9 Emojis & Text

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⠉⠋⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠜⢧⣹⠷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⠿⠑⢨ ⠀⡄⣬⣸⣻⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⡏⣿⢱⣏⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⡁⠐⠒⢈⠙⠩⠀⠀⠀⢀⢈ ⣦⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⡛⠼⠨⠶⡀⢼⡓⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠛⠛⠙⠻⠛⠛⠋⠀⡀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⢘⡁⡠⢀⠁⢙⢭⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣳⣶⣶⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣅⣾⠃⣁⣾⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣟⣉⣋⣩⡉⣉⣉⣛⣋⣻⣿⡿⡟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣺⣷⣶⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣼⣻⠙⡻⠿⣿⠿⢫⣯⢻⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣍⣯⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣯⣿⣿⣿⣼⣶⣴⣤⣤⣴⣿⣟⣻⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠁⠀⠀⠈⠬⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠲⠄⠄⠁⠁⢀⣀⢠⢂⣶⣰⡂⡰⢴⡠⣭ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡗⠜⢈⠚⢘⢷⣿⣿⠈⠛⣻⡿⢛⣭⠟⢵⣿⣿⣟⠋⣻⣟⡛⠛⠛⠋⠋⠛⣫⣿⣿⣿⡿⣻⣿⣿⣶⡄⠀⠀⠐⡀⣧⣮⣶⡽⣟⠚⠀⠃⠢⢻ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠿⣹⢉⢀⢐⠂⠀⠠⢽⣿⣿⣿⣷⢿⣶⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⣯⣩⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡏⣿⣿⠟⢣⠿⣿⢾⢽⣿⢿⣿⠄⠨⠀⢈⠌⣺ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡧⢾⡍⢄⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠿⣿⣿⣿⣁⣠⣩⣿⣿⣻⣿⣯⣉⣀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠿⠅⠙⠀⠁⠀⡠⡧⠷⣯⠐⠂⠐⠀⢈⠀⠸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣟⣶⣡⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣠⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⠛⡁⠀⣐⣶⣐⣠⣳⣷⣿⣿⣿⣶⣌⣄⣀⡶⡈⢘ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⠉⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠠⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠉⣠⡪⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣷⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣼ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢻⣷⣼⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠫⢀⣰⡶⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⣬⡛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⠉⣡⣆⠄⢸⣿⣯⣭⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣬⣾⣿⣿⣿⡫⠁⣴⣺⣿⣅⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⢀⡠⠚⢉⣻⢷⣠⣝⠿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣷⣿⣶⣶⣿⣿⠿⠟⣫⡗⠱⣺⣿⡻⠿⠚⠹⠓⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠂⠈⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣯ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⡾⠕⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠉⠀⠈⠉⡩⠭⠉⡄⠀⠐⠒⠊⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠢⠤⣤⣛⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠻ ⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⢀⣥⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡆⠀⠀⢠⠰⢊⣔⣽⠋⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣴⣿⣷⣿⢷⣿⣦⣔⡀⠀⠀⢃⠂⢆⣄⡜⠃⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢱⢠⢶⠕⣣⣿⣿⣵⣁⣀⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣧⣯⡽⡓⣾⣭⣟⡾⠁⠀⣼⡟⠀⣿⣷⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⡄⠀⠈⣢⣯⡞⣽⠋⠔⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⣛⣻⣿⡟⠛⠛⠁⠀⣰⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⣿⣆⡘⣿⣿⣷⣿⡸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣟⣫⠯⠽⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⠀⠀⠠⠞⠀⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⢷⣼⣿⣿⣌⢧⢀⣠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢻⣽⡏⠀⢰⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣦⡀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣾⣿⣿⣷⣘⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣟⣷⣶⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣷⡄⠀⣿⣆⣀ ⡁⣓⣦⣀⠙⢿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣼⣧⠔⢀⣯⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⠟⢲⣿⡏⠀ ⡟⢲⡎⢣⠀⠈⢻⣟⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣗⣿⡤⣾⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⣿⣿⡷⠶ ⠁⣠⣿⢿⡒⠃⢸⣿⣿⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠷⣿⡏⢿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠘ ⣿⣿⣿⣬⡽⠖⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⠀ ⡿⡿⠻⠢⠀⢠⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠙⠛⠿⣿⡿⣿⣿⠋⢻⣿⣿⠿⣿⡍⠁⠀

