#Doing the Unstock

[gaybananabread]

For day 10, spidering, with Hazbin Hotel!! Doesn’t matter what characters, one of them Angel Dust though please, and no Valentino or Vox. Thank you so much have a great day :D

TickleTober Day 10 - Spidering

~YESSS AN ANGEL REQUEST! I almost never get anything HH; I’ve been waiting for an excuse to write for him! Y’all know me; I had to pair him with Husk for this. Lots of silly fluff lies ahead. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy! Happy spooky month!~

Lee: Husker

Ler: Angel Dust

Summary: Angel begs Husk to let him pet his soft fur, actually getting a yes out of the grump. Soft cuddles quickly turn playful as Angel makes an adorable discovery.

Warnings: canon-typical language and behaviors! This is a tickle fic, so if you don't like that, scroll away!!

“Aww, c’mon, whiskers! Just once?”

Angel’s pleading tone filled Husk’s ears, making him huff and roll his eyes. Of course the spider demon would ask that…

“Fuckin’- seriously, Angel? Why d’you wanna do that? It’s…it’s stupid as hell,” he grumbled, taking a swig of whiskey from the bar. Thank’s to Alastor’s freaky voodoo bullshit, the bar was never unstocked, meaning he could drink the good stuff as he pleased.

“It ain’t stupid! It’s fun! Please? Pretty please?” Angel begged, putting on his best puppy-dog pout. “Pretty please with a big, glistening, juicy-ass cherry on top?”

“Ugh- fine! Just quit fuckin’ talkin’ about cherries like that!” Husk slammed the bottle down, dramatically folding his ears against the top of his head. He wan’t really pissed off; he just couldn’t believe Angel wanted to do something so ridiculous.

“Yes! I promise, kitten–”

“Don’t call me that!”

“–you won’t regret this!”

“I already do…” The grumpy bar cat sighed before flopping down on one of the lobby’s couches, leaving his back exposed for Angel. Damn spider and his stupid adorable pout…

“Oh, hush. Don’t worry, I’ll make ya feel good~” Angel straddled Husk carefully, straddling his thighs as he admired the furry back in front of him. Husk’s fur really did look soft…

Hell, what was he fantasizing for? He finally had consent!

Angel gently ran one hand down the grumpy man’s back, just barely scratching the furry skin. It was so fucking soft! Husk obviously took good care of his fur.

Not sensing any discomfort, Angel took things a step further. He gently placed his other three hands on Husk: one on his head, the other two on his sides. The fourth stayed on his spine, scratching a soft path up and down the area.

While he still wanted to be an obstinate shithead, he couldn't deny that the pampering felt nice. Sure, the occasional brush on his sides made him squirm, but he kept his reactions under control. Before he knew it, he was close to falling asleep.

Angel could feel the man relaxing under him, smiling smugly. He’d never asked a better question in all his life. Sure, begging to pet Husk was usually a death sentence, but he’d played his cards just right that day.

Right as Angel was about to tease the grumpy man for acting like a kitten, he heard a low sound from beneath him. It almost sounded like…

“No fuckin’ way…”

Surely enough, Husk was purring; the deep, base-sounding rumbles melted Angel’s heart to a sticky pile of goo. One of his hands left the cat man’s sides to cover his mouth. There were practically hearts in his eyes.

“Mmph… Would you quit starin’ at me?” Husk mumbled the words, barely able to sound mad from all the loving affection. He was on cloud nine, though still coherent enough to be a grump.

“Sorry boo, but…wow, that’s cute. Like, kitten-on-Christmas-mornin’-with-a bow-on-level cute.”

Husk growled at that, expertly using his tail to swat Angel’s head. The spider demon just laughed, going back to petting his grumpy companion.

Now, while they weren’t a problem earlier, the side scratches caught Husk off guard; he was too sleepy to keep up appearances. A few gruff little giggles slipped out, his wings flapping once in protest.

“What the…Husk, are you-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Husks deep growl would've scared any sane demon away, but Angel was already hooked on that little giggle. Funny how a sound could be more addictive than any drug he'd ever put in himself.

“Sorry, Husky; not my specialty~”

Two gloved hands pinned Husk’s wrists above his head before he could fight back, the other two starting to gently scribble up and down his sides. Angel was surprisingly strong for such a skinny guy; combined with the position, Husk was trapped.

“A-Angel, I swehear to fuck, g-get off- mmph!” Husk was putting his all into holding back his reactions, refusing to just freely giggle like some kid. Unfortunately for him, Angel seemed to have found the special little spot just above his hips that made him lose his mind.

“Y-YouhuHUHU BAHASTAHARD! FUHUCK!”

Angel chuckled at the sight, though it didn’t come without a cost; Husk’s thrashing tail whacked him in the back of the head, occasionally whipping against his back as well. It didn’t hurt at all, but getting hit with tail feathers wasn’t exactly a desired experience. At least, not in that scenario.

“Aww, what's wrong, Husky? Does it tickle, hmm?” Angel cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice, doing his best to fluster the fur off Husker.

“SHUHUT THE FAHAHACK UHUHUP!” As his thrashing increased, his wings began to flap and smack against Angel. The spider brought out his third set of arms, carefully pinning the plumes down.

As fun as the loud-ass reactions were, Angel wasn't aiming to kill the grump; he just wanted to loosen him up. It was time to get silly.

“Wanna hear a song, whiskers? I've got some great pipes~” Ignoring the immediate protests, Angel started to sing-song his words. The hands moved up from the sweet spot to Husk's sides, gently spidering up and down in time with the lyrics.

“The itsy bitsy spider crawled up the water spout~” Angel walked two fingers up one side while the other hand spidered upwards.

“I-Ihihi'm gohonna kihihill you!” Husk thrashed and kicked, feeling his cheeks heat beneath his fur. Damn Angel and his stupid limbs!

“Down came the rain,” Angel sang as he tapped his fingers along Husks spine, “an’ washed the spider out~” One finger swiped at Husks spine, the other hand quickly spidering down his sides.

“Then out came the sun an’ dried up all that rain~” Ten fingers fanned out across Husk's shoulder blades, the small nails on them making his back arch.

“So the itsy bitsy spider...” The spidering little fingers returned, this time teasing the spots above his hips again.

“FUHUHUCK OHOHOFF!”

“Came up the spout again~” Leaving the evil spot, Angel moved both his tickling hands to rub Husk's ears. The man seemed exhausted, and Angel had satisfied his gremlin tendencies.

“F-fuhuhuckin’ ahasshole…” Husk huffed and grumbled, begrudgingly relaxing beneath Angel’s now-soothing touch. If his ears weren’t so sensitive, he’d be enacting such sweet revenge… That’d just have to happen later.

“C’mon, Husky,” Angel chided, leaning down to whisper in his ear, “ you know you loved that~”

That got him another tail-whack in the head, though Husk didn’t deny it. Angel took that as a sign to quiet down, and for once, he actually listened. Husker soon drifted back off, unable to keep his eyes open.

