and so the madness begins


A MASTERPOST OF PORTRAITS OF MY SUMMERTIME MAD SWEENEYS! they’re FINISHED! i wanted to fill this portfolio i got, and i DID IT!! there’re actually about 30 in total, so this isn’t all of them, just the ones i particularly liked/featured in the folio

these were done on 9x12″ sketching paper with graphite, charcoal, india ink, white ink pens, white out, and occasionally faux gold leaf. a lot of q-tips died for these pieces

this character has been my summertime muse–i recently ran into a rut, and it was right after i finished The Swaingels. i pretty badly burnt myself out from overworking with digital, my eyes were in bad shape from accidental straining, but i REALLY didn’t want to stop working on things. i’ll get back to spn stuff soon, but it felt really nice to focus on this character for a while

i uh

i super adore him

anonymous asked:

i can see lance crawling into bed with keith for the night and keith just not even looking at him bc he's angry and lance is like 'babe it's me, lancey lance :(' and keith is just like damn it why is he so cute and doesn't stay mad at him long after that lol

honestly keith probably wasn’t even that mad at lance to begin with?? so after seein him being all cute and shit he’s like

I will never be over the sheer perfection of the Fiddler on the Roof movie. The almost all Jewish cast, the Jerome Robbins choreography, the wedding scene lit entirely by hundreds of Havdalah candles, the roseate glow of the Chavah ballet juxtaposed with the flat grey of “Far from the Home I Love,” Chaim Topol’s face.  It’s stunning and perfect and if I had to pick one piece of media to point to and say: “There. That’s my people,” that would be it.  

Brother's Best Friend

Hello! Here’s a request I’ve been working on; I had fun with this one!

Request: @dragoncharmwitch - Could you make a text where you’re michael’s older sister and he finds out you fancy ash. And the boys set you up please :) // Sorry this one took so long!

Title: Brother’s Best Friend

Summary: When her brother and his friends find out that Y/N has a crush on Ashton, they decide to take action.

Words: 1k+

Warnings: Lil’ bit of language. Nothing horrible.

“Shit,” you mutter, digging through the refrigerator. Letting out an annoyed sigh, you turn around and run a hand through your hair. “Michael!” you shout. You wait a few moments and, when he doesn’t reply, you cup your hands around your mouth and yell a bit louder. “Michael!

You hear a muffled “What,” from upstairs and groan in frustration.

“You took the last bottle of water, you prick!” you call again, but you’re met with silence. Naturally, of course; you can only assume your brother is in his bedroom with the door closed, his music up loud, and his headset glued to his ears so he can talk to his friends as he plays his video games. “Moron,” you grumble to yourself, slamming the refrigerator door closed and grabbing your keys from the table. Looks like you’re making a grocery run. Oh, well. You need snacks, anyway.

You head to the door, but when you open it you yelp in surprise as you nearly collide with another body. “What the hell!” you exclaim, blinking in surprise before your gaze focuses on a face you know all too well.

“Well, hello to you too, Y/N,” Ashton says with a cheeky grin.

You roll your eyes and smile, shaking your head. “Move over, Irwin,” you tell him, and you can only hope your face isn’t as red as a tomato.

So maybe you have a tiny, little crush on your brother’s friend. You’re honestly not sure how someone with a working pair of eyes couldn’t have a crush on Ashton. The guy is gorgeous. Half of your grade drools over him, including you. You suppose you’re lucky that he’s one of Michael’s best friends, granting you opportunities to see him outside of school several times a week, although you never quite understood why Ashton hangs out with a bunch of kids in the year below him.

“Well, what’s the password?” Ashton quips in regard to your demand, crossing his arms. He unknowingly flexes in the process, and your heart skips a beat.

“The password,” you say, still smiling, “is back up before I make you.

Ashton lets out a laugh (you’re pretty sure a swarm of butterflies was just set loose in your stomach) and steps away. “As much as I’d like to accept your challenge, Y/N,” he says, “you’re awfully intimidating when you threaten.”

Your smile grows and you step out of the doorway, making your way down the driveway before turning around to glance at Ashton. You could swear he just winked at you before he walked into the house, but you tell yourself it’s just wishful thinking. Still, though, after you’ve settled behind the wheel of your car, you pull out your phone to text your friend.

