#oh well there’s always tomorrow

[sheltershock]

Being sick is the worst. I can’t imagine how hard it would be for a psychic…or can I? 

Sasha already has a canon aversion to germs. I wouldn’t say he’s a hypochondriac, but he’d probably consider getting sick one of the worst things that can happen to him. The most dreadful part is the removal of his bodily autonomy. He's fine with smoking cigarettes, and is aware that they’re bad, but that’s a choice he’s making about his body. He did not choose for someone to come into his shared space sick, spread their germs around, and now he has the suffer the painful consequences of their actions. Absolutely not. Since he can’t really police sick people though he’s really conscious about germs and sanitation. He probably casually has boxes of disposable face masks just in case he has to encounter a sick person, and his aesthetic lets him get away with it for the most part without anyone suspecting anything offensive. But when he does get sick it’s him drifting in and out of consciousness trying to work from home, failing, and then succumbing to exhaustion. Lots of loss of productivity guilt.  

Sasha never thought he’d have to take care of anyone while they’re sick, after all that’s what hospitals are for, and he chose to not work in a hospital. But then at some point after they moved in together, Milla eventually got sick. Honestly his first thought was to leave and stay in a hotel until she got better. She said she’d be fine and that she can take care of herself anyway. But they’re together, and seeing Milla upset/unwell makes him…uncomfortable. Plus, he’s probably already been exposed anyway so…he chose to stay. He moved into the living space  for the foreseeable future, keeping everything as disinfected as possible and left the bedroom to serve as a quarantine. Milla was initially surprised to wake up to see Sasha still there, knowing what he’s like, but was ultimately happy by it. 

As a caretaker, Milla is used to germs. She’s pretty much ready to be a nurse to whoever for however long it takes for them to recover from their sickness. She keeps track of medicine and administration times, food and drinks, cleanliness, even just being nearby and available for emotional needs. She’s got everything under control, so there’s nothing to worry about. She applies the same philosophy as herself being sick: you just need to slow down and rest up, darling.

Milla, however, was not expecting that she wouldn’t really receive the same level of care from Sasha she gives to everyone else when they’re sick. He’d almost never be in the room with her, no matter how many times she’d try to convince him. He’d happily talk to her through telepathy but it wasn’t really the same to her. She had the romantic idea of her feverishly speaking her mind as her lover grasped her hand from her bedside, like in romantic comedies. And even if they both ended up catching the same illness at least they could stay with each other in painful solidarity. Sasha did not find this fantasy funny nor romantic. Whenever he was in the room with her, he always had a medical mask and disposable gloves on. But that was a rare sight after she kept trying to grasp his wrist to convince him to stay with her. She completely understands why he wouldn’t, but it still hurt. 

Instead of bringing out food or drinks, Milla would wake up to bowls on the bedside table and glasses of water. It initially took her a few hours and several micro naps to realize the glass hadn’t actually become empty despite how much she’d drink. Medicine would be laid out nicely with handwritten notes with instructions and timecards which listed out the previous times she’d woken up to take them. The washcloths on her forehead, around her neck and wrapped around her wrists hadn’t dried out yet.

Milla considers getting sick as a sign from the universe or just her body that she needs to slow down and take care of herself. Her body is looking for her! And since she’s pretty active and generally healthy, Milla doesn’t get sick very often, which only serves to prove her own mindset. She doesn’t have any problems with taking those sick days off, sleeping most of the day, watching TV, having soup and warm drinks…she just wishes she felt like doing any of those things. The aches and pains just make her really clingy to anyone willing to give her the time of day, willing to talk their ear off. She doesn't enjoy being alone for long periods of time when she’s well, and she especially doesn't like it when she’s sick. And in the delirium that comes with a fever, her control over her own mind slips.

Fever dreams mock her pain as the Nightmares twist and tangle her past and present emotions into a living hell. While technically someone could go in there and defeat all her Nightmares, they’d just reform quicker than it’s worth to get rid of them. Her fatigue from the illness has her subconscious mostly taking the reins rather than her waking mind. And as a result,  the regeneration time is insane as her memories fire off in jumbled slideshows some people would refer to as dreams. As much as she’d like to spend all her time sick staying up with the hypnotic static of a TV screen, the stable pages of a book or the allure of a new conversation, she has to return to that world eventually. There are few things that can alleviate her Nightmares on good days, and even less on her worst ones. But sometimes, despite her illness, Sasha will climb in with Milla and hold her while she sleeps. 