Angel just sat there, gently rubbing and scratching behind Husk’s fuzzy ears. Once he was absolutely positive that Husk was out, he carefully snapped a picture of the adorable cat demon beneath him.

Hello, new wallpaper…

[awkwardauthorwrites]

I'm Yours

Word Count: 530

Themes: fluff

Warnings: hints towards smut but no actual smut 

Everyone stay calm, this is not a drill I’ve written something under 1000 words for the first time in existence. @shadowwheartt and I decided to do a quick little drabble challenge where we flipped coins and rolled a dice to see who we'd be writing for and what genre and I got Minthara fluff. I tried something different where I made Tav gender neutral, let me know what you think!

Minthara wasn't sure exactly when Tav had snuck their way into her life, but she suddenly felt like she couldn't remember how they used to function without them.

Tav had been gone for a whole day to scout the Shadowlands and see if they could find the pesky group of adventures that had been causing havoc for the followers of the Absolute ever since the nautiloid had crashed and Minthara had put no less than four fires out - one of them quite literally. No one seemed to know where the spare key to Balthazaar's quarters were, the kitchen was unstocked and even worse, it looked like no one had been on a supply run recently and so their stock of healing potions was dangerously low. Not to mention the gnolls in the kitchen that kept snapping at each other and when Minthara had glared at the cook the halfling had just shrugged her shoulders and muttered something about how Tav usually kept them appeased and in line.

Minthara sank into her armchair with a frustrated sigh and rubbed at her temples. Tav hadn't been working for them for very long, so how was the whole place falling to shambles without them? There was a small tug in her mind as her tadpole wriggled around in her skull almost mockingly, as if reminding her why she felt so at odds without having Tav around. She brushed the thought away with a quiet huff and made her way to her bedchamber for the night, deciding there wasn't much she could do due to the entire fortress wanting to burn down around them. Shedding her armour, Minthara almost didn't notice the figure lying across her bed, a small smirk on their face when they noticed her undressed state.

“It isn't wise to sneak up on your superiors,” she snapped, glaring as Tav rolled their eyes at her. 

“Maybe we should have superiors who are more aware of their surroundings then. I could have been anyone here to kill you.”

“Such sentimentality in your tone,” Minthara stood at the edge of the bed, her hands on her hips. “Anyone would think you cared.” Tav clicked their tongue and lunged forward, gripping Minthara by the waist and tugging her onto the bed. She didn't have a chance to blink before Tav was leaning over her, their hands pinning her down by the waist. 

“I beg your forgiveness, True Soul,” Tav murmured, brushing their lips across hers. “How ever will I make it up to you?” The tadpole is Minthara's head writhed as Tav connected to it, showing her image after image of all the ways they intended to please her. Minthara felt her heart thud in her chest as Tav pressed their lips to hers and she wasted no time in shedding what was left of her clothes to get what was promised to her.

In the dim afterglow of their activities Minthara let Tav pull her body close, their arm snaking around her waist as they both caught their breath. Tomorrow, Minthara told herself, tomorrow the place could go back to functioning normally now that Tav had returned, but tonight they were hers.

[fandomfluffandfuck]

I can't get the idea of Steve having bad dreams while on the run out of my mind. I keep circling around the idea, no matter how much it makes my heart ache for him...

He's in a well-used, ill-repaired safe house with Natasha one night, covered by unmoving darkness as well as a sheen of sweat, thick with salt and grating against his skin and turned cold by the open living room air. He lied awake for hours before surrendering to sleep that could not even be fought off by the worst torrent of his thoughts. His sleep is anything but restless, though. He's sleeping on the couch, kicking and jerking unconciously, nearly rolling off and coming crashing down onto the hard, cold floor.

The safe house is mostly unstocked, all it provides exhausted, barren drifters like them are a roof and thin walls. The extent of lacking supplies extends to bedding. The only blanket in the place is on the bare, scratchy mattress in the back bedroom that's more the size of a closet where Natasha had crept back to sleep. Steve isn't sure he could make himself use the blanket even if he didn't have the excuse of the serum keeping him furnace hot throughout the night. It feels too... luxurious. He couldn't bear to have it right now. If he had the blanket, he would've kicked it off by now. It would be useless and crumbled on the floor, soaked through with sweat. Maybe even ripped in Steve's unconscious, fitful grasp. Yeah, it's a good thing he doesn't have a blanket.

Steve wakes up to someone shushing him.

He's so tired. He can't even run from the white water rush of thoughts and fears and animal, I'm-being-watched paranoia in his sleep. Did he ever even get to REM sleep? He immediately recognizes who is in the room with him, pushing against otherwise silent, static air.

Natasha.

Natasha is the one lifting him up, her arms strong and all-encompassing, wrapping him up, holding him together, and wordlessly beginning to trace looping, organic shaped over the clammy, knotted muscles of his shoulders and back. Steve feels his jaw tremble. Hot, prickling pressure in his eyes forces him to squeeze them shut. A huff of struggling, hitched breath heaves up from his chest and out of his congested nose.

Two weeks ago, Steve would never have expected Natasha to do this. He knew she wasn't all cold--perhaps he's niave for thinking no one could possibly ice all the way down, no matter the instincts hammered into them for however long--but... he trusts her with his life now. He feels her warmth. The rhythmic wash of her breathing across his skin, raising the fine hairs across his body to attention as shivers overtake his weak, depleted muscles. The beat of her heart in her chest. The woosh, woosh, woosh of her blood in her veins. The near-physical sensation of her silent support. I'm here. I'm here. I'm here. I heard you. I see you. I'm here for you. You're okay. You're crumbling, and I have your back.

Steve curls tighter into her, his head buried between her shoulder and neck. He's shaking. Crying, he realizes.

She says nothing about the tears wet across her skin, pouring fast and heavy out of Steve. She says nothing. No words. She simply shushes him again, rubbing his back and now rocking them both side to side. Regardless of the white noise of her shushing him, words overflow, spilling from his trembling, stumbling lips across the dark, dim shades of the spring-ridden, uncomfortable couch. The words surround them where they're entwined. Taking up so much space. Sounding so ugly. He can't stop blubbering about how much he misses Bucky.

Still, she squeezes him. If anything, she holds him tighter, rocking their bodies as if they're surrounded by water, taken by the waves. She holds him, keeping him afloat, and let's him cry, saying nothing but reassuring him regardless.

And he's falling asleep on top of her, too tired to worry about how heavy he is. So much larger than her. She's so much stronger than her physical body suggests, though. In every way. She is an immovable force when she wants to be. Steve has known that since he first met her, before he trusted her. He can't imagine not trusting her now. How could he not? How was there a time when he didn't?

