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elisela · 3 years

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do you know how to do take-aways? (read on ao3) derek x stiles, g, 2.2k, au, meet cute, fluff, kid fic

prompt: call me for @tylerhunklin

"Hey Scott," Stiles says, jamming the phone receiver between his shoulder and ear so he can go back to typing with both his hands. "Desk duty is killing me, man, do you know how much of a backlog on paperwork there is in this place? Fucking ridiculous—"

"Stiles," Scott cuts in, “I have a call I need you to take."

Stiles sits up straighter and frowns. "We've got people out on patrol—"

Scott's laughter is warm and familiar in his ear. "No, it's not a patrol thing. I'm gonna transfer it over to you, okay? And I’m still coming to bring you dinner tonight."

"Roger," Stiles says, lazily snapping a salute despite Scott not being able to see him. There's a pause and a click, and he slips back into his professional mode—the one his dad definitely wishes he would use more often. "Beacon Hills Sheriff's Department, this is Deputy Stilinski, how can I help you?"

"Hi," a small voice says. "Do you know how to do take-aways?"

He frowns, glancing over at the display on the phone screen. He'd think it was a joke except he doubts Scott would patch that through, and there's a childish tone to the voice that's difficult to fake. "Like subtraction?" he asks.

"Yeah," the voice says. "We learned it today but I don't remember and I gotta do my homework."

He presses his lips together so he doesn't laugh and slouches, relaxing a little in his seat. "Sure do," he says. "What's your name?"

"Talia Marie Hale," she says promptly, and Stiles scribbles it down on a piece of paper. "How do I do five take away five?"

"Can you put up five fingers?" he asks, and she makes a noise of assent. "Okay, now put five of them down." He hears her counting in the background and he copies the number the shows on his display underneath her name, then clicks over to run it through the system. When she stops, he says, "okay, how many fingers do you still have up?"

"I don't have any," she says. "How do you write that?"

"Zero," he says. "Do you know how to make that? It's like a big o." He waits another moment before asking, "is anyone in the house with you, Talia?"

"Yeah, my auntie," she says. "But I can't ask her questions while she's writing unless it's an emergency."

He can't catch himself before he laughs. "What made you decide to call 9-1-1?"

"My teacher said if you ever need help you can call," Talia says. "And I really need help. What's seven take away three?"

The second call comes in three days later. He's peeling apart his turkey sandwich and layering Doritos on it, providing much-needed crunch, when his phone rings through from dispatch. "Sup, Scott," he says, because Scott's the only one who ever bothers to call him directly.

"Sorry, Stiles, just me," Kira says. "I have someone on the line for you. Given that she asked for you by name, maybe you could remind her that this line is for emergencies and talk to her guardian?"

He presses the top slice of bread back onto his sandwich and leans back in his chair. "Got it," he says, and waits for the click. "That you, Miss Hale?"

"Hi, Mr. Deputy Stilinski," she says, tiny voice chipper in his ear. "I'm really confused about this take away."

"Hit me," he says, and she giggles.

"Ten take away six," she says. "I put up all my fingers but I got confused."

He hums and glances around his desk. "Are you with your auntie again today?" he asks, and when she confirms he adds, "do you have any toys at her house?"

"I'm at my house," she says. "Auntie watches me while Daddy's away for work, but she's busy writing her thesis so I can't go in the office."

"What's your dad's name?" he asks.

"Derek Samuel Hale," she says. "And my auntie's name is Cora Elizabeth Hale, and my other auntie is Laura Margaret Hale, and my dog's name is Ruffio Hale. Like from Hook. Auntie Cora named him because she said Daddy was scared of Hook when he was my age and she likes to make fun of him. Daddy tried to rename him but he only wants to answer to Ruffio now."

He writes it all down with a grin—even the unasked for information—and flicks at his mouse to wake his computer. "Your aunt sounds pretty cool," he says. "Okay, go get ten small toys and we'll get your math done. Blocks, if you have them."

He runs Cora's name through the system as he waits, just to make sure Talia isn't being left with someone irresponsible, and finds nothing of consequence. He keeps the list, though; he'll tell Talia not to call 9-1-1 anymore unless it's an emergency, and if she does, he'll get in touch with her dad then.

"Little red h-hen makes s-sop," Talia reads, and pauses. "That doesn't sound right. What's ou?"

"Spell the whole thing for me," he says, and corrects, "soup," when she does, spearing a piece of microwaved chicken and popping it in his mouth. He's quiet while she reads, only interjecting when she needs help, trying to eat silently in the background. She mostly spells the comprehension questions for him and he reads them to her, and when she finally thanks him and hangs up, he looks up to see his dad standing over his shoulder.

"Hey, Pops, I finished the file on—"

"When did your desk turn in to the homework helpline?" Noah asks, frowning, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"She only calls on my break, it's fine," he says, waving a hand to brush away the question before picking up the file. "Anyway—"

"Are her parents aware?"

"I left her aunt a voicemail on Monday," he says, and when his dad just looks at him, he sighs. "Fine, I left her a message last Monday and I haven't heard back, but she's not alone in the house, nothing bad is going on, she's just—lonely, I think." It's something he understands; after his mom passed away, he'd started calling Edith, who worked the front desk of the station when he was a kid, every night his dad wasn't home.

"Call again," Noah says, "and next time, make whoever is home with her aware of it. Once or twice is fine; every day for weeks is a problem."

"Here," he says, and Talia gives him the first letter promptly before pausing and spelling out the rest. "Good job. Um, said."

He might be extending their time on the phone, just a little. He likes talking to her; she reminds him of himself, her elementary drama always makes him laugh, and she likes asking him questions about being a deputy. So he’s not really looking forward to asking to speak to her aunt and put a stop to all this.

When she seems like she’s winding down, he sighs. “I know you’re not supposed to interrupt Auntie Cora,” he says, “but I was hoping to talk to her. Can you tell her Deputy Stiles is on the phone?”

“Oh, Auntie’s not here,” Talia says, and Stiles feels the beginning of a heart attack coming on before she adds, “Daddy’s home now. I’ll go get him.” He hears a thunk and then little feet running, her calling out for her Dad before there’s a muffled thump.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hi,” he says, “this is Deputy Stilinski from BHSD—is this Mr. Hale?”

“This is,” he says, and if it’s possible to fall in love with a voice, Stiles does so right then. Soft and gentle, just a bit of concern, and he has to stop himself from running Derek’s name through the system to get a photo. His dad is already irritated with him for encouraging Talia’s calls (and, you know, for the whole stopping a bank robbery in progress thing that led to the injury that landed him on desk duty), he doesn’t need to add misuse of resources to the list. “Is everything okay?”

He takes a breath and explains, starts from the beginning and includes how he gave Talia his desk number so she would stop calling 9-1-1, makes sure to add that he’d tried to get ahold of Cora—and leaves out the fact he hadn’t called Mr. Hale directly even though he could have easily done so—and when he’s finished talking, he adds, “I didn’t mind, honestly, she just told me today that you were back in town and I wanted to let you know.”

There’s a pause where he holds his breath and hopes that Mr. Hale doesn’t think he’s a creep, or doesn’t demand to speak to the Sheriff—but he just lets out a breath and says “I am so sorry, I’ll absolutely talk to her, it won’t happen again.”

“I really didn’t mind,” he says again, because he also doesn’t want to get Talia into trouble. “She must get home from school at the same time my break starts because she always called at the same time, I wasn’t busy. Just making you aware.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Hale says. “Deputy—” and isn’t Stiles going to have dreams where his name is said like that, low and grateful and—

“Sorry?” he asks, flushing when he realizes he’s lost track of the conversation. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I appreciate what you did,” Mr. Hale says. “I’ll talk to her.”

Talia doesn’t call the next day.

She shows up instead.

“Mr. Deputy Stiles!” he hears from the front, and his head snaps up to see a little girl with long dark hair looking around the room, envelope clutched in one hand, the holding onto the hottest man Stiles has ever seen and holy shit, he suddenly believes that karma is very real and he has clearly done something good in his life to earn this kind of reward.

He starts to stand, and her eyes catch his and light up as she tugs her dad towards him. “Miss Hale?”

“Hi!” she says, flinging her arms around his waist. He hugs her back and looks over at her dad, who gives him a sheepish look and shrugs. “I got a hundred percent on my sight words test and Daddy said we could go to ice cream to celebrate and then when we were at ice cream he said we should do something nice for you because you helped me so so so much and I really wanted to come here anyway because I want to see a real jail and Daddy said if I was really really nice and asked politely then maybe you could show me some handcuffs—”

If this is what he’s like, he’s starting to understand why it was difficult for him to make friends in school, because she just does not stop, and doesn’t leave an opportunity for him to get a word in. He crouches down so he’s eye-level with her and waits it out, accepting the envelope when she finally runs out of words and beams at him. “Thank you,” he says, and when he opens it up to find a drawing and a handful of gift cards, he looks up to Mr. Hale. “You really didn’t have to, Mr. Hale,” he says, wrapping one arm around Talia’s shoulders when she darts in to hug him again.

“Derek,” he says, and when he smiles, Stiles is pretty sure he’s found God. “We don’t want to take up your time, I just wanted to thank you.”

“But—” Talia starts, and falls quiet when Derek looks at her again. “I can’t even see the people in the jail?”

“It’s not really a jail,” Stiles says, shrugging, “just a holding cell. And there’s no one in it right now.”

“Boo,” Talia says. “Can I meet your Sheriff?”

“Lia,” Derek warns, and she sighs explosively. “Sorry about—all this. I talked to Cora and she knows to give Talia a little more attention during homework time, so she won’t—she shouldn’t—be calling you again. Talia, we need to get home. Say thank you and goodbye.”

“Bye, Mr. Deputy Stiles,” she says, and he knows—he knows—that her sticking out her bottom lip and pouting is nothing more than a manipulation tactic, but it hits him all the same. “Thank you.”

“Deputy Stilinski,” he says before he fully has the receiver to his ear, wadding up a piece of scrap paper and tossing it at Jordan’s head to get his attention. He motions to the pizza box laying on his desk—dinner for the station courtesy of Derek, who clearly didn’t know the going rate for tutors given the sheer amount he’d dropped on gift cards—and makes a grabbing motion. They’ll be having station dinners for weeks—so long as they cater to his busted foot and bring him what he wants. Otherwise, he’s spending it all on himself.

“Hi,” someone says, and “sorry, this is Derek Hale, Talia’s dad?”

“Hey,” he says, sitting up straighter. “How can I help you?”

“I—” there’s a pause and a muffled sound, a conversation happening just outside of what Stiles can hear. “Sorry, I—I wanted to ask if you would be interested in getting coffee on Saturday. With me,” he adds, and Stiles can hear it when he cups his hand over the microphone and says, “Talia, stop.”

It’s like a record scratch in his brain. “Coffee?” he repeats. He’d thanked karma for smiling down on him, but he’d figured the encounter with Derek was one and done. “You want—with me?”

“Yes,” Derek says, “although my daughter is also extremely interested and I believe is willing to fight me for you.”

Laughter bursts out of his mouth before he can stop it. “You know, I think Talia did call dibs first,” he says, grinning. “What if we all got coffee and then you and I went for lunch?”

“I can work with that,” Derek says. “It’s a date.”

#sterek #sterek fic #derek hale #stiles stilinski #eli writes #sterek au #deputy stiles #KID FIC #meet cute

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lilnasxvevo · 2 years

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HOLY SHIT THEY ANSWERED MY VOICEMAIL ON YO IS THIS RACIST

I REALLY THOUGHT THEIR BACKLOG WAS A LOT BIGGER THAN THAT AND/OR THEY WOULD NEVER PICK MINE

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hockeyboysiguess · 4 years

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78 with whoever you want? :)

78) “Hold me and never let me go.”

a/n: i’ve been in a brock boeser mood lately soooo, tada. writing from this list!

You were exhausted. Hell, exhausted didn’t even begin to cover it. Your first day back at work after having your daughter had been absolutely horrendous. Ten weeks of backlogged emails, voicemails, and the fact that your boss assumed you could get right back up and running after everything your body just went through meant that you were on the verge of tears pulling up into your driveway of the house you shared with your husband and newborn. Having to be away from her all day was also a major factor in how you felt. You had tried to practice being apart, tried to go to lunch and see friends and leave her with Brock to give you some experience, but a full eight hour day, even with Brock’s constant text messages filled with photos, did little to stop the feeling that you were too far away from your heart, something people couldn’t really do for very long.

