fluffyllamas-23

[fluffyllamas-23]

So just like to round out this saga, I am halfway through my externship and have signed the offer letter to work at my site once I graduate 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

I’m going back to school and I’m both excited and terrified 😂

[fluffyllamas-23]

I have lived in this new state for about a year and I still have yet to get used to the fact that people insist on bringing their (NON SERVICE) dogs everywhere

[fluffyllamas-23]

I turned in my last homework assignment of my program a couple of minutes ago and will be done with my last class of my program in about two and a half hours. I take my certification exam tomorrow morning and then start my externship in a week and I will officially be able to start working which is crazy to me. It feels like I just started last week but somehow it’s been ten months???

I’m going back to school and I’m both excited and terrified 😂

[fluffyllamas-23]

I meant to reblog this yesterday when I posted it but i got distracted lol. Omg i love it so much, poor Marianne

Hiiii I’m sorry you’re sick and I hope you feel better soon. Have this fic request for healing purposes lmao

Okay so what about something with Marianne where she’s really sick but doesn’t realize just how bad it is for whatever reason (maybe she’s busy at work and feels like she has to be less sick than she is or maybe one of her besties has something coming up she wants to be there for), and it turns out she has the flu or some sort of awful chest infection (bronchitis or pneumonia maybe?????)

Anyways, she thinks she’s doing so well just medicating herself and going to bed early every night….until she fully passes out (possibly at home or work or wherever your heart desires) and it’s all VERY dramatic and her friends are all v fussy and take care of her.

AYY BET YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF THEM!!

thank you so much for this prompt! I enjoyed writing it!! <3

“STOP DOING LAUNDRY”

Marianne rolls her eyes and sets her phone down, only to pick it up a moment later when it buzzes again. 

“GO TO BED”

She hates that her neighbors can hear every time she turns on the washing machine because it means that Dean and Jean are very aware of the fact that she’s washing her clothes for work tomorrow at nearly 11:30, which means that she won’t get to bed until at least midnight after she changes them over to the dryer. She needs the sleep, too. She’s been fighting a cold for the past few days, and it’s only been getting worse as it moves to her chest. What had been a scratchy throat now burns when she drinks anything but water from coughing so much, and the fatigue is back. 

“Bossy,” she texts Dean back. Lottie has been gone for the past week working on a disability panel at a conference, her very first, and they’ve decided to surprise her with a little party at their place when she returns tomorrow. And on the first day she left, Marianne found herself feeling exhausted enough that she slept through the whole weekend. When she’d finally moved past the fatigue, she’d found her throat and body sore and her head pounding with a headache that only a lot of ibuprofen could kill. She’d let the dishes pile up and the cat hair multiply on the floor. 

“U know im right” 

That’s the problem. She does know that, logically. She’s going to need all her strength to get through a busy day at work tomorrow. They’ve got a media fill count, which means that the manufacturing machines have filled tens of thousands of vials with growth media and they need to count them all to make sure it’s making the right number and also ensure each vial is sterile with a visual check. Normally, she’s the only one who doesn’t actually mind these days. Lots of math, lots of listening to a podcast and tuning everyone else out. However it also means a lot of lifting and carrying heavy things around the lab, which she’s not really feeling up for. Still, she’s the team lead, and if she calls out on the most miserable day they’ve got, it’s going to look a lot like draft dodging. 

As soon as she sits down on the couch, she makes the mistake of resting her head against the arm and letting her eyes shut, which is a mistake. She hadn’t intended to fall asleep, so she failed to set an alarm for work, and when she wakes, it’s 7 minutes after she’s supposed to clock in. 

“Shit,” she curses, then coughs when her voice breaks, pushing their cat Theodosia from her lap. She sounds just awful, but she’s pretty sure her coworkers would rather have her suffering there wearing a mask than skipping the terrible awful dreadful day entirely. It’d be impossible to finish in one day if they’re down a person, especially a powerhouse like Marianne. She dials her boss’ number and waits for her to pick up. 

“Hey,” she answers, “the team was starting to worry. Are you okay?” 

Tears well up in her eyes when she’s shown concern and care rather than ire and irritation. She should be in trouble and instead they’re worried? That won’t do. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I overslept. I just woke up.” 