As Steve's losing the battle again, on the cusp of drifting off to sleep, Natasha starts talking--

Her voice is rusty and rasping, so low that Steve isn't sure it's words at all until they wash over him. Guilt and loss and yearning. She whispers her words into his hair. Steve is the only one who will hear them; Steve is the only one she trusts right now to hear them. She misses her little sister. She has no idea where she is, other than... she's what Natasha was before Fury. Still. Probably. Maybe. Natasha misses her little sister. Her sister before she knew the horrors of what she was selected to become. No choice. Before the red room. Before. She misses before like Steve misses his Bucky from Before.

Before.

What an odd concept...

What was Steve Before?

What is Steve Now?

Steve wants to show Natasha the huge, swelling, bone-shattering appreciation he has for her. Holding him. Sharing with him. He wants to peel his skin back, to crack his ribs, and grab her wrist and guide her hand to his heart where it pulses and show her. Thank you. I trust you. I know you.

But, as is, blearily--drained all the way to his heavy, bare bones--Steve manages to wake up enough to squeeze her in shaking arms. He squeezes and squeezes until she gasps and tells him to let up, batting at his shoulder softly. He does. He apologizes for squeezing too tight. He apologizes for her sister. The same breath. If she thinks it's for just one or the other, she doesn't say so, and he doesn't clarify. Somehow, though, he knows she understands. Both. He's sorry. He wishes it could be different. He understands. He wishes neither of them did understand, though. If things could be different. They're friends, right? Would they be friends if things weren't here, now?

The night smears together after that, and they mirror the hour, sleeping together in a pile. Not just two, separate people but together. Comforting. Connecting. Understanding.

[tsims]

Sexism and unlearning taking the initiative

Not to be too personal here, especially about relationship issues, but you know that thing men do where they say "we should do X" but really mean "you should do X" and I've trained myself to ignore it.

My partner has been "we should do X"ing the same 3 things for the paat 2.5 years LMFAO.

Wonder when he'll figure out he should initiate it maybe.

Anyway, relationships are so much easier when you undo sexist self conditioning that breeds resentment. Maybe he'll never get to it. Maybe the house will always be a little bit messy. Maybe appointments go unbooked, fridge stays unstocked, and holidays go unplanned. Maybe he will continue have to make several mistakes that I don't bother fixing on his behalf.

Learning to be okay with stuff like this and not giving myself more work just because has been very freeing.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[emieclat]

btw i might do a super unstocking sale later this week. i have a bunch of older prints and stuff that just never sold at cons and i don't really want to keep holding on to them

[aftonfamilyvalues]

Okay im the first girl who sent an ask like making fun of that girl for having a degree because I’m a cleaning lady or whatever. It IS interesting to me that so many other people (I think two others) sent asks about cleaning for work! I don’t think you said anything wrong but I get why they would feel offended/like you don’t get it b/c the big thing of being a person who’s a janitor is that you can’t even get the entry level job people with degrees have to take. But obv u weren’t being malicious

i can get that, any form of sanitization work is very heavily stigmatized even though its one of the most important jobs to maintain public health and safety. people really treat them like plague carriers rather than people doing an important public service. no one wants to use a filthy unstocked bathroom or sit at a dirty table surrounded by trash, enter their hotel room to find an unclean shower and an unmade bed covered with messy unwashed sheets, go outside and be greeted with trash bags all over the curb and litter covering the streets, you get the idea. there wouldnt be any public spaces without that sort of work.

[orcelito]

Oh, I am NOT in the mood for this today.

"Hey did whoever closed front bar last night not do the front bar restock checklist because like nothing was restocked" message from manager in training and like Lol a: you don't have to be so aggressive about it & b: I Did That and what the fuck are you saying nothing was restocked? Maybe I didn't do one hundred percent capacity restocking but I sure fucking didn't just leave everything unstocked. What the fuck are you talking about.

[pascalepalaces]

"Mr. Know-It-All" in Southchild Magazine, Issue 2 (The Fool: Reversed):

Transcript:

I'm at your engagement party, annoyed that there aren't any Pop-Tarts in your freezer. 

You enter, telling me that the sight’s a déjà-vu; I say that it isn’t déjà-vu, really, because there are no more Pop-Tarts in your freezer.

Engaged men don't eat Pop-Tarts, you correct me, and you glance to the living room where the crowd is still eating their duck liver. I eat duck liver, now, you know.

Well, what’s the point, then?

You shoot that right back at me, asking me what’s my point for being here, beyond my cravings—and whether my cravings were my excuse for missing the last two years of your life, too. I insist that while I wasn’t technically in the room, your speech still sounded adorable from behind this unstocked fridge door, Andre.

You roll your eyes, then your fists. You admit that because I never reached out since the day I got out (hah), I sort of made you feel like I only ever liked you because I was crazy (no offense, dude). 

But, throwing my head back to laugh—and to get a better look at your eyelashes—I tell you that my lunacy was only ever meant for you.

#

I decide to give it to you, the way you used to give it to me. You come to my apartment demanding to know why you’re now a psychic—why, ever since eating your precious duck liver, you have the answer to every question nowadays asked of you.

I didn’t drug you, I rebuke. I simply gave you a drug that contained access to all of the information in the universe.

I have access to the information that I’m gonna kick your ass, Nick, you tell me, after just a moment of licking behind your pretty lip.

Regardless, you need to know what’s going on, and I tell you you’re like a computer now, a search engine: that you can find any data in the world, but first you need to be given the command.

Why would you do it like that?, you reach your beg. It’s like the tone I used in high school, like when I’d plead for you to leave your place, to come back to me tonight, please.

Who was the Zodiac Killer?, I only respond (ironically, I’ve gotten a lot into true crime ever since… you know), and you repeat the answer again and again to yourself because it feels so true, a revelation truer than anything you’ve ever known.

#

Since you’re a nobody, no one is asking you where that missing neighborhood girl could be, and so you’re banging on my door and also my voicemail inbox limit.

Whatever made you hate me, whatever you think I did, please just try to move on, you’re whining. I know, it’s hard, but the stakes are way too high this time for me to wait. You’re the only one who can help me. You’re the only one who will believe me enough to sincerely ask me the question, let alone ask me at all.  

It’s the first time you’ve spoken to me since the weekend of your engagement party, so… since quite a few years ago, now. I do get it, though. I did fuck a whole lot with your brain. Plus, you’re rich now, and everything.

It’s clear why you’re calling me, of course. Yet, surely, you don’t feel guilty enough about Lily Reid to believe that helping this new, strange girl will amend you. I didn’t know this would happen; I didn’t sign up for this. You’re not trying to amend both of us, now, certainly.

I already did my time!

But if you insist, I suppose, as you force your way in past me and my poor little dogs. I suppose that something like this would happen eventually, and I suppose I still do have a few questions for you, after all.

You take in a cute little breath when I say it:

The last time that you were here, Andre—do you remember? My voice is already ugly, staining with all of my resentments, in order. 

