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uvobreakmylegs · 3 years

Text

Within the Forest

part two of the vampire!Hisoka story

Part 1

Warnings: threats of violence, graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, graphic imagery, death, noncon, slapping, reader does not have a good time

Some time had passed since Hisoka had taken you. Whether it was days or weeks you weren't sure, all you knew was that time was steadily passing as the bites on your wrist and neck healed and the bruise on your lower back slowly faded away.

You weren't sure where exactly he had taken you, either. When you awoke, you found yourself in a cold room with stone walls and a solid wood flooring. Parts of it were crumbling away and the draft in the room was horrible, and all he had left you with to fight it with was an old bed and a thin blanket.

At first you had thought that the window in the room was a small blessing, something to keep you connected to the outside world, but when the first night in that room came it was anything but. Noises from the forest traveled up, the sounds of otherworldly things assaulting your ears and keeping you from sleeping. More often than not, you would hear the sounds of creatures fighting, with one of them eventually being defeated, and then you needed to suffer through their cries as the victor tore them apart with no remorse. After the end of those ordeals you always found yourself grateful that the room was so high up and they couldn't get to you. You had once ventured over, peeking over the window sill to see what you could, and you found several pairs of glowing eyes staring up at you. You heard them begin to chatter and you had never moved faster in your life, dashing from the window and into the corner where the bed sat. It felt like you were a child again, hiding under the cover while holding the pillow firmly over your head to try and block out the sounds they were making.

And then there was Hisoka.

On your first day in that prison, you threw the food he had brought you while you demanded he let you go. He easily dodged the bowl you threw at his head and left without a word, locking the old wooden door behind him. He didn't come back until the next day and by that point you would be in trouble if you went without food for much longer.

“It would be dangerous if you went on any longer without sustenance, little fruit. Are you sure you want to throw a tantrum again?” he asked you, balancing a new tray of food in his hand.

As much as you wanted to tell him to fuck off, you needed food and water.

You shook your head.

“Good. But if you want to eat, I need you to clean that up first,” he said as he pointed to the meal you had ruined the day before.

Sitting down on that floor and gathering up the remains of the meal and the bits of broken tableware was humiliating, and it was made worse by the way he watched you, that wide grin back on his face as you obediently followed his orders.

When he placed his hand on your head and congratulated you on “being good”, you wondered if he'd still be able to catch you if this time you managed to gouge out both of his eyes.

Despite the things he had said to you when he attacked you that day, Hisoka didn't do much to you. He wasn't feeding off of you. In fact, he didn't even touch you all that much. The furthest he had gone was catch you when you tried to jump him one afternoon, twisting your arm around your back and asking if he should break it. You were thrown to the floor after and he withheld your meals again for a bit, but nothing more was done.

You were thankful that nothing had happened so far, and especially for the fact that he hadn't tried to force himself on you. The memory of him talking about “fucking you into the forest floor” wouldn't leave your head. The other thing that haunted you was his claim to make you like him, to turn you into a vampire as well. Although he had said that he would keep you as you were for a few years, but he seemed to be rather fickle and you had a hard time believing anything he told you.

But since he wasn't feeding off of you, you figured he must be going out somewhere else to hunt humans. Or he could have just been feeding off of the creatures located outside the house, though with the disdain he showed for them you wondered if he would consider it to be beneath him to do so. If he was going out to a town or something that would mean that you weren't too far away from civilization, right? But when you dared to poke your head out that window again (doing your best to ignore the noises that sounded when you did so) you couldn't spot any lights in the distance that would indicate as such. It could have been because your view was restricted to one side of the house, but it wasn't like you'd ever get the chance to check in any other direction.

Hisoka allowed you out of that room for trips to the bathroom, but always wrapped a thin piece of cloth over your eyes when he did so, leaving you to depend on him to lead you through the halls and down the steps. You didn't get any opportunity to lift the blindfold even slightly as he made it clear that he didn't want your hands going anywhere near your face. You tried to get a sense of how large the house was by counting how many steps it took you to get to the bathroom, but you kept losing count, and at times you swore Hisoka would lead you up and down the same hallway just to disorient you.

It felt like your mind was slowly deteriorating whenever you were left alone in that room, and you hated how you had begun to look forward to seeing him, because that was something to rely on while you were trapped there. It was a routine that gave you some sense of stability, something to keep yourself grounded, which made it worse whenever he punished you for any outbursts by letting you starve for a day or two. Punishments like that forced you to fall in line, and you slowly became used to this life you were now living.

You became accustomed to the way he spoke to you, teasing you at times and trying to goad you into retaliating just so he could punish you for it. You became accustomed to his various colorful outfits, suits that sported those card symbols that looked nicer in the afternoon than they did in the morning. His clothes tended to look messier when he came by in the mornings, his hair messier than normal and his makeup smudged. Occasionally you also saw spatters of blood on his shirt. It seemed to you that he was going out at night to hunt at night and came back just in time to feed you. He slept during the day, then? Or did he even need to sleep?

And although he had still yet to actually do anything to you, you had become painfully aware of the way he would look at you during those times together. With that same sick grin on his face as he looked you over, not even hiding it or showing any shame when you caught him looking. He still wanted you just as much as the day he took you, and you had no fucking clue what the hell he was waiting for.

At first it had been a relief that he hadn't touched you, but the longer you waited for something to happen, the more nervous you became. What the hell would happen when he did finally decide to act on his urges? You didn't want to be around when that happened, but with the tight leash he was keeping on you, how the hell could you get out?

You'd been trying to see if you could pry off a piece of the wooden bed frame in an attempt to fashion a stake to use against Hisoka. It wasn't even a good attempt as you didn't have any sort of tools to make a proper one, but desperation had you thinking that you could pull off a piece of the battered wood with your bare hands. The end result was you being left with sore and blistered hands, and an idea that came to mind when you spotted a rusty nail sticking out of the leg of the bed. It was old and blackened and it shifted slightly when you grabbed at it. You looked back to the keyhole then, taking in the age and style of the door and determined that if you could get the nail out, it would most likely fit.

Something else you had noticed soon after being brought here was that Hisoka kept the key to the room in the door, as when you attempted to look outside of the door through the keyhole you found that you couldn't see anything. You weren't sure if he was doing it out of laziness or what, but it gave you an opportunity for escape.

With the bottom of your shirt over your hand to try and keep from cutting yourself, you pulled at the nail as best you could. All too often the result of hours of working to yank it out was just that it was slightly more loosened. You needed to make sure you didn't spend too long on it and end up a sweaty mess because of it. If Hisoka saw you in a state like that, he'd likely figure something was up and find the nail you were trying to take out of the bed. The last thing you needed was for Hisoka to decide to start carrying the room key with him.

In those cool-down periods, you tried to strategize on what you'd do once you left that room. The blindfold that always went on whenever you left the room meant that you had no idea what the layout of the house was, nor did you have a good sense of how big it was and how long it would take you to get outside. And you would need to do all of that while making sure Hisoka didn't catch you.

Ideally you should leave while he was out, but he only ever seemed to leave at night. And with those things that chattered beneath your window, escaping at night wasn't an option. It would need to be during the day. Not ideal, as the brightness of daylight made it harder to hide and Hisoka would be able to catch you even in the daytime. If only Hisoka was more like vampires you had read about in stories: the kind that would burn up the instant sunlight hit them.

Then there was the issue of how you would manage to navigate the forest and get back home. Who knew how deep you were and how far you'd need to travel to get back to your little town. At least one advantage to going in the day was that you wouldn't need to stumble around in the dark woods to try and find civilization.

There was a bit of comfort in knowing that the thing you needed to get the key would hopefully be easy enough to procure.

“Could I have something to read?” you asked him one day as he was about to leave.

“Getting bored?” he asked.

You sighed.

“Extremely.”

“I don't have much lying around; does it matter what it is?”

You could give me a goddamn porno magazine I don't give a shit, you were tempted to say. But that was a tad too aggressive to just ask for a favor from him, so instead you just shook your head as you wrapped your arms around your knees. From where you had positioned yourself Hisoka couldn't see the nail that was now sticking out halfway.

He hummed to himself for a moment before leaving, the lock clicking shut but no sound of the key being removed.

When he came back, you weren't expecting a copy of Sun Tzu's The Art of War to be tossed at your face. You weren't sure what you thought Hisoka might read during his downtime, but you didn't take him for the type to care about military strategies.

“That belongs to a someone I know, so be careful with it. Chrollo would be upset if his book was damaged,” Hisoka told you.

Then why did you throw it in the first place?

Instead of voicing that thought you just nodded at him again.

He paused as made to leave, tilting his head at you curiously.

“You've been rather submissive these past few days. Have you finally learned your place? Or.....” he trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he continued “are you planning something?”

Fuck fuck fuck

“.... Is it that bad that I don't like it when you don't feed me?” you asked him, “I don't know what you want from me; I just don't want to starve up here.”

Hisoka didn't say anything to that. He merely shrugged and smiled at you, giving you one last look-over before leaving the room.

Did he suspect?

He probably knew you were planning something. But if he knew exactly what you were going to do he would have called you out on it, wouldn't he? Or maybe make a show out of ripping that nail out of your bed so you lost your key out. It made sense that he would suspect something because it made sense you would try to escape. But your explanation on why you were cooperating also made sense. Unless you were that bad of a liar.

You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts. Getting into your own head and over-analyzing everything wouldn't do you any good. Just lay low for a little bit, let some time pass so he lowered his guard and then get out.

A little over a week passed before you finally did it. After getting out the nail and hiding it in a small space between the bed and the wall, you spent the time before your escape reading the book while you tried to determine if Hisoka was still suspicious. Though the narrowed glances at you continued, he didn't say anything more about it. On the morning that he seemed a bit more relaxed and playful, you waited for the sun to be at its highest and well after Hisoka would have fed you in the morning.

You offered a mental apology to whoever Chrollo was when you ripped out a page of the book. It was a shame as you found yourself enjoying the read, though with how little there was to do you probably would have found as much joy in reading an instruction manual.

With the torn page in one hand and the nail in the other, you knelt down before the door and saw that the key had been left in the keyhole as you had hoped. You slid the page under the door, trying to determine the spot where the key would land. You would only have one shot at this, you told yourself.

When you were satisfied with the placement of the page, you slid the nail into the hole. As you had hoped, it hit the end of the key, and with a bit of pushing, you felt the key shift out of place and heard the way it clattered it fell out and onto the floor.

You wanted to cheer when you tugged at the paper and found that it had some weight to it now but you kept your mouth shut. The key could easily slide off, or worse, Hisoka may have heard the key falling out. You had no idea what he did when he wasn't harassing you or going out to feed, so you really had no clue if whatever he was doing, it would distract him enough from your escape. Luckily, the key stayed on the surface of the page even as it was dragged over the uneven flooring. You snatched it up the instant you pulled it out from under the door, and with shaking hands, you placed the key in the keyhole and twisted it.

The locking mechanism clicked, and the door creaked open when you slowly pushed on it.

Every part of you wanted to burst out of that door and start running, but remembering that you didn't know where Hisoka was kept you from acting rashly, so you slowly stood and opened the door the rest of the way as quietly as you were able. Slipping through the entryway and closing the door shut just as softly, you put the key back in, twisting it until you heard it lock again. If Hisoka glanced down the hallway he wouldn't find anything amiss.

Navigating the hallways for the first time without the blindfold, you kept to the walls and walked slowly, peering around any open door you came across and making sure the coast was clear before you went forward. You grabbed a fire poker from a room that you passed. It probably wouldn't kill Hisoka, but he had vulnerabilities. If you could manage to take out his eyesight again it would give you an advantage. But he likely would be more protective of his face because of that last scuffle you'd had.

You made it down two flights of stairs without running into him. This place was already much bigger than you had anticipated and somehow you had yet to find a way out. You were getting to the point that you would take jumping out of a window to escape, but you spotted a set of double door as you walked by another room.

You hurried over, finding that the lead to a balcony that overlooked a space below, what may have been some sort of garden at one point. The doors hinges had clearly not been oiled in some time as the squeaked loudly when you pushed one of them open. Because of the noise you didn't bother closing it after. If Hisoka heard that then you were already done for.

Stumbling down the stairs of the balcony and into the overgrown courtyard below, you looked about as you tried to find an exit. There were walls on either side of the courtyard and nothing around that you could use to climb over them. There was an open space before you, but when you got closer you found it to be the edge of a cliff. The drop was far too much for you to be able to survive; you'd need to go back inside to find an exit, then.

You turned back to the house, you noticed an opening beneath the balcony that lead back inside. You were on the ground floor now, right? That meant there was a good chance you could find an exit somewhere on the other side.

With that thought in mind you made your way across the courtyard.

But in your haste to find a way out, you didn't notice the movement that came from the woods to your right.

You only noticed when something hit you.

You were sent flying before you were knocked to the ground. And just as fast, whatever hit you was on top of you, holding your head down as it forced your face into the dirt.

Sharp nails nicked your face and your first thought was that it was Hisoka.

But when you managed to move your head so you could look up, a different sort of creature was on top of you. It was spindly with brown fur that covered its arms and legs while its stomach and pectorals were bare. It had a tail as well, resembling that of some sort of monkey, but the head looked like that of a human, as the pale face of a balding old man looked down at you.

It smiled at you, showing you its mouth full of sharp teeth and the long pink tongue that slithered out to lick it's lips as it held you down.

Then the face began to change. The features of the old man began to smooth out, the bones within its face loudly breaking apart before reforming beneath the skin that tightened and wiped away the wrinkles while the hair on the top of it's head began to grow out. The skin tone, hair color and eyes all changed, and within a matter of seconds, your own face was staring down at you, grinning with all of those teeth as it looked at you hungrily.

It bit down on your shoulder, shaking its head to try and tear the flesh away and you screamed. You thrashed beneath it but it stayed firmly attached to you, hands holding down your head and torso and pressing down harder the more you fought its grip.

The fire poker was still in your hand, and you brought it up to stab it in the neck. Or at least you tried to. You couldn't see exactly where you were aiming, but the creature screeched, pulling away but also ripped the poker out of your grip. It threw the poker in front of you where it clattered against a pile of broken stone before it bit down on your shoulder again, this time harder.

That pile of broken stone caught your eye and you reached for it, grabbing a moderately sized stone with one hand. You smashed it against the face of that thing on top of you and it shrieked, this time pulling away from you just enough so you could turn and kick it as hard as you could while you scrambled back.

You forced it back, but only a little. It glared at you once it recovered, clearly pissed off as it bared its teeth at you, sitting on its hind legs before it pounced at you, claws outstretched and ready to tear you apart.

But you were ready, too.

With both hands this time, you picked up a larger slab of stone and threw it at the face of the creature. With the way it had jumped at you, it couldn't dodge, and it fell back to the courtyard floor, holding it's face as it writhed around in pain.

It felt like your body went on autopilot. When you grabbed the next piece of stone, it was far heavier than the other two, but adrenaline helped you to carry it over to where the creature lay. You kicked it so it lay on its back and sat on top of it, raising the stone over your head.

It froze, taking you in as you sat over it, looking up at you with your own face. The sadistic expression from earlier was gone and it now looked up at you in fear.

For that brief moment it looked human.

And then you brought the stone down.

It screeched when you hit it, blood spurting out of its nose when you brought the stone back up. It made a move to scratch at you, but you quickly brought the stone down again.

And again.

You hit that thing in the head over and over. And you kept going, even when its arms fell to the sides and it stopped moving, you brought that stone down on it's face. Your face, covered in blood and becoming more and more misshapen the longer you went on.

You weren't in control. You had lost yourself, consumed by the anger you had felt because of your captivity, anger at Hisoka for keeping you here, and anger at yourself and your own stupid actions that had brought you here. You finally had something to take it out on and you weren't going to let it go.

The stone was brought down again and again until you heard a sickening crunch and you felt the creature's skull give way.

That was when you stopped. Breathing hard, you pulled the stone away for the final time and let it fall to the side.

The sight of the creature's face was grotesque, and when you stood on shaky legs, you felt for a moment like you were going to throw up.

It lay there, its face battered and smashed in, the hair it had modeled after you still visible beneath the blood and brain matter. One of the eyes had managed to stay intact and it hung on the side of it's face, the pupil blown wide open. Nothing else that had been copied from you remained. With the head in the state that it was, you doubted anyone would have been able to tell that its face resembled that of a human if they came across the body.

Once or twice you swore you saw the creature twitch again, but you couldn't be certain if it was actually still alive and moving or if it was your eyes playing tricks on you.

Moments passed and you couldn't take your eyes off of it, what you had done to that thing.

You didn't want to see it anymore.

Grabbing it with your uninjured arm, you dragged the thing to the edge of the cliff and unceremoniously threw it off. It hit the side of the cliff a few times as it fell into the canopy of trees below, and when it hit the ground, you heard movement from below as other creatures noticed the new source of meat and were eager to have their fill before it was gone.

You backed away from the cliff, letting out a shaky breath as you came down from your adrenaline high. You felt the ache in your shoulder from where you had been bitten and you instinctively brought your hand up to cover it, wincing at the tender spot.

The sound of something growling brought you back to attention, and you turned to see another one of those beasts standing in the courtyard. It was bigger than the other and its face resembled that of a younger man.

But when you turned to face it you found that it wasn't looking at you.

It was staring at something on the balcony.

You followed its gaze.

Hisoka was standing there, one hand on the railing as he looked down into the courtyard.

Looking right at you.

Those golden eyes were wide, alight with excitement. His lips had been drawn into an almost-grin, those teeth on display as he breathed through his mouth, his body shaking lightly. He looked deranged, almost feral, as he took you in. It reminded you of the day you had met him.

That grin widened when you made eye contact, and he let in a sharp intake of breath.

That slight movement angered the creature that still stood to the side of him. And with an unearthly screech, it jumped at Hisoka, claws protruding and teeth bared.

Hisoka didn't even look at the thing.

He stopped it with one hand, thrusting those sharpened nails into its chest with so much force that his hand burst out through the back, leaving the creature impaled on his arm. It gurgled as it began to cough up blood, hands grabbing at Hisoka's arm as it tried to pull itself off.

Hisoka flicked his wrist upwards, and his arm came tearing through the creature's collar bone, slicing through the bone and muscle to free up his hand.

You had stayed where you were by the cliff, unable to move under Hisoka's gaze. Some part of you was aware that the instant you moved, he would come for you, and you wanted to push that moment away for as long as you could. But when that thing fell and hit the floor of the balcony, the noise spurred you and you bolted. You made a mad dash for the doorway beneath the balcony, vaguely remembering your thought process for why that would lead to the way out.

Hisoka was on you within moments.

For the second time that day, you were crushed beneath a solid body and forced to the ground. This time, however, Hisoka grabbed both of your wrists as he positioned himself on top of you, his mouth easily finding yours and forcing you into a kiss. His tongue found its way in to your open mouth, and without thinking you bit it.

He groaned, the noise rumbling within him before he pulled away to slap you. Your cheek stung, but you had barely any time to think about that before you felt your clothes being torn away, Hisoka's nails cutting them to ribbons as he ripped them off of you, slicing up some of your skin in the process.

That playful personality of his that you had grown to know was nowhere to be found. When you looked back up at him, trying in vain to keep what little remained of your clothing on you, something more animalistic was staring back. Hisoka was being driven by pure want, and he held you down by your chest as he shoved his fingers into you.

You cried out, trying in vain to push him off of you. The way he brutally pulled his fingers in and out hurt so much, your tight entrance not nearly loose enough to take that comfortably. But your cries and protests went ignored as he leaned down to lick up the blood that was dripping from the cuts he had left on your skin. All the while you felt a prominent bulge in his pants that rubbed against your thigh.

When he pulled his fingers out of you, you weren't surprised by the blood that was coated on them. Hisoka went as far as to make a show out of licking them clean, sitting up over you with those fingers in his mouth while his other hand shoved his pants down and pulled out his cock. That wild look in his eyes hadn't dissipated in the slightest.

If you'd been able to remove yourself from the situation mentally you might have wondered why Hisoka even bothered trying to prepare you with his fingers, as when he roughly shoved his dick into you it felt even worse as he hadn't allowed you any time to adjust. But all your brain was able to focus on was on the pain of him harshly snapping his hips against yours while your body writhed beneath his in response.

It hurt so much.

The way Hisoka pounded into your tight cunt, the ache in your shoulder from where that creature had bitten you earlier, and even the cuts that Hisoka had left on you stung as you were pushed against the ground, the overgrown grass brushing against those tender spots and sending little electric bolts of pain that shot through your body and made you squirm.

Then there was a mouth on your neck and the feeling of teeth biting down into your throat. Hisoka bit you on the same spot as he had before, opening up the healed wound as he began to drink your blood again. You tried to pull on his hair to get him off, and he lifted off to slap you harshly once more before going right back to that spot.

He seemed to delight in the way he hit you.

Strength was leaving you as you began to feel lightheaded. Your hands ended up on his shoulders, not pushing against him, just resting there. You felt the way he chuckled as it vibrated against your throat where his mouth was still connected.

He was going to drain you completely. You were really going to die with all of your blood being sucked out while being split in half by a vampire's cock.

Hisoka pulled away to look at you. He seemed a bit more composed now, but the brutal pace he had said didn't slow. Blood was smeared all over his lips, dripping down his chin and falling back down onto you in fat drops.

That tongue came out to lick his lips, licking away the mess on his face and savoring the taste of it. He grinned and his lips found yours again. This time you did nothing when his tongue pushed into your mouth. All you could taste was the blood. It was all you could smell, too. And all of the aches in your body slowly began to fade as you felt your consciousness slipping. You still felt the way Hisoka thrust into you, the pace starting to increase to a point that it would have been unbearable if you weren't in this semi-conscious state. Hisoka pulled away to let out a loud groan as he snapped his hips a few more times before stopping and grinding against you.

The sudden burst warmth you felt inside of you was the last thing you were aware of before you blacked out.

There was a warmth hitting the left side of your body, and you instinctively turned on to your side to face it fully. In the hazy stages of your awakening, you were able to register a crackling noise.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, and you found yourself laying in front of a large fire while wrapped in a mess of blankets. Under normal circumstances you might have been worried about how close you had been placed next to the fire or how safe it was to have this many blankets piled up in front of it, but the sight of the fire was comforting and the blankets were warm, and you closed your eyes again as you felt some sense of contentment for the first time in weeks.

You were only allowed a few moments of that peace as you lay before the fire until the circumstances of your situation snaked back into your mind.

Hisoka-!

You sat up and instantly regretted it. Everything ached, especially your pelvic region, and you were forced to fall back down. Your movement shifted the blankets out of the way and you saw the extent of the damage that had been done to you. Your skin was covered in an assortment of bandages and bruises, some of the deeper cuts leaking through and turning the white wrapping red. There were two heavier bandages as well, one that was wrapped around your shoulder and the other on your neck. Oddly enough, your arms seemed to be in the worst shape, as you could barely move them when you tried again, the muscles screaming in protest.

“Woken up, have you?”

The voice came from behind, and you twisted your head as best you could to find Hisoka standing in a doorway. He was naked except for a small towel he had wrapped around his waist. His hair was down and dripping with water, and for the first time you saw him without any makeup.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, walking over and leaning down next to you.

“.... Hurts,” you answered hoarsely.

“Hm. I might be able to do something about that if you ask nicely,” he said.

As he said that you saw the way he was looking over your body, the blankets that had been over you pushed down to your waist after you had forced yourself to sit up, leaving your chest exposed.

“D-depends,” you began carefully, “on what that 'something' is.”

“Just some painkillers,” he answered cheerfully, “what else would it be?”

He smiled at you, as if you hadn't seen just how truly depraved and monstrous he could be.

But pointing out that fact wouldn't get you anywhere.

“.... Then yes,” you said, “please, I'd like some help.”

“Good girl,” Hisoka said, patting you on the head before he got up and made his way to a different part of the room you couldn't see.

You heard a cabinet door being opened and the sounds of him rummaging through before you heard him hum to himself. He returned quickly, holding two pills in one hand and a bottle of water in the other.

“Can you get up on your own or do you need help with that?”

You needed help, and he likely knew that. But you pushed yourself anyway, the muscles in your arms straining as you tried to pull yourself up again.

“Stop that.”

His voice was stern and an arm wrapped around your waist to hoist you up into a sitting position. Hisoka held you against him, pushing the pills into your mouth as he continued “your determination is admirable, but I don't want you to break, little fruit.”

