#cuddles with the twins

[artsymeeshee]

[leo-artista]

they eepy

[koolaidashley]

Cozy ………

[feeshu09]

SJ's first few nights with the Shen's, his new family, were... difficult to say the least. Unused to having warm meals, his short hair (it unfortunately had to be cut because it was too tangled and damaged), having a soft bed, feeling safe, was just too much.

His new didi tries to help him acclimate in his own way.

(more of my "happy beginnings au : first | next )

[abyssyby]

— no matter how late he comes back, his family will always welcome him home

Sylus has had a long day. 

He’ll never appreciate the silence that greets him when he pushes through the heavy oak doors of his home. Not as much as the hurricane of two toddlers tripping over themselves to grab at his legs and climb up his clothes as if a tree had entered their house.

Despite the chaos, he has never felt more at peace at the end of the day than in those moments.  

Silence offers a different kind of peace. And in the early hours, so long before dawn, he has no choice but to welcome it. 

Missions don’t always go awry, as long as he can help it. But his streak can’t always be perfect. 

Achy and sore, his bare feet pad over carpet through the dimly lit home as he makes his rounds. 

First, a peek in his twins’ room— each of the two nest-like beds contains a little one breathing and sleeping peacefully. Lucian with his short limbs sprawled to all corners of his bed, little shirt had ridden up from all the movement, exposing his round belly to the cold air. Kyros sleeps curled up a little too tightly in on himself, wrists bent and fists inward towards his chest beneath his chin; knees to his tummy, a speckle of dribble down his chin. 

Sylus leans on the door for a while, fondly watching his two most precious treasures. Then, he moves forward, careful not to make a sound.

He tugs Lucian’s shirt down his stomach and tucks his unruly arms and legs tightly in to the blanket. Sighs when one arm escapes and is raised over his head. Kyros is unwound, wrists untwisted and tight fists opened. Sylus massages his jaw to make sure he isn’t clenching, and then fixes the soft blanket back over his shoulder. For a moment, he worries that Kyros had woken when his finger is grabbed, but the grip loosens just as quickly. 

With a kiss on each their foreheads, Sylus moves to his next destination. 

Mephisto greets him just a few steps down the hall, a little ways away from Kieran’s and Luke’s rooms. He’d asked them to go on ahead home during the mission, and when Mephisto confirms that they’d arrived safely, a weight falls off of Sylus’s shoulders. 

In your shared bathroom, he scrubs off dirt, grime and blood from his skin. Heals his wounds in the mirror. Midway through his routine, when you knock on the bathroom door, he takes the time to gently redirect you back to bed. 

Despite being clad only in a towel around his waist, you cannot make out any marks or scars on his skin. “Sylus…” 

“Not hurt.” is all he says, kissing your head and pushing you back on the bed. 

Stubborn, you stay upright. “I’ll wait.” 

He breathes through his nose, a soft puff of air. Thinks you’re impossibly, and incredibly endearing. And doesn’t hold it against you when you’ve slumped snoring sideways, legs still hanging off the side of the bed when he finally comes out in dark pajamas and soft white shirt (your favorite), ready for bed. 

He fixes you too, just like he did your sons, and then finally curls up behind you. He presses you closer to his chest, inhaling his favorite scent off your neck where his nose finds a home. 

He smells of soap and clean linen. You twist to burrow closer, his chest a den for the blistering cold of a lonely winter. He hums when you murmur something about being late. He apologizes with a press of his lips to your shoulder and a promise to make it up to you in the morning. 

Silence is a welcome kind of peace tonight. Soon, he is pushed off from shore, rocked by the tides of unconsciousness and dreams. A still, hushed slumber. 

A short slumber, he’d come to realize, when Lucian wakes him up with a tap on his foot. 

“Papa.” he whimpers, little hands clutching his stomach. Voice soft and unnaturally crunchy. “I did a throw up.” 

Sylus, bleary-eyed and half-conscious, takes in his little boy in the dark. Hair sticking up in different directions, dribble on his chin and chunks of—he didn’t want to know what—on his Bubble Pals official merchandise pajamas. Nodding wordlessly, he lifts Lucian up by the armpits, walks with him at arms length and cleans him up in the bathroom before you can even stir.

“I sorry.” says Lucian in the bathtub as Sylus washes his feet and hands. He says it again when Sylus changes his beddings— thankfully, his sick missed the mattress by a hair, and almost everything was on the floor. 