Do you remember when you were so amazed that you had discovered this absolute truth? You had to keep sharing it because it was ‘so true’ and so incredible. Remember? 

Did you never feel that when you said to me, ‘I love you’?

Was it not like that? I watch you take a step backward. ‘Cause that’s what it really felt like, for me, so seeing it be such a new experience for you… oh, and you’re divorced, then? That’s a shame.

Why did you get married? Why were you with me, at all? Did you just like that I depended on your validation, then? 

No, no, no, I won’t stop it. I love this. 

You have to confront the truth, now.

Don’t tell me that I’m having another paranoid break, my Mr. Know-It-All. Like that time that you snapped, told me my problems were too much work—you can’t trick me into thinking I might’ve just imagined your abusive words. You can’t make me plead insanity, still, all of these years later. The worries are finally in your head, too, and you’re dependent on somebody else—on me—to give you the real truth. 

Squeal, my little guinea pig, please.

If you want a truth about the girl, well, what about a truth, like—I don’t think I want to know where she is, but see… what have they done to her, I wonder? What are they doing to her right now? 

In detail, what are they doing?

Oh? No? What’s that? You want to leave? You want to go? You don’t want to be interrogated by me, anymore? 

Then go confess.

[ellecansee]

When Asians say the shit you know but can't deal with about white people.

It really does make them seem like they are so incredibly foreign and therefore strange. While different. But, so obviously this way and it is just so different to how you would think they would be.

Because they just have starkly different ideas of existing. And the things you find the most profound is just so starkly not how they do things.

They by nature simply acquiesce. To the things, you would just not move for, because eventually, they get worn out and down. And even they give into their own lies.

Setting things up as they get more and more deluded - stoned out of their minds, unstocking lie after lie. We look in walls right up. And peer into an organised chaos, that works.

As time stops. For you.

Steinberg

[dashes-and-letters]

[queeribs]

my manager was like leave the kitchen like you would want to enter it which i completely agree with for the most part but she was talking about something that i don't care is done or not when i enter the kitchen and i don't mind doing myself so her words kinda backfired

[fangirl-writes]

Nightmares

JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader

Warning(s): Mentions of physical abuse, nightmares, and blood.

Requested by @abiseifried : heyy i have a fic idea! so i thought you could do a secret relationship jj x reader (john bs sis) and jj shows up at her window beaten up and she cleans him up and they go to bed; then he has a nightmare and wakes up screaming and JB sees how good they are for each other? idk if that makes sense hahaha!

Notes: It totally makes sense! I love it and I hope you enjoy what I've written! The ending sucks, but I like what I’ve written.

JJ Maybank was a loveable goofball.

He smoked weed, made dick jokes, and got into trouble. He played pranks, wore snapbacks, and could make light of almost any situation. He surfed any wave he could catch, drank until it wasn’t fun anymore, and had a permanent place on the couch at the château.

Y/N Routledge was loving soul.

She stocked the cooler, picked the music, and threw red solo cups at John B’s head. She liked PB and J’s, wore flip flops, and was always up for a hug. She cooked meals for fun, cut the boys’ hair when it got too long, and was an expert in nursing a summer morning hangover.

Really, it was only natural they would fall in love.

That classic tale of the brother’s best friend and the little sister, but it wasn’t just that. What Y/N and JJ had was deeper than some shitty romcom.

“Hey,” JJ said.

“Hey,” Y/N replied, smiling at him.

She was standing in the chateau's kitchen, unpacking the cooler after a long day on the water. 

The sun was just starting to dip into the horizon and John B., Kiara, and Pope were out lounging on the hammocks, feeling lethargic and sleepy from the warm day.

JJ seemed similarly tired as he threw an arm over Y/N’s shoulders lazily and kissing her on the cheek before burying his face into her neck.

She chuckled softly, forgetting the cooler for a minute and wrapping her arms around his warm body.

She kneaded her fingers through his hair and whispered. “Do you have to go home tonight? You could just stay here and...”

JJ picked his head up, looking at her sadly. “You know I can’t.”

He could see the worry in her eyes and caressed her cheek softly. “I’ll be okay. He’ll probably be passed out when I get back anyway and I’ll just head straight to bed. No issues.”

She knew that wasn’t going to be true. There were always issues when it came to JJ’s dad.

She pulled him into a hug again. “You know you can always come back here if things get bad. You can sleep with me and if John B. says anything I’ll punch him.”

JJ laughed lightly. “As much as I’d like to see that, we can’t...”

Y/N sighed, pulling back from him.

It hadn’t been an easy decision, hiding it from everyone, but they both decided it was for the best. Ever since Big John had gone missing, things had been a wreck.

John B. had practically gone off the deep end trying to keep the two of them out of the system and together. But it resulted in bigger parties, worse grades, and him being very overprotective of Y/N.

Not that JJ could blame him; she was the only family he had left.

So, they both decided to keep what they had their own little secret...for now.

“Just...come in through the window?” Y/N said, looking at him with her beautiful (e/c) eyes.

He kissed her on the forehead softly, his lips lingering there as he whispered, “Always.”

The loud screech of the screen door echoed through the house and caused the two of them to jump apart to opposite ends of the kitchen.

John B. walked in just as JJ grabbed a water to make it look like that had been what he came in for and Y/N had returned to her job of unstocking the cooler.

“Hey, guys,” John B. said, slightly groggy. “Pope and Kie just headed home. JJ you staying?”

“Nah,” JJ said with a shrug. “I’d like to sleep in a bed that doesn’t have springs digging into my back.”

“Sorry we can’t afford a sleep number, J,” John B. replied, nudging his friend good-naturedly. “But you’d better get going. There’s only a little daylight left.”

He was right. The sun’s orange glow had begun to filter out of the small kitchen, replacing it with a dark gray hue that signaled the start of night.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” JJ replied, wrapping an arm around John B.’s shoulder and squeezing it. Their version of a goodbye hug.

Y/N wouldn’t be having any of that so she stood up, closed the fridge, and walked over to hug JJ goodbye.

She knew he needed it.

And, really, she needed it, too.

“Be safe,” She whispered, hugging him tighter for a minute before pulling away with a smile. “Night, J,”

JJ smiled softly at her, a look that only she got, and waved to the Routledges before disappearing out of the room, the slam of the screen door and the revving of his motorbike the remaining signals that he was leaving. 

“So,” John B. started. “You and JJ...?”

Y/N looked at him with a raised eyebrow, like she had no idea what he was talking about and dared him to assume anything.

“This is going to sound harsh, but I don’t want you to get involved with him.” He said. “I love the guy, but I know how he is with girls and I don’t want him to be like that to you.”

He’s not, she almost said, but stopped herself.

“JJ’s a good guy,” Y/N said with a shrug, seemingly indifferent.

“To you, maybe,” John B. replied, wrapping an around around her neck. “But that’s because you’re my stinking little sister.”