“Oh, are you calling out? You sound awful.” 

“No, no. I’m fine. I’ll take some cold meds and be there soon.” 

“You sure? You can take a day off, you know.” 

“Not today,” she says. “Media fill.” 

“True,” her boss says. “Well, I appreciate you coming in. You’re right that it would be a mess without everyone here. I’ll see you in a bit. Eat some breakfast. Don’t rush.” 

Her boss can be unpredictable—on a different day, in a different mood, she’d have been furious. At least she’s got something going for her, even if this is going to be an attendance strike. All she needs to do now is hurry to get ready. 

Then make it through an entire day like this. 

Oh, god. 

She packs cold medicine but no lunch and heads off to work as fast as she can. 

By the time she has her lunch break, she’s glad she didn’t waste her time and energy packing anything, because she couldn’t bear to think about eating. Instead, she goes to lie down in her car, brushing off her coworkers’ concerns and promising to be back after a quick 30 minute nap. She makes good on her promise, but by the time they’re almost finished, she can’t see straight enough to count any more vials. It’s humiliating, but she knows when she’s beat. 

“Hey, Boss?” she calls to her manager, knocking a few times on the door. She winces at the sound of her own voice, thick and raspy. It’s been a few hours since she’s spoken and her voice has not benefited from it. 

“Marianne,” she greets, “hi. What can I do for you?” 

She takes a deep breath that ends in a cough. “I was wondering if I could head out an hour early.” 

“So, now?” 

“If that’s okay.” God, she can’t even look her in the eyes, this is so embarrassing. Her boss must think she’s doing this under duress. She’s probably looking for a little red dot over her heart where the sniper is pointing. 

“You’ve tried taking something for it?”

“I’ve been on flu meds for a few days, but it’s just not helping anymore. I’m feeling lightheaded.” She nods. 

“Okay. You’re free to go. Feel better,” she says, the painlessness of it all making it infinitely more embarrassing. “Wait.” 

She stops, now terrified that she’s overstepped. “Yes?”

“Do you need a ride? Maybe you shouldn’t drive if you’re dizzy.” 

“No, no. I can drive myself.”

“If you’re sure.” 

Her boss’ concern is flattering in a way, but that’s overshadowed by how mortifying it is. “Thank you,” she says as she hurries to gather up her things and make it to her car without anyone seeing. 

At home, she finds that she has very little time to sleep. Lottie is going to be home in three hours and the party will start. There’s still so much to do. 

First, she takes her laundry from the dryer so that if Lottie wants to use it tomorrow morning, she doesn’t have to wait. Then, she gets to work vacuuming the carpet, which is where she hits a snag. The exertion has her coughing so badly that she has to stop and start a few times to hack up globs of stuff into the sink, and the sound of the vacuum halting and resuming is enough to garner confusion from her neighbors. 

“You good? You’re… vacuuming weird.” 

She almost laughs at the message from Jean despite knowing that it’s not intended to be funny--Jean rarely cracks jokes. Rarely laughs at them, either. It’s amazing she’s managed to live with a stand up comedian for so long without conflict. 

“Catching my breath,” she admits in her own text, which is worrying enough that a few minutes later, they’re both at her door. She sighs when she has to answer it, but it’s only about half an hour before she’d been expecting them, anyway, since they cooked food for this so she didn’t have to, but it’s still sooner than she’s ready for. 

“Hey,” Jean greets. “How are you feeling?” 

“Not great,” she admits, and Dean frowns. 

“You sound awful. You should have called us earlier. We could have helped you clean.” 

“I know, but I just—” she trails off to cough into her elbow, “--just thought I could finish it up really quickly.” 

“How’s that working out?” 

“Uh,” she stammers. “Mostly good. The kitchen could use a wipe-down. My work shit is still on the dining room table.” 

‘Leave that to us,” Jean chirps. “Go sit down.” 