“It’s fine.” he supplies for his toddler, kissing his cheek. He’d dressed him in a onesie this time, to keep his shirt from riding up and chilling his gut. “Good job coming to papa.” 

When he manages to tidy everything up, tuck Lucian back under the covers, and clean himself up, he crawls back in bed. Only to find Kyros in his spot in your arms. 

“Papa.” large eyes blink at him, waiting for him. Kyros is wrapped in your sleepy embrace, but he is wide awake. 

“Kyros…” he mutters. He feels the weight under his eyes tugging at his sanity as he squeezes into the bed next to him. Kyros reaches out and Sylus puts his finger on his palm. 

“Papa, I dream a mountain.” he rasps. A failed attempt at a whisper. 

Sylus’s eyes droop. “That’s nice, angel...” 

“And—and a big, big lizard. ‘ike a dinosaur, but with wings.” he continues. something of confusion crosses his features when Sylus doesn’t respond, so he baps his forehead once, twice. “Psst, papa.” 

Sylus snorts, head bobbing forward and shooting back up. “Huh?” 

“I said a lizard.” says Kyros, hands cupped around his mouth like he’s reiterating a secret. 

And really, if he didn’t love him so much, he would’ve just flipped over to his back by now. But he wouldn’t dare, wouldn’t consider it even—not when the little one inherited the fire that burns in you when you’re pushed to your limits. And so, he sighs, “Wow. That’s scary.” 

“No, not-not scary. Was nice, and there rocks. And the red flowers…” Kyros muses, on and on like a tranquil little lullaby. And Sylus is struggling, fighting tooth and nail against his body screaming, begging to be conked out. “Papa? Lis’en.” 

“I’m here, I’m here.” he yawns, propping his head up on his elbow. His eyes slant into tired slits trying to keep up with Kyros’s lively round ones, focusing on the stars from the window’s reflections onto them. “What of the red flowers?” 

“They pretty.” 

“Did you pick some for mama?” 

Kyros nods, yawning. “Just this many.” each of his raised three fingers are pinched lightly by Sylus. “Can’t count more.” 

Sylus hums. Appreciating his kindness, and how his cheeks look extra squishy in the moonlight. Like marshmallows. Pillows. Clouds… He clears his throat, “Where are they?” 

Kyros tugs down on the skin of his papa’s cheeks, effectively widening the eyes that slowly close on him. “In the cave. With the lizard.” 

Sylus is running out of things to say. He closes his eyes—a long blink, he justifies— and asks, “Is… mama the lizard?” 

Thwack. 

He flinches at the sudden smack on his head. Your hand had come alive and reached for the first thing it could hit at his remark. Showing no other sign of consciousness, it baffles him how you even registered that. He can’t fight the amusement though, as he captures your fingers and kisses your knuckles in fatigued atonement. 

“Mama da queen.” says Kyros, completely unphased by the zombie hand. 

“Queen of the cave?” Sylus asks. Your fingers pinch the corner of his mouth, and he is given a warning grunt. He chuckles, waking just that little bit. 

Just as Kyros winds down. “No, papa.” he sighs hopelessly, slipping deeper into your embrace. His own eyes close and he snuggles closer to you. 

Sylus waits ten seconds, twenty, and when thirty rolls in, he breathes a sigh of relief. He turns on his stomach, throws his arm over the mattress to hang, and finally allows himself to slip beneath the cover of unconsciousness. 

bap. 

bap. bap. 

“Huh?” 

“Papa!” Lucian climbs the arm dangling off the bed. Then, he’s sitting on Sylus’s back. “Papa.” 

Sylus groans, at the verge of tears, but so utterly besotted he has no other programmed response. “My angel?” 

“Papa, Kee-ro gone.” Small fingers take hold of Sylus’s ears and are tugged outward. As if stretching them would make them hear better. “Papa, need’ta find— AH!” 

Sylus flexes, knocks him off his back and onto the bed beside his brother’s sleeping figure. Lucian lands with a quiet ‘oof!’ and blinks a few times to comprehend what just happened. 

Sylus shifts to his side to face Lucian. Eyes closed, he takes the boy’s hand and places it on where he thinks his twin is. “He’s right here.” 