“Hey,” you called out as you opened the front door, your exhaustion thick in your voice.

The only thing that had given you any sense of comfort during your day was that your daughter was in her father’s arms. Thank god the season had been over by the time you had her because you were certain you wouldn’t have been able to do this without Brock. To say he was a natural was an understatement. You were pretty sure he was a better parent than you, but since you gave birth, you got the bragging rights of being the better parents for at least the first year, since you put in all of the physical work that day, plus the nine months prior to that day.

“We’re in the nursery!” Brock called back out to you. You heard his tone shift, his attention going to your little girl instead, “Yeah, momma’s home, pretty girl. Yeah, do you hear your momma? I bet she’s going to be so happy to see you.”

Happy didn’t even fully describe how you felt when you saw them after rounding the corner into the nursery. Brock’s blue eyes were heavy, the dark circles that had taken up a permanent residence on his face since the day she was born were darker somehow. You know he had barely gotten any sleep today. His hair was too long and an absolute mess and you weren’t sure how many days in a row you had seen him wear that same shirt. It was the smile on his face, the same one he’d had for the past ten week, really since you showed him the positive pregnancy test, that told you that despite the rest of his appearance, he was so happy. God, was Brock happy. This was what he always wanted, a family, with you, and he was holding a piece of that family.

“Hi, yes, hi,” he cooed softly to her. “That’s mommy! She’s back! Yeah, are you happy about that? You’re so happy your momma is here, aren’t you?”

You watched, leaning against the doorframe, as Brock’s free hand came up to touch her face softly. His blue eyes stared down into hers. You remembered that one of your first clear thoughts when you looked at her when the nurse put her on your chest was that she had Brock’s eyes. It was one of his first clear realizations too. He was so happy she looked more like you, but that there were bits of him, undeniably him, in her. One of her little hands reached up and clumsily wrapped around one of his fingers. He smiled as she gripped his finger with all her non-existent might.

“She’s got my finger pretty good,” Brock said, turning his attention partially to you.

“I know,” you smiled at the two of them. “It’s almost like she’s saying, ‘Hold me and never let me go, daddy.’”

“Yeah,” Brock laughed softly, “but it’s momma time. Let’s go see mommy, yeah?”

You smiled again as Brock came over to you. He slid his finger from her grasp and gently handed her to you. The second she was in your arms, your entire day melted away. Nothing else mattered, except you and her and Brock. His hands slid around your waist from behind, his chest pressing against your back as his arms secured you to him at your waist. He leaned his head down to rest his chin on your shoulder, observing your daughter in your arms.

“How was your first day with just daddy?” you cooed at your daughter, your heart lurching in your chest when she giggled in response to your voice.

“We had a great day,” Brock sighed. “We read a book and we drank all of our bottles and we took a lot of naps.”

“Oh, did we now?” You addressed her, but Brock answered anyway.

“Yeah, we did,” Brock mumbled before dropping a kiss to your neck. “How was work?”

“Missed you two,” was all you had to say for Brock to know it wasn’t an easy day.

“How about, when little miss goes down for a nap here in about ten minutes, we get you,” he kissed your neck again softly, “a glass of wine and you can tell me all about it. Does that sound good?”

“It’s perfect,” you tell Brock in response.

“Not as perfect as my girls.”

#brock boeser #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #brock boeser writing #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey imagine #blurb time

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bittersweetmelxdy · 5 years

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Okay so since requests are open 👉👈 I was wondering if you could do an MC/Victor thing based off of the post MC can write after Gavin’s Film Studio date when Victor asks what happened and for MC to call him. Sorry if this is super vague/confusion!!

Finally I’m getting around to the backlog of my requests, I hope you like this! :)

Title: I’m only one call awayPairing: Victor x MCWords: 1529

Not two minutes had passed since you had posted your moment on your social media when you received the strangest response. Victor had simply commented ‘What happened? Call me.’ So intrigued to unravel the mystery that was Victor, you pressed call, expecting to go straight to voicemail. To your surprise Victor answered after the first ring, as if he had been waiting for your call.

“What happened?”

“Victor I’m fine, you don’t need to-“

“I asked what happened. “ Victor’s voice interrupted you, his tone not giving you an excuse to argue.

You huffed before answering slowly, trying not to anger him any more than he already is, “I had a bit of a stalker issue…”

“You had a what?!” for the first time in your life you could hear the panic in Victor’s voice.

“Victor it’s fine, Gavin was there and he sorted it…”

“I didn’t ask who was there.” Victor sounded like he was sulking.

“Victor, I wonder why you ask me to call you in the first place if you were just going to interrupt me every sentence.”

“I just—I-I mean I… do you need me to pick you up?” you were stunned into silence at hearing the great Victor stutter, and for the first time since you had known him, ask a question so softly and with such uncertainty.

The silence stretched between you and the only thing you could hear was the faint tapping of Victor tapping his pen against his desk. You sighed softly and a slight smile blossomed on your face despite how shaken you were.

“If you aren’t too busy, I would love for you to come get me.” You said softly, relishing at how Victor’s breathing hitched at the word “love”.

He huffed to seem nonchalant and replied “If you insist, I’ll be there in front of your set in 10 minutes.” you snorted softly and hung up the phone, shaking your head as you lowered your phone to your side.

You looked out the glass doors, facing the road, and a slight shiver ran through your body, as you stared out into the darkness, your fear causing the innocuous shadows to appear sudden and twisted. You frowned and wrapped your arms around your frame, and started when your heard someone approaching behind you. Spinning around quickly with a small yelp, you came face to face with a concerned Gavin.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Gavin kept his voice soft and gentle as he could see you were still in fear.

“Oh Gavin, I’m sorry- I just-“ you sighed and leaned against the glass panel next to the door, “I guess I’m probably a bit more scared than I thought I was.” you laughed weakly waving your hand to hopefully wave off his worry.

Gavin crossed his arms and shifted his weight onto one foot, “Its fine, you went through something traumatic, it’s okay to still be a little jumpy, just know the actual danger has been taken into custody.”

You sighed and closed your eyes in relief, your hand resting lightly on your chest where you could feel your heartbeat racing under your clothes. You opened them slowly and lowered yourself down to sit on the floor, not caring about the cleanliness of the building and you patted the floor beside you for Gavin to sit, however he stayed standing.

“Do you want me to give you a ride back?” he asked you whilst staring out into the darkness.

“No, it’s okay Victor’s coming to get me.”

“That’s good at least you’ll be-” Gavin head whipped to face you “-VICTOR, as in CEO ‘I’m only looking out for my investment’ Victor?”

The corners of your mouth quirked upwards at how Gavin described Victor, “I guess he’s not so bad if he’s willing to come get me from the set so late at night.”

Gavin huffed, but said he was just leaving for a minute to check on the suspect, and for you to stay put as you’d be safe inside. Although he wasn’t happy about this Victor guy coming to get you, he was happy you had at least shown a shadow of a smile since the incident, and he walked off with a slight lightness in his step.

You drew your knees up to your chest and crossed your arms over them, resting your head against your arms to create a small safe cocoon for yourself. Breathing deeply, you tried to dispel the lingering cold feeling of terror that seemed to be looming over you like a black shadow its cold tendrils licking at your limbs threatening to pierce into your safe haven. You had just managed to get your breathing to a regular rhythm, when you heard footfalls, very different to Gavin’s, and the dark shadow of fear pounced upon you. The footfalls were desperate, heavy and loud, and you curled tighter into yourself, your fingernails digging into your arms, praying that whoever it was wouldn’t hear you. A hand touched your shoulder and you screamed, moving backwards, arms shielding your face and tears leaking from your eyes.

“No, stay back! Please-”

“It’s me, calm down, it’s me Victor.” Victor’s voice was loud to cut over your screams but although it was firm, you could hear the warmth in his voice towards you.

Trembling you lowered your arms and peeked at Victor, on one knee in front of you and looking back you couldn’t believe the man in front of you was actually Victor that day. The man who was always immaculate, not a speck of dust on him, was sweating like he’d run the whole way, panting from exertion, and his hair and clothes dishevelled. Seeing your lowered defences, Victor smiled softly at you and carefully drew you into his arms. You stiffened at first but once Victor’s strong arms wrapped around your waist, the feeling of safety washed over you, your tears came gushing out as you wrapped your arms around him, vice grip on his shirt. Victor pushed your head into his shoulder and whispered soft comforts into your ear as he rubbed his hand up and down your back gently to soothe you.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he asked warmly, laughing lightly as you nodded quickly into his shoulder.

Victor, knowing you were in no position to walk, stood up and carried you in a reverse piggyback, allowing you to hide your tear-stained face in Victor’s shoulder and cling to him unashamedly. He strolled determinedly through the building, not even sparing Gavin a glance as he passed by him, and only stopped when he reached his car. Opening the door and gently lowering you into the passenger seat, Victor carefully pried your hands from their vice grip on him, and placed them in your lap. After getting into the car himself, he watched your trembling hands buckle your seat belt, nodding when you glanced at him shakily.

The drive to your apartment was quiet, you were too scared to say a word and Victor didn’t want you to exert yourself in your state. However at a red-light he noticed your hand clenched so tightly on your lap that your knuckles were turning white. Slowly, so as not to startle you, Victor rested his large hand atop yours and gently unfurled them before turning your hand over and lacing his fingers with yours. He watched your bright eyes widen with surprise as you looked from him to your clasped hands, glad to finally see a different emotion other than fear in your eyes, Victor flashed a soft smile at you and flicked your forehead with his other hand,

“Dummy, don’t hurt yourself.”

Usually you would have fired back a quick remark at him, but today all you could manage was a weak huff and you faced forward. Victor sighed as the light turned and wondered when he’d get his spitfire back.

At the junction before your apartment building Victor felt a soft thud against his shoulder and out of his peripheral vision he saw that you were resting your head against his shoulder. Only when he pulled up outside your building did he realise you had fallen asleep, when he tried to detangle himself from you, he was surprised to see your grip on his hand tighten and a frown marred your features.

“Victor… Don’t leave… me alone.” You murmured softly in your sleep.

Victor felt like he had been electrocuted, not only did you feel safe enough around him to fall asleep, but you wanted him to stay! He muffled a laugh so as to not wake you and squeezed your hand back, noticing that the action calmed you down considerably.

“Idiot, I’m not going anywhere, you won’t ever be alone again.”

Victor watched a serene smile grew on your face at his whispered words and he changed the cars course for his house. He still had work to finish off, but there was no way he was leaving you alone tonight. Not when he was there to keep you safe and sound.

#mlqc scenarios #mlqc victor #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice #love and producer #bittersweetmelxdy writes

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princessyennenga · 5 years

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The Left Hand Rocks the Cradles - Chapter 2

Previously ...

Scott adjusted his blazer around his shoulders with a shrug.

“Someone with your talents should just accept that offer at a larger, reputable and profitable paper where she can build on the potential for a career legacy. Instead of chasing followers, likes and shares.”

After another 30 minutes, Iris had filled more pages with notes and quotes about the new hospital wing. After working this room, and Scott working her nerves, she was ready to wrap up this assignment. Then the message notification jingled on her phone and re-energized her. It was Barry. Instead of texting a reply, she stole away to a quiet spot near a water fountain and called him back.

“Hi Babe. So good to hear your voice,” Iris breathed.

“Oh yeah?” she could hear Barry’s face open up into a smile on the other end.

“Of course. You're my sunshine,” Iris laughed lightly, still touched that he appreciated her love so much.

“I do my best. So I take it that means your press conference and tour went well?” he said. Iris could hear the clink of heavy glass in the background. A young girl's voice rasped ‘Daddy. Dad! We don't have enough nitric--’ For a brief moment, Barry was distracted, probably by Nora wanting to ‘help’ him with his backlog of cases.

“Hang on just a second Iris, OK?” Iris gave him gave leave to help their daughter, the time traveler, get situated to begin her first round of analysis and reports for the day. He returned with a sigh.

“Just had to get Nora --”

“Situated, yeah, I understand. Listen, you’ll probably need to supervise her, so I’ll let you go --”

“Not so fast, Mrs. West-Allen!” he chided softly. “Catch me up on how things are going. I know you were wondering if Scrat Evans was going to show up …”

“It’s Scott, Barry,” Iris corrected, only half sternly. “And we agreed to take the high road about me having to see him for work every now and then, right? We're not going to be seventh grade about this?”