To: Michaela


Ashton Irwin just got here and the boy looks too good. I have actual tears in my eyes.

You add a heart-eyed emoji at the end of the message for exaggeration before you toss your phone into the center console and start up the car.


“Honey, I’m home,” you mutter sarcastically as you walk through the door. You’re juggling a six-pack of bottled water and two grocery bags as you stumble into the kitchen, dropping everything onto the counter at the first chance you get. You hear laughter from upstairs and realize that Michael has a few other friends over as well as Ashton; probably Luke and Calum.

You set to work putting away the few groceries you bought and take a bottle of water for yourself. You hear footsteps behind you, and when you turn around you see Michael standing behind you. “Uh, hi?” you say with a frown. Your brother looks slightly puzzled as he scratches at the back of his neck.

“Do you like Ashton?” he asks bluntly.

You blink, taken slightly aback by the question. “I—what? I mean, yeah. Obviously I like him. I kinda have to, considering he’s your friend and—”

“No,” Michael shakes his head. “Not like, platonically or anything. I mean it as in, like… more than platonically?”

A feeling of unease settles over you. How would he—

And then your eyes widen. You reach for your phone, quickly unlocking it and opening your messages. “Fuck,” you whisper when you realize that you didn’t, in fact, send your Ashton-related text to your friend Michaela, but instead to Michael. Damn them and their similar names.

You look up from your phone and notice that Michael is still there, standing awkwardly. “I…” you begin, trying to figure out the best way to word your next sentence. It’s no use lying at this point, you figure. Might as well admit. “I… find him… attractive,” you say, and it comes out sounding more like a question than anything else.

“You think Ashton is attractive?” Michael repeats, furrowing his brow.

“Yes?” you reply sheepishly, cringing slightly.

Michael shakes his head and you think you might die from awkwardness. There’s no way he won’t tell Ashton. Even worse, Ashton probably already saw the message. Shit, shit, shit, sh—

“I mean, coming from a straight guy, you’re not wrong.”

“Huh?” you ask, looking at your brother. Michael only shrugs.

“Ashton Irwin is an attractive male,“ he clarifies. “I’m straight, not blind.”

“Wait…” you begin, “so you’re not like, mad or anything?”

“I mean I’m not gonna lie, it kinda weirds me out,” Michael admits, “but in all honesty I think he’s sort of into you too, something I will never be able to understand—”

“Ha, ha.”

“—but, I guess it’s whatever. You guys flirt all the time and it’s kinda nasty, so Luke and Cal and I talked it over and figured we might as well help you guys out.”

At this point, you’re thoroughly confused. So, Michael is okay with the fact that you like Ashton? And he thinks Ashton likes you too? And he and his other friends are going to help you out? “What… what does that even mean?” you say skeptically.

“Just don’t worry about it,” Michael sighs. “It wasn’t my idea; Luke just thinks he’s a genius or something. I’m gonna go back upstairs now before I puke at the thought of you dating one of my best friends.”

“O-okay?” you stutter, watching as your younger brother heads back upstairs. You press a hand to your forehead and lean against the counter, letting out a deep breath.

What the hell just happened?



You groan as you hear Michael’s voice from down the hall. You just got comfortable on your bed. “What?” you holler back.

You don’t receive a reply, and you groan again, closing your laptop and standing up from your spot. Stretching your back, you slowly pad your way down the hall to Michael’s bedroom. The door is closed, so you knock. “Mike, what the hell do you want?” you demand. You can hear laughter and gunshots, meaning they’re still glued to their video game. “Mi—” you’re about to knock one more time before the door opens to reveal your brother’s friend Calum.

“Oh,” he says. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi?” you frown, trying to peer around him into the room. “Why did you guys call?”

Michael materializes behind Calum and grins. “We sent Ashton into the garage.”

“Congratulations,” you deadpan. “Why, though?”

“We told him to find a ball. We want to play some pickup in the yard,” calls Luke from his spot in front of the TV.

“Cool…” you say, your frown deepening.

“We’re in the middle of a game, so could you just go help him?” Michael suggests, rolling his eyes.

You make a face of exasperation, letting out a sigh when you realize what’s going on. “Seriously, you guys?”

“Take the opportunity or leave it, Y/N,” says Michael. “Naturally I’d prefer for you to leave it, but I’m outnumbered.”

