Not Yet

Just as a fair warning, this story deals with termination of pregnancy within an established relationship. Please keep this in mind if you choose to read it.

Clarke wakes up almost simultaneously with rolling over and retching, stomach bile and last night’s dinner burning her tongue.

She coughs and feels lightheaded, her fingers shaking as they curl into the sheets. “Hey, hey,” Bellamy grunts, sleep hoarse as he runs a hand up Clarke’s back. His touch just makes Clarke’s stomach clench again and she gags, her stomach clenching and forcing up nothing.

“Babe,” Bellamy says, voice worried. He pulls her hair back from her face and holds it carefully in a fist as he sits up and scooches closer. “You ok?”

“Can you not touch me?” Clarke gasps and Bellamy lifts his hands off her, still holding her hair. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t,” Bellamy says. “You need some water? Want me to get your mom?”

“No,” Clarke manages, resting her forehead against the back of her hand and trying to wipe her lips clean. “No, I’m ok.”

“Yeah, you sure look it,” Bellamy says dryly, but he reaches up across her and grabs the canteen of water. “Come on, Clarke. Just to rinse your mouth.”

Clarke takes it and manages a small sip. The water is cold and good, but she can’t imagine drinking too much. She passes it back to Bellamy with a whispered ‘thanks’ and feels like her whole body is shaking apart. She can feel Bellamy behind her, hovering and worried but trying not to touch her and she stretches her hand out, wiggles her fingers until he takes it and gives it a squeeze.

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Blanket Hog

Joe woke up shivering, which was odd because he remembered falling asleep with the blanket tossed over him, covering his body in warmth.

So he reached out into the darkness, frowning when his hand did not connect with the blanket.

Propping himself up on his elbows, he glanced around the darkness, frowning when he realized where it had disappeared to.

“Jack,” He said hoarsely, tugging at the blanket, “Give me some.”

But his boyfriend simply grumbled in his sleep, pulling it tighter around him.

“For fuck sakes…” Joe grumbled, reaching over with both hands to pull the blanket, and this time he was rewarded with all of it, so he smiled to himself, wrapping it around his own body before he laid back down.

About twenty minutes later, Jack woke up, wondering why the hell the flat was so cold.

And that was when he realized that he didn’t have the blanket anymore.

Rolling over onto his other side, he noticed how content Joe looked, snuggled up in it, already fast asleep again.

“That won’t do.” Jack muttered, tugging the blanket off of Joe and over onto him.

Except Joe woke up as he felt it slip from his fingers, and he watched Jack sigh contently, closing his eyes, prepared to go back to sleep.

“What are you doing?”

“I was cold.”

“Now I’ll be cold.” Joe told him, tugging at the fabric.

“Go get a new one then.”

“Just give me the blanket, Jack.”

“Nope.” The younger man rolled over again, wrapping himself further in the blanket.

“Oi, this is my bloody blanket!” Joe protested, unsuccessfully pulling at it.

“You should really get another one then,” Jack yawned, “It’s very cozy.”

“I know, it’s why I bought it in the first place.”

“Shh, I’m trying to sleep.”

“This isn’t fair!” Joe tugged once again, watching as Jack’s body rolled, but the blanket remained wrapped around him.

And that was when the idea popped into his head.

Sitting up fully, Joe got a good handful of fabric in each hand, and then he yanked. Hard.

Because Jack had been unsuspecting, he went rolling off of the bed while Joe tumbled backwards onto it, the blanket now a pile on top of him, muffling his laughter.

“What the hell!” Jack cried out from the floor. Joe moved the blanket off of his face, bursting out laughing again at the site of Jack peering over at him, his hair sticking up in various places.

“You didn’t want to give me the blanket!” Joe replied in between his laughter, “I had to steal it back.”

“So you toss me off the bed?” Jack asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Didn’t think you’d go flying,” Joe shrugged, sitting up again. “You going to stay there or come back to bed?”

“Like I’m sleeping on the floor,” Jack rolled his eyes, pushing himself up and onto the bed, tugging Joe down beside him, his arm around the older man’s waist. “Your bed is comfier.”

“I know.” Joe snuggled against Jack’s chest, sighing as the younger man pulled the blanket over both of them, “It’s why I bought it.”

“Do you have enough?”

“Yeah,” Joe yawned, his own arm wrapping around Jack, already feeling warmer, “You?”

“I got lots.” Jack replied, dropping a kiss on Joe’s head. “Next time, we share from the beginning.”

“Or tomorrow we go buy a second blanket.”

“That works too.” Jack laughed softly, letting his eyes fall closed.

Who really needed a blanket when they had a boyfriend to keep them warm?

Chapter 10~ Deceiving Precautions

  Taking slow, deep breaths Stephan decided to get a glass of water. Moving the bed sheets aside, he let his feet rest on the creaky wood floor before stepping off carefully beginning to head downstairs.

