#but the fluffiest kind of sickfic

[goayda]

The Curse of Caring and Worrying

A fanfic again. No spoilers. The fluffiest Stizzy sickfic, because that's what I usually do. No warnings needed, very PG.

---

When Stede started coughing and sniffling the rest of the crew (smart as they were when they wanted to be) immediately avoided him as if he had the plague. Izzy, though, tried to make sure he stayed in bed in his cabin (just so he wouldn’t spread the illness, Izzy said) and he would even bring the special broth Roach cooked to the captain’s cabin (but only to make sure the only cook/surgeon in the ship stayed safe, Izzy insisted).

He made sure his displeasure was heard loud and clear, though.

“I’m not your cabin boy, Bonnet, don’t get used to it.”

“A bit old for a cabin boy, Izzy,” Stede sneered.

Or he tried to, but the running nose and the slightly feverish eyes dampened the intended effect.

Before leaving with the empty tray, Izzy threw hastily another blanket at Stede’s lap.

“Eat everything,” he said harshly. “And rest. You should be fine in a few days.”

Stede sniffled a bit more and looked at Izzy with a smile that made him feel... uncomfortable (and warm and weak, but that might have been the beginning of the illness, he thought later).

“Thank you, Izzy,” Stede said softly as the first mate started walking away.

Izzy opened his mouth to say something and hesitated.

“Don’t forget to drink water, Bonnet.”

(Probably not what he wanted to say, but it was important too)

___

In the end the inevitable happened. Stede recovered in a few days and Izzy started sniffling and feeling awful.

Stede insisted on making Izzy stay in his cabin (in revenge, no doubt) and bringing him food and water (a ridiculous idea, Izzy claimed loudly).

“I can’t get sick again, Izzy, there’s no better person to do this task!”

“You’re the captain, you’re supposed to run the ship not play nursemaid!”

Izzy glared at him, but the sniffling and the slightly feverish eyes made the first mate look less scary than usual.

“It’s fine, it’ll be just for a few days. The crew can take care of the ship until you feel better and I’ll help, of course.”

But a few days later the coughing appeared and the fever only got worse. Then breathing started getting difficult and Izzy was too tired to argue or even eat and while Stede still smiled at him, that smile didn’t reach his eyes and it made Izzy feel uncomfortable in a different way. The Captain looked worried and Izzy didn’t like that.

(And that was Izzy’s last coherent thought for a while)

---

When Izzy woke up, he couldn’t remember what had happened, but the first instinct was, of course, to get up from bed and check the ship. When he tried to move, though, it felt like an impossible task. He felt exhausted and his whole body ached and seemed to refuse the idea of moving at all.

After a bit of effort, though, Izzy managed to move his head a bit, then one of his hands. When he tried to move the other one, though, he realized something was stopping him. Something soft and warm.

Finally finding the strength to open his eyes, he found himself looking at the worried face of Stede Bonnet.

“So glad to see you finally awake, Israel,” he said, softly.

He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes quite noticeable even in the dim light, but the smile that showed on his face was warm and bright and did reach his eyes this time.

Stede’s hold on his hand tightened as his thumb started brushing over Izzy’s knuckles.

“You scared me, Izzy. Never do that again.”

“Is that an order, Captain?” Izzy croaked, his voice barely audible.

“The most important one,” Stede said and then raised Izzy’s hand to kiss it softly.

Too tired to ask any question or worry about the future, Izzy closed his eyes and fell asleep with Stede still holding his hand.

END

[hwaightme]

Feverish

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🌡️ pairing: hongjoong x gn!reader 🌡️ genre: the fluffiest fluff, established relationship, sickfic 🌡️ summary: as you come down with a cold, hongjoong is right there to lift you back up again, be it with soup, song, presence, or all at once. 🌡️ wordcount: 2.4k 🌡️ warnings/tags: questionable editing, proper use of face masks, hongjoong in a kitchen making things, him being a worried and loving boyfriend ready to give you the world, producer joong, he is the medicine actually, discussion of illness and various symptoms, fever, fatigue, distancing 🌡️ a/n: love you @legohwas <3 this was why I was being all cryptic asking about mango milkshakes~ apologies if the lil piece is chaotic and if I disappear into the void ruminating it... but imagine a serenading Hongjoong ahah<333 Thank you so much everyone for likes, reblogs, comments notes, they are always appreciated, much love!