“Oh yeah! High road. Completely!” Barry assured so earnestly Iris could feel green eyes widen and his head nod. “I mean, I have no reason to dislike the guy. Feel bad for him, actually. Denied!”

“Barry ...”

“He couldn’t even get a second date … and that coffee at Jitters was technically a story meeting, and not … ”

Just then Iris saw an elegant Black woman with thick salt and pepper hair, cut stylishly short, come into view just 20 feet away.

“Barry, I promise to fill you in when I get to S.T.A.R. Labs later,” Iris said. “I just spotted Theresa Merkel, and she would be good for the article.”

After Barry signed off with few endearments, Iris adjusted the strap of her large tote bag over her shoulder and bobbed through the crowd until she reached Theresa Merkel.

“Mrs. West-Allen. Hello again,” Theresa nodded calmly. “I didn't realize your coverage included the healthcare sector.”

Iris and Theresa exchanged greetings, but not too many pleasantries or small talk. Still, there was no awkwardness between them as Iris got straight to her questions.

“Mrs. Merkel, there was a small footnote near the back of the expansion budget report --” Iris said.

“The budget report?” Theresa was taken aback. “But financials are confidential. How did you obtain …?”

“Just. Connections, I guess,” Iris shrugged.

“And incredible resourcefulness! Well, continue.”

“It was a $13 million line item denoted by ‘PM’ …” Iris said. As she talked, Theresa’s mood shifted noticeably, but not toward hostility. She nodded slowly and took a soft, deep breath, and for a brief second Iris registered a very similar feeling to the one she read from Cecile when Jenna had kept her up for much of the night.

“Yes, well. A $13 million budget item, in my view, was a starting point to address some of the issues that have come to light in Central City recently,” she sighed. “I was not the only hospital board member to realize that many lives have been touched and changed in many ways. More than we can understand.”

Iris looked slightly puzzled, but before she could ask any more questions, a well-built man, fashionably bald, came along and looked eager to steal Theresa’s attention. Theresa recognized him instantly, as ‘Donovan,’ and excused herself from Iris. ‘More than we can understand’ echoed in Iris’ mind as she shook hands with several more hospital staff members while making her way to the coat rack. Most of the journalists for the city’s two largest newspapers had already fled to their offices to write up what they considered fluff pieces before moving on to meatier stories. Their hospital items might get boiled down to a full-page story in the Picture News, or a quick photo story leading the City section of the Central City Tribune, the city’s premiere broadsheet.

The phrase was reminiscent of what Barry, or The Flash, then The Streak, had told Iris during their first rendezvous on the Jitters rooftop. As she tried to pry out of him how he could do what he did, he answered

‘There’s more to this than you can understand.’

Iris had felt slightly challenged by his answer. How did he know what she was capable of understanding and what concepts were beyond her grasp? His answer, almost a dismissal had fired her curiosity to really dig into who he was. It led Iris to a world of metas.

Barry was right when he excitedly drew a circle around that dot on his equation board in circle around that dot on his equation board in his CCPD lab. The particle accelerator had opened an entire field of science that Central City, and the world, were just beginning to explore.

‘Fully understand.’ Was Theresa Merkel saying that there is a $13 million pediatric meta research facility here? At the children’s hospital?! It was a theory that, if proven to be true, would impact the lives of every citizen of this city, population 1.7 million. A story like that would finally put the Central City Citizen on the map as more than just a “citizen journalist” blog, or “amateur researcher’s” blog or … the “how funny” blog, as Iris had overheard a few hardened career women describe her publication at networking events. Iris pulled her jacket off the coat rack and rushed out of the hospital. She had her own fluff pieces and bigger stories to plan.

After an easier ride away from the hospital, Iris was energized. She stopped at Jitters to find a quiet, familiar spot so that she could focus. She ordered a chai latte and a small scone, then settled into a favorite spot near one of the tall windows. The winter sun easily reached through bare trees and poured through the uncovered glass windows, warming Iris so much that she had to shake off the duster that she wore over her long-sleeved, wrap silk blouse. She set her phone to 'Do Not Disturb' and opened her laptop. After almost an hour, Iris sat up high in her chair and stretched. She posted a 750-word story to Google Docs for her freelance editor, Julie Greer, to pick up and review. Then she picked up feature stories a couple of college stringers had turned in: a profile on a tattoo artist, and an organization bidding for a paralympic training camp. Over the next 90 minutes Iris swiftly edited the two stringer’s stories and passed them to Julie for a second read. Then they would be placed in the queue for posting, both to the main Web site and to subscribers’ e-newsletters. Another 30 minutes went by as Iris checked emails: a programmer had sent a link for a sample redesign; Emmet, the commission-only ad sales rep had great news about a rideshare service and fashion subscription Website.

And then a peculiar message: one from Theresa Merkel. Actually, her executive assistant. Iris leaned closer to her screen and craned her neck, taken aback at the outreach. Just as she had clicked it open and begun to read it, her video chat app intruded.

“MOM!!” Nora’s brown eyes wide with agitation, blocked the message. “Dad and I have been trying to reach you for the past hour. Where are you? What’s going on? Why is you phone going to voicemail??”

Then Barry’s face slid into the frame, his brows furrowed and his eyes peering into the lens. Iris suppressed a laugh behind her hand. Her adorable nerd husband forgot -- again -- that lenses do not always give up the secrets on the other end.

“I’m sorry, guys,” Iris uncovered her mouth. “Work got away from me a little bit.”

“Hey, no schr---!” Nora fired back.

“Nora!” Barry’s stern tone checked Nora’s language, but not her exuberance.

“Of course. Sorry Mom. But we have lunch plans, remember?” Nora said, glancing back at Barry. “You can’t just go offline for half the morning and not let us know. It’s like Dad says, ‘all family plans come first’.”

Iris launched into a flurry of apologies as she snapped her laptop shut and collected the pens, notebooks and papers fanned out on the table. Just as she stood up and slid into her duster and camel hair coat, Iris heard the sound of a toddler giggling and babbling. She didn’t see a child, but noticed a brownie float off of another patron's plate, who was so distracted by her own phone that she barely noticed the brazen theft. Then, a young woman bustled past Iris' table, looking frantic. The alarm in the woman's face crested when she saw the dessert seemingly float away on its own. The young woman smacked the food away, causing it to hit the floor. She feigned clumsiness and apologized profusely to the woman who was sitting behind the empty plate, slapping a bill down on the table to pay for a replacement. Iris' interest is piqued when she noticed the young woman looking at the front door, as three more customers pushed the door wide open and walk in. The young woman hurriedly followed the swinging door and looked around. Then, thinking that no one had noticed her, she crouched down and appeared to grab thin air with her hand.

“Barry, Nora, I might be a little late for lunch …”

“Iris, come on! I haven’t seen you all day,” Barry took over the video chat while Nora was in the background grabbing their jackets. Of course, he had seen her just several hours ago, that morning, but to a speedster a few hours felt interminable.

“Is it the blog relaunch,” he asked, “because you have to be careful not to overwork yourself.”

“No, no Barry, I’m on to something here,” then Iris lowered her voice to a whisper. “Of the *dark matter* variety …”

“Oh! Look, Iris be careful …”

“I will, I will,” Iris said hurriedly, and began to follow the young woman outside from a safe distance. “Look, Barry I have to follow up on this, but I’ll fill you in when I see you a little later. For lunch. Promise.”

After a round of “I love yous” Iris dashed off. She followed the young woman down a busy street, which was beginning to thicken with lunchtime crowds. Every now and then her arm appeared to lift away from her body, tugging her wildly. A couple of times the young woman stopped and looked around her, while Iris hid in a doorway. Finally, the young woman turned at the entrance to a quiet alley, where she crouched down again. She spoke quietly but firmly to *someone* until the air in front of her shimmered and a small child, about three or four years old, appeared. The young woman sighed and spoke to the child again, stroking his arm warmly. Then she took the child by the hand and they walked to a luxury sedan, where she buckled him into a carseat. Iris stayed out of sight as she watched the mother hand over a juice box before buckling herself in and pulling away.

#Iris West-Allen #Barry Allen #Nora West Allen #the flash fanfiction #barry and iris #we deserve a messy Barry

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allthecanadianpolitics · 6 years

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[Read on for instructions and talking points] Urgent: Despite insisting otherwise, Canadian officials have been quietly trying to re-negotiate the Safe Third Country Agreement (STCA) with the United States to make it even harder for refugees to enter Canada. While we just found out, these backdoor negotiations have been going on since September! The STCA is an unjust law that turns many asylum seekers away at Canadian land border official crossings if they entered via the US. Now Canada wants to extend it not just to official posts, but the entire border. Canada must #LetThemIn and #LetThemStay. Over 40,000 of you signed the petition calling on Trudeau to scrap the STCA. Your pressure helped force this issue onto the government’s agenda. Now we need you to turn up the heat.

The most important thing you can do right now is take 5 minutes to call your MP calling on them to #LetThemIn and #LetThemStay Enter your information in to the box and we’ll automatically connect you to your MP. If no one answers - you can leave a voicemail.

Here are some talking points you could include in your message:

I’m calling because I heard that you are quietly negotiating with the US government to turn away refugee claimants and extend the STCA to the entire US-Canada border. This is neither fair, nor just!

Trump’s America is not safe. Thousands of asylum seekers are facing deportation from , separated from their families and being forced back to countries where they could be persecuted or even killed -- these people deserve to live with dignity in Canada.

Extending the STCA would force migrant to take more dangerous routes and put them at risk. Already asylum seekers are avoidding regular official immigration channels and risk their lives in crossing the border on foot. People have lost fingers and toes making this trek, and it’s unacceptable. Mavis Otuteye died crossing in to Canada.

I’m calling on the government to:

#LetThemIn: End the Safe Third Country Agreement, welcome asylum seekers fleeing Trump’s America into Canada and stop jailing them;

#LetThemStay: Ensure all asylum seekers get proper legal, healthcare, housing and social services. No more case-by-case processing, give them all permanent status now. We need #StatusforAll

Can we count on you to bring this message forward?

Canadian immigration laws are in need of an overhaul. If you want to say more, here’s a more substantive list of other things Canada could do to open its borders to refugees and asylum seekers:

Many asylum seekers are turned away from Canada because they are from a so-called “Safe Country”. Under the Designated Country of Origin (DCO) system, individuals are assessed not on the basis of their claims but on the country of origin. The DCO system must end.

Asylum seekers coming in are unable to get decent housing, social support systems and are facing a processing backlog. We need federal funding for shelters, and immediate status for all.

Lift all limitations and caps on refugee applications and sponsorships.

Many asylum seekers and migrants are jailed indefinitely in Canada including children. We need to end to all immigration detention.

Migrant workers are tied to their employers, and cannot leave jobs that make them sick. Migrant workers deserve open permits and status on landing.

Over half a million undocumented residents also fear detentions and deportations. We need status for all undocumented residents, an end to deportations and for provinces to give them basic services (Sanctuary Provinces).

Canada must rescind all federal legislation that attacks racialized Black and Brown Muslims and refugees, including the Zero Tolerance for Barbaric Cultural Practices Act as well as anti-terror legislation such as Security Certificates and Bill C-51.

Justin Trudeau is attempting to expand the dangerous and deadly effects of precarious border crossings to even more innocent people. People fleeing Trump. People seeking refuge, Mothers, fathers, children, families who only want to be safe and build a life.

Don’t let him get away with it.

Join us as we call on Canada to #LetThemIn #LetThemStay. Please call right now.

In struggle and solidarity,

No One Is Illegal - Toronto

Call your MP here (if you feel comfortable)

#Safe third Country agreement #Justin Trudeau #xenophobia #refugees #uspoli #Canada #cdnpoli #canadian politics #canadian #canadian news #No One Is Illegal #Immigration

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mordigen · 4 years

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I have been gone a very long time...

I don't even know if there is anyone still out there listening to my ramblings. But that is ok. The point is, I am rambling. And that is fine.

For anyone who is still listening, on whatever platform you have found me - If you haven't already seen the pattern, I disappear frequently. Perhaps you're familiar with it, perhaps you already know, but if you've missed the signs - I struggle with depression, and how it manifests for me is to just disappear. This is the longest I have ever disappeared. This has been a rough one.