  He tiptoed quietly to the dining room and retrieved a glass cup from one of the cupboards. Beginning to fill it calmly, he took a small sip letting it wet the back of his dry, hoarse throat. As he began to make his way back to his bedroom, he passed multiple paintings and photos that were hung on the walls of the old dollhouse. A painting Ffionn had created during their youth of dear Stephan, Ffionn’s family photo, and many more. One that particularly wrenched the bunny’s stomach however, was a photograph of him with his parents. Now being as busy as he was with things, the last thing he had time for was to admire pictures on the walls. But now looking closer, and actually inspecting the walls he felt sick regretting it instantly. In anger and frustration, he manipulatively turned all of the various photos and paintings upside down. It somehow made him feel better about himself.

  Quickly scurrying back off to his room he passed the young fox’s room. Suddenly stopping, he turned his long figure slowly to the door; and began opening it. There layed a young fox sleeping peacefully along with a few occasional small snores. Stephan walked in closer trying to refrain making any noise. Looming over the fox he quickly tapped his shoulder waiting for a response.

  “Tap…….tap…….tap tap-”

  “Foxy-” Hissed Stephan. “Wake up you mutt.” Ffionn sat up tiredly with his eyes half shut. He looked at the bunny before yawning and continuing to lay back down turning the other way. Stephan frowned in disapproval before shaking the fox awake.

  “I’m talking to you!” He sneered.

  “It’s still dark..” Said Ffionn quietly pulling the sheets closer to himself.
  “What are you doing up at this hour anyways?” Stephan clenched his tie turning it in spirals nervously.

  “I-I uh..” He spat out. Ffionn sat up interested as he began to wake up more.

  “I..” Started the bunny.

  “I had a nightmare-” he turned towards the door beginning to make his way towards it before the fox called out:


  Stephan turned to see what Ffionn could possibly want from him now. His patience was running short.

  “What gave you the idea to wake me for..?” The fox leaned his head to the side confused as Stephan tried to come up with a witty excuse.

  “You’re nothing but full of questions,” started Stephan. “why would I know as to come in and disrupt your slumber? I was just merely checking on y-”

  “What was the dream about?” Interrupted Ffionn.

  “Be quiet, you mongrel-” Snapped Stephan growing cross. Ffionn sunk down looking away as Stephan began twisting his tie again.

  “C-could I…stay here?” Whispered Stephan meekly looking at the ground. Now dear Ffionn did not expect these words from the bunny. As Stephan stalked closer, the fox tensed up feeling his fur rise on his back. He watched the bunny sit down next to him while proceeding to scoot about getting comfy.

When Stephan finally lied down Ffionn couldn’t help but giggle at his friend’s utmost childish behavior. Stephan was never like this always being the cold, grumpy bunny he was. His sudden neediness and cowardly state amused the fox. The boys sat in silence staring at the ceiling quietly. Not even the squeak of a mouse was present in the room. In attempt to break the awkwardness in the room, Stephan tried to start a lively conversation.

  “So…” the bunny coughed nervously. “Ever threaded a button-?” The fox turned to the bunny in a concerning manor.

  “Why of course, many times-” replied Ffionn.

  “No I meant- oh nevermind.” Sneered Stephan. The fox to look at the bunny scrunching his nose and raising his brow slowly as he realized what the bunny had meant. It wasn’t much of a surprise though as his vulgarity was through the roof.

  “S-Steph..?” Squeaked Ffionn.
Stephan turned to see whatever the fox could want as he continued.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Stephan smirked dismissing the fox’s random and childish illusions.

  “Pfft- why of course not; nonsense it all is really-” He pulled a cigarette from his trouser pocket beginning to light it. Ffionn held his nose to at least dilute some of the stench.

  “Well I do.“  He muttered quietly. Stephan ushered the box towards the fox offering him one.

  “N-no thank you.” He said. “Do you realize how many chemicals are in a single one of those?” The bunny rolled his eyes inhaling deeply before letting out a cloud of smoke in the small fox’s face. Ffionn’s eyes stung as his mouth grew dry from inhaling the stench.

  “How incompetent!” Snapped the fox. He turned towards the bunny lightly slapping the cigarette out of his hand. Stephan froze in shock at the fox’s sudden outburst. His worried, and concerned face soon turned into an unapproving frown. Turning the opposite direction, he bid his goodnight to Ffionn and was silent for the rest of the night.

  As the morning sun arose the English countryside, Ffionn tiredly forced one eye open. After a few minutes of regaining consciousness, he sat up to wipe the mucus from his eyes. After a few yawns he tried to get up, but was held back by something. Something large, and soft. Looking back towards the bed, Ffionn saw Stephan holding his waist tightly in his sleep. The bunny’s ear twitched as he snored lightly. Ffionn mustered a sweet, half lidded smile before prodding off the bunny’s hands heading downstairs quietly as not to wake him.

