I should mention that marlon’s swim form is extremely tiny, if not smaller than pearls. I do not know why that is, she is the average height for a octoling. however, adrian’s is extremely huge, despite its hideous features
I wrote this in like an hour LMAO I feel kinda cringe posting this,,, but whatever my agent 96 sickfic haha im tormenting tilly this time
If you asked Tilly, she thinks she isn’t the best choice for a captain.
It should’ve gone to someone more qualified for such a title; Callie or Marie immediately spring to mind. They’re older and more experienced. She’d even recommend the role to someone like Four— strong and reliable, a true leader— or Eight— Well-versed with combat strategies and quick-thinking.
Tilly doesn’t think she is meant for the captain’s role.
She shouldn’t question Cuttlefish’s decision, but it’s an honest thought. Tilly won’t put herself down, she knows her strengths and weaknesses. She’s strong and confident in her decision-making, but has trouble with structure, which makes her ill-suited for organized combat. She knows the most in terms of strategic positioning and planning, but sometimes tends to leave certain things to others, which isn’t necessarily a good trait for leadership.
It doesn’t mention the external factors. Her scarred eye causes near-sightedness and bad depth perception. She’s also short. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but she feels that if it takes away her intimidation factor.
She also doesn’t know when to stop.
So when she feels a little soreness in her throat, and a cough that seemingly won’t go away, she goes into full-blown denial. She isn’t sick because how would she get sick if she hasn’t even done anything. She goes about her day, does her captain duties, cooks dinner for her partners and goes to sleep because it’s just another day.
She wakes up sick.
Her throat hurts. Her body aches. Her chest is tight and congested and her head pounds. When she comes too, she lays there for a few minutes, motionless, trying to comprehend the fact that she really is sick and that life is actually evil. Because there’s nothing more sick and twisted than being sick.
A watery whimper escapes her throat. Eight— Marlon, is her name— was on the farthest side of the room preparing herself in her signature dress-shirt and slacks for the day. She’d kept Tilly company the night before. Adrian— Codename: Four— went to cook some breakfast.
An imposing, all compressing presence Marlon was. She’d come to sit beside her on the bed that seemed so overwhelming. Once she’d sat, the vast space suddenly seemed comfortably snug. The blinds had been slightly opened, allowing the golden light of the outside world to illuminate the room.
In a curiously-captivating way, Marlon seemed to belong to the surface more than her, with her pristinely-ironed dress-shirt and tie, but her presence was infringing, too; not so much out of place as it was perplexing.
“You’re sick.” Marlon says, voice calm and eloquently polite, but the tone shuddered her skin something vicious. Or perhaps it was the hot flashes. “You’re not leaving the bed.”
Objecting to it would do no good; the hardened Octoling wouldn’t sway by mere words. Tilly is resigned to her fate. “Okay.”
“You overwork yourself.” Marlon states.
“I do not!” Tilly exclaims, launching into a coughing fit before she could defend herself. It rattles her chest and leaves her wheezing.
Marlon merely guides her eyes towards Tilly. Her face is neutral; it always is. It’s never a smile nor frown, discomfort nor joy. Her gaze pierced through her and demanded truth.
Tilly purses her lips. She throws up her arms in extraggration. “Okay, maybe— but it’s whatever! I won’t do it again! What, you worried about me or something?”
And she’s serious. She seriously won’t, she promises, because she’s been working on that; treating herself better.
Marlon hums, turning away again. The room is sat in comfortable silence, the quiet humming of the electric fan and the low-drone of the TV filling the gap. While Tilly shifts around restless, Marlon stays unmoving like a corpse. Her presence is imposing, off-putting if you don’t know her, yes, but it’s comforting.
A while later, the door opens, and Adrian walks in, carrying a tray of steaming vegetable broth and soft-white buns. He isn’t that tall by Octoling standards, but is colossal compared to your average Inkling. A brawny mountain of a guy. But currently he’s sweating and anxious looking at Tilly.
“Are you okay, ‘Till? How’re you feeling? Do you need medicine? Should I take you to the hospital?” He frets, placing down the tray and slapping a hand to Tilly's sweaty forehead. She mumbles a quiet ouch at the contact.
“You’re hot. Your fever needs to break.” He mumbles, reaching for the vegetable broth and raising it to her mouth. “Open up.”
Tilly moved her head like a defiant child because nuh-uh. She draws the line at being spoon-fed. “Oh my cod, Adrian, you really don’t need—“
“Nuh-uh, no, don’t care, eat this,” He raises it again and he’s just kinda shoving it towards her.
“I don’t see the point in this—“
“Because you need to eat—“
“I can feed myself—“
“Why don’t you just let yourself be taken care of—“ He finds an opening, shoves it in her mouth, and takes his hand it clamps her lips over the damn spoon, because by cod Tilly won’t eat it if he doesn’t do that. What’s wrong with her. “See! How hard was that?”
Tilly looks disgruntled. “This is humiliating!”
Adrian genuinely looks puzzled. “Me helping my girlfriend is humiliating?”
“Yes!— Well, no, but… it’s the principles. I get sick and suddenly I’m being pampered like some princess. I don’t need this.”
“Helping someone is pampering now.” Marlon says, almost repeating it verbatim, as if trying to make Tilly understand just how ridiculous it sounds.
“It’s pampering if it’s me. I’m the captain, I shouldn’t need—“
Several rounds of objections fill the air before she could even think of finishing her sentence. Adrian looks so genuinely, unabashed gobsmacked and Marlon’s neutrality is replaced with a subtle furrow of her eyebrows.
“I’m— No, I’m so sorry, but that’s such bullshit and you know it,” Adrian says. “Why would we stop taking care of you because you’re the captain? Why would your captain status suddenly make it so you can’t have help ever?”
Tilly doesn’t have an answer. Her self-loathing comes from an odd place, one that doesn’t necessarily have to make sense— at least, to her.
“You’re sick. We have medicine and soup.” Marlon says, in that same monotonous tone. “We’ll just help you. I don’t see why we wouldn’t.”
“And you—!” Adrian begins, pointing a finger scoldingly at her, “You needa’ stop being so hard on yourself! I don’t wanna hear anymore mean things about yourself today! Be nicer to yourself! You deserve it! Or I’ll fight you!!”
He puts up his fists for effect and it gets a laugh out of Tilly. They’re right. They declared it so matter of factly that it’s almost impossible for her to protest. She should be nicer to herself; she tries really hard. She’ll work on it.
“Thanks… I’m sorry, I’ll work on that.” Tilly apologizes, feeling heat rising to her cheeks. It isn’t out of embarrassment, though.
Adrian smiles wildly, showing off his beak. He looks overjoyed at the prospect. Marlon doesn’t smile, but they can both tell she’s happy. The sun shines a little bright through the blinds.
Adrian holds a spoonful of broth to her lips. “Open wide.”
dededos
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
gummygunk
vaporwave
annaxmalina