No. I am not in danger. I'm not even sad. Depression, for me, has never been that. It is simply a Nothing. Inspiration leaves me. Want and will evaporate. I just want to be left alone, and be. I am tired, and have nothing to say, and want nothing to do. But, of course, there are things I *have* to do. Things I MUST do, and like the good warrior I am, of course - I do. But that takes so much energy, that once what I must do is done, there is even less of me left than where I began.

So I sit. And I sleep. And I watch the same million episodes of the same three shows that I've seen a million times before, because it is soothing. Because, somehow, they are still entertaining, and they are comforting and relaxing and I tell myself I'm just recouping - tomorrow I'll do something. But of course, tomorrow has a whole new list of *musts* and *have tos*. And the cycle continues.

The last post I made here, was not actually on this blog - but the Sister blog. The one I created solely for the dark and depressed rantings to be able to get it out and expell it from my being. It was my one and only post. And then I went dark. For four years. I was in a very bad place. It was hard for me to articulate, because I was still engulfed in it. I hadn't escaped yet.

About 5 years ago, I was in a car accident. A lady on her phone, speeding, not paying attention, ran a red light and hit me dead-on. She was going abput 60 in a 35. I was extremely lucky.

I was banged up pretty bad, I have chronic hip problems now because of it - but it could have been so much worse. I didn't even break a bone. I was extremely lucky. The car was unbelievable. My son could have been in the car, but I had -thankfully- just dropped him off at school. It would have hit directly where he would have been sitting. But, that didn't happen. I was extremely lucky - but it left me with some serious PTSD. I was terrified of the road. I was terrified of other drivers. It doesn't matter how safe you try to be when it's someone elses recklessness that takes you out. And there's not a damn thing you can do about that. I struggled real hard with that one - I still do.

I'm the one you're honking at for taking too long at the greenlight. I'm the one you're frustrated with for never seeming to know it's my turn at the 4-way. It's me. Because I no longer care about inconvenience- if 10 extra seconds means I know the other person is not blowing through the intersection, then I'll take it. You all can go before me at the stop sign, I'll wait. I don't mind. If it means I'm safe, then I'm fine with my commute taking an extra 10-15 min.

I had several months of physical therapy, and a year out of the workforce. But eventually, all things move on. Wounds heal. Bruises fade. Money runs out, and you have to get back to life, and the real world. And even though I thoroughly enjoyed my reprieve from the bump and grind - I was ready to get back. Or so I thought.

I'll be honest, I never even considered how PTSD would affect so many aspects of my life. I did not get help for it. After all, if I'm just hyper aware of my surrpundings, that's a good thing, isn't it? Of course it is!

Being aware of your surroundings is a good thing. But I was completely ignoring everything else that came with it. Hyper sensitivity. Paranoia. Trust issues. Control issues. Vulnerability. Fragility. Panic attacks. Let me tell you, starting a brand new job in the midst of this will certainly make you hyper aware of much more than just your surroundings.

I was not ready. Not only was I not ready, but I had no idea what I was walking into. And it crushed me, utterly and completely.

I was in a horrible, horrible abusive relationship, and it destroyed every ounce of my spirit. Extinguished it completely, not only did it trigger the worst depressive episode I have ever experienced, but my PTSD crippled me from recognizing it sooner, and then once I had, made it near impossible to actually act on.

I spent hours, upon hours crying. Not just simple little tears - sobbing. Heaving. Mental breaking point hysterics. It was toxic. It was manipulative. It was undermining. It was suffocating, and I could not get out. I stopped sleeping. I stopped eating. Then I ate everything all at once. My blood pressure skyrocketed, even had my DRs threaten to withhold certain medications that I needed - and wanted to put me on a ton more that I was adamantly against. They didn't understand - this wasn't an issue with my body. My body was reacting in exactly the way it was supposed to. It was the stress, it was the circumstance. I don't need to be on toxic, liver killing, kidney killing medications - I just needed to get out, then it would all be OK.

My phone would go off ....at dinner, at the grocery store, driving home - wherever, and I would have a panic attack. And it would go off all. The. Time. I would get upset in public, I couldn't control it.

Complete strangers would come up to me and try to help - offer to call the cops for me. Take me to a shelter. Give me a safe place to stay. They wouldn't want to leave me - gave my husband the most evil glares I've seen in real life. I had battered woman syndrome all over me. Only it wasn't him.

It was my job. My job was my abusive relationship. It. Was. Abuse. It was trauma. I was strongarmed into a position I didn't interview for, I wasn't hired for, and didn't want - but it just. Happened. And once I was in, there was too much going on to have the time to protest. And then I was stuck. I was given impossible tasks. Literally impossible. I should have recognized the red flag in the interview when he asked about getting things done - he had said he had problems with past hires because they would tell him "It can't be done" and he took issue with that because "nothing is impossible". And some more choice phrases in that conversation that I can't remember completely, but in that moment I couldn't comprehend that anything was impossible - as far as work goes. I had never been presented with a task that couldn't be resolved, in one way or another - even if it meant with help, or going a different route. So I had no qualms. In the clearview of hindsight, it should have been a warning. But these were, impossible. There is no other word for it - what they wanted, what they were asking for, could. Not. Be. Done. Short of kidnapping people off the street, holding them against their will, and forcing them at gunpoint, it could not be done.

And I was blamed for it. I was just incompetent, like the so many others that came before me. It wasn't their psychotic demands - it was me. And I quickly learned he was a legitimate, bonefide sociopath. I was berated. I was threatened, verbally and physically. I had bottles thrown at me. An office chair thrown at me. My "short comings" were broadcast across the entire office. Things I had absolutely no control over were my failings. Things I wasn't even *involved in*, were my failings. Things THEY DID, were my failings. I was actively, legitimately, sabotaged, and then mocked when I could not complete the task - and then again, broadcast across the entire office. People thought I was crazy. Thought I was weak. Thought I was incompetent to the point they actually believed the only reason I was ever hired was because I had fucked my way to get it - because I was, obviously, so unqualified. Nevermind the fact that there had been at least 7 others before me, with the exact. Same. Story.

You interviewed us. You vetted us. You hired us. Are we, coincidentally, ALL that incompetent? Or could it possibly be you? What's the common denominator here? But no - it was us. My entire life revolved around this job - from the time I woke up in the morning, the phone wouldn't stop. When I got to the office, I had a backlog of voicemails and emails that I could never get through in the day, which would just start again tomorrow - so I had an ever growing backlog that would never. Ever. Stop. When I left the office - HOURS after I had already supposed to have been gone - the phone would start immediately. And I would get reprimanded if I did not answer and respond immediately, even when I was driving - still not recovered from the car accident caused by a person ON THE PHONE in their car. Which they knew of - I laid all my cards on the table. They KNEW about my issues with driving, and what I was struggling with. They didn't care. They even started putting me on recruiting gigs where I'd have to drive hours a day, alone, in areas I was completely unfamiliar with. They scheduled me on days that went against my availability - without telling me - and then was reprimanded when clients would show up to a locked office after hours, and they'd call me wondering why I wasn't there. I can't work on Saturdays - But you're on the schedule - well who was going to tell me that? - well can you hurry up and get there - No. I can't work on Saturdays, you knew that.

I would go in to "unlock the doors" for other, lower level employees - under the premise that they were working instead - and then get trapped. My son left home alone for hours without knowing when I'd get back. There were days when I didn't get out of work in time to pick him up. They even threatened the cops and CPS for "abandonment". And they would make snide remarks about me "cutting out early" or being "lazy" to leave on time to pick him up - even though I was well past my hours. I was salary, mostly all of us were, so we did not have standard clocked hours daily to track - but I clocked them once, just to prove a point.

119. One Hundred Nineteen hours. IN ONE WEEK.

ONE. Week.

ONE.

And then when they discovered I was looking for another job - they fired me. Not only that, but gave me a horrendous, completely false, separation letter. A letter that prevented me from getting other jobs, for a good minute.

I was completely broken. My spirit was utterly gone. I spent days and days sobbing. Screaming. I have never felt so much rage and anger and helplessness in my entire life.

I, in all seriousness, actually contemplated homicide. Arson.

I think I could have won a temporary insanity plea.

Nothing I will ever write or say or tell will ever express accurately just how pure evil this company was, and how toxic and abusive and illegal and immoral everything about this place was.

So needless to say, I now had even more PTSD to deal with. I still wake up in cold sweats from nightmares about this place. I still have trauma, I still have not gotten closure - but I'm working on it. It sent me on such a mental breakdown, that crept out over years. Once the initial pain and anger subsided, I was left just numb and empty. I didn't write. I didn't draw. I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to be exhausted. I didn't want to be angry. I didn't want to cry. And so the depression took hold, and held on to me. And I let it, because being in this numb place where I could at least get by from day to day was far better than where I was before, and I took comfort in that. And then slowly contentment set it. And so I was happy - not ideally. But at least I could enjoy my time again. At least I could relax, and laugh, and spend time with my family and just -be- and that was OK.

But, finally, I started to confront these things. I started to work on them. I started talking to people for help - help heal up what others had done to me. And now, finally, after years of numbness - that itch has returned. The musings are stirring. The ~want~ is returning. I *want* to write something.... I *want* to draw something....

The picking up of olde projects is still too much right now. And starting new ones hasn't quite happened yet - new inspirations haven't quite jumped to mind or lept to life - but the stirring is there, which I haven't felt in a very long time.

So this is my first baby step. To at least tell my story of what happened, if I can't yet invent a new fantastical one.

Lets hope it doesn't take another four years for the next step.

#depression #mordigen #mordi #hiatus #storytelling #word therapy #mental health #abuse #trauma #toxic traits #toxic work culture #toxic workplace #toxic work environment

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h0n3yk1tt3n · 2 months

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brooke lohst + 4 14 21

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would it be?

Hmm seeing as I've already put her in the Left 4 Dead universe I should think of something else huh. All the other pieces of media I can think of have already been done by a different fic author (Portal, Marvel hi becca, spvw) or don't lend her to huge roles (any other fps I've played,) which granted the other things I've listed don't either.

I dunno fuck it. Hazbin Hotel. Let's see her try to rehabilitate sinners in hopes to save them from annual mass slaughter.

14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

Kidcore automatically comes to mind. Pastel colors. Baggy overalls. Pigtails sticking out underneath a beanie. I can see it. Do you see it.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

Nothing I've done has put a ton of emphasis on her unfortunately, but there is a segment of her untangling the mess that is her relationships with Jeremy and Chloe in a really old comic outline that was Going To turn Voicemail/Backlog (in the depths of my Instagram account) into a trilogy but has kinda just been sitting in my docs since 2020.

So I guess the answer would be I like exploring her messy relationships but don't like that I can't commit to making anything tangible enough to share lol

#asks #be more chill #brooke lohst #mj says shit

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news-sein · 4 years

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news-lisaar · 4 years

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news-monda · 4 years

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theriverscribe · 7 years

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Hey Chuck? I realize you and Amara are on vacation and your voicemail is probably really backlogged anyway, but why didn't you two have a sit-down with Lucifer like you had with Michael and Raphael? Also, are you going to give the angels any hugs when you get back?

In a dimension far, far away…

“Oh, hey! How did you even find Me here?” Chuck looks up from the books spread out across the table. He grabs His half-empty beer and drains what’s left in it. “There’s a few reasons why I haven’t worked with Lucifer the same way I did for his siblings.

“I guess I wanted to give him a chance to find his path on his own first. I mean, Gabriel and Raphael had to be resurrected. Michael was trapped in the Cage, and…umm…crazy. Plus, Lucifer and I already talked–we ‘sat down’ and everything! I even apologized–just ask the Winchesters.”

“Brother…” Amara’s voice filters in from the next room.

Chuck winces. “Okay, the thing is…I don’t know how to help him yet. Amara and I have searched several universes so far, looking for answers. We’ve got a few ideas, but I don’t want to approach Lucifer until I know I can help him. I can’t–I’ve failed him enough already.”

“You really have” Amara says, entering the room with another stack of books, “Who knew you’d be such a terrible God?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m aware. Although, I think I’ve done a few good things. Did you see my cat blog?”

“True. Stupid furry bags of…cuteness,” Amara concedes. “Hurry up and answer the other question so we can get back to work. I’m not going through all of these alone.”

