#bro those are for like. closing up stuffies and pillows

[abombihoney]

A smile is a valuable tool, it ensures that no matter waht comes your way, you're the one in control

[sevendeadlyheadcanons]

the sins helping gowther who is literally like a baby emotionally and gets scared a lot-

YES!!!! I love Gowther content!!!!

I’m gonna do this by character because I want to add a few points to each

Meliodas

-when he hears him scream or cry he’s very nonchalant, will be like “You good?”

-Will run his hands through his hair and calm him down by telling him that the seven deadly sins are all here to help him

-Would definitely sit down with him and talk him through it all, help him ground himself and tell him about how much everyone loves him.

-He’ll often check his room to make sure he’s all good and see if he needs any support.

Diane

-His new mother. She makes sure he’s fine constantly. Let’s him hang out outside with her while she sleeps so he’s not alone

-If he gets spooked she will take him away from the situation and talk him through it all.

-Will try to take his mind off his worries by letting him try on her human-sized clothes and dresses. They have a little fashion show where only Hawk is invited (the equivalent of rupaul of the nnt universe, nakaba suzuki told me himself true and factchecked)

-She will pick him up and put him on her head so that he’s far away from whatever is spooking him and close to something he’s comfortable

Ban

-Ban does NOT know what to do in this situation. He’s not grasped Gowther and his emotions yet. He’s like “Heyyy bro… don’t cry… cmon man,” and gives him the most awkward hug

-He absolutely does care about him he just doesn’t know how to show it. He can’t exactly cook for him. He does let him spill all of his trauma onto him and he’ll offer a shoulder to cry on for him.

-He will steal books for him as gifts because he knows that he likes those and they make him feel comforted. Once wrote him his own book that was really badly grammatically wrong and had the worst drawn pictures in it and Gowther loved it because it was His.

-He’ll stay up all night if he needs to stay up with him to comfort him through his stress, just to make sure he’s ok.

King

-Quite apprehensive at first, unsure of whether he is genuinely upset or if he’s gonna be like “wahaha this is a social experiment i have no heart”

-Once it becomes apparent to him that he’s 100% serious he will try his absolute best to make him comfortable. He’ll take him out to bookshops on days he’s so down in the dumps he doesn’t want to leave his room.

-He’ll offer his pillow to him so he can hide behind it

-He’ll reassure him that everyone is here for him now and that things won’t go back to how they used to be.

-Gowther often gets upset about how he hurt the group and King has to reassure him that it’s all in the past and the fact that he’s able to feel guilt over it now shows he’s truly a better person

Merlin

-She knows about his creator and has been told about his past, so she’s able to source his feelings and comfort him

-She’ll let him sit in the room with her while she conducts experiments so that he can feel nostalgic over Goatdad

-She asks questions about Nadja to better understand her. Not the type of questions that would trigger trauma but the type to make him look back and smile.

-She’ll ruffle his hair and kiss him on the head since she still sees him as something like a little brother to her.

-She hugs him while joking that it was either feeling these emotions or going back in the stuffy armour.

Escanor

-During the night he will fetch literally anything he needs. Handkerchief? Books? He’s got it

-He’ll ask him to proofread his poetry to get him to take his mind off what he was originally anxious about

-During the daytime he will be hesitant to show he cares but he truly does. He’ll show it by asking him to come along hunting or asking about Merlin in the past. Things to take his mind away from the pain.

-He deeply respects Gowther and would do anything to help him. Always talks him through crying fits and helps him ground himself. Reminds him that men are allowed to feel (even though he wasn’t even aware of the norm of men not being able to show emotion?)

Elizabeth

-Always prepared to hug him!!!! She doesn’t know him as much as she knows the others but she’s so willing to help him out!!!

-She’s aware Nadja was her auntie but doesn’t want to pry him out of fear she’ll cause him to cry

-Always wiping his eyes and clearing the tears from his glasses because though she doesn’t know him well she still loves him!!!

-Asks him to tell her about the books he’s reading in order to show an interest in him and let him know she cares

-Like Meliodas, she also makes sure to check on him!!!

I hope you’re having a wonderful day 💙💙💙

[japhan2024]

Thighs on his mind

"But you know, if Ian and I didn't make that video, we potentially wouldn't have any of this."

Anthony tries to play it cool, as always. But when he looks at what 'this' means - Ian sitting right next to him, their relationship reborn, being able to confide in Ian fully, finally… he is totally lost. And then he looks down. Ian isn't wearing pants. He wears neat shoes and socks, and a meme shirt for their Jacksfilms Flashback with Smosh.

If Anthony hadn't made the Pokémon theme song lip-synch video with Ian, he wouldn't be able to see Ian like this, this up-close. He'd probably have some stuffy tech job, and who knows if Ian would still be his friend.

"Risk reward, guys."

read on ao3

Jack tries to keep the bro-level high, but he too is picking up the vibes between Ian and Anthony. Anthony can hardly look away. And even when he looks at Jack, his focus is off, making him gravitate to his left, where his best friend sits, all dainty and daring him to jump his bones. What is Ian thinking anyway? They dressed like bananas the shoot before this, and while Anthony put his pants back on, Ian just put on that shirt and looked at him. Anthony had a giggling fit, but when they walked into the studio, he lagged behind, his eyes fixated on Ian's legs.

"And then I wouldn't be sitting here with this."

Anthony's pants get really tight as Ian opens his legs. Anthony tries to lean in and see everything. Oh,right, the cameras, he always forgets they are there.

"With his left ball."

He tries to break the tension, but his eyes keep creeping down, down…

That evening, Anthony sits on his bed. Ian's thighs on his mind. He closes his eyes, grabs a pillow, and squeezes. Would Ian's ass feel like this? He puts the pillow on his face. Falling on his back on the bed, he screams at the pillow.

"Fuck! Ian… why do you do this to me…"

Ian is irresistible enough as it is. His style so effortless. So different than Anthony's. Ian was right during the funeral roast. Anthony puts way too much into his looks. Why does he need rings? Or flaunt his body on Instagram? Ian is right, so right. Anthony undresses and puts on the outfit he stole from Ian's apartment. He has like ten pairs of pants like this anyway, he won't miss it. Putting a similar belt on to complete the look, Anthony walks up to the mirror.

Now, this is more like it. He looks more effortless and still hot. He notices the mirror has some smudges. No, don't clean it, don't try too hard! He takes a couple of selfies.

He resumes browsing social media for a while. He presses like on some pictures of hot girls. But those thighs, those open legs, they occupy his thoughts completely. He sits up, stands up from the bed. He grabs his own ass. Would Ian feel like this?

"I need to take a shower."

Anthony undresses again and walks into the shower. He looks in the mirror. His tattoos remind him: breathe in and out, you got this. But soon, the fog clouds the mirror, and he sees Ian again. Slowly, he lowers his right hand and shamefully does what he's done a lot lately.