“Oh,” Lucian nods. Then he scoots, back pressing against Sylus’s chest and curling in on himself. “Can sleep here?” 

Sylus hums. 

“Pa?” Lucian asks, louder. 

Sylus drawls helplessly, “Lucian…” 

“Can sleep—“ 

“Yes.” 

He giggles. Gifts him a soft caress on his chin. “I not done.” 

Sylus loves him. Oh, Sylus loves him so much. He grits, lovingly. “Mm?”

“Can sleep here?” 

Sylus waits a beat. And then, “Yes.” 

“Tank yoo.” Lucian says, scrambling up to plant a kiss on his father’s cheek. Effectively thawing a tired stone heart. “Nighty, papa. Love you, papa.”

Then, he digs his fingers in Sylus’s heavy limb and hoists it to wrap around him like a blanket. Sylus responds, shifting and then cradling him on to his chest. Sylus can’t help but ask, “Not sick anymore?” 

Lucian shakes his head. “Nuh-uh.” 

And when Lucian drifts off into sleep, the hum of silence fills the room once more.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

A lifeless refrain.

A vacuum.  

Sylus’s eyes snap open. Bloodshot, heavy— and yet wide awake. Still listening, waiting. Running through his head—another tap, another gag, another whisper, another story needing to be heard. Waits, waits, wa— 

Until another hand rattles him, soft and cool. Like feathers up his cheek. A plush velvet thumb brushes the tender weights beneath his eyes. Then prickles from the thorns of the most beautiful rose scrape his scalp; sending shooting stars down his spine. Each light extinguished upon the calming waters of awaiting slumber.  

“My love,” your voice a siren’s call and he is driven insane. 

Thinking you need something, ready to rise and do whatever for you despite it all, he presses his face into your palm. “Beloved?” 

“Rest.” you tell him instead, caressing. Caring. “Thank you. Rest.” 

And that is enough to push him back to the once quiet sea—silence now filled by the sound of his family’s melodious existence—and let the current of dreams lull him to sleep.

something cozy. thank you for reading! ₊˚⊹ᰔ

✧˚ ⋆｡ read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

[cherry-pop-elf]

Snuggle Company

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic ((because platonic love is valid!))

Summary: Umbridge has been giving everyone nightmares. You especially, given she is well aware how close you are to the twins. Has you paranoid she will hurt you in your sleep. So, who better to keep you safe than the twins themselves?

Warnings: Anxiety, Umbridge, stress, sleepy snuggles, and it’s very short 😣 Going through ALOT right now. Pls forgive me

Here you were again. Standing just outside the dorm doors that belonged to the seventh year boys. A pair of boys would be in there that you needed. Needed badly, because you had yet another nightmare. A nightmare about her.

You worried they would be getting annoyed by this. By you waking them up again, just to climb into bed with them. Would it be better that you just straight up moved in there with them? Would the other students in their dorm be annoyed by your presence? This wasn’t your assigned bedroom after all.

You tried to power through those worrying thoughts, as you pushed the door open. You were too scared of Umbridge to give a care about what others thought. She hated you. Hated you because those twins liked you. You were the enemy by association.

You would tip toe across the room, and would hug yourself tighter. Just worried about being a burden, and a bother. Something she would often say you were. Just attacking your insecurities. She was good at that. She was good at making people hurt. Oh she was damn good at hurting people, and getting away with it.

Finally, you reached the familiar bed. Fred’s bed. Well, Fred and George’s bed. They never really out grew sharing a bed. George’s ended up being a make shift work shop table for their inventions. You found it utterly adorable how they would hold each other. They had a special bond. Magic tended to play a heavy role in that, but you still found it sweet. How that no matter how old they get they would still make sure to be there for each other. No matter what. Was comforting to see that guys don’t always worry about masculinity.

“Psst….Guys-“ You gently shook George’s shoulder, as you tried to wake them up. Didn’t want to wake the other students up, but you also didn’t want to just climb into bed either. Could startle them. Or worse. They didn’t want you to, and you invaded their personal bubble. Consent is important after all.

“Hm-?” George would rub at his eyes, while Fred yawned. They were annoyed as hell, until they saw it was you who bothered them. George gave a comforting smile, before scooting away from his twin. Fred, in turn, lifted the blanket up. You gave a sigh in relief, before climbing between them. Snuggled safely between them both.