  About two hours later, Stephan lifted his head struggling to pry the seemingly weights off of his eyelids. He stretched his long limbs whilst yawning as a bitter aftertaste of cacao and tobacco covered his tastebuds. His eyes suddenly snapped open as the scent of sweet pancakes and coffee filled his nose. As he rushed down the stairs, he nearly came to a head on collision with a certain high strung fox. Stephan sweated nervously dreading what would happen next.

  “D-do beg my pardon M-mari-” choked out the bunny weakly forcing out a sheepish smile. Marinella glared as she held a large tray of assorted breakfast foods about to be served. She began to pull a muted green dish towel from the pocket of her apron. She held out a finger ushering the charming bunny over with a sly, but charming smile. Stephan leaned in closer to see what the fox could possibly want before being struck forcefully at the face. He stumbled back as Marinella carefully placed the dish towel back walking off with her nose in the air.

  “…beastly….witch-” Sneered Stephan rubbing his face lightly where he was struck. Continuing to walk to the dining room, Stephan found an open seat across from Ffionn who was busy guzzling down a large glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. The bunny cringed not taking a liking to the fowl beverage. To him, it tasted of vomit and acid spat up about fives times while then being regurgitated up once again only to be placed in a fancy glass to quench someone’s thirst.

  "Foxy-“ he hissed quietly trying to get the fox’s attention. Ffionn looked towards the bunny as he mouthed the words "I need to talk to you” while Marinella sloppily threw his breakfast on his plate not even noticing. Ffionn nodded and smiled calmly.

  After breakfast hours Stephan led the fox behind a staircase balcony seeming to be holding something. Before the fox could get a good look at whatever it could be, a soft bundle of cotton was abruptly shoved into his paws as the bunny whispered:

  "Meet me in the operation room as the clock chimes twelve times for the twelfth hour at noon.” His emerald eyes stared deeply into the fox’s soul hungrily.

  “Do try not to be late-” He chuckled walking off towards the direction of the courtyard garden. Ffionn felt his body grow cold as he began to shake. He wanted to run. But feared what would happen if he did.

  "How silly..deceiving yourself, I see?“ Said a voice from above the balcony

  "No, I’m not.” Replied the fox. He stared up at what another would see to be nothing.
  “Steph is my friend, he’d never want to hurt me-”

  "He’s a m-“ the voice was cut off by Ffionn’s sudden snarls.

  "Don’t- call him that.” Growled the fox. His teeth bared as his ears snapped to the back of his head glaring at the top of the balcony.

  “…Very well;” started the voice. “You must be on your way. It’s a quarter to noon.” Ffionn froze at the voice’s sudden words and quickly headed off towards his room. As he shut the door quickly, then sitting on the bed beginning to change, he noticed a small, and crumpled sheet of rolling paper littered on his perfectly bare wood floor. The fox looked unamused at it as he picked it up looking at it closely. As he was about to toss it carelessly back on the floor, he noticed scribbled writing on it and began unfolding it. The fox stared confusingly at various dates scratched across in a vertical list.

  “9/1 /21, 17/2/21, 11/3/21, and 28/4/21”

  The fox wasn’t sure what any of these dates meant exactly, but he was sure they were gravely important. He looked back at the first date remembering it quite clearly. It was the day he had first been tested on. The next date was today. But the two final dates were the ones that made him shiver the most.

  “March 11, 1921”. Ffionn’s birthday. Why would Stephan want to commence such a thing on the fox’s special day? It puzzled the fox to a great extent. The last date, “April 28, 1921” was circled in red ink. Whatever was so important about that date was the last thing on his mind. He studied the paper closely almost tracing each rushed stroke of the circled trail the pen went around in.

  Ffionn jumped at the sudden sounds of the Westminster Chimes. He quickly hid the paper in a nearby drawer and bolted out the door as the first chime rang.

  The second chime rang.

  He quickly ran down the first flight of stairs.

  The third chime rang.

  Seeing that running down a whole new flight of stairs would be impractical, he decided to take the elevator.

  The fourth chime range.

  The dolls have to get around quickly somehow, right?

  The fifth chime rang.

  Shoving the elevator gates forcefully aside, he sneakily snuck to a room which held many paintings.

  The sixth chime rang.

  The room was always empty. But then again, who would want to spend their time gawking at still, bland pictures?

  The seventh chime rang.

  Ffionn went to a certain spot kneeling down,

  The eighth chime rang.

  and began to lift the floorboards.

  The ninth chime rang.

  Slipping himself into the small space he closed the boards behind him.