Y/N pushed his arm away with a frown and punched him in the arm.

“Ow!” He said with a big grin.

“Go to bed, you big wimp,” She replied, shoving him out of the kitchen.

“I’m going! I’m going!” He laughed.

The two of them split off into their separate bedrooms, throwing quick “night”s at each other before closing their doors and preparing for bed.

Y/N discarded her tank top and board shorts, as well as the swimsuit she’d worn underneath them. She put on a pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt she’d bought to sleep in over the summer.

She flopped onto her bed and the tiredness she’d not been feeling before came crashing down on her. 

She fell asleep quickly.

***

Y/N woke up with a start, a crash against her floor alerting her. She turned on her lamp and when she looked to the source of the noise-

"JJ, oh my god!" She exclaimed, throwing herself out of bed and onto the floor next to him.

It was bad this time. He had a split lip, a bruise on his eye that was slowly darkening, a few small cuts on his face that she knew was from a glass bottle, and god knows what else that she couldn't see.

JJ hissed as she gripped his side a little too hard.

"Sorry, sorry!" She squeaked, as quietly as she could. "Oh my god, JJ."

"Yeah," He replied, softly. "He was feeling especially pissed off tonight. Came in while I was asleep..."

She could see his eyes getting glassy and felt her own tears pricking at her eyes. 

She hugged him softly, trying to miss his bruises. If she hit any he didn’t say anything, just wrapped his arms around her waist and tried not to cry.

Y/N could feel a few tears wetting her shirt, but didn’t care. She just raked her fingers through his hair, soothingly, and eased him over to the bed.

“Sit down, baby. I’ll go get the first-aid kit.”

JJ did as he was told and watched as Y/N went into the bathroom to find the first-aid kit she kept on hand for instances like this.

It made his stomach turn when he thought about it. Her having to have a first-aid kit just for him, having to nurse him back to health when something happened, having to hide it all from her brother, the only family she had left.

She came back in holding the red box she’d always kept underneath the sink in the bathroom.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?” She asked.

If he’d have been in better spirits he’d have joked about her wanting to get in his pants, but he didn’t have it in him.

He pulled the gray shirt over his head and tossed it onto the bed next to him.

It almost hurt Y/N to see the bruises littering his chest and his sides.

She pulled over her desk chair and sat in front of him, pouring peroxide on a cotton ball. “You’re lucky John B.’s a heavy sleeper of he’d have come flying in here when you fell through the window.”

JJ couldn’t help but laugh and then hiss as she pressed the cotton ball to his lip.

“Sorry,”

He met her eyes for the first time. He could see the sadness and the worry swirling in them.

“I wish I would’ve made you stay,” She whispered, tossing the first cotton ball and cleaning up his cuts with another one.

“It would have been worse the next time,” He replied. “You know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know that low-life, son of a-”

“Y/N.” JJ said, a little sharply, then sadly, “he’s my dad.”

Y/N sighed. “I know, it’s just...”

She didn’t have to say, JJ knew. He’d gotten her lecture before, from everyone. From all the pogues, Sheriff Peterkin, the people his dad worked for. They all told him he should just run away.

But he couldn’t. Because it was still his dad.

Y/N closed up the first aid kit after covering some of the bloodier cuts with band-aids. “Let’s get some sleep, okay?”

JJ nodded, laying down in her bed as she left the room to put the kit back. He pulled the sheets up to his chin and rolled on his side.

She came back with a small smile, shutting off the lamp and sliding into bed next to him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her impossibly closer.

“Thank you,” JJ whispered, he could see the sparkles in her eyes as his adjusted to the dark.

“You don’t have to thank me.” She replied, running her fingers softly over his arm. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You take care of them.”

JJ felt his breath catch at her words. That was the first time either of them had used the ‘L’ word.

“JJ?” She said, squeezing his arm. “You know I love you, right?”

He was silent for a minute and Y/N thought he might try to bolt, but he didn’t. He just let out a quiet sob and buried his face in her neck.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” She asked.

“Nothing,” he said with a sniff. “I just- I really love you too. And I can’t believe it took me this long to realize just how in love with you I am and you shouldn’t have to deal with all my shit-”

“Hey.” Y/N lifted his head off her neck and made him look at her. “Your shit is my shit, okay? We’re in this together. Just like I said, when you love someone you take care of them. Let me take care of you, J,”

JJ blinked back more tears and nodded. “As long as you let me take care of you, too.”

She allowed him to snuggle back into her. “Always,”

JJ fell asleep with many emotions, but he could deal with those when the sun came up. As long as Y/N was there with him, he could deal with anything.

*****

John B. wasn’t sure why he was awake. Usually he slept right through the night with no disturbances. Maybe being out all day messed with him or something.

So, he got out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. That usually helped him when he couldn’t sleep.

The turned on the facet, filling up a glass and taking a large gulp from it before leaning against the counter and staring out the window. 

The sky was barely starting to return to its daily blue and the moon was still most of the light out over the water. It was probably four or five am if he had to guess.

He let out a groan. He hated being awake this early.

John B. dropped his cup as screams started coming from Y/N’s bedroom. He bolted out of the kitchen towards her room, his mind not even registering that those shouts were male.

He just about made it to the room when he heard Y/N call out, “JJ!”

But it was too late, he’d already burst through the door. He startled Y/N, but she couldn’t be bothered by him.

“JJ, wake up, your having a nightmare. It’s just a dream, wake up.”

Her voice was soft, trying to coax JJ out of the nightmare without scaring him any more.

John B. was rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the way Y/N was able to calm JJ down. His screams lessening into whimpers.

John B. had a vague recollection of their dad doing something similar when they were kids.

When JJ finally woke up, he sat straight up and was sweating profusely. He was still obviously distraught from the dream.

Y/N gripped his shoulders and made him look at her. John B. could see the way JJ’s shoulders relaxed as he began to recognize his environment.

“It’s okay,” She said. “You’re safe. You’re with me and John B. and everything is okay.”

JJ choked out a soft sob and a mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It was just a dream.”

JJ nodded and Y/N pulled him into a hug.

The siblings shared a look, conveying that they had the same suspicions on what the dream was about.

John B. reached out a touched his friend’s shoulder, a silent way of telling him that he was also there.

JJ turned his head and looked at John B., never breaking from Y/N’s embrace. “Hey, JB,”

“Hey, man. You alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Good.”

John B. looked from JJ to Y/N who was looking at him with curious eyes. As if asking him how he felt about this.

It was then he realized exactly what was going on. JJ was sleeping in Y/N’s bed, wrapped in her hug. And suddenly everything started to make sense.

Why JJ was suddenly more protective of Y/N, why he always helped her out of the boat, and always disappeared when she disappeared. Why they had begun to grow closer, why their touches lingered and their hugs went on a hair too long.

Y/N and JJ were dating. And they didn’t want to tell him.