She doesn’t exactly obey, but she doesn’t continue to tax herself, either. Instead, she heads to her room to change her clothes and put on makeup. Halfway through changing, she realizes that the fact that she’s chosen to wear a long sleeve shirt and a sweater despite that she’s sweating might be an indication that she should send everyone home, have a nap, and invite them next week when she’s feeling better. However, this is Lottie’s first panel, and she’d been so excited about it. Marianne has been putting this together all week. If she send them home, Dean will have cooked all this food for nothing, all of it so thoughtful toward Lottie’s gastroparesis and anyone else’s dietary concerns. She always goes all out—it had taken both of them just to get her spread through the door, and she’s pretty sure they’re making another trip. If it were another day. She’d be looking forward to her famous apple crumble, which might be Marianne’s favorite food, but the thought of eating makes her stomach flip. 

Amaya arrives 15 minutes later, bearing a gift, a little octopus she crocheted while she was out of town. It’s so cute and so typically thoughtful of her. 

She can do this. It’ll just be another half hour before Lottie is home, and then the work will be over and her happy, smiling face will take her mind off her throbbing head and painful throat and spinning everything. 

Because Marianne is slow to help and Dean is being characteristically particular about things, they’ve only just finished setting up when the lock turns and Lottie opens the door, her luggage in her lap. 

“Surprise!” they shout in unison, and she gasps. 

“You guys!” she laughs when the shock has worn off. Amaya and Jean are taking her luggage and setting it aside while Lottie takes in the scene. Mariannne has decorated only minimally—in fact, she didn’t even finish everything she’s had on her list. She’d wanted balloons and streamers, but settled on a “congratulations” banner alone. It might be sparse, but she knows Lottie doesn’t mind. She just wishes it would have been perfect. 

“How was the conference?” Dean asks. Lottie’s face lights up. 

“Amazing! It was exhausting, but totally worth it. I got to go to all kinds of panels by people whose disabilities are so different from mine; it gave me a ton of new perspectives.”

As she continues talking, Marianne finds that although she’s been waiting all week to hear about this, she’s having a hard time staying awake. She’s been having that issue, lately, of falling asleep any time she sits, but she’d have expected that it would be better now that she’s so interested. Dozing during a television program or while scouring an SOP at work is one thing, but her advocacy convention? It makes her feel terrible, more than she already is. She pulls her cardigan around her to try to stop shivering and allows her eyes to shut for just one moment. 

“Aw, someone’s tired,” Lottie coos. She’s not sure whether she’s actually fallen asleep or just stopped paying attention, but apparently a good amount of time has passed because the cold chill has been replaced with stifling heat. When she focuses her attention, Lottie is smiling. “You shouldn’t have gone through so much trouble just for me. You must be so tired.” She regrets having shared with Lottie how stressful work has been the past few days. She knew it was only going to make her feel bad when she found out about the party—she’d just really needed her best friend. 

“Sorry, I’m just—I haven’t been feeling so well the past few days.” Now, her smile drops. 

“Woah, your voice sounds awful. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m good. Just a little tired.” 

Lottie nods. “Maybe you should go lie down. You look exhausted.” 

“No, m’fine. I got—who wants cake?” 

She stands and wavers, everything spinning around her. Her vision goes black, but that’s been happening the past few days. She knows she hasn’t been drinking enough water. 

“Marianne,” Dean says in a rare mirthless tone. “I think Lottie’s right. I can get the cake.” 

“No, I’m—let me.” 

Through she expects her vision to clear in a few seconds like it has been doing, it doesn’t, and the lightheadedness only intensifies. She feels hands, though she’s not sure whose, on her shoulders. 

“Marianne?” Dean calls. “Are you—oh!” 

And that’s the last thing she hears before she’s out cold. 

She wakes up on the kitchen floor, her head clearer, if aching. Someone is holding a cool towel to her forehead—Jean, she realizes when she opens her eyes. 

“She’s awake,” Jean says, sounding as terrified as the others look. “Hey there.” 

“Ngh,” she groans, “I’m so sorry.”

“Are you aware you’re running a fever?” Lottie asks, and yes, she’s pissed. Rightfully so. Marianne would be, too, if the roles were reversed. 

“Sorry. I thought I might.” 

“What were you thinking? You know we could have postponed this. Some dumb party is not worth this.” 

“Lottie,” Amaya says gently. “Go easy.” 

But she’s already tearing up. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Lottie sighs. “Look, I see why you did it. I know that stuff like this is just how you show love, but I wish you’d taken care of yourself first.”