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🌡️ cannot be tagged: @hjoymyluv @memoriesofwoo @ate-ez

A heavy stillness had settled in your bedroom, so palpable, in fact, that you believed if you dared to undraw the blackout curtains which were working wonders to protect you from the city’s night lights, that you would be able to see its every fibre. Perhaps there was this benefit to you being severely under - or even squashed by, the weather; for the first time in far too long you were allowing yourself to lie still, gaze at the ceiling in the semi darkness while swaddled in the sheets and throws and nearly drowning in the pillows which you had gathered from all around your apartment as soon as you had come home from class.

It had been a growing sensation. An inkling, a suspicion, and with every passing hour a sure realisation that indeed, you were catching a cold. Or whatever it could be. Either way, you had crawled home dizzy and fatigued, shuddering from what had turned out to be an alarmingly high fever, and after cautiously peeling your outdoor clothing away to change into cosy pyjamas succumbed to your body’s screams for rest. Drifting in and out of consciousness, you had no idea for how long you had been in bed until you were jolted awake by the turning of keys in the lock of the front door, and a very familiar, albeit highly concerned and timid ‘hello?’. Feeling for your phone, you squinted and fought off the tears that sprung to your eyes from the screen brightness as you attempted to read the time, the action only bringing to a state of shock: you had just spent a precious five hours doing absolutely nothing. A pang of guilt overpowered your throbbing temples; when you had more tasks than the number of heartbeats in a day, including professional, academic and domestic endeavours, having this kind of inconvenience such as an illness was simply out of the question. You cursed yourself, your immune system and the fact that there was no way to be able to schedule ailments or cancel your subscription to them altogether.

“Y/N? You missed our call- Y/N? Y/N are you okay?” you gazed off to the side to see your boyfriend peeking into the room, still in his face mask, beanie and coat, clutching a bag tightly against his chest. 

“Hi Joong… Down with…” you tried to speak, but your voice was still laden with sleep and tiredness that had finally caught up to you. Focusing on the silhouette, you peered in Hongjoong’s general direction, hoping that you looked at least somewhat alive after dozing, and snuggled deeper into the sheets.

“What?” he stepped a little closer, tilting his head ever so slightly. You managed to catch the fast narrowing of his eyes as he most definitely caught onto your state, and the droop in what likely was his adorable shy smile behind the black material. 

“Sorry… it’s just… yeah I’m down with something.” you croaked out, only to throw your face into the pillow you had been hugging, suddenly having found your strenuous staring a little more than overwhelming. 

“Wait Y/N really?” baffled, the man stumbled over his words, and looked for a space to drop the black leather bag, choosing an empty spot by the wall, right at the entrance. Stretching out again, he pinched the end of the beanie to slide it off, revealing black hair, lightly matter and dishevelled from the pressure of the garment.

Hongjoong’s eyes darted over your form while he ruffled his hair, worry growing stronger in his chest as he took note of the items strewn around the room. Your backpack was lying at the foot of your bed, laptop peeking out - it was terribly rare that you would ever come home and not organise yourself. If anything, you would be in the middle of reprimanding him for not putting slippers on and still being in his jacket; but not a peep came from you, and instead you were curled up in the foetal position, blocking out all light, all energy, a barely noticeable tramble rushing through you as you poked your head out again to answer him.

“No, I am just being lazy,” you snapped, your voice muffled by the bedsheets that you kept lifted to cover half of your face. Unusually irritated, you simply wanted to doze off and ignore your condition, hopefully wake up refreshed and be able to go about your day as if nothing happened instead of having your boyfriend subject himself to the risk of catching whatever it was.

“I think it is the universe telling you to catch a break.”

You raised an eyebrow at the statement finding it more than amusing, considering that even when Hongjoong did convince himself or management to stay with you for longer than a couple of hours, give him some time and you would find him in a random corner of the apartment, earphones in, laptop in front of him, an artist lost in his own world. Not that you ever minded, nor wanted that to change; if anything, it was unbelievably soothing, and the occasional clicks on the trackpad or keyboard always ended up becoming your rhythm and motivation as you settled down to work on your own projects. 

