sfgirljan asked:

Hi sweetie! Happy Pride Day! Can you write a "Nurse Me" drabble for Klaine, please? <3

Leave a “Nurse Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours.

+  Anonymous said:X me: Kurt comforting Blaine who has a headcold

Sure I can ! and belated Happy Pride !


The sound is slightly muffled by the bathroom door, but it still startles Kurt.

That was a big one.


Okay then.

Kurt gets out of the bed and goes to knock on the door. “Honey?”

“Hey sweedie.”

Holy mother of cold. “You alright in there?”

“Id’s dothing.”


“Jusd a liddle c–achoo!”

Kurt opens the door ajar. “Just a little cold, uh?”

Blaine is bracing himself on the sink, nose red and eyes tearing up. Kurt would take the time to appreciate the rest og him in his towel, but no, not right now.

“Come on, get in fresh jammies,” he says softly, “I’ll call work for the both of us and I’ll take care of you.”

“You’ll get sick doo.” Blaine looks defeated.

“Nah I won’t, Kurt replies, putting on his fluffy robe and holding Blaine’s up. “I never catch common colds, you know that.”

Blaine whines as he puts his arms in the robe, pulling Kurt’s hands on top of his forearms for a hug. “Everything hurds.”

“I know,” Kurt coos. “I’ll make you some hot water with lemon and honey?”

“The fir dree one?”

Kurt kisses his cheek. “Yes, the fir tree one.”

Nothing like a large quantity of hot water, lemon wedges and honey to cure any cold, Hummel style.

That, and the Wizard of Oz on repeat.

“Do you want to eat something?” he asks, wrapping Blaine in a blanket on the couch.

Blaine sniffles and slowly shakes his head, eyes already dropping close.

Kurt will take some saltins, just in case.

It’s not that he particularly enjoys taking care of a sick Blaine–but Kurt can’t help but see it as rehearsals for when their baby is here.

anonymous asked:

Hi! Can you please write about a party where all the IN**-types meets for the first time? :3

Hello, hello! Absolutely I can. I’ve been really excited about this one for a bit, actually. Ou^

INFJ makes his way down a narrow hallway of the party host’s house. As he passes a slightly ajar door, he hears a soft sobbing. Looking through the crack of this door, he spots INFP sitting against the wall of the bathroom, crying into her hands. INFJ knocks softly and lets himself in before she can answer.

INFP: I’m– I’m sorry, do you need the bathroom?

INFJ: No, I–

INFP: I’ll just leave, here you can have it. *Heads toward the door*

INFJ: Are you okay?

INFP: *Turns around in confusion, rubbing her eyes*

INFP: What?

INFJ: Are you okay?

INFP: Yeah… I’m fine.

INFJ: Are you sure?

INFJ: I mean… you’re not very happy.


INFJ: I can listen if you want. I know it’s hard if you don’t have anyone to talk to.

INFP: …R-really?

INFJ: *Sits down against the wall and taps the floor next to him*

INFJ: I don’t mind.

INFP: *Glances at the door*

INFP: What if… someone, you know, has to go?

INFJ: There’s a bathroom upstairs, too.

INFP: *Sits down next to INFJ*

INFP: I helped start a little club with some of my friends.

INFP: We all like to write. So, we centered it around there… and for the past few days, we’ve been writing poetry. Then, we all share our poems in this little circle.

INFJ: Mhmm.

INFP: And when I was done reading my poem to them, everything seemed fine.

INFP: Well, what they said seemed fine. But the way the said it… didn’t sound real. Like they were trying to pacify me. But I went against my better judgment and brushed it off because they were my friends.

INFP: And later… I was about to catch up with them to hang out and I heard them talking about how awful I was at writing!

INFP brakes down into tears again and covers her face again. INFJ reaches over and softly rubs her back.

INFP: And it’s like– I work so hard on the things I create! It was my idea to bring us all together and share our writing and, I just–

INFP: Why would they go along with all of it just to laugh at me behind my back?! I thought we were getting along great; I thought we were learning a lot about each others’ way of expression and…

INFP: I thought we were friends.

INFJ: You know… you’re going to meet a lot of people like that.

INFJ: People who put you down and laugh about you because they don’t have anything better to do. And it’s awful, you’re right.

INFJ: But there’s two things that I want you to know.

INFP: *Looks up with tears still running down her face*

INFJ: 1.) You’ll learn to grow stronger with this over time. You’ll learn to build your confidence and understand that just because someone laughs at what you write, or just because they make fun of it, doesn’t mean they’re right. You have to. If you don’t, you’ll always be hurting because of those things they say. You can use it as motivation to continue writing. To show them that you don’t care what they say because you don’t write for them. You write for yourself. For creation. For inspiration.