You look up at Calum and he shrugs, smiling innocently at you. “We just want to play some football.”

You close your eyes and press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “Fine,” you say finally. “I will go help Ashton look for a ball.”

Without another word, you turn and head back down the hall.


You wish you were wearing something other than sweatpants and a tank top as you step into the garage, where Ashton is rummaging through the piles of junk. “Need a hand?” you call, straining to see him.

“Huh?” his head pokes around from behind a cardboard box and he grins when he realizes it’s you. “Oh. Hey, Y/N. How’d you know I was struggling out here?”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Just had a feeling. I can always tell when there’s a damsel in distress nearby.”

Ashton stands to his full height and stretches. “Damsel in distress?” he asks. “I take offense to that. Very emasculating.”

“It’s the twenty-first century,” you tell him. “Nothing should be emasculating. But, if it makes you feel any better, Mike and the other guys told me to help you.”

“Ah, so they’re the ones who can sense a person in distress.”

“More-or-less,” you agree, stepping forward. “So, you can’t find a ball.”

“I’m afraid you’re correct,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair and glancing around.

You follow his line of vision, looking around the garage before your gaze lands on exactly what you’re looking for. “Well,” you say triumphantly, walking over to a box hidden behind Michael’s old bicycle that he’s used maybe like once in his entire life and reaching over to grab the black-and-white ball. “Clearly you didn’t look very hard.”

Ashton purses his lips and exhales through his nose. “Guess not.”

You giggle and walk back over to where he’s standing, holding the ball out. However, when he goes to grab it, you pull it back toward you. “You know, this is gonna cost you,” you snicker, looking at him with arched eyebrows.

“Oh, really?” he replies with a grin, stepping closer. In response, you take a step back. You nod, and his smile grows. “Well, what’s your price?”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think, tapping your index finger against your lips and looking up. “I think—” Before you can finish your sentence, Ashton lunges forward and grabs the ball. However, you had a strong grip on it and as a result, he pulled you forward as well. You end up a few inches away from him and laugh nervously, hoping your face isn’t growing red at the proximity. “You think you’re quick!” you remark, looking up at him and immediately wishing you didn’t.

The two of you hold eye contact for what can’t be more than one second before he speaks, but you’re like 80% sure it really lasts closer to five minutes (have his eyes always had that much green in them?), before he speaks. “Actually,” he says lowly, and you can’t stop your breath from hitching, “I know I’m quick.”

You steel yourself and tilt your head to the side in faux innocence. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” you challenge.

“You want proof?”

“Yep,” you smirk. “Full proof, and maybe an essay written in MLA format with—”

Your sentence is cut off by Ashton’s hands on either side of your face and his lips on yours. You drop the ball, letting it bounce away across the concrete. You’re about to respond when Ashton breaks the kiss. “You talk too much,” he says, smiling at you. “How’s that for quick?”

You’re pretty sure you resemble a fish right now, your jaw dropping only for your mouth to snap closed, then fall open again as you try to process what the hell just happend. “Oh my god.”

Ashton’s expression changes to one of fear, maybe doubt, and he lets go of your face. “Wait, did I overstep?” he asks, taking a step back. “Shit, Y/N, I thought… should I not have…? Shit, I’m sorry, I—”

This time, however, you’re the quick one. Having (mostly) recovered from the first kiss, you don’t waste any time in closing the distance between the two of you, lightly grabbing the material at the collar of his singlet and pulling him toward you. “And you said I talk too much,” you say before leaning forward.

It feels nice to kiss Ashton. He’s good at it. The two of you break apart again, only to grin at each other and lean in once more. “You’re supposed to be bringing that ball up to the other guys,” you remind him against his lips, and he lets out a breathy laugh in response.

“They can wait a little bit longer.”


To: Ashton


So where does this leave us?

You chew on your lip anxiously as your thumb hovers over the ‘send’ button, and you close your eyes when you tap it. The familiar whoosh of your message sending causes you to cringe. Do you sound desperate? Clingy?

Ashton and the other guys left about a half hour ago. The garage incident escalated to a brief makeout session before you and Ashton finally decided you were gone for too long. Exchanging awkward smiles, he left the garage and you followed a few minutes later. You didn’t see him for the rest of the night.

So now here you are, sitting on the couch while a movie plays on the TV and serves as background noise to your inner suspense.

