#he needs to be emotionally congested

[waitingonher]

NIGHTS LIKE THESE — [hoo boys drabbles]

summary: how they react to your bad dreams.

author's note: i wrote leo's + jason's part imagining that the cabins/barracks have individual rooms sooo...also ik this trope is so ran through in the pjo fandom but it's just toooo good i couldn't help myself

percy jackson

percy has always been the type of person to pick up the phone no matter the time. even as he’s on a lone movie marathon and the scene reaches its long-anticipated climax, he’s reaching for his buzzing phone that’s lost beneath the sheets. having found it after the third ring, percy checks the time and the caller id. why are you calling him so late? he answers, “hi babe. i thought you had to wake up early this morning, why are you awake?” 

“hi percy,” your voice was shaky and congested, as if you’d been crying. percy immediately sits up, alarmed at the state of your voice, “did i wake you up?” 

“no, no, i was up watching movies. what’s wrong? is everything okay?” he’s seated at the edge of his bed now, anxiously awaiting your response. 

you force him to sit in silence as you think of an excuse, “yeah, um…i’m okay. i just wanted to hear your voice. but i’ll see you on thursday, okay? goodni-” 

“(y/n), what’s going on?” percy runs a hand through his hair as he heads out of his room to his kitchen. he rips off a napkin from the roll and snatches a pen from the drawer. on the napkin, he writes a brief message to sally, saying that he’d be over at your place and not to worry. 

“nothing. i’m fine, percy,” you mutter. but your boyfriend knows you too well. the way your voice quivers makes it sound as though you were trying to convince yourself that everything was okay, and you were failing miserably. 

percy places his phone between his ear and shoulder as he ties his shoes, “don’t leave me in the dark, (y/n).” 

“don’t worry about me. i’m fine it was just-” 

“babe, i’m coming over, okay?” and with that, percy hangs up. 

he’s walked this path over a hundred times, usually for dropping you off after dates or simply for hanging out with you. but this time, all percy can think about is how you sounded over the phone and that he needs to seriously pick up the pace. 

upon arrival, percy climbs up the fire escape ladder as quickly and quietly as possible. it’s only now that he’s grateful for his experience from all of those laborious quests. reaching your floor, he knocks delicately on the glass. 

“percy, what are you doing here?” you ask after he closes your window, “i’m sorry, you really didn’t need to come all this way. it’s like three in the morning and you-” 

your boyfriend silences you with a gentle kiss, “i’m okay. it’s you i’m worried about. what’s wrong?” 

“it was just a dream.” 

“just a dream?”

“yes, it was just a stupid dream.” 

percy grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him, “(y/n), you’re one of the strongest people i know. so if you were crying over it, then it really must be something.” 

you slump on your bed, and percy joins beside you. it's no use hiding it from percy, so with a sigh, you confess, “well, you’re here now. but it just felt so real,” your eyes begin to prick with tears again, “you were laying on the floor…and there was just so much blood, and i tried to stop it—i really did try—but it just kept coming and there was nothing else i could do.” 

honestly, percy didn’t know what to say. but he did know that if your dream was anything like the ones he had about you, they were emotionally and physically crushing. so, he decides that if he can’t say anything, he’d rather show you. percy gently guides your body, until the both of you are laying down. with a strong arm wrapped around your figure and the other rubbing slow circles on your back, he can only hope you understand the message he’s trying to convey. 

“i’m here, (y/n). everything’s going to be okay,” percy continues to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. slowly but surely, your crying mellows into only soft sniffles. 

as you lay on his chest, you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing body. it wasn’t at all like that dream of yours; his cold body eerily still on the floor. not at all like that. you allow yourself to slowly drift off with the rise and fall of his chest, strangely as if it were its own lullaby, “thank you, percy,” you manage to whisper. 

“i love you, (y/n). i’m not leaving you, ever. i promise,” percy whispers back. 

leo valdez

leo’s used to waking up several times in the middle of the night. considering the demigod dreams, he hasn’t remembered the last time he’s gotten a full night's rest, which is why he’s not surprised to be awake at the crisp hour of two a.m. he can’t even remember the dream this time, but leo bets it was another dream foreseeing his imminent death or the end of the world. 

as he stares at the pipes and wires running along the ceiling of bunker 9, a familiar ringtone sounds from his phone. leo quickly wipes the sleep from his eyes and picks up the phone from his nightstand, “(y/n)? are you okay? it’s so late.” 

there’s a silence, followed up by quiet sniffles. were you crying? “hi leo, i’m sorry i probably woke you up didn’t i? go back to sleep, i was-” 

“no i was already awake, what’s wrong?” the moment your boyfriend noticed your shaky voice, his attitude completely changed. suddenly awake and full of energy, he tears off his blanket and reaches for his hoodie and shoes.

considering the fact that you never really call so late alarms him. you calling either meant that you had a nightmare or you were hurt…and leo prayed it was the dream. 

“i’m sorry…” you take a deep breath, “i just had a bad dream, like one of those dreams, you know?” leo knows all too well what you’re talking about, and if it’s anything close to the dreams he has, he can only imagine what you’re feeling, “but i swear i’m okay now. i’ll see you later?” 

but leo’s already out the door as you finish your explanation, “i’m coming over, stay there.” 

“wait leo-” 

he hung up. 

the trek through the forest was usually something one would avoid, especially at this hour, but leo couldn't give less of a shit as he thinks about you crying in your room. a few minutes later after practically sprinting to your cabin, he arrives. locating the window to your room was easy, he’d done this several times before for your sleepovers. leo knocks as quietly as he can on the glass, hoping he doesn’t disturb any of your other siblings. 

surprised, you pull your curtain aside and are face to face with none other than your boyfriend. he looks sweaty and out of breath. leo ran all this way? pushing your question to the side, you rush to open the window and let him in. 

for the first time, leo really gets a good look at you. your eyes are red and puffy; you look at him with such desperation and he can’t help but pull you into a rib-cracking hug. 

“you actually came.” 

“what? of course i did, (y/n),” he takes your face into his hands, rubbing soft circles on each cheek. suddenly, tears begin to flow freely down your face. was it something he said? was he not supposed to come? 

you pick up on his confusion, “i’m sorry, i’m just…glad you’re alive,” leo sits you on your bed, and continues to wipe away the tears, his concern growing with each passing second. your boyfriend urges you to go on, “it’s just the same thing every night. i’m at your grave on the hill, and i’m all alone and it’s raining and i just-” 

“(y/n), breathe,” leo pulls you into his chest once more. he holds you so impossibly tight, ensuring that you know he’s there and he doesn’t plan to ever leave. his sacrifice during the final battle against gaia will forever be amongst one of leo’s biggest regrets. not because he had saved the world, but because of how hard it impacted you. without a doubt, you could easily say that those months where leo was gone were the hardest times of your life. and not a day goes by where leo thinks he can ever forgive himself for it, “i’m here. i’m alive.” 

you nod, your sobs turning into quiet hiccups. leo moves the two of you guys to be laying down, and as final reassurance, he gently guides your hand under his hoodie, allowing you to feel his steady heartbeat. your boyfriend’s skin is warm to the touch and you count his heartbeat…one…two…three. and that was proof enough, “you’re alive.” 

“i am,” leo soothes. he places a gentle kiss atop your head and pulls the covers over your bodies. his arms wrap tightly around your figure, holding you close, “sleep, (y/n). i’ll be here in the morning.”

jason grace

it’s late nights like these that jason has slowly come to appreciate. these scarce nights where he’s completed his praetor duties for the night and he allows himself to indulge in some self-care, which usually consists of a cup of hot herbal tea and a good book. 

usually, jason prefers historical books, oftentimes concerning roman myths or the occasional diary of some war general. what can he say? he likes to be all-knowing when it comes to these things. but this time, as he’s curled up in his bed, he reaches for the book that you had recommended to him: a classic romance novel. jason laughs to himself as he recalls you teasing him about his taste in literature. if he remembers correctly, you called him a “history-loving freak?” 

just as jason’s about to open the book, an unexpected ringing sounds from his phone. he huffs, momentarily disapointed. that is, until he sees who’s calling, “(y/n)? hi, are you okay?” 

“oh, hi,” jason noticed the way your voice sounded off, like you’d been crying, “i didn’t think you’d actually answer.” 

confused, he puts the book back on his nightstand, “of course i would, my love. what’s going on? you sound like you’ve been crying.” 

“no, everything’s okay i just…” you pause, “had a bad dream, so i wanted to listen to your voicemail.”

jason’s heart squeezes at the thought of you going so far as to listen to his own ten second voicemail as a method of comfort. but the feeling goes away just as quickly as it came upon hearing you had a nightmare, “oh i’m sorry, my love. do you want me to come over?” 

“no,” you reply, “it’s okay. i’m better now that i’ve heard your voice. you can go back to bed, jason.” 

despite you declining his offer, jason’s already up and putting his shoes on, “i’ll be there in a few, okay? i love you,” and he hangs up. 

within a handful of minutes, jason reaches your cohort’s barracks. the square windows look impossibly similar, but it’s all thanks to practice that he recognizes yours. even as praetor, he still has to enforce the rules and sneak around. with a quiet knock on your window, he waits in the dark for you. 

“you’re here. you’re alive, jason,” is all you can muster up as your boyfriend stands tall inside your room. his expression is clearly written with worry as he closes the gap between you with a hug. as hard as you tried to fight it, the tears came again in a fresh wave. 

“yeah, i’m here, (y/n). i’m not leaving,” he replies, concern laced in his words. jason notices your tears and gently wipes them away, “c’mere, tell me about your dream,” he beckons, guiding you towards the bed. with a gentle plop, he settles down and opens his arms, inviting you to join him.

settling against jason’s chest, you take a shaky breath as he places kisses on your temple, “i was at your funeral, and you looked so peaceful, like you were sleeping. i just can’t stop thinking about how you looked asleep. and then they expected me to, you know, give a speech in front of the entire camp about you, and i just…i can’t imagine a world without you, so please, you can’t leave me like that.” 

“woah, woah, (y/n) i’m okay, breathe,” jason hushes you, rubbing soft circles on your arm. to be frank, he’s pretty shocked about what you had just said. he can’t get over how shaken up you are by this. but jason can’t even blame you, because if it were him who had the dream, he bets he would also be like this, “i’m here and i have no plan of ever leaving, okay? i’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life,” he jokes, hoping to get at least a smile from you. 

jason’s joke succeeds as he feels your body shake with a quiet giggle, “good. i wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

your boyfriend checks your face once more, ensuring that you’ve stopped crying. seeing that you have, he places delicate kisses on each cheek, “hey, how about we go to sleep now? i’ll read you that book,” jason motions to the book on your nightstand, which happens to be the same one you recommended him. 

you nod tiredly, “only if you do different voices for each character.” 

“of course, only for you,” jason quips. 

after adjusting your bodies, jason reaches for the book and opens it to chapter one. but before he begins, he pulls the covers completely over your body and places a chaste kiss on your forehead, “i love you so much, (y/n). and i hope you know that i’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

[seravphs]

hope you miss me the way I miss you 

The longing for his touch feels like a physical wound. Every cell in your body remembers him, waits for something that won’t come. 

wc — 1k

tags — angst, oliver aiku x fem reader, exes/break up

It sounds like he’s going to break down your door. 

“Stop- fucking-“ You’re undoing the locks with such aggression the tips of your fingers get caught in the metal, smarting. “I’m coming, damn it!” 

Oliver looks stupid when you open the door, his fist suspended halfway in the air, but you probably- definitely- look worse. 

There are tears in your eyes, you haven’t showered in two days, and you can’t remember the last time you ate something that wasn’t a frozen tv dinner. 

“I came-“ he’s breathing hard, which means something, because he’s an elite football player, which means- which means- you’re trying not to think about it, because thinking about it will meaning reading too much into it. “I came as soon as I heard. You should’ve called.” 

“You’re not my boyfriend, Aiku.” 

He flinches. “Don’t call me that.” 

You’re being petty. 

You’re allowed. 

People let you do anything now that they know you’re grieving. They don’t even make you explain. 

