#and for a good week i couldnt drink more than one (1) sip of water every two hours without throwing up

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

my favourite part of having a viral infection for the better part of a month is when i accidentally lose 8% of my body weight and achieve one of the goals the doctors managing my idiopathic intracranial hypertension set by accident.

[icyharrington]

Is It Wrong?- THE PREQUEL- Part 1 (Michael Langdon X Reader)

so basically,,,, i took my adhd meds for class this morning, and then suddenly got super inspired to write this, so i figured i couldnt waste the focus and wrote this whole ass thing in a few hours. this is the first part of a 3-part prequel series, which details the events leading up to the first part of iiw! just a whole lot more teen angst, drama, fuckboy michael, and more... there isn’t going to be any SMUT smut for obvious reasons, but in a future part there is going to be some dirty stuff ;) anyway i know this will prob flop but this is the first full length fic i’ve written in months and i had a lot of fun writing it, so ima post regardless ^__^

plot: things are turning upside for you now that the biggest fuckboy in school, michael langdon, is about to become your stepbrother. if you think shit is crazy now, wait til you find out that this is just the prequel 😏

warnings: underage drinking, talk of sexual shit, teen angst, sexual tension, taboo relationships 

wc: 4.2k 

i.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

You did, of course you did.

You’d seen him, engulfed in his loneliness, floating from day to listless day like some kind of cheesy Victorian spectre. Too many times you’d found him alone at night, one hand cradling a glass of sewer-brown liquor, the other thumbing through worn photo albums extracted from dust-ridden shelves in the living room. You hadn’t known your mother well- she’d died back when you were still in diapers, but what you did know was that she’d been a vibrant light in your father’s world that had been unjustly snuffed out in its prime. He was a good father to you, and you knew you made him happy despite the dull ache ever-present in his heart, but it was evident that deep down he craved a companionship you could never provide.

So of course you were glad when he met Miriam. Of course you were glad when you’d seen his beaming smile, sharing the news, with the giddiness of a teenage girl in love, that he’d found somebody. He was practically glowing, that night he’d gone out for their first date. You’d known it’d been special to him, because he’d shelled out a few hundred to treat them both to a fancy dinner; he’d even gotten her a bouquet of flowers on the drive there.

You hadn’t said anything when he’d gushed to you the next day about how he’d found the one, despite having known her for only a week; sure, he was rushing into things, but at least he was happy! And that was all you wanted- for him to be happy.

That was why you were especially crushed when you finally met Miriam’s teenage son, whom your father had briefly mentioned with a passing “he goes to your high school, maybe you know him”.

There were so many boys at your school that it was impossible to guess who your potential stepbrother might be. The prospect that you might know him didn’t bother you too much, though you did think it might be a little awkward upon first meeting, but really what did it matter? A little bit of teenage shyness was a small price to pay for your father’s newfound happiness.

That is, until you met him.

So really, it wasn’t like you didn’t want your dad to be happy.

That wasn’t the case at all.

You just really, really, wished he’d fallen in love with anyone other than the mother of Michael fucking Langdon.

ii.

“Oh, you’re so pretty,” Miriam gushed over a glass of Chardonnay, which had already been defaced with aubergine lip prints around the golden rim. “Gosh, I just wish I had your hair. Mine was fried from years of coloring, so I just chopped it all off!”

You smiled sweetly, observing your father’s glimmering eyes as he hung onto every word that rolled off her tongue, menus still stacked neatly in the middle of the table as you awaited the fourth and final guest. The three of you had been there for fifteen minutes already, and still her son had not arrived.

I guess his study session is running late, she’d explained, after seeing your furrowed brows at her lack of accompaniment. It was the first time you were meeting your father’s new love interest and her son, and you were rapidly growing more and more anxious in anticipation of the big reveal.

Studying, you’d thought, racking your brain. So maybe he’s one of the nerdy teacher’s pet types? You could certainly live with that; there were a great deal of others you could think of who would be far worse to potentially become step-siblings with.

“Thanks, Ms… Mead, did you say it was?”

You weren’t sure you knew of any boys whose last name was Mead; he definitely had to be someone you hardly knew.

“Oh, honey, call me Miriam,” she said warmly, and you nodded, unsure of what to say next.

Miriam was certainly not what you’d imagined your father’s girlfriend to be like, not that you cared either way; she sported short, dark hair with vampy makeup, clad in all black with a tasteful leather jacket to match. She was also a bit older than you’d anticipated, with fine lines adorning her rounded face, but again, none of that mattered to you at all. She seemed perfectly sweet, and you had no complaints about her thus far.

“Okay, Miriam,” you said, feeling somewhat peculiar addressing an adult by their first name, “so, remind me, how’d you guys meet again?”

“Well, it’s a funny story, really,” Miriam chuckled, plucking a dinner roll from the woven basket across from her and dropping it onto her plate. Her dark eyes shifted from you to your father, poising an impeccably groomed raven brow. “Should you tell it, or should I?”