But you could not type away alongside him tonight, nor even uphold some banter. You desperately wanted to be snarky in return to his call for your relaxation, wanted to throw a witty comeback his way to point out his own habits, but the words remained on the tip of your tongue as you battled your fever, too tired to care about keeping a civil conversation going. But to Hongjoong, your silence spoke a thousand words; he could practically sense what you were going to say to him, and chuckled, playing with the rings on his fingers.

“I know, I know, but do as I say. And I say rest. I’ll… I’ll call the doctor to arrange an appointment…” he trailed off as he patted his pockets, eventually finding the device and beginning to search through his contacts to find someone from medical staff attached to the company. 

His eyes shot upwards once, twice, over and over again, terrified that your state could get worse at any moment or that you would get stubborn and try to power through and force yourself to work. He was distraught, anxious, even if he would eat pickled onion instead of admitting it openly, out of the desire to keep you as calm as possible. Just as he was about to call, you whispered to him:

“I am an adult-” but your phrase was cut short as he raised his hand.

“Let me take care of you? Please?” you hold a pause, waiting for your senses and your processing to catch up to your surroundings.

“...If you keep the mask on… I am not violent but I will throw hands if you get sick.”

“Alright. Gotcha. I’ll try,” and with a goofy thumbs up, he ambled out of the room, conversing over the phone, returning once to ask you about any other symptoms.

In that moment, when you finally could concentrate on his dark eyes, clouded over with distress and wrapped in a glimmer of affection, you felt nothing but safety. In those fleeting seconds, it was easy to forget your concerns about work, about assignments, about the texts that you most definitely missed. Simply with his serenity, the gestures of his hands as he continued talking about you and then the rocking on the balls of his feet as he relayed to you the doctor’s recommendations and the time of the appointment, you felt your erratic heartbeat slow down. With a satisfied hum you agreed, and shut your eyes, letting his aura envelop you. Perhaps it was for the better that he decided to visit after all. Even when he volunteered himself as the man on dinner duty, you were comfortable - you had made soup yesterday, and hopefully, the toaster was not going to catch fire. You concentrated on his soft footsteps as he moved from one part of the apartment to another; it was easy enough to trace the steps, and you imagined him going from the door where he dropped off his outerwear, to the bathroom to wash his hands, to the kitchen where he would open the fridge and muse what he could heat up.

You were adamant on him not approaching you as much as he could, resulting in Hongjoong pushing the tray with a bowl of warm soup, bread, and oddly paired with a mango milkshake that at least explained a fraction of the crashing noises and a random blast of the blender from the kitchen, every bit like a playful cat. He had the same combination of mischief and enthusiasm in his eyes that did not falter as he watched you take a few tentative spoonfuls. He appeared to glow as you thanked him for the surprise treat, and you could see his mask move to hide what undoubtedly was his precious megawatt grin. But what you could not exactly fight against, not when you could see the long day building up on Hongjoong’s shoulders, was his request to occupy the armchair on the other side of the room in a corner, saying that it was ‘necessary just in case you needed something’, so that he would automatically be on standby and within reach.

It was unusual, letting the hours trickle past like this. Instead of filling every second with something to do, or something to check, or something to plan, you were lying in bed, noticing the time and cradling it in your mind. The ticking of the clock on the wall to your right, furthest from Hongjoong was giving you the impression of grains of sand, dropping down into the palms of your hands only to roll over the palms turned hills to the particles, and continue their fall. Inadvertently, your eyes travelled to your adorable Cromer keeper, still clad in the black mask, face illuminated by the laptop screen. Though he was isolated from reality thanks to his newest pair of airpods and unbreaking focus, you could still read his body language thanks to your brain having grown less foggy after having napped and had a shot of pleasantly sweet and sour mango, the love and effort definitely adding to the flavour.

The furrowing of his brows, the way in which he scrunched his nose and you could see him squint ever so slightly as he felt your gaze rest on him and lifted his head to meet it. The barely noticeable, gentle upward jutting of the chin when Hongjoong wanted you to update him on how you were feeling. How he merely stated, after an alarm which you had not expected him to set made his phone vibrate, that it was time to measure your temperature and see if the medication worked. How as soon as you mentioned water, he did the unthinkable and abandoned his laptop on the coffee table to get you a bottle. Your Hongjoong. The artist, the innovator, the creative genius. A little clumsy at times, unsure of himself and subtly asking for you to confirm if he was doing the right things to help you. So much so, that his enthusiasm approached comical levels, and when you tried to make your grand escape outside of your quarters, he was on full alert:

“Bed rest, hello? What are you doing up? If you needed something I could-”

“Bathroom… Joong… bathroom. I am okay enough to go there.”

