the blanket burrito meme (gen or shipping).

[fetishes]

the
BLANKET BURRITO
meme

so, winter came. snuggle up, little pups! your character has been rolled up like a comfy cleopatra. since you're too settled in to move, a friend may have to take care of your other needs, or take advantage of the situation by throwing you over their shoulder or taping it shut while you're snoozing. encourage them to find their own blanket and have a caterpillar race. just curl up with each other. whatever. it's a blanket burrito. it's impossible to be sad in a blanket burrito.

rules
1. post with your character name, series, preferences
2. your character has been burrito'd
3. tag around, be nice, business as usual

Comments

well, still

[dadiolus]

Well, curse everything.

He's always had a decent immune system — at least one that didn't have a tendency to fail him when he needed it most — and if he's perfectly honest, he can't remember the last time he was really sick. Everyone gets the sniffles, everyone gets a cough every now and again, and it's fine. Just fine.

This … is not fine. He hadn't been aware until waking properly that despite the trickle of sweat down the back of his neck he's practically freezing where he lies, and it's only when he feels the other's hand against his forehead does he realize he's wrapped in a blanketroll of someone else's in addition to his own, and he has to stop and think, damn it, why'd this have to happen now? Don't they have somewhere to be?

( Maybe not, but with the haze that's settled over his mind, it's a little difficult to remember. )

He grumbles at the thought of staying still, of sleeping more, even though his body practically begs for it. "I'm fine —" he tries, bless him, to sit up again, and Ignis you had better shove him back down or he's going to end up faceplanting on a part of the tent that doesn't have some sort of padding in the form of strewn-about clothes or their sorry excuse for pillows.

And that might hurt a little. "We don't get sick days, remember?"

... an eternity later...

[mumistheword]

He would faceplant, if Ignis were not close enough to catch him, one arm across the front of Gladio's shoulders, to keep his head from hitting the ground.

And he oofs because ... well. Heavy.

But his tone is crisp and sharp.

"Did I stutter? Nothing of what I listed included you getting up from the bedroll, at least for now. Please settle down." The emphasis on please should tell Gladio as much as he wishes to know, about how set Ignis is on his course of action.

Then, milder. "We may not get sick days, not out here, but Noctis gets fishing days." Soft breath, almost a sigh, because he hates bringing up this argument to Gladio, but Gladiolus should have known it already. "I need you to rest today, so you will not end up keeling over the moment you try to lift your sword.

"Understood?"

Oh yes, he'll wait, a little.

oh not even!

[dadiolus]

… Sorry about that. ( Both for not being able to hold himself upright, and the fact that he probably near-matches a baby behemoth in weight, because that can't be all that comfortable, even if you aren't getting the whole of it. )

He knows that tone — it's the one he uses on Noct, has used on him since he was very young, the one that leaves no wiggle room at all for argument and that expects to be heeded. Immediately. No ifs, ands or buts about it. It has him groaning a low, grating note that catches in the back of his throat, but he does lower himself back down, though at first only onto his elbows. ( Not … quite … conceding yet — )

But he does end up huffing out a sigh that means Ignis has won before there's even a real dispute, and he rubs a hand over his forehead, chancing peering through parted fingers at the visage Ignis makes with that look etched across his face. Every bit the immovable force that helps keep this whole thing running like the well-oiled machine they're meant to be. "Okay, okay." A pause, and a breath in, and when he breathes back out it sounds a bit shaky.

"I got you. You don't have to go all mama-chocobo on me." He smiles, and it's soft, like just about everything he gives where the other is concerned.

:P

[mumistheword]

Ignis has to stop his fingers from twitching. Has to stop himself from reaching to wrap his arms around Gladio to keep him close and safe and calm and warm and make him better.

If nothing else, that is not how things work. And he has things to do. So he can't do that... for now.

So he sighs, and reaches to run his hand through Gladio's hair, soothing. Appeasing. One of those things.

"Where's your current book? I will get it for you - there is no use in trying to fall asleep merely to be woken up for having some tea."

And yet, Gladio is going to get mothered pretty intensely. It is hard on Ignis, to see Gladio, of all people, down for the count. Worrying. The Shield always, always moves, and it's part of how he is, so might as well try to take good care of him, try to get him in a better state as soon as possible.

At least... he hopes that it will work.

[dadiolus]

He would have been surprised, really, if the other had just stopped everything to take care of him. More than he's already doing, worrying over the smallest things. Trying to pick up the pieces scattered about by a stubborn Shield just for the sake of putting him back together, sticking around long enough to see those glued fractures continue mending on their own.

Those fingers in his hair, though. The touch alone is enough to have his eyes sliding closed for the duration, even if it isn't much, the softest sort of thing that brings some measure of calm to the way his body wants to shake with the illness that's stolen over him. Like a gods-damned thief in the night.

But then the touch is gone, and his eyes slit back open, hazy and clouded as they are as he turned minutely to search around him. He'd had it the night before, relatively close — because he's pretty sure he'd actually fallen asleep with it on his face before he'd finally given up and given in — and he gestures vaguely to where his jacket lay draped over a pile of random assortment of things, almost positive that's where it had ended up. "Over there. I think." He rubs at the bridge of his nose, brows furrowing as a shiver works its way through him.

"Not sure if I'll be able to concentrate on it. But … thanks." There's that smile again, and it's really the only thing he's putting effort into.

Priorities, or something.

[mumistheword]

See, Ignis really wants to stop everything to take care of him. They are not, after all, in an emergency, and Gladiolus is ill. Not helpless, not truly, but as close to it as he gets, for the most part, and that is not wrong.

But he knows that, even with their restoratives, there is not much that will bring immediate relief for a cold. So he has to remind himself of patience, of doing things as they need to be done.

He attempts a smile for Gladio, a soft one - not strained, just small - and moves to retrieve the book, anyway.

"Perchance not. But, as I cannot just yet stay and keep you company, the comfort of a different sort of friend will have to do." He has to give him something to hold on to, does he not?

"And I could read to you some, after you finish what I prepare for you. If allowed to fish the whole day, Prompto and Noct will not be back for hours and my mediocre artistic rendition just might help you back to sleep." Yes, he is teasing a little. And yes, he is certainly imagining doing that reading with, at the very least, Gladio's head in his lap. He did notice that the caress felt good, after all, and he is willing to give more. Shortly.