“Oh, you should, definitely,” your father said, sipping his wine.

“Okay, okay. Well, we were in the meat section at the grocery store when we both reached for the last steak on sale. So I looked at him, and I told him- oh my, this is embarrassing- (your dad’s name), you finish!”

Your father looked like he was about to bust out into laughter, and, suppressing a snort, he blurted, “she said she’d cut off my hands if I took it!”

Immediately after the words left his lips, the two fell into boisterous hysterics that ushered forward a few disapproving glances from the stuffy rich assholes at the next table over, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little yourself. Well… she definitely was a character, but as long as your father was being kept entertained…

“Hey mom,” came a sudden, inappropriately loud male voice from behind you, so out of place that you nearly jumped from your seat. “I was helping Dan with the world war three chapter in our textbook, he sucks at geography shit.”

The voice’s owner revealed himself as a tall, blond boy, who promptly slid into the empty chair beside you, chiseled face slightly obscured by the deep shadows resulting from the dimness of the restaurant’s ambient lighting.

This was, indeed, somebody that you knew, and you blinked twice to be sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you.

It took you a few seconds to register the direness of the situation at hand, but once the thought processed in your mind, you about descended into an out-of-body experience.

This couldn’t be.

No way.

No motherfucking way.

You’d never been all too much of a religious person, but in that moment, you found yourself silently begging whatever higher power was out there that this was all just some sick, cosmic prank.

The boy turned his head to give you a good, uncomfortably long look, stupidly perfect mouth twisting into an amused sideways grin, and then he spoke. “Ohh shit, (y/n)? (Y/n) (y/l/n)?”

He spoke your name like it was a punchline, tongue darting out to lick his teeth like a lizard about to gobble up some poor, helpless cricket as you sat there with your jaw unhinged. You were at a loss for words, or at least almost, managing to croak out a pathetic, puny, “Michael.”

“Oh, good! You guys know each other already!” Miriam exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to the complete and utter horror that had just about finished swallowing you whole.

Michael let out a snort, roughly translating to ‘uhh, yeah, not that well… I’d never be caught dead hanging around with someone like (y/n)’, and you grimaced. “Yeah, a little bit. You were in math class with me last year, right?”

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to regain your composure for fear of feeding into this complete asshole’s already massive ego. Yeah, in fact, you had been in math class with him last year, and, not-so-coincidentally, that very same class had turned out to be the one you dreaded the most.

Michael Langdon was the most insufferable, mind-numbing, self-obsessed asshole that you’d ever had the displeasure of knowing; he was easily the most popular boy in the grade, and it was clear he was fully aware of his own high school bullshit prestige. He was loud, cocky and obnoxious; the type of fuckboy- yes, you knew the word fuckboy was overplayed, but in this case there was no other way to describe him- who’d loudly brag about his sexual escapades in the middle of the hallway to his flock of adoring fuckboy minions. He was an I-don’t-do-relationships type, a U-up-text-at-3am type, a Yo-dude-did-you-see-Zoe-Benson’s-tits-today type, a bro-I’m-so-fucking-baked-right-now type. Just the sound of his voice from across a crowded hallway was enough to make you physically recoil. And the worst part?

Every-fucking-body loved him.

Your complaints about him during lunch would only result in your friends cooing dreamily, as though he were some kind of sympathetic creature that needed babying: But he’s so cute, they’d say, twirling locks of their hair and fiddling with their bracelets. I’m sure he’s not that bad.

But he was that bad, and if they took off their shit-stained, teenage hormone-clouded rose tinted glasses for only a second, they’d see exactly what you saw.

It wasn’t only the students, either. He was able to get away with everything and anything he pleased, whether it be sneaking sips of vodka in a water bottle between classes or ditching class to smoke a joint behind the bleachers. There’d even been rumors that he’d fucked some senior girl in the handicap stall during the autumn pep rally while the rest of the student body was packed like sardines in the sticky-hot gymnasium, subjected to incremental barks from the football coach to scream louder and louder.

How the hell was somebody as pleasant as Miriam the mother of such an incurable douchebag? And how, in all the unholy realms of hell, did your luck get so miserably bad that she ended up with your father?

It was all so fucking unfortunate that you almost wanted to laugh. And you probably would have, if not for the chance that you might puke all over your nice new sweater if you opened your mouth.

“You smell funny, hon,” said Miriam before you could reply. “Was Dan burning incense in his room?”

Oh, god. So she was one of those oblivious parents. You rolled your eyes; it made a lot of sense when you thought about it.

“Huh? Oh. Um, yeah. Incense,” Michael said, before suddenly extending his arm across the table to your father. “Oh shit, how rude of me. I’m Michael. Nice to meet you, man.”