“OH. Oops sorry I- I- uh- yeah- ha… ha sorry… I’ll just be right… back… there yeah okay.”

You had to restrain yourself from guffawing, the dull ache in your head reminding you that you would probably need to sleep at least twelve more hours to have a laughing fit and not faint, and instead bit your bottom lip as you openly admired Hongjoong’s growing redness in the tips of his ears, and the lowering of his shoulders as an attempt to appear smaller. It was as if the fever was returning to you once again as you desperately wanted to pat your boyfriend on his head and wrap him up in your arms. Alas, you needed to get better first, for you both - captain’s orders, but it was easy when he was the best kind of medicine. His attentiveness, his patience, his resolve in staying by your side even though you had told him that you would be fine. While you were washing your face, relishing in the sensation of cool water running over your skin, you wondered when it would be appropriate to make the joke that he was currently looking like Hala-joong, and that he should wear the wide-brimmed hat you had hidden in your wardrobe.

Upon your return, nothing changed, just like he said. He was still there, still your precious Hongjoong, still immersed in what you could guess were the finishing touches for a track as he was mouthing the lyrics. You crept back into bed, only one creak alerting him of your presence, but he did not pay it no mind, only sending a wink in your direction as a form of greeting. And you thought that this was how you were going to go back into a healing slumber, until you heard the clicking of the earphones case, and the faint notes of a song, only just beginning - a soothing introduction with a semi-acoustic guitar. As it continued, Hongjoong counted the bars with one hand, and hurriedly apologised to you:

“I was meant to record the vocals but… it felt only right to finish this to the best of my ability now. And uh… stop me if your head hurts.” you rolled your eyes, a smile breaking over your features as you cuddled into the warm blankets, supporting your head so that you could watch your beloved artist and human in his element, sharing his most valuable with you.

He sang softer than usual, careful to not hurt your sensitive eardrums, but the dulcet tones were like the life essence washing over you, lifting you above the spell of illness and immersing you in a total, ethereal bliss. Of course he was going to choose a song that was on theme, on time, lyrically balanced and heartwarming. Of course Hongjoong was going to make you want to weep from the comfort that he was providing. And of course, he was going to respect your wishes and not walk closer to you, but with his voice, with his beautiful rendition of ‘Sleep Well’ by .d4vd from the custom backing track to the added tastefully melodic rap, he carried the love, the care right over to you. Lulling you into a well deserved break from turmoil, guiding you into a better tomorrow. Because how dare a virus be the one to make the love of his life feel feverish, and not him? 

[writing-whump]

I'm in the fluffiest mood lately, so how about a no stakes sickfic. Movie night and the trip (Matt, Sel/Zaya) are home and decide to put on something like spiderverse or smth else, point being, either Isaiah or Matt gets super motion sick from it

Something fluffy it is. Thank you for the ask, Soup!!💙

Cinema sickness

The middle position was the best.

Matthew didn't notice when exactly they started to fight for it like that, but it was increasingly a place one of them got as special treat.

Like of course, when Isaiah was having his not so heart episodes that Seline still didn't know the cause of or when he was emotional. Then it wad Seline herself with a fever. She also usurped the spot most openly when she was well.

Matthew was a little too embarrassed to be that forward. Not when he was feeling fine.

They bought a camera projector they have been saving for a few months. Seline dreamed about the home cinema early on and Isaiah was such a movie buff, it was only to be expected.

Matthew found the cinema experience tiresome because of all the people, so their own private living room cinema because of the projector? Sounded fun. Though the cinema made for good people training.

"You guys didn't watch the second Spiderverse movie yet, right?" Seline said, taking control of the chromcast with her phone to put it on.

"I didn't see the first one either," Matthew grumbled as she climbed up between him and Isaiah who was scrolling through IMDb. He had a thing for ratings, while Seline loved comments and spoilers.

Matthew considered himself the only sane and commonly invested movie person. He liked to get surprised.