  The tenth chime rang.

  Breathing heavily and out of breath, he pushed himself to run just a bit further.

  The eleventh chime rang.

  The fox nearly skidded across the concrete floor as he ran in front of Stephan.

  The twelfth chime rang.

  “You’re late-” Muttered Stephan looking unamused as he walked off to retrieve his head mirror.

the man and the dying woman.

It was the Saturday from hell.

I’m not sure if everyone co-conspired, or if they were all downtown at the Rich & Entitled Convention, but very possible rude customer you could ever encounter in food service all decided to drop into the coffee shop and make everyone’s lives miserable. Three hours into it, with an already hoarse voice, hanger, and thinning patience, I was 100% done. Done with the complaints, pissy comments, and people paying for $3.28 hot coffee with $100 bills.

But then I remembered them.

They were the first couple into the shop as I opened that morning.

I don’t typically remember my first customers of the day. I’m mostly still in set-up mode and hoping everything is in place so I don’t have to leave my station until backup arrives at 7:15.

But I remembered them, and I honestly don’t think I’ll ever forget them.

She wore her sickness.

She was small and frail, Her clothing, a mint colored sweatsuit, hung on her like old potato sacks. She walked slowly, yet with poise. Her bony face wore a kind smile as she brushed the thinning hair off of her face. I noticed the oxygen tubes connected to her nose. She breathed in deep and offered me a friendly ‘good morning’ as she looked up at the menu. She explained that coffee probably wasn’t good for her and asked if we had any caffeine free tea.

It was him.

It was the man she was with, presumably her husband judging by the rings, who caught and captured my attention.

Walking slowly beside her, his fingers locked into hers as he held with his free hand, the oxygen tank from which his presumed wife was receiving. His grip on it firm, he looked over at her every few seconds, almost if he were checking to see if she were still there. He smiled at me, ordered a cappuccino, and handed me a stale $10.

I got working on their drinks, keeping my eyes leaned over my shoulder as I watched the two sit at the small table in the corner linking to the outside window. He carefully manned the oxygen as he helped the exhausted woman into her seat across from him. He took his seat and gave her a sideways smile. He looked just as tired as she did.

I walked their drinks over to their table, a luxury we have only when it’s quiet, and the both thanked me warmly. I hopped behind the bar once more to tidy up, keeping a close eye on them. I’m a people watcher by nature, so there’s nothing too unfamiliar about me lurking quietly and listening to the thoughts and conversations of others (writers are basically professional stalkers who get paid to study what they hear.)

What I heard captured me.

They locked hands again, shared several smiles, they talked about what she wanted to do that day. Anything. Her choice. He warmly welcomed her ideas and laughed as she threw her arms out, explaining all the grand ideas she had and all the ways they wanted to spend their vacation. She mentioned skydiving. He wasn’t having it.

They were planning some of their final adventures together.

She was dying.

We ourselves are dying people, we start dying the moment we’re born. Thing is with people like the woman, is that we rarely get to number our days. We go about our lives and hope for the best, we hope to live for a long time, we hope to see ourselves become what we aspire to be, we hope to be old and tired and worn out when it happens, preferably even asleep.

Then you have a young woman, connected to a tank of oxygen, given a specific time frame, told to make it count before it runs out. You wonder how much more intentional her life becomes, if those goals and dreams she had between living to 75 and today change very much.

I said I was captured by her husband, and I was.

There was nothing special about him. He was maybe mid 30s and graying, tall and tan compared to his pale wife, he wore plain Nikes and an even plainer smile. I wouldn’t have picked him out of a crowd as someone who would effect my life very much.

But he did.

Because he held her oxygen tank.

The two of them must have left at some point when a crowd began forming in the shop, I missed it. I was at the register being belittled by a man from the New Jersey who made fun of the way I spelled his name on his cup. He glanced behind and shouted to his wife at the table.





The man turned over to me and rolled his eyes. I don’t think he realized the attention he was drawing to his party, or maybe he did and was used to it.

“Are you married?”

I was taken back by the question.

I tapped my finger on the drawer, “Umm, no, I’m not.”

He nodded and secretly pointed to the woman, “Good. Don’t. She’s a bitch. Waste of time.”

I would’ve leaned over the counter and punched him right there if I didn’t need the paycheck. My co-workers showed up as I finished giving the man his change from the $100 bill he gave me (shocked?) and slammed the cups on the bar as I began preparing his drinks.

All I could think about was the couple who had been in there ten minutes earlier.

I thought of how he held her oxygen tank.

I just couldn’t get over it.

The idea of worth and commitment and fighting for somebody you love seems so old fashioned, like notions ripped out of some fairy tale from hundreds of years ago. It seems that way, because in some ways, I think it has become old fashioned. Commitment and loyalty are saved for the knights in the castles. We want our flings and fast fixes. We’re dying to feel something in a world that shames us when we show it.

