8 Emojis & Text

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 8 (Autistic author) With Patrick gone, the room feels eerily quiet. Plankton lies on the floor, his body heaving with sobs. Each breath is a battle, a reminder of the pain still echoing through his body. Karen's screens flicker with a mix of frustration and sadness. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice a soft hum. She rolls over to him, her mechanical arms extending to offer comfort. "I didn't know he'd do that." Plankton's body shakes with sobs, his single eye squeezed shut. He whispers, "No more poking, Karen. No more." Karen's screens flicker with regret. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle beep. She reaches out with one of her arms, carefully placing it around his tiny frame. "Let's get you up," she suggests, her movements slow and deliberate. With her help, Plankton manages to stand, his legs shaking like seaweed in a storm. She leads him to the couch. "Rest," she beeps, but he's too exhausted to respond. Karen sits beside him, her screens dimming as she watches him. The silence is a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems a lullaby compared to the chaos of Patrick's laughter. "Karen," he whispers after a moment, his voice a weak static. Her screens light up with concern. "Yes, Plankton?" she beeps. "Plankton not want to go back to how it was," he whispers, his voice a fragile thread. "The stealing, the fighting." Karen's screens flicker with a sadness she rarely shows. "I know," she drapes a blanket over him, tucking him in. Her voice is a soothing beep. "You don't have to, Plankton. We'll find a new way." She caresses his shaky hand. Plankton nods, his eye finally closing in relief. The warmth of the blanket and Karen's gentle touch offer a semblance of calm in the storm of sensory overload, his crying slowing. "Thank Karen," he murmurs, his voice a tired static as he squeezes her hand once. Her screens glow with affection. "You're welcome, Plankton," she beeps. "Rest now." She dims the lights once more, watching over him as she held his hand. Plankton's body finally stills, the storm of sensations receding as he surrenders to sleep. Karen's screens flicker with a quiet relief. She sits beside him.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 8 (Autistic author) Karen's eyes well up with tears as she watches him eat, his movements so deliberate and calculated. It's a stark contrast to the impulsive and energetic Plankton she's known for years. She takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the small victory of his willingness to eat. As they sit in silence, Karen can't help but feel a sense of loss for the man she married. His eye darts around the room, his antennae twitching at every sound. She wonders what's going on in his mind. "Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "What do you see?" He points to the toast, his finger trembling slightly. "Squares," he says, his voice flat. "Squares make sense." Karen nods, her eyes glistening with tears. "I know, sweetheart," she says, her voice soothing. "Everything is in its place." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly as he swallows the last of his toast. "Plankton," he murmurs, his gaze returning to the clock. "Time to...do." Before Karen could decipher his words, Sandy suddenly burst in through the door, as she ran up to the table. "I'm back from my trip to Texas!" Plankton's head snapped up, his antennae waving erratically. "Sandy," he murmured, his face contorting in an effort to process the new presence. "Howdy!" She says to him as she pats his shoulder, which irritates him. Plankton flinches, his antennas curling inward instinctively. "Sandy," he says, his voice tight. But she doesn't notice his discomfort. "How's my favorite mad scientist?" she asks, her voice booming as she nudges him with her elbow. Plankton's body stiffens, his antennae shooting straight up. "Sandy," he says, his voice strained. "No." "No? No what?" She asks him while poking at him with her finger. Plankton's eye widens, his body growing rigid. "Stop," he whispers, his voice strained. "Sandy, no." She sees his breakfast plate. "Oh, eggs and toast! Back in Texas, we spread the egg on to the toast." And without warning, she scrapes his eggs on his toast. If Plankton wasn't frustrated before, well he certainly is now. "Sandy, no!" Plankton squeaks out, his antennae waving