John B. looked down and then back up at his sister. He simply nodded.

Yeah. Yeah, this is okay. I don’t mind.

Y/N smiled and looked down at JJ.

They’re good together, John B. thought.

[copperbadge]

This seems sort of within your bailiwick, given your posts on housing advice. Do you have or know of a sort of "essential supplies" checklist? For context, I'm moving out of a house that was already mostly furnished by the owner, and constantly realizing that the new place won't have, say, cookie sheets, or saucepans, or forks. Or anywhere to sit, but I'm more worried about kitchen utensils than furniture.

I think for me the thing is that I never had a situation in which I had to furnish a home/kitchen/etc all at once -- a combination of having hand-me-downs and being super broke meant that often when moving to a new apartment I had like, some of the stuff I needed, but not necessarily the best stuff I needed, and often I would buy or scrounge one good piece of furniture which was then basically the focal point of all of my furniture needs. Like...when I moved to Chicago I went to a thrift store to stock my kitchen and came away with whatever I could find for the money I had -- so I got like two cups, a set of glass mixing bowls, and a pastry blender. Did I need the pastry blender? Arguably not, but it was a dime and I like having one. The big expenditure was $100 for a futon, which was bed, couch, and workspace for the next two places I lived, although I did eventually also get a folding table and chair for a desk. (Now I have a nice Ikea glass-topped desk and a bed and TWO, TWO couches, because I'm fuckin' fancy as shit.)

I think for me what would be most helpful if I had to stock a mostly unstocked apartment would be to close my eyes and picture myself standing in every room. What do I see in the bedroom that I need? Something to sleep on, preferably a real bed; optional but highly desirable, a bedside table; somewhere to put my clothes, so if there's no closet I need a shelf or dresser, and if there is I need coathangers and somewhere for non-hangable stuff.

But honestly most times I've just shown up with whatever I had and either scrounged, bought, or improvised as I needed more.

The Years Before Owning A Cheese Grater were occasionally rough. :D

[twistedtavern]

There’s attempts of dorm presents in Yuu’s lil dollhouse to help make life just a lil bit easier. Well, as seemingly ‘normal’ as the wonderland so twisted can forge. A perfect sized teaset with a shape shifting china to fit all their human and twisted boys needs (Useful, but slightly un-nerving when it shift spots, or somehow is cleaned without any effort on Yuu’s part). A fake rug of some beastie fur that’s considered a different prey to stalk (it breathes, and the false eyes blink behind Yuu’s back). A fridge that never seems to be unstocked nor never needing to be cleared for space (Grim swears he doesn’t sneak leftovers in the night , the fridge is the one crunching). A Wardrobe that always has space for more (Yuu’s taken to dressing in the bathroom, the carved eyes originally politely adverted their gaze). Jamil brings a tiny spice rack when Yuu bemoans unflavored meals (Regardless of cooking experience, the meals that come out of Yuu’s kitchen always taste just right. It’s amazing what you can do with a couple more cooks in the kitchen).

yoooooooo that is the COOLEST concept

The boys getting them all these things that take care of themselves and meanwhile Yuu is just like "??? wha happa?"

[usercelestial]

maybe some mickey loving ians freckles 👀👀

Mickey’s tried - really, he has - but he just can’t stop.

It’s an addiction, really. They should have support groups and patches for it.

Maybe then he wouldn’t be staring helplessly at Ian’s arms as he restocked the Pringles.

If the thing that was capturing Mickey’s attention had been Ian’s muscles, then that would be a different problem. But no, as the sun cascaded through the store front window and beamed down onto the two teenagers, the light caught golden brown flecks that were scattered across Ian’s arms.

Freckles.

Mickey wonders how he hadn’t noticed he had so many. He has, after all, seen practically all of Ian by now. Though he’s never had the time or ability to study it. Their midnight rendezvous never allowing for enough light to take in the tapestry lining Ian’s cheeks and arms and, for god's sake, neck. Even if they did, Mickey knows that they couldn’t afford to risk taking the time to really look and memorize the details of each other’s faces.

Obviously he’s noticed the freckles before, them being hard to miss on such a pale face, but when the sun hits his face just right, there’s no mistaking that he’s absolutely covered in them. He wonders if he really is - covered in them, that is. If his back is as sunkissed as his face or if they only show in places that actually see the sun often. Maybe Ian spends time outside, shirtless, allowing his torso and back to get as much sun as his face. He wonders if he could count them, if given the chance, determine exactly how many dots and spots the redhead has.

“What are you staring at?” Ian asks after a while, dropping the empty cardboard box on the ground and kicking it out of his way.

“Fucking nothing,” Mickey turns away before he can see Ian grin widely and look down at his feet, picking up another box.

“Are you gonna help or what?” Ian gestures to the line of cartons filled with unstocked food and supplies.

“I’m security, remember?” Mickey says despite bending down to carry a crate full of soup cans over to their part of the store. He figures he might as well stay busy, opting to distract himself from Ian’s stupid freckles and grins and arms.

Years pass slowly, both teenagers growing and shaping into different people though one thing that Mickey knows has stayed the same is Ian’s stupid freckles.

Though now, Mickey is completely free to ogle his husband’s array of freckles covering his body - and he was right, by the way, he really is covered in them.

These days, instead of being hit by sunlight through the window of a convenience store, they soak up the sun by the pool, relaxing side by side. Mickey likes to watch with a content smile as Ian lathers himself in sunscreen. He will eventually ask Mickey to cover his back so he doesn’t burn though no matter how strong the sunscreen is, he always fails to do so.

“You look like a tomato,” Mickey comments as Ian exits their bathroom, wearing only sweatpants and a crisp red face.

Ian grins, “At least I don’t look like a ghost, doofus,” he slides into bed next to him, pulling the covers up to his chest. Mickey pulls them down a little, eyeing the mosaic that’s splayed on Ian’s chest.

“What’re you doing,” Ian slurs, his speech distorted by sleep.

“I used to try to count these,” Mickey says as he plants a kiss to Ian’s collarbone, right above a patch of the golden-brown freckles he’s been obsessed with since he was a kid.

“Yeah, how’d that go for you?” Ian cards a hand through Mickey’s hair.

“I think I got to twenty before I gave up. Now that you spend all of that time in your fucking garden and by the pool, it’s only gotten worse,” Mickey feels Ian giggle as he lays another kiss over his heart.

“Yeah, this is probably a personal record.”

“Fuck that, pretty sure it’s a gusiness world record. But even when we were kids, you were just fucking covered in them,” Mickey leans up and kiss Ian’s jawline, just because he wants to, not because he has freckles there.

Ian simply sighs and closes his eyes, still petting through Mickey’s hair.

Mickey turns his face at a slightly awkward angle and presses his lips against Ian’s upper bicep, a feat that strains his neck but is ultimately worth it.

“Used to wanna do that all the time,” Mickey mumbles against Ian’s warm skin.