Your father seemed unfazed my Michael’s distinct lack of manners as he accepted the boy’s hand and shook it, and you felt yet another knot twist up in the pit of your stomach as you realized that your father, too, had somehow been cast under Michael’s spell.

“Michael, we talked about this,” Miriam said under her breath, like she was scolding a child who didn’t know any better. “Keep the potty mouth to a minimal when we’re out in public, especially while we’re in such a nice restaurant.”

“Oh, sh…oot, sorry, mom,” Michael said with a faux-sheepish smile, his eyes flickering with amusement despite his supposed remorse. “And sorry to you too, sir. Bad habits.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mike- can I call you Mike?” your father said as they released hands, moving his to rest atop Miriam’s on the cloth-sheathed table. “I remember what it was like being a boy your age.”

You scoffed, loud enough that the table fell silent for a moment, and quickly you disguised it with a cough. Your cheeks went hot as all eyes laid on you, and you frantically scanned your brain for something to fill the silence with.

“So, um,” you said, clearing your throat. “Michael’s, uh, how come Michael’s last name isn’t Mead?”

Fuck. That sounded so fucking stupid. Instinctively, you felt your eyes wander to Michael to see if he was laughing at you, which you hated yourself for; why should his stupid, pea-brained opinion mean anything to you anyway? As much as you wanted to distance yourself from that idiotic, made-up high school hierarchy, you always wound up finding yourself being sucked back in, it seemed.

“Well, my late husband’s last name was Langdon, and since he was kind of a dirtbag, I decided not to keep his name after he passed,” Miriam said slowly, as if taking very careful thought to word herself correctly. You took in a breath; this seemed like a whole new can of worms that you hadn’t meant to open up.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t talk about dad like that,” said Michael, his tone only half-playful, eyebrow cocking as he flashed his mother a knowing look.

“You try being cheated on multiple times, Michael. Then you’ll see that dirtbag is really a nice way of putting it.”

Oh, sure, you thought bitterly. As if Michael fucking Langdon is even remotely capable of understanding someone else’s pain.

You took this as your cue to stand up from your seat, mumbling something about needing to use the restroom before scurrying off in the opposite direction as fast as you could without drawing attention to yourself. If ten minutes with Michael as your psuedo-stepbrother got to you this badly, you could only imagine how awful your life was about to get.

You could only hope that your father would find some reason to nip things in the bud with Miriam, but right now, that appeared to be an unlikely prospect.

iii.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t end my shit right here and now,” you griped to your best friend, who sat crosslegged on your bed as you stood idly before your floor-length mirror, arms dangling limply at your sides in an unintentional stance of defeat. Your face was one that you hardly recognized anymore, forehead creased with worry and eyes shadowed by bruise-colored rings from a seemingly endless barrage of sleepless nights; a week ago, your father had gleefully announced his and Miriam’s engagement; you of course, as his loving daughter, had to behave as though you hadn’t just received the worst news of your life, which somehow you’d pulled off (for a second you wondered why you’d never taken up theater, seeing at how convincing your acting could be sometimes). It was like you’d been plucked from the familiarity of your boring, normal world and dropped into your own personally tailored hell without any warning at all, though you couldn’t think of a single thing you’d done bad enough to warrant you deserving this. “The worst person on the planet is about to be my fucking stepbrother and nobody else seems to think this is a big deal!”

Your best friend shook her head, letting out a snort as if any of this was even remotely funny in the slightest. “So your stepbrother is hot and cool and he pisses you off. They literally make porn about that.”

You resisted the urge to take her by the shoulders and shake her until some semblance of sense entered her head, instead shoving your hands into the pockets of your jeans with a loud huff. “Yeah, but this isn’t fucking pornhub, (best friend’s name), this is real life! And I’d rather skin myself alive than sleep with that walking STD.”

“You have a lot more self respect than I do. It’s admirable,” she said, still startlingly calm for your liking, and you were beginning to believe that she’d never understand the mental turmoil you were currently suffering with. “Personally I’d ride him into the sunset, whether he had a herpes dick or not.”

You gagged, shaking your head with adamant disgust. Was she really that fucking horny? “You’re sick, you know that?”

“Sick for diiiiick,” she sang back, batting her eyelashes playfully at you. You turned away, scrounging up every weary shred of self restraint within you not to scream.

“Look, (b/f/n). I’m being serious right now. If you fuck him, or suck his dick, or whatever, I will literally never speak to you again.” Your tone was stern, and you faced her again to see whether your seriousness had computed in the hormonal wasteland that was her brain. There was an extended pause as she blinked at you, tilting her head to one side thoughtfully as she chewed her lipgloss-slick bottom lip.

