Poor guy had an asthma attack in the middle of the night but we didn't hear him. He climbed up on the bed & puked on me. Gross but I immediately knew what was going on and grabbed his emergency inhaler. He is back to normal today. Good, smart boy.
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E and I moved into a new apartment and my body decided to celebrate this beautiful moment with the worst case of food poisoning I’ve ever had! E took this pic of me asleep laying against the toilet while on face time with me as she rushed to the store to get Gatorade for a very dehydrated Ro. She said she heard gagging over the phone for awhile and then nothing and she looked at the screen and I had just given up, arms draped over the toilet, head resting in the crook of my elbow. Thankfully this morning I feel a lot better!
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not to flex.. but today i’ve only had 1/5 of a banana ❤️ being extremely sick and p7king up anything is kind of a blessing
I WAS TRYING TO FIND A CUTE GIF AND SAW SOME GIRLS T!TS 😭💔
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does drinking juice also make you throw up? (not taste wise, just that it. comes back up after you drank it. involuntarily.)
yes
only if i chug it
no
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hey guys I found out who has been puking. also enjoy a bonus picture of him being a ferocious hunter
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“I’on’feel good,” Nadia says thickly, slurring through the nausea gripping her from sternum to mouth. Frankie palms at the back of her head, right above her neck, gently pushing her forward over the trashcan.
“I know, baby,” Frankie murmurs anxiously. Their free hand hovers over Nadia’s belly like a hummingbird over a flower, quivering with a strange kind of anticipation. Nadia hiccups, belches out a long string of saliva that dangles stubbornly from her lower lip. She sways minutely from side to side, eyes squeezed shut as her body cruelly edges her toward some sort of relief from the all-encompassing wave pool inside of her.
“Goooood, I hate this,” she moans, and Frankie watches her hands curl into fists atop her thighs. “I’m—” She twitches and moans again, wordlessly, hunching further over. Without meaning to, Frankie’s hand is brushing her soft belly, a layer of fat over strong muscle. Nadia belches again, a tight, gurgling thing that bursts up from her throat. Her back muscles tighten, breath hitching once, twice, three times in a row, quick and compulsive.
“Oh, god,” she breathes, hunched and rocking pitifully over the trash can. “Oh, my god, ‘m—I’m—” She hiccups again, and her throat constricts around a tiny, wet gag. “Oh, g—” The next heave is larger, more guttural; has her coughing over the trash. A blob of thick, cloudy saliva plops heavily against the plastic liner.
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