wildly. The sudden change in his breakfast pattern is too much for his overwhelmed mind. "What's wrong?" Sandy asks, her cheerfulness not noticing his distress. "It's just how we do it back home!" She scoops up the eggs off the toast and put them back, yet his breakfast's already been ruined, not to mention the sight of bread crumbs in the egg.. Plankton's antennae are shaking rapidly now, his eye darting between the mashed eggs and the now crumbling toast. "Enough," he whispers, his voice tight. Sandy rests her hand on his shoulder. "Well then eat..." But Plankton can't. The disruption in his routine, the assault on his senses, the chaos she's brought into his carefully crafted world of patterns and precision, it's all too much. His body starts to shake. "No more, no NO!" he shouts, his voice a mix of frustration and panic. Karen jumps up. "Sandy, stop," she says firmly, placing her hand on Plankton's shoulder. "You're upsetting him." Sandy's expression falls. "But I put the food back, Plankton..." But it's too late. Plankton's eye widens, his antennae quivering. The plate of food before him is a mess, the calmness destroyed. "Food ruined!" he shrieks, his voice breaking. "Sandy, no good!" Sandy's eyes widen in shock, taking a step back. "Plankton I'm sorry!" But Plankton's accusations don't stop. "Ruined," he wails, his voice rising in pitch. "Sandy ruined breakfast. Now, broken!" Karen's heart races as she tries to soothe him, her voice calm and steady. "Plankton," she says, placing a gentle hand on his quivering arm. "It's okay. Let's make you a new plate." But Plankton's agitation only escalates, his eye wide with fear and anger at the sight of Sandy. "Sandy hurt Karen," he says, his voice shaky. "Sandy hurt Plankton. No good." "How'd I hurt..." Sandy starts, but Plankton's not gonna let her finish. "No good!" Plankton shouts, his antennae whipping around like tiny furious whips. Sandy's eyes widen with shock. She's never seen Plankton like this, not even when his plans were thwarted by Mr. Krabs. "I didn't mean to, Plankton," she stammers, her voice full of apology. But Plankton's rage is blind to her words, his mind locked onto the chaos she's brought into his life. "JUST LEAVE!" he screams, his antennae vibrating with fury. "BAD SANDY!" "Bad Sandy? I'm not a dog..." Sandy's voice trails off as she looks from Karen to Plankton, who's now rocking back and forth, his antennae flailing wildly. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice urgent but calm, "You need to breathe. Let's find a quiet place." She tries to guide him away from the table, but he resists, his eye locked on Sandy. "BAD SANDY!" he repeats, his voice high and frantic. Sandy's face falls, hurt and confusion etched on her features. She didn't understand, but she knew she needed to get Plankton to stop. So she took matters into her own hands. "PLANKTON," she bellows, her squirrelly instincts kicking in. Her voice cuts through the room like a knife, commanding his attention. Plankton's eye goes to her, his antennae stilled. "Quiet," he hissed, his body still tense. "Too loud." But Sandy won't let up. "Look at Karen," she says firmly. "Look at her, Plankton. Do you really think she'd wanna be with someone who'd hurt her?" Sandy gaslights. Plankton's gaze shifts. The room spins around him, his head throbbing with the cacophony of his thoughts. He feels like his brain's about to burst from the pressure, like a balloon filled with too much helium. Suddenly, Plankton's slipping into the abyss of overload. The room feels like it's closing in, sounds amplifying to intolerable levels, lights piercing his sensitive eye. His breathing turns erratic, his heart racing as if chasing an invisible foe. Karen catches Plankton before he can fall, as his legs buckled. Sandy's eyes widen in horror, seeing his distress. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice calm yet urgent. "Look at me, baby. Focus on my voice." But Plankton's eye is unseeing, his body convulsing with the onslaught of stimuli. She whispers, "It's okay," over and over again, hoping the comfort of her voice can penetrate the chaos in his mind. Sandy's eyes widen as she sees Plankton's condition worsening. She takes a step towards them, but Karen shakes her head. "No," she whispers, her screen never leaving his face. "Just us right now." Sandy nods, understanding dawning on her. She retreats to the corner of the room, giving them space.