He lifted the rim of the bottle to your lips and tilted it, and the cold water washed down the tasteless pills that had already begun to disintegrate in your mouth.

“Drink it all,” he said, “I went a little too far; you've lost a lot of blood.”

You complied as best you could, but some of the water spilled down the side of your mouth when he tipped the bottle too far over. The water was nice, though, as it was only now that you realized how dry your throat had been.

Hisoka threw the bottle behind him when you had drained it and wrapped both arms around you.

“Feeling better?” he asked.

You only managed to grunt out a response.

“Really, I should be punishing you. You did escape, after all. But after what you went through with that ape, I think you've earned this much,” said Hisoka, “since you've proven that I can't leave you alone for long periods, I'll have to keep you in here with me. But I'll need you to be good if you want to sleep on the bed with me; until then, it's the floor.”

You were only half-listening to his rambling, sleep beginning to overtake you once more. Hisoka noticed, and seemed amused by it.

“You're tired, aren't you? I shouldn't keep you up.”

He laid you back down, and then pulled the blankets away to settle down next to you, the towel around his waist falling off as he pulled the covers over the both of you. Pulling you in close, he kissed you on the cheek.

“Sleep well, pet.”

You kept your focus on the fire that crackled in front of you, willing yourself to not even think about the way Hisoka had pressed himself up against you while he held you close against his chest.

#Hisoka #hxh hisoka #hisoka x reader #reader insert #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hxh #hisoka morow #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hisoka

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watermelonlipstick · 3 years

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Dean’s Jeans 2

What better day to post a sweet little family oneshot than Mother’s Day? This is the same setup as Dean’s Jeans, just a different late summer afternoon on your cul-de-sac with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and their cousin DJ. I already have bare-bones drafts of a few other installments for these cuties, especially considering this one got a little deeper than I had intended. Stay tuned!

Title: Dean’s Jeans 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5561

Summary: Spending the afternoon working on the driveway with Dean, Sam, your daughters, and nephew.

Warnings: fluff, some family angst, minor injury, little dollop of smut at the end

It was a big day for driveways and garages.

You had been sitting in the apron of Sam’s drawing loopy pastel paths with DJ and your eldest daughter for your youngest to roll her cousin’s old matchbox cars down, watching adoringly as everyone’s palms and knees got covered in chalk dust. When the concrete was relatively full and the older two started getting a little antsy, you decided to try to stave off any bored bickering ahead of time.

“Babe, is our garage unlocked?” you called over to Dean where he was trying to snake an extension cord out of Sam’s front door and down the porch.

“Should be. Why, what’s up?”

“I thought maybe DJ could take Picasso here over to the park to break in her new bike.” You turned to your nephew, sitting with his arms resting on his knees. He was just barely starting to fill out around the delicate Winchester features that had made him such an angelic looking child, the angle of his jaw seeming to sharpen every day, growing rapidly though you might still be able to throw him over your shoulder in a pinch. Hopefully it was a sign that he wasn’t destined for the late puberty you knew had frustrated Sam so much when he was younger; at least he could have one gift from his other parent, lost otherwise to the wind without as much as a periodic birthday card. Not the time for that thought, you reminded yourself, refocusing on the child’s glossy hair, carbon copy of his father’s with sun-lightened tips this late into summer. Dean would’ve taken him to get a haircut about a month ago, but as you and Sam both reminded him: not his hair, not his kid. It made you smile and likely made Sam proud that at his age, where so many kids were rebelling against their parents, DJ didn’t mind looking exactly like his dad. Somehow you had a hard time believing Sam would want to rush that process of teenage rebellion along. “What do you think, Deej?”

Your elder daughter squealed and threw her arms around his neck, nearly tackling him onto the driveway. “Please please? Maybe Sarah and Davey can come too.” Her inclusion of the Fiore siblings into the mix was smart. They lived between your cul de sac and the park and were pretty similar in age to DJ and your older daughter. You suspected she thought on some level that DJ was on the cusp of being too cool to hang out with his baby cousin, but hanging out with the Fiores as a group gave them a little more social grace. Hopefully she’d realize, as you had, that DJ absolutely adored her and would likely rather catch some flack from his peers than drift apart.

“Yeah but I’m not carrying your bike up the hill if your legs get tired,” he grinned at his cousin, who immediately took off across the street to get her bike from the garage.

Sam and Dean had to move their whole setup from in front of Sam’s garage door so DJ could get his own bike out, the step ladder, extension cord, and electric drill going into the lawn next to the rest of their project, the basketball hoop. He almost got to the end of the driveway, swinging his leg over the seat, before Sam stopped him. “Nice try. Helmet, please,” he called out after his son, who reluctantly dropped the mountain bike onto the pavement and trudged back into the garage to pull a sticker-covered helmet out of a box and throw it on his head. By the time he made it into the street his cousin had done the same, yelling out over her shoulder for you to Mommypleaseclosethegaragethankyou as she tried to pump petite legs to keep up.

You were thankful that your youngest seemed to be fully engrossed in the chalk patterns on the driveway and hadn’t seemed to notice the other kids’ leaving, not interested in having an argument about whether she was too little or not to go with them alone. Trusting the older kids or not, she was small and curious in a way that led to her sometimes running off to explore, and you didn’t want to add that into the mix. After a while, she picked up the green again, moving up the driveway to draw a picture of a dragon and immediately swipe hair out of her face, covering it with fluorescent dust. She got to her feet, and the amount of colorful powder on her made you beyond thankful that it was Dean’s turn to give her a bath that night. Crossing the driveway in a few skittering steps, she wrapped herself around Dean’s legs, practically leaving a silhouette imprint of herself on his jeans as he ruffled her hair. The way they had worn out and lost much of their dye over the years highlighted the contrast.

“Daddy, come look! It’s a dragon!”

Dean and Sam exchanged a smirk and Dean winked at you. “A dragon? Sounds scary.”

“No, he’s a nice dragon,” she insisted, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the driveway, leaving Sam to drill holes into the wood above his garage door.

“A nice dragon, huh? What’s his name?” Dean asked, grinning as he let her lead him.

“Maurice,” she said, so matter of fact it made you laugh out loud. Sam did too, pulling the drill out of the wall to keep from wiggling the holes. “Can you do the fire?”

“’Course I can, princess. How big are we talking?” He eased down to sit cross-legged next to Maurice The Dragon, accepting when you offered him yellow and orange sticks of chalk. You leaned back in the afternoon sun with a lap full of matchbox cars listening to the radio Sam had brought out to the porch, the chalk scratching on the concrete, and the rhythmic drilling of holes into siding for a few minutes.

“Dean?” Sam asked, backing down the step ladder.

“Got it,” he answered, putting a little flair on a lick of fire that went around Maurice’s nose and handing your daughter the chalk. “I need to help Uncle Sammy for a minute but I can come right back, sound fair? Your mom is better at scales anyway.” The girl seemed to consider it for a second then pouted her lips out in agreement, tilting her head to the side just like her dad did all the time. Dean got up creakily and brushed off his hands on his back pockets, the orange joining the other stains like an abstract painting.

“You guys need any help?” you called over to Sam, who was trying to stabilize the hoop with long arms and struggling a little bit to keep it balanced in the light wind, powerful muscles rippling in his forearms and impressing upon you how heavy it must truly be if even he was having trouble with it.

“Actually, yeah, that would be great,” he chuckled, jerking his chin to Dean to suggest his brother help him hold it up. He did, grabbing one side and having to reach up to his tip toes to match Sam’s stretch. They were both standing on a kind of bastardized stool Dean had thrown together for this purpose, a few planks of wood balanced on some huge cinderblocks that had been in the garden holding up one of Sam’s compost setups. “It’s just those 12 screws, holes should already be lined up.”

You climbed up on the ladder with the drill, having to crane to reach over even with the added height. When the last was in, the Winchesters carefully removed their hands. Seeing that it didn’t immediately fall, Dean grabbed the bottom corner and tried his best to rattle it to no avail. “Good job, babe,” he said, lightly smacking your ass as you backed down the ladder.

“Watch out,” Sam said over your shoulder, and you saw him walking backwards a handful of steps down the driveway, being cautious to avoid his niece and her drawings.

“Dude, there’s no way you can—” Dean started, cut off by Sam taking a running jump and leaping into the air, catching the rim of the hoop like nothing and doing a baby pull-up on the metal.

“Can what?” Sam cackled, punching Dean’s arm playfully as he dropped to the pavement. “Don’t be jealous, old man.”

“Jealous of Sasquatch? You can practically reach it standing, Lurch.”

“Yeah, okay. Let me know when you can get up there without a stool and a trampoline.”

You were giggling as Sam and Dean started putting all their tools way when DJ’s bike came flying around the corner. Neither he nor his cousin were wearing helmets, and she was wrapped around his chest like a novelty monkey backpack, her legs circling his waist and her arms clinging to his neck. He had to arch around her to see, but you could tell from the half-block length away that he was saying something to her. By the time they got close enough to get reprimanded for the lack of helmets, or for one of their dads to ask where the other bike was, you could hear the crying.

Sam crossed over to his son in long, purposeful strides, holding his handlebars so he could dismount without letting go of your daughter. “What happened?” he asked, taking the girl from DJ’s arms and smoothing her hair back with a soothing palm. As he turned, you could see the blood trickling down her raw knees and elbows.

DJ was visibly rattled, trying hard to calm his breathing down and tensing his bottom lip when it began to quiver. “Davey and I went down that big hill and, she—she was going too fast, and, um, she fell—I, I told her we could practice later but these guys were saying only babies couldn’t do it, I swear I didn’t know she would—” and then his voice broke, fat tears finally breaking through and crashing down his face. Sam nodded to you and Dean, murmuring some comforting things to your eldest as he carried her up the porch steps into his house. At the exact same time as if practiced—that same rapid, implicit communication they’d had on hunts now used to coordinate hugging their children in tandem, you thought to yourself—Dean wrapped his nephew up in a big bear hug, cradling the boy’s head and sweeping his hand up and down his back.

“Hey, come on, you’re okay. She’s okay, she’s just shaken up, kid. Shhh shhh shhh, hey, come on, deep breaths. You’re okay,” he hummed into DJ’s hair. He gave you a tight nod over the kid’s shoulder to keep drawing with your daughter. Only a few steps away, you could still hear him as he continued. “I’m so proud of you, Deej. Got her all the way home on your bike, that’s pretty badass.” He waited for a few moments of silence until his nephew caught his breath a little. “Probably scared you, right?” he asked, his voice low and calm as DJ nodded through tears into the growing wet spot on his uncle’s chest. “That’s okay, chief, I would’ve been freaked too.”

You noticed he was rocking a little, almost like he did when he was trying to get the girls to sleep as babies, and it really emphasized the way that no matter how wise DJ seemed or whatever signs of puberty he might be showing, he was still a child, still the same baby you’d fallen in love with when Sam had gotten that call however many years ago. It took a few more minutes for the crying to subside to hiccupping breaths and seeming to sense that the moment had passed in some way, your baby girl grabbed your hand gently. “Mommy, is DJ okay?”

“Yeah, sweetie. He was just scared for a minute.”

“That’s why he needs a hug?”

“Exactly. Everybody needs hugs sometimes.” Just as she had before when considering your ability to draw cartoon scales on a dragon named Maurice, she tilted her head and pouted in agreement. When you realized what she was about to do next you almost had to wipe a quick tear away yourself, watching her get up to hug DJ and sandwich him between herself and Dean.

“It’s okay, DJ,” she whispered, the high tender pitch of her voice like one of those unsettlingly extreme medieval harmonies with her dad’s but so much sweeter, the bright welcome sting of lemon juice in a dense poundcake.

A moment later, Sam came out onto the porch with his eldest niece. One of her knees was wrapped in gauze but the other and both elbows had what looked from the driveway like a collage of Spiderman band aids. Sam appeared to have a matching one on his forehead, and both of them were giggling, though her eyes still looked a little puffy and red.

Dean looked up and turned DJ to see both of them, cradling the back of DJ’s head in one palm. “See? She’s okay, just needed a couple band aids.”

Sam winked at his brother as he walked over and patted his son on the back, taking the band aid off his forehead as he went. “Buddy, we’re going to go grab the bike and your helmets. Is there anything else you think you left at the park?”

His son shook his head up at his dad and leaned back from Dean’s embrace to rub his eyes. “Are you mad at me?” he croaked.

“Mad at you? Why would I be mad at you?” Sam asked, crouching down to a squat to look up at DJ. You had noticed he tended to do this in sensitive moments with all the children, trying his best to seem less looming. The first time you’d identified it, it made you a little sick to your stomach, realizing it likely wasn’t part of how inherently good he was with kids but because he knew what it was like to have an angry man towering over you. Thinking of it now had the same effect, especially compounded by the emphasis Dean had put on telling DJ he was proud of him even if his daughter had gotten hurt, that he too knew a protective kid was still just a kid.

DJ sniffled hard once more, finally able to take a truly deep breath. “I didn’t wear my helmet home because I couldn’t see arou—”

“Aw, DJ. No way am I mad at you.” Sam hugged his son and stood up, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m proud of you for getting both of you guys home safe. That was really smart, to get her on the bike with you like that.” You caught DJ’s tiny smile of pride at his father’s praise, watched it deepen a touch as Sam kissed his hair again. “So just the helmets and the bike?”

He nodded and rubbed his eyes before peeking around Sam a little bit to see your daughter. “You’re really okay?” he asked, as though he didn’t trust the adults to be telling him the truth and would have to ascertain her safety for himself. You wondered if Sam and Dean would find that nice or insulting, that ultra-fierce, trust-but-verify loyalty.

She nodded sort of sheepishly. “Sorry I didn’t listen about the hill, DJ.”

“It’s okay.”

The moment seemed a bit heavy for a half-second before Sam wrapped a big hand around your daughter’s shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Let’s go find that bike.”

After helping Dean get his wheels back inside, DJ went up to his room. You had to resist the urge to follow him, cuddle up with him like you used to when he was small enough to tuck into your lap. If he wanted to be alone, he was old enough to decide that for himself. Dean put the rest of the tools and things from putting up the basketball hoop away and walked over to you where you were laying on the ground so your youngest daughter could trace your body with chalk.

“I think we need a pick-me-up around here. How do you feel about i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m for dinner?”

You smiled, knowing you only had a bit longer of these spelling secrets left as your baby got closer and closer to proficient reading age. “Works for me. I think we have 2 or 3 kinds in the garage freezer.”

He smirked down at you. “Can you bring him over in about 15 minutes? They should be back by then.”

You tossed him a thumbs up and watched him walk across the street, the way the denim draped around his bowed legs as he went.

It was only five or six minutes later when Sam came up to the driveway, jogging alongside your daughter with DJ’s helmet in his hand. Of course Sam would know that she needed to get back on that bike right away, and of course he’d come up with something to make her laugh all the way home, even if that meant he had to run the entire distance on a late summer afternoon. He was slightly out of breath when he helped her dismount in the driveway.

“My kid okay?” he asked, taking the other helmet so your daughter could go back to what was becoming a pretty spectacular chalk surrealist piece spanning the driveway.

“He’s in his room, I think he will be. Your brother’s got a very Dean style plan for dinner in a few minutes if you’re hungry.”

Sam looked down at his watch. “Yikes, I didn’t realize we were even close to dinnertime. Let me go wash my hands and grab DJ then we can go over together?”

“Sounds perfect to me. And hey—Sam? Make sure he knows everyone thinks he did the right thing.”

He nodded, and you watched his Adam’s apple jump in his throat as he swallowed hard. Sam reached down and squeezed your hand, saying thank you without reopening the situation in front of the girls.

They came out a few minutes later, Sam in a fresh t-shirt and DJ looking a little more cheerful coiled into his dad’s side. You bundled up the girls and walked over to your house, tipping your head in thanks as Sam opened the door. The girls were the first to see the spread and took off squealing into the kitchen, where Dean had effectively set up a tiny ice cream shop on your kitchen island. Sprinkles of all different kinds, those 3 tubs of ice cream you’d been right to remember were in the freezer, syrups and whipped cream and cherries and bananas and even chopped up peanut butter cups and Butterfinger bars from the stash Dean hid from the kids. He was already handing out bowls before you got into the kitchen.

“Ah, ah! Hands need to be washed before anyone gets ice cream,” you insisted, shooting Dean a look of teasing reprimand.

He rolled his eyes to your oldest daughter, sending her giggling conspiratorially to the kitchen sink. DJ, presumably having already washed his hands at his place, helped your youngest daughter reach by picking her up to the faucet when her sister was done. You crossed over to Dean, kissing him on the cheek and grabbing his hands for inspection. “Babe, you’re literally covered in chalk.”

“You should be happy about me getting some extra calcium,” he winked, sticking out his tongue at you as you grabbed his ass on the way to the sink. “Mrs. Winchester!” he said in a faux-scandalized voice.

As you washed your hands Sam manned the ice cream scoop, doling out much bigger bowls than he would normally, seeming to know as Dean did that a little levity might help the events of the day pass faster. After all the kids doctored up heaping mounds of ice cream and toppings to beat the band, you and the Winchester brothers stood around the island while they piled onto the couch to find a movie they could all agree on.

“How’s our champ?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low.

Sam shook up a can of whipped cream as he spoke. “He’s okay. Just feels guilty, I think. He says he should’ve stopped her from going down the hill.”

“You think any kid of hers would’ve let someone tell her she couldn’t do anything?” Dean ribbed, accepting the gentle elbow you hit his side with.

“I know that, but you know what it’s like. I think once he sees she’s really okay and no one blames him then he’ll be fine.”

“Poor guy. Feels like that Winchester ‘weight of the world’ thing must be genetic.” You were partly joking but also partly not and they both knew it, looking pitiful and pitying for a beat before trying to cover with smiles. “He’s a great kid, Sam.”

“Pretty much feels like you guys raised him as much as I did, I should be thanking you,” he murmured, drawing a lattice of butterscotch syrup over his whipped cream.

You snaked an arm around his waist and gave him a sideways hug. “No, we’re lucky you let us know him.”

Sam bent over and pressed his lips to your hair. “Seriously, thank you. I’m—I don’t know where we’d be if we didn’t, you know, I mean if we—”

“Don’t strain yourself, Sammy,” Dean smiled affectionately, giving Sam a merciful out. “Tell you what, I sure wouldn’t have made it in damn Themyscira without you two around.”

Sam chuckled down at the counter while you disentangled your arms. You took the chocolate sprinkles from in front of him and scattered a few in your bowl. “Themyscira? The hell is that?”

Dean set down his ice cream exaggeratedly and rolled his eyes so hard he put a backwards bend in his spine, holding onto the island to keep his balance. “Babe. Themyscira. Home of the Amazons? Wonder Woman?”

“Riiiight. I forgot I was married to such a dork.”

“As long as you don’t forget how this ‘dork’ makes you screa—”

“Dude, enough,” Sam groaned, exasperated. Dean waggled his eyebrows at you as his brother followed into the living room with the kids, taking the opportunity of temporary privacy to slip his tongue along your neck where it sloped into your shoulder.

“Dean,” you hissed playfully, pushing his chest away from you. “They’re in the other room!”

“You taste like chalk,” he smirked, before holding your gaze for a gooier beat than you would’ve expected. His eyes softened and he glanced down. “Thank you for letting me—letting us—take that, today. I know you’re better at the Mommy Dearest stuff or whatever, but it sometimes feels like, ah, getting a redo?” He cleared his throat where it had gotten a little thick. “You know, um, like proving that it doesn’t have to be the same?”

It was a specific vulnerability he doesn’t often let you see, but you could tell by the softness both he and Sam had with all the kids, how they beat themselves up for days if they raised their voice for even a second, that they both thought about it all the time. In so many ways they were still those same little boys who wished they could’ve drawn on driveways with their parents, that their dad could’ve given them Spiderman band aids and told them everything was going to be okay.

He didn’t have to explain further, and you gripped his hand to tell him so. “They needed you two, not me. For what it’s worth, I think you guys were a pretty great team today.”

Dean smiled, and it was almost like the sleepy thankfulness he had on those nights when he got home and you’d charitably done a couple of his chores for him. He closed his eyes in invitation and you leaned forward, meeting his lips with the smell of ice cream in the air. “So come on, Super Dad. Let’s go watch a movie with these great kids everyone keeps talking about.”

The ice cream had gotten put back in the freezer immediately to keep it frozen, but the toppings had all been left out during School of Rock. Sam and DJ had left a bit after the movie, playing a round of LIFE that had been pretty ambitiously started, considering the time, and ultimately abandoned when all the kids’ yawns started to sync up. You came downstairs after trading with Dean for bath/shower duty to get out of cleaning up all the sticky dishes, the girls falling asleep too quickly for a bedtime story after you’d made sure they were thoroughly scrubbed clean and any wet gauze was replaced.

He was rinsing some bowls in the sink, the majority of the toppings slid to one side of the now wiped-down island. You sauntered up behind him, putting your chin on his shoulder. “Your jeans are still covered in chalk,” you sighed into his neck.

“Your kid was practically using them as a napkin, so I’m not surprised.”

“Like father, like daughter.”

You felt the rumble of his laugh through your chest where you were pressed up against his back. “Can’t argue with that. They asleep?”

“You’d think I drugged them.”

He chuckled again, putting down the last bowl in the sink and shutting off the water before drying his hands on a dishtowel deliberately. When he turned around, his face was inches from yours. “Is that right?” he asked, and his voice was as smooth and silky as any caramel drizzle you could’ve eaten that night. You nodded into a smile as Dean slid a washing-warmed hand to the nape of your neck and wound into the hair there, pulling you into him where he leaned against the sink and slipped his tongue into your mouth. He tasted like maraschino cherry and chocolate and you pushed up into his kiss hard, jamming him into the counter in a way that made him groan into you, tug that hair tighter. “Careful, baby. Been thinking about scandalizing the mother of my children for hours,” he growled, smirking through a voice rough like the sandpaper calluses of his hands.

You bit his bottom lip and dragged it back, leaning away from Dean just enough to reach over to the island behind you, finding the whipped cream and starting to shake it fast. “That’s funny, because I’ve just been thinking about sundaes,” you purred into his ear, nipping at his earlobe before tipping back. Dean’s eyes practically glittered as his pupils blew wide. His shirt was off so fast you almost didn’t see it, feeling like you blinked and opened your eyes to him already yanking his belt open to shuck off those chalk-covered torn jeans. Before he could, you turned over the whipped cream on top of his collarbone, dripping a stream of white foam down his chest and letting it drift for a second, melt down his skin then lapping it up with a tongue flattened wide. You shook the can again, draping a strip onto Dean’s stomach that trailed to his belly button and laying a palm on his chest, leaning him back to the counter on his elbows to watch as you licked the whipped cream with lazy swirls until you were at the hem of his boxers, sinking to your knees and taking them down his legs along with his now-opened jeans. He was already hard as rock when you took him in your palm, laying one last spray of whipped cream along the length of him and humming in delight at the “holy shi—” that punched out of Dean and fizzled into the ether when you sucked it off.

It was only a few minutes before he couldn’t take it anymore, bending down to kiss you rough and dirty, tongue darting out to get the little dribbles of cream around the corners of your mouth and dragging you to your feet. With one hand Dean flicked open your jeans, using the freed slack to dive into your panties, middle finger dipping into you as he held your jaw with the other palm. He breathed hot and sticky along your jugular. “Not even close to how wet I want you.” The viscous pour of his words onto your neck sent goosebumps spreading over your skin in a delicate fan and you couldn’t help but smile as he scooped under your thighs and lifted you easily onto the island, slipping the denim off your legs as the same time he stepped out of his. You relaxed onto your elbows, watching those long eyelashes drift open and closed as his kissed a path down your abdomen, gripping handfuls of your t-shirt to get to skin. A lazy hand offered Dean the can of whipped cream.

The smirk he gave you, bare shoulders between your thighs as he kneeled on the kitchen floor, might as well have been through a time machine for the way it made you see the cocky playboy you’d first met over a decade ago, before the faint wrinkles of years in sunny cars and staying up nights with colicky babies that accessorized his big doe eyes now. It had the same effect on you in a t-shirt that was older than DJ as it had when you were pounding through shots with eyeliner artfully smudged by the power of hangovers: pooling all the blood in your stomach and making you lightheaded. He slowly bit his bottom lip. “You taste way too good to be adding anything,” he rumbled, and when you threw your head back in a shaky laugh his tongue reminded you exactly why smudged-eyeliner girl was ready to drop her independence, jump in the Impala and follow that mouth to the end of the world.