“I mean, he wouldn’t fuck me anyways,” she finally said, still infuriatingly chipper. “I’m nobody. And he’s, like, royalty.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! I don’t care whether you think you have a chance with him!” You realized too late that you were nearly shouting, so you took in a shaky gulp of oxygen and coaxed yourself to soften your tone. The last thing you needed right now was for people to think you were losing your mind, although sometimes that was exactly what you felt like was happening. “Please, just promise me you won’t? I just need one aspect of my life not to involve him. Please?”

“Okay, fine,” she said, drawing her knees to her chest and settling her chin on top. “If it really matters that much to you, I’ll just shift my thirst to Dan Mott instead. That boy is a fucking snack and a half.”

A wave of almost-relief cascaded over your body, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself become one with this momentary victory.  

One year. Just one stupid, insignificant year until I can go away to college and forget all about him.

If you could survive that much, you told yourself, you’d be able survive anything.

You just hoped that intoxicating spell of his wasn’t strong enough to bring your best friend into his web of bullshit, alongside all the other girls who’d become entangled along the way.

If she did, you’d be stranded, left to run from Michael and his ever-expanding army all on your own.

iv.

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the dreaded date of your father’s wedding ceremony arrived; now you stood amidst a small group of distant relatives at the subdued reception party, seeking refuge from the disturbing thought that, legally, Michael Langdon was now your brother, at the open bar.

You and your best friend had decided to make something of a game out of how many drinks you could finagle from the bartender without any adults noticing, which had ultimately proved to be pointless- an hour into the reception, your father had staggered over with two overflowing dirty Shirleys, thrusting them towards the two of you with a big, sloppy grin on his face.

To say he was in a good mood would be a severe understatement- the man was jovial, and you almost felt guilty for hating the circumstances of his marriage so much. By the raised-brow looks your best friend had been shooting at you all night, you knew she was thinking the same thing: that you were being selfish for worrying so much about yourself when this was the best thing that’d happened to your father in years. And maybe it was true; maybe you’d been so wrapped up in your own teen angst bullshit that you’d willingly blinded yourself from the truth. So, with your father’s beaming face dancing in the back of your mind, you pushed any thought about Michael back to the dredges where they belonged.

Fuck Michael Langdon. You couldn’t allow him the satisfaction of knowing that you were distraught, though you’d surely already made that pretty obvious over the past few months (he’d wasted no time in taunting you about it, seeming to relish in your death glares and eye rolls- hey, future sis! he’d crooned at you as you passed his table in the cafeteria one afternoon, nearly causing you to trip and spill your perfectly mediocre iced coffee all over yourself as his friends cackled like demented hyenas).

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not gonna let him bother me anymore.

I’m not-

“SIS-TERRRRRR!”

Okay, this had to be some kind of divine test of will.

A blazer-glad arm flung itself around your shoulders and you flinched, immediately jerking away from your intoxicated stepbrother (god, it felt weird to refer to him that way) whose brash motions had sent you both stumbling.

“Getting shitfaced at your mom’s wedding… classy,” you spat, crossing your arms in front of your chest and narrowing your eyes at the blond-haired boy.

He was, admittedly, good-looking (only by conventional standards, of course); his lightly gelled blond hair had long since come undone, now soft and unkempt from hours of attention-whorish dancing, but you thought the disheveled look suited him better anyway (since his whole thing was to look like a grimy, rugged fuckboy, not because you personally found it attractive, obviously). He’d undone the top few buttons of his white top (no doubt the only formal article of clothing he owned), which was now stained beyond foreseeable repair with a colorful variety of liquids, and there was a bead of sweat traveling from his slick forehead to his model-sharp jaw. Even in disarray, he looked good, and you couldn’t help but hate him for it.

“God, you are so uptight,” he said, pale eyes flickering towards the multicolored ceiling in exaggerated annoyance as he dragged out his syllables with leisure. “You need to relax, set up a dick appointment or something. Or pussy appointment, I don’t know what you’re into.”

Your mouth fell open at this remark, too stunned by his vulgarity to even get angry with your friend, who had dissolved into a fit of giggles beside you; it wasn’t that you were some pearl-clutching grandmother- you had no issue discussing sexual matters with your friends, and in fact some would even say you had a perverted sense of humor. But this? This was different: something about the way those words had fallen from Michael’s mouth made you feel dirty.

At your lack of response, Michael flashed a pearly grin that could only be categorized as evil, and he crossed his arms to mimic your stance. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that you’re probably still a virgin.”

He glanced over to your friend, whose feeble attempts to suppress her second wave of laughter had proven unsuccessful, before averting his gaze back to you. “Aw, don’t feel bad, (y/n). There’s nothing wrong with being a late bloomer.”

Then, as if to punctuate his words, he smirked.

Your mouth pressed into a thin line, you felt something like a storm swirling inside of you, winds thick and unyielding and relentless, and you were almost positive that you’d tear him apart once the feeling aligned with the rest of your body.

It was then that the song blaring through the speakers switched to something inappropriately upbeat, each thump of the dance-friendly bass feeling like punches to the gut.