"Hmm, wow, Ian, your hand is so soft," he roleplays with himself. He caresses his own thighs, slowly moving towards his crotch. "Oh, Ian, I didn't know you liked me like that, haha… Yeah, I guess if you really want to, you can do it…"

While beating himself off, he imagines Ian standing behind him, pumping with those soft hands, which had caressed his face, and then slapped him. Yeah, he was blindfolded but immediately knew it was him. Ian's touch is like magic, making every hair follicle of his skin do that thing where the hair stands up right.

To be caressed like that, had driven Anthony absolutely wild. Why does Ian keep riling him up like this? Doesn't he know that there is a limit to Anthony's defenses? One of these days, something will happen.

Anthony imagines Ian opening his cheeks and entering him. Warm, hot, he puts the water temperature painfully high. Pain often does it for Anthony. Just a few more strokes.

Just before he orgasms, he sees Ian's thighs open wide to reveal a fresh, cute dong, so suckable… he licks his lips.

The orgasm is underwhelming, reminding him it's his own hand after all. The hotness of the water suddenly scorching, he shuts the water off.

A towel.

He walks back into his bedroom without any clothes on and turns the lights off. Anthony doesn't want to think about it. He'll just keep playing it cool. He's gotten away with it this long, so. He hugs his pillow and soon falls asleep.

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

He makes a mental note to give Bobby a talk later, when he’s feeling better, about hiding stuff like this—and then maybe he’ll give Luke and Alex (and himself) a talk about whatever they did to make Bobby feel like he has to.

We need Reggie yelling at the boys to be better friends to Bobers PLEASe

ok so this took forever and also it's not actually Reggie yelling at Luke and Alex, it's Reggie yelling at Bobby.... but I tried like four different versions of this and I'm actually really happy with how it turned out, so I hope you enjoy!

This takes place in my All Too Well Splinterverse. It's a direct sequel to something about it felt like home somehow, but it takes place after the events of cause there we are again in the middle of the night, so be aware of spoilers/confusion if you haven't read both of those.

read on ao3 here:

--

Gathering up his courage, Reggie knocks on the door.

“Come in!” a voice calls, hoarse and stuffy, followed by a round of harsh coughs.

Reggie hesitates again, curling his hands into fists around the straps of his backpack. Maybe this was a mistake, he starts to think. Maybe he should’ve waited a little longer, waited for a better time to do this. Maybe he should’ve just left the stuff he brought in the studio and gone home without making any actual conversation…

But he made it all the way here… he can’t back down now. So he takes a deep breath, swallows back his nerves, and pushes the door open.

Bobby’s sitting up in bed, propped up against three or four pillows, a blanket over his legs and another around his shoulders. He looks tired—like, more tired than Bobby always looks, which is saying something—and his hair is all mussed up, his nose cherry red, his cheeks flushed in contrast to his waxy skin.

He’s sick, all right. Sicker than he was a week ago, the last time Reggie saw him when they were helping Luke with his discharge from the hospital. Being sick doesn’t make Bobby any less attractive, though, which Reggie should really not be thinking about right now.

“Reg!” Bobby croaks, placing the steaming mug he’s holding on the nightstand. He clears his throat and swipes a wrist under his nose, sniffling as he turns back to Reggie with a thin smile. “Hey, man, what are you doing here?”

Reggie blinks, forgetting for a second what he is doing here. But then he remembers and shakes his head a little, scrambling to get his backpack off and unzipping it. “Oh, um. Your mom let me in. I brought…” With some difficulty, he yanks out a packet of papers stuffed at the top of his pack. “...your homework!”

“Gee, thanks,” Bobby mutters sarcastically. He sniffles again and rubs his nose, nodding at the desk by the door. “You can just leave them there, thanks, man.”

Reggie nods and stacks the papers on the desk, followed by the books he grabbed from Bobby’s locker after trying every possible combination until he could get it open. With his official mission complete, though, Reggie hesitates again, lingering by Bobby’s desk. He doesn’t want to leave, but… he also doesn’t quite know how to say what he actually came here to say.

“You probably shouldn’t—” Bobby starts to say, then breaks off to sneeze into his elbow, twice.

“Bless you,” Reggie says, hovering awkwardly

Bobby makes a tired, congested sound and sniffs wetly, grabbing the tissue box on the bedside table. “As I was saying, you probably shouldn’t get too close. I am… disgusting.”

Reggie doesn’t respond. Bobby blows his nose and tosses his dirty tissues into the overflowing trash can next to the bed. He slumps back into his pillows, retrieves his mug and takes a sip, and only then seems to realize Reggie’s still standing there.

“Did you need something else, bro?” he asks, peering at Reggie over the rim of his mug.

“Just wanted to see how you were feeling,” Reggie says, a little too quickly. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder again. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous right now, so awkward.

Maybe because he’s never been in Bobby’s room for this long before, or at all without the other guys, or alone with Bobby since—

Since a few minutes in the hospital, since holding his hand on the front porch, since Reggie realized he liked Bobby as more than a friend.

Not that that… matters, now.

“I’m okay,” Bobby says with a shrug before coughing into a fist. “I sound worse than I feel, honestly, I’m mostly just congested at this point. But I’m on the good drugs, so.” He chuckles a little; Reggie doesn’t join him. Bobby clears his throat again and turns serious. “No, but. Fever’s been under 101 for three days straight, so. I’m on the mend.”

“Good,” Reggie says, managing a smile. “Good, that’s really good.”

Something shifts in Bobby’s expression, something that makes dread pool in Reggie’s stomach even before the words, “How’s Luke?” are out of Bobby’s mouth.

“He’s—” Reggie starts to say and then chokes on the word good. “—getting there. Fever’s gone, but he hasn’t been back at school yet cause his ribs are still healing. And he can’t play music yet, so he’s bored out of his mind.”

Bobby nods. “Yeah, he took his guitars home, but I didn’t know if he could do much playing yet. Things at home, though, are… I mean, he’s been okay with his mom and dad?”

“So far. I think they’re just really glad he’s home.”

“Good.” Bobby smiles a little, visibly relaxing, and then turns away to cough into his elbow, rubbing at his chest like it hurts. He sips at his tea some more.

This should be Reggie’s cue to leave. He brought Bobby his homework, he asked how he was feeling, he gave him an update on his… on Luke.

There’s nothing more for Reggie to do here. And yet he can’t get himself to walk away.

The words are out of his mouth before he makes any conscious choice to say them. “Bobby, are you and Luke, like… dating now?”

Bobby chokes on his tea. “Uh—I—wh-what makes you ask that?”

“Well, you said he kissed you. And you guys seemed pretty cozy at the hospital, so… I just wondered…”

Something closes off in Bobby’s expression, like a curtain being drawn behind his eyes. It makes Reggie’s heart sink, reminds him that oh,  yeah, he and Bobby don’t… talk about things like this. That even though they’ve been getting along better since the whole migraine incident (not that they’d been getting along badly before then, they just hadn't really been… getting), they’re still not much more than bandmates.