Dean built the earth up and cracked it into pieces beneath you twice perched on that kitchen island before grabbing the counter edge to haul himself up. “Were these tiles always so fucking hard? Feel like I just took a hammer to the kneecaps.” He shook out each of his bare legs, spring of his erect cock as he did looking silly and out of place with the glisten of his lips and chin, the sultry cast of his eyelashes on angled cheekbones. The juxtaposition made you laugh, breathy as it was with muscles that had been turned to jello, thrown in a blender, and scattered about the room by the deft movements of Dean’s tongue and fingers.

“You’re thinking about your knees right now?”

“That’s how hard these fucking tiles are,” Dean chuckled, deep and still sexy somehow, bending forward to catch your lips. When you reached down to stroke him, a hand wrapped around your wrist. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, I’m nowhere near done with you,” he murmured through kisses, a shade of playful challenge in his throat.

You giggled, leaning back as he dragged a wet path of suction down your neck. “I don’t want to torture those legs, old man.” Running a hand through hair you’d sent spiking in all directions in your writhing, you dragged Dean’s head back on his neck, giving you a chance to meet his eyes, still the same dusted olive they’d been since that first wink. Long past the honeymoon stage when it was appropriate to do that kind of thing, you’d been content to spend hours searching them, cataloguing every spindly muscle of iris for posterity, trying to gather up every grain of him for when he inevitably was lost forever to a hunt or the solitude of the road.

But here he was still.

Here you were still. Living a life—living two selves—you never thought you’d get, lucky to have grown in and around each other like mangrove roots. Those eyes still every inch as beautiful, every spark of that electric heat still there now cloaked in layer after layer of what you’d built together: the complete trust and fanatical admiration he had of you flowing out like fountains of sunlight, strong enough they streamed through any raunchy waggle of his eyebrows.

No time to think about it now with a hungry coil of desire tightening in your stomach. You traced the length of him with your fingertips, feather-light and teasing. “If you give me fifteen seconds to get my sea legs back I’ll show you who’s got tougher knees.”

“All right, that’s it,” Dean said. He tipped his head forward and bit your bottom lip with that impossible pressure that made you whimper. “I’ll show you how old these knees are.”

Before you could react, he’d put his shoulder below your sternum and thrown you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. When you squealed he smacked your ass. “You’re going to wake up the girls,” he buzzed, starting toward your bedroom without a stitch of clothing on, you draped over his back.

“Dean, Jesus Christ,” you giggled. “Get the clothes at least!”

“Don’t need any jeans for what I’ve got planned—quit—squirming—or I’ll give you something to squirm about,” he continued, lowering his voice to a lascivious whisper and giving one of your upper thighs an impish bite as he headed up the stairs.

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tomtenadia · 3 years

Text

A Little Braver - Chapter 2

I think I will be brave as well and post chapter 2.

In the chapter when Rowan muses about his call sign he uses the term FNG - it literally mean Fucking new guy. In US military it describes a newcomer.

Enjoy the chapter!

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The next morning Rowan was on his way to the fire station. He had left the house a bit early to allow for traffic or getting lost. In the end he had arrived with ten minutes to spare. He parked the car along the road and walked to the main area in front of the station and stopped.

The tall training building was on fire and a few people were outside in front of it as if in waiting. He searched for the captain but she was not there. He wanted to go and ask to the team about her whereabouts but did not want to interrupt the training session. So he just decided to lean against a wall of the fire station, arms folded at his chest and just watch the drill.

He was curious about why they were not using the truck or water and wondered if they were following a specific exercise.

Being a fighter pilot was full of risks but by looking at the raging fire and thinking that there were people willingly putting themselves through that inferno made him shiver. He’d rather been strapped in a metal cage than in a house on fire.

All of a sudden a figure ran out of the building carrying what looked like a dummy and two more followed. He gasped when he recognised the captain. The dummy she was carrying on her shoulders must have weighed a ton and he was impressed. He followed her, dumping the dummy on the ground and joining the tall blonde man and pat him on the shoulder looking happy. His lips turned up in a hint of a smile.

Her eyes met his and she gave him a huge smile and Rowan straightened up and pulled away from the wall. She walked to him while unbuttoning her bulky fireproof jacket.

“Morning Captain,” she brushed her hair away from her face and Rowan’s heart started to race.

“Enjoyed the show?”

He cleared his voice while he tried to gain some sense again “That was fascinating.”

“Can you give me twenty minutes to have a very quick shower and get changed? You don’t want to be in a meeting with a stinky woman.”

Captain Whitethorn nodded “Take your time.”

“You can go and meet the guys. They are a friendly bunch.” She offered “just ignore the lewd jokes.”

“Thank you for the head’s up.”

Aelin ran away and he gathered some courage and walked to the team. He was not the best around people he did not know, but he wanted to play nice.

He took another step and the tall blond man noticed him and walked with purpose toward him and offered him his hand “Captain Whitethorn isn’t it?”

Rowan nodded.

“Aelin told us you were coming. I am Lieutenant Ashryver.”

Rowan nodded and studied the man in front of him and noticed that his posture and attitude screamed military. After he had spent all his adult life in the force he had gotten used to spot one of them. He had the same feeling at the base during the fire.

“Can I introduce you to our team?”

“Gladly.”

Aedion turned to the red-haired woman “Ladies first. This is Ansel. Never leave her and Aelin alone because then you are in trouble.”

“Hey, I’ll tell her you said that and she will put you on truck cleaning duties for a month.” Aedion ignored her and continued “then here we have Brullo, Nox, Ress, Ren and finally Luca.” He grabbed the young man’s shoulder “he is our probie. He finished the academy and he joined us a few months ago. For now he is coming to the less serious calls but we are planning on coddling him a bit less and make him see the real stuff as well.”

Then the man turned around, scanning the area in search for something or someone “we also have two EMTs, Elide and Lysandra but they must be around the station doing something. You will meet them anyway.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Everyone, clean up and don’t leave everything to Luca. All of you haul ass. Nox, Ren you are on equipment duty. Ansel, Ress you two are on uniform checks. Brullo, take Luca with you and go over him some truck procedures for before and after calls. Now away all of you.”

Rowan chuckled. The man was definitely ex military.

“Where did you serve?” He asked the man taking a chance.

“I was in the army. I was an artillery specialist. Once I retired Aelin called me saying her station was looking for recruits and I applied for the job. Guess my experience with explosives and such was a plus. Many years later I am still here and still loving it.” Then he studied the Captain “how did you guess?”

“Your posture. It’s the stick up your arse, as Captain Galathynius would say, that gets drilled into you from day one. The way you give order, again, very familiar.”

“Call her Aelin, Cap or Captain. She hates being called Captain Galathynius.”

Rowan raised a eyebrow with curiosity for that statement.

“I usually call her brat or menace.” Aedion chuckled “she is my cousin. I have known her since we were little. I have earned that privilege.”

Aedion started walking back into the station and Captain Whitethorn followed him.

“She has the bas habit of not filtering what she wants to say, can be brash and very vocal when she is mad at something or someone, but she loves her job and her team. She loves being a firefighter. She might be young be she is extremely capable. She is the first female captain. Absurd to think that before her it was just a boy’s club, eh?” The man joked, and lead him into a big spacious room with a lone table and chair and a kitchen at the bottom of it “If she keeps likes this I can see her climbing up the ladder pretty quickly, although I cannot imagine her in a desk job.”

Rowan knew very little about the woman but he had the same feeling.

“This is where we spend most of the time when we are on shift, all tasks are done and just wait for a call. We have books, video-games, tv… you name it. And like all families we fight for who controls the remote.”

Aelin joined them a moment later “Are you giving our Captain the tour?”

“Yes, just the cheap tour for now. You can give him the proper one later.” Aedion winked at her.

“I guess that after our meeting, the Captain will be more than happy to get rid of me.

“I gave you a tour of the base, I would love a tour of the station.”

Aelin’s mouth almost fell open in disbelief.

“If you are not fed up with me we can think about it.” And she turned around and walked away the same way he did the day before.

Aedion gestured with his head to follow her and Rowan ran after her.

“I am sorry for the delay. Once I got back to work yesterday I had an email saying that our annual performance review is due in three weeks. I did not have a way to contact you otherwise I would have pushed the meeting forward a bit.”

“It was actually interesting watching you guys train.” He followed her to her office and took the seat she offered “we have performance reviews as well. What do you guys have to do?”

Aelin was caught off guard by him being talkative all of a sudden “We get tested on our abilities. We usually go to the academy, are given a scenario and the whole team has to work as if that was a real call. We also get to perform some individual tasks and those are timed. It’s a very stressful period.”

“You can leave our project to me until you are done with your review. I am happy to give you an update and you can come once a week to check how things are progressing if you are too busy.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me, Captain?” She smiled at him, leaning back in her chair.

He shook his head and she noticed him finally relaxing and sitting more comfortably in his chair “we have those review as well and they are always stressful for the team and I am aware how much of my time, preparing drills takes me. I am offering you to concentrate on your mission ahead for now and then catch up in three weeks.”

Was he actually being nice to her?

“I will be fine captain, but thank you for the offer. I appreciate it.”

“If you change your mind, my offer will still be on the table.”

“So,” she said quite abruptly changing the subject. If he even thought she needed his help because she was a woman he was in for a tough ride.

Aelin grabbed a folder with her plan. She had spent the entire previous day working on it. “These are the copies for you.” And she passed him a pile of papers “they are the ideas and changes I would like to suggest. I believe that is the part you will have to discuss with your CO. the biggest and probably most time consuming change is the extra door. All the other suggestions are repairs and perhaps replacements of old parts. I would like to explain again that these changes are not up for discussion. They need to happen.”

Captain Whitethorn nodded “I have discussed the matter with my CO after our meeting and he understands that and agrees. He promised me that he will fight until the last ditch if they start blocking him with budget bullshit, his exact words.”

“Please tell Air Commodore Salvaterre that I appreciate his cooperation. It goes in the interest of every single person who works at the base. Him included.”

“This pile here is a draft of possible training sessions for both your squadron and the ground crew. I want basic fire prevention training, fire extinguisher training, reviews of fire drills. I would like to do some training, especially with the ground crew on fuels handling, fuel storing and clearing spillages. Your squadron will be welcome as well. I think it will benefit everyone.” She flipped through her notes “I would like to nominate a couple of people as Fire champions or any other name we can come up with. Their role would be to perform monthly deep inspections and weekly spot checks. The idea is that by doing this, you are always on the ball with any problems. Of course we will provide training on how to do all this.” She kept explaining and the man in front of her listened to her with great interest, never interrupting her.

“Needless to say that fire prevention is everyone’s job. See it, report it. And if you can, fix it.” She jotted down a few things “of course all of this depends on our rosters. I don’t know how it works for you guys but we work in shift patterns.”

“My squadron and I, we work Monday to Friday when we are ground-side. Ground staff such as engineers for example, they tend to follow shift patterns as well. I can talk to the supervisors for the mechanics and engineering team and see if I can get a roster from them. They are aware of the fact that extra training is on its way.”

“Please do. I have a feeling that will be the biggest job.”

“Do you have any questions for me so far?”

“Which venue will we use?”

Aelin tapped her pen on the table “I was thinking here if it’s okay with you. We have the equipment, also we don’t have maximum security checks.”

“Speaking of security…” he extracted something from his pocket “`I have your badge.”

Aelin took the badge he offered in surprise.

“I imagine we will be working together quite a lot and you will need to visit the base as well on a regular basis. You have now the badge with consultant clearance. It’s not a lot, but it will grant you access to all the are you will need. And no more forms to fill.”

“Thank you, captain,” she was speechless “Thank you for trusting me.”

She smiled fondly at him and Rowan realised he’d do literally anything to see that smile. It was intoxicating.

They worked for a few hours and Aelin realised it was not as bad as she had feared. The captain had been very keen to listen to her plans and making suggestions according to his knowledge of the base and his team. He had also looked a bit less uncomfortable and more willing to have a full conversation instead of monosyllables. At least it was progress and since it looked like they were going to work together for a while it was a good thing.

When her stomach grumbled loudly she coughed embarrassed to try and cover it but the very faint hint of a grin on the captain’s lips told her that he had head her.

“We can stop for lunch, captain.”

Aelin almost blushed “I guess so. I think I have a black hole forming in my stomach. Those drills always leave me famished.” She stood “there is a lovely diner very nearby. Can I interest you in lunch? It’s on me. But no shop talk.” She was ready for a refusal but the captain stood and nodded.

“I’d like lunch.”

When they left the office they met Elide and Lysandra carrying boxes full of supplies to stock the ambulance. As soon as Rowan noticed he jumped forward and offered to help Elide.

“Let me carry them. They are quite bulky.”

“Thank you,” said the woman flashing a smile to Aelin then showed the captain the direction to the ambulance.

“Where do I place it?” He asked once they were arrived. Elide opened the back door of the vehicle “just here. Lys and I will sort through everything. Thank for the help.”

Lysandra dropped all her stuff and turned to the two captains.

“These are Lysandra and Elide, they are our two resident EMTs.”

“Ladies, this is captain Whitethorn.”

Lysandra mouthed hot to Aelin and the woman rolled her eyes.

“The captain and I were going for lunch. Could you please tell Aedion to man the fort for me while I am away? I am just going to Emrys and I have a radio with me if anything happens.”

The woman nodded “I know the drill. Go, enjoy lunch.”

The two captains left “we are walking. The place is just down the road. We are all regulars there.”

Five minutes later they reached the small diner and Rowan thought the place looked cosy and felt like the good old fashioned family run restaurant.

“Emrys and his husband Malakai have been running this place since forever. It’s an institution in the neighbourhood.”

“Aelin, my girl.” A very smiling Emrys walked from behind the counter and went to hug the woman “Are you keeping well?”

“Of course.”

“Two today?” He asked looking at the Aelin’s companion.

“Yes please. Can we sit anywhere?”

“Go ahead.” He gestured pointing at the tables.

“Quiet today?”

“Not at all. You just missed the rush. Until twenty minutes ago we were full. Malkai is delivering an order to the police station.”

Aelin walked to the table near the window and invited Rowan to join her.

“Here’s the menu for your friend. Let me know when you are ready to order.”

Rowan took the menu, opened it and lowered his head to start reading it.

Aelin studied him for a moment while he was distracted. Stared at his hands and noticed the hint of a tattoo sneaking from underneath the uniform. Interesting, she would have never pinned the man as someone who would have a tattoo. A smile tugged at her lips. A part of her wanted quite badly to get to know him a bit more. “Your hair,” she asked “has it always been silver or it became like that with age?” Then she stopped embarrassed “I mean I am not saying that you look old. I just meant as if it got like that as you grew up.”

He lifted his head from the menu and his piercing green eyes settled on her “I was born like this. Apparently it runs in my family.”

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I was just curious.”

He gave her a half a smile. It did not linger. It was quick and for a second she thought she had imagined it “I am used to it.” He tapped on the plastic menu “you haven’t decided yet?”

“Oh no, I don’t need a menu. I know it by heart and I know what I want.”

Emrys came back and both placed their orders and Aelin enjoyed the shocked expression on the captain.

“You can’t possibly eat all that stuff.”

“Watch me.”

The silence grew uncomfortable again. It looked as if he was chatty only when it came to work.

“Why did you join the airforce?”

For a moment he looked stunned at her question “I was eighteen and fresh out of high school. Happy I was done studying. My parents wanted me to go to uni, but the idea of spending four more years on books was not for me.” He explained and noticed she had he hands folded under her chin “One day I met Lorcan. We knew each other from before already, being both from Wendlyn and all. It was nice to see a friendly face in a new place. Anyway, he told me he had moved here to Terrasen with the TAF. He told me they were recruiting and I went to the base during an open day. The day after I had signed up and a month later I was starting pilot academy.”

“Where in Wendlyn?”

“Doranelle.”

“I was there once. On holiday with…” no, not time yet “with a friend. We loved it very much.”

He nodded “It’s a nice place, but I must admit that after so many years I feel like an adopted citizen of Terrasen. Orynth is quite a gorgeous place.”

Emrys came with their food and Rowan noticed how skilfully placed all the plates on the table. As if he was used to have all those orders from her.

“You can’t be serious and actually eat all this food.”

Aelin tackled her first plate “watch the pro at work, captain.” She gave him a smile and Rowan shook his head and tackled his food.

“Why firefighter?”

He noticed her still for a second and the happiness wash away from her face in an instant. Fuck. Wrong question already.

“I was eight.” She said playing with her food for a moment “I was out playing with some of my friends. I was on my way home when I saw two massive fire trucks in front of my house and my home on fire.” She placed the fork on the plate “I ran toward the house but this fireman stopped me. I was crying and calling for my parents. He hugged me, he told me they were working to try and save my parents. I remember trashing in his arms to get free but he held me tight.” She took a bit to keep herself busy while telling the story “he took me to the back of the engine and showed me some of the tools and explained to me how the engine worked. He distracted me while his colleagues worked to stop the fire and save my parents.” She finally met his gaze “it took them almost two hours to kill the fire. After that there was nothing left of the house and of my life. My parents had been found dead in the house. The gas boiler has suffered a fault and basically exploded. They stood no chance.”

“Aelin I am…” his hand moved slowly closer to hers and brushed it gently “I am so sorry.”

“When I grew up I decided I wanted to be like the firemen who attended my fire. I wanted to rush into a house on fire and try to save some person’s parents of spouse and help them avoid the loss I suffered. I wanted to be like the man who stood with me and distracted me.”

Her finger lifted a little and met his almost in acknowledgement “Aedion’s family took me in. As soon as I finished high school I was like you. I had no interest in uni. So I signed up for the fire academy.”

“Sorry for ruining lunch.”

She shook her head and flicked his finger playfully. That had been the first contact between them. He had always kept his distance and that little flicker of affection made he heart flutter. The man was a puzzle. He could go from stone cold bastard to this in a small amount of time.

Aelin finished her food and noticed the captain staring at her with curiosity.

“I cannot believe it.”

“Told you,” she smiled at him with a smug expression “and I am even going to get cake.”

“No you are not.”

In defiance she stood and went to the counter and ordered chocolate hazelnut cake from Emrys. She came back and sat down again and ate the whole slice.

“Remind me to apply for a mortgage if I ever take you out for dinner.” At those words Rowan froze. He did not mean to do say that. It was supposed to be a joke but he should have learned by now that he was bad at making jokes.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Iceman.”

His head shoot up and looked at her. She had used his callsign. Something that only his squadron members would ever use. They all had one. It was a tradition. But it also meant something. It was always the other pilots in the team who choose the callsign. Never the pilot himself. It was a rite of passage that welcome you in the squadron. In a family. He got his one because of his hair. Everyone thought it was because he was cool and calm under pressure but no. When he was still one of the FNG he went through his naming ceremony like all the others FNG and they had decided he was going to be iceman because with his hair he reminded them of a creature from the snowy glaciers of the Staghorn mountains, hence iceman. Hearing her calling him like that made his heart skip a beat.

“We don’t have call signs. We got nicknames but nothing official like you guys.” She polished the plate from the chocolate left from the cake “the guys usually call me Captain or Cap. Aedion is the worst. Because he is my cousin he takes the liberty to call me brat or menace. I should really write him up for insubordination.”

She tapped his hand “come on grampa, let’s get back to work.” And stood. Rowan had wanted to grab that hand and hold it for a moment. It felt as if a small shift had happened in their weird work relationship.

Aelin paid for the meal as promised and they walked back to the station “are you sure you will be able to concentrate with all that food in you?”

On the way back Aelin looked up at the sky and noticed a few flakes that had started to follow. “Looks like it’s going to snow.”

She turned her head and caught Rowan sniffing the air, the eyes closed and a relaxed expression. The hard lines of his face had disappeared and the faint smile on his lips changed him completely. Yes, the man was hot but there was more to it. The very rare times that his face softened his eyes lit up as well turning a deeper green and made him stunning. She had a feeling those moments were rare and was glad that she had caught at least a couple. Like right now, his body relaxed enjoying the first flakes of snow. That was a precious insight in the man at her side.

“You like winter?” She broke the magic.

His eyes snapped open and his face turned hard again as if he hated being caught enjoying something.

“I do.” He said softly “I love the snow and winters in Terrasen are incredible.

Aelin smiled. His scent. His scent reminded her of Terrasen. Pine and snow. She had smelled it the other day while she was inside his plane and he was quite close to her. He smelled like winter and realised for a second that the nickname Iceman was perfect as well for that reason and not just because he could be a cold hearted bastard. They got back to the station and she found it quiet apart from Brullo and Luca near the fire engine. Apparently the man was explaining the youngster some of the routine checks they performed. He was their resident engineer and mechanic so he was the best one for that type of training.

“Nice lunch, Cap? Did you eat all the food at Emrys?”

“The vegetables are still there. They are safe.” Aelin turned when noticed that the joke came from Rowan.

Brullo and Luca burst out laughing “oh he is good.” Added the older man.

“My eating habits are the joke of the station.”

“Cap, they are insane.” Added Luca.

Aelin turned to Rowan and he lifted and eyebrow as if to say I agree with them.

She turned again on her colleagues “one more joke from the two of you and I’ll have you scrub the station from top to bottom with a toothbrush.” Then she turned on her feet and walked away to her office.

Rowan tapped his hat in salute to the two men and followed her. He found her in the kitchen making coffee “Do you drink coffee?”

“I don’t think I could function without it.”

“Good. We basically drink it by the litre. It keeps you alive on a night shifts.”

She made some coffee and offered him a mug “milk, sugar?”

“Black, thank you.”

He watched her as she dropped two spoonfuls of sugar in it “All this sugar is not good for you.”

“Shhh you heathen.”

He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee “Thank you for lunch by the way.”

“My treat, for working with me.” She apologised, while leaning against the counter and drinking her coffee.

“You are not as bad as I thought. I agree with Aedion, you are a brat and a menace but I can work with that.” Bad idea. Rowan noticed anger flash in her eyes.

“I am not having you calling me that.” She slammed the cup on the counter “you barely know me and I have been professional, sure if cracking a joke or two makes me a brat it’s your problem you need sense of humour. I have been busting my ass to fix the shit that went down in your station.” She took a step toward him and Rowan braced himself “I know how I run my station. I am aware of every single problem or fault that happens here. Your fucking hangar went down in a blaze of glory and you had no idea of the shitstorm about to happen.” She was now a few mere centimetres from his face and a foolish part of him wanted to push her against the counter and kiss her senseless. She was mad at him and all he thought was how her lips would feel. What was wrong with him?

“Don’t ever call me that again with that smug face of your because I have no problems removing that smirk with a punch.”

Rowan kept staring at her in silence, not risking saying a word while she was that mad at him. Damn the woman had fire in her. And it did not matter he was getting a well deserved lashing down from her, he could not stop thinking that she was beautiful. Not just physically, she was fierce, brave and passionate and he was irremediably drawn to her.

Which it was totally crazy since they had met the day before.

“Now get the fuck out of my station. We are done for today.” And she stepped back.

“Captain, I did not mean to offend you.”

“I said out.” She repeated through gritted teeth “I have your contact. I will let you know when I am in the mood to meet you again.” She grabbed her coffee and walked away from him.

Rowan stood still and stared at the spot where she had been. He ran a hand through his hair and cursed himself for his stupidity. They had finally set aside the bad start they had, and messed up everything again.

He picked up his cap on the counter and then realised he had left all the documents in her office. He was about to walk to her but then changed his mind bad idea. So he just left the station, got back to his car and drove back to the base.

Aelin was furious. Why did he have to go and ruin everything with his bloody mouth of his?

That beautiful mouth of his.

She paced the office for ten minutes then she left, went to changing room and changed into her training gear. Some exercise will do her good to clear her head.

Aedion found her twenty minutes later “here you are,” he shouted as she ran back and forth in the yard with a dummy on her shoulders.

“Aelin!” He shouted when she did not stop. When she ignored him again he went in front of her and stopped her “Aelin.”

“What?” She growled dropping the dummy on the ground with a loud thump. She was breathless.

“I thought you were with the captain.”