If they did, they’d probably be a lot less sympathetic. 

“It’s fine,” you say, your voice hoarse. You can’t hear it over the throbbing, painful pulse of congestion in your ears and nose. “I’m being silly.” 

“It’s not fine,” Oliver says sternly. “It was important to you.” 

He doesn’t say important to us, which is unfair, considering that you adopted that plant together. That was your son. 

Oliver always did say that he took after you more. 

“Did you..?” 

“I couldn’t throw him away,” you admit. “He’s in that jar. The blue ceramic one, with the moons.” 

“This is new,” he says, spotting the roses sitting in the vase next to it. 

“They’re, um, for his funeral,” you say, lying through your teeth. Oliver sees right through you - they’re half dead, a week old at least. Before everything happened. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“I can bury it- him-“ He offers. 

“It’s fine,” you hiss. “You should- I think you should just leave.” 

Oliver reaches out, almost like he wants to touch you, before he thinks better of it and his fingers curl back into his hand. You wish he would’ve. The longing for his touch feels like a physical wound. Every cell in your body remembers him, waits for something that won’t come. 

The laugh he gives you is so hollow and fake, it’s sickening. “You always had a hard time accepting help,” he says, but he’s wrong. 

This time, at least. 

You’re already starting to get over it. You loved that plant, but that plant was just a stand in for something else. Now that you have the actual source of grief in your apartment, your mind clears and you think back on the past few days, weeping over this little prickly cactus, with an almost horrified amusement. 

Oliver always did manage to get you to act unlike yourself. He loved to poke and prod you until you showed him something new that you’d never showed anyone. 

And now you have to do that all over again with somebody else. 

It makes you feel ridiculous. You can’t imagine being close enough to someone to cry hysterically over the death of a plant you bought together, enough to take off work for several days, but you used to not be able to imagine that with Oliver. You got too comfortable with him. 

Maybe one day, you’ll be comfortable again with somebody else. 

“Let me tidy up at the very least,” he says. 

“You hate chores,” you remind him. 

“So do you,” he retorts. 

“This is my apartment. I have to do it. You don’t have to do anything.” 

He sucks in a breath. He remembers you, but you remember him, too. And you know where it hurts. 

Obligation is the end of love. 

“Don’t do that,” Oliver says. “Please.” 

He’s always been polite, even when he’s been horrible. That’s his charm. And of course he’s the most emotionally intelligent after it’s over. 

Isn’t that how he always is? 

He can never be what you need when you need it, but he'll always find a way to become what you most regret. 

“Let me stay,” he pleads. “I want to help you. I still care about you. You know I do. Please, you know-“ He hesitates. “You know I care.” 

You’re wavering and he knows it and you hate that he can still read you so well after everything. You don’t have tells. But Oliver drags them out of you kicking and screaming. 

You don’t want to be this easy for him, but he’s already known every part of you. It’s impossible to take back a decision like that. Impossible to hide when once, there was nothing to hide. 

“I miss you.” 

You didn’t mean to. It just slips out.

To your combined grief and relief, he ignores it completely. There’s no need to say what’s been said a million times, things you both know. 

He misses you too. 

It hurts you all over again, because if he cared so much, why didn’t he care enough to make it work? 

The horribleness of it all is only amplified by how good it feels to let him take care of you. He hurt you so terribly, but he’s the only one who can make it better. 

Even after everything, he’s still the only one who can give you some relief in your suffering just by his mere presence, and you hate him for it as much as you love him. 

You can take the pain of missing him, but you can’t take the humiliation of taking him back after everything he’s done to you. You have too much pride for that. 

Your best friends have seen you crying in bed, begging them to take your phone away from you just so you won’t make the mistake of calling him. 

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.” 

He coaxes you right into his arms, tucking you into the space between his heart and his rib cage to keep you safe. His plain blue tee is soft, feeling nothing like his jerseys. It’s old and familiar, washed so many times the color has faded to a soft powder. 

“Yeah,” he says. You can feel his breath against the top of your head. “I kind of expected you to say that.” 

You’re probably going to miss him forever, but you can at least try to get over it. There are better mistakes waiting for you. 

[aller-geez]

If you're still looking for fic reqs could we maybe see either Remi hiding a horrible cold from Levi who is mad at him because he feels like he deserves it because he knows he's fucked up, or sick Elex in that scenario?

Hey there Nonny!

Here’s your fic with sick Remi hiding his cold from a pissed off Levi! ( @thekinkyleopard owns 🖤)

Hopefully this is what you were looking for, but I very much could have misinterpreted your request at the end, and if so I’m sorry 😭😭

Cold Shoulder

Written & illustrated by: allergeez ✨

Summary: Remi and Levi's relationship is tested after a heated argument leaves them emotionally distant and struggling to communicate. As Levi asks for space, Remi silently battles feelings of regret, isolation, and an increasingly severe illness that he hides from Levi. The tension between them grows deeper, characterized by silence and unspoken longing. Eventually, both must confront their fears and insecurities to bridge the emotional gap and rediscover the meaning of support and affection in their relationship. 5.4k words

Content Warnings:

Emotional conflict and interpersonal tension

Depictions of illness (fever, congestion, intense sneezing, coughing)

Themes of self-isolation and emotional neglect

References to anxiety, guilt, and depressive episodes

Explicit descriptions of sneezing and illness-related symptoms

“You never talk to me, Remi!” Levi’s voice cracked mid-sentence, part from anger, part from something far more fragile underneath.

Remi stood stiff in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight. His shaggy black hair hung in his eyes, glowing green and dim—like low coals barely containing their heat. “I do talk to you, Levi. Just not in the way you want.”

“That’s not fair and you know it.” Levi’s hands trembled at his sides, fingers curled tight, like he was physically holding himself back from throwing something. “I ask you if something’s wrong and you brush me off. I try to check in, and you disappear into yourself until you think I’ll stop asking. You can’t keep shutting me out every time you get in your own head.”

Remi looked away, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “It’s better than dumping all my shit on you.”

“Oh, so now I’m just a liability? Thanks.”

“No, that’s not—” Remi ran a hand over his face, voice strained. “That’s not what I meant. I just… I didn’t want to make it worse. You’ve been stressed, and I didn’t want to add to it.”

Levi laughed, sharp and humorless. “You didn’t want to burden me? God, Remi, do you even hear how that sounds?”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full—of everything neither of them was saying. The tension pressed against the walls, brittle and cold.

“I just need some space,” Levi said finally, softer now, but no less final. “Just for a while.”

Remi didn’t fight it.

He just nodded once, stiff and quiet, and stepped back out of the kitchen. The sound of his boots retreating down the hall was too loud in the silence that followed.

Levi stayed rooted to the tile, arms wrapped tightly around himself, already wondering if he was going to regret asking for that space.

Neither of them noticed the faint, stifled snfkk! Remi muffled into his sleeve as he disappeared into the dark.

The sun barely filtered through the heavy drapes of the living room, casting a pale, gray-tinted light across the floor. The space was quiet—too quiet—and far colder than it usually felt.

Remi stirred from the couch with a low groan, one arm draped over his eyes. He hadn't even bothered changing out of yesterday’s clothes. The hoodie clung to him, the collar damp with sweat, but even still, he couldn’t stop shivering.

His head throbbed, each pulse of pressure behind his eyes syncing up with the distant ringing in his ears. His throat felt scraped raw, and every breath through his nose came with a wet, reluctant snffkk.

He sniffled again, louder this time, and winced as the congestion refused to budge. He wiped his nose roughly on the sleeve of his hoodie and sat up slowly, the pounding in his skull intensifying the second he moved.

He blinked blearily at the empty space in front of him. Levi wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t.

The echo of last night’s argument hovered at the edge of his thoughts, clearer now than it had been in the heat of the moment.

You never talk to me.
You shut me out.
You didn’t want to burden me?

Each word hit harder than the last. And now—on top of everything—his body had decided to fall apart too.

“Hhhuhh—hiiih’ISHHHh—uhH!! Snnffhh!”

The sneeze exploded from him with no time to catch it. He turned his head just barely, spraying into the open air with a helpless sniffle afterward.

His nose dripped instantly, and he scrambled for the tissue box on the coffee table, only to find it empty. He cursed softly under his breath, grabbing a wrinkled napkin from last night’s leftover takeout bag instead and blowing his nose into it with a miserable, wet honk.

He should tell Levi. He should say something.

But Remi just leaned back on the couch, eyes half-lidded and burning, and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Levi needed space. That’s what he’d asked for. And Remi wasn’t about to crawl back into their shared room coughing and sneezing like a kicked dog just for sympathy.

He already felt like a walking pile of regret. He could handle a little head cold.

Probably.

His stomach turned. His head pulsed. His sinuses burned. And his throat ached with every shallow swallow.

Totally fine.

“Hhhuhh—hehh… hh'IETSH’UE!! snfffffffhh— hhuhhhhh— HI’DTSCHIEW!”

The next two sneezes snapped him forward with force, and he slumped sideways, panting through his mouth, wiping his nose uselessly on the napkin again.

The space between him and Levi had never felt so wide.

Remi lay half-slumped against the arm of the couch, legs stretched out haphazardly, one arm draped over his aching stomach. The other hung limply at his side, fingers still clutched weakly around the crumpled napkin he’d already destroyed with half a dozen nose blows. He needed to get up—needed more tissues, water, anything—but he couldn’t make his body move.

His sinuses throbbed with a swollen, pressurized ache that refused to let him breathe properly. Every inhale through his nose whistled and gurgled, a disgusting symphony of congestion and rawness, but his mouth was too dry to keep doing all the work.

And worst of all… the sneezing. Or rather—the lack of sneezing.

That maddening tickle had nested deep inside his sinuses, clawing its way through every nerve ending, teasing and prickling at the edge of relief like a cruel joke. His nostrils twitched endlessly, his breath hitching in shallow, helpless gasps as the sensation threatened to crest again and again.

“Hhhuhh… hhihhh… hhh-hh’ihhh… snffkk!”

His head tilted back, eyelids fluttering, mouth parting with a soft, pre-sneeze whimper—only for the feeling to vanish at the last moment, like smoke slipping through his grasp.

He sniffled hard, the wet sound miserable and ineffective. “F-fuck’s sake,” he rasped, rubbing at his nose with the cuff of his hoodie, only for the tickle to flare again, sharp and urgent.

“Huhhh-hhhEHh’t—hhihhh!… hh-HHhuhh—snffhh… ughhhh…”

He hung there, trapped in a purgatory of near-release, his whole body tense and expectant, every breath shaky and unsatisfying. The prickling itch climbed back into place, crawling along the bridge of his nose and curling up beneath his sinuses like it knew what it was doing.

Then finally—finally—one slipped free.

“hhEhh-! HhEHh’iiTShh’iiEW! Snngkkt!!”

It was harsh, messy, uncontained. The force bent him forward at the waist, leaving a damp shimmer across the front of his hoodie and a ringing in his ears. It didn’t help. It didn’t clear anything.

Another swelled in its wake almost immediately. His breath hitched again, harder this time, chest rising sharply, muscles locking tight in anticipation.

“HhhUHhh... hhuhhh-HHhhuh—hh’IEHHHt’SHHHhhkk!! Hhuhhh-Hnkt'KNXTuhh!…snnrkkk…”

This one he tried to stifle, purely out of reflex—but the pressure in his head exploded behind his eyes like a hammer, and the stifle only made his skull throb harder.

He groaned aloud, dragging both hands up to cradle his forehead. His skin burned with fever, clammy and tight. Every nerve behind his sinuses pulsed like his body was punishing him for the build-up. And still... he could feel more hovering, teasing just out of reach.

His glowing green eyes were bleary now, dulled with exhaustion and thick tears he couldn’t wipe away fast enough. He swiped at his face with his sleeve again, damp and useless, but the tickle refused to stop. It lingered, wicked and insistent, burning just high enough to taunt but never low enough to let go.

“Snfhh… huhhh... h-hhuhhhHh… oh god—just—f-fucking sneeze already—hh’kKTSSCHhh!!”