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀Dhoni⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀haters⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣹⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣐⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 8 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 ) "Let it out. You're safe." Karen's hand hovers, a silent offer of support. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye flitting between her and the chaos he's created. With a sudden jerk, he throws the pillow aside, the feathers fluttering to the ground like a defeated battle flag. He turns to her, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. "I hate this," he whispers, his voice filled with despair. "I hate that I can't—" He doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he starts to shake, his body convulsing with the force of his emotions. Karen knows he's about to have seizure convulsions. With swiftness borne of practiced experience, she moves to catch him. "Plankton, it's okay," she coos, her voice a lifeline in the storm. "Let's sit down." Gently, she guides him to the bed, her eyes never leaving his. His body spasms once, twice, before settling into a tremble. The room is still, the only sound his ragged breathing and the occasional quiver of his antennae. Karen's heart is racing, but her hands are steady as she takes his. "Breathe with me," she says, her voice a soft rhythm. "In, and out." Plankton's eye locks on hers, his pupil dilating as he focuses on her words. He takes a deep breath, his body shuddering with the effort. "Good," Karen whispers, her thumbs gently stroking his wrists. "Again." The tremors slowly ease, his breathing evening out. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice a lullaby. "You're okay." His antennae twitch, his body relaxes. For a moment, there's only the sound of their breaths mingling in the quiet. Then, with a sigh, Plankton slumps against her, his body limp with exhaustion. Karen wraps her arms around him, her heart aching. "I'm here," she whispers. "I'm not going anywhere." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, and he nods, his eye closing. Karen can feel the tension leaving his body, the storm of emotions retreating. His breathing slows, his antennae falling still. For a few moments, the only sound in the room is their synchronized breathing. Then, with a shudder, Plankton starts to cry. Karen holds him tighter, rocking him gently as he sobs into her shoulder. His tiny body shakes with the force of his pain, his antennas drooping. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to scare you." His words are muffled by his tears, his antennae twitching with each tremble. Karen strokes his back, her eyes filled with understanding. "It's okay," she soothes, her voice a balm to his soul. "You're overwhelmed." She's seen this before, the sudden storms of feeling that his autism can unleash. Plankton's sobs come in waves, his body jerking with each one. Karen knows these moments are like earthquakes for him, shaking him to his core. "You didn't mean it," she whispers, her voice a constant in the chaos. "You just need a moment." He nods against her, his antennae still drooping. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice tiny. Karen's heart clenches. She wishes she could take away his pain, but she knows that's not how it works. Instead, she simply holds him, her arms a steady embrace in the tempest. "It's okay," she repeats, her voice a lullaby. "I'm here." Plankton's crying slows to a hiccup, and he pulls back, his antennae drooping. He wipes his eye, his face a mask of regret. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to—" "You don't have to apologize," Karen cuts him off, her eyes soft with compassion. "You can't help how you feel." She knows the guilt he's feeling, the weight of his own frustrations. She rocks him gently, her hand rubbing his back in slow circles. Plankton's breaths deepen as he relaxes into her embrace. His antennae, which had been quivering start to settle. The tension eases from his body, and his muscles loosen. Karen's soothing love and gentle touch are a balm to his frayed nerves. He leans into her, his head on her shoulder, his antennae brushing against her. Karen presses a kiss to his forehead, her hand continuing to stroke his back. "It's okay," she whispers. "You're safe." Plankton's body responds, his antennae dropping slightly. He sighs, his body going slack against her. She can feel the last of the tension drain out of him, and his breathing evens out. Her voice is a soft lullaby in the quiet, a steady beat to match the rhythm of his breaths. "Just relax," she says, her words a gentle command. "Let it all go." And he does, his muscles unclenching, his mind