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𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑜𝑖𝑠16🕒

❥ こんにちは！ ✧ ˚ · . ┊ ┊ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ꕥ

sh🇸𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃

CHIP AND FAIL xvi (Autistic author) "Both of you, sit down," Karen ordered, her voice firm but not unkind. They complied, their movements jerky with emotion. "Chip, your father's autism is not an excuse for this behavior, but it's also not something to mock," Karen began, looking at her son with serious eyes. "It's a part of him, and we need to respect it." Chip's anger subsided slightly. "But you saw what happened earlier," he said, his voice still shaking. "It's like he doesn't even want to be around me." But Plankton's not quite done. "Why do you think that is, Chip? Go on, smarty, enlighten..." Karen's patience had run out. "Plankton," she said, her voice stern. "That's enough." He glared at Chip, his antennae quivering with anger. Chip looked away from him. "And Plankton," Karen's voice was a gentle reprimand, "Your son's ignorance is not an excuse for anger. We all need to communicate better." Plankton's antennae drooped. "I know," he murmured, his anger easing slightly. "It's just..." Karen's voice was firm. "I know it's frustrating, but we need to work together." She turned to Chip. "And Chip, your father's feelings are valid. You can't ignore them." Chip looked at his father, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm sorry, Dad," he murmured. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Karen's voice was calm as she interceded. "Plankton, can you tell Chip what happened today? Help him understand?" Plankton's antennae stopped shaking. He took a deep breath. "When you touch me without asking," he began, his voice still sharp, "my body can't always handle what yours can." Karen's eyes were a gentle reminder of the lesson she had tried to teach earlier. She nodded for him to continue. "When you poke me or touch me without asking," Plankton said, "it's overwhelming." "I just barely touched you for one second, Dad!" "To you, it's one second," Plankton replied, his antennae drooping. "To me, it's an eternity of discomfort." Karen stepped in. "Chip," she said, "You need to understand that for him, it's not just about physical contact. It's about respecting his boundaries."

PLUSH ONE xvi (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's eyes are a pool of understanding as she watches him, her heart aching for his pain. She knows the plushie is more than just a toy; it's a piece of his sanity in a world that's turned too loud, too bright. She moves closer, her hand hovering near his.. Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body stiffening. "No," he whispers, his voice a shaky plea. "No touch." Karen nods, her movements slow and careful. She understands his boundaries, his new sensory needs. "Okay," she says, her voice a soft promise. "I won't touch. But can I sit with you?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye still closed. He takes a deep breath, his tiny chest rising and falling with the effort. "Okay," he murmurs. So Karen sits down beside his shaky form. Hanna watches from the doorway, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. The plushie in his hands is a lifeline, a reminder that amidst the storm of sensory input, there is something that doesn't change, that won't hurt him. Karen's presence is another constant, a beacon of comfort. But Hanna is a variable, an unknown. Her eyes are filled with sadness, a testament to the gap that's formed between them. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a soft apology. "I didn't me—" But Plankton interrupts. "MINE," he cries out, his antennae quivering with the intensity of his emotions. Karen's heart breaks for him. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle reminder of their bond. "It's your plushie." Plankton's grip tightens around the plush, his body a coil of tension. Hanna stands there, hands trembling. "I'm sorry," she repeats, her voice a soft apology in the quiet room. "I didn't kn-" But Plankton's eye opens, his gaze sharp and focused. "MINE," he says again, his voice a fierce declaration. Karen's eyes are filled with pain, her hand dropping to her side. "I know," she says, her voice a gentle coax. "But Hanna meant no harm." Hanna nods, her gaze still on the plushie. "I---" But Plankton's panic interrupts her, his voice high-pitched. "No Hanna," he whispers, his antennae quivering as he shakes his head. "No take." Hanna's eyes fill with sorrow as she backs away, her hand dropping to her side. Karen's heart clenches, seeing the hurt in Hanna's eyes. "It's okay," she murmurs, her voice a gentle coax. "We just need to give Plankton some space." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I understand," she whispers, her voice a soft apology. "But what abou–" But Plankton's panic doesn't abate, his body constricting even further. "No," he murmurs. "No more." Hanna's eyes are filled with a mix of pity and frustration. She's tired of his outbursts, of the way his autism controls their lives. Her voice cracks. "What do you want from me!" she asks, her voice a soft cry of exasperation. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye darting around the room. He's lost in a sensory maelstrom, unable to understand her words. "Quiet," he whispers, his voice a plea. "Everything too mu-" But Hanna's frustration has reached a boiling point. "I've tried!" she says, her voice a sharp retort. "Everything's always about you and your plushies, when all we want is to he-" Her words are cut off by Plankton's wail, his body trembling. Karen's heart clenches, her eyes filled with pain. "Hanna," she says, her voice a soft admonition. "He can't help it." But Hanna's frustration spills over. "I kn-" But Plankton's wail cuts through the room, his antennae vibrating. The plushie clutched to his chest is a silent cry for help. Hanna's eyes fill with tears as she watches, her frustration boiling over. "Why can't you just...be normal!" she asks, her voice a desperate plea. Karen's gaze snaps to her, her eyes filled with a fierce protectiveness. "What do you mean by 'normal'?" she asks, her voice a soft challenge. "Plankton is who he is. His autism is part of him, not something to 'fix'." Hanna's shoulders slump, her eyes welling up with tears. "I know," she murmurs, her voice a soft apology. "I just...I miss the old Plankton you've told me about." Karen's gaze is filled with compassion. "We all do," she says. "But he's still in there, just...different now." Hanna nods, her eyes still on Plankton's trembling form. "I know," she murmurs. "I just... I don't know how to help." Karen's smile is sad, her eyes filled with understanding. "You're already helping," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "Just by being here, by caring." Hanna looks down, her eyes misty. "But it's not enough," she whispers, gesturing to Plankton. Karen's eyes are filled with empathy. "It's a new journey," she says, her voice a soft reminder. "For all of us." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. She can see the fear and confusion in his eye, the way his antennae quiver. It's a stark contrast to the Plankton she's heard of, the one with a sharp mind and a love for Krabby Patties. Karen's voice is a gentle guidance. "We need to learn his new language," she says. "Find a way to reach him without crossing his lines." Hanna nods, her eyes still on Plankton's shaking body. "How do we do that?" she asks, her voice a soft curiosity. Karen's eyes are filled with knowledge. "It's about patience," she says. "And learning his cues." Hanna nods. "What do you mean?" Karen's eyes are filled with compassion as she explains. "His autism has changed his communication," she says, her voice a soft explanation. "It's not just words anymore; it's gestures, sounds, and expressions." Hanna's gaze flickers to Plankton's shaking antennae, his eye squeezed shut. "So, what do we do?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen's hand is a soft touch on Hanna's arm. "We watch," she whispers. "We learn."

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY xvi (By NeuroFabulous) ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ/ ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ⚠︎︎ Karen's eyes filled with a mix of concern and determination as she held onto Plankton. She knew his meltdowns could be intense, but this was uncharted territory. His body was rigid with anger, his antennas flailing as he tried to free himself. "Plankton, you need to calm down," she said firmly, her voice steady despite the fear. "You're okay." But Plankton's antennas only twitched more erratically, his body thrashing as he tried to break free. "Let me go!" he screamed, his voice hoarse as Karen's grip tightens. Karen only holds on tighter, her love and concern a silent plea as she tries to soothe her husband's erratic movements. "Plankton," she repeats, her voice calm but firm as he flails. "Please ju—" Her words are lost in his growling as he tries to push her away. But Karen is determined, her arms restraining him. "Plankton, love, Chip's gone, and I need you to li—" But Karen's words were lost as Plankton's struggle grew more intense. His antennas whipped back and forth, a visual manifestation of the tempest inside him. Despite her soothing tone, his body thrashed wildly in her embrace. Karen felt her own heart race, worry etched deep in her features as she held on. This was not the gentle, loving Plankton she knew, but a version of him overtaken by his condition—his autism turning the man she loved into a creature of chaos. Plankton fought against her, his body contorting as he tried to escape her arms. His eye was wild. Karen's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with fear and love. She knew this was the autism speaking, not the man she knew. She tightened her grip as he began to throw his weight around. Plankton's antennas slapped against her, his movements unpredictable. "Chip's gone," she said calmly, her eyes locked onto Plankton's, trying to reach the person beneath the rage. "You're safe and so—" But Plankton's struggle intensified, his antennas a whirlwind of agitation. He threw his head back, hitting Karen's chest with a thud that reverberated through the tiny room. Karen winced, her grip never wavering. "Plankton," she said, her voice even, "I'm here for you. Chip's not in here anymo-" Her words were cut off as Plankton's body spasmed, his antennas lashing out and hitting her face. but she didn't release her hold. "I know it's hard," she murmured, "but I need you to be still. Hold still..." Plankton's eye was wild with fear, his antennas a blur as his body thrashed. "Let go!" he roared, his voice cracking with emotion. That's when Karen realizes Plankton's no longer fueled by anger, his movements no longer intentional but rather was involuntary jerks and twitches, as she saw in his eye the fear and panic. She now realized he knew Chip's gone and that since then, he's only been fighting out of terror. Karen realizes in horror that she only made it worse. Her heart clenched tightly in her chest as she recognized the traumatizing impact her restraint might have had on his overwhelmed autistic mind. She then immediately loosens her grip. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice shaking with her own fear and concern, "I'm sorry, I'm so so—" But her apology is lost as Plankton's antennas quiver, his body convulsing in fear. The realization hits her like a ton of bricks—she's not his protector right now, she's his tormentor. Karen's heart breaks as she watches the man she loves recoil from her own touch. She quickly releases him, stepping back to give him space. Plankton's antennas slap against his body as he stumbles backward, his legs giving out. He hits the floor, his antennas spasming as he curls into a ball, his whole body shaking with sobs. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she watches him, her heart breaking into a million pieces. She had only wanted to help, to be there for him, but instead, she had become his enemy. The fear in his eye was a knife to her soul. She knew the trauma her restraint had caused him, and she wished she could take it all back. "Plankton," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm so sorry." She holds out a tentative hand, hoping he'll understand that she's not a threat. But Plankton's antennas don't still, they pulse with fear as he scrambles away from her, his eye wide with terror. "No," he whispers, his voice hoarse. "Don't.." The word hangs in the air, a testament to the chasm that's suddenly opened between them. Karen's hand falls to her side, her heart racing. "Plankton, I won't touch you," she says, her voice shaking. "I'm just going to give you some space." Plankton's antennas slowly unfurled from their defensive cringe, his body uncurling from the fetal position. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, his eye darting around the room. The chaos from the meltdown had subsided into stillness, but the fear remained. Karen's eyes were red and puffy, her own pain mirroring his. She took a tentative step towards him, her hand outstretched. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm not going to touch you, I just want to make sure you're okay." Plankton's antennas quivered, his eye darting to her hand and then back to her screen. He knew her, knew she loved him, but fear had taken hold, twisting his reality into something unrecognizable. With each step she took, his heart hammered in his chest, his body taut with tension. He scooted away, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Karen's eyes searched his, a silent plea for understanding. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the echo of his sobs, "please, let me help." Karen's hand hovered in the space between them, desperate to offer comfort but respecting the invisible boundaries Plankton had drawn. Tears of regret were shed. She wanted to take back her fear-induced restraint, to erase the terror from his face. But she knew it wasn't that simple. So she picked up the books and organized them the way Plankton had them, then cleaning up the remnants of the mess he made. Plankton watched her from his spot on the floor, his antennas still quivering with fear. He knew she was his safety, but the trauma was fresh, the trust fractured. Each movement she made was a potential threat to his sensitive state. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his body still poised to flee. Karen worked quickly and quietly, her movements calculated to cause the least amount of disturbance. The room slowly regained its order, the books back in their proper place, the broken vase cleared away. With each item she picked up, she felt a piece of their relationship mend. Finally, she turned to Plankton, who remained huddled on the floor. Her heart ached at the sight of him—his body still tense, his antennas drooping with exhaustion. "Can I help you up?" she asked gently, her hand extended tentatively. Plankton's antennas twitched slightly, but he didn't move. The fear had not fully abated, but the chaos had dulled to a murmur. He knew his wife was there, a beacon of safety in a world that was still spinning out of control. Karen knelt beside him, her hands hovering just above his shaking body. "You're okay," she whispered. "You're safe, and I'm sorry," Karen said, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to scare yo-" But Plankton's response was unexpected. A sudden gagging sound erupted from his throat, his antennas twitching erratically. Karen's eyes widened as she saw his face contort in fear and anxiety. "Plankton?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "What's wrong?" Plankton's antennas shot straight up, his body convulsing as he tried to swallow down the panic that was rising in his throat. He was gagging, his eye squeezed shut as if to block out the world around him. Karen's heart skipped a beat as she realized the severity of his distress. "Plankton," she said, her voice urgent. "Look at me." Plankton's antennas quivered as he opened his eye, his gaze locking onto Karen's. Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of understanding, any glimmer of the man she knew and loved beneath the fear. The gagging subsided, his body still trembling with adrenaline. "I know you're scared," Karen continued, her voice soothing and gentle. "And it's my fault. But I'm here to help." Slowly, Plankton's antennas lowered, his body beginning to relax. He swallowed hard, his gaze never leaving hers. Karen moved closer, her hand still outstretched. "Can I?" With a nod, Plankton allowed her to touch him, his antennas still quivering with residual fear. Karen lifted him up gently, her touch feather-light as she guided him to the bed. He collapsed onto the mattress, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been building all night. The room was eerily silent. Karen sat beside Plankton, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm so sorry," she whispered again, her throat tight with emotion. "I should have known better. I just wanted us all to be safe.." Plankton took her hand, putting it on himself in the way he felt like was comfortable. "I'm sorry Karen, but I love you so much. I understand. Thank you, it's the thought that counts.."