He coughed afterward, deep and chesty, curling into himself with a moan. His hoodie clung to his overheated skin, his body trembling with the sheer exhaustion of fighting against every sneeze, every breath, every aching limb.

But still, he didn’t move.

He just sniffled again, throat dry and raw, and closed his eyes as he let his head fall back against the cushion.

Somewhere far away, he thought he heard the creak of the hallway floorboards. But it was probably just his own heartbeat pounding through his ears.

Remi had never been good at apologizing. Not with words, at least.

He wanted to say something. To fix the raw look that had been on Levi’s face the night of the fight. But every time he imagined walking into the room to try, all that came out was a rasped-up, barely intelligible grunt—and the bitter knowledge that Levi probably didn’t want to see him anyway.

So he gave Levi the space he’d asked for.

And if that space just so happened to involve Remi getting steamrolled by a brutal head cold, well... that was his own damn fault, wasn’t it?

He slept on the couch, curled into a ball far too small for his broad frame, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands like a kid trying to disappear. The blanket was too thin, the cushions too stiff, but he didn’t dare venture back to their shared bed. Not when he was this gross. Not when Levi still hadn’t looked him in the eyes since the fight.

The sneezes never came in ones. They dragged through him in doubles and triples, clawing up from deep in his sinuses, tearing through his chest, leaving him gasping and sniffling and soaked with fever sweat.

But Levi never heard them. Not once.

Remi made sure of that.

He’d press his face into a balled-up towel, practically biting down on it as the sneezes tore through him. When he needed to cough—which was often, wet and painful and rattling—he turned on the shower and let the water run, trying to time each fit between bursts of steam.

He flushed the toilet when he blew his nose. Opened the window in the kitchen when he heated soup, so the smell wouldn’t carry. Not that he could taste anything. His sense of smell had packed up and left two days ago.

Tissues were never left out in the open. He kept a stash rolled into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, pulling them out discreetly and stuffing the used ones deep down in the trash so Levi wouldn’t see.

When Levi passed him in the hallway—which was rare—Remi straightened up, cleared his throat, and offered a lazy “Hey.” Short. Normal. Cool.

Levi would nod, maybe say something neutral in return, then disappear into another room.

Good.

Better this way.

He didn’t need Levi worrying about him, not while he was still mad. He didn’t need pity. He didn’t want to force sympathy. He could take care of himself until Levi forgave him—or decided he wasn’t worth forgiving.

The hardest part wasn’t the sneezing, or the aching, or the fevers that left his skin clammy and his limbs too heavy to move. It wasn’t even the bone-deep fatigue that made walking down the hall feel like a hike through molasses.

It was the silence. The space. The absence of Levi’s voice in his day, of Levi’s fingers raking through his hair while they watched something dumb, of his laughter filling the corners of the house like sunlight.

He curled tighter on the couch and pressed his face into a cold pillow. His chest rattled with a breath he tried to keep quiet. His nose ran. His throat burned.

But still, he didn’t go to Levi.

He’d made his mess. Now he’d lay in it—and sneeze in it—until Levi was ready.

At first, the silence felt justified.

Levi had needed space—no, demanded it. And Remi, for once, hadn’t argued. He’d just backed off, cool and quiet, like he always did when the conversations got too deep or the feelings got too big.

At first, Levi told himself it was fine. He needed time to cool down, to think. To stop hearing Remi’s voice in his head with that infuriating mix of logic and avoidance.

But after a day, the silence didn’t feel empowering anymore. It felt empty.

He noticed it when he went to grab tea from the cabinet and realized Remi hadn’t touched the coffee in over 24 hours. Not once. Not even for a dramatic, sleepy entrance into the kitchen followed by his usual lazy grumbling about mornings.

He noticed it when he passed the bathroom and saw the light was on—but the door was closed, locked, and the sound of the shower running had been going for too long. Too quiet in between.

He noticed it when the couch cushions remained uneven, the blanket in the living room stayed rumpled for three days, and the familiar, low murmur of Remi’s favorite music didn’t echo through the floorboards.

And worst of all, he noticed it in Remi’s absence.

Not the physical kind—Remi was clearly here, somewhere. But emotionally? Remi had vanished.

He wasn’t showing up in Levi’s space. Wasn’t peeking into the kitchen with a smirk. Wasn’t making a half-hearted joke to break the tension, or pretending nothing had happened to coax a reaction out of him.

Remi was quiet.

And Remi was never quiet like this.

Levi curled his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie as he stood in the hallway, staring at the closed guest room door. His chest ached with something he didn’t want to name.

Had he pushed too hard? Said something too far?

He was angry—still angry—but now the silence didn’t feel like a boundary. It felt like punishment.

And it wasn’t Remi who was doing the punishing. It was himself.

Levi wiped his sleeve across his nose—dry, irritated—and exhaled shakily. His throat burned, but not from a cold.

He missed Remi. He missed his stupid, stubborn smirks and the way he curled his hand behind Levi’s neck when no one was looking. He missed his glow-in-the-dark eyes blinking sleepily over the lip of a coffee mug. He missed having someone there—even if they weren’t saying the right things. Even if they weren’t saying anything at all.

His eyes burned.

“God,” he whispered, swallowing hard. “What if I asked for space when he really needed me?”

The thought hit him like a stone to the chest.

Remi had a way of making himself invisible when he thought he was a problem. He’d done it before—physically there, emotionally tucked out of reach, like he was hiding behind a wall no one could climb.

It started with a sound.

A subtle one, muffled, easy to miss if he hadn’t been walking down the hall at just the right moment.

“Shhffhh—snrrkkk... snfffhh.”

Levi paused mid-step, brows drawing together. He turned his head slightly toward the bathroom door. It was closed—but not locked. The fan wasn’t on, and the sink wasn’t running.

He waited. Listened.

“Snfhhk.”

Another thick sniffle, like someone was trying to clear a nose too congested to budge. Then… silence.

Levi’s eyes narrowed.

He almost knocked. Almost called out.

But something held him back. He straightened, turned on his heel, and walked away instead, jaw tight. Guilt sulking, he told himself. He probably wants attention. Probably trying to make it look like he’s suffering just enough for sympathy, but not enough to be obvious. Classic Remi.

And yet...

Later that afternoon, while grabbing clean towels from the laundry room, he saw it: a single, crumpled tissue sitting on top of the washing machine. Not a paper towel. Not one of their backup napkins. A tissue.

Levi stared at it for a long moment.

He picked it up with two fingers, tossed it in the trash, and tried not to let it gnaw at him.

He passed Remi in the hall the next morning.

They hadn’t been making eye contact much—just awkward nods and brief, one-word exchanges—but Levi noticed, this time, that Remi’s hoodie sleeves were pulled down lower than usual. His shoulders were more hunched. His steps were slow, dragging like every movement took effort.

And just as Levi opened his mouth to say something—anything—Remi turned his head sharply to the side.

“Hhh’IISSHhh!… hHh’tSSCHuhh!”

Two violent, congested sneezes bent him at the waist before he could stop them. He stumbled, one hand bracing against the wall, the other pressed into the crook of his arm, shaking from the effort.

Levi froze.

Remi didn’t even look at him.

He just sniffled—wet and low—and muttered a broken, “S’cuse me,” before practically vanishing into the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him, locked this time.

Levi stood there, heart pounding, throat dry.

That hadn’t been a man sulking.

That was someone sick. Really sick.

And he had let Remi suffer like that.

It started with a sound Levi couldn’t ignore.

He was halfway down the hallway, balancing a mug of tea in one hand, when he heard it—sharp, muffled, desperate.

“Hhh’IISSHHHhh’uhhh!!”

The force of it seemed to echo through the closed bathroom door, followed by a gasping inhale and another violent, stifled attempt at control that utterly failed.

“HHRR’tSCHHHuhhh—!!”

Levi froze, his brow furrowing, heart instantly kicking up a notch.

That wasn’t the quiet kind of sniffle he’d overheard earlier in the week. That was full-body, raw sneezing—unrestrained and pained.

He stepped closer to the door, listening.

“Snnkkggfffhh—huhh… Huh’GDSHHhh’ihh! hhuhhh-hhuh Hd’IZTSsHHhhh’-uhh!!”

Each one slammed through Remi with increasing desperation. There was no space between them—just breathless recovery before the next hit, as if holding back for so long had finally snapped something open.

Levi’s stomach turned.

The muffled, wet rustling of tissues came next. A groan. The scrape of something heavy against tile—maybe Remi slumping down to sit against the wall.

Then:

“hhuhhh’uhhHHH—hh’HGDSCHhh!! … hhuhh’DZSCHhhh!

—f-fuuhhck— hhuhh-hhehh’HhETSCHhhhuh!!”

Levi stepped up to the door and pressed his free hand against it gently.

“Rem?” he said, voice careful. Steady. “You okay in there?”

A long pause.

Then a croaked, soaked voice from the other side: “’M fine.”

It was laughable. He sounded like he was gargling gravel, breath catching, sinuses completely shot.

Levi’s throat tightened.

“You don’t sound fine,” he said softly. “Remi, open the door.”

There was a shuffling noise, followed by a congested, miserable cough and the telltale flutter of a tissue being torn from the box. Then another thick blow.

“I—snfkkk—didn’t wadda... y-you were mbad,” came Remi’s hoarse, barely audible voice. “Didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Levi closed his eyes, pressing his palm harder to the door. “You’ve been hiding this for days?” he whispered, not trusting his voice to stay even.

“I was trying not to bother you,” Remi said again, but his breath was already hitching helplessly.

“hhHhh’IEHH’TSSCHHhh!—ehh’GKTSSHHhhue! huhhh-uhhh—hhNTSCH’uhh!”

The rhythm of the fit stole any chance at conversation. It was pure reflex now, violent and constant, and Levi could hear the misery radiating from the other side of the wood.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay,” he murmured, stepping back. “That’s enough.”

He gave the door a gentle knock. “I’m going to get the humidifier, some meds, and a fresh box of tissues,” he said, voice warm but insistent. “When I come back, I’m sitting on the other side of this door until you open it. You don’t have to say anything. Just let me in when you’re ready.”

There was a pause. Another congested breath. A small sniffle. And then—so quietly Levi almost missed it:

“…Kay.”

Levi exhaled shakily and turned, moving down the hall with purpose—but his heart ached with every step.

Remi hadn’t just been sick.

He’d been hiding.

And Levi had missed every single sign.

Remi sagged against the cold tile wall, the sleeves of his hoodie soaked at the cuffs, his breath coming in hot, shallow pants. The tissue in his hand had completely disintegrated at this point—too many sneezes, too wet to be of any use—and the trash can beside him was overflowing with a nest of damp, crumpled extras.

He hadn’t meant for Levi to hear him.

Hadn’t meant to lose it like that, trapped in the bathroom, no longer able to muffle the sneezes that kept tearing out of him like they were trying to drag his ribs out with them.

“hhuh- -hd’ISCHhh!! -h’dtTISHh! hhh’ISCHih! !! Snrkkkkff— hhuhh’TSSCHHh-uhh!”

The last one doubled him over, nearly knocked his head against the sink. He braced one arm against the counter, the other shielding his nose as another sneeze clawed up fast behind it.

“HhhiIHH— HI’DTSCHIEW!!! Huhh- hhuhhh… hHAHH’IKKTsh—uhh!!!”

His head swam. Each sneeze left him reeling, gasping, the congestion in his sinuses thick and relentless—like every blow should’ve cleared it, but none ever did.

His nose burned. His eyes watered constantly, not from tears but from sheer overstimulation. And his throat—god, his throat—felt like it had been scraped raw with sandpaper.

He sniffled hard, a sharp, wet sound that only half-worked, and hissed softly as it made the pressure behind his eyes throb. He wiped under his nose with the heel of his palm, vaguely aware of how gross he probably looked, but too tired to care. He caught his reflection in the mirror and winced.

His hair clung to his face in damp strands, cheeks flushed dark red against pale skin. His nostrils were pink and chapped from friction. Even his eyes looked dim, the usual radioactive glow dulled to a tired glimmer beneath heavy lids.

He was a mess. A stupid, stubborn, sneezy mess.

And Levi had heard it now. All of it.