INFJ: 2.) You’ll learn to spot these kinds of toxic people sooner. And then you’ll know to avoid them because you don’t need that kind of negativity. Trust me, not everyone is that antagonistic. You’ll meet people who will be by your side every step of the way; who will encourage you and constructively criticize you because they care about your growth.

INFJ: But you’ll need to experience things, and be sad, and toughen up for that to happen. It’ll be worth it, though. I can tell you that much.

INFJ: You’ve got to realize that while these things are unfortunate, not learning to grow and adapt with them is even less so. You can’t control others’ actions, but you can control your own and your perceptions and interpretations. That’s not to say that people, or even I, won’t be there for you for emotional support; but there’s always something you can do to better the situation for yourself.


INFP: Thank you…

INFP: I think I’m going to get some fresh air, though. I’d like to get away from all of the… loudness of the party out there.

INFJ: Would you like me to come with you?

INFP: That… that would be really nice.

INFJ: Okay. You find your way out into the backyard and I’ll get us something cold to drink. Help you calm down a little bit.

INFP: Yes… yes, okay.

INTP is the only person in the backyard. He is looking up toward the night sky, examining the stars and the clouds, while speaking out loud.

INTP: Honestly, how did they ever come up with the constellations? Looking at most of them, they consist of only a few stars; how they managed to turn them into scorpions and centaurs is beyond me.

INTP: Although, I have to give them credit. Nobody was lacking creativity back then.

INTP: Well, I shouldn’t say that. People don’t change. I’m sure there were plenty of unoriginal flops back then just like the ones that are here. Maybe creativity was appreciated more back then. But then again, maybe I’m just in the wrong place.

INTP: I shouldn’t get condescending about this. The world needs all kinds of people, even if we don’t all get along or understand each other. Maybe the people I dislike are serving some other kind of purpose that I’ll never know.

INTP: But what kind of purpose? Using that language sounds like it’s inherently religious, for some reason. But it doesn’t have to be, of course.

The sliding door to the backyard opens and INFP walks in on INTP’s monologue.


INTP: *Sits up in shock* Oh!

INFP: I didn’t realize anyone was out here.

INFP: Sorry, sorry, go back to your talk, you guys!


INFP: Wait a minute…

INTP: Err.

INFP: Is it just you?

INTP: How much of that did you hear?

INFP: I first remember “creativity was appreciated more back then”.

INFP: Were you… you know.

INTP: Sometimes I just like to think out loud.


INTP: Is that a problem?

INFP: No, no, of course not!

INTP: …It’s not?

INFP: No, no.

INFP: Sometimes I do it, too.

INFP: It’s just easier to let your thoughts are come out at once, sometimes, you know? Like, your thoughts move so fast that you just jump from one thing to the next, that you kind of need to vocalize them, or something.

INTP: I think it helps keep the thoughts on track, too. Even though I jump around a lot from one to the next, it makes them more… real, in a way. It helps me develop the important ones and set aside the more irrelevant ones.

INFP: Err. Well…

INFP: I mean, I don’t think there’s a such thing as an irrelevant thought. Do you?


INTP: *Looks around the yard, confused*

INTP: What are you doing out here, anyway?

INFP: I left the actual party because it was getting too hectic. A friend… or, well, someone I met is coming out in a minute with some drinks for me and him.

INFP: Unless we’re bothering you.

INTP: It’s not like I’ve monopolized the backyard.

INTP: You’re interesting, though. Care to sit down over here until he gets back?

INFP: Um. Sure.

INTP: I mean, you’re not going back in there, are you? Might as well finish this conversation while we wait.

INTJ is sitting near the sink in the kitchen. She sits on a stool with her elbows resting on the counter, looking out at the main activity in the living room. She is completely motionless, with a neutral expression on her face. INFJ reaches the sink with two yet to be filled cups. He stares at her as he fills up the first cup.

INTJ: Do you need something?

INFJ: You look like you’re in deep thought.

INTJ: Not as deep as you’d think.

INFJ: What are you doing?

INTJ: Examining.

INFJ: Oh? What, exactly?

INTJ: Everyone.

INTJ: The way they interact. The way so many people miscommunicate in these distracting parties and still manage to exist contently with one another.

INFJ: *Begins filling the second cup*

INFJ: You’re interested in social situations, too?

INTJ: You could say that. It’s a system that is vastly misinterpreted by everyone inside of it. Yet, to an outsider like myself, I see everything that happens.