The storm inside you hadn’t been giving way to anger at all; it was sadness you were feeling in your belly, hopeless and humiliated sadness, though you couldn’t quite understand why: he’d made some stupid, generic joke to try and get a rise out of you- what else was new these days? Maybe it was the fact that your best friend was, by her passiveness and obvious amusement at your expense, encouraging his taunts when she was supposed to be there for you. Or maybe the reality had finally, finally sunken in, that this kind of interaction with Michael would now consume your life for the next year.

Either way, it didn’t make a difference, and as if on cue, the familiar sting of unshed tears arrived patiently at the back of your eyes.

All at once you were were dizzy; Michael’s perfect face was doubling and distorting before your eyes, and your friend’s pitched laughter rang like incessant, robotic television static in your ears.

With very last straw of self preservation you could grasp, you said nothing at all, walking away with the dazed sluggishness of a zombie on autopilot.

You considered yourself lucky; soon enough, you wouldn’t have the luxury of walking away at all.

“She’s too sensitive,” you heard your friend say, faintly, in the background of your thoughts.

You didn’t have the energy to wonder why she wasn’t coming with you, much less the energy to chastise her for being a bad friend, which was what you knew she deserved. If she cared more about getting Michael’s attention than preserving her friendship with you, you supposed there was no use in trying to stop her anymore.

He’s like a disease, you thought as you ambled your way towards the bathroom, surrounded by people but yet still so alone. He’s like a disease, infecting everyone he touches.

It was only a matter of time, you supposed, before he got to you, too.

Who knew? Maybe he already had.

tagging some people from my old iiw tag list!: (i’m sorry if i tagged anyone twice, i’m literally half asleep right now cuz i got like 2 hours of sleep in the past 24 hrs lol) @wroteclassicaly @ritualmichael @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @trelaney  @kissydevil @sloppy-wrist @michael-langdon-appreciation @ccodyfern @sojournmichael @starwlkers @maso-xchrist @space-princesssss @ahslangdon101 @isabellaserpentiawesson @stupidocupido @bademliimagnum @nana15774 @urlocalgothb @hexqueensupreme @gold-dragon-slayer  @langdonsboots @langdonstrash @fckinsupreme @hisgirlwonder @venusxxlangdon @obsessivenostalgicbaby @kleinegamerin @lambofcairo @kiiteiru @littledemondani @beriveri  @grossgayartist @featherpool-852 @discocalico @cryptid-coalition @nu-tt @diamcndscarred @chocolateandhorror @michaelsfrenchtoast  @sarcasticbxtch20 @ringpop-poppy  @imjustasadhoe @melodylangdon  @codycrazy @perfect-ginger-maniac @baphomet-wears-gucci @bigstudentpatrolbonk @jazzcowgirl @a-n-t-s @langdonsblood @ritualmichael @myluciferiscody @fentycoven @gracebtw @bongwaternation  @king-of-mischief-and-bitchez @hoseokchild @witchywcmans @satanicbimbo @lvngdvns​ @langdonskillerqueen​ @aradevil​ @anemia-doll​ @muralskins​ @funtomimagines​ @mrssgtjamesbuckybarnes​ @our-mrlangdon​ @lotsofhunny​ @sevenwonderwitch​ @horrorstreet​ @kpopmademedo-it​ @naughtygranger​ @codyshands​ @krazycags01​ @skullag​

[theforce]

presumptive horrible rotten case of corona: symptoms

presumptive bc i couldnt get a god damn test i live in new york and while there are testing sites all over the state and our state govt is doing what they can now, i don’t want to be the person taking away a test from someone else especially now that i am mostly better, most of this went down at the beginning of the month and i’m still dealing with the effects of it. 

there was a lot of confusion here even as recent as 2 weeks and we are the state that’s testing more than the rest of the entire country so here is my account of what went down w me, and honestly, what might go down with you or someone you know as soon as this reaches your state

1) i threw up all night long, thought it was a stomach virus, had a lot of stomach issues for like 24 hours, very strange i haven’t had a stomach virus in YEARS since i was a literal child, anyways right before i started puking up my life i developed this weird cough, it felt like it was from my throat, like i was trying to clear it? but it was often and annoying 

2) after my 24 hours of hell i felt feverish and exhausted but i chalked it up to being on the floor of the bathroom all night, exerting my esophagus and body to throw up the devil himself, i tried to sleep it off, i woke up a few hours later in a fog, i was shivering but i was also burning up, i couldn’t tell left from right, up from down, my fever was 100.3, at this point i had my mom call my doctor and make an appointment, she made it for me w the receptionist, everything was fine until 20 minutes later i got a call back from my actual doctor not the receptionist who was like, oh no not you’re not coming here with those symptoms baby and i was like ?? ok cool thanks, she said to keep watching my symptoms, slam some tylenol and if i felt shortness of breath to call or text her personal cell phone and she would get me set up at the nearest hospital i said ok sounds fucked up i mean i didn’t say that bc i was too fucked up to even speak, she also gave my mom instructions to keep me in my room, to not go near me, to give me a designated bathroom, to have food and water delivered to my door, my mom was like u dont gotta tell me twice (she has lupus) during this time my cough become dry and horrible, i could feel my lungs rattle, i would cough so hard and for so long i’d wake from my feverish coma to kneel over my bed and just let loose on the world, it felt like i was drowning, i couldn’t get enough air everything hurt, everything was sore 