“You don’t… have to tell me.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Bobby says quickly, even as his cheeks flush red. “I, uh… I guess we are? Or we’re going to be? Dating, I mean, once we’re both feeling a hundred percent.”

Reggie nods. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels… not sad, really, or even disappointed, it’s not like he’s surprised—but just… Actually, he doesn’t know what he feels.

“I’m really happy for you guys,” he manages to choke out.

Bobby’s smile cuts like a knife. “Thanks, Reg. That means a lot.”

Reggie nods and starts backing toward the door. “Cool. I mean—yeah. Yeah, no—no problem, man.”

He fumbles for the doorknob, but Bobby’s voice stops him. “I gotta thank you, Reg.”

“For what?”

“For all your help last week.” Bobby shifts his weight on the bed and clears his throat, his hands wrapped securely around his mug like he needs it to steady him. “With Luke, and… and taking care of me at the hospital. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

Reggie blushes and starts to stammer out a reply, but Bobby cuts him off again. “And I need to apologize for snapping at you.”

Reggie blinks. “What? When did you—?”

“The other night, at the hospital. You asked if my head hurt and I…”

Right. Reggie remembers now. He’d seen Bobby rubbing his forehead and thought the stress of the night had given him a migraine (turns out, he was just catching Luke’s cold). So, he’d tried to take Bobby’s hand, ready to use the pressure point trick that had worked so well on him last time, but Bobby had flinched away, eyes wide and angry, and said, I’m fine!

That had been right after Bobby told Reggie that he and Luke had kissed. So Reggie had been feeling a lot of feelings at the time. He must’ve blocked the rest of it out.

“I just don’t like to make a big deal about them,” Bobby continues. “The migraines, I mean. And Alex doesn’t even know about them, and there was already so much going on with Luke… but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Why not?”

Bobby blinks. “Why… should I not have taken it out on you?’

Reggie shakes his head. “Why doesn’t Alex know about your migraines?”

“Because I didn’t tell him?”

“But why not?” Something sharp in Reggie’s chest tells him he shouldn’t push, but he can’t help it. “Why didn’t you tell any of us? If I didn’t find you that one time, you were just gonna play a whole rehearsal in pain and then go hide in your room to suffer alone, without telling any of your bandmates something was wrong? We would’ve helped you, Bobby. At the very least, we could’ve rescheduled our band practice.”

Bobby’s expression is hard to read—not quite angry, but definitely not happy with Reggie’s little speech either. He says, his voice low and small and just creeping toward cold, “I told Luke.”

Right. Because Bobby was Luke’s friend first. Because Bobby is Luke’s boyfriend now. Because Bobby is Luke’s.

But for the first time in weeks, that thought doesn’t make Reggie sad. Instead, it makes him furious. So even though he wants to support his friends, and even though Bobby’s sick, and even though Reggie makes a point to never shout at the people he loves, all the anger and hurt and jealousy inside him just burst out.

“What did we do to you, man? Me and Alex, did we—did we say something wrong? Why do you act like we’re not really your friends, like you can’t trust us? Even when Luke was really sick, you couldn’t call us for help until he was burning up from the inside out. And I don’t get it! Do you just like Luke more than us? Did he do something we didn’t to prove he could be trusted? Are you just really fucking stubborn? Why won’t you let me help you? I just wanna help you, Bobby!”

He loses steam and fumbles over his thoughts, the emotions that had been so prominent a second ago draining out of him until he almost can’t remember what they felt like anymore. Bobby’s staring at him, his face flushed and not from fever, his gaze laser-hot, his white-knuckled hands wrapped so tightly around his mug of tea that Reggie worries it’ll shatter.

“I don’t need your help, Reg,” he says tersely.

Reggie feels an agonizing pang in his chest, like his heart has cracked into a million pieces. He takes a deep breath and lets the shrapnel puncture him.

“Okay, Bobby,” he says flatly, and scoops his backpack up off the floor. “If you don’t want my help, then I’ll just stop offering.”

He doesn’t wait to hear Bobby’s reply. He just turns away, swiping at tears he didn’t realize he’d shed, and walks out the door.

--

Taglist (ask to be added or removed):

@whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @teenagedirtbag-dot-jpeg @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @molinapattersons @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard @jatpfs

[pizadowa]

Ooh!!! That was lil sick ficlet was so well written!!! I love it<3!! They were SO in character??? Your crazy talented!! 😭

Bonus that I thought of; Carmen goes BACK into Ivy’s room, and Ivy is still buried under her blankets and all. But, her arm is stickin’ out from under the covers. Carmen, while sitting at her bedside, reaches over and takes hold of her hand gently. (Ivy is silently freaking out under the covers) I can see Carmen trying to start a bit of conversation but when she sees Ivy isn’t up to respond, she asks her if she wants to be left alone. Ivy quietly says “no.”

So Carmen stays a bit longer. The two are still holding hands.

Ivy squeezes Carmens hand three times, the code for I love you :]

AW THANK YOU!!! :)) I don't normally do pure fluffs and "I love you"s, but I was feeling inspired :)   (for anyone out of the loop, this is a mini continuation of another ficlet ask here)

-- --

Ivy stares ahead at the vague room scenery bleeding through her porous blanket from the light at her window, unable to handle the brightness and quickly flipping over towards the door. She sticks a leg out, then an arm, though refuses to emerge any more of herself despite the heat quickly catching up to her. But it’s fine, she tells herself. She has to sweat it out, right? At least until Carmen returns with that fancy-sounding soup. She closes her eyes, aching all over and feeling like the Earth's core is pulling her entire soul down, desperate to quell her discomfort with at least some positive thoughts. Her mind wanders for a moment to the previous few days in their new headquarters, of normal activities filled with comfort and absolutely no stuffy noses, hoarse throats, or tired muscles.

She really can’t stand being so weak and fatigued.

If only Carmen could read her mind and waltz back in to put her so-called massage powers to the test. What she wouldn't give to have those delicate hands on her working every tense knot like they’re dough and—

“Oh, before I forget, I'll probably add a little kick to get those sinuses opened up again, hope you…hm?”

Ivy startles under her covers at Carmen’s sudden voice before remaining absolutely still. She waits for her to finish, still refusing to let out any more of her body from her blanketed cocoon after that last gesture undoubtedly did a number on her reddened face, but it never happens. There’s a quietness in the air but Ivy can tell that Carmen is standing watch over her, emphasized even more so by a gentle sigh and muffled footsteps re-approaching the bed. The mattress sinks under additional weight, and then they’re back to their previous exchange. Ivy can see an ambiguity of Carmen’s silhouette through her peripherals but keeps her eyes dead-set on her extended arm in front of her.