I sometimes wonder if the generation I’m a part of is afraid of love. We’re cool with sex and we’re fine with hooking up, we’re content with dating around and we’re okay with merely using someone to get what we desire. But not love. Never love. 

Maybe we don’t fear love as much as we’ve redefined it for ourselves.

I work with a girl who is currently living with her best guy friend, who tells me she and he frequently sleep together because she’s been burned too many times by men to pursue anything or call it a relationship. She doesn’t think they need a label to fool around, especially when she already knows it’s not going to last, and if the sex is good and their friendship is stable, why does it matter? She’s shocked I’ve never been in a “not relationship” before, let alone a real one.

You have to understand, this isn’t the perspective of an insider looking outward and judging the world around her. I’m just as guilty of letting redefined love fuel my intentions. As much as I strive to find contentment in independence, it sucks to be single sometimes, especially when you’re 25, and especially when it looks like everyone around you is finding lifelong happiness with really awesome people who treat them with respect.

Yet there you are… sitting at a coffee shop drinking tea and checking the Missed Connections section of CraigsList… *just* in case someone might have noticed you… then you actually go and read some of the listings and suddenly question if a man who would even post in such a vile section of the internet would even be worth your time when he could’ve just approached you in the first place.

We’re scared of being alone as much as we’re scared of commitment. It’s no wonder we’re such a mess. We’re afraid of pursuing a real “thing” because we’re conditioned to heartache and we’d rather go into something with low expectations and have them met then give ourselves fully to something and have it let us down.

But then I think about the man and the dying woman.

I wonder how long they’ve been married, if they have any kids, if they have friends, how much longer she has. I think about how close he held her, knowing he’d lose her. I think about the plans they were making. Not as if she were going to die, but because he wanted to take whatever time they had left together to live.

I think about what it must feel like to have a guy want to hold your oxygen tank, to move at your pace, to spend every moment you have, bad and good and living and dying, glad to be with you. Not because you’re unable to do it yourself, but because he loves you that much.

It’s in those moments, that the loneliness that pokes up and down in my soul like a whack-a-mole suddenly dissipates, and I step back from my questions of “what the hell am I still waiting for?” to “why would I want anything less than that? 

Why would I want anyone less than someone who would fight for me? What little do those casual flings and missed connections offer compared to someone who is willing to lay down their life for you? Someone who sees your baggage as their privilege, and your heart for the gift it is.

Why would I choose to settle for anything less than the reflection of Christ? Am I–are we–not worth that?

Relationships are messy. Humans are selfish, people can get hurt, but it doesn’t mean our love doesn’t still work, or that our sacrifices are ever in vain, or that we’re incapable of finding someone who is willing to fight just as hard as we are to do this life thing together and make it an adventure.

Maybe it’s the things that cost us the most that are actually the best for us.

I learned that from a dying woman.

Scribble-Doodle: Mom

This was meant to be a part of a longer fic. That never got written. Oh well… Maryse and Max are headed back home. 

“… and whatever Valentine does, whatever he says - whatever anyone says,” Maryse adds firmly, one hand cupping Jace’s cheek, “never forget that you’re one of us, you’re a part of our family, you always have and you always will.”

Jace feels his eyes prickle, and when she moves in for a hug, he throws his arms around her - his mom - and clings to her, allowing himself to be rocked gently from side to side, just for a moment.

Maryse rubs his back affectionately, and when they move apart, her smile appears a little wobbly. “Look at us,” she chuckles, “so emotional!”

He grins and replies a little hoarsely, “Don’t worry, I’ll go and punch someone just to prove how tough we are!”

Maryse laughs and pats his chest. Then she looks to where Alec’s crouching down and giving Max a warm goodbye hug. With a more serious expression, she requests quietly, “Watch out for him, okay? It worries me how easily he was driven to the edge. He’s not alright, no matter what he says.”

Jace looks in the same direction; Alec’s now laughing at something Max said. “I know,” he replies softly and his voice’s just as troubled as hers. When Maryse turns to him, he explains, “I can feel it through our bond. Something’s off about him but he’s refusing to talk.”

“Like someone else we both know?” She looks at him pointedly.

Pretending not to understand, Jace smiles crookedly. “I have no idea who you’re talking about…”

anonymous asked:

Speaking of Overwatch, I'm a big fan of Reaper76 and just imagine Gabriel brutally hunting jack down. Since he's got his new wraith form, he can many lovely things with it like wrapping Jack up in smokey tendrils and just whisper to him how good he'll feel once he's inside him where he rightfully belongs. I see him just slowly engulfing jacks body inside his own, all the while saying "mine, mine, mine" in the viscous tone he uses when he says "die"

Oh, damn!! 