“I know. Again, I’m—”

“Sorry, right.” 

“Are you mad?” 

“I’ll get over it.” Well, that’ll have to do. 

“We’ll have the party another day, when you’re feeling better, babe,” Dean reassures. “For now, let’s get you to bed.” 

“Yeah. That sounds good.” She allows herself to be helped to her feet by her friends, who are patient when everything spins and she has to sit for another moment before she can move to her room. They don’t even say anything about the mess. 

“Do you need anything?” Jean asks. She shakes her head when Amaya beats her to the punch offering a cup of water and three ibuprofen. “Okay, then. We can let you sleep.” 

They file out with well-wishes and goodnights until it’s just her and Lottie in the room. 

“This was really stupid, you know.” She nods. “But thanks.” 

“You deserved a nice party. I’m so proud of you.” 

“Thanks,” she says, finally smiling. “You know, you’re the person I was most looking forward to telling all my stories. Sucks you were, like, asleep through most of them.”

“You’ll just have to tell me again later.”

“Deal.” She turns. “We’ll be in the living room for a white, I think, if you need anything. Shout if we’re getting loud.” 

“Okay. Thanks.” 

“Goodnight, you dummy.” 

“Yeah. Goodnight. I’m glad you’re home.” 

“Me, too.” Lottie shuts the door behind her, leaving her to sleep. 

[fluffyllamas-23]

Somehow I am close to finishing already omg Monday is the start of my last chunk of classes before I go off on my externship and that’s wild to me. Where did the time go?

I’m going back to school and I’m both excited and terrified 😂

[fluffyllamas-23]

I counted up all of my OCs and I have 308 and I don’t even know why I am the way I am but that’s not going to stop me from making them 💀😂

[fluffyllamas-23]

Bonus points if the sick character (A) shuffles out of their bedroom to find their partner (B) and asks if B can check if they have a fever bc they feel kind of feverish

someone whose first sign of being sick is being exhausted. they take naps & wake up with a stuffy nose & realize oh they’re definitely getting sick. bonus points if their partner knows that about them too

[fluffyllamas-23]

I once went on a date with a guy who told my my opinions were invalid because I liked frozen 2 (he didn’t) and tomatoes (he also didn’t). He also said he wanted four kids to start with and then wanted to adopt the rest of them, specifically from women who were going to have an ab*rtion

reblog this with the person who annoyed you the most in your whole life and what they did in the tags. i'll start: i once dated a guy who told me he was insecure because he'd never met a girl who's funnier than him. i would whisper a joke to him and he'd say it to the whole room as if he thought of it himself. i got stuck on a play i was writing and asked him to brainstorm with me, then he wrote a screenplay with an identical premise without crediting me. go to hell, kevin

[fluffyllamas-23]

My new goal in life is to be rich enough so I can buy all of the fireworks in my surrounding area, minus the fireworks needed for city displays. This way, people cannot set them off for WEEKS

[fluffyllamas-23]

Me: I love this character so much I want to throw them down the stairs

i love this character so much......i hope they get seriously injured and almost die

[fluffyllamas-23]

Well friends, I’m back in my home state for my brother’s graduation. Thought things with my mom would be better because she’s been behaving herself lately but I think she’s having a hard time emotionally with my brother graduating and moving away for school in the fall, so now I feel like I’m walking on egg shells and I am STRESSED

[fluffyllamas-23]

Omg I love when a character’s anger immediately turns to concern. It’s so so so good thank you for this!!!

What about “over an hour late” for your neighbor OCs??? Your pick for who omg

this prompt has been in my inbox for a minute but here we go!! I hope you enjoy it!!

Though she feels guilty about it, Jean glares at her phone wondering where her roommate might be at this late hour of the night. Dean is an adult. She’s allowed to go wherever she wants and stay out as late as she wants, and she doesn’t owe her an explanation for any of it. 

But Dean is never out this late after a show, and certainly never without calling to tell her to go to bed without her. In fact, she’d told Jean to wait up for her because she wouldn’t be out past midnight. When she does these late sets in shitty dive bars in questionable parts of the city, she likes for someone to know that she’s made it home. That’s the deal they have. They keep tabs on each other. It’s not about controlling, she reminds herself, it’s about safety. Not to mention it’s 1:00 in the morning and she’s exhausted and has an interview for the podcast first thing tomorrow morning. 