"The animation is out of this world. The first movie got an Oscar for it too, but they went overboard and beyond with the second. Each universe has a different animation style! It's the perfect movie for a cinema." Seline waved her phone in front of Matthew enthusiastically.

"Isn't animation for children?"

Isaiah and Seline both gave him scandalised looks. "In what hole did you live until now for such an outdated opinion?" Isaiah asked teasingly.

Matthew rolled his eyes. Didn't look like he would have a say today.

"I don't think you need the first one to understand," Seline said thoughtfully as she put the movie on. "They explain it pretty well, plus I can always explain things to you if you need it."

"You are still more of a fan of the first one, aren't you?" Isaiah said, bumping against her. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder, all three of them.

"I think the character development is simply better there? Also the relationships. The focus on bad mentor and a confused kid and different father figures...this one goes more into the romance storyline-"

"The focus just shifts from him to her's all-"

Matthew shook his head. "Alright, quit it. I want to see for myself."

The movie looked like a very expensive video game. The animation really was something else. Matthew understood quickly they would not be able to film stuff like this for real.

So many colours and so much quick movement. Their living room wall was basically flickering, going from one side of the colour spectrum to the next at rapid speed that had his head spinning.

How could there be so much happening on the screen? It was downright impossible to catch it all.

His eyes felt tired from it. It was all so fast and coupled with the music it was downright aggressive.

Matthew didn't notice when, but the left side of his head felt like someone held it in a vice grip. The more he watched and tried to make sense of what was happening, the more his left temple pounded in unison with his heart.

He found himself shaking his head to clear his vision, rubbing at the side of his face. He even tried closing one eye and then the other. But the images just kept coming and there was some kind of dramatic scene with spidermen all over the screen and damn, his head really hurt.

Seline was leaning her head against Isaiah's shoulder, her legs stretched out and touching them both. Her lap seemed very inviting.

Matt leaned to the side experimentally. He wanted to go slow and see how that would be taken, but the possibility of getting some cover from the screen was getting more irresistible by the second.

He slumped down into Seline's lap, twisting so his face was against her stomach. The lights were all over the living room, reaching even to the windows and the kitchen. No hiding from them.

Matthew closed his eyes, face buried in Seline's belly. He secured her from squirming with his arm over her torso, stretched out all the way to Isaiah's tight. If the other wolf wanted to protest or made any move of displeasure, Matt would quickly notice from that position.

His head hurt. Why just the left side of his face? It was tingling.

Everything was moving too much. The dizzying spinning sensation didn't quite go away, although he had his eyes squeezed shut and wasn't looking.

Not to mention he was starting to feel vaguely queasy, his dinner sloshing in his stomach angrily.

"Mattie, you aren't watching," Seline admonished softly. Her hand went into his hair though, petting it softly. He melted under her touch, grateful for a pleasant feeling to focus on.

Suddenly there was the incredible sound of the movie stopping.

"Matt? You tired?" Isaiah asked, shifting somewhere behind his head.

"Mhhhhhhhhmmmm." Was he that obvious? Suspicious? He wanted to stay huddled there in the softness, thanks.

Isaiah's hand landed on his arm. The older wolf reserved his touches for when Matthew felt sick. But they were so physically close these days, because of Seline of course, no other reason, Matthew kind of craved it, even when he didn't need it.

Or maybe it would count now. But he didn't want to ruin the celebratory mood by being a baby. It was a stupid children's movie, for God's sake.

"We can just call it a night, I think. Continuation tomorrow," Isaiah suggested, ever the peace keeper trying to accommodate everyone.

It sounded nice to not continue the movie in any case. But going to bed created a new set of problems.

Matthew would have to move.

Seline wiggled under his head. "You are heavy," she said playfully. She seemed more open to the gesture than Matthew expected. For no reason at all.

Matthew hummed non-committalally not sure how to explain or escape his predicament without losing his dinner. His stomach was churning angrily and his head was still pounding, sound or not.

Isaiah chucked. "You can sleep here for all I care, but at least let the lady get her PJs."

Matthew huffed at that, but opening his mouth wasn't a good idea. A little burp escaped, muffled against Seline's ribcage.

Seline's fingers in his hair stilled. "Mattie? You feeling alright?"

Did she notice that he got burpy when he was about to spew? He could just be full. Damn it all, the risks of living with people so closely.

