barbaralake

[barbaralake]

My mom died last week. I’m the one who found her after she had been gone for a couple of days. The image is disturbingly seared into my mind. It’s not an easy thing to deal with and the cause of her passing will forever be unknown. I don’t think I have the heart to run this blog anymore, but thanks to all who followed. There are some other great Barbara blogs out there, so please look to them. 

[barbaralake]

Reblog if you’re 30 or older

This is an experiment to see if there really are as few of us as people think.You can also use this to freak out your followers who think you’re 25 or something. Yay!

[barbaralake]

*sneaky sneaking into Barb's kitchen to drop off an apple pie sweetened with honey*

*reheats the next morning*

[barbaralake]

“Booyah”

I’m lit for season 2 and the only thing I could think about is these two fist bumping

Also a little extra if Jim ever saw:

[barbaralake]

"Is everything with Jim okay?"

“I don’t know. You just hear rumors, you know? Sometimes all I can do is throw a coin in the gumball machine and hope that the truth comes out.”

[barbaralake]

You wont BELIEVE what I saw last night!

Hi! I’m a new Eli RP Blog! Feel free to interact or message!

[barbaralake]

❝enough waiting.❞

about · rules · ask

[barbaralake]

@championsofarcadia​

“There aren’t enough blueberry waffles or shrimp cakes in this world to get you out of the trouble you’re in right now, mister...”

[barbaralake]

[barbaralake]

tfw you wanna make your hot date a nice dessert, but you’re too afraid to ask your kitchen-savvy son for help because it’s his teacher...

“It was supposed to be romantic…”

[barbaralake]

Will finish prompts tomorrow!

[barbaralake]

+: being led back to bed with patient whispers

A shrieking wail fills the air, piercing her eardrums like knives and Barbara wakes groggily and moans into her pillowcase. Waves of nausea hit her, looming in like storm clouds and hinting at the deluge that is to come.

She sits up a retches into her hand, then makes a mad dash to the bathroom, plunging into the toilet bowl just in time. For a few blissful seconds, she feels better, but then the baby is wailing again. She doesn’t know where James is—probably off with his motorcycle buddies, cutting up at some bar. Another wave of nausea hits, another round of bile and sick, and this time she’s tearing up at the sound of Jim in the other room.

“I’m coming sweetheart,” she says, clutching her forehead in her hands as she tries to catch her breath. “I’m coming.”

The wailing stops as she cleans herself up at the sink, but before she can get one foot out the door, she’s kissing the toilet bowl again. And it’s just as she’s tearing up that she feels a cold cloth pressing against her forehead, wiping gently before dipping down to clean her chin.

This isn’t James, she thinks, drifting through a haze of confusion. He’s never been this. This is kind, and attentive, and...God she must be sick if she thought she was that far back. She can feel the fever coursing through her body, hot magma chilling to the bone. It’s even harder to deal with now that she’s older.

“I’m sorry the baby woke you, love.” His voice is calm, and soothing, an utterly welcome in this rotten mess. “They didn’t have ginger ale at the first store, so I had to pop into a second. And the pharmacy after was a bit of a wait.”

She bites her lip and curls a shaking limb around her stomach, the tears falling hotter and harder now. “Thank God it’s you,” she sobs as he  carefully rolls her shirt up before tugging it off, tossing both it and the soiled cloth into the bathtub for later attentions. “I was half asleep and I thought--”

“You thought that was Jim...” he finishes for her, sunset-eyes alight with understanding.

Sniffling she nods, and then leans in to wrap her arms around his neck, burying her face into cool and familiar green stone.

Maybe this is pitiful, she thinks, but she hasn’t felt this sick in a while and  needs this, needs him, after years and years of having no net to catch her if she fell.

“Is the baby okay?” Her meek voice asks, wavering as he picks her up bridal-style and tucks her half-clad form against his chest.

“Yes, it was my namesake, I’m afraid he seemed to know I was gone.”

“Good.” Blue eyes close as she tucks her head into his shoulder, trying to steady her breath.  

“You’re not alone Barbara,” his voice hushes into her ear, followed by a soft and tusk-filled kiss against her temple as he walks her into their bedroom, eyes lighting the way. “You never will be again.”

The sheets melt around her as he folds her into them, and  it’s moments before her head is fuzzy and she fades once more into dreams.

“Not while I draw breath,” he whispers, brushing a thumb against her cheek. Turning, he leaves and begins to shut door as quietly as possible. The relief on her face highlighted in the sliver of light from the hall prompts a secret smile, and the door clicks as softly as the beat of his heart.  

[barbaralake]

sick whump scenarios send a symbol, get a drabble.  

✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention

❥: barefoot, sleepy wanderings

+: being led back to bed with patient whispers

!: that classic collapse into someone’s waiting arms

✘: forehead kisses

⌘: being picked up

⟰: the crinkle of blankets when being tucked in extra good

⬤: being called soft things like baby, sweetheart or honey

►: crisp, clean pajamas

#: shaky hands 

✓: waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared

ʌ: comfort after a nightmare

≈: medicine

➥: nap

≣: hand holding

⌫: lullaby

✂: drooping eyelids

✈: reaching out for someone [bonus points if they mumble! their! name!] 

‡: bath

¿: thermometer 

⌓: tissues

℧: a damp towel against flushed, feverish skin   

ʃ: fingers running through sweaty hair

[barbaralake]

                              Home | James | Hisirdoux | Rules

[barbaralake]

“It was supposed to be romantic...”

[barbaralake]

Strickler: Take this, it will help you be mean

Jim: What is this

Strickler: Troll Cocaine

Jim: What

Strickler: Troll Cocaine

Strickler: Do not tell your mother

[barbaralake]

RUNS HIS CLAWS SLOWLY ALONG THE OUTSIDE OF HER BEDROOM WALL AT THE ROUGH LEVEL OF HER HEAD. HOW'S THAT SLEEPING GOING FOR YOU?

After a 48-hour shift, she doesn’t budge, but Bular has managed to take her from mildly perturbed dreams about running out of donor blood at the hospital to giant monsters invading Jim’s room when he was a baby, good job.