She’d stir amongst feverish dreams where party guests shrink and don the distorted screaming faces of people long lost. Beside frigid, hissing flames she’d feel sheets and blankets she’s under shift, and hear mumbles about how sticky the linen is with lukewarm sweat. And as she opens her eyes she’d see her upper body and head be moved so a pair of arms securely wrap themselves around her shoulders and waist. Another shiver would slide down her spine. Boiling parts of her body that were locked away under the blankets would be exposed to the cruel air conditioned exterior. 

But she’d feel the warmth wrapped around her upper body from the new embrace and yawn. Tears would well in her eyes from the pulsating rhythm down her neck, and her lover would shudder, being all too knowledgeable about the germs being released as she opened her mouth. A shaky hand would find its way to the side of her head. She coughed, quickly grasping onto the much cleaner fabric of her lover’s clothes. But as she eased her breathing she’d feel a slow, soothing stroking sensation ever so lightly on the surface of her scalp, through her hair, and to the bare skin of her neck. 

Her eyelids would grow heavy again. But unwilling to return the fiery hellscape currently commandeering her own party, she’d forcibly grasp them open again. She’d yawn again, and feel the hand combing through her hair twitch– just for a second. But Sasha is here. She allows her vision to fall to black, and just focuses on feeling the rise and fall of his chest and the slightly faster heart rate. Like the lull of a moving train, she’d drift off and her dreams would be a little less worse. Faces become transparent. Frostbitten, charred wallpaper is more vibrant. The vocals of the music fall to murmurs. The real world still calls. Still hearing the hum of the air conditioner, feeling the rise and fall akin to warm ocean waves and the scent of something she can’t quite put her finger on through her stuffy nose, but she knows smells good. 

She hums lightly, about to say something, but the vibrations only make the soreness worse. She opens her mouth, before closing it and burying her face farther into his chest. She swallows and her throat burns. A weight from the back of her head tilts towards her face and everything starts to feel more distant. She clutches the fabric harder. It twists in her grimy fingers. 

The arm around her waist shifts as a hand reaches up to cusp the side of her jawline. With one arm around her back and the other resting over her breast, she sighs into another yawn. Exhaling softly, her grip loosens as her fingers relax and rests into the mild heat of a warm body. And her mind does too. 

For a brief moment she looks through her eyes again. The blankets bear different patterns. Her arms are wrapped around a pillow, but it’s just as soft. Light pours into the hallway from a widening door frame. The mirror inside the hallway bathroom is completely fogged up. An arm stretches into view as the light disappears with a click. Milla’s eyes close and she can hear the kettle hiss as she drifts off again. 

[kidnappedbythefey]

you either get a good hair day or good anxiety day, but not both

[lalluviadeanoche]

Merlin *on four hrs of sleep for the past week, dirty from a fight, definitely has a concussion and at least two untreated injuries, one of which he’s bleeding out from, leans over on someone’s shoulder*: Arthur has no idea I have magic!

Arthur *still blushing from Merlin leaning on him and is now very confused w his emotions*: YOU HAVE MAGIC?!

Merlin: oh… sorry.

Merlin *moves to Lancelot’s shoulder*: Arthur has no idea I have magic!

Arthur: I can still hear you!! You’re right next to me and you’re yelling!!

The knights:… you didn’t know??

[guldentusks]

Together at last.

I'll put some up in my kofi shop some time this weekend!

[verocitea]

draw froggy as a pumpkin please i’m begging

Offering you… a him

[b4kuch1n]

sunstroll

[beneathsilverstars]

It's hard, taking care of a kid when you're still growing up yourself, but Pétronille does her best. She's not sure it's good enough, but what else can she do? A series of scenes following Pétronille and Bonnie, from the first time they ran away to the second.