Remi groaned, burying his face in the crook of his elbow as another fit clawed through his sinuses with ruthless precision.

“hhuhh—IHH’EKTSHHHhh!… hhuhhh… h-hh—hEhTXSSHhh’ih!!! snfhhk— hhuhh’ESSHHHuhhh!”

They just kept coming.

He couldn’t even finish a damn thought without another hitting him like a truck. Every word he might’ve said—“I’m sorry,” maybe, or “I didn’t mean to shut you out,” or “I missed you”—was swallowed in the sharp, helpless rhythm of his own body breaking down.

He slumped to the floor again, hoodie pulled tighter around him, body still quivering with post-sneeze tremors.

Remi’s hand trembled as he reached for the lock.

His body ached. His sinuses were an active warzone, and the effort of just getting upright again had left him winded. But through the misery fogging his thoughts—through the congestion, the heat, the rawness of his throat—he could still feel Levi’s presence just outside the door.

Quiet. Patient. Still there.

He leaned against the cool wood for a second, forehead pressing gently against it, and let out a slow, ragged breath through his mouth. Then, with a soft click, he turned the knob.

The door creaked open.

Levi was seated right there in the hallway, back against the wall, legs crossed, a glass of water in one hand and a box of tissues balanced on his lap. He looked up immediately—and whatever expression had been on his face softened into something unspoken the second he saw Remi.

Remi didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His voice was shredded, and the lump in his throat wasn’t all from the cold.

Levi rose to his feet slowly, setting the water and tissues aside.

His eyes moved over Remi—taking in the sweat-dampened hair, the flushed cheeks, the hoodie sleeves bunched around trembling fists, the completely ruined look on his face—and his jaw tightened slightly.

Not with anger. With hurt.

“Remi…” he whispered, voice thick. “God, you look—” He stopped himself and stepped forward, hands open, not touching, not assuming. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Remi blinked slowly, eyelids heavy and aching. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a small, helpless sound as his breath hitched again—an apology derailed by another building sneeze.

“hhuhh-hhhHhh… ihH’ktdSHhh!!! ! hHI’DTSCHIEW!—snfffh!”

He managed to turn away just in time, half-catching it in his already-damp sleeve before groaning and sagging against the doorframe.

That did it.

Levi stepped in, wordlessly slipping an arm around Remi’s waist to steady him, the other coming up to cradle the back of his neck.

“Come on,” he said softly. “You’re burning up. Let’s get you to the couch.”

Remi didn’t argue. Couldn’t. He just let Levi guide him, leaning into his touch like gravity demanded it. His legs ached. His nose was still running. His chest felt like it had splintered from the inside out. And yet, for the first time in days, something inside him began to settle.

The guilt still burned. But Levi was here.

Helping him stand. Holding him up.

And somehow, that was enough to let the walls fall.

He sniffled again, thick and miserable, and croaked softly, “I’b sorry.”

Levi’s eyes were already shining when he turned to look at him.

“I know,” he whispered. “But you don’t have to hide when you’re hurting, Rem. Especially not from me.”

Levi eased Remi down onto the couch like he was handling something fragile.

Which, honestly… he was.

The wolf’s usual strong, confident frame looked so much smaller curled into the cushions—his hoodie swallowed his shoulders, his flushed face was slack with exhaustion, and his glow-dimmed green eyes barely stayed open.

Levi tucked a blanket over him, gently adjusting it to cover Remi’s legs and half his torso, then reached over to pluck the tissue box off the coffee table and set it within easy reach.

Remi groaned softly and shifted, letting his head loll against the armrest. He looked completely and utterly wrecked. His hair was sweat-damp and tangled, his cheeks were glowing red under pale skin, and his nose was raw and twitching, never quite calming for more than a few seconds.

Levi knelt beside the couch and ran a hand through Remi’s messy black hair, combing it back from his forehead, then pressed the backs of his fingers against his burning skin. “You’re so feverish Acushla,” he murmured, his voice full of gentle exasperation. “You poor thing.”

“Snffhhk—d-dod’t say it like that…” Remi croaked, attempting a smirk that collapsed halfway in.

Levi chuckled under his breath. “What? Like you’re not pitiful right now?”

Remi sighed miserably and gave a congested sniffle. “Feels like… there’s a drill press… behi’d by eyes…”

“Your sinuses?” Levi asked, already sitting down on the edge of the couch cushion near Remi’s chest. “Cheekbones feel tight?”

“Yeah…” Remi breathed, his voice fading to a whimper. “They’re… throbbi’g. And that damnb tickle—snrggkk—wod’t leave. Feels like I’b godda sdeeze every five seco’ds…”

Levi gave him a warm, knowing look and reached up with both hands, thumbs poised just under Remi’s cheekbones.

“May I?” he asked softly.

Remi blinked at him blearily, caught off guard by the offer. “You… wadda bassage by face?”

Levi smiled. “Light pressure helps relieve sinus pressure. I read about it when I had that awful spring cold, remember? Plus…” He tilted his head with a soft look. “Might take the edge off that stubborn tickle, yeah?”

Remi let out a groggy, congested snort that was half a laugh. “God, you’re a derd.”

“You love that I’m a nerd,” Levi said, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Remi’s burning temple before gently beginning to rub small, slow circles beneath his cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs.

Remi melted.

The sigh that left him was deep and shaky, like he’d finally been able to release some hidden tension. “That’s… hhhnnnh—snfffhh—really dice…”

Levi kept the motion slow, mindful. “Just breathe through it, okay?” he whispered, watching Remi’s eyelids flutter.

The wolf’s breath kept hitching, his poor nose trembling beneath Levi’s fingers. But with the gentle pressure, the sneezing urge began to fade, retreating just slightly from the edge. His brows unknotted. His shoulders sank.

“Better?” Levi murmured.

“…Yeah,” Remi breathed, voice raspy but sincere. “Still gross, but like… slightly less cursed.”

Levi laughed softly and leaned down to nuzzle into his hair. “You’re my gross,” he murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Remi let his eyes close fully, sinking deeper into the couch as Levi continued the massage, his fingers warm, precise, and full of care.

For the first time in days, the ache behind Remi’s face finally eased.

And with Levi’s hands on his skin, whispering sweet nonsense under his breath, Remi didn’t feel sick and alone.

He just felt loved.

Remi’s face felt like it was made of steam and static and ache, but Levi’s touch… it was Magik.

The slow circles of his thumbs under Remi’s cheekbones were gentle but firm, chasing the pressure away little by little. And Levi knew exactly where to press—how to angle his thumbs to ease the throbbing behind his sinuses without making the lingering tickle in his nose worse again.

Remi didn’t even realize he was breathing through his nose for the first time in hours.

Levi didn’t stop the gentle pressure behind Remi’s cheekbones until he felt the other man’s body begin to truly relax. It wasn’t dramatic—just a gradual uncoiling of tension. The subtle slump of his shoulders. The slight parting of his lips as he began to breathe deeper, slower, the fight draining out of him like the fever had finally loosened its grip.

Remi’s lashes fluttered against the tops of his flushed cheeks, and a sleepy, hoarse sound escaped his throat—a noise halfway between a sigh and a congested hum.

Levi smiled faintly, brushing his thumb along the corner of Remi’s nose where it twitched slightly.

“Still itchy?” he whispered.

Remi didn’t answer. Not with words.

Just a faint sniffle, a slow blink, and the barely-there shake of his head before he tucked himself deeper under the blanket with a gravelly mutter of, “Jus’ keep touchin’ my face… s’nice…”

Levi chuckled under his breath and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of Remi’s jaw. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmured. “You’re lucky I’m a sucker for a sneezy disaster.”

A breathy huff of laughter escaped Remi—half-asleep now, barely there.

His body slackened into the couch. His lashes fluttered. His glowing green eyes, dulled by fever and exhaustion, finally closed.

He heard Levi's voice, soft and soothing and close, somewhere above him. “That’s it. Just rest. I got you, Acushla.”

Remi huffed a weak, stuffy breath that sounded like the ghost of a chuckle. “You always say that…”

“Because it’s always true,” Levi murmured, brushing a few stray strands of black hair from Remi’s damp forehead. He grabbed a tissue and gently wiped the edges of Remi’s nose with that same steady touch, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Remi didn’t even protest.

His pride was too tired.

His nose twitched again, and for a second, Levi thought he might be about to sneeze, but instead Remi just let out a soft, congested sigh, lips parting slightly as he finally allowed his body to give in to rest.

Levi tucked the blanket higher up around him and adjusted one of the throw pillows beneath Remi’s head. He watched the wolf’s breathing even out, slow and rhythmic, broken only by the occasional snuffly exhale or faint, unconscious sniffle.

The warm humidifier Levi had set up earlier hissed quietly in the corner, mist curling into the air like a lullaby.

Levi sat beside him on the couch, one arm gently draped along the top so his fingers could still trail through Remi’s shaggy hair. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

He just stayed.

Every now and then, Remi’s brow would crease in his sleep, and Levi would run a knuckle along his jaw until it smoothed out again. Every few minutes, Remi let out a hoarse little cough, and Levi would whisper, “It’s okay,” even if Remi couldn’t hear it.

He didn’t need to. He’d feel it.

The fight, the silence, the guilt—none of it mattered.

Levi reached for the cool glass of water he’d brought earlier and set it on the coffee table within reach. Then he tugged off his hoodie, draped it gently over Remi’s chest, and eased himself down onto the narrow space of the couch beside him.

It wasn’t graceful. Remi grumbled a little as Levi carefully maneuvered until his head found a place on Levi’s shoulder, tucked under his chin, arms still folded tight around the blankets.

Levi smoothed his fingers through the tangled, sweat-damp hair at the nape of Remi’s neck.

“Sleep, Rem,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

And this time… Remi did.

His breathing evened out, still a little snuffly, still punctuated by the occasional congested snore, but peaceful. Content. Safe.

Levi stayed awake a while longer, one hand in Remi’s hair, the other resting lightly over his blanket-covered chest, feeling the slow, warm rhythm of his mate’s heartbeat beneath his palm.

Maybe he hadn’t been there right away.

But he was here now.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

The End ✨

[skyloftian-nutcase]

@skyward-floored Congratulations on your follower milestone! Your writing is incredible, you’re full of ideas, and you’re fun to be around! Please enjoy Power and Warriors in a sickfic :)

.

Link stared across the field, speckled in snow as it was, shivering a little. The cold settled through his skin, into his heart and his bones.

It was over.

Such a victory should bring some sort of cheer, he supposed. But all he felt was frozen over, dread and emptiness taking root and pushing away any cheer like ice spreading within a container, cracking it.

He could hear the cheers of troops in the distance. Cia was defeated, and that was the end of it. Although Link had entered this war later than the other heroes, he still felt as if he should probably be cheering alongside them.

Well… the last time a war had ended things hadn’t gone great. Perhaps this was just leftover from that.

Nevertheless, despite his own feelings, he knew someone else who truly ought to celebrate. Yet he saw the captain shivering in the distance, scarf pulled tightly around him.

Perhaps it was because the others had already left. The war had technically ended a week ago. They’d all said their goodbyes. Yet Link chose to linger - he’d fretted, worried, and hated himself over leaving Zelda while she was in labor, but he’d had to investigate the threat while she was vulnerable. After speaking with Lana, and being assured that she could return him roughly around the time he’d left, that had eased his worries a great deal, though not entirely. With that knowledge, then, he found himself… delaying the inevitable. So while Mask and Tune had already returned to their own teams after a fairly tearful farewell, Link remained.

Which meant he saw the aftermath of their departure.

Swallowing, Link moved towards the small figure in the distance, boots crunching through the thin layer of snow that froze the grass beneath it. He knew the captain would be sad when the younger heroes left, given they were like brothers to him, yet he still wondered what else could be bothering his friend. The pair had left two days ago, and Hyrule was still celebrating its victory, and the captain had his friends and his mother there to be happy with him.

Should Link get General Impa? He himself was hardly suitable company for helping people emotionally. He tried time and again to be helpful to the captain, but he sometimes wondered if it really made a difference.

“Link?” He called when he got close enough.