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 9 (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 Their laughter mingles with the breeze, the creaking of the swings a comforting rhythm. For a moment, everything feels normal, it's just them. But then two playfully boisterous kids come by. Their energy is infectious, but for Plankton, it's too much. He flinches at their sudden approach, nervously gripping the swing's chains tightly. The two kids laugh, their giggles piercing the calm of the playground. They run past, their eyes locked on the baby swing, their arms outstretched. Chip watches. The swing squeaks as the children pass it side to side to each other carelessly, when the baby swing hits Plankton, jolting him. Plankton's eye rolls back, his body going rigid. "Dad!" Chip cries, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. Karen's head snaps up, her eyes wide. Plankton's swing stops, his grip on the chains loosening. He's in the middle of an absence seizure, his brain briefly disconnecting from the world around him. Chip jumps off his swing, his knees hitting the ground with a thud. The two boisterous kids stop their laughter as Chip and Karen catch Plankton's body. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice shaking. Plankton's limp. "It's okay, Chip," Karen says. "Just hold him." They go to the ground, supporting Plankton's form between them. The kids hover, curiosity in their eyes. "What's wrong with him?" one asks. "He's okay," Karen says, her voice firm but gentle. "He just needs a minute." Plankton's body twitches slightly, his eyelid fluttering. "Dad?" The kids' curiosity turns to concern, their laughter replaced by quiet whispers. One of them tugs at their mother's sleeve, pointing at the scene. The mother's expression shifts from playful to worried. She approaches them cautiously. "Is he ok? Should we ca--" Karen shakes her head, cutting her off. "No thank you, but we've got it. He has autism. He'll be okay." The mother nods, her eyes softening with understanding and slowly backing away with her kids, giving them space. Plankton's body slowly unfurls, his antennae twitching back to life. Chip holds his breath. Plankton blinks, his eye coming back into focus. "Chip?" he says, his voice slurred. Karen nods. "You had a seizure, Plankton," she says. "You're okay now." Plankton's face relaxes, his antennae drooping slightly. "Tired," he murmurs. Chip's eyes never leave his dad's. "You scared me," he admits. Plankton looks at his son, his gaze filled with apology. "I-I'm s-sorry, buddy," he says. "I didn't mean t-to." Karen wraps an arm around Plankton's shoulders. "Let's sit for a bit," she suggests. They move to the bench, Plankton's legs still wobbly as the sit down on the bench. Plankton's hands start to move, almost subconsciously. He's stimming again, waving his flapping hands. Chip watches. He's seen this now. He understands now. Karen's hand rests on Plankton's back, her thumb making small circles. "It's okay, honey," she whispers. Plankton's hands flap faster in small, repetitive motions. It's his way of creating his own rhythm, his own harmony amidst the noise. Chip watches, his screen filled with a mix of fear and fascination. "It's his brain's way of saying 'I'm alright'," Karen explains, her voice low. "He's okay." Plankton's hands slow, the stimming becoming less frantic. Karen's eyes never leave his, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. "You've had a big morning," she says softly. "Ye-ye-yes," he stammers. Karen nods. Plankton's antennae droop, his hand stilling. Chip notices the quiet that settles over his dad. "You wanna go home?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton nods, his eye focused on a spot in the distance. Karen stands, helping him to his feet. "Okay, let's go," she says. The walk to the car feels longer than the journey to the playground. Chip notices the way his dad's steps are smaller, his movements more deliberate. It's as if he's retreating into himself, his brain needing a moment to recover. In the backseat, Plankton fidgets with the seat belt, strumming it as Chip sits next to him. The car's engine hums to life, Karen glancing back at them through the rearview mirror, her eyes filled with love and concern. "Talk box," Plankton says to himself. He's retreating. Chip looks