Rating: Teen and Up Category: Gen Characters: Pétronille, Bonnie Tags: POV Second Person, Minor Original Character(s), Specifically various citizens of Bambouche, Child Neglect, Child Abuse, Bipolar Pétronille, Suicidal Thoughts, breaking the cycle, kitchen mishaps, Shoes both remembered and forgotten, Drowning imagery, Bonnie's protectee guilt, Bonnie's A+ spelling Words: 10,541

[pluplupluto]

IshiMondo Week Day 2: Promise

I'm sure nothing bad will happen after this one!

Bonus doodle for sickness:

[fag4dykestobin]

i kind of sat down and thought about steve and robin cooking together, and then i entered a fugue state and came out of it with a little over 1.7k words written about them being domestic besties (domesties?). so um. enjoy :)

-

Robin has destroyed one of her mom’s pans again, so she’s been banished to Steve’s house.

Well, okay, let’s back up.

Robin, waking up and feeling especially productive, had taken it upon herself to make some scrambled eggs. Nice and simple, right? So she had grabbed the first spatula and pan she could find, and… scrambled those eggs! She even remembered the salt and pepper! Unfortunately, as Robin had remembered after she oh-so-lovingly scraped off the nonstick coating, metal utensils and nonstick pans didn’t really get along. Oops. Panicking, she had scraped her mess into the trash and called Steve to pick her up. So, really, she had banished herself, preemptively.

“How the hell did you even do this much damage?” Steve asks, holding up the pan. The look of befuddlement on his face is picture perfect; you could teach children how to identify emotions with that face. Robin would pinch his cheek if she wasn’t so embarrassed.

“I don’t know! I just tried to make some eggs!”

“Rob, there’s like, a solid cube of—”

“A cube is a 3D object, dingus.”

“This is a 3D object!”

“Not in that way! It’s not a cube! You mean a square!”

Steve throws up his hands, one of them brandishing the pan and waving it around. “Fine! There’s a solid square…” Steve gives Robin a look. She nods her head at him in acquiescence. “... Of coating rubbed off of this thing. Why were you punishing your eggs like that?”

Robin leans back on the counter she’s been sitting on, legs swinging. Her heel hits the cabinet once, and Steve’s eye twitches, but he says nothing. Because he loves her. But she tries to avoid doing it again, for his sake. “I had to get that yolk distributed! I was working fast, Evie, the burner was on and I wanted it evenly mixed—!”

“So why didn’t you mix it in a bowl before that?!” Steve looks so stressed. It's kind of funny, given how unimportant the subject matter is. Robin suppresses a grin.

“I forgot! I was groggy!”

Steve groans, setting the ruined pan down and rubbing a hand over his face. “... When we move in together,” he says, pointing an accusatory finger at Robin, “I am keeping my metal utensils in a locked safe.”

The warm, fuzzy feeling that always appears when Robin is reminded of their future together, their permanence in each other’s lives, it fizzes and pops in her chest like a sparkler. It’s still such a comforting feeling, even after all these months.

It doesn’t stop her from antagonizing him a little. “Like I don’t know what combination you’ll set it to,” she scoffs.  “I could just break in. To spite you.”

Steve sits with that for a moment. “You’re breaking my heart, Robbie, you know that? You break my heart.” Not a real comeback. She’s won their battle of the bits, this time around.

“Well, anyway,” Steve continues, “I am really hoping you didn’t eat those eggs after seasoning them with metal filings.”

“It wasn’t— I don’t think the coating is metal. I don’t know what it is, actually, but I don’t think it falls under metal filings.”

Steve hmms. “Well, it’s not, like, plastic, right? Or silicone? That would just melt.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Well, it can’t be metal, because it loses a fight with metal spatulas.”

Steve thinks for a second. “Is… God, I mean, I guess there are other, other uh… what’s the word? For, like, not from plants?” Robin scrunches her brow in thought. “Synthetic? Inorganic?”

Steve snaps his fingers. “Yeah, both of those work. There’s probably things that aren’t plastic or metal that can be used to cook with, but it feels weird. That there’s another category out there.”

Robin nods in agreement, and they sit in companionable silence for a moment, contemplating on the nature of cookware.

“Anyway, no, I still haven’t eaten.”

Steve curses, gets up from leaning on his kitchen island, and steps over to the cabinets where he keeps his pots and pans. “Yes, God, okay, let me feed you. Still want eggs?”