3) things continued on like this for 5 straight days, i was literally in and out of consciousness, my fever got up to 102 and my mom said that if it raised at all from there we were going to the fuckin hospital and i was like listen la rona i know u wanna take me out but i havent even ever eaten a krispy kreme donut, please let me survive this i can’t leave this way, in that moment i literally had a fever dream of god herself, i said take this from me and i’ll stop being such a cunt in life. i started slamming hot toddy’s, i’d drink as much water as possible in between the time i wasnt literally trying to expel my lungs by way of my mouth

4) woke up from that whole ordeal drenched in SWEAT from my feet to my head i was soaked, it was gross, at that point i still had a sense of smell so let me tell you my last and final symptom should have kicked in a bit earlier but i checked my temp and it was normal! i didn’t feel like my head was going to explode! but i had new things going on i had a new stuffy/runny nose, my cough was producing some liquid which i proceeded to throw up into a mcdonalds cup i took a shower, i brushed my teeth, i felt like a brand new woman, i had cold like symptoms but i can live with cold like symptoms, i had an appetite for the first time in a week, felt like i could eat my whole family out of house and home given the opportunity, i’d lost 20 pounds in less than 2 weeks and ya girl was honestly, looking good but THAT’S A BAD WAY OF THINKING disregard please thank you, at this point i went into my doctor with a full on mask, gloves, hair pulled back, she gave me every test you can think of, most importantly a flu test which is all she could do since getting a test was impossible at this pint, which of course came back negative 

5) things continued like this for weeks, up until right now actually, exhaustion was gone, fever gone, cough still here and there but not like how it was, i’ve put on makeup in my room, i’ve watched every season of law and order svu, i’ve gone on drives in my car just to drive, i’ve tried to keep myself as busy as possible, 3 days ago the strangest, most inexplicable and hopefully last symptom arrived, a complete loss of smell and bc of that taste, i’ve tried smelling candles, essential oils, laundry detergent, canned meat, my brother lit a match with my back turned and asked me what the smell was, i ate extra hot cheetos, raw onions, shot of vinegar, there’s nothing there, i just hope it comes back 

during this time i haven’t been even close to my mother, who has lupus or my sister, who has asthma, i stayed in my room, i’m still in my room actually 14 full days out from the last time i left the house, one month since this whole thing started, i eat in my room, i use a different bathroom than my whole family, everyone talks to me from my door frame besides my little brother who also was sick but recovered super fast, he bleaches the bathroom after i use it, he puts all my food on single use plates, he brings me jugs of water and reminds me of what it’s like to at least talk to another person. 

on a more serious note, i haven’t touched another person in 20 days nobody has even been within 6 feet of me besides my doctor who was administering the only tests she could administer, fully decked out in a hazmat suit, she was scared for me, i could tell, she was trying to put on a brave face and downplay the severity of my symptoms but thank god for her, she’s checked up on me, she’s tried everything, she’s put in calls, she’s made herself as available as possible even though she’s probably going through the same thing with countless other patients, i worry for her, i’ve worried for my family, i’ve stressed beyond the point of no return which has for sure slowed my recovery and i was one of the lucky ones! all of this and my case was considered mild because i never really had trouble breathing beyond being choked by my own coughing. 

people have been there for me during all of this, in ways that are further reaching than touch, i have been very vocal about not liking when people touch me but i do look forward to the day i can hug my mom, where i can tell my friend to take a sip of my drink to see if she likes it, to have someone pat me on the shoulder and tell me to keep my head up or whatever 

hopefully im on the other side of this, my more at risk family members are about to be 14 days from the last time any of them were near me or my brother, they’re at the end of a long tunnel and i’m just so happy that maybe soon we’ll all see the light 

take care of yourselves

[i-beg-your-parsons]

[Shreya] wasn’t in last week’s chapter, so have a fic (#1)

Relationship: Shreya Mistry/F!MC (Celestine Leblanc)

Count: 1775 words

So I’ve decided that I’m going to make this a series where I update this whenever a character (in this case, Shreya) is swept under the rug (so am I updating this every week, multiple times then? Who knows! 🙃). It’ll be good practice for me to get back into writing. But maybe not every week exactly, I’m starting my undergraduate thesis lol.