confused. "Talk box?" He looks at his dad. "Dad, wh-" "Chip," Karen interjects, her eyes in the mirror. "Let him be. Remember yesterday. Sometimes he just needs to talk to himself. You can sit with him, but it can make him upset when you comment on it as if it's strange. He barely even knows he's doing it." Chip nods, trying to remember the conversation they had. Plankton's mumbling turns to a murmur, a low hum that's barely audible over the car's engine. "Fluffy, blue, circle," he says, his eye fixed on the passing scenery. The words are nonsensical, but Chip tries to keep his voice calm. "It's okay, Dad," he says. Karen glances at him in the mirror, her eyes full of pride. "He's okay," she reassures Chip. "He's just talking himself through it." Plankton's hand starts to move again, tapping the seat in a steady rhythm. "Pip," he whispers. "Flibbity, floppety, jib." Chip's eyes are glued to his father, his curiosity piqued by this window into his internal world. "Blip, blup, bebop," Plankton mumbles, his antennae twitching with each syllable. Chip's mind whirrs with questions but his mom's advice from last night echoes in his head. He watches as his dad's hand taps out the rhythm of his thoughts on the car door. "Mom, is he okay?" Chip asks, his voice low. Karen nods. "He's just working through it," she says. "It's his brain's way of talking to itself." Plankton's murmurs grow quieter as they drive, his antennae drooping slightly. Karen glances in the rearview mirror, her screen filled with warmth. "It's his brain's way of processing thoughts, turning them into words and sounds." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving Plankton's face. "It's like he's got a little world in there," he murmurs. Karen smiles. "Exactly," she says. "And those words are his way of navigating it." Plankton taps on the door. "Dibbly. Pling," he says. Karen nods. "You're safe." Plankton's hand stops tapping, his antennae still. "Safe," he echoes, his voice a whisper. Chip's eyes are wide, his curiosity piqued by his father's quiet self-talk. "It's his way of reassuring his brain," Karen explains. "It's like he's saying 'it's okay' to himself." Chip nods. Karen's screen finds Chip's. "You're doing great," she mouths. The car's movement lulls Plankton into silence. His antennae droop, his lids growing heavy. Chip notices the change, his heart aching. "Dad?" he whispers. "Tired," he says. The hum of the engine becomes a white noise, their world narrowing down to the car's confines. Plankton's breathing deepens, his body slumping slightly against the seat. Karen's eyes flick to the mirror, seeing Chip's concern. "It's okay," she says softly. "He's just getting sleepy." In his own world, Plankton whispers to himself. "Flip, flap, jibber." His eye closed, but his mind races. Chip watches, fascinated by the silent conversation. "What's he saying?" he asks Karen. She smiles, keeping her eyes on the road. "He's just talking to his stims," she says. "Talking to his stims?" Chip repeats, trying to understand. "It's like he's having a conversation," Karen explains, "but it's not with us. It's with his brain. It's his way of sorting things out." "Does he know what he's saying?" Chip asks. "Not always," Karen says, keeping her eyes on the road. "Sometimes it's just sounds, other times it's fragments of words or phrases. It's his way of finding calm in the chaos." Plankton's whispers continue, "Bloop. Squish. Karen." Chip looks at his mom. "Does he know he's saying your name?" Karen smiles. "Sometimes he does. It's his way of reassuring himself that he's not alone." Chip nods. Chip can't help but feel a sense of wonder at his dad's unique way of dealing with the world. "Blibber, babble, wonka," Plankton says, his voice softer now. Chip looks out the window, his thoughts racing. He wonders if he'll ever understand what it's like inside his dad's head. "Is he okay?" he asks again, his voice barely above a whisper. "He's fine, Chip," Karen says, her voice calm. "This is just his way." The words keep coming, a steady stream of nonsense syllables that somehow make sense to Plankton. "Flitter, flatter, snicker-snack," he murmurs. Karen's eyes are on the road, but her love is with Plankton, listening to his self-soothing symphony. She knows that in his own way, he's trying to find peace.

⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⣉⣤⣴⣲⢶⣞⡿⣽⣻⠟⢁⣼⣻⡽⣶⢦⣌⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣯⣻⡝⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⣉⣴⣺⣟⣯⢷⣳⢯⣟⡾⣽⣳⠟⣠⢾⣳⢯⡷⣯⣟⣾⣻⢦⣌⠙⣿⠯⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾ ⣿⣷⣿⡳⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⡧⠉⠐⠾⣽⣶⣛⡾⣽⢯⣟⡿⣺⣽⡳⠃⣔⣯⢿⡽⣯⣟⣷⠻⠖⠛⠉⠈⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣫ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡷⣌⢻⠏⢠⣟⡷⣦⣤⡈⠛⠽⣏⣿⣺⣽⣳⠃⣡⣾⡻⠞⠏⠛⣁⣡⡤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⠐⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⡥⣎⢷ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡳⢠⢿⣽⣻⢷⣫⣟⢿⣦⣤⡈⠑⠛⠂⠀⠁⠀⠀⣰⣻⢿⣻⢿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣞⡆⢹⣿⣿⡿⢋⢴⣫⢷⣫⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣟⠻⣿⣿⠃⣞⡿⢾⡽⡯⠷⠛⠋⣈⣤⣴⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢣⠛⣎⠳⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⣞⡿⠈⠟⣡⢎⣟⣮⣷⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣮⡝⠰⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣞⠿⣝⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣀⠹⠀⣾⣱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣋⠞⡹⠍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⠀⠀⠀⢠⣷⡟⢰⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⣳⢤⢰⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣠⣥⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠦⡙⢌⠣⠀⠀⣠⡿⠎⣠⣻⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⡿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡿⣿⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣤⡀⠀⠁⠂⠁⠈⠀⣠⡴⠛⣠⣞⣧⣟⠃⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢹⣟⣆⠀⠀⠀⠐⠬⠱⣉⠚⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣟⡾⣽⢶⡶⣶⢶⠞⠛⣁⡴⣞⡿⣾⣱⡟⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢹⡾⣷⣄⠀⠉⠀⠁⠀⠀⢀⣠⢶⣻⢷⣯⢿⡽⠳⠛⣉⡤⣶⣻⣭⢿⣽⣻⣞⣷⠁⣾⣿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⠿⣿⣻ ⢿⡿⣿⢿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣷⡈⢽⣳⢯⡿⣶⢦⣴⢶⣞⣇⠘⠛⠙⣉⣈⡤⣴⢶⣻⢷⣻⣳⡽⣞⣯⢞⣷⢻⡎⢰⡺⣵⡞⣯⠾⣵⣫⢟⡶⣽ ⣿⣽⣯⣿⣾⡿⠏⢾⠉⠳⠄⠙⢯⣽⢯⡿⣽⣻⢾⣭⣟⣿⣻⡽⣾⡽⣯⢿⡽⣯⣳⢯⡿⣽⣞⣿⣺⡟⢀⡷⣽⣣⠿⡅⡄⠐⢡⠀⣟⡾ ⣻⢿⣽⣻⡽⡇⠐⣄⠈⠆⣸⠠⠦⠌⠉⠙⠓⠋⠛⠚⢉⡈⢁⣸⢷⣻⡽⣏⣿⣳⢯⡿⣽⣳⣻⣞⠷⢁⣤⣤⣤⣉⣉⣀⣿⣰⠏⣀⣤⢈ ⣿⣽⣾⣽⣿⣿⣦⣈⠓⢸⣿⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢁⣴⡟⣯⡟⣧⢿⡽⣾⢭⡿⣽⣳⡽⣶⠫⠁⠾⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⡟⢋⣡⣾ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣏⣀⣉⣤⣤⣤⣭⣭⣉⣉⣉⠉⣴⣻⢷⣻⢷⣻⡽⣯⣟⡷⣯⢷⣛⣶⠿⡕⣠⣿⣿⣿⣟⡻⢿⣿⣿⣷⣈⠓⣸⣿⣿ ⣿⢿⣻⢿⡽⣾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⢁⣾⣳⢯⡿⣽⢯⣷⣻⢷⡽⣻⡽⣯⣟⡾⠋⣰⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⣝⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⢯⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⡷⣯⢿⡽⣳⡟⣞⡷⣯⣛⣷⡻⣷⠏⢁⢾⡿⣽⣫⢟⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣯⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣼⠈⢽⢯⡿⣽⣳⢿⡽⣞⣷⣻⠾⠙⢀⣴⣿⣦⠹⣿⣷⡯⣝⣟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢣⡾⠋⣴⣤⡉⠙⠓⠋⠛⠙⠛⣈⣡⡄⣸⡀⢯⢿⣿⣧⡘⣽⣿⣿⢮⣟⢾⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣱⡟⢁⣺⠿⢿⠰⣿⣿⣿⣿⡃⠘⠛⠉⡴⣛⢧⠘⣏⣿⣿⣷⣌⢽⣻⣿⣞⣯⢳⡽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣼⠏⣠⠷⣭⣛⡶⢦⠄⢈⣩⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣸⢵⡳⣆⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠹⣻⣿⣿⣧⡟⣧⢯⣻⣷⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢃⣾⠏⣰⣏⣟⡧⣟⡼⣇⠘⠿⠿⠛⠋⣁⡤⢮⣳⢯⣝⡾⡄⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡑⣯⢿⣿⣿⡽⢾⣱⣞⣻⣿ ⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣡⣿⣿⠀⢷⣺⢧⡟⣽⡺⣝⡶⢶⣲⢯⣟⣭⢟⣯⣳⢯⡞⣵⠃⣼⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⢯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣣⢯⣳⢞

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 9 Plankton's eyelid grows heavier, and Patrick lets out a chuckle. Plankton's antennae twitch in surprise. He opens his eye halfway. "What?" he asks, his voice slurred. "You're falling asleep," Patrick says, his laughter bubbling. Sponge Bob watches his friend's struggle with a mix of concern and understanding. He knows Plankton's pride won't let him admit defeat so easily. So his eyes narrow slightly as a warning to Patrick. "I'm not sleepy," Plankton insists, his voice barely above a whisper. But his protests are met with Patrick's laugh. "I said, I'm not sleepy," Plankton insists, his eyelid drooping. "rIgHt," Patrick says, condescending. Plankton's antennae twitch in irritation. "I'm not sleepy," he says, his voice slurred. But