The captain shivered a little and jerked, looking at him, startled. His cheeks were rosy in the cold, and he sniffled a little, smiling. “I half wondered if you would just leave without telling anyone. But what are you doing out here?”

Wow. He really thought Link would just disappear like that? Link knew he’d been secretive about nearly everything of his own journey, but he didn’t think he was that distant. Pushing that thought aside, Link tossed his question back at him. “What are you doing out here?”

The captain’s gaze drifted to the snow. “I just needed a minute. But now I, uh… I don’ t know.”

He sniffled again, but Link saw no tears. Taking a small step towards him, he asked, “Are you feeling okay?”

“Ye—ACHOO!”

Both heroes jumped at the magnitude of the sneeze, and Link let out a breathy chuckle. He could handle a sickness. “Come on. Let’s get you back to camp.”

The other hero sighed heavily, sounding very obviously congested, and rose from the stump where he’d plopped down.

“I… I know you need time alone,” Link said carefully. “But it isn’t wise to be sitting out in the cold like this if you’re already sick.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ll hear all about how wrong this was when I get back to camp,” the captain huffed, exasperated but in good humor. Then he groaned, rubbing his head. “I could do without the headache, though.”

Link bit his cheek, glancing at the other teenager. When the captain could sense his scrutiny, he prompted, “What is it?”

A little sheepishly, Link chuckled and admitted, “Well, with you being half dragon and all, I expected more fire with that sneeze.”

The captain rolled his eyes. “It would hardly be a surprise to me that I’m half dragon if I breathe fire every time I sneeze, you know.”

“But it would be funny,” Link quipped, though he still had no idea how such a parentage physically worked. He’d only heard of this Volga… person? Creature? He’d heard that he’d been controlled by Cia and his friend had fought him as a result, but he’d never seen the dragon for himself. At least with the dark sorceress gone, the captains’ father would be… free now?

It still didn’t really make sense. Link’s own experiences with dragons hardly made him think they were sentient, and even if they were…

He certainly hoped Ganondorf hadn’t been mind controlling them. That felt far too much like murder, considering he’d killed the two that had beset Hyrule’s army and villages.

The two arrived back at camp just as the celebrations seemed to be dying down. They were nearly back to Castle Town, the point at which Link had told himself he’d finally leave this land. The captain groaned again, pausing and squeezing his eyes closed.

“What’s wrong?” Link asked, hovering over him worriedly.

“Nothing,” the hero mumbled. “Just need a minute.”

“You know, it hardly counts as lying when it’s so obvious,” Link grumbled. “You’re basically insulting my intelligence. Tell me what’s wrong.”

The captain sighed heavily, glancing at him. “It’s just this sickness. I’ve been nauseous on and off all day. It’s partly why I left camp. That, and just…”

The other two, Link supplied mentally.

“Come on,” Link said gently, guiding him towards his tent. His eyes caught sight of movement up ahead in the shadows, and it became obvious they were being watched.

Impa.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Link continued quietly, eyes never leaving the general’s. The two had come to an understanding after she’d given her reasons for handing her son off to a Hylian family. Having sacrificed his own relationships for the safety and betterment of others, Link had related a little too hard to her plight.

But still… he didn’t know. Would it truly have been so awful if she’d simply… stepped down? Or was she absolutely necessary in her role? Would her son have benefited more from being raised by her?

Link didn’t know. He’d never met a parental figure who hadn’t lied to him, mistreated him, or not trusted him. At this point he was half convinced good parents didn’t even exist.

Still, she did genuinely care about her son, and so Link motioned invitingly with his head to get her to follow them.

When they entered his tent, Link helped his friend sit on the cot, making some warm tea while the captain took off his shoes and armor and laid beneath the blankets. He heard the tent’s entrance rustle once more, and General Impa was there a moment later.

The captain stiffened, uneasy, though it was clear the general’s presence wasn’t unwelcome. Instead, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

“You’re sick,” General Impa noted, face and voice softening.

The captain sighed. Link handed the tea to both his guests, debating if he should leave. Impa motioned for him to sit as well, though, catching him off guard, and he plopped on the ground.

“Do you need food?” She asked, eyes scanning her son.

“I’m not hungry,” the captain replied. “Too nauseous.”

“Water, then, along with this tea,” she noted, voice heavy with an order.

“The tea has ginger in it, so that should help your stomach,” Link added helpfully.

General Impa glanced at him, lips pulling into a small, grateful smile. The captain, however, still had his eyes on his mother, gaze searching for something, seeming to bask in the attention but also not know how to handle it.

Link rose. He could gather supplies and help that way, but with the captain’s heavy heart and stomach, a mother’s touch seemed far better suited to this matter. He smiled. “I’ll get some broth and water for you. And don’t argue, captain - there’s no one to play to here. You can just let others help you.”

No need to be the older brother anymore.

It seemed bittersweet, maybe even mean to point that out, but it was simply true. And it wasn’t just because the two children were gone - the war was over. He didn’t have to be strong for anyone anymore. Certainly not in this moment.

The captain wilted, but General Impa put a hand on his shoulder, saying something soft to him, and, with as miserable as he felt, he finally gave in, leaning against her. Link felt some warmth bubble in his chest, pushing away the icy emptiness that had been gnawing at him.

The war was over. He hoped this time it would be a good thing for the Hero it had forged.

Heading outside, he moved to gather some more items to help his friend, ignoring how the scar on his cheek suddenly stung and leaked a hint of blood, ignoring the darkening of the sky, the whisper on the wind.

[irresponsible-masochist]

I don’t have grandparents anymore.

Towards the end of 2024, my paternal grandma went on hospice. She had a variety of ailments: diabetes that went untreated for years, renal failure, congestive heart failure, and did I mention she was 93 years of age? Even one of those things on its own would kill someone, but grandma was just carryin’ on with all of them at once. Of course, that can only go on for so long. Eventually, grandma needed more care. She was determined to stay in her home, so that meant someone had to be there with her.

My mother was a hospice nurse for 15 years and was grandpa’s caregiver as he died of pancrearic cancer, so naturally, she was the first choice. However, she recently had surgery on her shoulder and her entire left arm is unusable until further notice, so she was not an option.

Grandma (and grandpa, but he died in 2016, so he wasn’t involved in this part of grandma’s story) had 5 sons, and each of them had very specific and conflicting ideas about what was best for her. The men in my family live by the rule that whoever is biggest and loudest is the most correct, so a lot of arguing and tension took place for entirely too many weeks. It was a lot for her to deal with and, as she later confessed, she hated the idea of dying in front of her children. 

The first week of January, grandma made a request: she wanted my wife and I to move in with her and give her end of life care. She wanted us to take charge of administering her comfort meds, feeding her whatever foods she wanted, helping her keep clean, and keeping her company. She asked that we stay with her “until it was all over.” She even insisted we bring the cats so that we didn’t have to worry about them. She wanted to meet them, she said. 

It was never an option to say “no.” That was never a thought in my head, even for a second. I said I would be damned by every god I believe in-and several that I don’t-before I let the woman who fed and housed me as a child receive sub-par care. My wife agreed wholeheartedly. We would go and do everything we could for her.

We work from home, so we can clock in from anywhere with reliable WiFi. We’re homebodies to begin with, so it wasn’t like caring for her would cut into our wild weekends at the club or whatever it is social people do. As long as I could still go to my specialist appointments and infusions when needed, it wouldn’t be a problem.

There’s so much I could say about the three weeks we spent as grandma’s caretakers. From having wine with her to celebrate her and grandpa’s 70th anniversary to the way she shook her head in disgust at the inaguration and said “thank God I’m dying so I don’t have to see what this man does as president” to the end of life visions she had in her final days, there’s so, so much that I could say about it, but I can’t bring myself to do it right now. I will forever be grateful to my wife for helping me give her the peaceful, dignified death she deserved. It was emotionally and mentally difficult, but I’m glad we did it.

Grandma died on Friday morning, sometime around 1:00AM. She died in the best way one can, in my opinion: she fell asleep and just…went. No pain, no fear, no discomfort. The nurse who came to officially declare her death and call the funeral home said that grandma was one of the most peaceful-looking bodies she’d ever seen. Taking into account what she was seeing at the end, I don’t doubt that she is at peace. I’m happy to know that; I’d say after 93 years, she has more than earned some peace.

The last of my grandparents is dead, and I am taking some time to rest.

[typewriter83]

How are you feeling mama? Can I be the most insensitive cub and ask if there’s any wips you’ve got? Anything to share? I miss you so!

Hi sweet cub - Mama has had better days. I’ve also had worse days, so maybe I’m recovering. Whatever this is - whether it was a severe cold or Covid, we’ll never know - I still haven’t fully recovered. I can’t shake this cough!

That being said, I wish I had better news regarding WIPs! Since I’ve started recovering, I’ve tried to sit down and write, but my brain is so fuzzy! A few people have suggested it’s Covid fog, but I’m also still congested and it’s hard to focus. I’m hoping to spend some time this week working on something. I have 3 WIPs going on - dumb on my part, but it happened and I can’t take it back.

Joellie WIPs discussion below cut

LtW2 ch1 has begun and it picks up almost immediately after the last chapter ended. We’re gonna see Ellie and Joel settling into the mountain cabin, Ellie struggling with PTSD, Joel being the guard dog, and maybe a visitor or two. These two need to come to terms with their relationship and what they want their future to look like, too.

“am I the one” chapter 3 is about halfway done. We’re gonna see the fallout from Joel’s behavior - he’s emotionally constipated, wait till he finds out that people in his corner are rooting for Ellie. We’re gonna take a peek at Ellie’s backstory, from her time in the foster system, how she made her way through NASA’s astronaut program, we’ll meet Riley and Marlene, and then see how Ellie ended up in Austin. Remember, this is a fluffy modern AU, and while there’s some tragedy in their past - these two are in for a fluffy story.

Finally, D&C part 11 - trust me, this one came out of left field. I wasn’t expecting to write another D&C story so soon, but here we are. This story is set 2 years in the future, and over the span of about four months. We’re gonna get to see some more from Bill and Frank, and all the Millers will be coming to Lincoln for Thanksgiving. This should be a really sweet entry into the series.

Fingers crossed I can get my brain in gear - the ideas are all there, but this foggy feeling is keeping me from putting “pen to paper” so to speak.

🫶🏻

[ask-a-bot]

How you doing, Megs? I know I’ve asked this about your physical health, but how are you holding up emotionally and mentally? I know with Star hurting and lashing out, you’re no doubt hurting as well. Anything you want to get off your chest? I’m here to listen if need be.😊

Snf... snf, snf, snf, snf-snf.

Star showed him Rust. His... pet. He woke him up by putting Rust on his hand and then poking him.

I... snf. I purged. I still feel... ill.

You were scared!

He's still shaking now, OP. Is there anything you can give him? A sedative?

Thing that worries me is that those things can make it harder to cycle air and stuff if we're already congested. I'll call Ratchet and see what he suggests.

OK. I'll try to calm him down. Poor Megs...

[hatelangdon]

I'm currently rewatching Murder House and can't stop thinking about how Tate would make such a good whumpee. Imagine him sick with a cold, nose all blotchy and red, pathetically whining for a tissue because he is *so* congested and his sinuses hurt. And his eyes would constantly be glassy but you wouldn't be able to tell whether it be from the fever or the constant crying. 🥲

Tate is the world's biggest crybaby but he is so gorgeous and gentle when he cries you truly can't be annoyed, especially if he doesn't feel well, whether that's emotionally, physically, or both.

He would need to be cuddled not just any position though, he'd be lying on top of your chest shivering even tho he feels so hot, poor baby would be so weak and extremely stressed by the entire situation because he truly feels like he's dying all over again and he just cannot get it together. Tate is also 100% a rocker when he's trying to get himself feeling better. If you're not with him for even a minute, when you come back he is rocking himself back and forth and crying because he is in so much pain.

I love sick!Tate and I can't wait to finish my story about it because he's my baby and someone needs to take care of him.