She ignored him and grabbed the dummy again but Aedion stopped her and grabbed her hand “did something happened?”

“Yes, he happened. He is an arsehole and I don’t know why I am bothering to help him.”

“Because it’s your job.”

“Well, he can go and ask west station for all I care.”

Aedion shook his head “they are in our territory.”

Aelin ran a hand through her hair.

“Did he do something to you? Because if he did I am very good at hand to hand combat. I’ll destroy his stiff arse.”

Aelin chuckled. Aedion had always been very protective with her.

“He called me a brat and a menace. He said that I am not as bad as he thought and that he agrees with you for my nicknames.”

Aedion laughed “that’s why you are mad at him? Ace, I love you but you can be both.”

She sat down on the dummy “I know. But if you say it it doesn’t bother me. We grew up together. You know me better than anyone. He instead…” she punched the dummy’s face “he had this smug face and he used this tone like a condescending prick.”

She groaned “you can be a brat and a menace but I can work with it,” she repeated in a mocking tone “I am the one doing him a favour to help him. Idiot.”

“You just want to find an excuse to hate him and push him away from you.” He sat down on the dummy beside her “Ace, could it be that you like him but you are still too scared to allow another man in your life?”

“No. I have known the guy for two days. And no, I do not like him.” She protested.

“Would it be that bad?”

Aelin stood and faced him “I am not interested in getting any closer to him than what works dictates. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie.

“You are overreacting and you are behaving like a brat and proving him right.”

She pushed him off the dummy “you are on truck duty for the whole week.” Aelin grabbed the dummy and went back to her training.

Rowan finally made it back to the base and went straight to his office but Lorcan intercepted him.

“You are back early. I thought you were going to be at the station all afternoon.”

Rowan ignored his CO and plopped on his chair and closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“That bad, eh?” Joked Lorcan at the man’s reaction.

“I opened my damn mouth. That’s what I did.”

Lorcan sat on the chair on the opposite side of the desk “What did you do? I thought you were the guy who counted till ten before opening his mouth. That’s why I gave you this assignment. I need this to go smoothly and fix all the shit that the old CO messed up. If I wanted to piss off the TFD’s captain I would have sent Moonbeam.”

Rowan snorted “probably would have been better. Far more charming than this cranky old bastard.”

“I have seen the woman. Fenrys would end up fucking everything. Literally.”

Lorcan sat back relaxed “I am coming to the station tomorrow and I will talk to her and bring her back into our good books.”

“You?” Rowan scoffed “if there is someone who has a worse temper than me is you, Lorcan.”

“I’ll be my charming self.” The man joked.

“The gods save us all.” Rowan joked standing and pacing the office “trying to scare her will not work either.”

“I noticed that. I wish some of our men would have that level of balls. Quite amazing for a woman.” Rowan’s head snapped at his CO’s words.

“Don’t even dare say anything like that in her face or you are a dead man.”

He and Lorcan would go along on most of the days but on some concepts, Lorcan still followed the good old fashioned ideas that for example females were not suited for the military, a topic they had many fights on. Rowan had tried to open up the ranks to a few more females in the squadron but Lorcan had rejected the idea every single time.

“You know how I feel about those things.”

“Yes, our very progressive man. Equality and all.”

“You can be such an arsehole.” Rowan stopped at the window “even the Navy is accepting women. Their recruitment for female officers is up by 40%. We are still to celebrate when we will have our first female officer.”

Lorcan growled “well, then move to the Navy.” He stood annoyed “flying a jet is not like service on an aircraft carrier!”

Rowan turned furious “you are not seriously telling me that you don’t believe a woman could fly a jet.” He slammed his fist on the table “I have seen Aelin in action and during drills. I have seen her jump into a building on fire without any second thought to save one of our men. I have seen her drag a dummy twice her size off a burning building while wearing the fire suit and an oxygen tank on her shoulder. She could probably do a vertical, pull 9G and then get off the plane and have a dance in our face. She is definitely not the fragile thing you think she is just because she is a woman.”

“What is your point?”

“Stop being a misogynist prick.”

Rowan phone went off and Lorcan moved away “if you are coming tomorrow, you leave that attitude behind.” Lorcan left and Rowan took the call. Once he was done he sat back down on his chair and looked outside noticing the snow falling and a gentle smile tugged his lips at the memory of the moment they had shared at the restaurant. He had to apologise. And quickly.

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sunflowerandco · 3 years

Text

Act VI: Looking Back

Rating: T for language

previous acts on the link in my bio :)

Hey everyone. After my favorite combo meal of some good ol' depression™ and school, I'm back to writing! I really hope you enjoy and I'm very thankful for all of the support if you stuck around this long. Thank you so much ❤

I hope you enjoy this origin story for Duncney in this universe

5 years before Act V

Bridgette approached a very focused Courtney in the hall. "Hey, Court. Got any plans this weekend?"

She responded, her face still buried in the locker she was trying to organize before heading home for the weekend. "Studying, studying, and more studying. I've got two AP exams in two weeks and my livelihood depends on me getting good enough grades."

"Is there any chance you have one day to let yourself have some fun?"

Courtney pondered and knew her response wouldn't please her friend. Still, she delivered it with a smile. "No." She knew Bridgette's campaign for fun was coming any second now as she shut her locker.

“You’ve been studying all week, Courtney. Come to Wasaga with us! My step-dad lent me the beach house for the weekend.”

Courtney felt apprehensive at the idea of a day on the beach with Bridgette, Geoff and their insistent need to suck face most of the time. “No thanks. I don’t want to be your third wheel.”

“You won’t be! It won’t be just me and Geoff. He practically invited our lunch period. Plus, Duncan’s coming...”

“And that holds significance to my decision because...?”

“...Because you like him.”

“I do not! He’s annoying, has no regard for authority, and is so, totally gross. I don’t need you setting up dates for me. At least not another disaster like Bradley.”

“To be fair, you did have a crush on him.”

“That was before I knew he was a total jerk.”

“What matters is that you gave him a chance. Why not give Duncan one? I've seen the way you look at him.” Courtney gave her look, signaling her to quiet down in front of everyone else occupying the halls. Bridgette smiled triumphantly and shrugged her shoulders matter-of-factly, finally getting through to Courtney.

"See? I'm never wrong." Bridgette walked off presumably to find Geoff. "I'll pick you up at two."

"I didn't say yes!"

"Love you, too!"

***

Courtney could deal with sweaty teenagers in a crowded setting. She could deal with speakers blaring in her ears. But, she couldn't stand to see Bradley's face across the room before running to Bridgette.

"Why is Bradley here?!"

"I don't know! I know for a fact Geoff didn't invite him. He was the only person off limits."

She knew she'd have to spend the better half of her day avoiding Bradley.

Courtney stood in front of the bathroom mirror of the beach house, washing her hands and reapplying her lip balm. For one thing, she had to hide from the guy she wasted a month of her life on. On the other hand, she couldn't find him. Not that she cared. Oh, no, no, no. Not Courtney. She didn't come to this outing hoping she'd find him. And she would never admit that even to herself.

When she exited the washroom, she bumped into a brown-haired, blue polo-wearing dudebro practically standing in front of the door.

"Hey, Courtney. You know you can't avoid me forever."

"It doesn't hurt to try."

"Listen, I just wanted to talk."

"In order for that to happen, there'd have to be something to talk about."

"Well, there is. I want to start all over. You and me. I've got drafts coming up for university football. Having a girl on my arm would help with my image and, well, I figured you could benefit changing that uptight, boring image everyone has on you."

Courtney scoffed, feigning interest. "Wow. While that sounds incredibly tempting-" Courtney started off with sarcasm.

Bradley wasn't the most receptive to rejection, but still persisted. "I knew you'd see it my way. It would help the both of us."

Courtney rolled her eyes at his insistent need to cut her off at every chance she had to speak. Her eyes diverted from his and her eyes gravitated to the neon green hair she spotted across the room. He hadn't noticed her stare, but seeing him made a sense calm take over her mind.

"...I'm gonna have to pass. Don't come up to me again wasting my time. I don’t need to associate myself with an asshole like you."

She finally felt like he would leave her alone for the remainder of senior year after letting him hear it. Courtney knew that wasn't the answer he wanted from his displeased layer of expression on his face. She held her hand out with a smile.

"Pleasure doing business with you." He begrudgingly shook her hand to save face from possible onlookers.

***

Duncan, Geoff, and DJ were all engrossed in conversation when Duncan's attention rerouted in Courtney's direction. DJ's voice faded slowly out of the forefront. "...All I'm saying is if dude didn't want his underwear up the flagpole, he should stop leaving it around the locker room!"

"What is he doing here?" Duncan was covertly protective over Courtney in the aspect of terrible ex-boyfriends. His reaction to seeing her shake hands with him made Geoff and DJ turn in that direction.

"I don't know, man. I swear I didn't invite that joke. It seems like they're making up, so that's good." The can Duncan held warped in shape as his grip tightened.

It was no secret how Duncan felt about Bradley. He had to spend two months convincing people that pantsing him, throwing eggs at his car and TP'ing his house were all in the name of fun and not some way of avenging Courtney.

He didn't mean to avoid her after the fact, but it made controlling his emotions easier.

***

Courtney, fresh off of telling Bradley off, finally felt she was able to enjoy herself for the day. As the day transitioned into a darker, breezy evening, her introverted nature dwindled as she allowed herself to let go. Catching up with acquaintances from various classes, taking in the ocean views, and the overall atmosphere made her feel recharged in a rare feat. Still, it was hard to find Duncan while sticking to Bridgette's side. She'd hate to verbally admit she missed trading meaningless quips with him, and it was out of the ordinary for them to be in the same setting without exchanging any words. She separated from her friend when she wandered around several spaces of the house. Then, she heard him.

He was projecting his conversation loud enough for onlookers to hear what he said. "It's actually sad how many times and ways I had to reject that girl. Even today I had to tell her to stay away from me. I mean, why would I want to associate with her?" A few laughs could be heard from the same acquaintances she caught up with at his declarations of rejection all created by him.

Duncan decided he'd heard enough and approached him. "You better watch you say around here. Courtney's not around to defend herself, and I'm known for not using my words to solve problems."

"Oh? Is that bitch your piece of ass for the week?" Bradley immediately felt threatened at how much Duncan was fuming at him. Duncan swung a fist, but he moved out of the way quick enough to dodge the attack.

Geoff immediately came between the two of them to settle the tension. "Just get out of here, dude."

***

She heard every word of it. She didn't want to defend herself for once. Her mind just kept repeating to itself. You need to get out. She sat on the sand with her knees pulled to her chest. Courtney felt Duncan sit next to her without a greeting. She still spoke lowly to fill the silence between them. "What gives him the right to think he can do and say whatever he pleases like that?!"

"You're right. Let me let him have it, Princess."

"No, it's not worth it. He's not, at the very least. And you need to stop getting into trouble all the time."

At the time, Duncan's need for revenge couldn't be subdued. He'd let it go for now, but his mind wouldn't rest until he felt justice was served on that rich, entitled fuck. "It's not like anyone cares if I do. Everyone just wants to police me-"

"I do." She immediately retreated to the ocean's view after she blurted those two words out pretty angrily.

A silent moment passed between the two of them. His brain felt like mush hearing that and seeing the bright reflection of the moon on her skin. All of his previous thoughts were clouded leaving one subject clear. He quietly said the first thing that came to his mind. "You look beautiful."

Courtney had gotten used to Duncan calling her nicknames. They were mostly delivered backhanded in response to her insults. This time it was unprovoked. It blurred the lines between real and fake. She decided not to respond and change the subject instead. She crossed her arms in defense of the drop in temperature. "I want nothing more than to leave this stupid place."

"Here." He said as he peeled the t-shirt off his back. Courtney truly didn't mean to stare as the fabric became less and less attached to his torso. He handed it to her after noticing she shivered when the wind picked up speed. She looked away quicker than she wanted him to notice.

"As if I need another reason for people to look at me weirdly."

He knew she just reacted the way they're expected to treat each other, but it still upset him for reasons he couldn't decipher fast enough. She immediately noticed his face fall, instantly regretting her delivery. "I didn't really mean that. Thank you." She smoothed out the wrinkles after letting the shirt fall over her body.

He couldn't stay mad at her for long, especially when her regret was so apparent on her face. Duncan considered the embarrassment she faced, and figured she was trying to regain some normalcy in their relationship. "Don't worry about it. Let me take you home."

Courtney didn't object, following him through the sandy plains to his car. After finding a tank top in the trunk, he slipped it over his upper half. Duncan opened the door on the passenger side for Courtney to enter. Moments that didn't include bickering scared Courtney. it was an occurrence that gave her mind the opportunity to wonder what a prolonged version of this happenstance would result in. Her feelings floating to the surface of her deeply buried psyche.

***

He didn't mean to drive in radio silence, but Duncan was more nervous than he'd like to admit. He almost ran a red light when he noticed the newly-acquired tan the sun gave her soft, warm skin as she crossed her legs in the passenger seat. He slammed on the brakes just in time, still startling her. "Duncan! I didn't accept your offer with the expectation of dying in your car!" It wasn't the greatest question, but he was relieved she opened a window of conversation to flow between them.

"What was your expectation, then, Princess?"

"Delinquent-proof driving!"

"You know it wouldn't kill you to be...nice?"

"And ruin the amazing dynamic of our relationship? I wouldn't dare!"

"I don't want anything to be 'ruined' either. Nothing will stop me from annoying you, no matter what happens between us."

Courtney relinquished in relief. She then remembered the very moment her fear took over. Acknowledging it meant accepting the affect his words had on her. Accepting those indulgent stares and rare, shared smiles. Despite her fears, she asked. "If you don't want anything to change, why did you call me beautiful the way you did?"

Surprised by the indicative effect of his words, Duncan responded as if the answer were so obvious, still attentive to the road ahead of him. "Because you are...? Nothing's gonna change because of that. I've always thought you were. I'll stop if you want me to."

Courtney felt her heart triple in size when she boldly responded, letting herself say whatever her heart told her to. "Don't... stop?" She stammered, even changed the pace of her words as she fought off her nervousness. "I... don't want you to stop."

"Okay, beautiful." Courtney's chest radiated with warm waves as she looked out the window. She looked in the opposite direction and noticed one of his hands resting in the space between their seats. Her mind and heart wrestled back and forth between doing what truly called to her. To shut them up, she turned her attention to the road ahead. And, like some gravitational pull, her hand made it's way toward his free one. A swipe of the back of each other's hands was enough to: burn beneath the surface of their skin; Duncan immediately caught on to her intentions. He tried to stay focused on the road as they fumbled, palm to palm, and slowly interlocked their fingers with the other's one-by-one. The silence after realizing how perfectly they fit was easy, comfortable, yet deafening.

At a red light, Duncan used the hand on the steering wheel to turn the radio to any random station he saved. Neither of them knew the song, but wouldn't forget any lyric of it after this.

You can't stop us on the road to freedom

You can't stop us 'cause our eyes can see

Men with insight, men in granite

Knights in armor intent on chivalry

She's as sweet as Tupelo honey

She's an angel of the first degree

***

When he pulled up to her street and their hands pulled apart, Courtney felt hollow. Duncan's mind conjured ways to make the moment last longer. "I'll walk you to your door." Courtney didn't object once more, smiling at his reciprocated persistence.

"Okay." The path, while short and forward in leading them to the door, gave them time before the eventual goodbye they dreaded. Courtney fumbled with her keys hoping to buy more time. Fleeting, fickle, borrowed time for a moment they used to curse themselves for dreaming of. He initiated.

"So... see you on Monday?"

"Of course. Um...thanks. For everything."

"It's no problem, Courtney. Goodnight." He leaned in and Courtney's breathing wavered. Duncan gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Courtney's hand rose to her face in an attempt to calm the burning sensation he left. This would suffice for what he really wanted to do. If he was right about the impact he assumed he had, he was doing the right thing for now.

Courtney hated to see him walk further from her and toward the car. In some entranced state, her hand grabbed his wrist, pulling him in closer.

Maybe she leaned in the wrong way; she over-estimated the distance between them as their noses collided with each other's causing them to both groan in pain. Her ache quickly shifted to embarrassment as she hastily spilled out her rambled apologies. "I'm so-so sorry! Oh my God. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

Her rambling ceased when Duncan pulled her in once again, his lips crashing onto hers with a yearning force. Her lips quickly overlapped his as his fingers tangled themselves in her hair, her arms linking around his neck. They parted for air but remained still with their hands attached to the other.

He'd never done something so worth it, unaware of the events to come.

#duncney #td duncan #td courtney #duncney fanfic

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proudlylost · 3 years

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My 6+1 favorite SPN fics: AU

After the SPN finale I kinda got sucked back into the fandom. The excessive amount of fanfiction reading ensued (I re-read all of my SPN fic favorites and then some) and I realised I have actually read quite a lot of them. So I thought I could share them, to highlight all the talented authors there is and also to gather all of my favorites into the one place. This post contain my favorite AU fics, the SPN universe edition of this fic rec can be found here.

Ninety One Whiskey by komodobits

“In the spring of 1944, the 104th Medical Battalion of the United States Army is disbanded, and its men reassigned to various infantry companies in preparation for their invasion of occupied France. For First Lieutenant Novak, this is less than helpful, as he has so far met his platoon’s designated medic a grand total of twice, and has both times found Sergeant Winchester to be the optimum combination of reckless, arrogant, and downright insufferable so as to make cohesive platoon function near impossible. When the time comes to move out, however, Castiel has to reconcile himself to the fact that men are going to go down and trust that Dean Winchester may well be the only person who can put them back together again. WW2 ETO infantry AU. “

READ! THIS! Well, there is some really disturbing war related and time period related stuff, but if you can stomach that, read it! Along with the Angel’s Wild, this is my favorite fanfiction. This fic is heart wrenching and so, so good.The characterization is on point. Historical accuracy is on point. Slow burn is on point. Everything is just perfect. However, as I said, this fic is heavy stuff. There is some serious angst (I cried. I almost never cry when reading) and trauma. But there is glimmers of hope, even if sometimes it feels hopeless. Expected recovery time: at least two weeks. Word Count: 401,183. Explicit

Angel’s wild by LimonadeGaby and riseofthefallenone

“But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.”

This was first longer fic that I read from Supernatural fandom and I fell in love. So this is “the fic that got me into the fandom” but I have read it multiple times since and it is still very, very good. I love everything about this fic. It is very original and the lore is amazing. I love how Dean and Cas are both quite young (in Cas’s case, relatively speaking) and how their love develops (slow burn! <3) I love how Cas is described and I love how he communicates (unintentionally) with flowers. You can also read this without having any knowledge of supernatural series (like I did) which is always impressive for a fic. Wor count: 389, 271. Explicit

For All You Young Hockey Players Out There, Pay Attention by thursdaysfallenangel

“Dean Winchester knows two things about hockey, two things his dad made sure he knew. One, hockey is a guy’s sport, and two, hockey is family. Hockey meant Sam and Bobby and Benny and Victor and Gabriel and hell, his entire team. So when Victor gets traded, Russian-star-turned-new-teammate Castiel Krushnic becomes a threat. As much as Dean hates him for that, the longer he sticks around, the more he begins to threaten that first rule too. Dean’s been taught his whole life that those who play hockey should not be captivated by deep accented voices and the way a guy handles his stick, so how the hell is he supposed to justify what he’s starting to think about Cas? All Dean wanted at the beginning of the season was to win, and now all he wants to do is figure out how he feels about Cas and how to deal with it without ruining his career and tearing his family apart. “

Ah, three of my absolute favourite things smashed into the same fic: sports, slow burn and enemies to lovers. This fic has lots of cameos from supernatural characters, because hockey teams require lots of players. So it is easy to spot your favorite character in this fic. This fic is probably one of may favorites, because of the sport environment (Outside the fandom, I have been super into sports. Like so much I have several national championships medals from my sport. Anyway, not a point here): also the sexual tension between Dean and Cas is so good, especially when they are pumped with the adrenaline. You don’t really need to understand sports to enjoy this fic, though. Word count: 143,592. Explicit

Formula Won by cardinalwrites

“Of all the places Castiel Novak thought he would take in his career, an internship as a Formula One Paddock Correspondent (or journalist, for short) was most definitely not one of them for a few reasons. One: He had no clue what the hell Formula One was. Two: He knew nothing about sports in general. And Three: He should not fall in love with the people he’s supposed to be asking hard-hitting questions to, least of all the head driver of one of the oldest and most well-renowned teams in the sport’s history.

This is a love story told around the world through the eyes of the person that knows the least about where he has found himself in. Come follow a 20-race season finding love in the lost, learning the truth, and figuring out what the hell Formula One is along the way.”

Another sports fic with a slow burn. This is probably not everyone’s cup of tea, because there is quite a lot information about formula one, and the reading experience is more enjoyable if already know about formulas/do your research. Don’t let it stop you though, because this fic is very good. The friendship between Dean and Cas is very natural, and later the romance as well. The plot is very engaging and the drama inside the formula one organization is so good. This fic is also not so “heavy” as the other ones in my list (of course, there are problems along the way, but even the fic’s tags say there will be fluff). The rating is T, which is kinda surprising, because I did not notice it until I already had read the whole fic. Word count: 123,777. Teen

Have Love, Will Travel by squeemonster

Castiel Novak is a reclusive writer with a childhood so tragic it's left him terrified to leave his home—until his overbearing brother, Gabriel, drags him out for a night on the town full of booze and strip clubs, and he encounters Dean Winchester, a mesmerizing and mysterious stripper with secrets of his own. Both men find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other, and soon Dean's private dances for Castiel become much more, as both men confess their troubles and find solace in each other's company. But neither can seem to find the courage to take their relationship further than the intimacy of the club's VIP Room—and just when Dean's own brother gives him the excuse he needs to finally admit his feelings, Dean discovers something that brings it all crumbling down. Will they find a way past their demons and their trust issues, and back to each other?

This is one of the fandom classics and quite rightfully so. Both Dean and Cas have issues, in other words: what’s new? The sexual chemistry between them was so good and well written, but there is also angst and mental health issues (mostly Cas). Sam is quite young in this fic, but manages to be very much a little brother. I honestly loved this fic when I was a bit younger, but I think it is still very good and deserves its place in this list. Word count 94,054. Explicit

Pick It All Up by thepinupchemist

Army veteran Castiel Novak is a wreck after his tour in Afghanistan, brought home to his brother's apartment in Lawrence, Kansas with scars both mental and physical. He copes poorly, and during one night of bad decision making, meets somebody just as much of a disaster as he is -- a prostitute named Dean Winchester. And suddenly, two damaged men might not be as irreparable as they believed.

Ah, it seems that I’m incapable of picking nice, fluffy, happy fanfics. This certainly is not one of them. There is full warnings in the tags, because there is some triggering stuff: PTSD, mentions of past abuse, alcoholism etc. But, this is also very healing story in its own way (It has happy ending. I guess I can spoil that because it reads in the tags) . I avoided this fic for a long time, because the prostitute!Dean tag scared me away, but this was so worth of reading (as I said, happy ending)! Gabriel is super supportive and sweet brother and Dean and Cas are dysfunctional but they work so well despite all the trauma they have endured. Word count: 126,611. Explicit

Bonus: Twist and Shout by gabriel and standbyme

What begins as a transforming love between Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak in the summer of 1965 quickly derails into something far more tumultuous when Dean is drafted in the Vietnam War. Though the two both voice their relationship is one where saying goodbye is never a real truth, their story becomes fraught with the tragedy of circumstance. In an era where homosexuality was especially vulnerable, Twist and Shout is the story of the love transcending time, returning over and over in its many forms, as faithful as the sea.

Well, I don’t think this fic needs any introductions. This is the fic, the most popular in SPN fandom and one of the most popular ones in the whole ao3. I thought that I could read this, because I don’t generally have many triggers, despite all the warnings. I was a wreck during reading. And I have managed to read it once and I can’t make myself read it again. But it is good and amazingly written. This fic plucks every emotion out of you and does anything it pleases with them. You have been warned. Word count: 97,556. Explicit

(When I wrote this fic rec I also realised I have a serious problem with long fics. Like, most of my favorites are at least 100,000 words. At this point I think I don’t even consider a fic to be slow burn, unless it takes several days to complete the fic. Oops)

#supernatural fic rec #destiel fic rec #supernatural fanfiction #destiel fanfiction #destiel slow burn #supernatural #destiel

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ffwriteradvisor · 4 years

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Rewriting Old Stories

Rewrites are harder than people give them credit for. You can’t just go back and correct the grammatical errors and misspellings and call it a ‘rewrite’ - at best, it’s a second-draft.