“Right, sorry. Umm, what was the question?”

“Are you going to hug your little snots hugs when we return?” Amara says with a grin.

“Hey! They are not little snots!” Chuck flicks a wad of paper at her, which ignites and vaporizes before reaching her. “Show off. And I definitely hope to hug my children. I don’t know if any of them would want a hug from me, but I love and miss them all. I just…I have a lot to make up for before I can return.”

#btgog asks #chuck answers #amara answers #supernatural #by the grace of god #lucifer #answering asks #chuck shurley #chuck is god #god #god answers

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mymisguidedfairytale · 7 years

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[fanfiction] Hunter x Hunter - Motion in the Ocean

Title: Motion in the Ocean Word Count: 11,114 words Pairing: List x Elena, Dwun x Eeta Summary: After the events of Greed Island, List and Dwun take Elena and Eeta on the most epically disastrous double date in history. A/N: Written for the Hunter x Hunter Big Bang 2017 Challenge. Takes place immediately post-GI arc. Huge thanks to rouvere, gonprohunter, and amalaleteia who will be doing some lovely art for this story! I hope you enjoy! [FF.net] [Ao3]

He's not going to comment on how, no matter what, all Dwun seems to be able to talk about is Greed Island or its creator. List doesn't expect him to get over it—after all, they all have their own coping mechanisms. For the twins, it's a spur-of-the-moment road trip across the continent—for him, it's that ever-present emptiness and inescapable boredom—and for Dwun, it's an inability to let go, to place the blame on the one in the center and lash out at everyone around him. After living with friends for so long, living alone is a hard thing to adapt to.

Motion in the Ocean

After three days, he still hasn't gotten used to waking up in his old bed, facing a different window, in the apartment on the Ligorian coast he'd left behind when he'd agreed to join the team and live and work on Greed Island. It's like a jolt, unexpected and sudden, and then he spends the next few minutes staring out at the slice of blue water visible through the curtains of his bedroom window and making plans to purchase and install a set of blinds.

This he could get used to; he had a similar experience moving to the island, at first, and living in that expansive castle in Limeiro. No, what strikes him the strangest about the entire ordeal is that, after three days, he has yet to hear from any of the others. They departed, separately, through a set of cards remaining to them as Game Masters, and while Ging's silence is a matter of course, he expected to hear from one of the others. Dwun is even something of a neighbor to him—he lives an hour or so away, in a similar apartment complex that suits a Hunter like them—close to the airport, in a gated community, and private enough that one could leave without notice for days, months, or years at a time with no issue.

He buys the blinds and spends the afternoon installing them—the absolute mundane act of driving to the hardware store and standing in line with a box of blinds under one arm and a toolkit in the other is, to his utter disappointment, the most exciting thing he's experienced since his return. And he calls Dwun. He doesn't answer. List tries again, and once more it rings three times before going to Dwun's voicemail.

So, List hops in the car and decides to drive over. It's either that, or keep waiting for news of some kind, or go out to the Hunter Association seeking another job. The last two suggestions make him wrinkle his nose and turn the volume up on whatever pop-lite channel he'd set the radio to the last time he'd driven the vehicle. Years and years ago.

So, naturally, he gets lost. Twice. It's getting late into the afternoon, and by the time he finally gets to Dwun's doorstep he's ready for a drink and some peace. So, when he knocks, repeatedly, without answer, the scale of his ire starts to tip a little further south.

He tries the knob. It's locked, with some kind of rudimentary system—Dwun was constantly misplacing his keys, List remembers—and with a sigh, he starts to work on picking it with his tie clip. It's a skill Dwun himself taught him, so List figures his friend won't mind. Much.

A few minutes later, List closes and re-locks the door behind him. The lights are off, and a thick stack of mail on the inside of the doorway gives him pause, but what draws his attention immediately is the loud music coming from the descending staircase.

It's a strange, cinematic if clearly electronic soundtrack, punctuated by yelling and cheers. Coming downstairs, List sees Dwun, seated cross-legged on the dated blue carpeting, a game console in his hands and the gigantic television before him playing some kind of first-person shooter. His health's in the red, and surrounding Dwun rests a number of empty paper plates, soda cans, and flat cardboard boxes.

"Dwun!" List calls out, and a moment later Dwun pauses the game and glances over his shoulder.

"Oh! List!" His eyes are bloodshot, and on a second inspection List notices not one, but three different game cases open around the base of the television. "You're here early. Or is it late?"

He pauses. "You don't know?"

"It's definitely either one or the other." Dwun turns back to the game, clicks a button on his console, and it restarts in a flurry of chatter and ammunition.

List flicks open the lid of one of the boxes with his foot. Inside are the greasy crusts of a cold pizza. Slowly, he crosses the room, to the windows, covered in thick, blackout curtains—and what a much better idea those would have been—and rips them open.

Like any apartment on the Ligorian coast worth its salt, all windows face the ocean, and the now-brilliantly setting sun. Piercing orange light fills the room, and Dwun ducks to the side, throwing his arms over his eyes.

"List! How could you!" On the screen, Dwun's video game character dies, and Dwun howls again. "You were like a brother to me! How could you hurt me in this way?"

He rolls around on the floor, knocking over a soda can, and after a moment List puts him out of his misery and swings half of the curtains closed.

"Well, it's evening," he says. "As you can see. Have you really spent the last three days doing nothing but playing video games?"

"It's been years," Dwun gripes, sitting up and staring despondently at the television. "A lot of good games have come out since then! Surely you've got a backlog of new books you've been waiting to read?"

List shrugs. "No."

"I forget. You only like the classics." He reaches over, snags one of the pizza crusts, and pops it in his mouth. "And did you say three days?"

Now he wonders why he ever thought that something important or hazardous had been keeping Dwun—or any of the others—away. And although it's hard to imagine the twins playing a game like this, he's curious if the others are dealing with their newfound freedom like List with his ennui, or more like Dwun with his...puerility.

List pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales.

Without looking back, Dwun pats the empty space next to him. "There's a two-player mode," he offers.

Without saying a word, List drops down beside him and lets Dwun slap another console into his empty hands.

Two Days Later

They'd made it through Crash Lawson 5 and Zombie World Reckoning before List couldn't take any more. The plots were thin and the character development was nearly nonexistant! Who was developing these games? List had half a mind to write them a letter.

Dwun had been understanding—and caught him up to date on Crash Lawson one through four—and told him that, after Greed Island, it wasn't like any other game could really hope to compare, in the same ways.

At least he'd put his foot down at any kind of take-out. Limits were important.

List nurses a soda can on Dwun's couch while Dwun plays some sort of adventure game. He already wants another nap. "Your energy astounds me."

"It's a good game." He sounds defensive—this one, according to Dwun, is an indie, so the budget was thin and it shows in the graphics—and according to what he'd gleaned from the plot, the player character is taking a treasure map to a mystical temple high in the mountains to be decoded, and facing minor perils in the form of crevasses and jungle fauna and nearsighted enemies along the way.

"And besides, it's only the first act. Give it time," he continues.

List scratches at the stubble growing in under his chin. "We're Hunters. We could go out and experience this sort of thing for real, if we ever wanted to."

There's silence from Dwun, and for a moment something bubbles in List's stomach. "You don't...actually want to go out and experience something like this, do you?"

More silence, before he's jarred from his focus and the question seems to register in his mind.

"Nah. What I'm really itching for is the mundane."

"The mundane?" List echoes.

Dwun crosses his legs; his day-of-the-week socks read Friday. "Let's go do something completely normal. We'll invite Eeta and Elena, and go sightseeing...you know, as a celebration."

List isn't really following his leaps of logic; didn't they already celebrate on the island? And the concept of sightseeing, like a tourist, fills him with distaste.

"Where would we go? There's not much in the area to see."

"How about Wave City?" Dwun suggests.

List's nose wrinkles. "That tacky place?"

"And you've never been, so it's perfect. They've got good seafood, at least. And a boardwalk, and some nice arcades..."

List mulls the idea over while Dwun continues to extol the virtues of this generously-labeled seaside resort town. Something about Dwun's hopeful face gives him pause.

"Wait a minute...this has nothing to do with celebration. This is all about Eeta! What did she say to you?"

Dwun looks away, sheepish. "I...never actually told her."

"But you told me you were going to tell her about your feelings the night before the game ended! What did you do, you coward?" He gestures wildly with his soda can.

"I thought I would see her at the party. I told her I'd meet her...and then it never happened. I got so caught up in celebrating Gon's victory...I wonder how that all went?"

"Don't change the subject!" List shouts. Behind them, the dramatic music from the game's pause screen blares through Dwun's magnificent speaker system.

Dwun sighs, his shoulders slumped. "What else can I do?"

"Just call her. You know, like a normal person."

"You know she never goes anywhere without her sister. And if you're there, you can help psych me up. Give me advice."

"Advice? Don't ask me."

"Then who?" Dwun asks.

"You should ask Ging." It's worth it, to see the scandalized look on Dwun's face, and List does his best to control his laughter. "I'm sure he's got lots of stories. He can give you a little guidance."

"You're a horrible person."

By now, List is clutching his stomach with laughter. "You need all the help you can get!"

Dwun jabs a finger in his direction. "You're just trying to distract me from the issue at hand!"

In-between giggles, List nods sagely. "Like you're trying to distract yourself with these games?"

"You don't have to put it like that. These have been a very fun five days. Six? Six days?"

List, after a moment, realizes he can't remember either. "Definitely six."

They sit in silence for another few minutes—the game soundtrack continues to play the same, now inapropos, music in the background. List takes a sip of his grape soda.

"Hey. How about this. If you put everything together, I'll go out with you, Eeta, and Elena. It'll be fun."

"Fun," Dwun echoes, with all the joy of a funeral dirge.

"A nice, normal, mundane outing," List says. "That's just what you want. What could go wrong?"

Another scandalized gasp from Dwun. "Never ask that. And I thought you were the genre-savvy one?"

List keeps his voice carefully monotone. "Now it's going to rain."

One Week Later

They agree to meet at Wave City, an ocean resort town just up the coast. Its hallmark is a mile-long boardwalk along the water, populated by seafood shacks and shops selling beachwear and souvenirs. It's old and weathered and, considering the season, absolutely swarming with tourists and almost uncomfortably warm.

Of course, he is the first to arrive. The sky is bright and the sun is shining and List is convined his nose is going to be sunburned before the hour is up. And he's still wearing a dress shirt, tie, and long pants, looking entirely out of place amongst the rest in their coverups and flip-flops.

And then Dwun shows up, waving an arm, in cutoffs and a rust-orange sleeveless shirt. List waves back, only to hear laughter from behind him. He turns, and sees the twins walking up; Eeta has one arm up and is waving enthusiastically back. Suddenly sheepish, the redness on his face has nothing to do with the sun. He slings his arm behind his neck, pretending he meant to do that.

"Eeta! Good to see you!" He calls to the waving twin, wearing a bright combination of pink and mint-green ruffles on her shoulders and miniskirt.

"It's Elena," she says flatly back, pulling her sunglasses down her nose to stare at him over them. Beside her, her sister stifles a laugh and they exchange a look.

"So," Eeta says, glancing around, and for all the dilapidated whitewashed buildings and neon signs she seems impressed by it all. "What's the deal with this place?"

"It's old, like eighty years old." Dwun fills in the blanks as they walk, gesturing as they make their way down the boardwalk. "The fishing was really good back then. It's sort of died down now, though. The boats have to go out to sea now, but people used to fish all along the pier. Now it's just a good place to go and spend some time."

The boardwalk is broad, but it's still awkward for the four of them to walk in a line together, and after a few minutes List falls behind, to wait with Elena as she stops to take a picture of the pier.

"So, what have you and Eeta been up to since we left Greed Island?" he asks.

"Sleeping," she answers, again in that same flat inflection. "I have a lot to catch up on."

He winces; her job had been a lot more hands-on than his, and he's not sure what kind of answer he expected. "Surely you have plans?"

"Yeah. Rest and relaxation." They walk a few paces behind Dwun and Eeta. The latter is babbling about all the new cafes that had moved into their hometown since they've been gone, and Dwun is talking just as excitedly about the reputation of the crabcakes at the restaurant they're going to at the other end of the boardwalk.

"Spas and beaches," Elena continues. "We're gonna take a tour of the entire coast. It'll be so nice to have a beach with a current that won't kill you if you go out too far."