“I really mean it when I say ‘anything you need,’” Carmen starts, the lilt in her voice flowing like a lone creek. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

In lieu of expressing her request she stays silent, unable to provide any insight into her wants or needs once actually confronted. The thoughts are nice, but saying them out loud? She’s not sure she’s ready for that yet. Even if...Carmen is the one offering.

And...it is already turning out to be better than when her bro is in charge of nurse duties.

Would it be so bad if she tells Carmen how she feels, even when it's about this one little thing?

Before she can get the engine going on her thought train, Carmen inches closer and grabs onto her exposed hand, effectively cutting off any progress Ivy would have made in her mind and wiping it clean. She holds her breath without meaning to, trying with all her might to neither jerk her hand away nor squeeze too tightly, and allows a current of heat to flow through her from the touch. When Carmen begins running her thumb over Ivy’s knuckle, she finally expels all the air in her lungs as slowly and inconspicuously as she can. Suddenly the whole world feels a lot lighter.

That may be the sickly headrush, though.

“I’m not letting you get away from my sopa de mondongo,” Carmen adds sternly yet lightheartedly, “but other than that, do you...really want me to leave you alone?”

Ivy internally smacks herself. Even when she says nothing she somehow sends the wrong signals.

In an attempt to right an accidental wrong, she states plainly in a surprisingly meek voice, “No.”

Carmen seems to take to it, sitting still by her side again and not once letting go of her hand, not even when Ivy can feel her palm turning clammy from what are surely incoming fever sweats. She tries to not think about how gross she is right now, how unappealing it must be for Carmen to have a moist palm clinging to her own, and chooses instead to be grateful for their moment together, however unorthodox.

“Uh oh," Carmen pipes up after a long pause. Ivy's heart clocks into overtime.

"'Uh oh'?"  

“I touched your hand. I’m breaking common cold violation one-oh-one, now I’m super infected.”

Ivy verbally cringes. “Car-meeeeeeen.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” the other girl says with a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Nothing,” Ivy sighs after a much-needed deep breath, “'cept lay here—”

“—and let me take care of you?”

Ivy finally concedes; Carmen always bests her at her own games. “Yeah, yeah. All of that. But at least promise me you’ll wash that hand. And no touching your face!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, I'm about to go cook! Ivy, have you started sick-hallucinating that I’m your brother?”

They exchange laughter. Ivy inadvertently clings harder to Carmen’s hand as she tries—and fails—to conceal another cough that pushes even more heat over her skin. Carmen doesn’t pull away. Instead she continues to sit there for the few more minutes she allows, and Ivy takes advantage of the time to relay her subconscious affections with three repetitious hand squeezes. Her secret code that she’s used all this time, inconspicuous without too much commitment, nice and safe and sound. She can continue to do it in the rare chances they hold on to each other, and Carmen is none the wiser. She’ll tell her when the time is right.

That is, of course, if Carmen hasn’t already figured it out.

"Guys, you do know that you're supposed to dress down during a fever, right?”

As if to act as a mental guide away from her wandering thoughts, Player’s voice pings from somewhere Ivy can only assume is Carmen’s athletic pants pocket.

“As in, the less clothes and blankets the better?" the disembodied voice continues.

In one fell swoop Ivy withdraws her hand, throws the covers off her, and shoots a wild look at the only other person in the room.

“Whoa,” Carmen reels.

“This is meant for him, not you,” Ivy clarifies with more intensity than she means to, unsure where to direct her flustered gaze. It’s unfair how perfect Carmen looks despite having just worked out.

Carmen angles herself on the bed to better fish her phone out from her pocket, instantly casting furrowed brows down at the screen. “How very nice of you to join us.”

“You can’t force-sweat a fever out of your body,” Player goes on to explain, of which Ivy’s body seems to respond to with a single bead of sweat gliding down her back. “Overheating will just dehydrate you more. And yes, Red, you did accidentally leave the call open.”

Carmen raises her hand into view of the camera—“Thank you, Player, I'll take it from here.”—and promptly returns the phone to her pocket.

“An educational PSA is the last thing I need right now,” Ivy complains through a sniffle.

“Can’t actually argue with him, though. Let’s ditch the duvet for now so I can finally go make you some food.” Carmen pulls the covers clean off and replaces them with lighter sheets that had been bunched up at the end of the bed. Once everything settles she turns to Ivy with a sly smirk painted across her face. “No comment on the ‘less clothes’ part.”

Ivy’s cheeks light up more than she ever thought possible as she collapses back onto her pillows and tosses her companion a woozy pout. “I’m still in my fever dream, I swear.”

From the door frame, Carmen chuckles with a wink. “Not if I can help it.”

[oliviaischillin1204]

a trip to the tickle doctor- A Fic By @Ticklish-Sides

[note: hey y’all! back with another fic from the incomparable @ticklish-sides, who was awesome enough to let me post it on my own blog! thanks, bro!]

Virgil’s eyes were closed, back pressed up against the wall of the closet he was hidden in. It was completely dark in there and there were so many different things thrown into the closet - much to Logan’s disgust - that Virgil was almost completely hidden. Even if someone would to look inside, it would take them looking *hard* to find Virgil slumped amongst several blankets.

Which was exactly what Virgil was going for. Since it was 12 pm on a Tuesday and every other Side in the Mindscape was in a Ler mood and Virgil was the only one in a Lee Mood. Which meant that Virgil knew from breakfast when everyone smirked at him at breakfast - and giving him pokes and squeezes on his sides the entire time too which was just mean - that going down with a fight wasn’t an option. He was going to be tickled and there was exactly nothing Virgil could do about it. But that didn’t think that Virgil was going to make it easy for them. Thus, why Virgil was currently curled up around all the blankets.

Virgil yawned, leaning against a stack of blankets with an anticipatory smile on his face. He couldn’t wait until the others found him and tickled him. Maybe they’d all tickle him or maybe one of them would find Virgil and tickle him senseless themself. Whichever one it was, Virgil couldn’t wait until it happened.

If only the others would hurry up and fucking *find* him already.

He had been curled up in this closet for nearly three hours now and even though Virgil knew that he had chosen a really sneaky place to hide, that didn’t mean that the others had to take so long to find him. It wasn’t like he was hiding in his bedroom or anything. He was in a closet. Right next to both Logan and Patton’s rooms. The resident Tickle Monster and Tickle Doctor. What the fuck were those two doing that was taking so long? They both were the ones that were poking him the most at breakfast and now, what, they didn’t come to find Virgil like they normally did.

Whatever, Virgil thought as he started to relax into the blankets. Maybe Remus and Roman would find him. Or maybe Janus. As long as he was tickled, Virgil thought as he drifted off to sleep, he didn’t care who it was who did it. He just hoped that someone found him soon.

_____________________________________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Be careful with the patient, Nurse. He is suffering from quite a serious condition after all.”