[brooklynislandgirl]

[FMK: Reimagined.] Three people, but no names. Someone you've stolen for. Someone you've hurt to help. And someone you'd murder yourself before letting anyone else do it. //Tall dark stranger with a bone condition not matching her vodka shots but probably enabling them... they need to stop meeting like this.//

Three of a Kind || Accepting {{ tagging: @riggsanity & @mynameisanakin & @lokitheliesmith for reasonsTM }}

The question is almost too softly spoken, and if Beth were inclined, she could have pretended not to have heard it. She doesn't do that often but it is something she's employed to distance herself in the past. This is not the first time she has met her mysterious friend, and likely it will not be the last. But what memories does her friend dredge up? "One of the people I miss most, mostly due to being cross country from one another. We used to play all kinds of board and card games. The goal wasn't to win or lose, but to make the other person laugh an' we used to cheat each other elaborately. I really should write or call him sometime. Maybe even give back those little plastic hotels I still have in my undergarment drawer. Not to mention the fact that I've eaten more than half of the fries he ever ordered, even when he got enough to share. And the shirts I took. And the beers he smuggled out of my fridge that I took back late at night while we watched the tide roll back out under the moonlight." She would swear on this mounting bar tab that her Texas still has at least one of her deeds tucked in his boot or in those curls. She wonders where Martin is. If he's found himself like he needed to so that he wouldn't be swallowed up by his own grief. Some of the light that she'd always held onto had dimmed the day he'd left and she's all the poorer for it. "One I've hurt to help is my..." apprentice. The waif of a youth that turned up on her doorstep those few years ago, rattling bones and death in every wet, congested breath. All she has to do is close her eyes and those blue eyes, the golden waves cutting across his sharp bones, he is alive and thriving and smiling at her shyly. It had taken every ounce of her will power to eventually let him go so he could find his place amongst the Traditions. Where she champions Life, he is the other side of the coin and she couldn't teach him how to be a Thanatoic. "Friend. He's a recovering addict, and he was really sick when he sought my help. There were days where death might have been a mercy, and the curses that rolled off his tongue in that bayou accent of his...I can't even begin to repeat. But I know that transformation was emotionally, physically, an' spiritually excruciating." She's quiet for a time. Maybe this friend was only going to have two memories from her before they hit last call. Maybe because the third answer is the hardest. For so long it would have been so easy to contemplate patricide. That she'd be the recipient of the Admiral's last undeserved breath. But that would be breaking her own kapu imposed by Teanoi; take no pleasure in killing. and if Beth were being honest? It might be the happiest moment of her existence.

But that puts her in mind of the other road she doesn't ever stop to consider. She'd once used all of her considerable talents and power to make the arduous journey to xer not-quite-native homeland in search for a bloom that would ease xer misery. She'd done it for love. And perhaps this is why she'd been turned back by that realm's all-seeing Guardian. If she could not heal xer one way, then Beth could only offer the second, perhaps lesser choice.

What was it that was said? Only you could kill your God? "The third...they say...has an adder's tongue, quicksilver and honey in xer lies. They say...Xe is the source of primordial chaos. Nets and spiders and wyrding. But I see xem as... fire and family, of ephemera and stories. Xe is a harbinger of change, of transformation." Of love, hers being enduring, asking nothing of xer but to be. "If xe has to die? Wishes it after everything? Then I can only resign myself to being xer handmaiden in that, too."

[hollow-prey]

My little gremlin brain loves to think about the ways that Grimm.jow would try to comfort me when I'm not feeling good either physically or emotionally.

Comforting is not in Grimm.jow's nature, obviously, but he loves me, and he's softer with me, and he doesn't like to see me sad or uncomfortable or in pain (or some combination of all of the above). However, poor thing is at a loss when it comes to how to fix such things.

Human remedies and medicine exist and can help, thankfully, but there's only so much they can do and some stuff you just gotta deal with. Painkillers help with cramps, but they take some time to kick in and wear off after a few hours, so the in-between periods (no pun intended) of trying to keep up and waiting for them to kick in again can be rather uncomfortable. Cold medicine and cough drops can help when I'm sick, but they can't instantly cure a sore throat or make my congestion go away; you just have to tough it out for the most part until it clears up on its own. My antidepressants and going to therapy helps with depression and anxiety, but I still have days or weeks where I feel down and blue and can't easily pull myself out of it.

And I imagine Grimm.jow gets frustrated that there's no concrete solution to make me feel better when it comes to these things. If there was a tangible threat to be found, he could eliminate it. If there was a tangible injury or wound, he could at least try to treat it. If there was a definitive cure for a common human illness or reproductive cycles or The Big Sad, he would get it for me in an instant, but since there isn't, he has to improvise.

Whatever state I may be in, physical or mental, Grimm.jow understands that at the very least, I'm vulnerable. It doesn't matter if I explain to him that "I'm not that sick, I can still at least do this thing" or "this happens every month, it sucks but I'm used to it", to him it's the same as a Hollow being injured and unable to fight, which means I need to be protected. And obviously, he's more than happy to keep watch and fend off anything that might do me harm while I'm vulnerable. To stay close and ensure I'm safe at all times, he cuddles with me. And for extra comfort, he'll even purr for me while he's at it. I can usually get him to purr anyway if I give him affection for long enough, but he'll do it anyway unprompted as a way to show affection and help me feel safe and comforted

[itzanimelover08]

مع الأسف الشديد يا جماعة في حروب تانية في قطاع غزة ما حدا شايفها عبر الفضائيات..❗ حروب طاحنة فتاكة ومتواصلة بدون توقف، #حروب مستمرة كل لحظة وكل ثانية وفي كل المناطق والأحياء، حروب بين الأخوة والأخوات وبين #الحموات والسلفات والكناين والأبناء والبنات والقرايب والجيران، حروب أهلية في عمق النسيج الاجتماعي للغزازوة.. قصف عنيف ومستمر، وهجمات وتفجيرات واستهدافات متواصلة في الخيم والمدارس والصفوف والبيوت والملاجئ ومرافق النزوح ومقرات اللجوء.. حروب خفية ومغطية، حروب سببها التزاحم الرهيب والازدحام الهائل، الناس في وجه بعض إلها شهور، حروب نتيجة القل والفقر والحاجة والقرف والضغط والخوف والقلق والتوتر وانعدام الأمل وضياع الأحلام والخسائر الفادحة الي الناس قدمتها، الناس في وجه بعض طول اليوم، شافوا مساوئ بعض من مسافة صفر، عاشوا أسوء عادات وتصرفات بعض عن قرب شديد وتحت المجهر، تصرفات سلبية وعادات غلط كانت مستورة بحيطان وغرف وبيوت بنوها صحابها بالموت وهدمها ودمرها الاحتلال في غمضة عين، للاسف هاي الحرب المتلاحقة أفرزت تفكك أسري هائل وتناحر وزعل وخلافات عائلية رهيبة، أنتجت جروح نفسية غائرة وإصابات اجتماعية معقدة جدا، أنا في تقديري أثرها المؤلم والموجع ما راح يختفي بسرعة، بالعكس الجرح في وقت الشدة عمره ما بيطيب أو بينتسى، وخصوصا لما يكون من حبيب او قريب، يعني يلّي ما تصاوب جسديا راح تلاقيه متصاوب نفسيا أو اجتماعيا أو حتى متصاوب عاطفيا، الإخوة بيتناحروا، والسلفات بيغاروا، والآباء قرفوا أولادهم، والأزواج طلعت أرواحهم من بعض، والكناين بيجاكروا بعض، والحموات دبحوا بعض، في يلّي ترك زوجته عند أهلها، والي سابت أولادها مع ستهم، وإلّي بيسرق من أخته عشانها بخير، وفي اللّي لي متشعبط في صاحبه الغلبان والكريم، والي مستلطخ أمه، وإلي بيهدر المية الي عبوها بالعافية، والي خلص الحطبات إلّي شراهم اخوه التاني، والي أكل علبة التونة الي أمه مخبياها لأخوه الأولاني إلي بتحبه أكتر منه، والي ولاده مزعجين، والي زوجها عينه زايغة، والي بيشخور لما بينام، والي بيسهر للفجر يبرم، والي بيتداين ومافي أمل يسد، وإلّي داينه اخوه ليبني بيته الي قصفوه اليهود والان بده يسده، إلخ إلخ إلخ .... هادي حروب اجتماعية غير الحروب الاقتصادية والسياسية والأخلاقية الي يطول حديث عنها... كان الله بعون شعبنا المسكين والغلبان، الي انظلم وانقهر، واللي الفضائيات مصرين يصنعوا منه شعب خارق، شعب أسطورة أو شعب خيالي

لا يا عمي إحنا ناس عاديين جدا، ناس بسيطة جدا، زي أي شعب بسيط في الدنيا.... وعلى الله حكايتنا..

Translation:-

Unfortunately, people, there are other wars in the Gaza Strip that no one sees on satellite channels..❗ Fierce, deadly, and continuous wars, #wars that continue every moment and every second and in all areas and neighborhoods, wars between brothers and sisters, between #mothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, daughters-in-law, sons and daughters, relatives and neighbors, civil wars deep in the social fabric of the Gazans.. Violent and continuous shelling, attacks, bombings and continuous targeting in tents, schools, classrooms, homes, shelters, displacement facilities and refugee camps.. Hidden and covered wars, wars caused by the terrible crowding and massive congestion, people have been facing each other for months, wars as a result of poverty, need, disgust, pressure, fear, anxiety, tension, lack of hope, loss of dreams and the huge losses that people have suffered, people are facing each other all day, they saw each other's faults from zero distance, they experienced each other's worst habits and behaviors very closely and under the microscope, negative behaviors Wrong customs were hidden in walls, rooms, and houses built by their companions with death, demolished, and destroyed by the occupation in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, this successive war produced massive family disintegration, fighting, anger, and terrible family disputes. It produced deep psychological wounds and very complex social injuries. In my estimation, its painful and painful impact will not disappear quickly. On the contrary, the wound in times of distress will never heal or be forgotten, especially when It may be from a lover or a relative. This means that if you are not physically correct, you will find that he is psychologically, socially, or even emotionally defective. Brothers fight, siblings become jealous, fathers hate their children, husbands take their souls out of each other, domestics hate each other, and mothers-in-law slaughter each other. The one who left his wife with her family, the one who left her children with her six, and the one who steals from each other. His sister is fine, and the one who is upset about his friend is the one who is the victim And the generous one, the one who is stained by his mother, the one who wastes the water he packed, good health, the one who saves the firewood that his second brother bought, the one who ate a can of tuna to his mother and hid it for his first brother, whom she loves more than him, the one whose children are annoying, the one whose husband has bleary eyes, the one who snores when he sleeps, the one who stays up until dawn gets bored, and the one who goes into debt and there is no hope to fill, And the one whose brother owes him to build his house. The Jews bombed it and now he wants to close it, etc. etc. etc.... These are social wars other than the economic, political and moral wars that are talked about for a long time... May God help our poor and oppressed people, who have been oppressed and subjugated, and the satellite channels insist on making of them a supernatural people, a people of legend or an imaginary people. No, uncle, we are very ordinary people, very simple people, like any simple people in the world.... and on God our story..

[lokissweater]

Hello, Nicole!!

So... the last time I have cried so hard for a 2d man was approximately... two years ago. And then I read your Beetlejuice fic. I cried so hard, I needed to take 5 minute breaks per sad scene LOL. It took me two days to recover emotionally. Haha.

Is this legal? Where is your license to step over all of our hearts?? (Do it again.)

So my favorite part is how you brought up whether it is better to not have any memories at all or to remember yet bear the pain of loss. Loneliness will eat you up either way, and it shows how memories can be both a blessing and a curse. It provides a source of comfort while exacerbating the longing we feel. You know how Satoru said that love is the most twisted curse of all? Love in memories feels even more so.

Literally in shambles.

Also, I forgot to tell you. I don't usually read fics with Toge. But, I read the barista au! fic because it's lokissweater, and I am a sucker for lokissweater, I will literally read anything that lokissweater writes ;.; So you showed me how fun and more nuanced and complex Toge could be. Ugh. My heart...