“You do it all the time now.”

He does. Every chance that he gets.

“Call it making up for lost time,” Mickey says as he looks up to Ian��s face, studying the way the freckles dance across his nose and cheeks, dripping down to his chin and across his forehead. Ian smiles, bright and wide, taking Mickey’s own chin in his hands and pressing their lips together.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against Mickey’s, “Used to wanna do that all the time, too.”

[tracybirds]

Don’t talk to me about timelines XD lockdown 3.0 was an unpleasant surprise but it did give me some fun fodder to play with. Missing from this were the stream of Valentines to Covid that spread around my section of NZ social media XD I was tempted to make Scott write some, but alas it didn’t fit. Obviously plenty has been fudged, it’s definitely not meant to be taken too seriously and more allows me to collect together some of the mixed emotions of getting a five hour countdown to lockdown D: That was not fun lol like far out, and we had to prepped for remote learning by 9am the next day. Scott is not allowed to complain further in his swanky apartment and no job XDD

In all seriousness, this is Scott’s story for FabFiveFeb2021, hosted by the ever lovely @gumnut-logic (Happy Birthday! still the right day in Aus, I didn’t miss it right :0 either way *hugs*** and I hope it was a nice day :DD)

Prompt used was “Are you kidding?” - it really resonated on Sunday evening ahaha (okay I will stop rambling in my defense it’s post midnight and I have feverishly pummelled this out in a couple of hours, it had been itching at me all day.... I missed that feeling :DDD)

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

Scott was International Rescue through and through, but in the murky waters of the central business district, he thrived.

It was a closed meeting, stretching into the long shadowy hours of the evening. Legal advisors quibbled over clauses while Scott exchanged pleasantries with the company representatives, talking up his local ties to New Zealand’s City of Sails.

“My Dad taught me to sail, right out there in the harbour, you know.”

A casual remark but carefully designed to make himself seem approachable and down-to-earth, just another “one of the guys”. His associate had also sailed once, a national representative in his youth, although time and his new habit of lunch meetings had left those days long in the past.

Personal connections made more money than the lawyers in the background ever could, and Scott prided himself on the homegrown touch.

“Mine too,” said the jovial, middle aged man. “Although I reckon it wasn’t near as pretty a yacht as yours. I’ve read up on you as well, you know.”

Scott laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder.

“Len, I knew we’d get on. What do you say to dinner? This has been going on for far too long.”

“I know a great place that keeps a table reserved for me. Even on Valentine’s.”

“I’m flattered.” He nodded to Van Zyl briefly before addressing the small crowd.

“Ladies, gentlemen. You’ve done some good work, and it’s been a long one. We’ll leave it here for the night and reconfer in the morning.”

He acknowledged the tired smiles and leaned back and listened as the chatter evolved from the dry intricacies of patent law into cheery conversation of dinner plans and family time ahead.

He turned and looked out at the city, lights starting to turn on in the early evening light. The sun wouldn’t set for another half hour or so and he wanted to make the most of what they had left in the day.

So did the rest of the Auckland population it seemed. Cars were flooding into the area, people starting to stream into office buildings.

“So, Federal Street?”

“Len, what’s going on down there?” he asked, jabbing a finger down at the street below.

“Sorry?”

He and Len watched, dumbfounded as the office buildings lit up one by one, lights turning on and off again mere minutes later.

“Mr Tracy! Mr Van Zyl!”

“Charlotte, what is it? What’s happening?”

“Oh, Scott, I mean, Mr Tracy, sorry sir.”

“Charlotte. Take a breath,” commanded Scott, letting the authority of Thunderbird One bleed into his voice. “Tell us what’s happened.”

Charlotte shook her head, her hand creeping up over her mouth. She handed him her tablet.

“It’s a civil defence lockdown, effective midnight.”

A cold dread crept up Scott’s spine.

“Tonight?!”

Len pulled out a comm beside him and started dialling. The person on the other end picked up at the first ring, and dimly Scott could hear her calm, measured voice transmitted through the device.

“Can I help?” he asked, still staring at the stark words on the page.

“I… uh... help? Sir?”

“With the civil defence response, with the company, I don’t know!” He looked up, desperation in his eyes. “What can I do to help?”

Charlotte shook her head, pressing her lips together tightly.

“Mr Tracy, we have an isolation response in place, at your father’s request. Leave the board to organise the company, you need to get home and…”

“No.”

Charlotte’s voice pitched up a near octave.

“Sir, I must insist…”

“There are lockdown protocols on the island as well,” snapped Scott. “I can’t just go home, risk my family, my Grandma.”

She shook her head again.

“You can’t help here. They’ve done it before. It’s Level Three, people will be able to collect gear tomorrow if needed, we’re set up for remote offices and the last thing people need is you dilly-dallying in the top office.”

A loud shrieking alarm pierced through her final words and Scott flinched at the sound.

Len yelped next to him, dropping his comm with a curse.

“Damn emergency alerts, don’t they know the whole country has heard by now? Why do they just SHUT UP!” he bellowed at the still beeping comm. “It’s so unnecessary, the first time we went under, I thought we were about to evacuate for a volcanic eruption. Staying home, it’s hardly an emergency.”

Charlotte did little to hide her scorn, but Scott smothered a smile as he read through the full message.

“Okay, fine,” he said at last. “I can bunker down at the apartment for a few days.”

“Weeks, I’d be prepping for,” interrupted Len. “Hard to say of course, but they keep extending them.”

“You know why we do it,” said Charlotte, coolly.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I have to pretend it’s a holiday like everyone else seems to do.”

“Well, there never was any rest for the wicked, they say,” quipped Scott.

Len barked a sudden laugh.

“You’re alright, Tracy. Shame about how this ended, I’d have liked a bite with you.”

“Well, there’s always next time. Maybe we’ll find time for a shared celebration after all this.”

“My treat, Tracy, my treat,” he said with a chuckle. “Take care now.”

Scott nodded a farewell and turned back to Charlotte.

“You’re going to be fine?”

“I’ll go stay with my Mum,” she said, easily. “She doesn’t like to be in her house alone, and I can’t say I blame her. Holotech’s just not the same as being there, you know?”

“I certainly do,” said Scott, thinking of his brothers, hundreds of kilometres away. “Thank you, Charlotte, I’ll be seeing you.”

“Good luck, Scott.”

***

The downtown apartment was a mere fifteen minute walk from Tracy Tower, but with Charlotte’s words echoing in the back of his mind, the thought of potentially weeks stuck in an incredibly well furnished, yet incredibly unstocked apartment plaguing him, he opted to swing past the local supermarket. Located at the heart of the city, it was never quiet at the best of times but this was unlike anything Scott had ever seen.

The tension in the packed shop was thick as the throng that filled it. Over half the customers were already wearing masks, glaring suspiciously at those who had gone without and Scott self-consciously tugged his rain jacket higher.