Apologies if they’re OOC, especially Aster? (She’s good friends with Shreya in this fic!!) I haven’t tried writing them much and it’s been a while since I did a fic lmao. Hope you peeps like!! Let me know if you want to be tagged for subsequent ones.

This uses the following prompts:

“My cat is more sassy than you’ll ever be.”

“Watch out! I can’t slow down! Move! Move! Move!”

“Am I good at skateboarding? Pfffft! Of course I am!”

Tags: @jellymonster, @deeohno, @coolios-beanios, @h-doodles

__

“Watch out! I can’t slow down!” 

Shreya is startled by a panicked voice, almost dropping her hand mirror on the sidewalk. She whirls toward the direction of the sound. What the - 

“Lady, please move, move, move!!” A blur of blue, red, and brown was hurtling towards her before her brain could really process anything. They make a sharp turn, just barely brushing her skirt, so thankfully she avoided being pummelled into the wall. Her three-inch heels, however, threw her off balance, making her stumble into a large potted shrub situated outside the facade of Maison D’Yew. 

Wonderful. How fucking elegant.

“Oh my stars, are you hurt?” A feminine voice calls out to her, presumably partially responsible for what had just transpired. Shreya inwardly huffs to rein in her annoyance. It would be extremely unsightly for a Mistry to throw a tantrum. At times like these, she was thankful for those dry etiquette lessons her parents made her take when she was seven. 

“I-It’s quite alright! I didn’t get hurt; just much too close and personal with this plant,” Shreya assures worried girl in her haughty ‘humble’ voice. 

(Well, something had to channel her anger. The thick branch digging into her back was not helping keep her head cool.)

She could feel the girl’s slender hands firmly grip her arms and try to pull her up. It was gentle and slow, but jagged twigs were poking her everywhere, “Ow, ow, ow!”

The sounds of her distress halt the girl from pulling her, but she still kept her grip. Her voice sounded more apologetic, if it was even possible, “I am so, so sorry! I told Zeph it was stupid to try riding the broom like a skateboard, but he didn’t really care because he said it would look cool.”

Everything was so fast and panicked and ridiculous that Shreya couldn’t help the wild giggles that bubbled up her throat as she nodded, “I can definitely vouch for the fact that it was stupid.”

Shreya could hear the girl grin, “Nice to know someone sides with me.”

A comfortable lull settles over them before the girl clears her throat. “Maybe I could try magicking you out?”

She seemed capable enough, so Shreya finds that she doesn’t mind. 

“OK, go for it.”

Flashes of green and brown lights from the Wood magick circle peek through the gaps between the leaves obscuring Shreya’s vision. Slowly, the twigs and leaves retract, revealing the face of her saviour as she leaned closer to pull her up by the shoulders.

And fuck: She was exactly Shreya’s type.

The blonde had her eyebrows furrowed in panicked worry as she gently picked off leaves that had gotten into Shreya’s hair and clothes. “Again, I am so sorry. I’ll be sure to give Zeph hell for dragging you into this.”

Shreya could feel the warmth creeping up into her cheeks and the tips of her ears. Her touch was so soothing. “It’s no problem. Is he going to be okay?”

The girl’s face scrunches up at the concern for Zeph. “Yes, probably… I think.” She opens one pale blue eye to find that Shreya was still looking at her, waiting for… what exactly? 

A furious blush colours the girl’s pale cheeks.

“I… should probably go make sure he’s okay. Have a good day, miss!” The blonde turns at the direction Zeph went off and starts at a sprint. It was only then that Shreya sprung into action, hurriedly calling out to the blonde before she left, “M-my name’s Shreya! What’s your name?!”

The blonde doesn’t look back at her, but she yells, “Celestine! See you around!”

—

“So that’s why Aoi was so grumpy when we stepped out,” Aster chuckles as she sipped her sencha tea. They’d been friends for a while, as Shreya was a regular at Maison D’Yew, despite having people who could easily run the errands for her at Mistry manor. Whether it was just a Shreya thing, or an excuse to visit Aster, the wood nymph didn’t mind. 

It was always nice to see one of her only friends.

“For what it’s worth, I apologised to Aoi the shrub before I went inside the shop,” Shreya offers. “And besides, it wasn’t all that terrible.” Her face warms at the memory of the girl — Celestine, she reminds herself — and the concern she showed for her. Shreya absently stares at the steam coming off her drink, remembering the blonde’s delicate blue eyes which were, fittingly enough, the colour of a strontium sulphate mineral, celestine. 

Her parents must be familiar with Attuneless science. I should ask her next time.

Silence descends over the two girls as Shreya spaced out and Aster observed her. She blows at her tea again, before taking a sip. “So when are you going to see her again?”

Shreya almost spills her hot drink and shoots Aster an incredulous look. The green-skinned girl pauses with a blank look of her own and blinks, before giggling as she realises her friend’s thought process.