Speaking as someone who’s tried to rewrite my most popular fic on three to four separate occasions to varying degrees of failure (I’m working on a fifth now with higher hopes), a rewrite is a lot more involved than that.

The thing to remember when you start a rewrite is that you’re simultaneously working with a story you’re more than likely both embarrassed about and nostalgic for on some level. Yes, it might be showing its age or your inexperience at the time of writing it, but you can also remember how fun it was to write and share it back in the day. Part of you knows you can do better now - if not on a creative level, a technical one at least - but another part wants to leave it as is, either because you want to move onto new things or because you don’t know if you can ‘fix’ it and don’t want to risk messing around on your own ‘sacred ground’.

So that’s the first thing that you need to ask yourself before setting out on a Rewrite - do you actually want to rewrite this story?

If the answer to that question is ‘yes’, then keep reading.

There are a couple different ways to approach the Rewrite.

1) ‘Oh god, burn it and pull something salvageable out of the wreckage’ is probably the wrong way to do it. That’s not to say you can’t pull good ideas from your earlier fics and use them somewhere else, but you should go into it with an open mind rather than treating your old story as an enemy to be defeated and looted of their valuables.

2) A better way to approach it is as a tune-up. This can run from ignoring the bulk of the content and focusing on tightening up the gears (though this is pretty much a second-draft rather than a proper rewrite unless there’s a lot of tightening up to do) to dismantling the whole thing so you can eliminate the plot holes, improve the character arcs and interactions, and get rid of anything that just didn’t work the first time around.

Or if you’re feeling particularly ambitious...

3) You can approach it as an opportunity to make your story a ‘wider universe’. This is a combination of points 1 and 2 - not only are you dismantling the original, you’re throwing in a lot of loose parts from other stories you’ve abandoned along the way, meaning that the end product is going to be even bigger and more complicated than anything would be on its lonesome.

I’ve been working with option 3 recently, trying to construct a gestalt story out of my large collection of One Piece OCs and the half-dozen started and abandoned fic ideas I’ve had for that fandom over the years. I can speak from my personal experience that this is very difficult. You’re snipping and twisting plot threads together and trying to find natural feeling connection points between what started as completely unrelated projects.

Once you settle on how extensive you intend for this project to be, then you can move onto the next set of questions.

First - what do you want from this story?

Do you want to fix the problems you didn’t see occurring as the result of your OCs butterflying away the canon plot the first time around? Do you want to make an AU of your original story that goes in a different story direction at Chapter 10 compared to where you went the first time around? Do you want to aim for a different vibe entirely than what ended up on the page the first time around?

You can answer yes to any or all of those questions. You can even ask completely different ones. All that matters is that you figure out what you’re aiming for here.

Second - are you ready to re-read it?

Because you’re going to have to. Maybe even multiple times, so get ready to smother your initial cringe reaction to the writing of 2013!you. It might be ‘sacred ground’ on some level, but you are also crawling into the Wayback Machine just for the explicit purpose of looking at a period in your life you moved past for a reason.

There's going to be weird figures of speech, bad grammar that even your initial proof-reading attempts might have missed, questionable takes, and a lot of things that got knocked out of your system as you gained more experience as both a writer, fandom participant, and all around person. Skip over the superficial stuff for now - you will have to go back later and see if there's any more specific stuff that you can and should work with - and just stick with the meat and bones of what happened in the story.

Third - Take notes. For the love of god, take notes.

Make sure those notes are extensive - they should cover every change you made to the canon, every major (and most of the minor) plot points involved in your story, every gimmick that showed up (ghosts, dramatic reveals, surprise developments), and then some. Anything that sticks out to you as something even mildly important, you should make note of.

This will save you the trouble of constantly re-reading the original after your first few goes through.

Then, take those notes and boil them down. Was this thing that was brought up a thread that wove into the greater tapestry of the story or was 2013!you throwing shit at the wall just to see if it would stick, only to forget all about it by the time the next chapter rolled around? Does that other choice work with what you know of the universe now and, if not, do you want to change the thing to work with the setting, the setting to work with the thing, or just do away with the thing altogether? Do these relatively small things that were thrown out at random have enough common ground for you to string them together into an overarching theme?

Fourth - start plotting.

A lot of the problems I’ve run into writing fic is a lack of forward thinking. I didn’t plan ahead, I didn’t try to analyze the direction of the plot was developing in, I didn’t go into the project with any goals or expectations...

Those are mistakes you should try to avoid making.

Plotting ahead can help a lot with avoiding these and can help you develop new ideas - a character who goes through a series of dramatic events in a short period of time is prime for an angst episode that you might not have written in the first time around, or the gradual revelation of things a character shouldn’t rightly have knowledge of might make a big reveal about them being an outside context problem for the setting a lot more understandable - after all, what’s the point of an answer to a question nobody was asking?

Try to make a rough timeline of events. This doesn’t have to line up with a canon-timeline, but it can be helpful if your story intersects with canon events or characters at any point.

Even stuff that you don’t have a hard date or place in the plot for can be useful here - just keep it floating until you find a place where it slots in well between what the characters need to be capable of and where the rest of the plot is tonally.

You don’t have to adhere strictly to the first plotline you come up with - writing is as much an art of discovery as it is planning - but it’s always good to have on to start with.

My best three pieces of advice for doing a rewrite?

1) Take your time. A lot of the problems with your first story, besides inexperience, can be rooted with being in a rush. A rush to keep the updates coming, a rush to get to 'the good stuff', a rush to fit in writing with the rest of your life schedule. This time, give everything time. Time to research, time to bounce ideas off of friends, time to think about the implications of what a character doing XYZ would actually mean, time to check over your work for any holes you didn't catch while writing it. You're working with fanfiction, a land where deadlines almost never exist unless you set them yourself. Take advantage of that. 2) Never make it a straight retread 'but edgier/meme-ier/whatever-ier this time'. If you want to shift the genre, you have to put effort into changing the nature of the story in a way that feel natural to it. Your audience 'knows' the characters by now and will be thrown off by a new version that barely resembles the old that's somehow still running through the same story you told before. 3) Give your old audience something new to chew on.

This ties back into the second point a bit, but seriously; make sure that something new happens in the story. Had a lull period in your first go because there was a similar time-gap in the original series? Fill it with something - a new enemy, a casual event to unwind and connect your characters better, even a 'what's happening elsewhere' snippet. Had a character with a vague backstory? See if there's a 'natural' place to slot them in with the canon - depending on what fandom you're working with, that could run anywhere from specific locations and scenarios to just fitting with a larger running theme in other character's backstories.

You don't have to make a masterpiece, but there are going to be blank spaces in the canvas of your original telling where there's room to make more. A new audience might not realize there was nothing there the first time around, but your old audience will see the new content and appreciate it. You don't have to do anything big - sometimes changing too much will break the spirit of it being a 'rewrite' entirely - but try to keep it fresh, even if that's just filling in holes that nobody noticed in your original go. Anyway, good luck with your writing, regardless of if that writing is a rewrite or more original stuff.

#rewrites #writing #plotting #fanfic #fanfiction #this is a partial repost from a writing forum I hang out on a lot so there's a small chance that someone might recognize it #and if you do you should know that this was one of the essays that encouraged me to make this blog in the first place

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fatathlon · 4 years

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IRONMAN 70.3 Indian Wells – La Quinta – Race Recap

* A video version of this race recap can be found on my YouTube channel here.

A triathlon is a game of contradiction.

You spend hours, weeks, months training for something that lasts moments of your life. Improve at one sport by mastering three. Train slower to race faster. Race slower to race faster. Do it alone, surrounded by people. Never see a finish line as the end.

One of the most challenging contradictions is the trap of identity. To do well, you have to immerse yourself in training for long periods of time. It can become you; consume you. And then what is objectively a meaningless act of physical exertion assumes a station in your life that it never deserved. And you are left with nothing but finish times and medals, to gather dust because nobody cares.

I thought about these contradictions a lot during my training for my first Ironman 70.3 race in Indian Wells – La Quinta California. It seemed fitting in this vein of contradiction that I would train in the cold and snow in order to race in the warm desert. I hoped that by recognizing the contradictions inherent in what I was doing, I could avoid that most challenging trap, and come away with an experience, rather than just another race.

After Musselman in July, I took a break for a few weeks, and then started training again. I had a few minor injuries, which were challenging, but for the most part my training was consistent. I did some bike fitting and got a set of aerobars on my bike. Winter arrived early in Vermont; we had snow on the ground before Thanksgiving. So most of my riding was indoors. I ran outside as much as I could. And weather doesn’t matter in the pool, of course.

Swimming was a major area of focus for me this fall. I got a second swim analysis and really worked on my technique. I was able to take another ten seconds off my 100-yard time, and by December I was swimming faster on average than I ever had.

I had also been trying to eat smarter, both to be healthier and to drop extra weight. With the help of a friend, I definitely had some success here, though it added some stress to our family routine. Kids like what they like.

I was a little concerned about flying my bike to California, because I had only done it once before and I didn’t have to assemble it myself when I arrived that time. So I broke it down and packed it up at the bike shop so I could get guidance with questions that I had and hands-on help from Darren, my friend who owns Vermont Bicycle Shop. I felt a lot more confident once it was all ready to go.

The flights were pretty uneventful, and we made it to San Diego in one piece — including my bike. One of the first things I did was put it back together; I wanted to make sure I would have enough time to solve any problems that came up. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be any and the assembly went pretty smoothly.

The Catamount, my custom Orbea Terra, ready to ride

We spent a few days with my brother’s family in San Diego, hiking at Torrey Pines and playing on the beach. It was a nice way to get acclimated to the environment. It wasn’t as warm as I thought it would be, but it definitely was a lot warmer than Vermont. Locals on the beach were dressed in winter coats and hats, but our girls thought it was the perfect weather for swimming in the Pacific.

Before long it was time to drive to Indian Wells. The amazing scenery on that drive took us all by surprise. We stopped for a moment but the day before the race was very busy so there wasn’t a lot of time for sight-seeing.

After getting the family settled at the hotel, I had my first Ironman athlete check-in experience and got to see the pro panel, which included the eventual race winners Lionel Sanders and Paula Findlay. I checked my run gear in to T2, a little overwhelmed by the enormity of the transition area. Then it was time for a half-hour drive to the swim start and T1, to see the swim course, check in my bike and decontaminate my wetsuit before hanging it on the racks where it would stay until race morning. I made sure to mark it well so I wouldn’t have any trouble finding it.

My day would have gone quite differently if it hadn’t been for my teammate Lacy. She and her husband gave me a lift to the shuttle buses, which was already a great help by itself, but when she mentioned her water bottles I realized I had forgotten something at the hotel. Specifically, all of my hydration. It was still sitting in my refrigerator. They drove me back so I could retrieve them and I was so grateful. Luckily we were up early enough that it didn’t affect our day — we got on a bus with no waiting and were off to the start area.

I knew the water would be cold. The reported temperature that morning was just under 59 degrees. There was no warm-up swim. We stood in line at the rolling start for a long time before finally getting into the water. And then, finally, after everything, I was racing.

The first one or two hundred meters were tough. I was hyperventilating from the shock of the water temperature and struggling to relax and find my rhythm. I expected that, but it didn’t make it any easier. Finally I settled in, though, and found my zone. It was clear pretty quickly that I should have seeded myself further forward; nobody around me was actually swimming at the pace they lined up for. I was crawling over people all the way. My goggles half-filled with water but I ignored it since I could still see. When I finally crawled out of the lake, I had a personal best time of 34 minutes. By my watch, I had swum ten seconds per 100 yards faster than my first 70.3 in July.

As I mounted my bike, I readied myself mentally to face the biggest contradiction of the day. I had programmed the wattage target my coach and I agreed on into my bike computer, and I was going to stick to that number like superglue. The paradox of my plan was that the number was low. It was lower than I had expected. It was lower than it was at my first 70.3, and it was low relative to my power profile. It was so low that it meant I’d be doing what amounted to a zone 2 ride for the entirety of the bike leg.

The plan was predicated on the knowledge that the course was pancake flat, and that triathlons succeed or fail on the run. We would conserve energy on the bike, allowing my inertia to do most of the work, and hopefully get off the bike with enough in the tank to really drop the hammer.

So what the bike ended up being was a test of patience, rather than fitness. My heart rate stayed low, peaking only at the very start during the excitement of transition and climbing a tiny hill out of transition. I spent a lot of the time focused on avoiding drafting as much as I could, but it was pretty difficult considering that the roads were absolutely packed with riders. That forced me to surge occasionally, but it was okay because the course was so flat.

The first 20 miles flew by so fast that I was actually surprised when I saw the mile marker sign. At 30 miles I felt no worse; very comfortable and just cruising along. It was a strong contrast to my last race, where the 30 mile marker saw me doing pretty solid work. I began to get excited about the paradoxical plan as evidence in its favor continued to build. That naturally inclined me to want to push harder, but I redoubled my efforts to stay focused and in my target zone.

The highlight of the bike course by far was the Thermal Raceway, which is a private racetrack for cars that we got to ride around on. My watts went up on that section for sure, but it was a match that was worth burning. It’s a unique experience to ride your bike around a banked track with perfect pavement, designed for million dollar super cars. I had a lot of fun there.

The rest of the course was technically uphill but the gradient was so gradual, I barely noticed. I rode into T2 just 2 watts over my target. My family was cheering at the dismount line, which was a nice boost going into the start of my run.

After racking my bike and strapping on my running shoes, I started out on the final leg, to see if the contradictions would be resolved. Here I was, running in the heat and sun after training for months in the cold and snow. Here I was, having biked slowly on purpose to see if I could do a faster race. And here I was, after weeks of training at a jog, pushing my legs to go fast, and stay fast.

I have always run fast out of transition, because it takes a mile or two before my legs really feel normal and I can tell how my body is actually doing. At my first 70.3, I slowed that pace after the first aid station, feeling that I would have to conserve energy to make it through the run without shutting down. This day, though, I felt strong. I felt no such impending decline. I felt like I could hold the pace. So I didn’t slow down.

The run followed asphalt roads for a couple of miles before turning off onto a golf course, where it tracked around the greens on a winding, undulating path that was a mix of concrete, dirt and grass. There were no long straightaways, no places to hide from the course. It was highly dynamic and constantly changing.

A conclusion I had drawn from my first 70.3 was that I had been underfueled. This time, I ate and drank everything I could get my hands on during the run. I think I probably ate two or three whole bananas, a half at a time, plus several gels and all the coke, gatorade and red bull I could grab. I didn’t slow down during the aid stations; I didn’t want to lose my inertia. At one point I took a cup of ice, dumped it in my hat and packed it onto my head. The contrasts had never been more stark — at home I had been wearing winter hats to keep the snow off my head; today, I was deliberately packing ice onto my scalp.

It was a two-lap course which meant that I had to run agonizingly close to the finish line at around mile seven, only to have to turn around and do the entire thing one more time. Now I knew what to expect, though, and I knew where to push and where I could relax. Now all I had to do was hold my pace.

When the second lap of the course started to beat me, I focused on my family, waiting for me at the finish, and steeled myself in the resolve to make this all worth it. What was the point of asking so much of them, to support my training, to spend an entire day of our vacation standing around, if I didn’t make it worth it? I wasn’t going to slow down for anything.

The last couple of miles were hard and my pace started to slip a little bit, but I was still moving faster than I had ever really expected. I found my family just before the finish line, gave everybody high-fives, and then took it over the line. It was a personal best by a long margin, with personal records in every part of the race. I almost couldn’t believe it, but there it was.

If there’s one thing I learned from this race experience, it’s that you can’t always see contradictions as obstacles. Sometimes, they are puzzle pieces in a larger pattern that you can’t fully recognize until you’ve put it all together. You can’t always resist the things that don’t make sense; sometimes, you have to lean into them, make them part of your plan and see them through to the end. And that’s when you can find clarity.

We closed out our trip with a drive through Joshua Tree National Park, marveling at the natural beauty of the desert before boarding our plane to fly back into winter. With California behind us, it was time to look forward to a new year, and new contradictions.

Watch the video version of this race recap:

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boldlygowriting · 4 years

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Book Review #1: Aurora Rising

Aurora Rising published in April of 2019 is the first book in the Aurora Cycle series by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff is a sci-fi adventure. The second book of the series is set to be published in 2020. Kristoff describes the book as a “Breakfast Club meets Guardians of the Galaxy YA sci-fi, action, adventure thing.”

Synopsis: The story starts with Aurora Academy Goldenboy, Tyler Jones, the day before the Draft. Since our best boy is well...best boy at this space-bound military academy, he gets first pick of his future space crew. Or he would’ve if he hadn’t gone out in space to calm his nerves and ended up rescuing a girl named Aurora who’s been cryogenically frozen for over 200 years.

Bestboy Jones misses the Draft and ends up with whoever is left over ie. the people no one wants. A space elf with anger management issues, a socially inept, trigger happy genius, and an alien techwiz with a physical disability who doesn’t know how to shut up--known as Kal, Zila and Finian respectively.

Bestboy Jones also has his twin sister, Scarlet, and his best friend, Cat, who definitely doesn’t have a crush on him. (Books words, not mine, okay). Who are also especially good at their respective jobs as diplomat and pilot.

Aurora sneaks aboard their ship during their first mission, murders and a cryptic message from the higher-ups set them up for a journey across the galaxy. The fate of Aurora and the rest of the worlds now in their quirky, all-to-capable hands.

A lot is going on with this book and this is my first book review in this format so bear with me.

The Pros

It’s fun. This book is really fun. Like watching Guardians of the Galaxy, you can have a good, pretty stress-free read of this book with little trouble. While reading this I found myself enjoying the adventure aspect of it, and I think they do it really well.

Easy to follow. The book is action-packed that’s more interested in what’s happening than explaining all of the confusing lore that some sci-fi and fantasy novels can fall into. It’s not bogged down by a lot of space jargon and takes the time to explain the parts that a reader wouldn’t immediately understand. I appreciated that it kept things simple.

Diversity*. Kristoff assured there would be diversity race-wise and in sexual orientation. Which is true. Aurora is half-Irish and half-Asian, Zila is black, and Finian has a physical disability and is either bisexual or pansexual (I’m not exactly sure. I mean, he is an alien so like I don’t know...look, all I know is I’m bi and black, I’ll take the representation where I can get it.).

The humor*. Think about it, 7 eighteen-year-olds stuck on a spaceship together. It’d be impossible for there not to be humor and banter between them. Not all the jokes land and there’s more than enough of nudging and winking in the prose, but there are definitely some chuckle-worthy moments. They also use humor really well when it comes to breaking up tense and heavy moments even if they don’t entirely land.

The romantic subplot. I can’t say who obviously, but they’re pretty cute together. It was cliche, but, I think that by the end it was genuinely sweet and I appreciated the way they went about it by the end. It’ll definitely be expanded on in the following books and that’s what I like the most because it really is a subplot and they’re taking their time with it like a realistic crush turn relationship.

There are some things genuinely done well in this book that made me almost enjoy it, but for every action, there’s an opposite action. Starting off the Cons is my biggest issue with this book.

The Cons

The characters. I’m sure you could tell by my cheeky synopsis, I’m not exactly a huge fan of all the characters. In fact, I downright hated one. (Despite calling Tyler Bestboy all the time, no, it was not him. I just wanted to clarify that).

I could honestly break down every character and talk about why I did or didn’t like them, but I think that’s getting too far into biased opinion. However, even for the ones I did like, they were still flawed...and not in the fun way.

The characters are a huge weak point, part of that reason is that they’re all pretty flat. Flat, in this case, doesn’t exactly mean boring. A flat character is one that stays relatively the same from the beginning of the book to the end, and all seven of the protagonists are pretty flat. Even if it’s the first book of the series, knowing there’s time to develop characters, all seven protagonists shouldn’t be relatively the same by the end.

There’s a lot of potential in most of them, but the time for their development is often rushed by and cut off by action. There are some real, genuine moments, but they mean very little in the overall scheme of things, especially when the team that’s supposed to be a group of misfits never feels like a group of misfits.

The team is played up as a group of outcasts (or half outcasts), but they never feel like it. Both those movies the author compared the book to have a moment where they genuinely bond. There’s no point where the squad bond as a group beyond a few shared chuckles in between intense moments.

The skirmishes and arguments between them don’t really go anywhere and no one’s feelings are genuinely hurt for longer than a few pages, so when they already work pretty well together, I barely noticed any changes in their dynamic. I hope in the future books the authors expand on the group dynamic and the characters themselves because they could be really interesting, if I’m honest.

Most of them had a glimmer of something, but a glimmer wasn’t enough to keep me from realizing they’re just semi-archetypal shells.

This is a side note: this book switches the POV between the seven characters, and honestly, you can’t really tell much of a difference between who’s speaking. If switching POVs is not your bag, I wouldn’t recommend this book for you.

The humor. You know, it’s not so much the humor itself that’s a problem. The humor itself s pretty juvenile, but they’re 18 years old and I have a filthy, sarcastic mind so if you can stand a million sex jokes you’ll be fine. If not then you’re probably not gonna laugh much. The problem with the humor comes in the writing. There’s a lot of ‘winking and nudging’ involved. Finian (alien/techwiz/ can’t shut up), delivers a good portion of the jokes and after he says something, either he, the narrator or another character will comment on it.

I once read when it comes to comedy, a joke isn’t funny if you have to draw attention to it. And if this is your kind of humor it is funny, but a lot of jokes aren’t allowed to stand on their own...making them, well, not funny.

The plot and pacing. I’m not going to write a whole lot about the plot, partially to avoid spoilers. Tthe more I think about this book, the more I realize it’s a straighforward space adventure. The plot is simple because the adventure is what matters, but the fast pace of the book, while engaging, doesn’t spend a lot of time on it. One thing happens, then the next thing happens, and so on.

At one point, I almost got the sense that quiet moments couldn’t last too long without another plot piece falling into place or something terrible would happen. The squad never flounders long despite how often they talk about how in over their head they are and how dangerous everything is.

That might be a whole other gripe, but oh well.

I said it was fun and it was easy to follow, but that’s probably because everything happens so quickly you aren’t allowed to think for very long.

The pacing and plot go hand-in-hand because one bowls over the other and you get what I call the ‘you can infere events.’

These are events that you can infere obviously. In this case, they acquire a lot of items without actually showing how. I’m all for getting to the good stuff, but slowing down to show some things could’ve been a chance to expand on things like worldbuilding and the characters.

The worldbuilding. We’re getting into the minor stuff now if I’m being honest, but it’s a sci-fi story so I felt I couldn’t not write about the worldbuilding, which is a little lackluster. I’m pretty sure one of the planets is a Valerian rip-off. (I know that was harsh).

Diversity. I debated talking about this too. I don’t know anything about the authors but I know readers say they’ve been inclusive in the past. I think they were here too, and maybe I’m spoiled or asking for too much, but I have to get some things off my chest.

First, Zila.

I went back and forth on this a lot, but she kind of suffers from Princess and the Frog syndrome. Essentially, she’s a POC or LGBTQ+ character who is put into the story, but they either a.) don’t matter too much to the story or b.) are basically invisible.

I went back and forth on this because Zila is quiet. She doesn’t speak a lot, she’s an observer. Sometimes I forgot she was in the book. I think having her be quiet and observant works in other character’s POV because no one really understands her. In her own POV it should be a different story.

They opened that door so I have to comment on it. The chapters in her POV are significantly shorter than every other character. If her thoughts aren’t necessary to the story, why have them in there? It felt like she was there because they needed another warm body to advance the plot. I hope in book 2 she gets more than what she got.

Second, the representation. Period.

Tyler, Scarlet and Cat are the three members of the squad that stick together because they have a close bond. They’re not the misfits in this group. They’re also all white and presumably heterosexual as of this book. Zila, Finian and Kal are the outcasts of the group. Having the black girl, non-heterosexual alien with a physical disability, and the space elf with anger managment issues be the weirdos that the golden trio are saddled with doesn’t exactly read well on paper (pun intended).

Third, queerbaiting?