List winces again. The island had a manufactured hot spring, he remembers, and while the twins and Razor had been huge proponents of it, List had preferred the manufactured physical spaces—the cities, libraries, kitchens and restaurants.

"So what about you?"

"I put up blinds." List decides to just keep his face in that perpetual state of contortion. "And played video games with Dwun."

"Oh, which ones?" They spend a few minutes discussing the finer points of the Crash Lawson series—there aren't many, so it doesn't take all that long, and afterwards the smile starts to fade from Elena's face.

"Eeta doesn't really like games anymore," she says, softly. "After GI. She won't play with me. I can't even make games out of silly things. Any kind of competition, she won't participate."

"I get that." A group in rollerblades rush in front of them, laughing and bumping against the railing at their right. They look only a little younger than List. "How quickly the luster fades." He has nothing to complain about; the money was great, he got to work with friends, and the game had been the ultimate outlet for his creativity.

"I kind of resent him a little for it." Elena doesn't have to say a name. "But I don't want to resent Eeta for anything. I always knew it was going to be a little strange, adjusting. I keep dreaming I'm there."

List can't really remember most of his dreams, such as they are. He thinks they're probably simple and ordinary, full of mundane plots and characters, like the boardwalk around them. He's of the opinion that those with simple lives have extraordinary dreams, and his life, dull as it might be in recent example, has never been simple.

"Do you want to hear a story?" he asks. It's a game, one they used to play when all the founders were together, around a table littered with papers and beers with Nen crackling at their fingers.

"Sure," she says, falling into the routine.

"There was a man..." He casts his eyes around, alighting on the side of a building and its loudly-painted mural. "Who was green. Bright green."

Elena stifles a snort, but goes along with it, nodding. "This green man...did he come from space?"

"Yes. He was stuck. The spaceship crashed, and he needed a special component to repair it. Something that was unspeakably precious on his planet. It was a..."

He looks around again, spotting a woman with a huge, garish flower in her hair. "A geranium."

"A geranium?"

"They press the flowers, and make an oil from it that powers the spaceship. So he went out into the world, trying to find one. Unfortunately, the day he crashed..."

This time, they walk past a couple in an embrace, oblivious to all else around them. "It was a holiday. One celebrating love. People give flowers to those they care about, as gifts. The man couldn't find any flowers in the shops, not for any price. Not that he expected them to, after all, being so precious on his home planet. So he starts asking everyone he sees with flowers, if they will give them to him."

"And does this go well for him?"

"Well, that depends on your point of view," List says, his voice playful. "His unusual looks make him quite striking. The people he asks for flowers think he's really asking them for love—since it's a holiday, after all. So he gains a swarm of admirers—"

A group of joggers cut him them off, darting around the couple and running past Dwun and Eeta, still a few paces ahead. "And they run after him, with an armful of flowers. It's impossible not to notice."

Elena stops to lean against the railing, studying the beach below. "And how does the story end?"

He closes the game and stands beside her, draping his arms across the rough wood. "You tell me."

She takes a moment, tapping the side of her chin. "He makes it back, and repairs the ship. Unfortunately, unaware to him, there are a number of stowaways—those who thought he was seeking their love. With the added weight, the ship crashes again. The man tells them he cannot love them. And seeing one another, those spurned turn green with envy."

List claps his hands. "Bravo. If a little heavy-handed at the end."

Even through the praise, Elena pouts. "You didn't give me much to work with!"

He spreads his hands out, towards their surroundings. "I work with what I've got."

"Is that why so many of your old stories featured pandas? And strange machines, and red bell peppers."

"There was a perfectly normal amount of pandas."

"Keep up, you too!" Eeta shouts back. "We're almost there!"

"For what it's worth," Elena says as they keep walking, "I thought it was funny, what you did with Ai-Ai."

List's face turns immediately beet-red. "That wasn't me! I wrote everything else, but that was entirely Dwun and Ging. I was barely involved!"

"Mhmm. Sure." She agrees in impassive tones while List continues to splutter. "You're the worst liar."

"I swear, I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Romance is a perfectly acceptable literary genre, List. For your first try, it wasn't bad. You could do a lot better in the future, though."

A beat. "I will hear your concerns and pass them along to the appropriate parties."

The restaurant Dwun leads them to is called Romeo at Dip and is perched right on the waterfront; the boardwalk curves in the opposite direction to accommodate it, and ends just a short ways up in a round pavilion lined with benches and posts dripping with lights. The front entry is covered with maritime signal flags, and there's already a thick crowd and a lot of noise coming from inside. Dwun takes the lead, stepping inside and up to the reception podium. He dangles his Hunter license over the top and smiles broadly at the receptionist.

"I have a reservation."

She glances at the license, smiles back, and begins typing into her computer. A moment later, her smile falters. "We don't have anyone in our system under this name. I'm sorry, sir."

Dwun pauses, then says through clenched teeth. "Try it under D-W-U-N."

More typing, and her face lights up. "Yes, here you are! Just one moment while we get your table ready."

Dwun steps back towards the others. "I'm going to murder Ging Freecs," he says cheerfully.

List makes some space for him in the crowded entryway. "You're not over it by now?"

"How awful for you, having other people get your name wrong all the time," one of the twins says, deadpan. "That must be so hard."

List ducks his head. "Sorry, Elena."

"It's Eeta," Dwun corrects, immediately.

"Sorry, Eeta." List looks between them again, once more cataloguing the differences. Eeta's wearing tiered ruffles on her skirt, and Elena's wearing ruffles on her sleeves; one has her hair in four buns, the other in two. Then he sighs and shakes his head—what a reduction of their characters. As a writer, he's almost ashamed. Elena is louder, but Eeta's sense of humor is more pointed. Eeta is much more disciplined, while Elena is a bit more laggard.

Their table ready, the group is led through the restaurant to a booth not by the window but close enough that they can see out to the water. List slides in first, taking a seat by the wall and handing off the awkwardness of deciding the rest of the seating arrangements to the others. Eeta slides in on the other side, opposite him, and a moment later Elena takes the seat beside her sister.

Looking minutely dejected, Dwun takes the last seat beside List, and they all spend a few minutes staring at their menus. List doesn't even like seafood, so his work is done after perusing the tiny section devoted to salads and chicken. He then takes to studying the restaurant itself—the walls are covered with fishing paraphernalia and old black-and-white photographs, and he has to crane his neck up to read the small print on one hanging above their table. In it, five men pose around the carcass of a gigantic lobster, with an older but still clearly recognizable Romeo at Dip in the background.

"What does it say?" Eeta asks, eyebrow arched, peeking at him over the top of her menu.

"A giant crustacean washed up on shore exactly fifty years ago," he paraphrases, his neck beginning to ache from the strain, "and began attacking the fishermen, but they managed to kill it. This picture was taken right before the, ah, potluck dinner."

"Yum," Elena murmurs, her eyes still focused on the menu. "That sounds delicious. Let's all get lobster."

"I didn't know they got to be that big," Eeta says. "But I suppose anything is possible. Morau and Gracchan see giant squids and stuff all the time, right? But they're Sea Hunters. What do I know?"

"Maybe the fishermen were Sea Hunters, too," Dwun jokes. "Maybe they got their stars for discovering and defeating a rare magical beast."

At this, Elena perks up. "Did you hear that we all might get stars for running that game? I heard Ickshonpay's putting it in his application. If his goes through, we'll all be eligible."

"He's already got one. So greedy." List tears his eyes away from the photograph with a frown. "Where did you hear that, anyway?"

"From Ging, the last time we spoke."

This, more than anything else, is the most shocking revelation to the rest of the group. Even Eeta looks surprised.

She jabs a finger towards her sister. "You talked to Ging? When?"

"After the game ended? He wanted to know how it went, and how things shook out with the cards. He told me to keep him updated, so I did. He was responsible for organizing Razor's parole, too, so he had that to deal with after GI ended."

List looks back between the slack-jawed stares of the others at the table to Elena, who instead wears an expression of supreme disinterest. He turns to Elena with awe and says, "The Ging whisperer."

She scowls, then says flippantly, "A thankless vocation."

They order drinks and some kind of lobster roll appetizer at Elena's request. It doesn't taste very good, but List doesn't give his opinion on it much merit.

"You said you wanted to travel up the coast," he says, to both the twins. "Where were you thinking of going?"

Elena, who has part of a lobster roll in her mouth, tries to elbow her sister to answer in her stead. Eeta ducks the jab and scowls at Elena.

"We're heading south. There's a few other beach towns—Cape Vert is on our list, and there's some cool bridges to see near that area. We're going to end the trip in Karta—"

Dwun's face immediately twists in a grimace.

"You've been?" It's Elena, chewing on her lobster roll.

"Oh yeah, for business. They have some of the best tech suppliers on the continent. It's where I oversaw the production of the game cartridges, all those years ago. What Ging wants, Ging gets, right? And the requests never end. He once asked me to make him a Nen-infused cassette tape player! Who even uses cassettes anymore?"

Elena raises an eyebrow, and List pretends to be incredibly distracted by the gigantic resin marlin hanging from the ceiling above the stretch of tables by the wall.

"It's just, not a place I'd go on vacation," he finishes with a shrug.

"Well, we're not you," Elena says. "Maybe we love neoteric tech and humid weather."

They each independently pick up their drinks and take a sip; List tries not to be the first to set his glass down, but after a moment it's clear they're all trying to out-wait the others and his drink is almost empty. He sets it back down with an over-exaggerated sigh, and once more the awkwardness returns as the conversation stalls.

"It's a shame that since we had to work on the island, we could never participate as examiners in the Hunter's Exam," Dwun says. "The last one just ended, didn't it? Is that something you'd be interested in doing, in the future?"

List would've put his head in his hands if he wasn't still so focused on that plastic marlin. Eeta slides out of the booth, waving a hand and calling out, "I'm going to go powder my nose."

"I'll come too." Elena follows a moment later, and List cranes his neck around to watch them disappear around the side of the corridor just past their booth.

A pause, while List finishes his drink. "Do you think they're going to leave?" Dwun asks, his face falling. "I'd probably leave."

So instead, he says, "You couldn't have known, but the Hunter Exam is a bit of a sore spot for them."

Dwun grabs one of the last lobster rolls and gestures with it. "Then how do you know?"

"You know how you and I met because of this team? Well, I knew Elena and Eeta before Greed Island. We met during the Hunter Exam. It was my second time taking the Exam and their first. I passed that year, they didn't." He swirls the ice cubes around in his empty glass and watches them clink together. "It went really badly."

"I can't imagine. They're both so good with Nen. What could have happened?"

"Well, you see, it was a dark and stormy night..."

Dwun throws up his hands, shaking them back and forth. "No, no, no, don't use that ability on me—"

"...And the fifth stage of the 273rd Hunter Exam was just announced..."

And Dwun's vision goes dark, replaced a moment later by the landscape of the rolling hills of the Karpatian mountains, made dark by the hour and filled with dozens of bodies climbing out of open-air vehicles and running off into the night...

They had been placed into teams by Netero, and left to their own devices to plan their strategy on the long drive to the Karpatian mountains. Each team was given a bright yellow flag, that they had to hide somewhere and protect for the entirety of the challenge. Their second task was to find the location of the opposite team's flag and steal it before the time was up. They would have roughly twelve hours—from sundown to sunset. If the sun hit their encampment before either team had stolen the other's flag, both teams would be disqualified, and none of them would become Hunters. The winners, according to Netero, would become Hunters themselves.

"Oh. One more thing," Netero says, balancing on one foot. "You cannot destroy or otherwise alter your flag."

One of the other members of List's team, a tall, muscled woman named Marta, speaks up. "What about injuring the other team? Is anything fair game?"

This seems to amuse the old man, and he laughs, rolling back and forth on his one balanced foot. "Anything else is fair game! You can consider your flag more valuable than your own lives at this point. We will be monitoring you, still, but all your actions will be your own choices. We will not even give you the time. You must budget time for yourselves, and decide which is more important—protecting your own flag, or going after your opponent's?"