“Thanks.” You whispered, as they would wrap their arms around you. A tangled of limbs, just like that. Was so warm. So warm, and safe. No one could get to you now. Safe between a pair of tricksters. Just like that. The smell of fire crackers, and cinnamon. That was such a comforting scent to you. Baked goods, and fire.

“No pink toads will get you-“ “Not on our watch.” The twins would tease you, as they gave you a tight squeeze. A reminder that they weren’t going anywhere. Not without you, at the very least. That had you smile, and feel a weight lift off your body. Safe. Safe again.

“We’ve got plans for her. Don’t worry.” George would reassure you, as he would nuzzle into the back of your neck. Enjoying the warmth you gave him, as his arm reached over to keep physical touch with Fred. The two most important people he has, right in his arms.

“And it’s going to be utterly spectacular. Just you wait and see.” Fred would echo, as he rested his head on yours. Forcing your nose into his neck, as his arm did the same thing. Keeping George close, as you were all safely hidden under the blanket.

“Promise.” They would share, as you were already drifting to sleep. Safe in their strong arms, and knowing you’ll be safe by morning all the same. No scary toads to haunt your dreams. Just a pair of pranksters to defend you. No matter what.

Safe snuggles. What a dream come true.

[inkies-art]

Some teen Stan twin doodles, I actually love drawing them so much they're so cute. First pic is inspired by a fic series where Ford follows Stan when he gets kicked out, check out the series here!

[thenoellebird]

A fun little fluff drabble

inspiried by This Post by @artsymeeshee

The day was warm and comfortable, but Stan had obviously not slept the night before. He was very tired all throughout the morning as they kept the boat moving, chasing a fifteen-tentacled squid.

But after lunch they’d settled down for simple fishing in the afternoon, both of them on their respective chairs on the deck of the boat. Sunlight shone down on them, warming their skin pleasantly.

Ford inhaled deeply, smelling the fresh air and the salty sea spray, closing his eyes and smiling. He opened his eyes to glance over at Stanley.

Stan sat on the edge of his chair, his chin propped up on his hands, staring blankly at the boards of the deck between his feet. He looked exhausted.

“Stanley, maybe you should take a nap,” Ford suggested out of the blue, feeling concerned.

Stan straightened up, startled. “N-No, I’m fine, Poindexter, really, I’m not tired,” he said nervously.

“Yes, you clearly are,” Ford told him flatly, but Stan still shook his head, stubborn as ever.

Ford sighed as he stood up and walked over to Stan’s deck chair and sat down on it next to him. Ford nudged his twin’s side with his elbow.

“Hey,” he said. Stan didn’t respond, staring down at the deck again. Ford nudged him a little harder.

“What?” Stan asked, shrugging his shoulders in a sort of protective gesture, scooting a little away from Ford.

Ford smiled and put his hand on Stan’s shoulder instead. “You need to sleep, Stanley. Come on.” He climbed onto Stan’s chair and put his arms around his brother, leaning back in the reclined chair so that Stan was half on top of him in a sort of cuddle-hug.

“Hey,” Stan protested tiredly, but Ford shushed him, cradling the back of Stan’s head and rubbing his back.

“Sleep, you,” he told Stan affectionately. He nuzzled Stan’s hair. Stan didn’t even reply, he was already almost completely asleep.

Ford started humming one of their favorite sea shanties and he’d barely started when Stan’s head fully rested on his chest and his brother relaxed in his arms, fully asleep and content.

Ford smiled at him and then looked up at the bright blue sky, feeling much better with his brother in his arms–where he could keep him safe.

It really was a beautiful day.

—End.

IDK IT POPPED INTO MY HEAD AND I JUST HAD TO WRITE IT

if u tag this as ship, I block u on sight.

[commander-fox-enthusiasts]

Command batch going out for drinks- and Fox is invited.

They all sit around the table, with Fox trapped between Wolffe and Bly, and it’s all chill until Bly feels some weight on his side, and he’s quiet giggling from around the table. He looks to his side and finds Wolffe asleep on Fox and Fox asleep on him. They decide to just let the two sleep, figuring they either wake up (and go back to enjoying the night, or leave), or they don’t, either option’s okay.

Fox has woken up a few times, but Ori’vod Bly can tell he’s still tired so prompts him back to sleep.

By the end Bly’s carrying Fox, Rex’s carrying Wolffe, and they all go back to the guest barracks and have a cuddle pile.