“You know it!” Robin says, and Steve gets to cooking, bustling around the kitchen with practiced motions. It’s nice to watch him cook. He gets very focused, in a way that doesn’t usually come naturally to him. Steve doesn’t usually like talking while he’s cooking, but he hums bits of songs, bobs his head to the beat.

In no time at all he has a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of Robin, and she hops off the counter to sit at a stool at the kitchen island. She grabs the plate from Steve and smacks a wet kiss on his cheek, making him roll his eyes with a smile and subtly wipe her spit off.

Steve takes a seat across from her, and she notices that he doesn’t have anything. Did he already eat? “Did you already eat?” Robin asks.

Steve blinks. “Oh. No, I forgot.” He has a tendency to do that; when he cooks for someone, he can get so caught up in it that he forgets to make some for himself, and is left to scramble afterwards. “I’ll make myself some eggs after you’re done.”

An idea comes to mind. An attempt at redemption, maybe. “Let me?” Robin asks.

“And let you ruin my pans? No thanks.”

A flash of genuine hurt passes through Robin, and she lets it show on her face in the form of a pout. The comment isn’t unfounded, but… “No, please! I know what I did wrong, I’ll do better this time. I’m not sleepy anymore, either.” She just wants to take care of Steve like he takes care of her. She wants to feed him eggs, goddamnit! When was the last time anyone fed him eggs? Actually, if she thinks about that one, she’ll get sad, so she stops thinking about it.

Steve can obviously see her earnestness, and he softens. And rolls his eyes. But that’s just him being Steve, so Robin loves it. “Whatever you want, Birdie. Just don’t burn them. Oh, and use garlic powder.”

So Robin practically inhales the rest of her eggs and toast (very tasty, as always) and gets to work. Steve sits at his stool at the island, trying and failing not to watch Robin like a hawk as she bumbles around his kitchen (“That’s not enough garlic powder, Rob, put some more in there, it won’t bite!”  and “Use the small pan on the top shelf— no, the other small pan. No, the other—”), but she does eventually get a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. Not as good looking as the one Steve presented her, but it smelled good, and didn’t have weird inorganic pan flecks in them. Steve gives her a sloppy kiss on her cheek this time, over-exaggerating and putting way too much saliva in it, seriously, was he a dog or something? Robin BLECH’d and rubbed at her cheek, but he looked happy at his plate of food, so. Overall success, even if sacrifices had to be made.

Robin leaned on the island on her elbows, face a foot away from Steve’s as he picked up a forkful of egg. He side-eyed her.

“Do you… want some…?”

Robin waved a hand at him. “No, dingus. Eat it! Do you like it?”

“Okay, okay!” Steve rolled his eyes and ate his forkful. Robin stared at him as he chewed, looking out for emotions such as delight and wonder, but also disgust and revulsion.

She found nothing. Steve looked normal. He ate another forkful, eyeing her.

“So?” Robin prods.

“They’re eggs?” Steve says, mouth still half full.

“Swallow!” Steve rolls his eyes and does as she asks. “Nothing else? They’re just eggs?”

Steve nods, shrugging a little. Robin feels a little let-down. The first time Steve had made her eggs, it was life-changing. He put heavy cream in them. Robin doesn’t think her parents had ever bought heavy cream in their lives.

Robin guesses that it makes sense, though. This is just how he makes eggs, duh. Still, it makes her feel kind of bad, that she couldn’t give Steve the same feeling he gave her.

Steve seems to sense her inner turmoil. “They’re— it’s good, though! You did a good job. I do like it.” He seems kind of… embarrassed, but grateful. “You didn’t have to make them for me. Thanks.”

Robin bumps his shoulder with her own, and then retreats to her seat, allowing him a bit more personal space. But not too much! She kicks at his shins, and he kicks back, a smile on his face.

Cleanup is easy as Steve washes the dishes and Robin dries. It’s the small, domestic things, like this, that make her so excited to eventually live together. It’s so easy and companionable, full of chatter about band practice and Dustin’s latest science experiment. She can’t wait to graduate.

After the dishes, though, they’re both at the kitchen island again, silently staring at the pan Robin had ruined at her house earlier.