INFJ: *Leans on the counter near INTJ after filling the second cup*

INFJ: It’s interesting to think that after everyone goes home today, they will each have their own memories of tonight. Some of them will be almost unrecognizably different from another’s.

INTJ: Because of their individual interactions and miscommunications.

INFJ: Well, yes, those too.

INTJ: *Look at INFJ*

INFJ: But also because of their value systems.

INFJ: Some people may have very similar stories in terms of events because they were together most of the time, but the time spent on each part may be contrasting because of what the moments mean to them.

INTJ: That’s an interesting perspective. I hadn’t thought of it that way.

INFJ: The same applies to me.

INFJ: *Picks up cups and begins walking away*

INTJ: Where are you going?

INFJ: Backyard; it’s quiet out there and someone is waiting for me.


INFJ: I don’t mind if you come along. She might, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

INTJ: Okay.

The four of them become acquainted in the backyard and end up discussing multiple topics, ranging from deep and serious to hyperbolic and silly.

INTP: The way I see it, there are certainly some thoughts that are more important than others.

INFP: Of course there are! I mean, what I think about my future is definitely more important than what I think about–

INTJ: INTP’s future.

INTP: I did nothing to you.

INFJ: Hehe, INTJ, that was harsh.

INTP: It’s okay. The joke is on INTJ because little does she know that in the future, I’ll have built my own time machine to come back and exact revenge on her for that.

INTJ: I’m waiting.

INFP: INTP, can I come back with you on your time machine trip?

INTP: Maybe. I can’t promise you anything yet.

INTJ: You’ll have to build it first.

INFJ: Would building a time machine just to spite INTJ be the best reason to do so?

INTJ: It’s a reason.

INTJ: And I’m flattered.

INFP: If you guys had one time to go to through a time machine, where would you go?

INFP: I wouldn’t want to go too far and find out a ton of stuff because I wouldn’t want to spoil everything, but I’d at least like to know if I’m okay.

INFJ: What do you mean by “okay”?

INFP: Just, you know, to make sure that I end up happy with whatever happens. I don’t really care what my future is like as long as I’m content with it.

INTJ: That sounds hedonistic.

INFJ: It sounds humanistic. It’s only human to want to be content.

INTP: It’s logical.

INTP: If you’re not okay with yourself then… what are you doing?

INTJ: But to be happy at all costs doesn’t sound healthy.

INFJ: I think it’s safe to say that if INFP were to gain at the extreme expense of another person, she wouldn’t be happy.

INFP: I mean, I wasn’t really thinking that far into it, INTJ! I just want a nice future and adulthood.

INTP: Analysis is all INTJ knows.

INTJ: I see we have shifted to picking on me, then.

INTP: I’ll make you a deal.


INFP: INTJ, here INTP out!


INTP: If you agree to travel back in time with me from the future and humor me on something, there will be no more nitpicking.

INTJ: And if I refuse?

INTP: Then I’ll come back by myself, and me and my future self will double team you.


INFJ: INTJ, INTP isn’t messing around. You might want to agree.

INFJ: For the peace and harmony of us all.

INTJ: Okay.

INTJ: What am I humoring you on?

INTP: We’ll come back to this point in time, speak to the four of us for a moment, then I’m going to ask you a question right before we leave.

INTJ: And the question is?

INTP: “INTJ, where are we going, now?”

INFP: Uhh…?

INTJ: *Smirks*

INFJ: Oh god.

INTJ: “Back to the Future.”


INTP: You are the best person.

INFP: (─‿‿─)

INFJ: That was horrendous.

INFJ: You know, if we’re going to answer this question seriously, I would go back to a time where I was surrounded like the people at the party in there.

INFJ: That way, I could watch myself interact and see how many misconceptions there are that I and everyone else missed all because we were immersed in the action!

INFP: Would you try to change anything?

INTJ: Changing things never works out in anyone’s favor. I’d avoid it.

INTP: To answer seriously myself, I would go to a few different points of my life, very briefly, to watch myself to see if my demeanor changes. To watch how my interactions change with any specific person.

INTJ: I would predict my own future, then go to a certain point to see if it came true.

INTJ: Of course, nothing major like who my friends will be – it’s not the most predictable aspect. But say, where I’ll be living by a certain age. If I’m determined enough to be at a certain place at a certain time, then I can make it happen.

INTP: If you predict that you’ll be at a certain place at a certain time, then actively try to fulfill it, you’re not really predicting the future. You’re creating a stable time loop.

INTJ: Not to everyone else’s perspective.

INTP: Except your own. And now our’s, too.