“Oh, I know, Doctor! Don’t worry, I’m being careful! He’ll be snug as a bug in a rug when I’m finished here.”

Virgil grimaced as voices woke him up, not even opening his eyes. He felt so groggy and his neck as sore from falling asleep in such an awkward position. He hummed happily at the warm blanket wrapped around him, almost like he was in the middle of a very elaborate blanket burrito, and tilted his head to bury it into the soft pillow that his head was resting against.

Wait… Virgil hadn’t fallen asleep with a pillow.

He snapped his eyes open, doing his best to look around. He was wrapped up in a blanket burrito. A very elaborate one too that left his bare feet exposed and his arms stuck to his sides. He was lying in a bed that Virgil recognized from many different cuddles sessions with about ten different plushies surrounding him and with one tucked against his neck. It was very comfy which made the situation Virgil was in all the more suspicious and exciting.

He was going to be tickled.

“Oh, the patient’s awake!”

Virgil raised his head a little and saw Logan and Patton sitting at his feet. Patton grinned at him, teasingly waving at him with fake little monster claws strapped to his fingers. He was wearing a toy stethoscope around his neck and bouncing up and down on the bed excitedly. Patton winked at him, tucking the blankets around his feet firmly.

Logan, on the other hand, was smirking down at him and fingering a much more real stethoscope that was thrown around his neck. He had a clipboard in one hand that, from this angle, Virgil could see his name written onto the top of a piece of paper. Both of them looked very excited to be there, not that Virgil was feeling much differently.

“Good morning, Sir,” Logan said in a very professional tone, glancing down at the clipboard with an excited grin. “Ah, yes, Virgil. Thank you for waking so we could start your treatment.”

Virgil couldn’t stop the wobbly smile growing on his face even if he wanted to. He was going to be tickled, he was going to be tickled. “Treatment,” he asked, his feet scrunching up and as he subconsciously tried to cover them with each other. “What treatment? For what?”

Patton gave him a mock sympathetic look, shaking his head and tsking. “We found you in the closet, Sugar. And you know what we found all over your feet?”

Virgil wiggled his feet, shifting in his burrito to test how much leeway he had. And he didn’t have much. Like Patton had said earlier, he was as snug as a bug in a rug. He wasn’t getting out without Patton or Logan taking mercy on him and that wasn’t going to happen for a long time. “What’d you find?”

“Little bite marks,” Patton gasped, a smile tugging at his lips. He forced them back down into a mock sympathetic pout. “I’m sorry, Virgil. But you’ve been bitten by the Gigglebug and it won’t be long until you too are a Gigglebug. There isn’t a cure for this bite and all we can do right now is tend to your little Gigglebug ways.”

Virgil’s face was slowly blushing brighter and brighter each time Patton said… that word. Everyone in the Mindscape knew that Virgil was weak to exactly one word and it was that one.“Don’t say that,” he giggled, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “Don’t call me that!”

Patton blinked at him innocently. “Call you what? What is it that you don’t want me to call you? You better tell me right now or I’ll keep calling you it.”

Giggles poured out of Virgil as he furiously shook his head. “I can’t!”

“Oh, guess I’ll never know what word I shouldn’t use, Gigglebug,” Patton hummed with a teasy smirk. “Oh, Doctor, it looks like the Gigglebug is starting to turn!”

Logan tsked, shaking his head. Unlike Patton, his face was totally and utterly blank. “How sad. All we can do is keep the cute, little Gigglebug comfortable while we treat him.” He paused. “Unless the patient has any protests about this treatment,” he said, giving Virgil a way to back out from this and leave untickled.

But Virgil’s lee mood was too high at this point, giggling happily with his feet squirming and bouncing as much as they could in his blanket burrito. He shook his head, turning his head to bury his face into the stuffy next to him.

“Then we will proceed,” Logan said, smiling as he held up his stethoscope so Virgil could see it. It had little bristles at the end like a hairbrush’s. “Nurse, hold the patient’s feet steady, will you?”

“I’ll certainly try,” Patton giggled as he tried to grab onto the wiggling feet. “He’s wiggling around a lot though!” He laughed as Virgil’s feet escaped him again, giving him a mock stern look. “Now, Mister Gigglebug, if you don’t let us treat you, we’ll have to use drastic measures.”

Virgil was rocking back and forth, giggling too hard to reply to Patton. He felt like he was already being tickled from the sheer anticipation of it all. “I cahahan’t,” he laughed, face blushing bright pink.

Logan’s lips tugged up into a smirk. “Very well then. We will have to use drastic measures then. Nurse?”

Patton grinned down at Virgil and reached up, moving the blankets around Virgil’s stomach to reveal a strategic opening. It did nothing to loosen the hold on Virgil but it gave the two lers a perfect opening to Virgil’s most ticklish spot.

Logan grinned down at Virgil, winking at him when Virgil nervously cracked an eye open, and moved to put his stethoscope on Virgil’s bare stomach. “Now, let’s begin.” Logan started to scrub the bristles of the stethoscope over Virgil’s bare stomach, making him burst into loud, squeaky laughter.

“Aww,” Patton cooed, finally managing to grab Virgil’s feet and get them into a headlock. “Listen to that! Gigglebug’s happy!”

“He certainly sounds like it,” Logan hummed, moving the stethoscope into slow circles and focusing in on one area that made Virgil snort. He paused, tilting his head. “Did you hear that nurse? I think there are some pigs in the hospital.” He grinned at Virgil’s bright blush.

Patton perked up. “Oh, some cute little piggies! Is our patient a cute little piggy just like he’s a cute little Gigglebug,” he asked in a coo, scribbling his fingers up Virgil’s arches and coaxing a squeal from him. He giggled when it was discovered that Virgil was squealing far too much to say anything. “Luckily, I know the perfect spot to coax out some snorty piggies!"

Virgil was confused for a second as the tickles paused, looking up at Logan in dismay. Was that it?

"You better hurry, Nurse,” Logan hummed, smirking a little. “The Gigglebug is getting upset at the lack of treatment.”

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Patton chirped as he reached back, hand hovering over Virgil’s wrapped up legs. Unlike the rest of his body, his legs were wrapped in a thin blanket. With the thin blanket and Virgil’s skinny jeans, there wasn’t much protection. “I got some treatment coming right up!” And with that, he started squeezing the pressure points right above both of Virgil’s knees.

Virgil’s eyes bulged open and he burst out into squeaky laughter, punctured with plenty of snorts.

“Ahh, there are the snorting piggies,” Logan hummed, returning to dragging his stethoscope over the spot on Virgil’s stomach that made him snort even more. “Thank you for finding them, Nurse.”

Patton grinned at them, his voice going to a coo. “Oh, of course! What do you think, Gigglebug? Aren’t the piggies cute?”

“Nahaha,” Virgil squealed, jerking his body back and forth. And from the way Logan’s lips twitched into a teasy grin, he should’ve known that would’ve led to even more teasing.