Good ending:

Fox wakes up to a light breeze, feeling well rested, and cozily buried in the pile. He checks his comms and the Chancellor is dead. Thorn, Thire, and Stone, along with other commanders, and the Jedi, are able to make do without the command batch presently, so he’s able to sleep back into a light doze.

Bad ending:

Fox wakes up to his comm going off, annoying his brothers into kicking him out of the pile (they’re annoyed by the noise and it’s meant to be a joke dw) before Fox can get back in he realises he’s been summoned by the chancellor multiple times. He’s in deep shit. And he’ll feel it.

[the-artist-grimm]

Would it be a bit ironic or adorable if Anthea sang 'You'll Be in My Heart' from the Tarzan movie to Aym and Baal when they were dealing with nightmares to help them sleep?

OMG-ironic I guess considering their hearts don't beat??? XD

But in all seriousness I've actually thought about Anthea singing to the boys! I kinda like the idea of them singing 'Edelweiss' from The Sound of Music to lull them to sleep-my own mother loved the film when I was little, and back when she would still sing to my sister and I while kissing us goodnight it was always 'Edelweiss'.

(now for obligatory LORE)

As Anthea and Narinder work on their relationship they take turns who sits in bed with the kits and who pulls up a chair-neither can leave really without risk of one of the boys waking up looking for them only to be gone, so for those first few weeks neither get much sleep. They take turns keeping watch-that way someone can hopefully catch nightmares before they fester, or at least be there if it's their name called. It drains them both a LOT, but hey they're parents-a little sleep loss is nothing when it's your kids.

[artsymeeshee]

Recovering from being sick so I needed to make some snuggles as a pick-me-up TwT

(DON’T tag as ship please :T)

[dontbelasagnax]

A quiet desert husbands moment I did for my second @thecodywanzine artwork <3

[skywalkr-nberrie]

Angsty Anidala headcanon I just came up with cause I was reading some of my fave chapters of ROTS and I came across this line said by Anakin:

“I’m the man who loves you.”

I was thinking how this phrase of his could be like something that Anakin always says to Padmé. (like a catchphrase of his own specifically tailored for her, lol.) it’d play out like this; whenever he and Padmé are teasing one another and he tries to flirt with her and she’s teases back with something like - “omg, who are you stranger, and why are you trying to woo me? I have a husband,” then Anakin responds with: “I’m the man who loves you.”

So that sort of becomes like a thing between them and Anakin says it often to Padmé. Then fast forward to this scene in the ROTS novel where Padmé comes to Mustafar to confront her love about the things she believes are lies said about him, and finding out that her one true love had morphed into something that wasn’t really him, and wonders what happened to the man she loves. So she questions him, and he responds with the same phrase that had always played out between them in a much lighter, playful, and softer atmosphere, but not this time and it brings a new sort of fresh pain that stings to Padmé because a semblance of the man she loves is still creaking at the top under the weight of the monster overtaking him, but what was always their sweet and tender moment took a painful turn.

💔🥲💀🪦

[melodramaticwolf-art]

I did this piece as just like, general posing practice, but I think I manifested shit with it because halfway through it I got to practice hospital beds from visual memory :))) (I had kidney stones. Oh God. The pain. I'm fine now but jfdsigjdfg)

I hate non-organic backgrounds, so it may look a little rough. But I"m doing my best to get over that! So here you go. enjoy these old men. As far as story behind the piece.. Ford probably got injured or somethin on the boat, but nothin serious. Or maybe, a checkup before sailing at all. Stan refused to have a gown. (Really, you make the story here. Just two bros snuggling in the hospital bed for comfort.)

Stan's hair is a little longer, just like Ford's. I hc that the more they spend time together as brothers again, the more they begin to look like each other again. Thus, Stan doesn't have a huge difference in facial hair. Despite Stan's visual distaste for whatever show Ford could possibly be picking.. he'll let Ford pick, because he wants his brother happy and as comfortable as possible.

Do not repost anywhere else. Likes/reblogs are fine! Reference under the cut :3 (and an extra friend closeup)

[koolaidashley]

Twins by choice horrifically trauma bonded by force

[stuck-in-jelly]

JUST REALIZED IN ARC 3 WE MAY FINALLY GET GREY HAIR AMAYA LETS FUCKING GO