Essentials, he thought wildly, just eggs and milk and bread and….

There was no bread. No flour either and the confectionary aisle was already looking sparse. He grabbed a few chocolate bars and threw them in the basket.

“Excuse me,” he said, waving down a frantic and wild-eyed shop assistant. “Do you have any bread out back?”

“No way man, haven’t you heard? Lockdown hits in like three hours, people are going mental.”

“But I don’t have any food at home, I was meant to be flying back tomorrow morning.”

The shop assistant, Ariki as his name badge proclaimed him, grimaced in sympathy.

“That’s hard luck that is. You don’t live in Auckland?”

“No, I don’t. But I won’t be able to get home now either.”

He nodded, like he’d heard it before.

“You’re thinking this is like last year, aren’t you?”

“I, uh, yes.”

“Right,” said Ariki, still nodding along with him. “Right, well it’s not quite the same so don’t stress out. Look, you can still get takeaways this time, we’ll be restocked tomorrow and all the real crazies–” he nodded towards a pair who were arguing over what looked like the last can of baked beans, “–yeah, they’ll be tucked up at home, refusing to take a step outside, it’ll be sweet as.”

Scott stared at him, then looked over at the line snaking through the frozen food aisle, between the meat and dairy and coiling up in the sad looking and so-called fresh produce.

The two chocolate bars and eggs he’s managed to grab hardly seemed worth it at all.

“I can put those back if you want.”

“Yeah,” said Scott, dazedly. “Yeah, thanks that’s be great.”

Ariki smirked a little.

“We’re reopening at seven, yeah? I’ll see you then.”

“Thanks again,” called Scott as he hurried from the shop.

The rain that had been threatening its arrival all weekend was starting to appear, and Scott hurried home, ducking his head down and shoving his hands in his pockets. He knew there’d be enough food for at least his dinner tonight and Ariki was right, he could sort the rest in the morning.

A swipe of his keycard, and he shut out the world with a muffled slam of the door and a sigh.

He shucked off his rain jacket, not bothering to hang it up, and trudged into the kitchen. It wasn’t like there’d be anyone around to complain for a while and he was starving. Lunch, the little afternoon tea nibbles they’d provided, even his last coffee felt like it had been drunken in another life.

Dinner, then finally he’d call home.

He didn’t doubt they already knew what was happening, was probably wondering why he hadn’t called, but none of them had even been swept up in the chaos of lockdown preparations.

He stared blankly in front of the fridge, the cold, bluish light illuminating him in the dark room. The sun had fully set by now, and the last vestiges of twilight had given way to the true, deep night with the onset of rainfall.

His carefully defrosting steak wasn’t on the shelf, and he looked around him in confusion, wondering if he’d accidentally left the meat out on the bench. He was hungry enough that he didn’t think he’d care and his stomach was well practiced at digesting the indigestible, bug and all.

On the kitchen counter was a neat pile: a plate, used utensils and cooking equipment all stacked together, waiting to be washed.

Scott blinked.

“Oh, hey, Scott,” called Gordon’s cheerful voice from behind him.

Scott whirled around, gaping at his younger brother, suddenly in their New Zealand apartment and not where he ought to have been – namely a thousand odd kilometres north east of the kitchen they were standing in.

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“You,” Scott shouted, jabbing a finger towards Gordon. “You ate my dinner!”

“Oh, crap.”

Gordon bolted a split second before Scott charged at him, yelling wildly with all his might.

“Scott, I’m sorry, it was – shit, I mean – come on, it was past nine, I thought you’d been out, and I, oh damn, I, Scott, damn it, I’m not dressed.”

“I don’t care, you ate my food, have you seen the grocery stores? It’s absolute chaos, you traitor, you can go out and get me something, put some pants on and move.”

Gordon yelped as he dove over the couch.

“Okay, I can see there’s been some errors in judgement here,” said Gordon, panting. “I’m sorry, Scott, I really am.”

Scott glared.

“Not good enough.” He paused, eyeing Gordon as he cowered behind the sofa. “What are you even doing here?”

“Uh, excuse me?”

“Here. What are you doing in Auckland?”

“Happy birthday to me too, love you bro, congrats on surviving another year.”

“You came to Auckland for your birthday?”

“Yeah.” Gordon sat up cautiously. “Couldn’t exactly see Penny, and it’s not like there’s many other places that will let us in.”

“I thought we counted as a US territory.”

“John cleared it with someone, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Didn’t want to be stuck at home for my birthday. And look how that turned out.”

He did look extraordinarily sorry for himself.

Scott sighed, and reached out a hand.

“Go get some damn pants on,” he grumbled. “And go look for Virgil’s emergency snacks, I know he stores them everywhere.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I mean it, don’t you dare come back unless you bring me food.”

Gordon snorted.

“Sure, wouldn’t want to provoke the wrath of a starving Scooter.”

Scott jerked his body towards Gordon, and smirked as he bolted up the stairs towards the bedrooms, before sinking down into the cushions and closing his eyes.

The comm beeped gently, a stark contrast from the blaring alert from earlier.

“Hey,” he said, opening an eye as Virgil was projected in front of him.

“Tell me you’re not–”

“Oh, I am.”

“Gordon too?”

“Yep.”

“Damn.”

“Tell me about it.”

They were both quiet for few seconds, thinking about how rapidly the world had seemed to shift around them.

“I suppose it’s only for a few days,” began Virgil, but Scott was already shaking his head.

“We gotta do the full two weeks. After that, we ought to be able to clear an exit with the harbourmaster and the coast guard, even if it’s not over, but we can’t come back earlier. The only reason we could move freely before without our helmets is because–”

“Preaching to the choir, Scott. I get it.”

“You gonna be alright without us?”

Virgil shrugged. “Rescues are down what with more people staying at home. Alan and I can handle the small change, and Kayo’s been itching for some POD practice recently. We’ll manage. Besides, you’re the one stuck with Gordon.”

“Hey!”

“Food,” growled Scott and Gordon threw a muesli bar and a tube of M&Ms at him.

“Is that mine?”

“Gordon ate my dinner and the shops were out of everything,” grumbled Scott. “Blame him.”

“It’s my birthday, I don’t deserve this.”

“Cry me a river.”

“Alright, don’t kill each other before the two weeks is up. John’s already organised a betting pool, don’t give him the satisfaction of winning again, he’ll be insufferable.”

“Oh, he’s on,” said Gordon, grinning. “Tell him I put fifty bucks on Scott tipping me out of bed or off the couch by the end of the week.”

“Got it.”

“You can’t bet against us,” said Scott, mumbling around the chocolate. “I thought you were on my side.”

“You tried to murder me over a steak.”

“The jury would have never convicted.”

“Okay, I can see you two are going to have a fun time,” said Virgil, loudly over their bickering. “See you in two weeks.”

He didn’t wait for a response. After all, two weeks was a smidge outside even his patience.