Please!! That deep hoarse voice just hums right through Jack and brings such a numbing feeling?  Perfect for stunning prey >3c

Guh, Jack just soaks right into that dark body and curls up in that dark, snug void once he’s in.  It’s surprisingly warm and gooey in there too? hhgh 
Makes such a nice, rounded, distended gut for Reaper to admire..


xfangheartx-pmdu  asked:

Hello, Bill, I have a question regarding my Primarina. She was trying to practice using her Sparkling Aria attack, but I think she overused her voice, because it was getting hoarse and she started coughing. What should I do to help her?

Hello! We do apologize for the delay. Please note that we are currently experiencing a very heavy backlog of asks, dating back to mid-December. While we’re doing our best to fill the queue with asks, if you sent one later than December 15, it may take some time for us to unearth. For all emergencies, please consider using your local pokémon center. —LH

When vocal strain occurs, either for humans or for pokémon, it’s important to rest. You see, the voice is produced by the vocal cords, which are less cords and more bands of muscle surrounding the larynx, or voice box (which itself is situated just above the wind pipe in all organisms that possess lungs and are capable of sound production). As with all muscles, overuse of the vocal cords can strain them, especially if the speaker hasn’t exactly been exercising proper self-care. However, just like any other muscle, it’s not that difficult to recover from a strained voice; it’s just a matter of practicing vigorous self-care in the meantime.

For one, yes, rest is important. If at all possible, have your primarina avoid using her voice to attack. Switch to more basic, non-water moves such as Moonblast and take this as an opportunity to practice her other techniques. If your primarina has a habit of shouting while battling, try your best to train her not to do this to avoid straining her voice further. This may also be a great opportunity to add stealth training to your regimen.

Off the battlefield, be sure she’s well-hydrated. While this seems obvious for a water-type, what I mean is she should be more hydrated than she is currently. Have her drink plenty of water, and allow her plenty of time to rest in humid environments. Consider purchasing a humidifier as well; it’s extremely important to ensure that the air around your primarina isn’t dry, as this will dry out the vocal cords and lead to further problems.

Also, be sure that your primarina gets an adequate diet that doesn’t irritate her throat or dry out the mucous membranes around her vocal folds. Not a lot of trainers think about this when their pokémon are ill, but diet can be extremely vital to one’s recovery. In your primarina’s case, avoid dry or spicy berries and beans (even if she likes them), and supplement her diet with vitamins A, C, and E. The latter can be found naturally in sour or bitter berries, as well as grains. Most brands of commercial poké kibble for the popplio line include grains or are fortified with the aforementioned vitamins for this express reason (that is, because the line is so reliant on vocal health), but be sure to check the label before purchasing.

Finally, while it’s important for your primarina to exercise, be absolutely sure she gets plenty of actual rest as well. Have her sleep for a minimum of eight hours a day, and don’t let her overexert herself otherwise.

It may take a week or two of rest and proper care before your primarina gets back on her metaphorical feet, but if her condition lasts longer, take her to your nearest pokémon center. If, however, she recovers within a week, your regimen of self-care shouldn’t stop here. Be sure to keep her hydrated, and train her to use proper singing techniques for Sparkling Aria. Have her maintain the proper posture (back straight, shoulders back) and be sure she supports her voice with deep breaths from the chest. Never sing using the vocal cords or throat alone, and certainly don’t do it while slouching. Additionally, give her plenty of time to rest between battles as well; never have her run a gauntlet of battles or “spam” Sparkling Aria.

Best of luck!

“Coach is Kevin’s father.”
     Dan spat her coffee halfway across the table and choked on what little didn’t make it out of her mouth. Matt stared slack-jawed at Neil for an endless second before he realized Dan was coughing, and then he have her an enthusiastic thump on the back. Dan tried to say something, but it was an unintelligible hoarse wheeze. Allison and Renee stared at Neil like he’d grown a second head, and Aaron looked to Andrew like Andrew should have warned them of this at some point. If Andrew noticed the attention, he didn’t return it; he had eyes only for Neil.
—  The King’s Men (Nora Sakavic)

merriweatherpostpaviliontshirt  asked:

1, 17, 19, 32, 35

  • 1. what is your favourite plant?

the california poppy 

  • 17. what is your favourite breed of cat?

the exotic shorthairs because they look like weirdos and i relate very heavily to that 

  • 19. what is your favourite thing right now?


you’re pretty high on that list 

  • 32. what is your favourite hot drink?

hot cocoa

  • 35. what are your favourite sounds?

the sound of my bones when i roll my wrist, shoes stompin on dirt, hoarse voices and rain on my roof 

Fic: How the Light Gets In (Supernatural/Arrow, Dean/Laurel)

FINALLY! PART TWO IS HERE! IT IS A ROUGH ONE, FOLKS. ps: see if you can spot the cameos.