Suddenly. Her screen lights up. Anger wells up inside her once again when she sees it’s a text from Dean. 

Can u come pick me up?

She rolls her eyes. Dean knows that she’s working in the morning and that she hates driving in the dark, especially in the parts of town where Dean is performing right now. Though rare, sometimes Dean will have drinks with some of the other comedians after a show. Normally she knows she’s going to do this ahead of time and lets her know. Now she’s just expecting her to come get her because she drank too much?

Why can’t you just Uber if you’re too drunk to drive?

So immediately that Jean isn’t sure she even read the message, the phone vibrates again. 

Please?

She sighs. She can say no. No is an acceptable answer in any and all situations. However, this is her roommate and more importantly her friend. If she doesn’t feel safe Ubering home, she’s not just going to leave her there. 

Twenty minutes. And you owe me. 

With that, she grabs her keys and heads out the door without even bothering to change her outfit or put on a bra. If there’s one thing she knows for a fact, it’s that she’s not getting out of the car. 

When she pulls up to the venue after three wrong turns and a brief stint going the wrong way on a one way street, she’s even more pissed at Dean. It’s one thing to make her wait, but to drag her out here at this hour? She doesn’t even want to know how shit-faced Dean must be. That suspicion is confirmed when she watches Dean walk out of the building guided by a young man. He’s steadying her when she wavers and is poised to catch her if she falls. She unlocks the passenger seat door and waits for them to slowly make their way to the car. 

“Hey,” Dean greets groggily. She sounds more exhausted than drunk, but Jean is too angry to even notice. “Thanks for coming to get me.” 

“Not like I had a choice,” she says as the young man helps her into the seat. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Before Jean can even open her mouth, the young man reaches out and squeezes her hand. “It happens, okay? It’s not your fault.” It’s not her fault? What, did they wrap the shots in peanut butter and toss them down her throat like a pill in a dog treat? “Take care of her, okay? Make sure she gets some rest, drinks water.” 

“Thanks, Luke,” Dean says. The fact that they’re treating this so casually is making her even angrier. Dean needs to take some responsibility for her actions tonight. 

“You know I have an interview early tomorrow morning,” she says. Dean stares down at her knees as Jean unparks the car, looking a little lost. “I have to be up like two hours beforehand to prepare.” 

“I know,” she says miserably. “I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re not 20 anymore, D. We have responsibilities. And bedtimes. You can’t just drink until you black out and not expect—”

“I’m not drunk,” she interjects. Jean scoffs. 

“I know you and your comedian buddies take shots after all every set.” 

“I didn’t perform my set,” she argues. “At least, not all of it.” That throws her off. Sometimes venues will pull shady shit to avoid paying her, but she’s never heard of one straight up canceling her slot. 

“What? Why?” 

“I, uh, wasn’t feeling so well.” 

“Wait, what are you talking about? You didn’t drink and you didn’t perform?” 

“I was feeling a little nervous because there’s a big name here. Harvey Kirk—he’s a headliner. I guess I anxiety got the better of me.” 

“You backed out?” 

“No, I sort of… fell onstage.”  

“Oh, Dean, I—”

“And maybe fainted a little.” Jean nearly stops the car. “I’m fine! The guys were just worried about me and told me I should sit this one out. I really wanted to just perform and go home, but once I passed out, they didn’t want me driving.” 

Jean is floored. Firstly, she feels concern, brut the second and possibly louder emotion is guilt. She’s spent the past two hours pissed at her best friend over something she couldn’t control at all. 

“Why didn’t you call sooner?” 

“I wanted to support my friend Jessica for her first time performing. I probably should have told you, but I knew you’d come get me immediately, and I wanted to stay for her.” 

She can’t argue with that. If she’d heard that, she’d have gotten in the car right then and made Dean come home to rest. While she doesn’t love the fact that this has been sprung on her, she doesn’t feel nearly as angry now as she had a minute ago. 

“Let’s just get you home. You need to lie down and drink something.” 

Dean nods. “I’m sorry I dragged you out here tonight. I know you hate driving in the city. And in the dark. And at all.” 