Suddenly the telltale bubble appears on Ashton’s side of the screen, showing that he’s typing. “Shit,” you mutter. You close your messaging app and wait for his message to come through, and when it does, your heart lurches anxiously.

From: Ashton


You tell me, princess.

You roll your eyes before typing back a quick response.

To: Ashton


Don’t do that. You kissed me first.

From: Ashton


Fair enough.

He continues to type and your heart rate picks up. You look up at the TV in front of you. A clearly-suspenseful scene is playing out, and the lead character’s heartbeat is illustrated through the pounding of drums. Me too, you relate. A whoosh tells you that Ashton has replied.

From: Ashton


I think it’s pretty safe to say that I’m into you, if you couldn’t tell earlier. And it seemed an awful like you’re into me, too. So, I’d like to act on this mutual interest, as long as you’re up for it.

You bite your lip again, but this time it isn’t out of nerve. You fight a smile as you type back.

To: Ashton


Sounds good to me.

To: Ashton


Oh, but you’re not asking me out over text. Just a heads up.

When Ashton’s reply comes in, you can’t help but kick your legs and laugh out of giddiness.

From: Ashton


Wouldn’t have it any other way. Talk to you tomorrow xx

“You’re welcome, by the way,” comes Michael’s voice as he enters the room with a soda in his hand, plopping down on the recliner that rests diagonal from the couch you’re on. He takes a swig from the aluminum can and raises an eyebrow smugly.

“Shut up,” you tell him, but you can’t bring yourself to be mad. The smile on your face is more than enough proof.



If Jungkook was a hyung, I wonder how Bangtan would’ve fare. Thank lamb skewers things are the way they are now.

Scenarios:  01  02  03  04  05  06  07  -08  81395

Every ending has a new beginning.

Thinking about the next chapter and everything, I think the worst part of it is that Mutsuki went to :re for Touka. He has the picture, he knows where that person is, and he suspects that Kaneki might be there BECAUSE of Touka. Mutsuki doesn’t know that :re is more than just Touka’s coffee shop, Kaneki has other friends there, friends he knows since he became a ghoul. But Mutsuki might think he’s there because he has a crush on her. The fact that he arrived and Kaneki was there, just as he suspected… :re, the place where Touka lives… it’s gonna be a mess. Once Mutsuki sees Touka, he will feel tremendously jealous. I’m not sure if Kaneki was the one closing the shop, but I feel like Touka will come back like “hey, Kaneki, are you done? can we leave now?” and Mutsuki suddenly sees her appearing and calling him like that and hoooly fuck, I don’t trust Mutsuki’s reaction at all.


Pregnancy - Carl Gallagher

Request: Can you do a Carl imagine where the reader Is pregnant and when the reader tells him and he runs away and the reader goes to Fiona crying and Fiona yells at Carl and fluffy ending please😀😀😀

Warnings: fluffy lil Carl, angry Carl, Carl being a dick

Pairing: Carl Gallagher x Reader

Word Count: 1231


“Carl, I have something to tell you, but you have to promise me that you won’t freak out” I say to Carl as I put my hands on his shoulders to try and get him to sit down on the couch. He nods at me when we are both sitting down so I put his hands in mine and begin to speak. “Carl, I went to the free clinic today” He nods at me listening to my every word.

“I’m pregnant, Carl” I whisper out, hoping he can hear me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He stands up and is now yelling at me “How could you let this happen? This is so fucking irresponsible of you” 

“Are you fucking serious?” I don’t know what the hell he thought was going to happen when he started yelling at me. 

“Are you seriously blaming this on me?” I am so mad at him I can’t help but stand and begin to walk away, I turn around to say one last thing “Maybe if you ever went to school you would know that it’s the sperm, which in fact comes from the penis that will get someone pregnant” and with that, I walk out the back door to go to the backyard.

Keep reading

FIC: Go Easy

Rating: T
Pairing: Vetra Nyx & Sidera Nyx; f!Ryder/Vetra Nyx, pre-relationship
Word Count: 1,794
Summary: Sometimes, Vetra wished she could see herself the way Sid saw her. Maybe then she would have the nerve to do something about Ryder, instead of just hopefully, hopelessly waiting.
Notes: Post-‘Means and Ends’ (Vetra’s loyalty mission). No major main plot spoilers.
Also on: AO3

Took a few days for Sid to cool down. Took a few days for Vetra, too. Every contact who didn’t pick up, or gave her a hard time—it needled her a little, all over again. She’d spent time, dammit, not to mention resources, getting favors from those people. It wasn’t like she had to start from scratch, but the dent was there.