“For the last time, I can’t read your mind unless you’re a plant. I just know what you look like when you’re excited about something.”

Shreya grips her mug a little tighter, in an attempt to fight down her worsening blush. Aster continues to observe her reactions over her cup of tea. “Or someone, in this case.”

“… She was really cute, okay?”

Aster can’t fight off the grin on her face. Checkmate.

She reaches out a woody hand to pry off Shreya’s own from her grip on the hot cocoa and pats her friend’s manicured nails. They were painted a deep crimson today. “You should ask her out.”

Shreya sighs, “But what if she’s not into girls? I don’t want her to be uncomfortable.”

Aster tilts her head slightly and blinks. It wasn’t like the heiress to resign herself to the possibility that the girl she was interested in identified as heterosexual. “But what if she is? And more importantly,” Aster leans into her friend’s personal space to whisper in her ear. 

“What if she’s into you?”

Shreya jerks back from her friend, clamping a hand over her ear. She shivers like she was just put under a shower of ice cold water. She narrows her eyes are the wood nymph as she tries to calm her breathing. “Why are you being so cheeky today, Ass?”

Aster simply shrugs with a pleasant smile. “One of us has to bring the cheek to move the conversation along. It’s obviously not going to be you, what with this smitten state you’re in.”

Shreya rolls her eyes, “Spare me; my cat’s sassier than you.”

Aster blinks, “You don’t have a cat.”

Shreya throws up her hands in exasperation, “That’s the point!”

The two continue to lock gazes in a contest of wills: Shreya with a piercing glare, and Aster with an amused sparkle. The competition was intense, as if the winner would have their argument proven right.

“Zeph, slow down! You might bump into someone again!”

Shreya’s attention immediately strays to the voice. Could it be…?

“No can do, Leblanc! Those croissants might get sold out!” A voice, presumably Zeph, answers as the front door of the café is slammed open by said male. “Hannah, my bro! Two croissants on the double!”

The short-haired blonde at the register rolls her eyes before shaking her head. “Alright, Denim. But sit your ass down, okay?”

Zeph flamboyantly stands at attention, before giving a dramatic salute. “Roger that, Pixie cut!”

“You’re being way too dramatic,” Celestine steps into the shop, putting her hair up in a ponytail, presumably to cool herself off from running after Zeph. Her hair tie is held between her lips, giving Shreya the perfect excuse to look at them.

Celestine seems to notice the stares directed at her, as her gaze connects with Shreya’s. Her eyes light up in recognition, and her hand immediately comes up to wave at the Fire-Att. 

“Why hello, Shreya! Fancy seeing you again,” Celestine walks over to their table, then rocks back and forth on her heels as she stands.

Shreya brings up a had to wave back, feeling the clamminess that had suddenly developed. “Hi, Celestine. I’m usually here every Saturday with my friend Aster here.” She gestures to Aster, who was absolutely buzzing with excitement. The flowers in her hair were blooming.

“As she said, my name is Aster and it’s so wonderful to meet you, Celestine. Shreya was just telling me about the incident this morning with my Hydrangea macrophylla, Aoi.” The wood nymph managed to get up from her seat and move towards Celestine within that sentence to grasp and shake the girl’s pale hand with her pliant fingers. “He’s thankful for your wood magick because it fixed the branches Shreya broke when she fell into him.”

Celestine draws a blank look, before looking over to Shreya for help. The heiress simply nods, but what does that even mean? She decides that it’s better to play along. “Well, he’s very welcome. I didn’t get the chance to tell him that his flowers were a very beautiful shade of blue.”

“Honestly, Aster, how many times do I have to apologise?” Shreya complains from her seat on the table.

Aster grins at Celestine’s response while pointedly ignoring Shreya, “I’ll be sure he gets the message.” She stares meaningfully into the confused blonde’s eyes, bringing up a hand to hover over the other girl’s cheek. Celestine can feel the coolness of her skin, a plant-like material that felt much like the stem of a flower. Her eyes suddenly darken into a tar-black, seeping into the veins of her translucent skin, “It’s not often that you find humans — Attuned, especially — who care as much for plants.”

Sensing the newcomer’s shock and exponentially growing discomfort, Shreya interrupts. “Hey, uhm, Celestine, would you guys like to sit with us?”

And just as suddenly, Aster is back from her Branching, “That’s a wonderful idea!” She moves to pull out the chair next to Shreya (and if it ends up skewed a little too close to her friend’s seat, well, Aster doesn’t know anything about that).

“I’ll go ahead and assist your friend there are the counter. It seems like he’s having a bit of trouble,” Aster points to where Zeph is gesturing wildly in a conversation with Hannah (aka Pixie cut), who was managing the counter. “Don’t eat her up while I’m gone,” she grins at Shreya, who blushed at the insinuation, but kept her cool this time. 

She fires back with a grin of her own.

“I make no promises.”

––