As they drive, four to a vehicle, List's filled with others whose names he doesn't know and who have much lower numbers on their badges than him, driven by an Exam aide who is unhelpful to the point of admiration. He dodges every one of List's questions about this stage of the Exam and resists his every attempt to remove pieces of the vehicle to take with them as weapons—like the seatbelts, or the spare tank of gasoline, or the mirrors. List himself has very little on him that could be helpful, and this more than anything is what gives him pause as he and the others in their vehicle talk strategy. They, more than him, have made an effort to identify and catalogue the others on the opposing team.

And the more they talk about the fifteen-or-so men and women waiting to burgle them when they reach the mountains, the more List begins to feel that the teams are decidedly unbalanced.

There's a few who deal with chemical reagents and poisons, and several trackers and soldiers who would certainly be advantaged on a terrain like this. Marta, he knows, is a soldier, and even over the roar of the engines he can hear chatter from the vehicle beside theirs, housing her and a few others, one holding the bright yellow square of coated canvas in tightly clenched fists. They will be the leaders, List thinks, and while his brain is uniquely suited to parsing information and predicting outcomes from compiled data, he has quite a few ideas of his own on how they should proceed.

Which is likely part of the challenge. They have to not only work to complete their objectives, but maintain unity within their own groups. Any split in their harmony could be exploited by their opposition, and the blame at any missteps would undermine any attempt at leadership.

The wildcards, according to the one seated beside him, were the twins.

Two girls, their first time taking the Exam, placed auspiciously on the same team for this final challenge. And it was clear from the very stage that there was something very wrong with them.

They were always in one another's company, but they kept one another at a distance. Any time they got within an arm's reach of the other, something strange would happen. The air would vibrate, or the ground would shake, and once their arms touched and everyone in twenty feet was knocked to the floor by some kind of energy blast, the examiners included. That kind of power was something List had never seen before, and he had no idea what to do about it. They seemed just as fearful of their strange powers as the others were of them. List doesn't know if it can be harnessed by them, or if they tried, what would happen—to them, or to anyone unsuspecting enough to be caught in the effect.

At the mountains, the sun finally drops below the horizon and they climb out of their vehicles. Their group forms an odd semi-circle, and List takes another moment to stare at the two teams. He isn't a betting man, but at the moment he thinks his odds are abundantly low. Then, looking at the way the other group is considering them—and the wide berth they are giving to the twins—he has to wonder if they were just as intimidated as he was.

The vehicles pull away, leaving a sizeable gap between Netero chuckles and shouts, "May the best group win!"

Instantly, Marta and two of the others—badge numbers 101 and 77—form a barrier around one of the others, and they begin backing towards the cover of the mountains. Several of the others on the opposing team pull out weapons—mostly knives, but one has a concealed pistol, good Lord, and they begin to edge closer as the man Marta is protecting turns and starts to run.

"Come on!" she yells. "After him! Let's go!"

"Wait," one of the twins says, so suddenly that it takes List a moment to register. "Did we ever see that he had the flag? I don't think Marta would have let it out of her possession. I think it's a ruse."

The entire group freezes, and then Marta turns and sprints towards the others, already fleeing.

"We'll cover your escape!" someone shouts, and one of the others in List's car grabs his arm and starts to drag him after Marta.

"—Let me try to get a shot—"

"No!" It's the other twin, throwing out an arm. "We shouldn't have to resort to violence! If we win that way it won't matter!"

The group begins to squabble, each taking sides on whether or not the one with the pistol should be able to try and take them out. In the meantime, List turns and runs as fast as his legs can carry him. The mountains stretch before them, the incline of the ground growing steadily more severe, and they have to jump and swerve to avoid the many boulders blocking their path upwards.

"We'll take the high ground!" One of the others—badge 101—says. "It's all part of our plan! We'll be able to see anyone else coming!"

List's calves are starting to burn. He's not really cut out for the physical aspects of being a Hunter, not yet, and he suggests they pause for a moment to be sure they aren't being followed before they reach their destination.

"It won't do any good if they follow us right up. I'd rather not lead them right up to the best spot, if there is one," he says.

"Samuel is from this country," badge 101 says, pointing to the other, number 77. "This place is something of a national landmark, apparently. The west side of the mountain flattens out. Should be easily defendable. We can come up with a strategy to get their flag once we're settled."

The mountain on one side does indeed flatten towards the top—the peak stretches above on their left, which will block their view of the sun, but the cliff face is sheer, and he doesn't think anyone on the other team would be able to scale it to reach them, even if they had the equipment.

They take an inventory of their resources—someone has a lighter, and cigarettes, which they pass around, and between the fifteen of them they have six knives and one sandwich, which its owner promptly eats. They have three watches between them, one on List's wrist, and he considers himself lucky that he has a jacket—many of them aren't equipped for the weather or the elevation, and the temperature will only get colder throughout the night.

Marta indeed has the flag, which she pulls out from inside one boot.

"I think we should bury it." It's someone List has barely interacted with, a girl with mousy brown hair and a wide, square hat. "They can't find it if we're not even holding it."

"Does that qualify as damaging it? If we put it below one of these rocks, it would be safe, but we could risk disqualifying ourselves."

"If we split the team too thin, there won't be as many to guard the flag. Perhaps we bring it with us and we all go to try and claim the other one?"

"..."

"I know a guy who's a Hunter. He would totally try to wait out the others, and when they attack, we take them out. Threaten the other team—we'll kill them if they don't give up their flag!"

"Sure you know a Hunter. I'm surprised you don't know twenty."

"Hey! What are you saying about me?"

"I'm saying you know a liar."

"Like anyone's gonna sacrifice themselves to try and get that flag. Did you see that other group?"

For the first time, List speaks up."If we all become Hunters by clearing this stage, then we should aim for all of us to make it through."

"I don't think we should let it out of our sight," Marta says, with the air of one declaring finality. "I would like to stay with it, and protect it."

No one wants to argue with that, especially after they'd all seen the way she handled the previous Exam stages with a sense of order and calm that brought her instant respect.

"I think we should form a team to gather information about the opposing team. To report back, or strike if they see an opening. It's dangerous, so I won't force anyone to go."

There's a moment of silence, and then List raises a hand. "I'll volunteer for that."

Four of the others volunteer too, and the group of five departs a few minutes later. While they're gone, Marta, Samuel, and the others will solidify their position on the mountain and come up with both a strategy for combating any attack and a plan for what to do if the night passes and there's no movement from the other group. On Marta's order, they're not to stay any longer than two hours without reporting back.

List and the others—101 among them, who he can at least trust to have some measure of competence about this—pick their way across the ground. List pulls his dark jacket tight across his body to try and blend in to the surrounding rock better, and one of the others takes a moment to re-tie their running shoes. They make such an odd, mis-matched group, and they proceed in silence—what would they even talk about? The Exam? What they would do once they became Hunters?

List himself remembers last year's Exam with shame. He'd been eliminated during the second round, and had barely gotten a glimpse behind the curtain of what the world of a Hunter was like before it was gone from him. He barely paid attention to the faces around him then, and even now he doesn't know who in their group has the most experience or the most strength. To him, more than both of those, the worth of a Hunter is determined by their adaptability.

List isn't feeling very adaptable right now, with the wind in his hair and his breath cold on his face.

"Stop," Running Shoes says, and List crouches down to see over the edge of a boulder to a furrow in the ground a couple hundred yards away, where a few other applicants sit around a fire.

"A trap?" List asks.

"Yeah. Let's wait and see if anyone else shows up." 101 takes a place on List's other side, and after a few minutes of watching he points out the places in the rocks above where a few others wait, concealed. The place they've chosen to make camp seems a little precarious, the rocks stacked in such a precarious way that List thinks it's likely the result of a past rockslide.

"Do you see the flag?" one of the others asks.

"If only we had binoculars! Or been able to plan at all!" 101 grouses. List can relate. He's thinking about how useful a few of those car mirrors would've been, for signaling the others across a large distance or attempting to blind someone of the opposing group. He can't see any flash of the yellow flag, and the longer they wait the more List thinks they're missing something. He can't see the twins, or the one with the pistol—and he's irritated that he hasn't paid enough attention to his fellow applicants to be able to identify them beyond the most shallow descriptors.

An hour passes, then another. 101 turns to Running Shoes. "You should head back. Report what we've seen—help Samuel create some kind of map of this place. We'll keep watch. Make sure you aren't followed."

He nods, and departs. List keeps a sharp eye on the ground around them, and when he sees a flash of movement from the rocks above, he points it out to 101. "I think it's pretty obvious this is a decoy group. The fire and all."

"I agree," he says.

"What would you do, if you were them? Where would you keep the flag?"

"With one of the twins," 101 answers immediately. "In the dark, it'd be especially easy to do a fake-out. Give the flag to one, then switch her out with the other if we all give chase."

"But they don't trust the twins. They're volatile."

"The man with the pistol. There are a few other Exam veterans on their team. I've noticed that's how they've balanced the teams. There's about an equal amount of vets versus rookies."

That's good to know, List thinks.

"It's the rest of their rookies below. Those four haven't done much, yet. Just squeaked by the last phase. I bet the team is thinking they're a necessary sacrifice. It's pretty mercenary thinking."

"Should we move? I want to see from above, if we can. I think that's where the others are. It's really the only place with a good vantage point of the whole valley, except this rock." He pauses. "Do you think they can see us from up there?"

"If we can't see them, they can't see us. The angle's too sharp. They've probably blocked off any entrances or exits to that burrow up there. It won't matter if we see one another if we can't get through, or if only one of us can get through at a time. Then the one with the pistol can pick us off."

He shrugs, and moves to make himself a little more comfortable. "I think this phase is really designed for none of us to pass. It'll be an anti-climactic end. Sun will come up and it'll still be a standstill. No one's ready to make a move."

One of the others, badge number 25, taps 101 on the shoulder and points up to the cliff. Now that List thinks about it, he can't remember 25 ever talking at all.

"Yeah, he doesn't talk," 101 says at List's questioning glance. "He was my roommate, earlier. Considering how much some of the others talk, it's a blessing."

List raises an eyebrow at 101. "Some of the others, yeah."

With the time, the shifting moonlight now illuminates the whole cliff face. There's a glint, caught in the moonlight and amplified to their eyes below. It moves, occasionally, and after a few minutes of study List finally realizes that it's the metal hair ornaments the twins wear. The moonlight reveals more movement—at least three additional distinct shapes.

"They climbed the boulders," List says. "At least one of the twins. Probably a bunch of the others are up there, too. It's smart. Secure. How are we to get up there?"

"We get them down." It's 101, who cracks his knuckles and motions towards their fourth companion, a taciturn older man who'd been equally silent. "Tell the others that we've got eyes on almost their entire group. Have the others come up with some kind of projectile, with any twigs or kindling they can find. Samuel can use his lighter to set it on fire once we're assembled, and we can throw them into the clearing and above the boulders. I know he's got a flask on him he's hiding, that should help."

List hides his smile, and the three of them continue to wait while the fourth man—List didn't catch his number, but he's pretty sure it's higher than his own, which makes him feel just a little better—races back to the rest of the group.

"We'll wait as long as it takes," 101 says to 25. "We can't risk their position changing without our knowledge."

List checks his watch; it's been close to five hours since the phase officially started, and he's beginning to feel the first stages of exhaustion set in.

"It's better this way," 101 says; he's been mumbling to the others almost the entire time, his focus admirable if his habits a little excessive, "if we don't know where the flag is. If I was Marta, I'd make some kind of identical container for everyone, so no one knows who really has it, but everyone thinks it's them. That is, if we had supplies of any kind."

It's a bit of a sore spot for him, List can tell. The moonlight continues to shift, above, and while it illuminates their movement more than he's sure they would like, he knows there's only a matter of time until it shifts enough that it exposes their position—or makes it impossible for them to move without being seen. He doesn't know which would be worse.

It's another hour before anyone else shows up. Running Shoes is leading the group—and List is surprised to see that it's just about everyone, all carrying bundles of sticks tied with string. Marta is following close behind, and they gather behind the large boulder to plot their next move.

"They're up there," 101 says, while 25 points out the spots where they've seen movement, both in the valley and above on the boulders.

"They've got a fire," Marta says. "Nice. I'll aim for that, try and cause as much distraction as I can."

"You won't take the lead?" List asks with surprise.

"No. Cy was a minor league pitcher. He'll take that."

List looks back to the group, where Running Shoes is rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. Once more, List is amazed at both the sheer breadth of the talents among the Exam applicants and just how little he knows about them at all.