Don’t get your hopes up, I didn’t add the question mark because I think this might change. I added it as a Disclaimer: I’m not the authority on all things rainbow and beyond. Very few things raise my hackles when it comes to media and represenation even though there’s a lot that probably should.

That being said, this might jimmy some people’s johns so I thought I might as well mention it.

We’ve all heard the “why don’t you two just kiss and get it over with line,” (yes, the book uses this line) and I’m kind of over it unless it actually ends in a relationship. Just a warning there kiss between two people of the same gender, and that line was directed at them but I can assure you it’s not going anywhere, it was a one off, and it wasn’t serious. After so much BS from other books, movies and TV shows, I know that’s enough to piss some people off, and if I mentioned Zila and the representation, I had to mention this.

That was weird. So much time is spent making sure you know how attractive every single main character is. Like...a lot. I was genuinely wondering if this would end with some kind of orgy thing. No matter what POV it’s in everyone was drop dead gorgeous with killer dimples and voices like melted chocolate and luxurious push-up bras.

Consensus:

I found this book on the 7th floor of my university library. Why they have a random YA space romp from 2019 up there, who knows? The important question is: Do I regret picking it up?

Well…No and yes.

Let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t shell out the $18.99 plus tax for it. (I’m a broke college student, okay? I get anxious spending $15)

Like I said, I had fun reading this. I laughed. It had me turning pages faster than Aurora can say “Holy cake!”However, this book isn’t clever and it doesn’t have a whole lot of heart, not all books do, but to be a space adventure with misfit characters...if you want to keep people engaged, maybe it should?

Everything is sacrificed for the execution of this quick-paced, adventurous romp. The worldbuilding and lore, the characters, the plot, everything. All of it was obliterated for something quick and momentarily entertaining.

If a quick, substanceless adventure is what you’re looking for (and there’s nothing wrong with that, not every book has to be a nail-biting, bloodbath), you’ll definitely find it in this book.

If you’re looking for a book that’s going to affect you and make you feel like you’re part of “the squad,” you should probably look elsewhere.

TLDR:

Pros:

It’s fun

Easy to follow

The humor*

The diversity*

The romantic subplot

Cons:

The characters

The plot and pacing

The worldbuilding

The humor*

The diversity*

Overall rating: 5.5/10.

#aurora rising #book review #bookblr #goodreads #ya novel review #diversity #character with a disability #woc in science #amie kaufman #jay kristoff

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itbe-jess · 4 years

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Bjorn Miller (test drafts)

For my Family Matters reboot.

It was 4:30 in the morning. A young lad awoken by his phone, with the Jackson Five's "The Love You Save" playing over the alarm. He grabbed the phone, and switched the alarm off. However, he didn't feel the strength to get up. He couldn't pushed the snooze, since he knew the alarm would go off eventually.

He had trouble sleeping last night, for he watched a stupid click-bait video titled "Top Ten Proof Of Ghost Existence That Will Leave You In Heebies-Jeebies All Month Long." He tapped the video, out of his own curiosity and boredom. After finishing the video, he was so scared, he sat up in bed, frozen in a single position for two hours, heart racing. The silence of the room made him imagine like he was hearing things. And a slight noise from outside his window made him jump. Then he accidentally broke his bed. ...again. After watching some comforting cute cat videos, he fell asleep at 3:00 am.

Now that he's awake, he's thinking of resting for a few minutes. Suddenly, his eyes shot open wide. Whenever he rests his eyes, he loses count of the minutes, and therefore falling into a deep snooze. Which means he will oversleep, and be late for school. And when he's late for school far too many times, it will affect his attendance, and probably his grade. No way he's gonna be held back twice!

"$@#&! Mama gonna be very upset if I don't graduate and earn a diploma! (Get your stubborn fatass up, boy!!)"

He threw himself off the bed, and made the room shake a little. Before getting ready, he put the coffee pot on. Then he brushed his teeth, washed his face, showered-- There's no time to shower! I'll do that tomorrow! He got dressed, packed his stuff, went over his belongings twice to make sure he didn't forget something, then drank his coffee straight out of the pot, with cream of course. For breakfast, he put a single piece of toast in his mouth. All ready, he went out the door. Unfortunately, while in a hurry, he broke the door away from its joints. He hurried back in a panic, then scrambled throughout the living room and kitchen for sticky notes. He wrote out a message, and stuck it onto the dislocated door before hurrying to school.

Ma, Will fix it again after school. Don't you dare go through the trouble of fixing it yourself! Your Baby, Bjorn.

Meet Bjorn Miller. Age 17. He's a 6'1 musclebound giant, widely thick in the middle, with a gut sticking out. His hair is a cross between a 90s' fade and an 80s' Jheri Curl. He's very strong, but quite clumsy because of it. He's gay, Jewish, and holds a case of anxiety that cannot be helped. He also battles with his own thoughts.

.................................

During lunch time, Laura was eating her lunch in one hand, and holding a history book in the other. She was multitasking, I guess. Bjorn slowly approached her. He stood next to the bench she was sitting next to. He wanted to get her attention, and hoped that she would start talking to him. He was too timid to start the convo himself. He tried coughing, but she didn't respond. He tried coughing louder, but Laura seemed to be more concerned about her studying.

Bjorn decided to get closer. He sat himself upon the bench, which broke down from his weight. He finally got her attention. Despite what just happened, all Laura asked was

"Hey, aren't you the top dog of scholastic wrestling?" "Yup. That's me." "Alright. I'm Laura Winslow! Nice to meet you!" "Bjorn Miller. That's me. Of course, you probably already knew my name, given the fact that, I am the strongest wrestler. ...of scholastic wrestling. The class where we wrestle for sport. (Reeeeeeeeeeal slick, 'top dog!')" "Actually, I didn't know your name." "Heh. That's an embarassment. ('That's an embarassment?!' That reply is an embarassment!)"

Then a long silence took place. Bjorn was expecting a conversation. If Laura doesn't say something, he might as well do it himself. But, with the wrong words, it might lead to the wrong results. He's worried about how she'll react. Lunch ends in 15 minutes, and judging how Laura had her nose buried in that book, she doesn't look like she'll be asking any questions soon.

"(BOY, you better say somethin', right now!) Soooo, that nerd, what's his name, has been following you around lately! Should I do something about it?" "Him? Oh, don't worry about him. ...unless he's coming at you with an accordion, or a jar full of roaches. That's just Steve. Steve Urkel. Everyone in school knows his name." "So he's popular?" "I would say infamous." "Wow. Hey, what's your relationship with said nerd? I mean, Steve Urkel. The way he follows you around, are you sure he ain't a boyfriend of some kind?" "No, I have better taste than that! He follows me around cuz he merely looks up to me as the twin sister he always wanted. His *Urkel voice impression* sibling from another crib-ling." "Oh man, that's a relief. ...TH-THANK God he's not some dirty little creep!" "Tell me about it. If he was in love with me, I'd have to beg my parents for a state transfer. Being friends with him is hard enough, but could you imagine, with someone of the likes of Steve Urkel, falling in love with you?" "That doesn't seem so baaaaaaaa- I mean, yeah! Just makes you wanna VOMIT!"

Laura hesitated for a moment. It made Bjorn a little uneasy.

"Why do I have the feeling you have a crush on Steve?" "WHAT?" "You pretty much gave it away at 'That doesn't seem so bad.' Plus, it looks to me you're obsessed." "That was a vocal typo! Those exist and that's what I call them! 'Obsessed?!' You straight girls think you know everything about gay dudes based on how we dress, talk, or look at other men! We are not your GBFs, we are not your shipping material, we are real people, dammit! Our reality is not your little pleasurable fantasy and okay you're absolutely right you got me. (BITCH!)" "Heh heh, c'mon, you shouldn't feel ashamed. We Winslows are accepting individuals. ...except for Eddie, just a little. ...and Grandma. "It's not the being gay part that concerned me, well okay by 1/2, it's who I'm hitting for. Have you seen him?" "Child, once you've seen an Urkel, you've seen them all. And I don't care who you have the hots for. Just as long as it's not Eddie." "Why?" "He's so homophobic, he won't even hug his male buddy in private. Despite that, he still pro-claims himself as an ally." "Does he ever refer to-" "Yup. 'The gays.'" "Yeeeeeeeesh. Well, thanks for this conversation! Remember not to tell anyone! You wouldn't break a tall muscle dude's promise now, would you?"

Bjorn was about to leave, but then Laura grabbed hold of his arm. Rather than stopping him, she got dragged along the ground. Taking notice, he stopped and helped her back up.

"Aren't we still discussing your personal issue?" "We are? Oh, we are! Sorry! I thought you had forgotten the subject after you brought up your brother! (Actually that was just an excuse to get away. I knew I would regret talking to you! Boy, am I lucky you can't read my thoughts. By the way, I hate that shirt.)" "If you love Steve, you love him! It doesn't even matter. Sure, he's annoying, weird, clumsy, socially inept, boney thin, laughs like this, 'Heeh heeh heeh heeh!! *Snort*', has bad taste in music, wears his pants too high-" "You sayin' you respect how I feel about Steve, yet it sounds to me you're trying to turn me off." "Sorry. What I meant to imply, my opinion, everyone else's opinion, should not affect yours. If that's how you feel about Steve, then don't deny it! (Plus, if you could get a date with him, we'd be so relived to have him off our backs.)" "That doesn't help me, but I appreciate the support." "Well, I'm technically not a shrink, so-"

Laura was then interrupted by a nasally, obnoxious, and familiar voice.

"LAURRRRRAAAAAAAAAA!"

It was Steve, bouncing his way over to his "sibling from another crib-ling," wrapped in measuring tape. Bjorn then panicked. The nerd was coming closer any second, and there's no where to hide. He just stood behind Laura, holding her lunch bag in front of his face. When Steve made it, he fell face flat on the floor. Laura helped untie him.

"Another invention gone wrong, eh Steve?" "Either my self-measuring measuring tape still has a few kinks to calibrate, or it just doesn't like me." "The second hunch is believable." "HEYYYYYYY!"

Even Bjorn himself was offended by Laura's statement. Suddenly, the bell rang. Laura grabbed her book and moved on to fourth period. Steve, being a helpful friend, grabbed his buddy's lunch, without noticing Bjorn standing there. The large man was left frozen in place. Him and Steve practically made eye contact, and he just ignored him like a stranger off the streets. Or maybe an inanimate objects. Steve loves to annoy strangers. Him and Laura didn't even finish their chat. Well, not like he wanted that chat in the first place. Bjorn began to hear static. He looked down at the measuring tape Steve left behind. The thing reactivated, then limped away on its own.

...............................

Bjorn was walking through the school hallways, carrying around a hall pass. Waldo came around, dragging an empty sack with him, which belonged to P.E. class. As Waldo spotted Bjorn, he greeted him with a "'Sup."

"Why are you dragging that empty sack?" "Well, have you ever tried to push one?" "I-" "Excuse me, I'm on my way to the cafeteria before the trash bins empty out."

Waldo then walked on with his sack, leaving Bjorn more puzzled. He would've asked more questions, but he knows how sensitive Waldo can be towards "personal topics," even if it is stupid. Suddenly, he heard banging from the inside of a locker. He then followed the sound.

"You alright in there? Look, if you just give me your combination, I could help free you! And, I know we've never had acquaintance with each other before ('ACQUAINTANCE!' everytime I try to say something fancy or smart, it only comes out sounding dumb!) and I really don't know who you are, but you can trust me on this! Your locker code will be safe with me! Hell, I forget easily! (Great, now I sound like a creep!)"

All Bjorn got in response was mumbling. It sounds like that person is being gagged. Maybe they're tied up in there, too! Bjorn just said "FUDGE IT," then ripped the locker door open in a second. To his surprise...

"Steve?!"

Of all the kids to rescue today, it happened to be that cute little nerd. His mouth was taped shut. Bjorn assisted his friend out, then removed the tape afterwards. Knowing his own strength, he tried to peel it off as gently as possible. However, even with the most littlest strength used, he still brought Steve into pain.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Calm down, little man! I was only trying to help! I only asked for your combination so I could save the school from property damage! Look!"

After screaming, Steve took out a crumbled up, now soggy, piece of paper from his mouth.

"No. Its not you. I think part of my lip teared off on that tape." "Don't worry, no part of your lip parted. Even if it did, I say you'd still look good. Uhhhhh, I mean that in a platonic statement." "Hmmmm. That's the first time I've ever been told I look good! Heeh heeh heeh, *Snort*" "(That laugh, oh my god! I just wanna &$#@in' hold you!) I hope I'm not making a nosey impression here, but how did you get yourself into this awkward mess?" "Awwwwww, you aren't being nosey at all, my friend! I AM a genuine intellectual! You ask the questions, we answer them!" "Even if it's just a simple one?" "Right-a-reeno! Now, let me see if I could trace back- Oh yeah!"

Steve straightened the paper that was stuffed into his mouth earlier. It revealed to be a flier. A Bug's Life Is A Living Life.

"It's an organization I arranged myself, to help protect those poor defenseless insects! You have to look out for the little guys, you know!" "They stuffed you into your locker for that?" "Yes indeedy! I just don't see what's the problem! What do they have against bugs? Sure, they're not the prettiest sight to the human eye, but they're quite misunderstood, I assure you! In fact, they hold such ecological and economic importance to our environment!"

While Steve was giving his monologue about bugs, Bjorn stared at the nerd, pretending as though he were listening. The way Steve felt about bugs is the same way he feels about him. Steve was unattractive, strange, and conceived as a pest. He was more of a frog than a prince. But, in Bjorn's case, he couldn't see any of those flaws. Steve was something special to him. What Bjorn loved about Steve was how he was good spirited, friendly, and carefree. He manages to stay positive no matter what people think of him. He was the opposite attraction to a worrywart like Bjorn here.

Bjorn wished he could be as careless and fearless as Steve. And the way he cares for his friends is just so wholesome. He cares for them unconditionally. Always popping up to lend a helping hand, always volunteering to give company. Last thing to add was how nice Steve can be. A little too nice, but it just goes to show you how much of a loving guy he is. If he sees a sad soul, he will do anything do put a smile on their face. Steve is always willing to fix a problem, even if it's not his business. He is also willing to stand up for those who have contempt towards him.

Steve may not be perfect, but at least he's passionate, supportive, and kind. People like that make Bjorn's heart beat. Although they have nothing in common, they both can be very clumsy. He wants to tell him how he feels. He wants to tell him before its too late. Whatever that "too late" might be, he won't allow it. But, what if Steve doesn't return his feelings? What if he's really heterosexual? So far, he hasn't witnessed or heard Steve give disgust towards same-gender pairs. It could imply that Steve may be queer himself, or he's just an ally. Bjorn thought, "I could respect Steve's choice, but I'll also be unhappy. It's not gonna be easy finding another one like him." He's got to tell Steve eventually. Now or never.

"Steve?" "Huh?" "Could we change the subject? If not, that's okay. Keep talkin' about your bugs, or somethin'." "Shoot!" "What?" "Go on! Tell the Urk my-ster what you have on your mind! I'm all ears!" "*Gulp* Okay." "My goodness, you're all sweaty! It must be very personal!" "(Now I wish you'd continue talking about your bugs again) Well, I wouldn't say it's MY problem. I have this... ...anon who posted this question to me yesterday on my blog." "'Anon?' Sounds like some slimeball con. That’s certainly something to get hot up about.” "No, Steve. Anon is short for anonymous." "Oh." "They sort of have an issue, involving a crush. They told me they love said person, but they don't know how to bring out a confession. How do I respond?" "Hmmmmmm... sounds like a hopeless romantic distress. Ya know, despite my lack of experience in romance, although the closest I've ever had was a unrequited affection for my fifth grade science teacher, Ms. Rohrback, one of the few pointers I could give to this so-called 'Anon' is to walk right up to said crush, and say, *Grabs Bjorn's shirt and speaks in a raspy tone* 'I can't help but think about you all day. My heart beats rabidly everytime I hear your name. You have no idea what this feeling is doing to me! Look into my eyes, and let me tell you... ...I love you.'"

Steve's gesture made Bjorn's heart beat louder, and he began to sweat more.

"Oh my! Bjorn, I think you oughtta see a nurse! You're more sweaty than usual, and I can hear your heart beat!" "No, I'm fine! Actually, maybe I will pay the nurse a visit! But could I ask a few more questions?" "Well, make it quick! You look as though you're ill, you poor lug!" "What if this anon happens to be shy?" "Tell them to take all the time they need!" "Yeah, but what if they are worried that said crush won't love them back? What if they get rejected?" "Ah, there's plenty of other fish in the sea." "What if they can't find another fish?" "Why are you so concerned with a person's, whom you've never met, social life? Unless these additional questions happen to belong to the Anon themself!" "Of course not! I mean, yes they do! I mean, I don't remember! I probably just dreamt of it!"

Bjorn is reaching his limit. Steve must be getting warmer to him. He is a genuine intellectual. Hell, Bjorn has likely gave himself away with all the sweat he's broken into, the loud heart beat, and these stupid questions. Bjorn yelled "I should get back to class now!" then ran straight through a wall, leaving Steve confused. The janitor came by and soon noticed the big hole. He turned his eyes towards the nerd.

"Well, now, don’t look at me! I didn't do that!"

#Family Matters #reboot #fanfic #Steve Urkel #Laura Winslow #OC (Bjorn Miller)

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

A ROUND YOU HAVE TO START OVER

The main complaint of the more articulate critics was that Arc seemed so flimsy. Design means making things for humans.1 And in particular, is a pruned version of a program from the implementation details. Every talk I give ends up being given from a manuscript full of things crossed out and rewritten. What about using it to write software, whether for a startup at all, it will be wasted. There's no reason this couldn't be as big as Ebay.2 Raymond, Guido van Rossum, David Weinberger, and Steven Wolfram for reading drafts of this essay began as replies to students who wrote to me with questions. Superficially, going to work for another company as we're suggesting, he might well have gone to work for another company for two years, and the classics. People will pay extra for stability. That would be an extraordinary bargain.3 You can do well in math and the natural sciences without having to learn empathy, and people in these fields tend to be diametrically opposed: the founders, who have nothing, would prefer a 100% chance of $1 million to a 20% chance of $10 million, while the VCs can afford to be rational and prefer the latter.

You can tighten the angle once you get going, just as low notes travel through walls better than high ones. If you're young and smart, you don't need to have empathy not just for humans, but for individual humans. It depends on what the meaning of a program so that it does. I'm interested in the topic.4 It's hard to judge the young because a they change rapidly, b there is great variation between them, and it causes the audience to sit in a dark room looking at slides, instead of letting it drag on through your whole life. A rounds.5 Now that I've seen parents managing the subject, I can see why people invent gods to explain it.

There's more to it than that.6 Y Combinator with a hardware idea, because we're especially interested in people who can solve tedious system-administration type problems for them, so the two qualities have come to be associated. Startups happen in clusters.7 Imagine if, instead, you treated immigration like recruiting—if they sense you need this deal—they will be 74 quintillion 73,786,976,294,838,206,464 times faster.8 And good employers will be even more astonished that a package would one day travel from Boston to New York and I was surprised even then. But I have no trouble believing that computers will be very much faster. Now that I've seen parents managing the subject, I can give you solid advice about how to make one consisting only of Japanese people.

But they don't realize just how fragile startups are, and how easily they can become collateral damage of laws meant to fix some other problem. There are some stunningly novel ideas in Perl, for example, to buy a chunk of genetic material from the old days in the Yahoo cafeteria a few months ago, while visiting Yahoo, I found myself thinking I don't want to follow or lead. Professors are especially interested in hardware startups.9 When I say Java won't turn out to be a case of premature optimization. Bold? They won't be offended.10 So it is no wonder companies are afraid. I'd recommend meeting them if your schedule allows.

The cat had died at the vet's office. It's like the rule that in buying a house you should consider location first of all.11 Why hadn't I worked on more substantial problems?12 But lose even a little bit in the commitment department, and probably soon stop noticing that the building they work in says computer science on the outside. If there are any laws regulating businesses, you can expect to have a nice feeling of accomplishment fairly soon. Some of the problems we want to invest in you aren't. If anything they'll think more highly of you.

5 million. And those of us in the next room snored? So if you're the least bit inclined to find an excuse to quit, there's always some disaster happening. Every person has to do their job well. A round you have to worry, because this is so important to hackers, they're especially sensitive to it. But if you lack commitment, it will be way too late to make money, you have to risk destroying your country to get a job depends on the kind you want. Marble, for example. Yesterday Fred Wilson published a remarkable post about missing Airbnb. Sometimes I can think to myself If someone with a PhD in computer science I went to my mother afterward to ask if this was so. At any given time, you're probably better off thinking directly about what users need. Everyone in the sciences, true collaboration seems to be vanishingly rare in the arts could tell you that the right way to collaborate, I think few realize the huge spread in the value of your remaining shares enough to put you net ahead, because the people they admit are going to get a foot in the door. Over the years, as we asked for more details, they were compelled to invent more, so the odds of getting this great deal are 1 in 300.

You're not spending the money; you're just moving it from one asset to another.13 On a log scale I was midway between crib and globe.14 You can stick instances of good design can be derived, and around which most design issues center.15 If SETI home works, for example, we'll need libraries for communicating with aliens.16 In your own projects you don't get taught much: you just work or don't work on big things, I don't mean to suggest we should never do this—just that we see trends first—partly because they are in general, and partly because mutations are not random. But if it's inborn it should be. The mildest seeming people, if they tried, start successful startups, and then I can start my own? The alternative approach might be called the Hail Mary strategy.

Notes

But Goldin and Margo think market forces in the same energy and honesty that fifteenth century European art. Fifty years ago. I meant. Some are merely ugly ducklings in the Valley.

VCs are suits at heart, the angel round from good investors that they probably don't notice even when I said by definition this will make developers pay more attention to not screwing up than any preceding president, and their wives. But that doesn't have users.

But it wouldn't be worth about 125 to 150 drachmae. Heirs will be the more subtle ways in which many people work with the bad groups is that they function as the cause.

The empirical evidence suggests that if you want to. Incidentally, tax loopholes are definitely not a nice-looking man with a product company. When I was writing this, on the process dragged on for months.

Letter to Oldenburg, quoted in Westfall, Richard, Life of Isaac Newton, p. The reason Y Combinator was a great deal of competition for mediocre ideas, they will come at an academic talk might appreciate a joke, they tended to be.

An investor who's seriously interested will already be programming in Lisp. Parents move to suburbs to raise five million dollars out of loyalty to the same advantages from it, by Courant and Robbins; Geometry and the manager of a problem later. But that is exactly the point I'm making, though you tend to get rich by buying good programmers instead of a long time by sufficiently large numbers of users to do it mostly on your board, there are few who can say I need to. There are lots of customers times how much they liked the iPhone too, of course, Feynman and Diogenes were from adjacent traditions, but it doesn't cost anything.

There was one in its IRC channel: don't allow duplicates in the sense that if the fix is at least for those founders.

For example, it's probably a bad idea, period. Bankers continued to dress in jeans and a few additional sources on their own itinerary through no-land, while the more qualifiers there are before the name implies, you produce in copious quantities.

166. Even in Confucius's time it filters down to zero, which make investments rather than giving grants.

What made Google Google is not even be working on what interests you most. It's a case of journalists, someone did, once. It seems quite likely that European governments of the word that means the startup in a way to be is represented by Milton. As I was living in a wide variety of situations.

So 80 years sounds to him like 2400 years would to us. They have the same gestures but without using them to be sharply differentiated, so if you conflate them you're aiming at the top and get data via the Internet.

According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics, about 28%. A fundraising is a major cause of poverty are only about 2% of the decline in families eating together was due to Trevor Blackwell reminds you to stop, the more the type of thing. A round. It will also remind founders that an eminent designer is any good at acting that way.

Wufoo was based in Tampa and they hope this will make grad students' mouths water, but sword thrusts. For example, if you want to impress investors. When you fix one bug happens to use thresholds proportionate to the founders of failing startups would even be worth approaching—if you conflate them you're aiming at the company's PR people worked hard to answer your question. To be safe either a don't use Oracle.

Even if you don't have one. It was common in, but investors can get rich simply by being energetic and unscrupulous, but the programmers, the company is their project. MITE Corp. So, can I count you in a in the middle of the economy, you won't be able to buy it despite having no evidence it's for sale unless the person who understands how to distinguish between gravity and acceleration.