INFJ: Something tells me you guys are going to be the ones to build this time machine.

INFP: Of course they are! They plan on coming back to tell us! Remember?

INTP: We’re actually coming back to make that awesome joke, but we can verify that we’ve also built it, as well.

Not far from the small circle of INXXs, something rustles the leaves of a nearby bush. Nothing can be found because it has gotten too dark to see much further than each person’s face.

INFP: What was that sound?

INTJ: It’s probably just a squirrel.

INTP: Oh, no. I know what it is.


INTP: It’s a who.

INFJ: Stop.

INTP: *Looks INTJ sternly in the eye*

INTP: It’s us.

This got waaaaaaaay longer than I expected. This is probably the longest one I’ve ever done. I enjoyed it a lot though. Can’t you tell?

I hate the door ajar ding

I absolutely can’t stand the dinging noise that a car makes when the driver’s door is open and the key is in the ignition.  My next door neighbor is constantly outside cleaning his car and doing typical maintenance and he leaves the key in the ignition and the door ajar.  That ding permeates everything and seems to come from every direction.  The way that it bounces off every surface and bombards your eardrums makes it sound like there’s no frequency to the number of beats per second.  Sometimes it’s ding ding ding ding and other times it’s ding dingdinginging (pause) ding.  I find it disorientating.  I hate it.  It’s worse than finger nails on a chalk board.  It’s worse than high pitched, high decibel laughs.  It’s even worse than Nickelback.

Please, take your keys out of the ignition and / or close your door.

my car broke :(

if any of you know anything about 1994 Doge Grand Caravan sliding door lock assemblies you input would be most helpful…

the door is completely shut but the damned sensor still keeps saying door ajar on and off every half second or so and i think it may even be a wiring issue but now it constantly says its open so the dome lights wont turn off and so ive had to dc the battery and my parents sya i cnt drive it till its fixed :(

Thunder (Closed)


There it was again. The rolling thunder and flickers of lightning that made the shadows of objects appear more sinister than what they were. The Princess tried all her best to keep her mind off of such nonsense which caused her to throw the blanket over her head. Sleeping at the Elric household was usually so nice and calm, but tonight made her question her bravery to become Queen.


The thunder cracked, followed by dozens more rumblings from afar. Garnet’s little heart was about to jump from her chest. She was completely sure of it. Though now, she had enough. She needed someone there with her, and the teddy bears weren’t doing her justice for comfort. Instead, she crawled out of bed and tiptoed out of her room. With her blanket covering her from head to tie, she clutched it tightly around her, meandering over to one particular door that was slightly ajar and peeked inside. All she was able to make out was blood locks draped over a pillow and a silhouette laying lazily on the bed. Garnet gulped, quickly scuffling inside and crawling into the warm bed that belonged to the alchemist. She pulled his covers over her body, snaking as closely to him as possible whilst burying her face into his back and wrapping her arms around his waist, enjoying the heat he emitted.

The Door Ajar: Antonin Artaud

The Door Ajar: Antonin Artaud

Travelling to Cork today reminds me of a film about Antonin Artaud I saw last year at the Portobello Cinema called The Door Ajar. Thanks to Niall McDevitt for bringing this valuable film to London.

*On August 14th 1937 the French poet and theatre director, Antonin Artaud, arrived in Cobh in County Cork, bringing with him a stick which he believed St. Patrick owned. His intention was to return…

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I want to get my head canons out before the show makes them canonically improbable. This fought me and it is what is it. A one shot, I guess.

Synopsis: Astrid’s Dad wants to have a chat with Hiccup before the Riders head to the Edge.

(This was supposed to be funny, but my muse had different plans and Magnus channeled my Mama Bear) 

Rating: PG


The Hofferson’s front door was slightly ajar. Not wanting to push the door open more and intrude, Hiccup moved to rap upon its arched frame when a gruff but steady voice boomed from within, “No need to knock, Son. Come on in.”

Hiccup took a deep breath and entered.

“My dad said you wanted to see me, Sir?” Hiccup smiled charmingly at the burly blond man sitting at a large ornate table that occupied the centre of the main room.

Magnus Hofferson stroked his long flaxen beard with one hand. The other choked up on the handle of a familiar looking battle axe laying on the table in front of him. He gave the young man a once over before nodding to the seat perpendicular to himself.

“Have a seat, Son. Can I call you, Son?”

“You can call me anything you want, Sir,” Hiccup replied, his eyes on the head of the axe.

Magnus pulled the weapon off the table, secured on his knee, picked up a whet stone and gave the blade a quick graze.