"This is probably the only chance we're going to get, so give it your all. If we get separated, stay away from the camp. We don't want anyone leading them back to it. Go to the other side of the mountain and try to hide. All we have to do is get a hold of that flag—we don't have to hold it until dawn. Just one slip is all we need."

"What's the time?" Cy asks.

List gives it. "Two-thirty. Three and a half hours left, roughly. I'm not sure when exactly sunrise will hit."

They prepare the projectiles—Marta does indeed have a flask, possibly taken from the conspicuously absent Samuel—and they use a single stick to light the now-damp bundles. The moment the kindling catches, Marta rears back and throws it with pinpoint accuracy directly into the fire pit below.

It crashes and explodes, billowing out the flames and causing the half-dozen people around to shout and leap aside for cover. The next shot by Cy hits the top of the boulder, where the movement is thickest, and they hear a scream. Someone falls from the top of the boulder, their shoulder singed, and the next projectile finds another mark.

More movement, as someone leaps from the top of the boulder. It's the man with the pistol, who points it with a shaking, bloodied arm as Marta, Cy, List, and 101 pour into the clearing. She rushes the few who've staggered to their feet in the wake of the flames, pushing one over and starting to search them.

A shot rings out against the rock, missing Cy by what might as well be a mile as he lobs their last projectile up at the visible faces at the top of the boulder. The pistol swings around again; Cy ducks behind Marta, who takes the shots to the abdomen without flinching, her clothing armored.

101 rushes him and attempts to knock the pistol from his hand. Suddenly, there's more movement as one of the twins slides down the side of the massive boulder. Did she jump? Was she knocked down by the last blast?

25 is busy searching the others by the fire, and while List advances towards 101 to offer whatever help he can, the twin pulls open the jacket at her neck. There's a flash of bright yellow fabric.

"She's got it!" It's Marta, who shoves the man she's searching out of the way. Then, the twin turns on her heel and runs, past the clearing and disappearing around the side of the giant boulder.

List follows, stunned as he is, and there's more movement as two more slide down the boulder from above. There's the slightest disruption of pebbles against the ground, and he barely registers the man with the pistol shoving 101 to the ground. He turns, attempting to fire at List, and hits the edge of the rock instead.

Suddenly, the flow of pebbles and sand increases rapidly. "It's coming down!" Someone shouts, fleeing their precarious perch on the boulder, and in that same moment List remembers what he's seen of the twins before. One of them was wearing a shirt in that same bright yellow color during a prior stage of the Exam, and his heart sinks.

"It's not her!" he shouts back, but there's no time. Not as larger rocks start to fall from the cliff above, right in the path of the one twin.

"Elena!" Someone shouts, and he can just barely make out the horrified face of the twin in the distance—not at the rocks hurtling towards her head, but at her sister, diving to push her out of the way.

Their fingers connect, and there's an explosion of pressure and energy that knocks them all off their feet. List is blown backwards, nearly all the way across the clearing, and he watches limply as the boulders rain down to bury half the members of the opposing team under the rubble.

Marta is able to wrench the flag from where the pistol man had tied it around his upper arm. Samuel, having scaled the cliff at the mountain's peak as high as he could go, had their own flag safely preserved. List has a concussion and can barely make out 101's words as he repeats to himself with slow and stilted words. "We're Hunters. We're Hunters!"

The sun comes up.

Dwun coughs and sags, his eyes clenched tightly shut and his fingers shaking. "Ugh, you know I hate that ability of yours! Your Montage is the worst! Especially the longer memories. I get so nauseous!"

"Sorry." He gives the apology the barest of weight; to him, it's only been a handful of seconds, but the memory he gave Dwun to see lasted hours—the effects were more severe the longer the memory, but he felt it was important for Dwun to understand just where this all started and how much Elena and Eeta have had to overcome.

"But they were okay, right?" Dwun continues. "Well, obviously. But what happened next?"

"We became Hunters." He shrugs. "The Association had to dig them out of the rubble. I didn't know what it was at the time, but they were something of a genius with Nen. They just lacked the control—any control, really. Their powers get more intense the closer they are to one another, physically. It's why they're able to do what they do with Greed Island. They manipulate systems—manipulate energy."

They continue to wait for the twins. A minute passes, then five. Dwun cranes his neck to look back at where they disappeared. "Do you suppose we should...?"

There's a slight vibration, all through the restaurant. Then another. The salt shaker on their table tips over, and Dwun glances over at List. "Do you suppose that was...?"

List makes a face at him. "That wasn't the twins. I've felt the difference."

The rattling gets stronger, and a few people in the restaurant move closer to the windows and railings to look over into the water.

"It appears it's coming from the ocean?" Dwun's glass is still mostly full, and he studies it, watching the way the vibrations cause ripples in the surface. It's rhythmic. Kinda like footprints.

A moment later, there's a loud roar and the rush of a huge displacement of water. The windows shatter, and the few people who are closest to the blast shriek and fall back as the water sweeps inside the restaurant, over broken wood and toppled chairs. The wave makes it far enough in to coat the tops of the tables, including theirs.

"My lobster roll!"

List glances over to where the twins have rushed over; instead of the wreckage or the potentially injured and rapidly fleeing civilians, Elena's attention is focused solely on their sodden tabletop.

Eeta pulls her away. "Come on, let's see what's happened."

The group makes their way to the outside deck—or what remains of it—and surveys the damage. Loose floorboards jut out at odd angles, and the rough, swirling spray is mixed with broken china and pieces of maritime memorabilia that were swept off the walls and ceiling in the tumult. The current draws back, and with it goes an old buoy and a large fabric tabletop umbrella.

"Guys," Dwun says, pointing down the shore. "Look over there."

The restaurant sits on the very edge of the boardwalk, with only a small curve of sand lying beyond between the land and the water. And rising out of the water is a gigantic red lobster, one claw curled over the edge of a battered wooden sign proclaiming Wave City, est—

The claw slices through the sign, cutting the rest off. It falls into the surf below, agitated further as the creature crawls across the sand, legs twitching and stabbing into the wet sand.

"You guys are seeing this, right?" Dwun asks.

"Yeah." List stares up at the lobster as it continues to stab at the sign with his claw. He reaches up to loosen the knotted tie at his neck and begins rolling up his sleeves. His shirt is wet, and he scowls at the offending fabric.

Even in the limited stable space, the twins still keep a wide berth of one another. "Do we...do we leave it? Is this a job for the beach patrol? Do we help them?"

"I don't think there are any lifeguards who can handle this..." List pauses. "Elena."

She looks back at him with a smile. "Good job! There's hope for you yet!"

The creature seems to swipe out with a giant, sharpened claw at any movement on the beach. There are more screams, and Dwun begins to climb over the disjointed railing.

"Come on! We're Hunters, aren't we? Let's deal with this the only way we know how." He promptly gets the hem of his pants stuck along the splintered wood and has to yank them free.

Elena continues to watch the lobster. "Well, we're here. We might as well see this through to the end."

"Do we have a plan? Try and drive it back into the ocean?" List asks.

"Yeah. That sounds good." Dwun hops down into the water, and his ankles are immediately swallowed by rolling surf. Eeta and Elena follow, and after a moment List swings himself over the railing and joins them. A wave of salty ocean water slaps his legs, and as they creep closer to the lobster it swings around to stare at them, beady eyes twitching.

Dwun takes a tiny step back. "You know, it's a lot bigger from up close."

"We could just leave," Eeta says. "No one would know."

Suddenly, the claw comes down between them; List and Eeta jump to one side to avoid it and Dwun and Elena are pushed higher up the beach. The claw rakes across the sand again, and the lobster makes this strange screeching noise as it charges towards them.

"I've got this!" List jumps towards the creature's side, kicking out with one wingtip shoe. He strikes the side of the shiny shell and glances off, landing on the wet sand and staring down the creature's stampeding legs. "I've still got this!"

Elena attacks the creature from the other side. "You know, you're still the worst liar."

The carapace is too thick for any of their physical attacks to work; even when they cloak their fists or legs in Nen it still barely makes an impact on the tough shells, and seems to make the creature angrier over any other result. At least the beach is mostly otherwise empty—a few fishermen have gathered to watch, and there's a couple uniformed security officers ushering people away. They haven't had much luck harming the creature, and any attempts to drive it closer to the water merely cause it to lash out at whoever gets closer.

Eeta turns to Dwun with a grin. "What would Ging do?"

He shrugs and dodges another sweep of the claws. "Probably try and talk to it, I dunno. I bet he already knows a bunch of creatures like this. They take fishing trips together every year."

She frowns. "Lobsters eat fish?"

"Lobsters are omnivores," List says. "So, yes. Among other things."

The next swipe catches List in the side and sends him sprawling into the surf. Dwun helps him to his feet and he staggers as another wave washes over them.

He glares at the sand and brushes his wet hair out of his face. "Am I the only one who didn't dress for this?"

Suddenly, the creature makes another screeching noise and starts to scrabble up the sand, towards the encampment of the boardwalk. Eeta and Elena glance at one another as they stand in its way.

"I think I've had about enough of this," Elena says, stretching out one hand towards her sister.

"I agree," Eeta says. "Shall we?" The lobster bares down upon them, and as their hands touch there is a loud bang and a bright flash of light. The ground shakes, even stronger than before, when the creature had first climbed out of the water, and in the wake the creature is thrown onto its back onto the sand, legs twitching and body charred. Eeta rushes up, and delivers a Nen-infused punch to the underside of the carapace, at the juncture of its back. There is a crack, and then the lobster falls still and silent.

They all take a moment to catch their breath, and then the twins stagger over towards the others, leaning on one another for support. The beach is flooded a moment later by the fishermen and other spectators, rushing up to the creature and beginning to study it, poking it with fishing poles and tugging on the cracked parts of the shell.

The receding water tugs at List's ankles, and he takes first one step and then another away from the surf. He's breathing heavily, and a glance at Dwun confirms that he looks even worse, with dirt streaked across his face and rips in his clothing from the initial damage to the premises and the lobster's claws. As they catch up with the twins Eeta reaches out to help support Dwun, and List lets Elena reach for him as well. She ruffles his wet hair and he scowls.

One of the fishermen rushes up to them, speaking quickly and asking for help in butchering the creature. Their knives can't pierce the body, and even with the underside exposed they're having trouble ripping the meat from its shell. Eeta agrees, and joins the fishermen around the creature's body, punching at the places where they direct and waving when they start to cheer.

She rejoins them a few minutes later, and lets Elena link their arms again.

"You know," Elena says, "we didn't get to eat our dinner."

"It seems there's going to be a cookout," Eeta tells them. "We've been invited, of course. For tomorrow night."

There's a moment of silence, as the twins ponder the offer. "I think we could make time," Eeta says, finally. "I suppose we could stay another day."

"It'll be the freshest seafood we've ever had," Dwun says.

"Living the dream," List murmurs. He glances between them; even though they all look weary, there's a contented smile gracing each of their faces. His dream had been Greed Island, in a way, for so long, and even though that's over he still has the others at his side. He thinks about the rest of the team, about Ging, and despite how he tries he cannot picture Ging as anything but alone. His dreams don't include anyone who can't keep up with him.

He's thinking of a story. A new one, that includes good company and good times.

He could get used to that.

Notes:

1) The title is from The B-52's iconic song Rock Lobster

2) Romeo at Dip is used for resupplying ships at sea, when the Romeo flag (red +yellow) is located ¾ of the way up toward the point of the hoist. It basically means, "I'm prepared to receive you" which I thought was apt for a restaurant xD

3) The Ligorian coast was inspired by the Ligurian coast of Italy, and the Karpatian mountains are meant to resemble the Carpathian mountains of Europe, although the names are used outside of their original geographic context. The 273rd Hunter Exam would be the Exam six years after Ging passed. The video game names are made up and not meant to resemble any existing franchise.

4) It's unknown exactly what contributions the Greed Island crew made towards the game, but I like to think that Dwun was responsible for the hardware components of the game, and that List contributed to the writing and scripts for the NPCs/cards/etc. Limeiro was the name of the city where List and Dwun lived in Greed Island. It's unconfirmed in canon but it is also my belief that Ickshonpay was a member of the Greed Island team.

5) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments. Please also support the other stories and art from the HxHBB!

#hunter x hunter #hxhbb #hxhbb17 #hxh #greed island #fanfiction #dwun #list #elena #eeta #MMF writes

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