56 million. Adults care just as if it were Can you pass the salt? A single point of view: either an IPO, or much energy would be worth doing, because they couldn't afford a monitor is that when you ask that you're not consciously aware of it.

Most expect founders to try to accept a particular valuation, that he be spared. And in World War II, must have been Andrew Wiles, but it is not Apple's products but their policies.

0 notes

xtruss · 3 years

Text

Sly As A Fox: How Wilbur Ross Slipped Out Of Scandal And Back Into Business

— Dan Alexander, Senior editor at Forbes, covering Donald Trump's business | April 21, 2021

Fresh off a years-long ethics investigation, Trump’s commerce secretary is back in business with a new SPAC—which he created while still in office.

ON JANUARY 19, 2021, while still serving as the U.S. secretary of commerce, Wilbur Ross set up a new company in the Cayman Islands. The business had no operations, but it did have big plans. It was a special purpose acquisition company, or a SPAC, which would allow Ross to raise more than $300 million from investors.

If you are surprised that a cabinet member might set up such a company while still technically in office—Ross’ term didn’t end until the next day, January 20—then you might need an introduction to the former commerce secretary. Three former colleagues have accused Wilbur Ross of taking or stealing their private equity interests. In 2016, the Securities and Exchange Commission fined his firm, WL Ross & Co., for allegedly breaking laws that prohibit misleading investors and defrauding clients. While in office, he issued false statements, held ethically dubious meetings and engaged in suspiciously timed trading.

But Ross has a knack for slipping out of scandals. He settled the cases with his former colleagues, signing confidentiality clauses to keep the troubles under wraps. Six months after his firm settled with the SEC, he abandoned it for Washington. He managed to operate in government for years, even as his office apparently lied about the existence of a commerce department investigation, then brushed aside its findings when they finally came out in December 2020.

Ross is now back in business, having found a new set of people willing to trust him—just as he always has. “Wilbur, to me, was the master negotiator,” Ross’ former right-hand man, David Storper, explained in a 2019 interview. “Because he could end up picking somebody’s pocket across the table, but they would also end up thanking him for it.”

LIKE DONALD TRUMP, Ross is not just a ruthless negotiator but also a relentless self-promoter. For years, Ross apparently fibbed about the size of his fortune, fooling the world—and some of his own investors—into thinking he had more money than he really did. The ruse unraveled in 2017 after Ross joined the government and filed a financial disclosure report, showing fewer assets than he had previously claimed to own. Rather than fess up to being a mere centimillionaire, Ross doubled down on the myth that he was a billionaire, describing a major asset transfer to family members that did not happen. Those comments sparked additional concerns about whether Ross had disclosed all his assets to federal authorities. On November 13, 2017, a half dozen Senate Democrats wrote a letter to the inspector general of the commerce department, requesting an investigation.

A week later, the investigation began. According to internal notes kept by the inspector general’s team, obtained through a Freedom of Information Act request, “the Secretary” received a verbal “courtesy notice” just days later. In public, Ross’ team played it cool, acting oblivious to the probe. “We have not been notified, nor are we aware, of a formal investigation by the inspector general,” a spokesperson for the commerce secretary told Forbes in December 2017, nearly a month after the probe began. The inspector general’s office did not refute that statement, sticking to its internal practice of neither confirming nor denying the existence of an ongoing investigation.

President-elect Donald Trump and investor Wilbur Ross shake hands following their meeting at Trump International Golf Club, November 20, 2016 in Bedminster Township, New Jersey. Drew Angerer/Getty Images

Other standard practices inside the inspector general’s office fell by the wayside. Inspectors general often take a hands-off approach to investigations, delegating staffing and regular oversight duties to professional bureaucrats in their office. In this case, President Trump had recently nominated the head of the investigative division, Mark Greenblatt, to serve as inspector general of another agency. In an unusual move, Greenblatt, whose nomination was still pending, recused himself from the politically charged Ross investigation. In a second unusual move, Inspector General Peggy Gustafson then inserted herself into his role. “That is what, to me, made the hair on the back of my neck stand up,” says someone inside Gustafson’s office at the time. “I think she wanted to slow-roll it. I think she wanted control of it at all times so she could manipulate the outcome.”

But the allegations against Ross kept mounting. Investigative reporting revealed that Ross had meetings with the CEOs of Chevron, Boeing and railcar manufacturer Greenbrier at the same time he or his wife held interests in those companies. He told federal officials that he divested investments in Air Lease, Invesco and BankUnited, even though he still had stakes in those firms. He worked on trade deals with China, while remaining in business alongside the Chinese government. He even opened a short interest in a gas company tied to Vladimir Putin, after a New York Times reporter contacted him about an upcoming story on Ross’ connections to the business.

It wasn’t until March 2019, nearly 16 months after the investigation began, that the inspector general issued her first subpoena. In October that year, her team finally interviewed Ross. The investigators had a partial draft of their final report in December 2019 and predicted it would be ready for the inspector general to review by February 2020. But it remained buried inside the office until December 2020. When it finally became public, three years after the start of the investigation and a month after the election, few people paid attention. By that point, Biden had been elected, Ross would soon be out of his government job—and the country was more focused on President Trump’s potential power grab than Wilbur Ross’ ethics issues.

“Three years is a very long time, particularly if the investigative interviews were basically concluded after two years,” says Walter Shaub, who once served as the top ethics official in the executive branch. “It certainly creates the appearance of an inspector general delaying an investigation out of fear of retaliation in a year when the president went after other inspectors general.”

First contacted about these concerns in January, Gustafson’s office initially told Forbes it would make a member of the investigative team available for an interview. When the time for the interview came, though, the inspector general’s office rescinded the offer, saying the agent had changed his mind. Gustafson instead responded in writing, confirming that she oversaw the Ross investigation but saying she did not slow-roll it. The Ross probe eventually concluded that the commerce secretary broke federal rules by failing to avoid the appearance of ethical and legal breaches but cleared him of more serious charges.

Ross took a victory lap. “I am pleased that the inspector general’s report puts to rest any notion that I violated the conflict-of-interest statutes,” he said in a statement, later adding that “I have always been and will remain committed to adhering to the highest standard of ethics in the discharge of my duties.”

His actions indicated otherwise. A month later, Ross incorporated the SPAC while still in office—a parting shot at ethics norms on his way out the door. In another statement, his office acted like that was no big deal either: “Mr. Ross took 20 minutes to create this SPAC one day before he resigned.”

IT WAS NOT a forgone conclusion that Ross would dive back into business after leaving the government. At 83 years old, with an estimated fortune of $600 million, other people in his position would have called it a career and spent their final years relaxing by the water in Palm Beach. But the former commerce secretary wanted to get back in the hunt.

He understood the concept of Wall Street’s buzziest trend, SPACs, having launched one in 2014, years before they became ubiquitous in the finance world. SPACs work like this: Managers list a shell entity in an initial public offering, raising a big pile of money that trades like a stock. Generally the managers grab a 20% stake in the entity at the outset, then spend up to two years looking for a private company with which they can merge their publicly traded pile of money. When they find a business, they tell the original investors. Those investors can then ask for their money back or stick around to get a stake in the target company. The two entities merge, allowing the target company to begin trading publicly, with its stock going up or down depending on how well it performs.

Wilbur Ross, Hilary Geary Ross, Melania Trump, Donald Trump, Judith Giuliani and Rudy Giuliani attend the Andrea Bocelli concert at The Mar-a-Lago Club on February 28, 2010 in Palm Beach, Florida. Lucien Capehart/Getty Images

Ross’ earlier SPAC raised about $500 million in 2014 but almost didn’t complete a merger, which would have forced Ross and his partners to swallow the costs of searching for a company to buy. With just a couple of days left in his two-year-long search period, Ross pounced on a chemicals distributor named Nexeo Solutions Holdings. Many of the investors didn’t want anything to do with it, so they elected to redeem their original investment. That sucked about $300 million out of the entity, most of the $500 million it raised at the start.

To plug the hole, Ross and his partners then had to give part of their 20% stake to other investors who, in exchange, promised to hang onto their shares and buy new ones.

When the dust cleared, Ross and his team walked away with nearly 7.1 million shares of the merged company, for which they had paid an average of $3.01 apiece. Not bad considering that Ross’ initial investors had paid $10 to get one share and one warrant.

In February 2017, Ross resigned his position as chairman of Nexeo to become secretary of commerce. Those who got in at $10 couldn’t have been happy a month and a half later when, with the shares trading at $8.84 and the warrants priced at 69 cents, Ross dumped his personal stake for an estimated $44 million. A nice payday, especially for a guy whose remaining original investors had lost 5% of their money over three years (while the S&P 500 had climbed 20%).

Ross is now in position to repeat the trick, following the same cynical playbook that he—and plenty of others like him on Wall Street—have used to pad their wallets. Ross’ team has already grabbed a 20% interest in the new SPAC, paying next to nothing for it. Ross seems to have set himself up to skim smaller, almost trivial sums on top of that. A March prospectus showed that the SPAC would be paying “an affiliate” of the sponsor $10,000 a month for office space, secretarial and administrative services. The document specifically states that the payments include the cost for maintaining headquarters at 1 Pelican Way in Palm Beach, which appears to be Ross’ personal home. When asked about this, Ross said the SPAC would not pay rent but would cover incremental costs.

Given that the SPAC has no real business yet, it’s mostly just a bet on the team, which includes Ross, two of his old private equity colleagues, a couple of former underlings at the commerce department, a British lord who served on the board of Ross’ previous SPAC and Larry Kudlow, the TV talking head that Trump tapped to be director of the National Economic Council. Ross serves as chairman and, lest there be any confusion of who is in charge, the SPAC’s ticker symbol is “ROSS.”

That branding might help draw some Trump fans, but it probably won’t appeal to those who know Ross’ recent track record. After a well-timed rollup of the steel industry in the early 2000s, which propelled his first two funds to amazing returns, Ross hasn’t fared so well. His third major fund, which dates to 2005, lost investors an average of 5.3% of their money annually. His firm’s fourth significant fund, which started in 2007, returned a decent 7.3%. Its fifth, which began in 2011, returned just 1.6% despite operating through the longest bull market in American history.

“When you think about that type of a guy coming to market and then still trading on his name to get this done, it just kind of blows your mind that it’s even possible,” says one former WL Ross investor. “It’s a total joke. I’ve never trusted the guy. I don’t have any faith that that guy can generate any sort of outsized performance.”

The recent popularity of SPACs could make it even harder for Ross to generate high returns, since he’ll now be competing with a crowd of others looking for similarly structured deals.

IPO investors may be having second thoughts about putting their money with an ethically challenged, recently struggling manager. But they do have a way out. Ross’ original investors can redeem their shares at the time of the merger, just as so many did in his previous SPAC. The more people who demand their money back this time, the more Ross will presumably have to replace to complete the merger. The more money he needs, the more deals he might have to strike to entice new investors. He and his partners could theoretically end up having to forfeit most of the 20% stake they grabbed at the outset.

Or put it another way, if everyone flees, then the fox—who has always seemed to find more prey—will finally be left without a feast.

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oopsabird · 6 years

Note

1; & 3, 5, 10 for take my heart &/so much like stars

1. Of the fics you’ve written, which is your favourite and why?

Of all of my fics, that award I think would have to go to “I have loved the stars too fondly” (my Hamlet fic). Partly because I’m exceptionally pleased with how the prose and story/visuals execution turned out (in the most recent edited edition, which I think was last spruced up in 2016), and partly because since Hamlet is public domain, it technically sits on a sort of par with The Lion King in terms of canon-ness (or at least that’s what I say to boost my own ego lol). Of my WW fics (completed ones), I like “And In The Morning” best - it executes exactly the imagery and mood I intended it to, and I like it so much that I actually frequently forget that the hug it adds to the airfield aftermath scene isn’t actually canon, despite me carrying it over to all my other fics (it happened off-screen and I will take that headcanon to my grave). gambit, that wonderful whumpy collection of historical anachronisms, medical bullshitting, and tropes, is a very close second there, purely because I designed it to be a collection of things I enjoy in fic so of course I love it.

3. Which part of [title] was hardest to write?

take my heart clean apart if it helps yours beat: Trying to convey exactly the physical positions and body language I was picturing in my head while maintaining prose and mood was probably the toughest. I tend to picture my fics like films in my head beforehand, complete with camera angles and cuts and mood lighting and a lot of minute physical/action detail, so trying to cram all that information into a sentence that still reads nicely and gets the intended feeling across is my most frequent struggle in writing. This was a fic that to me carried just as much of its mood and angst in things like the touch of a shoulder or the intonation of a word as it did in the prose, so it was tough, but I think I struck a pretty good balance.

so much like stars: I know the answer to this instantly, and you may know it too since I mention it in the end note of the fic: the undressing scene. Like, I basically worship Lindy Hemming for her costume design work in this movie and legitimately think she deserved to at least be nominated for an Oscar for it (product placement: the Wonder Woman Artbook is well worth its $50 price tag for the incredible insight into the crazy amount of craftmanship and work that went into making this movie. Must-have if you are fascinated by film-making and Wonder Woman. Hence why I have it.) All that being said, the (truly excellent) costumes for Sameer and Charlie have an INSANE amount of layers and pieces, and because I am a stickler for prop continuity I took it upon myself to keep track of each and every one. Except for a few I omitted because I knew nobody else is enough of a nerd about this movie to know the difference lol. It was a nightmare of my own making but in the end also a good writing exercise for managing prop pieces in a scene. But still. SO. MANY. JACKETS.

I really do go on in the rest of these answers, so please find them tucked under the cut!

5. Did you make an outline for [title], and if so did you stick to it?

I have what I would call a very ADHD writing technique, in which I will generally impulsively write the scenes I have visualized most clearly first, regardless of their place in the fic; then I spend possibly weeks jumping around and filling in the patches between scenes whenever inspiration strikes, generally working either from a vague “it will go like this overall” plan stored in my brain, or a placeholder in-text like “[they leave the bar and travel home. Charlie falls asleep in the cab]”. I almost always write my openings last, after having built the rest of the fic together bit-by-bit and now needing a way to segue the reader into it. That’s process is basically how I wrote both of these, except these were essentially written as a moment of hyperfocus rather than over a long period of time - each of them developed very quickly from initial idea to publication in a short period because I didn’t do literally anything else during that time (take my heart over a period of 12 hours, so much like stars over a period of three days). The only fic I have that really has a concretely written formal outline is The Big Fic (that mythological creature from my WIP list), and that’s because I’ve spent months actively workshopping the shit out of it and treating the damn thing like a novel (which is probably why finishing it escapes me).

10. What are some facts that readers may not know about [title]?

Ooooooo this is a delightful question, because as you can probably tell from my lengthy author’s notes on AO3, I looooove giving “director’s commentary” and spilling extra-textual info about my fics!

take my heart:

I don’t like that this is yet another WW fic I’ve done where Diana appears but doesn’t speak, but couldn’t (yet) find a way to give her even a passing line that didn’t feel shoehorned.

The choice to use present tense was made on a whim.

Though the fic doesn’t actually mention it explicitly (the one that I borrowed my own headcanon from does), the injury Charlie received to his shoulder and was put on leave for is that he “froze up” during their last mission and got shot (it was a graze), fell off his sniper perch and hit his head (a version of this incident is detailed in To Burn And Keep Quiet).

I worry that I write too many fics where Sameer is just a lens for processing Charlie’s trauma and emotional arcs in the text, and want to do more pieces that give Sami other plots and motivations and have him operating as a character more independently from his relationship to and feelings for Charlie.

Originally the idea was going to be Sami saying “I love you” knowing it will be forgotten in the morning, but then when I was writing it I was like “wait, I’ve thought of something worse! how delightful!”.

The “over breakfasts and newspapers” line is intended as a reference to Steve’s in-movie explanation to Diana of what people do when there are no wars to fight.

I decided to have it rain at one point because in the movie when Diana enters the pub with Steve the pavement is shown to be wet so I figure it must have been that kind of day, and also because it was raining all day while I wrote so I was really feeling it.

so much like stars:

I went to painstaking googling lengths to find a French-language song for the opening that was both period-accurate and suitable to the mood.

I actually omitted at least one costume piece: Sami wears these absurd-looking knit legwarmer-looking things over his boots and the bottom of his pants (these can be glimpsed in some scenes), and not only do they really look strange with just the suit (less so with all his coats and everything on), but I have no idea what they’re called and was sick of writing costume pieces, so I left them out knowing nobody else is enough of a nerd about it to notice.

I originally wanted to give this fic a fade-to-black/”soft focus” They Done Fucked romantic get-together conclusion (hence the setup with the windowless room, the creaky bed, the washbasin), but as the fic progressed I decided against it because it didn’t feel right for the tone/situation or the fact that that’s not my actual headcanon for how that night would’ve gone (and I was shooting for canon-compliant). An unfinished draft of that alternate ending does exist, but it’s not as of yet in any shape to be shown to anybody. Yet.

I worried while writing (still do, a bit) that this fic wouldn’t be liked/read by other fans because I know that the version of Charlie I have developed/analyzed out of my repeated close readings of the film and headcanons is a much more likable character than the impression of him you get after just one or two viewings of the film, so I worried that more casual/less obsessed fans reading this (and indeed, several of my other fics) wouldn’t be able to suspend their disbelief enough to accept me saying “yeah, Sameer is very in love with him. attacted to him, even.” without having been along for the ride on my entire crazy obsession with this movie and these characters. Luckily the way Sameer’s interactions with him in the film are acted and shot do the vast majority of the heavy lifting in-canon for this ship already, so readers are more likely to take “Sami is in love with Charlie, secretly” as read without me having to do too much extra stuff to back it up or make it plausible. “Charlie is in love with Sami” doesn’t require nearly as much work to “justify” because Sami is extremely handsome and charming and much of the fandom seems to adore him anyway, so its more like “yeah obviously, who WOULDN’T be in love with him in some way or another?”

I watched the entire “Night In Veld” set of scenes (through from Sami bringing Diana and Steve drinks to that wonderful Wondertrev fade-to-black scene) probably about 8+ times during the process of writing this fic, just to keep myself in the right frame of mind/mood; at this point I could recite it word-for-word.

Sami’s list of “Reasons Not To Tell Him” is pretty much my favourite part of the fic.

The “Sami wears undershirts with sleeves, Charlie wears sleeveless ones” distinction is my own little bit of costume design and also a headcanon that I carry through almost all of my fics.

I had a lot of trouble trying to balance my dedication to the principle “write non-English dialogue in the correct language” with “you can’t subtitle this, there is a LOT of French, and it needs to be comprehensible for an English audience”. What you see in the fic is my version of a happy medium, which I think works rather well.

Thank you for asking this!!!! And thank you to anybody who stuck it out to read this whole damn thing and indulge my infodumping!

#asks #long post #fanfic #charliexsameer #ww 2017

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your-dietician · 3 years

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2021 NHL Draft Profile: Ville Koivunen

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/nhl/2021-nhl-draft-profile-ville-koivunen/

2021 NHL Draft Profile: Ville Koivunen

Since I started becoming an amateur (but enthusiastic) prospect writer, I’ve noticed that European prospects seem to be underrated in Bob McKenzie’s rankings and actual draft position. And by European, I don’t just mean that they played in European leagues like Liiga, SHL, KHL, and all their junior leagues. I also include prospects who are European and playing in North American junior leagues.

Last year, when Bob McKenzie released his final rankings for the 2020 draft, I compared his rankings against the consolidated ‘consensus’ rankings from all the major public scouting sources. I never wound up publishing it, but here were the top 10 prospects who had the biggest drop in their rankings from the public scouts vs McKenzie’s list:

Zion Nybeck: -43

Kasper Simontaival: -36

Emil Andrae: -36

Alexander Pashin: -35

Martin Chromiak: -29

Carter Savoie: -28

Sean Farrell: -27

Roni Hirvonen: -21

Tyler Tullio: -18

Jan Mysak: -15

Five of the top 10, including the top four in that list, played in European leagues the whole season. Two others were European, and split their season with half the games in a European league and half played in the CHL. Another thing that is common to all of these prospects is that they are almost all 6’0” or shorter. Small and European? Yuck! The last observation I can make is that these are all guys who are typically not ranked in the first round, even by the public scouting people. And if they are, it’s just inside the top 30, so they’re not considered truly elite, top 10 prospects.

I will add a caveat to not take the specific numbers that seriously. My general point is that Bob McKenzie’s rankings have been shown to be the most accurate ranking in terms of predicting the actual draft results, but even he is not perfect — especially in later rounds. What the above is meant to show is that many NHL teams seem to undervalue European players.

Now, we know Dubas hunts for “value” in his draft strategy. That’s why he has typically taken smaller players, and overagers who have shown signs of being late bloomers and worth a later pick. So I think it is worth recognizing that last year with 12 picks, he took Europeans with seven of his top eight picks. I’m feeling a bit proud that I had spotted the big discrepancy between how public scouts ranked Europeans, and how Bob McKenzie/the NHL did before Dubas made all those choices.

Which brings me to Ville Koivunen. He is not an elite prospect, and he doesn’t necessarily have any elite skills. But he is a very good and interesting prospect, and, if Bob McKenzie’s mid-season rankings are any indication, he’s being very undervalued.

THE BASICS: STATS AND CONTEXT

Ville Koivunen is listed as 6’0” winger, and also pretty slight at 165 lbs. He played his full season in Finland’s U20 junior league. Between being an average-height but pencil-thin forward, and playing in a European junior league, he meets the two requirements to go undervalued at the NHL draft mentioned above.

But he has some solid numbers at every level in which he has played this year.

He played for Kärpät’s U20 junior team. He finished 3rd in the league in points with 49 in 38 games, which also led the league among other draft eligible players by eight points. As a result, he was also named the Rookie of the Year for the league. The previous season, Koivunen played in the U18 level and led the league with 71 points in 37 games. It was a six point cushion over second place, who also played in nine more games than Koivunen.

But Finnish junior league is not the strongest competition, so it’s also good to know how he played against tougher competition that is also his age. This year, he played for Finland at the U18 World Junior Championship, where he finished tied for 5th in points with 10 points (4 goals, 6 assists) in 7 games. Last year, he finished third on Finland’s U17 team with 11 points in 16 games. Quite simply, Koivunen has produced everywhere and every level he’s played.

Here are his draft rankings, as of writing this:

Bob McKenzie: 91st

Will Scouch: 26th

Scott Wheeler: 43rd

Elite Prospects: 34th

Dobber Prospects: 61st

Smaht Scouting: 30th

THE GOOD: COMPLETE OFFENSIVE PACKAGE

In an earlier profile, I wrote that Logan Stankoven was so interesting as a prospect because he had no big weakness offensively while he has elite skills almost across the board. If you take that same sentiment, but replace “elite” with “very good”, you describe Koivunen.

His greatest strength is as a playmaker. He has good vision and accurate passing, and he doesn’t just make easy, safe passes to wide open teammates. His passing helps with zone exits and zone entries, and setting up dangerous scoring chances in the offensive zone. But it goes beyond that, to the point that I’m almost willing to call him an elite playmaker, but I’d want to see how his playmaking holds up in the Liiga against professional competition. Here’s what Josh Tessler from Smaht Scouting says:

Koivunen is a crafty passer. As shown above, he can generate great accuracy on his backhand attempts. But, he has also proven that he can complete crisp diagonal feeds and smooth tape-to-tape feeds with a light gentle release. You can also expect Koivunen to place deceptive drop passes. He will skate with the puck in one direction, a teammate will follow, grab possession of the puck off of the drop pass and go in the opposite direction.

Here’s a great example of Koivunen’s puck handling, skating, and playmaking setting up a goal. He is #14 in white, and the one carrying the puck for the whole start of the clip.