“Ahh, perhaps I was mistaken,” Logan hummed, dipping his finger into Virgil’s bellybutton and drawing out some squeals from the Anxious Side. “It seems that we have a worm here. Look, Nurse. See how wiggly he is?” Logan wormed his arms under the blankets and gently grasped Virgil’s sides, squeezing them one after the other, over and over again.

Patton gasped in delight as Virgil wiggled back and forth. “Oh, such a cute little wiggle worm! Wiggle little wormy,” he chanted, leaning forward to scribble his fingers around Virgil’s bellybutton.

As Virgil laughed, it hit him that he wasn’t going to get out of this for a long time. And, as Patton dipped a finger in his bellybutton and started scratching it gently and making Virgil cackle, Virgil knew that he was completely and totally okay with that.

[pepsi-writes]

all american stories

He leaned on the door to support his weight as he laughs the hardest he has ever laughed in his entire life. Imaginary friend? Mr. Wiggles? Those thoughts alone were making America cackle.

"We are serious. Mr. Wiggles," Mrs. Dorji shivered at the mention of that name, "has been absolutely terrorizing Tandin for the last few weeks, and we would absolutely like you to get rid of him. Alas, we have tried to get rid of Mr. Wiggles, but..." She trailed off, trembling from remembering the event. She looked back up, tears now streaming across her face. Mr. Dorji wrapped an arm around his wife as a desperate attempt to comfort her. America finally gained enough composure to choke out a "A-alright, alright, I'll get rid of whatever Mr. Wiggles is, and you two and Tandin can rest assured that Mr. Wiggles won't terrorize anybody, anymore!"

With that, he snatched his Super - Duper - Totally - Effective - Imaginary - Friend - Destroyer - 3000 and let the Dorji's lead him to what he assumed was Tandin's room. As Mr. Dorji opened the door,  America thought to himself.

Come on, Meri, the guy's name is Mr. Wiggles!

Mrs Dorji was probably exaggerating anyway. Who even cries over an imaginary friend?

It can't be that bad.

Right?

-----

NATO turned to America with a decisive look. "I've decided that I cannot call you 'United States of America' anymore, since you are my father. I've compiled a list of possible 'nicknames', in which you will choose one for me to address you as."

America squinted, unsure of why his son was being so stuffy and formal. This was a party after-woah. NATO had pulled out a super long list, so long that it brushed against the floor whenever he moved. "Let us begin with the first name. Father?" he quizzed. "No," America answered. "Too formal for me."

NATO let out an 'ah', then continued.

"Vater?"

"No. I keep on forgetting what that means, anyway."

"Daddy-"

"Absolutely not."

"Old man?"

"Come on, I'm not that old." America chuckled.

NATO tried many different variations, many different spellings, and many different nicknames. At this point, America just wanted to get into his car and drive home. After thirty minutes of NATO shouting out names, he decided to do just that. As soon as America unlocked the door to his house, he bolted to his bed and flopped on it, embracing its soft covers. The enchanting aroma of his pillow and the layers of warm quilts combined felt quite nice actually.

So nice, actually, that he fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

He woke up to a person delicately shaking him, as if he was a wilting flower. He couldn't see the figure very clearly, but he made out enough of the figures' features to identify it as NATO. NATO himself kneeled down to softly whisper in his father's ear:

"Papa?"

"I-wha-No!"

according to wattpad people love this shitpost the most

------

"China!" America saw him and ran towards him, his arms outstretched for a rare hug.

"America!" China also ran towards him, cradling something behind his back.

"China!" America cocked a rifle that he had behind his back.

"America!" China pulled out a shoulder-fired-missile weapon.

-----------

America turned his camera to the sign. The "T" flickered in and out, while the other letters stayed bright as if there were nothing wrong with its companion. For America, that was perfect vine material. No matter if he had to get out of his car and stand in the freezing rain. He wasn't going to throw away his shot.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, putting on his announcer voice, "welcome to, T-T-T-T-TARGET!"

------------

this is just one big dad joke

America, looked at Austria with a perplexed expression on his face. "What do you mean 'don't eat that'? It's just an apple. You can do my check-up as soon as I eat it." He held the apple closer to his mouth, its red skin glistening in the dim lights of the therapy room.

Austria snatched the apple and walked over to the nearest garbage can, opening the lid.

"That's the point," he seethed, throwing away the apple. "Haven't you ever heard of the rhyme? They say it all the time in your clay."

"What rhyme are you talking about?" America said, wondering if there was something he missed while not paying attention at school. Was it a nursery rhyme like 'Ring Around the Rosie,' or-

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away, you dummkopf!" he yelled.

Oh, that rhyme.

"I'm allergic to apples, so if you eat an apple, I can't do scheiße to you during our session. Were you not listening when I told everybody this?" Austria questioned.

"Ye-"

"Good. Now never eat an apple again."

--------

"Are you drunk?" Russia asked, looking down at America who was laying face flat on the pool table.

America flipped over so he was facing Russia. "No, I'm not," he replied, but the shit-eating grin on his face told him otherwise. "You're drrrunk."

Russia shook his head. This was the third time America had gotten drunk this week. What was happening with his life that he needed to drink every time he had his back turned? "Come on, we're going home."

America's face morphed into one of exaggerated displeasure."Noooooooo!"

"Stop complaining. We're going home, and you're going to bed."

two bros walking each other home. i deleted some fluff because it was bad.

-------

Russia tipped America's head up, revealing his awful eye bags. Examining them closely, he said, "Do you feel okay? Because you don't look okay."

America slowly pulled away to take a sip of his sixth cup of coffee since one in the morning. He gave a shaky thumbs up. "Never been better."

"You're going to bed."

"Already passing out."

---------

His eyelids fluttered open.

The first thing that America noticed was that he wasn't home, or anywhere, actually. Surveying his surroundings, he guessed he was in some sort of basement. A gust of wind blew against the mahogany curtain that decorated the only window in the room, fluttering them open and sending a single ray of light his way. America squinted at the sudden light, his sight still hazy. He tried to stretch out, but something kept him still. As soon as his vision cleared he looked down to see what was keeping him in place.

The second thing America noticed was that he was bound to a chair. By rope. Great. Now he got kidnapped. Wow. Astronomical. Phenomical.

He tried to remember what got him in this situation. He could admit, he had terrible memory - and the memories came flooding back, almost as if a wall broke down. Getting invited out for dinner, drinking some spicy juice or something at a bar, feeling weird, but not in a drunken weird. Getting dragged out to an alley by an adult child. His head hurting for a split second and then everything going black-oh. He was drugged and knocked out; he should have thought of this earlier. It seemed pretty cliche to be stuck in this situation, but everything that's happened lately might as well have been one of John Mulaney's stories.