drifting. "Thanks.." Plankton says sleepily in her embrace. Plankton's body goes lax, his eye closing fully as he surrenders to the comfort of Karen's embrace. She knows He's fallen into a deep sleep when he starts to snore gently, his antennae still resting on her shoulder. Karen holds him closer, her hand continuing a soothing pattern on his back, each stroke a silent promise. Plankton's antennae rest gently against her, his body curled into her side. The room is quiet, save for his soft snores. Her hand moves in gentle circles on his back, the motion soothing to them both. She can feel the tension slowly draining from his body, his antennae finally still. The soft light from the moon filters in through the window, casting a pale glow on his features. In sleep, Plankton looks peaceful, the furrow in his brow smoothed away. Karen kisses his forehead. His snores deepen, a testament to his trust in her. Her hand strokes his antennae, now limp with sleep. He's just her Plankton, her partner, her love. Her gentle touch seems to soothe his slumber, a reminder of the sanctuary their bond provides.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣹⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣐⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁

h😕🅾❎🇳🔠

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COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 8 (Neurodivergent author) The candle's light flickers, painting shadows across the walls like a silent sonnet. The whispers from the kitchen are a distant lullaby, a reminder of the world outside their cocoon. Plankton's antennae hang limp, a declaration of his surrender to sleep's embrace. Eventually Hanna's friends all left. Hanna herself goes up to Karen and Plankton. "I'm sorry," she says brimming with tears. "I didn't know." Her voice is a whisper, a soft wave against the shore. Karen nods, her screen never leaving Plankton's peaceful form. "It's ok," Karen whispers back, her voice gentle. "It's just part of him." Hanna nods. Plankton's snores are the only sound, a symphony of comfort in the quiet. Hanna's screen is full of apology as she sits beside them on the couch. "I had no idea," she says, her voice a soft ripple. "How can I help?" Karen smiles, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "Just being here is enough," she murmurs, her voice a gentle tide. Hanna nods, understanding dawning in her eyes. Plankton's antennae are a testament to his peace, finally still against her neck. His snores are the rhythm of the deep sea, a soothing melody that fills the quiet space. The room is a sanctuary of soft light and gentle whispers. Hanna's screen watch them. "I'll make up the guest room," she says, her voice a soft ripple. "You guys should stay the night." Karen nods, her screen still on Plankton's peaceful face. "Thank you, Hanna," she whispers, the words a gentle wave of gratitude. Karen turns her attention back to Plankton. "Hey," she whispers. "You ok?" Plankton's eye opens, a sliver of the room's light reflecting in his pupil. "Mm-hmm," he murmurs. Karen smiles, a soft moon in the night of his worries. "We're staying the night," she whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye widening slightly. "But...the chum," he mumbles, his voice a distant echo in the calm. "Don't worry," Karen reassures him, her voice a gentle lullaby. "We'll go back home tomorrow." His antennae relax, the tension easing from his body like a wave retreating from the shore. "Ok," he whispers. Karen nods, her smile a beacon in the quiet. "Let's get you to bed," she says, her voice a soft current. With care, she lifts him, his body a delicate coral reef in her arms. They move through the house, each step a gentle wave that carries them closer to the guest room. Plankton's antennae sway slightly with the motion, his eye half-open as he takes in the surroundings. The hallways are a maze of shadows, the lights dimmed to a comforting glow. Hanna has cleared a path for them, a silent guardian in the night. Karen's heart swells with gratitude as they enter the guest room, the quiet sanctuary waiting for them. The bed is a vast ocean, the sheets a soft embrace that welcomes Plankton's weary body. She lowers him onto the cool surface, his antennae drooping with relief. Her eyes are a lighthouse, guiding him through the transition. The room is a cocoon of softness, the curtains drawn like the sea's embrace. Karen's hands are a gentle tide, helping him into the bed. The pillows are clouds for his antennae to rest upon, the comforter a warm, enveloping current. His body sighs with relief, the weight of the evening's chaos finally lifted. Karen tucks him in, her screen a soft glow in the quiet darkness. "Good night, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a gentle lapping wave.

Ⓜhi