“... It seems like a waste to throw away,” Robin complains.

“I know, right? But it’s, like, useless now.”

Robin hums. “I mean, no, it’s still like… metal. I feel like we should be melting it down.”

Steve stares at her. “In what world would it be more useful melted down?”

Robin squawks, indignant at her idea being challenged. “You know what I mean!”

“No I don’t! Do you just want a, a… what’s the word? A bar of metal.”

“Ingot.”

“Do you just want an ingot hanging out on our mantelpiece?!”

“Well, I didn’t before, but now I do!”

They look at each other for only a moment before dissolving into simultaneous giggles, shared joy crackling and leaping between them.

Steve settles down first. Still grinning, he turns to put the pan at the very top of a relatively bare cupboard. “Fine, we’ll just… keep this to be melted down later.”

Robin can’t do anything to stop the twin grin on her face, not that she would ever want to. “I love you, Evie.” The words come easy, and the delight and surprise on Steve’s face is as wonderful as always. He pulls her into a hug.

“I love you too, Rob.”

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I feel like barnabys favorite drink (alcoholic) might be a old fashioned? And non alcoholic mixed drink. Might be a Shirley temple. (Which Is my favorite non alcoholic mixed drink!)

(Of course this is all my opinion! But yea!

he Does feel like a classy guy, huh? but who's to say! Who's. To. Say...

[uygfiug]

turns out i turned the assignment i was stressing over into something a lot more complicated in my head & its actually really simple

[keeps-ache]

i'm tired, but it's not about you

[rapidhighway]

stressed

I have to fight family again

[sparring-spirals]

From like. a character analysis perspective. i LOVE Ashton's tendency to have some very good instincts when it comes to like human nature and fuckery that are also very clearly swayed by their own experiences and biases, because the combination of correct gut instincts with strong confidence makes it. Easy to buy in. Or easy to bristle.

Ashton tells F.C.G "This is what happens when you start externalizing every fucking problem that you have-" and, with affection towards F.C.G- well. Yeah. And then he starts breaking down the issue- how its about people with power fucking with others, how the end goal and the aim doesn't matter, their methods are clearly AWFUL and going to harm tons of people, and besides, if they had such a clear and proper image about what they're going to achieve they could just tell people. They're going to hurt people, they're killing, people, fuck that, fuck them.

"It's easy to make a nice world by killing everyone who disagrees with you. If you get down to five it'll be amazing. Fucking utopia."

Its- beautiful. And correct, in more ways than one, and probably what everyone needed to hear, and also has so much of their own experiences and resentment threaded into it, reductive to an almost dangerous point. Dangerous because he's right, in so many ways, and confident and righteous with it. Dangerous because of how the life lessons and the rage and the loss have left them with base tenets about human nature and motivations that are clear cut and resigned and simple. Because simplicity is powerful, and reassuring, and keeps them going, and is also not infallible.

I just feel like. Ashton is so, so fucking right, often and especially here, is confident in his stances and judgement in a way that has been tested by flame and resigned itself to pessimism. Ashton is so right, and the reasoning is often so sound and tempting, and there's also so much of them, their own losses and shortcomings that bleeds into their confident readings of the world and its overall nature, in ways they maybe don't even realize.

ashton is- full of solid instincts, and also flawed by having lived their life firsthand, and also confident in a way that is reassuring until you find yourself in a blindspot, up against an immovable rockface.

[running-in-the-dark]

it's 4:40 am and I'm feeling like shit. trying to convince myself it's just because it's really late and I'm tired and should just sleep, but. I still feel like shit.

so I want to buy something. I want to feel like there's something I can do, something I can control, and buying something is so easy. plus I'll know I'll get a nice thing in the mail.

but we're working on this, so I can't order anything now (literally had to ask my husband to change my ebay password for me because I could not stop myself from buying things there), and it's making my brain so very very upset. it's the nice, easy, comfy thing that I can always do no matter how bad I'm feeling mentally or physically, and now I can't, and it feels very bad. :(

[phagodyke]

the masculine urge to take a saucepan off thr draining board and bash myself repeatedly over the head with it until I pass out and no longer have to experience feeling Bad 😍