The third thing America noticed was that he was bored. Like, super bored. Being shoved in a basement didn't prove frightening to him, just boring. Besides, he didn't get to experience the supposed scary part of it, so what's the point anyway? He was more accustomed to being swift with everything, living the, excuse his language, fast life. Tapping his foot, America satisfied himself with the blowing curtain, watching it flap in neverending waves, never settling. Damn, he really wanted some music to go with this. Even if it was Britain's despised classical music, he just wanted something other than this silence, this nothing.

-----

America stared in horror as the figure stepped closer into the light. Colombia gripped his arm tightly, and he was sure that would leave a bruise later. Now he could see that the figure had their arms up in surrender and that they looked confused, as if they didn't know what was going on. Their flag looked like a carbon copy of Colombia's, but only with a coat of arms in the middle.

"Colombia?" the country asked, their eyes lighting up. Colombia? That complete stranger knew his name?

He gasped. "Educador! Compadre, compadre, ¿como estas? ¿Quieres agua o algo para relajarte?"

Colombia knew this guy?

-----

America walked up to her, giggling at his phone. "Hey, come look at this video I made of you! Bet you'll like it~", he teased, trying to get Slovakia's attention.

Slovakia turned around, obviously annoyed. "Fine, but it better not be embarrassing, and you better not have shown it to Czech." America snickered at her mention of Czech, knowing that Slovakia was still basically lovesick for him. He handed her the phone, and clicked play.

Czech walked up to Slovakia's door, Hungary following close behind and eventually settling on the chair that was placed next to her door. He let out a sigh, checking his watch. He finally said in a small voice, "Slovensko, are you ok? We haven't heard from you all day. Hungary's practically begging to leave the house," she glared daggers at Czech , but he continued. "but Poland says he's not leaving without you."

No answer.

"Slovensko? Are you asleep? It's okay if you're sleeping, and in fact Hungary and I will leave you alone to-"

"Open up, fucknugget." This time Hungary was speaking, and in a low voice that definitely sounded agitated.

"Hun!" Czech scolded. "Meri is  right there ," he said, gesturing to the camera, "you can't curse in front of him!"

Hungary ignored her coworker and continued to yell at the door.

"We've been waiting for you for the entire day and if you don't get your ass out here  right now , I'll go in there and haul it out myself."

This time, the door slowly opened, revealing Slovakia, wrapped up in a large blanket.

To say she looked terrible was an understatement. Her hair was sticking out every which way, there were bags under her eyes, dried drool lined her cheeks, and mascara and eyeliner was smeared all over her face.

"Why are you here so early? Did UN schedule an meeting for 7 AM aga-"

"Why are you looking like absolute shit? It's one in the afternoon," Hungary spat, grabbing Czech's hand to look at his watch. "Get your shit together and let's go."

America erupted in giggles, shaking the camera so hard that the phone fell over, and then-

The recording suddenly ends.

"Meri," Slovakia looked up from the phone. "What the fuck."

------

Nothing in life made him happy. It was not a choice for him, but a necessity. If nothing amused him, entertained him, made him so that he enjoyed it, then he wouldn't get attached. He would be prepared for the end, and embrace it with open arms. He would-

The alarm clock blared with an ugly noise, echoing throughout the entire room and interrupting America's monologue. He stayed up all night again, because of course he did. This English paper wasn't going to finish itself, and he definitely needed some time to brood over his past decisions. In fact, he moped more than he actually wrote, and now he got only three paragraphs done - oh no. Now, bullshitting through it was his only option. He frantically opened his document filled with his past notes. America stole a glance at the pages written the day before, and he saw that there was only one. Oh God he was fucked. He stared at the document, trying to decipher the broken English that he typed during the long, boring lecture.

Romeo + Juliet good, at least he got that going.

Paris bad, okay, as in France's understudy in that one play that everybody's buzzing about. He could remember that.

They both die in the end: Romeo finds Juliet sleeping but thinks she's dead and so he kills himself, but Juliet wakes up and dies too by the same blade. Damn, were these even notes? This was a crappy summary of the end of the story, but he could build off of this. Okay, so he could bullshit a few more pages, proofread them to make sure it actually looks presentable, and then turn it in ten minutes before the clock.

America set to typing, typing as fast as he possibly could. Being in a coffee filled rage certainly did help him though, since he practically wrote two pages in like, an hour. Not good for a college sophomore like him, but there were only seven pages left to write. For once in his lazy, unmotivational life, America was not going to slack off and wait. This paper was the deciding grade for the semester, and- ooooh, was that a new update from Russia's Instagram- NO, he had to stay focused. The time whizzed by as he wrote like his life depended on it, because it did. If he didn't turn this dumb paper in, then he couldn't graduate, and then he would never get a job, and then he would be living on the streets- ugh, snap out of it already! He had already become too distracted throughout the night and he had work to finish. He could at least pass with an A, and then he could get an actual job and he would make UK proud, and he would make Canada not embarrassed to go out with him in public anymore, and-

Three hours later, and he had - very slowly - written his paper, skimmed it through, and turned it in, except this time it was nine minutes before the due date. He would probably get a D or something; you never knew with Mr. Williams. He would give you an A for a completely crappy paper, and in the same breath slap a old, hard, F on a paper that you had poured your soul into. Trust him, America knew from experience.

~

Five weeks later, he received his grade for the semester. Opening it, his first analysis of the paper was that his grades, were, at best, not so shabby. As his eyes drifted down from each class, they finally landed on his English grade.

A B+, with a comment that says 'Good work!'  Not so bad for a procrastinating country like him, huh?

challenge: take a shot every time i write "bullshit."

[aceofstars16]

Books Are the Best Medicine

After seeing this picture by @siriuslymeg I started coming up with a headcanon about how Ford can’t sleep well when he’s sick, and the only way for him to actually sleep is a strong sleeping pill or having a certain brother read to him.

This is pretty much just...a lot of brotherly fluff because I’m a sucker for it...hope y’all like it! (I also took the how to pronounce dodecahedron from the picture because I had no clue how to start the fic and that worked really well...xD)

Fic below the cut:

“Doe-deck-a-hee-dron? Sixer, what is this book even?” Stan squinted at the word, trying to figure out what the heck it was supposed to be. So far, he hadn’t been able to understand any of this book. But Ford was sick and Stan knew how sucky it was to feel like crap so he was trying to read it to cheer his brother up. Though how this book could make anyone happy was a mystery.

A hoarse laugh sounded beside Stan’s ear, and he glanced at his brother who had shuffled closer to get a better look at the book, but his eyes were squinting and Stan wasn’t sure he could even see what was on the page without his glasses. But then again Stan didn’t wear glasses so he really didn’t know what it was like for Ford, all he knew was every time he tried his brother’s glasses on, everything looked super fuzzy.

“It’s a book about science,” Ford said in a scratchy voice, turning the book so Stan could see the cover. “Carl Sagan wrote it to help just about anyone understand science.”