his eyelid continues to drop, and Patrick notices. "You totally are," Patrick giggles. Plankton's antennae drop, still trying to battle with sleep. "Maybe you should just admit it, Plankie.." "Patrick," Sponge Bob warns, his tone a mix of concern and amusement. But Patrick's laughter fills the room, echoing off the walls. "Look, Plankton's going nighty-night," Patrick coos. Plankton grits his teeth, his eyelid flickering. "I'm not," he slurs, his voice barely audible. Sponge Bob tries to hold in a chuckle, his spongy cheeks twitching. Patrick leans in closer, his grin spreading wide. "You know, for a big, strong guy like you, you sure are tired," he says, his voice teasing. Plankton's antennae wobble in annoyance. "I'm not a baby, Patrick," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. But his protest is weak, his eyelid already half-closed. Sponge Bob bites his tongue, his own amusement bubbling up despite the situation. None of them know Karen's secretly filming this, turning video on. Patrick starts to mimic a lullaby, his deep, booming voice filling the room. "Hush little Plankton, don't say a word, mama's going to buy you all the candy in the sea..." Patrick's in his element, his imagination running wild and continues his nursery rhyme, his voice now a whisper. "And if that candy's not enough, then mama's going to buy you a new submarine..." "I said, I'm not a baby," he says, his voice gruff. But his stubbornness is no match for the medication, and his eyelid droops again. Sponge Bob watches, his own smile suppressed as he tries to keep the peace. Patrick's lullaby continues. "And if that new submarine doesn't make you fly, mama's going to catch you a jellyfish from the sky..." Plankton's antennae twitch. Sponge Bob's eyes widen slightly at the absurdity of it all, but he can't help but be touched by Patrick's efforts, however misguided. Patrick's lullaby continues, his voice now a gentle whisper. "And if that jellyfish's sting isn't right, mama's going to kiss it all better, goodnight..." Sponge Bob's smile spreads despite himself. He can see the caring intention behind Patrick's annoying persistence. Plankton's eye remains half-open, his antennae drooping. "I-I'm n-not sleepy," he mumbles, his words slurring together. Patrick's grin doesn't fade. "Hush, hush," he sings. "Don't you cry. Mama's gonna sing you to sleep, and when you wake up, you'll have jellyfish pie. And if that pie isn't sweet enough, mama's going to catch you a star..." Sponge Bob's cheeks are now shaking with suppressed laughter. Patrick's voice has turned into a soft, lilting melody. "And if that star doesn't shine, mama's going to build you a sandcastle so fine..." Plankton's eye closes completely despite his protests. Sponge Bob quickly claps his hands over his mouth to stifle a snicker. Patrick, oblivious to the effect his song is having, continues to serenade his sleepy friend. "And if that sand doesn't sparkle, mama's going to make it rain jelly..." Sponge Bob's shoulders shake with silent mirth. Plankton's breathing evened out, his antennae still, finally succumbing to sleep. "And if that rain isn't wet, mama's going to make you a sea...of...puddles... an—" Patrick's voice trails off as he looks down. "Plankton?" he whispers, noticing Plankton's chest rising and falling evenly. Plankton's snores answer for him, a soft sound that fills the room. Sponge Bob's laughter bubbles over, his eyes watering. "Looks like he's out," he says, his voice still low so as not to disturb him. Patrick blinks in confusion, his smile fading. "But I wasn't done singing!" he protests, as Karen ends the video. Sponge Bob looks up at her, his smile now a chuckle. "Maybe you should save that for later," he suggests. Karen nods, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "Or never," she says, her voice a whisper. Patrick pouts, his eyes on Plankton's sleeping form. "But I wanted to make him feel better," he says, his voice sulky. Sponge Bob nods. "Of course, Patrick," he says, his voice gentle. "He's asleep now, and that's the best thing for him." Patrick's eyes widen with curiosity. "But why does he snore like that?" he whispers. Sponge Bob looks at Plankton, his mind racing. "Well, everyone sleeps differently," he says, his voice hushed. "It's just how his body breathes when he's asleep." Patrick nods, his finger hovering near Plankton's cast. "Can I touch the cast?