“Oh, I am not so sure you want to offer me that luxury,” Magnus chuckled, his eyes remaining on Hiccup as he continued to hone the axe.

Hiccup returned the chuckle politely and waited for Magnus to continue speaking.

He did not. A silence grew between them, broken only by the phssh sound of the whet stone on the iron axe, which did nothing to cut the tension Hiccup felt building inside of him.

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This Morning I Woke up, and I Have an Extra Kid

NOTE: I am not a writer. I am trying to get my head around something that is happening to me. Please excuse my fractured and sometimes muddled writing style.

I have two children. A son, and a daughter. I have given birth twice. I woke up this morning to the familiar sounds on the baby monitor of my daughter ( 2years old) playing and singing in her room. She was talking to her doll, which was making your standard recorded baby doll noises.

I slowly got motivated enough to get out of bed, went the kitchen and put the kettle on, and then went to wake my Son (8 years old) for school. As I walked by his room I noticed that the guest room door was a ajar. I peeked in, and there was a little girl standing by the foot of the bed. I just stopped in my tracks. She looked up, and said, “I can’t find my other sock Mum”.
Mum? I couldn’t form words. My husband appeared. Tossed a pair of socks to the little girl, and kissed me on the neck. “Mornin babe”.
The guest room. It has different furniture. A One Direction poster. Frozen doll collection. It started to spin, and I passed out.

My husband helped me go back to bed.

Migraine, I told him.

Everyone seems to think that she is ours, always had been. I’m afraid to say anything in case they think I’m insane.

I don’t know who this kid is. I don’t know what to do?!

Edit: my two year old had a toddler-meltdown just now. I went out to the kitchen to help out my husband, ( and honestly, I have to take another look). When the little girl came to the kitchen, my toddler said “hi! I’m Cara!”. My husband laughed it off… WTF is going on!!

Edit2: I have a cat. A fluffy, white, prissy cat. It’s cute. I guess.

(Mini edit) in my haste to update, I forgot to mention that, the cat is also new, I didn’t have a cat yesterday, now there is a unexplained cat, and it has apparently been around for several years.

Edit 3. It took absolutely ages for me to get into Facebook today. My password was changed, my account was disabled, my email account password was changed. I just don’t understand. There was no trace of any of the kids on my Facebook account. It’s down to the bare bones. Almost everything is gone. I have no photos, other than one or two from very early on. I talked to my sister, she knows about the little girl. She made an excuse to visit, ( unusual for her, we see each other on the holidays) rushed over, and everything was very tense. She didn’t say much. Other than to look concerned whenever I opened my mouth.

The kid, she’s very standoffish. Very cautious. I phoned my GP. I asked them for a copy of my file, and of our insurance details on file. I want to see if this has happened to me before, ( because I’m actually insane) or if they have insurance details of the little girl on file.

Her name is Alex.

Edit 4: Last night, as you can imagine, I couldn’t sleep. At 4am I got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make some tea. I sat there trying to wade through this dark confusion that is clouding my mind. I just feel… Wrong? I don’t know how to explain it. I eventually came to the realisation that my life is not in danger.

Whatever is happening, I can probably fix, or learn to live with. I went back to bed before the sun rose.

This morning I woke up and Alex was asleep in my bed. Jack,my eight year old, used to do this when he was very little, bad dreams, tummy aches, noises in his room. I studied the features of her face while she slept. She certainly has my nose, ( all the kids do). Her black hair though, the other two have a dull blonde/brown colour. I have to admit, she’s absolutely beautiful.

It felt awkward, and uncomfortable. I tried (unsuccessfully) to get out of bed without waking her. She turned towards me. Sleepy smile. And opened her eyes. Brown eyes. I have blue eyes. My husband has blue eyes. Jack and Cara have blue eyes. Is it possible for a child with two blue eyed parents to have brown eyes?

“Morning Mum, I missed you so much”. She missed me? I asked her when? “When did you miss me Alex?” She smiled, one of those toothy sleepy five year old smiles, “before I was born”.

paperwork-and-cats asked:

Sophia sat on the edge of her bed, sobbing the stress of everything, her job, the pregnancy, and every other little thing had finally broken through to her she unknowingly had the door slightly ajar

Frequency walks by and passes her door. But, backs up when she finally realizes what’s happening. She knocks on the door slightly, “S- Sophia?”

What Should I Believe?! ((Starter: lion-sove))

Soul sighed as he went to Ignacio’s house. He had a bag of the other male’s clothes, his lover having forgot them back at his house. He felt his heart skip a beat when he saw the door ajar and hesitantly walked up to the door.