Additional warnings for this chapter: Vomiting, blunt discussion of childbirth, panic attacks.


Her entire body feels weightless and untethered. She feels outside of herself. As if part of her is still in that grave and it’s calling her back. “Dean,” she manages to get out, voice hoarse and trembling. There are tears gathering in the corners of her eyes and her heart is thudding too fast, too noisily in her chest. “What’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer her right away. He can’t even look at her. “I don’t know,” he admits. He takes the trashcan away and grabs the glass of water he brought her earlier from the bedside table. Because her hands are so shaky and heavily bandaged, he has to help her drink it. If she was in her right mind, it might be mildly humiliating, but she’s not.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” she says, after she’s taken a few slow sips of water. “How am I…?” She shakes her head. “This doesn’t happen.”

“It does,” he tells her. “It has before.”

“Not like this.”

He puts the glass back on the table and seems to hesitate a moment before saying, “It did to me.”

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I can’t stand people who say stuff along the lines of “lol history professors have the most boring job in the world”

like. buddy. have you ever met a history professor??? i’ve witnessed roughly five (5) separate debates that ended in full-on, hoarse-voiced shouting matches and at least one (1) fistfight


Imagine the lost special beginning with the ending of The Final Problem- John and Sherlock solving cases like they have since the beginning.

Originally posted by missmari5251

All of a sudden, there’s static and it stops.

Originally posted by rivka-kopelman

It glitches, and now everything is muffled and it looks like everything is underwater. 

Originally posted by bosswaldcobblepot

There’s static again.

Originally posted by audiovisual-dept

Then a voice: “It’s about time you woke up, John.”

Originally posted by mentalandtwisted

There’s the sound of muffled voices and a steady beeping.

Suddenly, we get a flashback to when Eurus shot John.

Originally posted by theabbeygrange

John wakes up with a gasp, eyes darting around, wondering where he is.

Sherlock is softly crying in a corner, but looks up when he hears John.

Originally posted by caffeinerebelqueen

John, voice hoarse: “What happened?”

Sherlock: “Sh-Shot. You were shot. By my sister, Eurus. You were bleeding everywhere, I-I th-thought I… I.. lost you.”

John: “It was all a dream then? No Sherrinford, no Victor, no… clowns?”

Sherlock: “What?”

John, smiling tiredly: “Oh, nothing.”


[Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3]

Relationship: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Unable to fall back asleep, you decide to wander around the tower when you hear music coming from somewhere. But it’s 3am, no one should be awake so late.

A/N: I haven’t written anything but essays in over a month, thank you @imhereforbvcky for this ideas. I swear, these pianists are really something.

Warnings: Language, smut, oral (f receiving), sex.

Words: 3660

Originally posted by sebjpeg

Looking to your bedside table, the illuminated digits of the clock pull a groan from your lips as you toss your head back. It was 3am and you couldn’t go back to sleep. Throat feeling hoarse and with a dry tongue, you admit defeat as you lift back the covers and swing your legs over the side of your bed.

With a sigh, you walk out of your room in the compound and make your way down the halls of the sleeping quarter.

Tony had noticed you when you were an agent working for SHIELD. You didn’t know this at the time but he was keeping an eye on you and during the HYDRA/SHIELD fiasco, you and handful of other agents worked to help end the programme.

After Natasha had leaked the files, you continued to work with the Avengers, helping navigate them through missions, hack in to programmes and gain any intel that would aid them. You thought that was coming to an end when Tony got back from Siberia because you didn’t hear from any of them.

Rumours of what happened soon spread amongst the few of you that were bought in to help from time to time. But this wasn’t something you ever expected. The Avengers were no longer a team.

Keep reading

it’s amazing that a single kiss in few seconds can kill an entire fandom from shortness of breath, too much endorphin, dopamine, serotonin and oxytocin, choked in thin air, exhaustion, broken bones from too much spanking of a solid thing within reach, hoarse voices from too much screaming, red eyes from crying tears of joy and other severe discomforts brought by too much fangirling and feels.

Cuddle buddies

Originally posted by out-in-the-open

Pair: Dean x Reader (kind of)
Warning: none
Summary: Dean and the reader have an established relationship… as cuddle buddies. 

A small whimper escaped your lips as you stretched your muscles out, waking up. The room was pitch black and cold; the only warmth you got was from the strong body next to you, holding you dangerously close. 

Not ready to wake up yet, you turned over in Deans arms and nuzzled closer to him, resting your face in the crook of his neck; smiling when his arms wound tighter around your body. 
“Y/N” Dean whispered, lazily dragging his fingers over your skin, causing it to erupt in goosebumps.
“Not ready yet” you croaked, your voice a little more hoarse than usual. 
“Okay” he whispered, back closing his eyes and enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his. 