(Last thing. I want to draw a fan art for you. BUT I CAN'T DECIDE WHICH FIC TO DRAW A FANART FOR. If you have a specific scene in mind, let me know T^T)

- Court :D <3

COOOOOUUUURRRTTTTT WHAT THE FAAAAWWWKKKK IM SCREEAAAMIINGGGG 😭😭😭😭

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME RIGHT NOW IM OBSESSED WITH YOU bc now i want to have an entire ted talk with you about the different perspectives of loneliness and memories because YYYYEEEEAAASSSS YOU SO FUCKING GET ITTTT !!! 🫵🫵🫵🫵 AND IM SO SORRY I MADE YOU CRYYYY ITS OK BC I WAS WRITING THE REVEALING MEMORIES SCENE AT LIKE SIX AM IN MY BED BAWLING SO BAD I WAS CONGESTED ALL DAY 😭😭😭😭

that line is one of my FAAAVSSS from sir honored one i almost put it in but i couldn’t find an appropriate spot for it where HE could say it, only for juno, and i need HIM to say it so i scrapped it 💔💔💔 BUT ITS OKAY !!!

AND WTFFF ACTUALLY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR GIVING MY TOGE FIC A CHANCE AND OPENING UP YOUR PRECIOUS HEART !!! i’m so glad you liked it my love !!! 🥺💕💕

and i mentioned earlier that im screaming and obsessed BEEECAAAUSEEE TFFFF WHEN DID I GET BLESSED WITH SUCH A DELICATE SOUL THAT WANTS TO DRAW A FANART YOURE ACTUALLY SO GIFTED AND SO SO SWEEETTTTT 😭😭💕💕💕💕💕 I FEEL SO PRIVILEGED !!!

I WAS THINKING MAYBE SATORU IN HIS LITTLE BEETLEJUICE SUUUIITTT !!! i would love to see that man in those stripes 🫦🫦🫦 BUT ONLY IF THIS IS ABSOLUTELY OKAY WITH YOUUU !!! <333

thank you SO SO much for this court this was SUUCCHHH a treat and a gift i can’t thank you enough !!! 🥺🥺💕💕 HAVE AN AMAZING REST OF YOUR DAAAYYY !!! <333

MWAAAHHHH 💕💕💕

[qocsuing]

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If one drug doesn’t work after a predetermined period, your doctor may increase the dosage or prescribe one of the others. "Sometimes, you have to try all of them before knowing whether ED drugs work for you," says Dr. Liou. An ED drug kicks in within 15 minutes to an hour after you take it and can last anywhere from four to five hours up to 24 hours or longer depending on the drug. (See "ED drugs: How soon and how long?") It’s best not to take the pill with food or soon after a meal, which can block absorption. Watch out for side effects The most common side effects are headaches, upset stomach, nasal congestion, muscle pain, and facial flushing. But most of these are relatively mild and go away after a few hours.

ED drugs can make blood pressure temporarily drop, so never use them if you also take medications that contain nitrates. (Nitrates found in food don’t pose a problem.)

You also need to be careful if you take any other drugs that lower blood pressure. For example, alpha blockers — such as tamsulosin (Flomax) and alfuzosin (Uroxatral), which are used to treat symptoms of an enlarged prostate, lower blood pressure in some men. Make sure to take them at least four hours apart from an ED drug. The mental side of sex It’s important to realize that ED drugs don’t increase sexual desire, and you have to be ready and sexually stimulated for them to work.

"The drugs won’t work well if you are mentally or emotionally not ready for sex," says Dr. Liou. "You can’t just take a pill, pay some bills or wash the dishes, and then go to the bedroom and think you’ll be ready to go. When your mind is not there, you are not going to want sex, and no ED drug can fix that problem."

He says that before trying an ED drug, you should step back and analyze your sex life and when your ED occurs. Does it happen all the time or just in certain situations? Is it with only one partner or different ones? Does it ever happen when you masturbate? Are the problems associated with stress or alcohol?

[petitsdieu]

And off his mouth, into devout attention. Again, worse or better.

Others, who?

She leans in. Chestplate forward, the rest falls along, but not in any degree that would satisfy her. Knee-presses to the rise of a thigh. This time with intention. This time all-too-aware of where they brush-touch and thump. With hearts and other wanting places. She turns a hand and puts a little theater into the soft pet of the flattened plates of fingerbones,

to nearest cheek.

Drowsy Cuisse de Nymphe gaze — tint-glint in the blink of her, and a flush building-like pigment splashes to plumpest parts of her face. The body betrays itself. It quivers. It needs. It blushes. It bleeds.

It bleeds.

Emotionality through intravenous.

And Ferrous-laden at the pharynx in caveat.

Vulnerability runs the center of her like a seam. From the belly button up — her nose drips. Streamlets down to the upper lipbed. She's inclined to ignore... with hands. The show must go on. The sound will not be congested. There’s only a little left to go. There’s consequences to lingering she thinks she knows.

She pirouettes on the bench and tips her head back on his shoulder. All their gold bleeds together. You can not tell blonde from blonde, tress from tress. She runs-away with the last of the riffs and singer coos. God speed your love to me⸺

He's picked good. It’s on the nose.

Her hand goes up. She covers now. Pinched between fingers.

Then unravels and rises.

for

your touch

Off her tongue and off his,

‘God exists,’ sure, why not, have Him; liminally, in intersections; where he and she don’t touch, above all. What they write is to be viewed by Catholics through the binoculars of scandal: not a bible, but a Bestiary. Lestat knows his salivating audience. He accommodates animals and the degenerated alike.

They split the tide: he goes low, she high. It sounds like language. His mask softens to young clay in trying to make sense of it. They roll one over the other, cells, never oversharing, and like oil and water slip apart anew.

It happens. Artists suffer the producer-dreaded illness of the spark on purpose, they walk soulless little divas, faux-naïve, waiting to faint scrumptiously back into living—if the madness matches. And who is more out of touch than an actor?

Two of them together, of course.

Without overseeing the tryst of his fanged fingers, he listens in on the envy of many. Hundreds of hours to have perfected the flow, they think, thousands. They’d be furiously, erotically disappointed.

If skill is a mine for talent, he’s a surface mite barely cleaving to the uppermost skin of its fruit for his boredom of ease with which he acquires, equal to that with which he gladly forgets.

Soirées, sonnets, humans and their mutually-derivative sciences, be the wind.

The occasional perfect mistake that sticks.

Hara is shapely yet nymphean, symmetrical yet unique. Green eyes, how rare of her kind. Two chips of mint,

like Louis’s.

Pa-ah! It’s not him Lestat is looking to; as it is, he’s not aching for a laugh or spasmodic rage or cry. She’s far more supernovan even still inside of her chrysalis than that small no-one, with a seemingly ceilingless capacity for the blacks and whites of life, plural. Once inverted, he expects, for the blacks and whites of death.

He lets her have the closing refrain solo.

[oneforthemunny]

heyy evie i have a little specific ask so pls just ignore it if it's dumb. lately i wasn't feeling v well and when i'm in that headspace i get clingy. how would eddie react if i was trying to cuddle and be held by him and he snapped at me because he was busy and didn't know i felt bad? i didn't adress it further, apologized and went to bed alone and he felt guilty about it later. how would we make up? maybe not janitor or modern eddie 'cause i don't see them behave like that but the others? or maybe just one of the others? need a little bit of angst and comfort you write so well<3

at first glance I wanted to say dom!eddie bc he seems like kinda a gimme answer in a way, but then I really think he wouldn't be mad at you for being clingy because that's a little unheard of for you. and I think that would be the same with rockstar!eddie, if anything he'd be on high alert and kinda freaked out.

but I think this would (and I apologize bc I'm about to hurt some people) be mafia!eddie coded.

he's fucking stressed to the max. rick is pissed the feds raided his place, hopper and steve were supposed to help him out and keep him ahead of this and they dropped the ball. they had to move shipments to another place bc obv rick doesn't keep shit at his house but they were scared they'd find the warehouse, and they moved it but that pushed things back leaving their buyers furious- they lost a lot of money.

rick is on eddie's ass to expedite the next shipment, send some guys down to miami and pick it up themselves, and he's stressed, he hasn't slept, and fuck- he's exhausted. mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally exhausted.

kitten had been getting sick, a little under the weather and usually eddie doted on her after one sniffle. she tried to keep it under wraps just because she didn't want to add to his stress, but she really didn't feel good and she missed eddie.

"ed?" you knocked on the door to his office. it was late and he'd been in here all day, barely leaving to even use the bathroom. "ed, are you coming to bed, honey?"

"I'll be there in a second." eddie huffed, fingers knotting through his already mussed hair.

you pouted, moving closer into the room. it smelt like cigarettes, which judging by the full ash tray, he'd been chain smoking. "baby, why don't you do this in the morning?" you ran your hand over his shoulder, feeling the tensed muscles. selfishly, you just wanted to spend time with him. you weren't feeling the best and combined with your lack of sleep from eddie's absence, it wasn't making you feel any better.

eddie ignored you, jaw tightening and continuing to mark up plans. you sighed, moving to sit in his lap. "eddie, you need to rest. you're overdoing it-"

eddie smacked his hands on the desk, shouting your name so loudly you stood before you could properly get into his lap. "for fuckssake! can you leave me alone to work? I have to get this shit done, ok? I fucking have to. I don't have time for this bullshit right now. I don't need sleep, I need you to leave me the fuck alone so I can figure this out!"

you felt the growing lump in your throat, turning on your heel, muttering a soft apology before going back to bed, teary eyed and head throbbing with congestion from your cold and tears.

eddie didn't come to bed until much much later, and when he did, he collapsed next to you, not even taking his clothes off he was so exhausted. he finally got things sorted and approved, rick was more calm and steady, jeff and max had picked up the cuban shipment in miami and were headed to rick, and it looked like he could finally relax for a little bit.

then he woke up the next day.

his arm was on you, even in his sleep he just reached out to hold you, but you were covered in a soft sheen of sweat, shaking a little even under the blankets. eddie blinked awake, seeing you covered in the blankets. "baby, are you ok?"

"'m fine." you muttered, still shivering and voice wavering. he didn't miss the way your voice rasped. "just a little cold."

eddie sat up, placing a hand on your head. it was damp and hot. "you're burning up, kitten." he frowned. "are you-are you sick?"

you hesitated and that was answer enough. eddie was up, reaching for the phone on the nightstand. "no, ed, I'm fine. really. I just... don't worry about me. I'll be alright."

eddie shakes his head, reaching for the phone book. "I'm calling dr. stephens to come look at you, alright? should've told me you were sick."

"I didn't want to bother you anymore than I already did, ed, please. I'll be alright." you pleaded, guilt creeping in your chest.

eddie paused, confused at first, before realization flooded him. then the horrid feeling of dread. "oh...oh fuck, kitten, no." eddie set the phone down, eyes rounded up at you. "I didn't... I was just...I'm so sorry." he didn't know what else to say. excuses felt lame and pointless, and the guilt and horror of his words were making him feel sick to his stomach. he'd talked to you so mean, so vile when you were just looking out for him. when you were sick.

eddie spent the rest of the day coddling you in any way he could. a lame excuse of an apology in his eyes, but it was all he could do. he felt horrible, and you knew that, that's why you let him dote on you, baby you and fuss over your blankets and pillows. you let him hold you in the office when he did have to go over a few things, snuggled in his lap or lying on the couch and napping. just in his company, it made you both feel a little better.

[nursegracecreates]

Fluff Alphabet Jeff the Killer Edition🔪

Activities (What does Jeff like to do with his SO?)

Jeff enjoys being active with Reader

He likes doing couples workouts, followed by a run or jog (Reader runs, Jeff jogs)

Also likes to cook with Reader

Though Jeff is Cajun (on his dad's side), so if you don't like a lot of spices, keep him away from the seasoning

Amuses Reader with angry baking (think Cooking Hostile with Phil Anselma)

Is also content to just cuddle during screen time or while Reader focuses on special interests

Beauty (What does Jeff admire about his SO? What does he think is beautiful about them?)