She saw Ryder’s side of it, though, as the days passed. That Sid was just trying to do something good. Those hazel eyes of hers soft when she said it. Ryder wasn’t usually soft, human or not, but Vetra got the feeling she was a marshmallow with her brother. It Scott pulled the genome for cats out of storage, Ryder would probably just laugh.

But that was Ryder for you: did her job, but didn’t dare take anything too seriously. Looked like a coping mechanism to Vetra. Ryder had been through a lot, the past couple months.

Before she could indulge that worry any further—she did too much indulging, anyway—Sid called. Finally.

“Hey, kiddo,” Vetra said.

Keep reading

for @iluvthesnz who’s having a rough day and who came up with this fabulous prompt (honestly she’s the best at coming up with these)

Shiro had been sick for close to a week and a half now, with the same stupid bug that had been working its way through campus and his friend group.

It started with Pidge, who spread it to Hunk. Hunk, who was sharing a suite with Lance, Keith and Shiro, spread it to Keith, his immediate roommate. Keith spread it to Lance, and Lance, being Shiro’s immediate roommate, spread it to Shiro.

Shiro, as he does, pushed through it until he couldn’t anymore, and had spent the last two days in bed, too weak and sick to get up.

Lance felt terrible he had gotten Shiro sick, especially since he had tried so hard to keep it to himself. It was nearly impossible, though, considering they were sharing a room, and considering Shiro insisted on caring for him.

“Hey, man,” Lance said, leaning against the doorframe. “How are you feeling?”

“Sambe,” he croaked.

Guilt gnawed at the pit of his stomach. “We’re all gonna watch a movie in the living room. Want to join us?”

Shiro buried his face in his blanket, coughing harshly (he wasn’t wheezing - yet - which Shiro took as a sign that he’d be okay after another day or two in bed).

Lance grimaced.

“I’m taking that as a no.”

“Huh?” Shiro frowned, brain hazy from the fever.

“I’m taking it you don’t want to watch the movie…are you okay?”

Shiro squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh…sorry…umb…ndo, i’mb too tired.”

“Okay…do you need anything?”

He sniffled. “Nd-ndo…hh'ngXCHT! *snff*

Shiro plucked a tissue from the tissue box, and blew his nose.


Shiro rolled his eyes. “Lance, it’s not your fault. Stop feeling guilty.”

“But I’m the one who made you sick.” He whined.

“Half the campus is sick right now, if I didn’t catch it from you, I c…heh…s-sorry…ehh…one s-second-hih’ngXCHT! Hh’ihtGXCHT! *snff* if I didn’t catch it from you, I caught it from someone else.” He sniffled, coughing lightly.

“Bless you. If you need anything, text me. We’ll try to keep it down.”

Shiro was already half asleep, and by the time Lance shut the door, Shiro was fast asleep.

“Is Shiro feeling better?” Hunk asked.

Lance shook his head. “Not in the slightest.”

“Well shit,” Hunk sighed, “you think we need to get him to a doctor?”

“I think he just needs to rest. The idiot doesn’t sleep enough,” Lance said, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll make soup,” Hunk offered, standing up.

“Probably a good idea,” Keith frowned, “when’s the last time he’s eaten?”

“S’beend a while,” came a weak, congested, raspy voice from the doorway. “Hhh…Hhh’ngXCHT! Hh’ihtGXCHT! Hih’ngXCHT! *Snff*”  

They all turned their attention to where Shiro was standing.

“Dude, what are you doing up?” Hunk asked, walking over to him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he sniffled, and then gave a little cough, “I cand’t breathe lyindg downd.”

“Then come sit with us and watch the movie,” Keith said, patting the cushion next to him.

Shiro made his way over slowly, muscles aching and protesting as he did so. He all but flopped down onto the couch. The exertion threw him into a miserable, chesty, lung-seizing coughing fit that left him wheezing slightly.

“Shit, you have asthma, don’t you?” Lance frowned.

“Only when I get sick,” Shiro rasped.