You and Dean had been sleeping together for almost two months now. But that was it. You didn’t have sex or kiss or really do anything else, you just slept together. It all started one night, you two had fallen asleep together on the couch, watching some movie, and when you woke up you played it off as nothing until he told you it was the best sleep he had ever had in his life. 

“C’mon, Y/n” Dean begged, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to the couch. 
“Tell me that wasn’t the best sleep you’ve ever had” he pressed. 
“I’ve had… better” you mumbled, leaning back into the couch. 
“Y/nnnnnnnn” he taunted, knowing that you were lying through your teeth. 
“Fine! It was the best nap I have ever had, so what?!  It’s weird, Dean. We aren’t sleeping together anymore.”
But Dean being Dean means he usually gets what he wants, and that started your addiction for sleeping together. 

“I can’t go on this hunt!” you sighed, plopping down in one of the chairs in front of Sam and Dean. 
“Why?!” Dean asked, looking baffled. 
“I think I have a-” you sneezed into the tissue in your hand. 
“a cold” you finished, sighing. You had a small fever and had been sneezing since you woke up. 
“Shit” Dean sighed, “alright, well, we’ll keep you updated. We should be home in a few days, it looks like a simple vamp nest.” 
Grabbing his bag, Dean pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“Bye kid” Sam smiled, giving you a pat on the back as they walked out the door. 

The first night was the worst night. You had grown so used to Dean’s warmth, no matter how many blankets you had nothing was ever enough. It had taken a strong dose of NyQuil and some Tylenol PM to put you to sleep; even then, it was a pretty rough sleep. 
You woke up early, before the sun had even come up and texted Dean 
I didn’t sleep for shit last night, come home. 
To which he responded:
Me either. We’re working on it, sweetheart. Should be home in the next few days. Just hold out for me. 

You had spent the most of that day soaking in a bath and eating tomato soup. You made sure that you staying in your actual room, not wanting to take the risk and exposing Dean’s room with your germs. 

The next day, you were really spent. You had no energy to do anything, so you just took your medicine and watched movies in and out of consciousness. Sam and Dean had both left you a few voicemails, telling you how the case was going and just keeping you updated which you greatly appreciated. 

By the fifth day, you felt better, having read that if you cut up white onions and place it around the home, especially in the room of the sick person they somehow absorb the bacteria and viruses and rid you of your cold. 

Even though you had been feeling better, you still were exhausted. You had no idea how awful sleeping was without Dean there to keep you warm and safe. 
Sitting in the library, you were reading a few lore books you had found in the basement of the bunker when they brothers walked in.
“Y/N” Deans voice called out for you as he dropped his duffel bag on the floor. 
“Yeah?” you asked, stepping out of the library and looking at him. 
“My room. Now, we’re taking a nap” his tone was so assertive and demanding, it turned you on a little bit.
“What was that about?” you asked Sam as Dean had disappeared down the hallway. 
“He hasn’t slept since we left,” Sam chuckled, winking at you. Rolling your eyes, you followed Dean down the hall and into his room. 

It was dark, just how the both of you needed it to be. Slipping your jeans and bra off, you climbed into bed with dean and softly moaned at the feeling of his arms around your waist. 
“Fuck, I missed you” you whispered, cuddling your head into his chest. 
“I missed you too, sweetheart” Dean sighed, running his fingers through your hair, basking in the feeling of you back in his arms. 

AU where all of Homestuck is some sort of tv or movie series where all the trolls and humans are actually trolls and humans, but they’re all just actors dealing with the bullshit lines they have to do..

Karkat yelling himself hoarse for all of his lines and constantly needing to take lozenges and water and stuff because he keeps straining his voice in character.

Mituna just getting frustrated over all his lines being so nonsensical so he just bullshit ad-libs more than half of it into gibberish nonsense, yet it still makes the cut.

Supreme pun characters like Nepeta, Horuss, Feferi, and Meenah collaborating because they’re just told to read the scripts and force in as many puns as they can think of.

Eridan and Cronus constantly struggling with their wwavvy vwawvy accents being kept in place while they’re talking. (ws and vs are hard. it’s hard and no one understands)

Dave having to stop constantly because he keeps losing his stoic face and voice from so many of the lines he has to say. Same with Jake who constantly mocks his own character when not on set.

Gamzee tripping over his own lines because he’s getting the way his words are pronounced screwy because he talks so weird.

Damara actually speaking Japanese and she sometimes just speaks Japanese off-set to screw with people and they aren’t sure if she’s flirting or just messing with them in character.

Fucking Kankri having to memorize entire monologues of text when he speaks and having to stop because he’s just so done with so much of what he has to say. Plus deals with the same voice exhaustion problems Karkat does.