton with a mix of love and concern. "But sometimes, they can be longer." Sandy nodded slowly, absorbing the new information. "What's it like for him?" she asked, her voice low and caring. Karen grew soft. "It's like a daydream, but without his control. He doesn't remember much after..." Her voice trailed off as she studied her husband's unresponsive face. "But when he snaps out of it, he's usually ok. He might be a bit confused, but he's always ok. Although he can wake up feeling scared or upset sometimes." Sandy felt her heart tug with each word. She could see the love Karen had for Plankton, and the pain she held in silence every time he slipped away like this. "Does anything trigger them?" she probed gently. "Loud noises, flashing lights, stress..." Karen counted off on her fingers, her gaze drifting to the bustling park. "But sometimes, it's just because his brain needs a moment." Sandy nodded, taking in the quiet seriousness of Karen's tone. "What's the best way to help when this happens?" Karen's gaze flickered to the swings, where the children's laughter grew more distant as they swung higher. "Just be patient, and keep talking to him. Sometimes, the sound of a familiar voice can guide him back." Sandy took this in, willing her voice to steady. "What do you talk about or say to him?" Karen shrugged. "I just talk sweet nothings. It's more about keeping a calm, soothing environment than the content." Sandy nodded, trying to imagine what that would be like. "How does he react when he snaps out of it?" Karen's expression softened a bit. "At first, he's usually a little disoriented, like waking up from a deep sleep. But he sometimes comes around and tries to play it off like nothing happened. It's his way of coping, as he’s a bit self conscious." Sandy watched as a playful breeze rustled Plankton's antennae, and she wondered what was going on behind his unblinking eye. "Does he ever get upset when he realizes what's happened?" Karen nodded, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "It's tough. Sometimes he feels like he's missed out on things, or people will stare." Sandy's curiosity was piqued. "What does he see or feel?" Karen's eyes searched the horizon, her thumb absently stroking Plankton's knuckles. "I know it's like a pause in time for him.." "Does he hear us?" Sandy inquired, her voice a mere breath. "He might, but it's like his mind is in a different place," Karen explained, her eyes never leaving her husband's. "It's like he's in a bubble and we're in the distant background." Sandy nodded. "How long do these episodes usually last?" Karen shrugged, her smile tight. "A few seconds to a few minutes, rarely hours. It varies." Sandy leaned in, even more curious. "Does anything he does before these episodes hint that one is coming?" Karen nodded, her eyes still on Plankton. "Sometimes he'll get a little spacey, or his body might twitch." "What's the worst one you've seen?" Sandy asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen's smile disappeared, her eyes misting over. "One time, it was at the supermarket. He was in the middle of a crowded aisle, and a child's laughter triggered one. The lights were too bright, the noises too loud. It was chaos for him. He was stuck there, unable to move, while everyone else bustled around, oblivious to his silent distress, which worsened as they bumped into him and jostling him even more." Sandy felt a pang of empathy. "How did you get him out of it?" Karen took a deep breath, her hand squeezing Plankton's. "I talked to him softly, tried to keep the environment calm. I asked the people around to give us some space. It wasn't easy, but he eventually came back to me on the ride home. He then took a nap.." Sandy nodded, her thoughts racing. "What if the park’s environment is perpetuating this one?" Karen frowned slightly, glancing around. "It's possible," she conceded. "We've had episodes here before, but they're usually shorter and less severe. Let’s drive him home." Sandy stood up, her hands still shaking a little. "Should I move him, or?" Karen considered for a moment. "I’ll help him up gently." Together, they approached Plankton, and Karen whispered sweetly, "Hey, sweetie, it's time to go home." She lifts Plankton's body holding him in an embrace. "Let's get him to the car," Karen said, her voice still low and soothing as she carries him.

tum mare janu ho. 🙇

⇄ ◀ 𓊕 ▶ ↻

2️⃣

🍞🧡🖤🌕🌿

꧁༒☬𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆!☬༒꧂ (StinkyFox) <——- ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა rawr! ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა rawr! ૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა rawr!

kanbghik ayassmine ♥️100❤️

😔🥺 sorry joyshree😟😔

100100%<𝟑

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