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS xvi (By NeuroFabulous) "Could Dad feel anything?" Karen's gaze is filled with compassion. "No, sweetie," she says gently. "That's the point of the medicine. He didn't feel anything." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "What's it like when Dad woke up?" he asks, his voice a soft curiosity. Karen's voice is a gentle narrative, her words painting a picture of Plankton's recovery. "He was a bit confused at first," she says, her eyes on Plankton. "But he quickly understood where he was." Chip's eyes are a mirror of his mother's, his curiosity a living entity. "But his mouth?" he asks, his voice a quiet probing. Karen's smile is a soft reassurance. "They gave him something to make it numb," she says, her words a gentle explanation. "So he couldn't feel the surgery." Chip's eyes are a swirl of understanding. "What was it like when it was over?" he asks, his voice a whisper of fascination. "Before he awoke from it? After they finished while you waited for him to wake up, what'd his face and mouth look like?" Karen's gaze is a silent answer, her eyes a soft story of the surgery's aftermath. "His cheeks were a bit puffy," she whispers, her voice a gentle narrative of the scene she'd witnessed. "And there was a bit of blood, but the doctors cleaned him up. As he slept, I could see his chest rise and fall, and I knew he was okay." Chip's eyes are wide with interest. "And then?" Karen's voice is a soft narrative, her words painting the picture of Plankton's recovery. "After they took his teeth out, they put in stitches," she says. "And now his mouth needs time to heal." Chip's eyes widen, his mind racing with images. "Stitches?" he repeats, his voice a mix of fascination and horror. "How'd they put in stitches while he was sleeping?" Karen's smile is a gentle explanation. "They're very careful," she says, her voice a calm lake. "They use a special thread that dissolves so he doesn't need to come back to have them removed." Chip's eyes are a mix of wonder and concern. "How'd he not bite the dentist?" Karen laughs softly, a warm sound in the quiet room. "They gave him more medicine," she says, her voice a gentle guide. "So his mouth was completely relaxed." Chip's eyes are wide with wonder. "How did it feel to wake up?" he asks, his voice filled with innocent curiosity. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his eye opening to look at his son. "It was... strange," he murmurs, his voice a distant echo of his experience. "Everything was blurry, and my mouth felt funny." Chip nods, his eyes wide with interest. "But it's better now?" he asks, hope coloring his voice. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Mmh," he mumbles, his voice a hoarse affirmation. "It's okay; still healing.." "How about we watch a movie?" Karen suggests, her voice a gentle distraction from the pain. "Something fun, to take your mind off it?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his interest piqued despite his discomfort. "The Dirty Bubble?" he murmurs. Karen's smile is a nod, her eyes filled with the promise of distraction. "Yeah," she says, getting up to grab the remote. "It's about the underwater world's biggest heist," she says, her voice a gentle coaxing. "I think you'll enjoy it, Chip." Plankton's antennae twitch with slight interest as he sits up more, his body protesting with a soft groan. Chip moves closer, his eyes on his father. Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen and Chip sit on either side of him. The movie's sounds fill the room, the images dancing across the television screen. As the film progresses, Plankton's eye grows heavier, his head slowly tilting towards Chip. Chip, lost in the story, feels the slightest pressure against his shoulder. He looks down to see his father's antennae quivering, his head leaning closer. Plankton's body is a silent admission of his exhaustion. He's trying to stay alert, but his eye keeps slipping shut, his antennae drooping slightly. The movie plays on. Chip feels the weight of his father's head, a warmth that spreads through his body. Plankton's antennae are a quiet whisper, his breathing even. Karen's gaze flits from the TV to the two of them, her heart swelling with gratitude. This is progress. Chip feels his dad's antennae brush against his arm, the sensation a soft reminder of his presence. The movie's end credits roll, the room bathed in the soft glow of the TV. Sandy's hand is warm on the remote, turning off the film. Chip then hears a gentle snore against his shoulder, his dad's antennae lying limp beside him. He looks down to see Plankton's eye closed, his head resting heavily. Karen's smile is a quiet celebration. "Looks like he's asleep," she murmurs, her voice a soft whisper. Chip's eyes are wide with surprise. "On me?" he asks, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen nods, her smile a warm embrace. "It's okay," she whispers, her eyes on Plankton's sleeping form. "He's just really tired." Chip's heart swells with pride. It's the first time his dad's ever fallen asleep on him, a silent testament to the trust building between them. He carefully shifts his shoulder, making room for Plankton's antennae. Karen's eyes are a gentle nod of understanding. "Let him sleep," she whispers. The room is a soft symphony of Plankton's snores and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Chip watches his father, his expression one of wonder.