Another burp, this time a little louder and wetter. Matthew pressed his face closer into Seline's shirt. It smelled of rain and ozone and grapefruit.

He felt both of their gazes on him without looking. They were probably mouthing something to each other at this point. He could picture it vividly.

The pain in his left temple spiked and he moaned quietly.

Seline's cold hand cupped his nape, stroking his neck up to his cheek where she could reach.

"...If I move, I'll hurl," he admitted finally, figuring he should inform her of the danger she was currently in.

The sigh came from Isaiah though, as the raven haired man moved gently away from the sofa into the direction of the kitchen.

"What's wrong? Is your belly upset?"

Jesus, that sounded childish when she said it like that. Not to mention that weird new Mattie nickname.

"Headhurtss," he manged to get through his gritted teeth, still entirely muffled against her stomach. It was quiet, churning only gently, like a purring cat.

"Has it been hurting for long?" She sounded amazingly calm considering he was lying across her lap. "You seemed fine to me," she said with puzzlement. He could imagine the way her forehead creased, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she thought back about the evening.

He opened his mouth the respond, but another burp rushed out instead. Pocket of air against her stomach. Saliva was flooding his mouth.

Matthew loosed his hold on her reluctantly, turning so he would be lying on her knees. He covered his eyes with his hands. "Ow."

Seline placed her hands on both sides of his face. "Where?" Her voice was impossibly soft.

He pushed her cool hand - how was it so cool? - against the left side of his forehead.

He felt more than saw two of her fingertips on his temple, making tiny circular movements against it. She bowled over him, her lips hovering over his ear. "How is this? Should I stop?"

"No, that's nice," he said, relaxing a little. The gentle pressure felt good against the pain, though his stomach was still roiling.

Isaiah came back then, the sofa dipping under his weight as he knelt on Matthew's other side. "I got a bowl if you need it."

"Not the nice popcorn bowl, come on," Seline complained, lifting her head.

"It's big and deep," Isaiah protested, sounding amused.

Matthew groaned at the banter. The headache was giving away a bit at the message, but the nausea rose steadily no matter what he did. He felt air in his throat and spit flooding his mouth. He didn't want to move away from Seline's fingers or the attention, but his stomach cramped angrily then.

It had him shooting up into general direction of up. Except he felt dizzy right away, swaying and moaning.

Isaiah grabbed his shoulder to steady him.

Matthew held his eyes shut against the spinning of the room, trusting him to have the bowl at the right place, cause he couldn't aim. His head exploded on his left side with the sensation and puke rocketed into his mouth.

He was right to trust him. The vomit made a splashing sound against the bowl without him even looking, Isaiah holding it under hid chin.

Seline's hands came to cup his forehead from behind. "You are okay, you are okay. Just get it up."

Matthew gave in to his body completely then, a little more voluntarily at the support. His senses were all over the place. He couldn't tell which was was up and down and his left side of the face as pounding and burning from warmth.

More waves of vomit came, easier to bring up now that he wasn't fighting it. When he thought he would catch a break, a loud burp brought in one more splash and then two more. His back arched, only Isaiah's hold on his shoulder keeping him upright. The sofa was moving like a water bed.

When he was finished, he spat the rest of the foul taste and slumped blindly back into Seline's lap. He wanted her nice scent and her cool hands and the little message against his temple that had a drilling machine against it.

"Better now?" she asked, her hands on his face just like he wanted, stroking his cheek and forehead.

"Mhhhhhhhhhmmmm." There was a relief from the nausea, but he was still afraid to open his eyes.

He could vaguely sense Isaiah's movements as he got rid of the bowl, returned to position it next to Matthew. Then circled around, fitting himself into the opening between Matthew's side and the sofa.

Matthew wasn't sure when vomiting because a group activity, or if he shouldn't apologise or feel embarrassed for making a fool of himself.

He sighed contendly as Seline went back to massaging his temple. Isaiah was rubbing his arm gently, as if to remind him he was there.

And who was Matthew to refuse the middle spot?

[xylianna]

Since I’m feeling sick as a dog... what’s your fav kind of fic to read when you’re not feeling 100%? I’m always a sucker for sickfic (if I gotta suffer, so do my faves)

when I don’t feel well, I want the fluffiest of fluff to make me feel better!  I’m sorry you’re sick, friend - sending healing vibes your way!