While Jeff thinks that Reader is physically beautiful

What he's really interested in is that mind

Jeff learned a long time ago that beauty doesn't last

Take Christy for example. She was gorgeous, perfect figure, ass, tits, you name it

But she didn't look too great after Jeff got done wearing her

Plus her mind was very empty

However, Reader has a stunning psyche

Reader is strong minded and brave, kind and giving, but they won't let people run over them. Reader is insanely loyal and truly does care about others. But they also take their own needs into consideration.

They also have a spark in their eyes that Jeff recognizes, a piece of that animal rage that fuels him. Reader is so much like him, yet not like him at all. Just... perfection to Jeff

Comfort (How would Jeff help his SO when they are sick or having mental health problems?)

Jeff isn't the best with mental health stuff

But he will make sure Reader is taken care of during a mental health crisis

He's always there if Reader needs a listening ear

And while he's not the best with it, he'll try his best to come up with a reasonable solution for Reader's problems with them (besides the tried and true offer to kill whatever or whoever is troubling Reader)

If Reader is physically ill, Jeff kind of goes into Mommy mode

He never got sick much as a kid

Just a head cold here and there. But Liu got sick a lot

Jeff remembers things his mother did for Liu, and uses those remedies to help Reader get better, but he adds his own twist

Hot toddys, spicy soups and warm blankets to sweat out a fever

Long hot baths or showers for congestion or nausea

Mint things for stomach and throat, lavender and chamomile for aches

Plenty of exercise, all without leaving the bed

Jeff's got Reader covered so they can get better and get back to loving them

Dreams (How does Jeff picture his future with his SO?)

To be honest, Jeff never even imagined living past seventeen

So to be in his late twenties (29 in January!), with Reader, who loves him very muchly?

That's beyond his wildest dreams already, so the rest is just icing on the cake

Doesn't really have an opinion one way or the other on marriage

Reader knows they're his, he knows Reader is his

He doesn't need a piece of paper to tell him that

Jeff doesn't want kids, at least not one that's from his seed

Jeff had a total vasectomy when he was 26 to avoid accidentally bringing an abomination into the world

So if he and Reader have a kid, it would have to be either from a donor or an adoption/foster care situation, which has its own complications

Equal (Is Jeff the dominant one in the relationship, or more passive?)

Jeff used to think that he had to be the dominant one

But he really likes an SO that stands up to him unflinchingly and just generally doesn't take his bullshit

He's found that he prefers more of a straight 50:50, equal partnership when it comes to his romantic relationships

Fight (Would Jeff forgive Reader easily? How is he during a fight?)

Jeff is pretty easygoing about things, so it would take something serious for him to even really fight with Reader

Like cheating, hurting him (physically or emotionally), a betrayal

No. Jeff would not forgive those things easily

Jeff can overlook or work through most things, but that short list

Those are unforgivable

You would think Jeff would be very violent during a fight with Reader

And if it's something small, a normal couple thing, yeah, he can get emotional, but that's just part of the process, he'll work through it

But if Reader has done something big, betrayed Jeff's trust, which is sacred to him

He just kind of... shuts down

Interacting will be out of the question, Jeff will not be hurt again

Gratitude (How grateful is Jeff in general? Is he aware of what Reader does for him?)

In a general sense, Jeff is an ungrateful shit.

An albino freak who was beaten, disfigured, and burned by gang members? What the fuck kind of sick joke is this, Universe?

Jeff asked that question a lot when he was younger

But the one thing Jeff is grateful for is Reader

Reader knows who and what Jeff is and still loves him, still sticks around.

Reader motivates Jeff to get out of bed when his rage can't even do so

Honesty (Does Jeff have secrets he hides from Reader? Or does he share everything?)

Jeff is an open book with Reader

All they have to do is ask

It's probably best to establish some sort of rules with Jeff about his work/ hobby stories

Sometimes he comes home wanting to regale Reader with stories from when he was out and they can get pretty graphic

Inspiration (Did Reader change Jeff somehow? Or is it the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?)

I would say that Reader and Jeff have changed each other for the better

Reader has made Jeff more practical instead of impulsive like an animal

And Jeff has helped Reader stand up for themself and make sure their opinion is heard

They actually help each other be a better version of themselves

Jealousy (Does Jeff get jealous easily? How does he deal with it?)

Jeff can be insanely jealous

But only if he feels there's really a threat

This would mean someone more attractive, better spoken, more intelligent (both book and street smarts), with a better body and better hair, with a higher kill count than Jeff

Yes. Jeff sets standards extremely high

Kiss (Is Jeff a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?)

Jeff is one of those naturally good kissers

Even though he's not had a lot of kissing partners

His brain just

Knows what to do

And he does it well

Since Jeff is such an intense guy

His kisses reflect his intensity

Big fan of French kissing

Literally every kiss leaves Reader breathless

Jeff's first kiss with Reader was a very sudden one

He had been yelling at Reader about how his thoughts about them was driving him crazy, and they were just staring at him, unaffected by his antics, really just wishing he'd get to the point

Then Jeff just stopped, and stared at Reader in with a dumbfounded expression, with a little awe mixed in for good measure

And then Jeff kissed them, his breath sucking in through his nose as electricity zinged through him from head to toe

He snaked his hand up to stroke Reader's throat before gripping it lightly

When he licks into Reader's mouth, he tastes blood, he must have made them nick their lip or something

But the taste was exquisite, sweet and salty and heady like wine

And in that moment, Jeff knew he wouldn't be able to let Reader go

Probably chuckles nervously when the kiss is done but finds a reason to make his exit

Jeff is gonna need to think about this

Don't worry about arranging a time and place to meet up with Jeff

He'll show up, most likely very soon and unannounced

Love Confession (How did Jeff confess his love to Reader?)

Oh Jeff was well aware that he loved Reader by their fourth month together, if not sooner

Keep in mind that Jeff is likely to stalk love interests for upwards of weeks, possibly months if necessary, before he even reveals himself

He's already aware of all the little things Reader does like forgetting to put their clothes in the hamper after showers, that sometimes Reader air drys their clothes because they like the smell of fresh air on their clothes, the fact that Reader leaves half finished drinks everywhere

And that they accidentally fill the fridge with leftovers because they always mean to come back and finish meals but never do

The type of laundry soap and fabric softener Reader buys... which drawer they keep their sex toys in

So Jeff probably just ended up accidentally muttering that he loved Reader one night while cuddling or making out

Then he just played it off like he totally planned to confess his love like that

Marriage (Does Jeff want to get married? How would he propose? What would the marriage be like?)

Why would Jeff need a piece of paper to tell him what he already knows?

Reader is his

He is Reader's

Jeff just doesn't see how a piece of paper could change things

But if Reader wanted it, he'd get that piece of paper

Being married to Jeff would be no different that being in a conjugal relationship where he and Reader live together

Nicknames (What does Jeff call Reader?)

Chérie, mon amour, mon coeur (my heart), bliss, minette (kitten), ma belle, mon chou (my sweet bun), baby, darling, love, lover, kitten, mon sucre d'orge (my little candy)

On Cloud Nine (What is Jeff like when he's in love? Is it obvious for others to notice? How does Jeff express his feelings?)

When Jeff is in love, it's kind of noticeable to those around him

The term "power couple" comes to mind

Jeff is continually gassing up Reader to his friends/peers

He'll talk about their special interests for hours if someone lets him

Actually kind of gets annoying with it

"If you love Reader so much why don't you marry them? (I think we all know this is BEN)

Do you think they'd really say yes? 🤔

Jeff's love languages are touch, quality time, gift giving and words of affirmation

PDA (Is Jeff upfront about his relationship with Reader? Does he brag about Reader in front of others? Or is he shy to kiss, etc when others are watching?)

Jeff is very transparent about his relationship with Reader

Would 100% wear one of those couples shirts

But he'd have to act bitchy about it

I already said he annoys his friends talking about Reader

Doesn't mind PDA, Jeff is an exhibitionist.

But he keeps Readers preferences in mind and tries not to embarrass them

Quirk (Some random ability of Jeff's that's beneficial in his relationship with Reader)

So. Protective.

Like will throw a knife at the delivery guy for looking at Reader (dis)respectfully

The other creeps give Reader a lot of room... unless they have a deathwish

Romance (How romantic is Jeff? What would Jeff do to make Reader happy?)

Jeff has a pretty cute romantic streak

Sometimes he tries to surprise Reader with a home-cooked meal and dessert, along with a romantic candle lit dinner

However, every time Jeff tries to do this,

It all goes wrong

Even though Jeff can cook very delicious, savory meals, on surprise date nights,

Jeff can't even boil an egg correctly

The dinner turns out... darker than Jeff anticipated

The pie or cookies Jeff tried to bake burn even though he put the oven timer on

Jeff isn't a huge fan of open flame, but he has these little wireless tiki lights

But what do you know, even those are malfunctioning 😑

Reader is always very amused by these dinners

They think it's very sweet Jeff put any of the effort in at all

And yes,

Reader eats Jeff's dinner and dessert gone wrong and acts like it's the best thing they've ever tasted

Jeff knows Reader is lying, but he also knows that he's definitely getting lucky tonight for working so hard anyway

Support (Is Jeff helping Reader achieve their goals? Does he believe in them?)

Jeff 100% supports Reader in almost everything they do

He won't support self destructive behaviors, chronic laziness, learned helplessness, abusive behaviors, etc

But he will help them change those things if need be

Jeff believes the perfect relationship is one where each partner thinks of their significant other as their biggest flex

Of course Reader is Jeff's biggest flex. Look at Reader and then look at him (this is Jeff's thinking not mine)

But Jeff tries to make up for his shortcomings in the looks department by trying to be the absolute best SO he can be

Jeff thinks that, if Reader can dream it, they can be it

Thrill (Does Jeff need to try new things to spice up his relationship? Or does he prefer a certain routine?)

While Jeff likes to try new things, it's not a priority

On this blog, Jeff is in his late twenties, and he is tired

So he's content just to live as normal of a life as he can with Reader

He kind of got all the excitement he needed before he and Reader got together, ya know?

Jeff is however, happy to try new things in the bedroom

Understanding (How well does Jeff know Reader? Is he empathetic?)

In general, Jeff has never been a very empathetic person

But he tries to be for Reader, like really honestly tries

If he isn't doing a good job of it

He likes for Reader to explain their side of things in detail

So he can try to put himself in their shoes

Other than that, Jeff knows Reader like he knows his favorite knife, Matilda

Value (How important is the relationship to Jeff? What's it's worth in comparison to other things in his life?)

Jeff's relationship with Reader is everything to him

In a lot of ways, Reader has helped Jeff to become a better, healthier person

Honestly, he doesn't know where he'd be without them

But he knows it isn't anywhere good

Wild Card (Random fluff headcanon)

Jeff really likes to get manicures from Reader

He just likes the intimacy that comes with Reader soaking his hands and working his nail beds and cuticles, cutting his nails, painting them and then getting a short shoulder massage as his nails dry, letting Reader massage ultra hydrating man lotion into the skin of his hands while kneading his muscles with their thumbs

Jeff generally likes his nails painted black, but sometimes he opts for dark red or black with a bright accent nail

Will let Reader do his toes as well sometimes, and the polish is always black for Jeff's toes

Xoxo (Is Jeff very affectionate? Does he love to kiss and cuddle?)

Jeff is a very affectionate guy

But in the day to day,

Jeff is full of hugs, kisses, and a multitude of lithe touches everywhere on Reader's body

Likes to hold hands but only if Reader holds his left hand (his non dominant hand)

He doesn't mind PDA but knows Reader prefers to keep things tame outside of their personal space

Yearning (How does Jeff cope when he's missing Reader?)

Jeff doesn't cope with being away from Reader well at all

Luckily, he's only ever away from them just to hunt

And he's worked out an agreement to only kill bad people

So Jeff just takes out all of that frustration on his victim

Then he goes back home to Reader, covered in blood

At least he rinses off with the garden hose before coming inside

Zeal (Is Jeff willing to go to great lengths for the relationship?)

Jeff is willing to do anything to protect Reader and the relationship they share

However, Jeff will not put effort in if the effort is one sided

If Reader wants Jeff to be by their side always

They're gonna have to do the same for Jeff

End of