“Yeah, and you’re sick now,” Lance bit, “and it’s getting worse. Are you okay? Do you need your inhaler?”


“-okay well I’m getting it for you anyways. Where is it?”

“Nightstand,” Shiro mumbled, punctuating his statement with a sniffle. “I don’t need-”

“-yeah you do.” Hunk cut him off. “You’re wheezing.”

“Barely.” Shiro muttered, crossing his arms.

Keith rolled his eyes. “And barely is enough to need it.”


Shiro woke up in the middle of the night. He shivered, which made his teeth chatter and let him know his fever had definitely spiked. His entire body was aching with an intensity that hadn’t been there before, but that wasn’t what had woken him up.

His throat was dry, it felt like sandpaper, and hurt each time he swallowed.

Water. He needed water.

Shiro glanced at the humidifier, puffs of steam being shot into the air. His chest still felt tight, but he was no longer wheezing, and he suspected it was more due to all of the chest congestion than it had to do with the asthma.

He rubbed at his forehead and glanced over at Lance, who was dead asleep on the other side of the room. He sprawled out in bed as he snored, still slightly congested from when he had been sick.

Shiro was tempted to wake him up, because he felt weak and exhausted, and ached entirely too much to move. He didn’t want to, though, because Lance was asleep, and it was so stupid to wake him up because Shiro was being a baby and didn’t want to go get a glass of water.

As soon as he gathered the energy to get up, he found himself stumbling out of the room and to the kitchen.

What he didn’t account for, however, was how much he was trembling. His shaking hands couldn’t hold the glass, and he dropped it, shattering it everywhere.

Tears filled his eyes - he couldn’t do anything right. All he wanted to do was get a fucking glass of water himself, because he had been enough of a burden on everyone (especially Lance, who was stuck being his caretaker). They had spent enough time taking care of him when they shouldn’t have to.

Then, he burst into tears. They were going to be so mad he shattered the glass. They didn’t have many to begin with, and now they had even less. All because he was an idiot who couldn’t manage to just hold onto it.

The sound of a glass shattering jerked Lance out of his sleep, and he looked around blearily. He glanced over at Shiro’s bed, and then groaned.

It was empty.

Lance got out of bed and padded into the kitchen. Shiro was sitting on the floor, surrounded by glass and water as he sobbed uncontrollably.

“Shiro? Shiro, hey, what’s the matter?” Lance asked, putting on his flip flops that were next to the door.

“I’m sorry,” he wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks. His cheeks, Lance noted, were flushed with a bright red fever flush that spread across his cheekbones.

“What are you sorry about?” Lance frowned, walking over to his very distressed roommate. Shiro just kept apologizing over and over again. He was too out of it to respond, and when Lance felt his forehead, he inhaled sharply.

“I’m sorry!” Shiro wailed.

“It’s okay, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it, you don’t need to apologize. Do you think you can you calm down, though? You’re wheezing again.” He said softly.

Shiro had calmed down slightly, but his eyes were still glistening with tears as he gulped in breaths. Lance helped him stand up, and managed to get him to step over the broken glass. Once he was in his bed, Lance helped him with the inhaler and then cranked up the humidifier all the way.

As soon as he was breathing easier, Lance excused himself to go clean up the broken glass and water.

Shiro laid in bed, still clearly upset.

“Okay, I’m back.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro moaned, choking on another sob. “Don’t be mad, please don’t be mad, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I’m s-sorry.”

Lance’s heart dropped at how upset Shiro sounded. Never, in the three years they had known each other, had Lance ever heard or seen Shiro cry.

To be honest, it was kind of sending him into a panic.

“I’m not mad, why do you think I’m mad?”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro whimpered. After a few moments of silence (during which Lance put the thermometer in his ear), Shiro mumbled out something about the glass breaking, and Lance laughed lightly.

“Dude, I don’t give a shit about the glass. Is that why you were so upset?”

Shiro nodded, and attempted to get out of bed, telling Lance to go back to sleep and that he would clean it up. Lance all but pinned him down.

“Stay in bed. Your fever is over one oh three. Please just lie down, you need to rest.”

Shiro sniffled weakly, eyelids drooping as he relaxed down into the pillows

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” He mumbled. “M’sorry for the mess.”

“It’s okay, go to sleep.”

Shiro nodded, finally allowing himself to fall asleep.