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder. Sponge Bob's eyes dart to Karen, who nods slightly. "Just be gentle," she warns. Patrick's finger taps the plaster lightly, his curiosity piqued. "It's so hard," he says, his voice filled with amazement. Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep, and Sponge Bob quickly intervenes, placing a hand over Patrick's. "Let's not disturb him," he whispers. Patrick nods, his eyes still wide with interest. "What's it made of?" he asks. Sponge Bob thinks for a moment. "It's like...a super strong paste," he explains. "They use it to keep his leg still while it heals." Patrick nods. Patrick's finger hovers over Plankton's cast. "But why does it make him snore?" he whispers. Sponge Bob chuckles, his spongy body shaking slightly. "Well, it's not the cast," he says, his voice a soft whisper. "It's just how Plankton snores when he breathes in his sleep," he explains. "So it's not because of his leg?" he asks, his curiosity peaking. Sponge Bob shakes his head. "Nope, it's just the way he sleeps." Patrick looks thoughtful for a moment, his curiosity not sated. "But how?" he presses. Sponge Bob leans in, his voice low. "Well, when we sleep, our bodies relax, right?" Patrick nods, his attention fully on his friend's words. "But does he snore like that when he's not hurt?" Sponge Bob shrugs. "It's just his way of breathing when he's sleeping deeply," he says, his eyes on Plankton's chest as it rises and falls. Patrick's curiosity doesn't wane. "But why?" he whispers. Sponge Bob thinks for a moment, his spongy brow furrowing. "It's because of the medicine," he explains. "It helps with the pain, but it makes him sleepy. It's like when you're sleeping so soundly that you don't even know you're snoring," he says. "It's just his body's way of getting air." Patrick nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face, his eyes studying Plankton's slightly parted mouth. "But why does he make that noise?" Patrick asks, his curiosity boundless. Sponge Bob sighs. "Well, sometimes when we sleep, our throats relax and vibrate," he says, his voice soothing. "It's like when you're trying to make a funny sound, but it just happens when we're asleep, Patrick, snoring is something our bodies just do when we're really relaxed," Sponge Bob explains, his voice patient. Patrick nods, his finger still hovering over Plankton's cast. "But what about his leg?" he whispers. "Is it okay to sleep like this?" Sponge Bob nods, his eyes on Plankton's chest rising and falling with each snore. "It's fine," he says. "The cast is designed to keep his leg still. It's important for healing." Patrick's eyes move to Plankton's face, his gaze lingering on his mouth. "What's with the mouth?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder. Sponge Bob chuckles. "It's just his mouth relaxing," he says. "Everyone's face looks a bit different when they're sleeping. It's all part of his body getting the rest it needs." Patrick nods, his eyes now on Plankton's antennae, which are twitching slightly. "What about those?" he whispers. "Do they move in his sleep?" Karen smiles. "Sometimes," she says. "They can move when he's dreaming. Sometimes, when we dream, our bodies react to what's happening in our minds." Patrick's eyes light up with interest. "What do you think he's dreaming about?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Sponge Bob shrugs. "Could be anything," he says. "Maybe he's dreaming about inventing the best Krabby Patty ever. Everyone's body does something different when they're asleep." "But why does his mouth hang open?" he asks, his voice filled with curiosity. Sponge Bob explains, "It's like when you're sleeping, and you don't realize your mouth is open," he says. "It's just his way of breathing when he's in a deep sleep. And, when we're asleep, our muscles relax, including the ones that keep our mouths closed." Patrick nods, his gaze still fixed on Plankton's open mouth.