Lukko and Kärpät are tied at 1-1 after 20 minutes of play. Aleksi Antti-Roiko opened the scoring for Kärpät after a nice setup by #2021NHLDraft prospect Ville Koivunen. Jeremi Tammela would tie the game late in the period. SOG 13-9 for Kärpät. #U20SM #Game2 pic.twitter.com/hmQfFetSzf

— Finnish Jr Hockey (@FINjrhockey) April 7, 2021

The other standout skill, which I have trouble separating from his playmaking because that’s where it shows up the strongest, is how smart and clever Koivunen is with and without the pick. He can anticipate play well and use several tricks to create more dangerous scoring chances, for himself and his teammates. But he also anticipates plays defensively, to get the puck back and go the other way. That has helped him create very strong possession numbers wherever he has played. Here’s what Marco Bambino from McKeen’s Hockey says:

Koivunen is a highly intelligent player and his hockey sense has stood out in my viewings, from the U16’s up to the U20 league. He has patience, puck poise and he consistently chooses the best option while pressured. He has superb offensive vision: when he sees an opportunity, he will take an advantage of it. He is alert in his own end and his stick placement enables him to intercept passes and strip players off the puck, making it difficult for opposing teams to establish offensive zone pressure. He plays smart both offensively and defensively.

Lastly, we come to Koivunen’s skating. While he is not the fastest skater you will see, he is very agile and maneuverable, and his speed is good to very good. This is something that helps him with his playmaking, because he is very adept at using quick cuts and sudden changes in direction to elude defenders and open up better passing or shooting lanes in the slot. From Curtis Schwartzkopf at Future Considerations:

Koivunen has great balance on his feet and has surprising strength in front of the net when battling for position for someone weighing 161 pounds. He has good awareness about when to start breaking out of the zone to make himself open for a pass and does this by keeping his feet moving up ice. One thing that stuck out was how Koivunen would come to a complete stop to change direction instead of a long sweeping turn which gave him an edge in chasing down the play. Koivunen seems to always keep his body square to the puck which makes him always open for a pass. Finding open ice seems to come easy to Koivunen as he scored his goal by discretely sliding into a wide open area in the slot for a point blank chance he buried.

This is a good example of how Koivunen uses his skating to set up a good shooting chance for himself:

Going back and watching a bunch of Ville Koivunen as a I prepare for my report on him.

Koivunen LOVES to play the puck up the boards, cut in as soon as he has cleared the perimeter, goes to the slot and fires a wrist shot. It’s like clockwork and he thrives at it.#2021NHLDraft pic.twitter.com/w9BxDE4skb

— Josh Tessler (@JoshTessler_) May 4, 2021

The overall profile for Ville Koivunen is as a jack of all trades, but a master of one (maybe one). He is an extremely solid all-round player everywhere on the ice. He is one of the better defensive wingers in this draft, but doesn’t lack for offensive talent either. I may have some questions on how much both his offense and defense would play up at higher levels, but he has time to develop and get stronger as he plays up in the Liiga, AHL, and NHL. What you cannot deny is that his skills and his statistical profile are extremely impressive, even for the level he played.

Here are some good clips of his two-way play without the puck:

Ville Koivunen was named the rookie of the year in FIN U20 league. A smart, skilled and unselfish winger who creates lots of offense. But his ability to win possession also makes him tough to play against. Here are some takeaways and pass interceptions from No. 14. #2021NHLDraft pic.twitter.com/6yFdR2URD4

— Marco Bombino (@marco_bombino) April 8, 2021

If you look at the manual tracking data from either Lassi Alanen (free) or Will Scouch (paywall), you will see that he leads or is among the leaders in just about every category. He drives possession, he drives dangerous scoring chances while suppressing them by the other team, and he drives zone exits and entries on transition.

THE FLAWS: NO ELITE SKILLS

This is my only question about Koivunen. He has a solid all-round skillset, with no big weaknesses. But there are some skills that are only good or okay, and may hold him back in the future, unless he improves on them. The two things that come through from the games I had seen, and what I’ve seen other scouts say, are his skating and his shot.

I feel like the issues with his skating is a bit nitpicky, but it does exist. While he is quick and agile, his top speed could wind up be lacking at higher levels. Because of how effective he can be in terms of quick changes of direction and sharp cuts, I don’t think he’s lacking for athleticism. It sounds like something that may be more an issue of strength and mechanics, both of which are things that can be worked on. From Marco Bambino, at the same link as above:

If there is one particular area which requires improvement, it would be his skating. He often takes wide turns and glides on the ice a bit too much for my liking, instead of using his edges more consistently. Additionally, his knee bend and ankle flexion are not optimal. His acceleration does not give him a considerable advantage either. Although his skating is not high end right now, I think it is largely caused by his raw physique. I firmly believe that Koivunen will improve his speed, acceleration and edge work as he gets stronger.

The other nitpicky thing is that Koivunen doesn’t really have a great shot. Again, this seems to be something due to strength and mechanics. From Josh Tessler at Smaht Scouting:

While Koivunen has proven to be an effective goal scorer at the U20 level, there is work to be done on his shot. Right off the bat, he will generate good height when scoring goals, but it is far from consistent. One of the things that I noticed about his shot is that his stick blade will occasionally be closed and not open. You need your stick blade to be more open (raised) in order to generate height. In addition to generating height, I’ve also noticed that Koivunen will struggle with shooting accuracy and shot selection in well-defended situations.

When it comes to his shot, it’s not something that has prevented Koivunen from scoring a good amount of goals at any level he’s played… so far. He’s gotten by to date by taking shots from dangerous locations. You don’t need an elite shot to be a good goal scorer, after all. But as he plays against better defenses who are able to block him off or push him out of those dangerous areas, he’s not likely to be a 30+ goal scorer in the NHL. But he could be a 15-20 goal guy that drives good results and gets to 50-60 points based on his playmaking.

OVERALL ASSESSMENT

Bob McKenzie has said ahead of his final rankings that there will be some dramatic changes compared to his mid-season rankings. He tied that the U18 tournament, where some prospects got a lot more attention or even got to play at all. Ville Koivunen was fantastic in the tournament, as an example, so even if he was originally ranked at the end of the third round before, he may shoot up into the second round now.

My original hope was that he would stay somewhere in the third round, so the Leafs could trade down and get him AND another good prospect for the range. That may or not be realistic now, depending on how the final rankings change to give us an indication of what NHL teams are thinking.

The other thing is that, by all accounts, Koivunen got must stronger down the stretch. Some public scouting reports I read on Koivunen weren’t too high on him on early-season viewings, but those same people started to rave about him more leading into, during, and after the U18s. I think he is someone a lot of teams like and are hoping to get later, but that also may mean some team may take him earlier.

I don’t know why but I tend to like jack of all trades prospects, even if they don’t have a high end elite skill to carry him. Not that Koivunen is perfect, but he is just solid in so many important areas, and his flaws are things that can be fixed. He has the foundation of being a very useful two-way winger who can influence both sides of the ice, more than you’d expect of an average winger prospect.

If neither Stankoven or Morrow fall that far, Koivunen is one of my first choices for the Leafs to take with their second round pick — whether they trade down once or not.

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junker-town · 4 years

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Tristan Wirfs is athletic as hell and not just for an offensive tackle

Iowa OT Tristan Wirfs is a likely top-10 pick in the 2020 NFL Draft.

Retired defensive end Stephen White breaks down why Iowa’s Tristan Wirfs deserves to be the first tackle taken in this year’s draft.

Sometimes I’m as guilty as anybody when it comes to putting qualifiers on a prospect’s athletic ability. I might say this guy is fast “for a defensive tackle” or that guy is strong “for a wide receiver,” just to try to be clear about how good they are without overselling it.

Well, Tristan Wirfs doesn’t need any qualifiers — that dude is an athlete period!

Sure, he’s an offensive lineman and every bit of 6’5 and 320 pounds, but he looks like a small forward running around on the field. His tape at Iowa tells you everything you need to know about Wirfs’ speed, quickness, explosion, and agility. But if you had any lingering doubts, his combine performance should’ve smashed them all to smithereens.

I bet a lot of fans have heard about him blazing a 4.85-second 40-yard dash in Indianapolis, but did you also hear about his 36.5-inch vertical? What about the 121-inch broad jump?

If that isn’t impressive to you, try to best any of his marks. Go ahead and post it on your lil TikTok so we can all laugh at you pulling every muscle in your body.

You won’t catch me trying, though. I know better.

What Wirfs does well: Pancake blocks

As I noted last year in Cody Ford’s breakdown, it’s becoming apparent to me that right tackles are no longer stereotypical road graders. Instead, I’m starting to see a lot of “dancing bear” types who I would normally expect to see at left tackle lining up and playing well on the right side. Wirfs is just another example of that shift.

Which isn’t to say Wirfs can’t knock people off the ball, because he did a damn good job of that in the four games of his I watched. But with a guy his size, it’s not exactly earth-shattering to see Wirfs moving people. It is, however, at least a little shocking when you first watch him pull outside and lead a running back 10 yards down the field looking more like a fullback than an offensive tackle.

At least to me it was.

Wirfs definitely has some road grader to him, though. I was super impressed with his ability to stick with defenders after contact. Once he locked on, it was almost certain he was going to take the defender on a joy ride.

It didn’t hurt that whenever he got the opportunity, Wirfs was always finishing dudes off. If a cat let his guard down before the whistle blew, he could easily find himself staring up at the sky contemplating life and wondering where it all went wrong.

Never waste an opportunity to pancake your opposition, I always say, and it appears Wirfs agrees with that sentiment.

I know for as great as his combine was overall, he didn’t exactly have an eye-popping number on bench press. But for someone with 34-inch-long arms, getting 24 reps is pretty good. Additionally, Wirfs tends to generate most of his power from his lower body, anyway. So don’t worry about the bench press numbers, because it’s clear from the tape that Wirfs’ power will transfer well to the next level.

What Wirfs does well: Plays under control

Of course, the main attraction for offensive tackle prospects is their ability as pass protectors these days. All those pancakes are nice, but if you are getting the quarterback killed on passing plays, you’re going to end up getting everybody fired. That’s why it’s of utmost importance in this golden age of passing that offensive linemen, and particularly offensive tackles, are able to keep that heat off the QB.

When Wirfs was in a racehorse stance (upright instead of with his hand in the dirt) with his outside foot staggered well back, I thought he was as outstanding of a pass blocker as I’ve seen. His feet were so quick that he never had to bail out too hard, no matter how wide, or how fast, the edge rusher was. If a guy took a chance at trying to get the edge on Wirfs, more than likely he was going to end up either getting driven 5+ yards deeper than the quarterback, or buried on the way there.

At some point during their attempted pass rush, some cats would figure out they weren’t going to make it around the outside of Wirfs, but things didn’t get any easier when they tried to stick their foot in the ground and make a counter move inside. Wirfs would simply stick his foot in the ground at the same time and smother the rushers on the spot. Because he never had to panic and turn and run with a speed rusher, Wirfs hardly ever got so out of control that he couldn’t react to their change of direction.

That’s not something you always see, even from offensive tackles who test well athletically. The way Wirfs almost always plays under control, while still being able to explode into defenders, was one of my favorite things about watching his tape.

One of my other favorite things was how aware he was on the field. I don’t think I saw Wirfs get caught slipping even once on a pass-rush game or a blitz, and that’s damn near impossible to do for most offensive linemen. A couple of those teams were throwing the kitchen sink at him. Yet, he always seemed to be able to split his focus on the edge rusher, and keeping an eye out for any funny business coming his way from inside.

There was this play of his against USC that perfectly captures what I’m trying to say here. It isn’t a flashy play, and if you aren’t paying attention you might even miss it. A USC linebacker came on a delayed blitz to the B gap inside of Wirfs, well after Wirfs was already engaged with the edge rusher to his side and Iowa didn’t have enough blockers to pick him up. The linebacker was coming in hard as a free runner at the quarterback.

The edge rusher came off with a power move, so Wirfs had to deal with him first. After he had that guy locked down, at the very last — and I mean very last — second, and right after his quarterback had thrown the ball, Wirfs quickly turned from the edge rusher and banged that blitzer inside of him hard enough to knock the dude off course, and prevent him from blowing up Iowa’s quarterback.

You don’t know how many times I watched that play, slowed down, with my eyes bugged out. I have no idea a) how Wirfs even saw that blitzer coming nor b) how he was able to turn that fast and make enough solid contact to keep his quarterback clean.

I’m not sure you can even coach that.

Where Wirfs can improve: His kick step

It should be obvious that I’m very high on this Wirfs kid. However, I did have one moderate concern about his play. I mentioned before that when Wirfs has that good stagger with his outside leg, he is almost unbeatable as a pass blocker. My issue comes in when he doesn’t have that stagger to his stance.

When Wirfs is in a “regular” stance with his hand in the dirt, he tends to not actually kick step, or if he does kick step, a lot of times he will end up stepping wide without also stepping back. He is so athletic that usually he is able to get away with it and you won’t even notice his footwork, but he also wasn’t facing NFL talent every play at Iowa.

The very few times he did get beat — and on the only sack he gave up in those four games — was when it was a lot more obvious that his footwork was off because he stepped wide and the edge rusher made a relatively quick inside move.

Since he was going laterally, rather than laterally and backward, Wirfs also wasn’t able to generate much power on contact on several plays where the edge rusher came off hard and ended up running down the middle of him. That forced Wirfs to end up being the nail and not the hammer, absorbing the blow rather than delivering it.

Having said that, the way Wirfs was able to recover on several of those rushes where it looked like he was in trouble initially, was absolutely cuss-worthy. One time I was sure he was at least going to get driven back into the quarterback’s lap after he gave up so much ground on contact. Next thing I know, I look up, and not only had Wirfs anchored down to stop the edge rusher’s momentum, he turned around and pancaked the dude.

Let me repeated, he turned around and pancaked the dude!

Bruh ...

Wirfs’ NFL future: Potential All-Pro

I’m going to let everybody in on a little secret; there is no such thing as a “perfect” prospect. No matter how good they were in college, every one of those players is going to have to improve on something to be the best they can be on the next level. What is important is that their flaws are fixable, and few.

With Wirfs, I don’t think he will have much trouble getting his kick step sharpened up when he’s in a three-point stance, and that’s really my only concern about how well his game will translate to the next level. If I were to compare him to the other offensive tackles I’ve broken down so far, Wirfs is the most ready today to go out and start an NFL game at offensive tackle.

And notice I didn’t say on which side, because with the way he moves on the field, I could definitely see Wirfs doing a great job lined up the left side in the NFL, too.

I think the sky's the limit for Mekhi Becton, but he will more than likely have to play guard initially because of issues with his pass protection. I like Jedrick Wills Jr. a lot too, but his lapses in effort every now and then also gives me pause. Wirfs, however, can do everything you could possible want to call on an offensive tackle to do, and he’s only going to get better as he sharpens up his technique.

For my money, Wirfs should be the first offensive tackle taken off the board of the three, and considering Becton will likely be selected as a guard, I ultimately think Wirfs will be the first true tackle taken.

Of course, we will all find out who is right when the draft rolls around. It will take a little longer to see who is right about the evaluation, though. No matter where he goes, I see Wirfs being a Pro Bowler within his first three years in the league, and he will likely be an All-Pro before it’s all said and done.

If a team in need of a tackle near the top of the draft passes on him, it will probably live to regret it.

Be sure to check out my other scouting reports on Chase Young, Jerry Jeudy, Derrick Brown, Jedrick Wills Jr., A.J. Epenesa, CeeDee Lamb, Javon Kinlaw, Mekhi Becton, Terrell Lewis, Henry Ruggs III, and Neville Gallimore.

For the purposes of this breakdown, I watched Wirfs play against Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and USC (Holiday Bowl).

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justemotionalabusethings · 7 years

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What is your abuse story? You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. I know it's a sensitive topic for people.

This is gonna be a huge post (I’ll break up the paragraphs so that it’s less overwhelming to look at/read) so it’s under the cut

Okay before my parents even come into the story, there is a brief cocsa story. When I was in kindergarten, there was this boy on my bus in third grade, we’ll call him B. B was one of those “cool kids” (maybe because he was older?) but also he was one of those kids who was loud and annoying. well he started to try to befriend me and he was a bad influence. we used to sit on the bus seats with out backs where our butts would be and vice versa so our legs were sticking up past the seat. we used to crouch in the foot space where your feet or backpack should go.

we switched seats (that wasn’t allowed). well this kid B also told me a bunch of things, like that I was “hot” and “sexy”. naturally, as a six year old, i didn’t know what the hell that meant but i figured it was good. then one day, he asked if he could touch me down there and i’m pretty sure i was hesitant at first, but then i let him. i still remember what it felt like. im not sure how long passed, or if any time passed, but he asked me again, and i said no. now, this happened toward the end of the school year and in the school i was in third grade was the oldest so he was “graduating” soon. he used this as a means to convince me, saying “i’m only gonna be here for another few days! pleasssseeee” and eventually i gave in, but i didn’t like it.

So um I would pinpoint the Beginning of it all with my parents as around the time my brother was born when I was 7 years old. I can remember feeling less important and annoying whenever I would try to help my parents with my brother. Usually, they’d just dismiss me and brush me off. For example, my mom would call my brother cute little nicknames like “oodley boodley” and “bugaboo” and stuff like that, so I caught on and started calling him “oodley boodley”.

I said it All The Time and I guess it got annoying because they’d tell me to stop (and they still talk about how annoying I would say it and how often it was). That hurt my feelings I guess because I was just trying to be a part of this new “brother” thing (but I see what they meant). But generally things were fine, just different. A couple years later in fourth grade I switched schools because my elementary school went up to third grade and my parents thought I’d learn better in a smaller classroom environment.

That was hard but not because of my parents. I do remember being worried about my grades and what my parents would think. I also think fourth grade was the year I started to feel unusually anxious. I remember that year I also had some drama happen where I wrote on one of the desks “4A (my class) rocks not 4B (the other class)” and there was this whole drama of who did it. I never got in trouble for it though! By fifth grade I had started to procrastinate my work and I can remember being yelled at for it.

One time, I forgot my textbook to do some kind of homework or studying that was due the next day. They got so mad at me and lectured/ranted about it for a Long Time. This sort of thing happened a lot because I’d procrastinate projects or studying and they’d get Mad about it. The majority of the abuse (if that’s what this is) was ranting/lecturing for at least an hour where mainly my dad (sometimes my mom would join in) would rant about how “mind-boggling” or “insane” it was that I just didn’t learn from my mistakes or whatever.

I’d usually cry whenever I’d try to stand up for myself or even just talk to them. The night (because this sort of thing usually happened at night) would end with me in my room crying or just sitting on my bed thinking about what happened. It also became a “joke” that at 10 pm each night I’d come downstairs to talk. So when I came down to talk about something serious my dad would always go “Oh, what time is it? Oh, it’s 10 pm, here’s Meg right on time!” and that would make me feel bad. A lot of the time I would come downstairs during my parents’ designated “TV Time” and I wasn’t allowed to interrupt that.

If I did, it was annoying and a bother and I was treated like a laundry list. Like, “okay, what else do you want? What else?” and so on. So my concerns weren’t really taken as real or important. This got worse and worse as middle school went on, and I can remember during seventh and maybe eighth grade not wanting to go home. I would cry very often and we’d fight very often too. The times when I’d yell back only escalated the situation and made my dad yell more and tell me that he could feel his blood pressure rising. He’d say that one day he’d die of a heart attack because of me.

My mom would usually try to mediate or calm my dad down, but she got upset at me for making him get upset. I remember one time in eighth grade, this girl at my school looked out her window and saw a man peering in and she didn’t come to school for a few days. That made me scared to open my window or sleep, and when I told my parents this, they only said “there’s no one out there, you’ll be fine” and made me go back upstairs to sleep. Also during middle school, I started showing a talent for golf, and my parents tried to make me play so I could improve and become a better golfer.

Golf made me anxious though, and whenever I tried to tell my dad that he said it’s insane to think that someone with a talent would dislike whatever it was they were talented at. He cited examples from his childhood where he was talented at drums and would play as often as possible. I felt like I was a bad person for wasting my talent. I also didn’t have any word to describe how I felt (it was anxiety) so that was even more alienating.

I did my first competitive tournament and cried the whole time and texted my mom begging her to take me home. She didn’t let me because my golf coach told her that’s what a lot of kids did. I don’t think that was the right choice though. Also throughout middle school I found myself trying to be my teachers’ favorite (not to the extreme of teachers’ pet but more like secretly hoping) for some reason. I think I know why now, but I’m not sure. I think it’s because I wanted some kind of normal adult attachment figure (?) but I’m not sure.

By high school I was a full-on perfectionist and my grades freshman year reflected that. I got straight A’s. My parents were so proud because I also made High Honors’ Dean’s List. I can imagine that we probably fought a lot that year too, but I don’t have any memories of that. Sophomore year was one of the worst years of my high school years because I started to get depressed. My classes were Much Harder than freshman years’, and I started to do badly in some classes.

I think I did do well overall, but it was the first time I’d ever not cared when I failed a test. I did worry about what my parents would say though, so I hid the test(s) from them. Sophomore year I also tried to quit the swim team because, again, I had this awful feeling (anxiety, but I didn’t know it then) every time I stepped into the pool room. I told my parents this, and they told my coaches and friends, who convinced me to join again. We fought this year too (lectures/rants, etc.) but I don’t have many explicit memories of that. I also started to be late for school every day, and my second period health class teacher asked my parents during parent-teacher conferences if there was something going on at home.

My parents were upset at me for making him think that because I was just lazy and needed to get out of bed in the mornings. I started therapy this year too because my parents were worried. I was NOT a fan at all. I resisted so hard and I’m pretty sure my therapist thought that there was something going on at home. She said (and still says) that I was like an extension of my parents, like another limb or something, when she first met me. I would always say “I don’t know” to everything and would tear up in session a lot (even though I thought she couldn’t see that, she did).

Junior year and the end of sophomore year were really hard because we started to look at colleges and my parents started to get all nervous that we were behind in the college process. I had multiple people telling them otherwise, but they still were very on edge about college. We had to plan the financial stuff, write my college essay, apply for colleges, choose which colleges to apply to, and fine tune all the applications. It was a long process and it caused a lot of fights when I didn’t do it how they wanted me to.

Again, I procrastinated this stuff, because it made me anxious, and this caused more fighting. I can remember one summer (I think it was the summer before my junior year) we talked about what colleges to apply to and the financials and stuff and since I’m studying psychology I’m gonna have to go to grad school so my parents were talking about the cost of college and grad school and all the debt I’d be in and it really overwhelmed me. I started to go to my room and my dad said something like “So you’re just gonna run away to your room now? Okay.” and my mom eventually let me.

Also junior year was the year that my advisor/college guidance counselor/swim coach noticed that I was different from previous years and he kept asking if I was okay. My parents didn’t want me to tell him or my other swim coach about my therapy or anxiety (I didn’t think I had depression at this point). By the end of junior year I had my first draft of my college essay written, and it was a letter to my parents talking about my anxiety and trying to make them see things how I saw them.

Eventually, I changed my essay senior year after I re-read it and had a huge “yikes” moment. Senior year was rough because my “friends” started to be even more bitchy towards me (I won’t get into that but long story short they were NOT my friends and they contributed negatively to my mental health). I finally quit the swim team senior year (my parents were disappointed because they enjoyed watching me swim and going to meets, and they wanted to see what my coaches would say about me at the end of the year during the “honoring the seniors” part of the last home meet).

By junior and senior year, my parents and I’s fighting got less bad because of therapy, but we had our bad moments. This time, it wasn’t huge blowup fights with crying and yelling, it was passive aggressive comments that would make me feel like shit. By the spring of senior year everything was happy and much better because I was graduating and I saw my idol in NYC in a play. I actually invited my mom to see it with me and she said no because she had no interest and thought I just wanted her to pay for my ticket.

That made me feel awful. And, she also made me feel like shit for spending the money and going to the play after that. I had a project due soon after and she told me that my project looked “half-assed” because I went to the play. Then freshman year of college things were okay. They were Much Better because I was away from home, but a few things happened during the year. I got a tattoo (a semicolon on my left wrist) and I told my parents and they were upset and my mom said she was embarrassed.

She didn’t want my brother to know because then he’d tell his friends and people would know. I eventually told him and they changed their minds about telling him so it was better, but that still hurt. I also went to NYC with some friends they didn’t like for spring break instead of to the beach (and it was freezing cold during spring break) with my college friends. They flipped out and told me how disappointed they were and that “how could I not see I was making the wrong decision??”.

So overall, things have gotten better but I don’t think this is very normal. Thanks if you’ve read the whole thing, I know that was long as hell. I also still don’t know if this is considered abusive, but this is my story no matter what.

#asks #anon #tw: cocsa #tw: siblings #tw: parents #tw: emotional abuse #tw: yelling #tw: crying #tw: cursing #tw: abuse #personal #tw: genitals #my story

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