“I don’t care about that right now.” It’s true, too. All she wants to do is get Dean home and into bed. For the rest of the car ride, Dean plays the newest episode of the true crime podcast with which they’re both obsessed. It’s not a great idea, given that it’s the middle of the night and they’re about to walk across their apartment complex’s parking lot, but it passes the time. 

“Don’t get out until I come around the side to help you,” Jean commands as she pulls into the only available spot on the lot, which is further away than she’d like. 

“I don’t need—”

“Just humor me?” 

Dean sighs, but nods. It’s obvious that she’s unhappy, but she does allow Jean to walk with her to their door. She seems steady enough, but given that she’s still shaking, Jean isn’t willing to let her out of her sight. She sits her down on the couch and tells her not to move while she gathers as few things: water, a cup of apple juice, a packet of fruit gummies, a bowl of chips. Dean’s eyes go wide when she sees the collection. 

“Am I supposed to eat and drink all of that?” 

“I’d hoped you would, yeah. It’s not that much.” 

“Are you a bear? Or perhaps a possum? Because that’s a lot of fucking snacks to put in my body right before I go to sleep.” 

“It’ll help you feel better.”

“I feel fine.” 

“Then why are you shaking?” 

Dean can’t answer that, so she accepts the juice and the chips and doesn’t complain as Jean puts the rest of it on the coffee table in front of her. She allows Jean to drape a blanket over her shoulders, then drapes her legs over her lap when Jean gestures for her to do so. 

“What about your interview tomorrow?”

Jean shrugs. “I can just take a nap afterwards. The episode doesn’t come out for another week. I can make it work.” 

Jean can tell that she’s eating and drinking intentionally perfornatively, likely because she feels guilty. It’s not that she doesn’t understand where she’s coming from, but she wishes she wouldn’t. Sure, she might be a little tired for the interview, but that’s temporary. The real concern is ensuring that Dean is alright. 

“Feeling any better?” 

“I feel like I ate rocks, but yeah, I’m fine now. I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” 

“Sure. Want me to walk you?”

“Not necessary, but you’re a good Cub Scout for helping this old lady cross the street.” Despite the anxiety it causes her, she allows Dean to stand and walk to her room alone. She’s happy to see that she seems much steadier now, a lot less dizzy. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” she calls. Dean flashes a winning, gap-toothed smile. 

“Yeah. And thanks for everything. I owe you one.” When Dean’s door closes behind her, she waits until she hears her snoring through the door to ensure that she doesn’t miss a loud crash that might indicate that she fell, then stands and heads to her own room. She’s exhausted and more than ready to fall into the covers, even if it’ll only be for a few hours. 

[fluffyllamas-23]

Just a reminder that it is NO ONE’S responsibility to curate YOUR internet experience but you. If don’t like what someone is posting, it’s your responsibility to block them and move on. I have been on the internet for a long time and it has never been anyone’s responsibility to not post things because I don’t like them. Telling someone you hope they die because you’re mad they’re posting something YOU don’t like is absolutely vile. You should be ashamed of yourself. If you’re going to tell someone you hope they die, have the balls to come off anon. Don’t hide behind anonymity. You deserve to be publicly shamed if you’re going to tell someone something that horrible. And if you do think it’s appropriate to tell someone you hope they die, get off my page and block me. You are NOT welcome here.

Yeah okay. I'm turning anon back off because you guys can't be trusted with it.

[fluffyllamas-23]

My cat has started eating his food via using his paw as a scoop and I’m not sure why lmao

[fluffyllamas-23]

I’ve had a bunch of issues with my toe lately, and before I saw a podiatrist I was going back and forth to this urgent/primary care clinic to get it taken care of (I had to have a few minor procedures and was on FOUR rounds of antibiotics). Today I went back for an unrelated issue and I saw the same PA as before because you can only make online appointments with a provider you’ve seen before and I was on hold forever when I called. He asked me if I was the “toe lady” when he came into the exam room and folks I don’t think I will ever recover from that. Absolutely devastating

[fluffyllamas-23]

This is not related to anything, but slime was BIG when I was in middle school, but I never made any, even though I wanted to. Long story short, I ordered slime containers off of Amazon, and I'm going to heal my inner child and make SO MUCH SLIME lmao