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whoever said "guy stop f-ing saying this web needs to be a f-ing app like what the f-k there lots of f-ing beef like do you guys have brain cells of a d-k sh-t like get a life if you care about f-ing 8 year olds then dont make this a f-ing app if you f-ing do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a f-ing bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･" please chill out like multiple people have said this is a website where little kids come on here to find cute combos so please be respectful ౨ৎ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⠋⠁⠀⠈⠛⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡦⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢠⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣇⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⠂⠍⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣄⡀⢀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⡄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

born in 1998, scorpio ☀︎ ♏︎

born in 1998, scorpio sun♏

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 9 (Neurodivergent author) The next morning, Karen wakes up first. She and Plankton are still at Hanna's house. The room is a soft embrace of morning light, the curtains pulled back like the veil of a bride. She carefully extricates herself from the tangle of limbs, not wanting to wake him. Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep, a gentle reminder of his constant vigilance, even in rest. Karen moves quietly, seeing Hanna already up. "How's he doing?" Hanna whispers, her voice a soft splash in the morning calm. Karen turns, her eyes a mirror of the quiet sea outside. "He's sleeping," she says, her voice a soothing ripple. Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching with the first whispers of consciousness. The room's soft light is a gentle tide, easing him into the day. His eye opens. Karen is there, her smile a ray of sunlight piercing the morning's soft shadows. "Hey," she says, her voice a gentle ripple. "How are you feeling?" Plankton blinks, his antennae slowly rising like the dawn. "K-Karen," he mumbles, his voice a quiet wave against the shore. Hanna followed Karen in to the room. "Just let him wake up," Karen murmurs. Her screen is a soft sea, full of concern for Plankton. Hanna nods, her curiosity like a rock in the tide of her understanding. "I've never seen anything like yesterday before," she says, her voice a whisper. "When I saw the seizure..." Her words trail off, the memory a storm cloud in the room's serenity. Karen nods. "It's like his brain gets overwhelmed and just...short- circuits." Hanna's screen is a canvas of curiosity, her eyes wide as the sea. "What causes it?" she asks, her voice a gentle probe. Karen sighs, her screen a soft glow. "His brain can't always handle the overstimulation." Hanna nods, her gaze sliding to Plankton, who is sitting up. "You mean like a meltdown?" The word hits him like a tidal wave, his antennae snapping to attention. "Don't say that," he snaps, his voice a crack of thunder in the room's calm. "Never call it a 'meltdown' or a 'seizure'!" Karen's eyes widen, a silent ocean of surprise. Hanna's cheerfulness fades like the dawn. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice a retreating wave. Plankton's antennae snap back, a barricade of hurt. "They're just words, Plankton," Hanna says, her voice tentative. He turns away, his antennae quivering. "I can't control it." The room's peace is a shattered coral reef, the waves of his emotion crashing through. Karen sits beside him, her hand a comforting current on his back. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "It's ok to be upset." Her words are a lighthouse beam, guiding him through the fog of his fears. "Those words are just descriptions. They don't define you. What words would you like them to be called instead?" He thinks for a moment, his antennae twitching with the effort. "How about...'overwhelming moments'?" he suggests, his voice a soft lapping wave of hope. "Pauses, spasms.." Karen nods, her eyes a gentle smile. "That's a beautiful way to put it," she says, her voice a soothing current. "Would you like me to use that instead?" Plankton turns to her, his antennae quivering with hope. "Yes," he whispers, his voice a soft wave. "Would like to use that instead."

Ⓜhi

please dont post gross stuff on here!! kids who are young like probably 9 year olds are just trying to find cute combos. spread the word (≧ヮ≦) also people who are spreading the word, please do not put curse words. its the same example for kids with the gross things but with curse words. thanks love<3 bye!!(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ -Yuki-chan :3, Fairess <3🇮🇹