“Well he’s doing a poor job of it,” Stan muttered as he opened the book again, looking for the last word he had read.

Ford chuckled again, but then the laughed turned into a cough and Stan quickly placed the book between him and his brother. “Hey don’t cough on me! I don’t want to get sick!”

“Sorry.” It was a quiet whisper, though Stan wasn’t sure if it was because of guilt or a sore throat.

“Eh, it’s okay, just don’t do it again.” Turning his attention back to the book, Stan started reading – or trying to read. Every few words, Ford usually had to help him pronounce a word, which resulted in him resting his head right next to Stan’s, a blanket pulled up to his ears.

“And…okay what is this word?” Stan asked, pulling the book closer to try and figure out how to even attempt pronouncing it. When there was no answer, Stan tilted his head and saw that Ford’s eyes were closed and his breathing was quiet – or as quiet as it could be with a stuffy nose.

“Great…” Stan muttered to himself. Ford was pretty much sleeping on him, so getting up wasn’t really much of an option, but despite that, he was glad his brother seemed to be sleeping so well. Last night Ford had been coughing so much neither of them had gotten much rest.

Looked at the book, Stan stuck his tongue out at it before tossing it to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of his comics. It wasn’t a new one, but it beat the sciencey book. Reaching over, Stan stretched his arm as far as it could go while trying not to move Ford. His fingers barely reached the comic, but he managed to pull it a little closer so he could pick it up.

Taking another glance at his brother, Stan sighed, but as he opened up his comic, he felt a smile growing on his face. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, just as long as he didn’t get sick too.

Another loud cough shook the bed and Stan pulled the pillow off of his head. There was no way he was going to fall asleep if this kept up. He hadn’t heard Ford this bad since they were kids. Whatever he had caught, it was bad.

“Come on…” Ford’s voice sounded from above him and despite how quiet the words were, Stan could still hear the anguish in his brother’s voice. That was it. They were both miserable and Stan couldn’t take it.

Unwrapping his legs from the blankets and sheets, Stan flicked on the lamp next to their bunkbed and grabbed the first book he saw before snatching his pillow and blanket and tossing them up onto Ford’s bed.

“Stan, what are-“ Ford’s question was cut off by another bought of coughing.

“Just a sec.” Stan dug through the discarded tissues that had fallen from Ford’s bed until he found the small bottle. Then he climbed up the ladder, bottle and book in hand.

“Here,” he said, pouring out some of the liquid into the cup.

“I already took some Stan…”

“Yeah, well you didn’t take enough.” Holding out the cup towards him, Stan saw how bedraggled his brother looked. Yeah, this wasn’t acceptable.

Ford looked at the cup for a moment, then sighed and accepted it, gulping down the liquid, only to stick his tongue out at the taste.

A laugh escaped from Stan as he took the cup and put it back on the bottle before tossing it onto the bedside stand. “Tastes terrible right? Now scoot.”

A confused look grew on Ford’s face, but he did as Stan asked, pressing himself up against the wall as Stan flopped down on his back and grabbed the book. He opened it and was about to start reading, but he could feel Ford’s gaze resting on him and he quickly looked over to see utter confusion etched on his brother’s face.

“What? We used to do this all the time when we were kids,” Stan asked, surprised at how defensive he felt. It was kind of silly, they were teenagers after all. They shouldn’t need to read to each other to sleep.

“I just…” Ford trailed off, looking at the book for a moment, then a small smile grew on his face and he lied down, pulling his covers up to his ears. “I’m listening.”

Stan felt a smirk growing on his face, but didn’t respond, he just started reading. It was a nerd book, of course it was, but he had to admit some of it was a little interesting.

“Huh…what do you know, I actually understand what they are saying here.” He looked over at Ford, a smile on his face, but Ford wasn’t listening. His chest was rising and falling and his eyes were closed, he looked happy, peaceful. Stan’s smile grew.

“Always works,” he said quietly, closing the book and tucking it next to him, knowing Ford wouldn’t approve of him throwing it off of the bed. Plus, it might hit something and he didn’t want to risk anything waking up Ford.

Pulling his own blanket up to his chin, Stan could feel Ford’s head pressing into his chest and he smiled as he let his own head rest against his brother’s. “Night bro bro.”

A yawn escaped Stan’s mouth as he settled down with a cup of coffee. Man was he glad this ship had autopilot, or whatever McGucket called it. It made things so much easier, especially since Ford had taken an unscheduled dip in the ocean and gotten a nasty cold.

Stan closed his eyes, enjoying the gentle rock of the ocean. That is, he was enjoying it until he heard a bout of coughing and indecipherable words coming from the bedroom, or cabin, or whatever it was called.

Sighing, Stan put down his coffee – making sure it wouldn’t slide off the table from the rocking – before heading into the room only to stop in the doorway and frown at what he saw. Ford was leaning over his desk, scribbling something in one of his new journals.

“I thought you were supposed to be sleeping.”

“Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I might as well do something productive,” Ford muttered as he continued to write down…whatever it was he wrote in those journals.

For a moment, Stan just stared at his brother, debating whether or not he should even try to convince him to rest. But then a huge coughing fit shook Ford’s entire body and any doubts died.

Stepping forward, Stan grabbed the journal and snapped it shut.

“Stanley! What are you doing? Give it back!” Ford glared at Stan, but with the bags under his eyes it didn’t look entirely threatening.

“Nope. You need sleep.”

“I told you, I can’t sleep. I need a sleeping pill to sleep and unfortunately I didn’t pack any so,” Ford gestured to the journal, “if you don’t mind giving me back my journal.”

Glancing at the journal, Stan frowned, but then a memory sparked in the back of his mind. “On one condition.” Stan pointed to Ford’s bed.

Ford stared at Stan for a few seconds, then sighed. “Fine…but I’m not going to sleep, I already tried.”

“We’ll see about that.” Stan said, smiling at Ford’s raised eye brow as he flopped onto this bed. Then Ford held out his hand and Stan reluctantly handed the journal to his brother before grabbing another book – one of the many Ford had brought.

Then he walked over hopped on the bed as well.

“Stanley what are you-?” Realization dawned on Ford’s face only to be replaced by a frown. “Stanley, I really don’t think that’s going to-“

Stan ignored Ford and started reading, effectively stopping Ford from voicing his doubts. Over his voice, Stan heard a resigned sigh, but he didn’t stop reading, even when he noticed Ford still writing in his journal.

Time ticked onward. Ten minutes and the scratching of a pen stopped. Twenty minutes, a head rested on his shoulder, Ford correcting how Stan pronounced certain words. Thirty minutes and Stan’s throat was starting to get sore, but the quiet snoring next to him made up for it.

There was no holding back a smile as Stan looked at Ford, sleeping soundly despite his doubts. “Works every time…”

Leaning back on the pillow, Stan closed his eyes. He knew he couldn’t move, if he did, Ford would wake up, so he might as well take a nap too.