#also i need to go to uni anyways to pick up some books that have been held back for me until thursday

[theroseapothecary]

my immune system is apparently f u c k e d because i am sick once again that's literally every week for the past 4 weeks where i've had something i feel so shitty

[nataliesfirefly]

chapter 1 - new year, same rivalry

a/n: hello! i’m back finally! super excited for this series, it’s definitely going to be more wholesome than my other one, and more of a slow burn! my plan is to have ten chapters, but that could change later on.. anyways enjoy and please tell me what you think! if you would like to be put on the series taglist, let me know! ♥️

chapter warnings: slight language

wc: 3.8k

series masterlist

“Welcome, year twelves. It’s lovely to see you all today, I recognize some familiar faces. My name is Mrs. Chasteen, I’ll be your teacher for English studies this year.” You set your bag down and take a seat, glancing up at the woman speaking. She’s very elegant, with her grey hair pulled into a strict bun and sophisticated tiny rectangle glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. You smooth out your black pleated skirt before crossing your legs.

“As I’m sure you all know, this year is very important. You should be considering which universities you wish to apply to, how you would like to further your education…” Your attention is side tracked when a tall figure hurries into the room, his dark eyes scanning for an open seat. You swear your heart drops to your stomach. Farleigh.

His eyes eventually fall onto you after spotting the empty seat next to you. He reluctantly walks over and sits down next to you with a big sigh, like he’s just put off by your existence. At least the feeling’s mutual.

“Your grades need to be in top shape this year, as they will determine your chances of getting into university. This year is arguably the most important for grades,” Mrs. Chasteen explains, pacing around slowly. You shift uncomfortably, scooting away from Farleigh. It’s like he’s trying to take up space on purpose as he splays his books and papers across the table. You shoot him an ungrateful look which he ignores.

“Now, enough about all that. I’m going to introduce the book that we will be studying closely this term.” You perk up at her words as she goes to her desk, picking a book up off the surface.

“This book is found on many, many reading lists for universities, namely Oxford.” You raise an eyebrow and sit up at the mention of your dream school. “A classic from the Victiorian era: Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë.” She holds up the book briefly and you let out a relieved sigh. “One of my personal favorites,” She adds quietly, setting the book back down.

Farleigh nudges you with his shoulder and you have to stop yourself from physically recoiling. “Would’ve thought you’d already read this by now,” He mutters with a slight smirk on his face, showing his teeth like a fox. Suddenly, a question enters your mind and now you have to ask, though you might come off as insecure. “Have you?” You whisper back, eyebrows furrowed. He shakes his head. “No.”

Okay, good. That would have been bad if he had already read it. It’s always nice at the start of the year. You’re both even, and no one’s ahead of each other in anything. Yet.

“We’ll be discussing and taking assessments over the chapters, so be certain to keep up with your reading. For your final project before winter break once we finish the book, you will be writing an essay based off of it and a prompt that I will give you. I will also be pairing you up with someone to collaboratively write said paper with.” Your eyes widen at this. A group project? Well, not a group. A duo. Nevertheless, it’s weird for two people to write an essay together. You’ve never heard of it.

“You need to learn how to critique each other and work together. It’s an important skill for uni.” Mrs. Chasteen seems to notice everyone’s looks of confusion. “Hmm,” Farleigh hums. You glance over to him shortly before observing the other students in your class. You recognize a lot of them. Just accquaintances, not friends.

“Anywho. Please come and grab a copy, then sign the sheet so I know you received one.” You quickly stand up and head over to her desk. You want to make a good first impression. But Farleigh and his stupid long legs make it there before you do, charming Mrs. Chasteen with a bright smile.

“Hello. I’m Farleigh. I’m absolutely thrilled to be taking your class,” He holds out his hand, speaking with his velvety voice while your teacher shakes his hand with a curt nod. “You’re quite tall,” She remarks with an impressed expression. You roll your eyes. Why does everyone feel the need to comment on his height? Does it make him better than everyone else? It’s just one more thing that makes Farleigh stand out more than you, and you hate that. You miss what he responds with due to your bitter thoughts.

“Please, take a book.” She steps back and gives him more space. He reaches down and takes a copy off of her desk, signing the paper shortly after with his free hand, writing in flawless cursive. You’re envious of how smoothly and quickly he can connect the letters. It looks like something out of a scroll from the eighteenth century.

“Oh, wonderful cursive,” Mrs. Chasteen clasps her hands together in approval and Farleigh just glances at you with a shit-eating grin before walking off and back to your shared table.

“Hi there,” You put on your best I’m very high achieving and hard working smile and mimic Farleigh’s actions, holding out your hand as you introduce yourself. She smiles back warmly while shaking your hand. “What a beautiful name. I’ve heard many great things about you from your previous teachers.” She almost lowers her voice. You feel your face heat up and you try not to show your pride.

“Oh, well then, I hope I live up to your expectations, miss.” You say with a beaming smile. She chuckles and hands you a book. “I’m certain you will,” She replies as you sign your name on the sheet of paper in slightly sloppier cursive, looking worse underneath Farleigh’s perfect signature.

You walk back to your spot with a spring in your step, holding your head high. Hearing just those few words from your new teacher’s mouth made your day. That’s how badly you crave academic validation. Or just… validation in general.

“You hear that?” You ask, returning his grin from earlier. “Hear what?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and turning to you with a confused expression. “Nevermind.” You don’t know why you thought he would’ve heard your conversation from all the way over here. “Mmm,” He hums in response, and there’s some attitude in his tone. You debate whether you should come up with a snarky question to ask him, but you decide against it.

Once all the books are handed out, Mrs. Chasteen walks up to the whiteboard and uncaps a marker. “So, can anyone tell me something interesting about Emily Brontë?” She asks.

Both of your hands shoot up at the same time. You mentally curse at Farleigh and shoot him an annoyed side glance. He returns the favor. Mrs. Chasteen notices this and raises her eyebrows. “Eager to answer, are we?” She chuckles and then looks around. “Anyone else?”

You glance around the room. No one else is raising their hands, they’re all just looking expectantly at you and Farleigh. You look back to your teacher with wide eyes, willing her to pick you.

“Alright then..” Mrs. Chasteen clears her throat. Her eyes land on you. She’s going to pick you. Yes. Now you can prove your intelligence and superiority to the rest of the class, and to Farleigh.

“Farleigh.” Your hand drops back down to your side in defeat and he turns to look at you. He just winks. He winks. The annoying fuck, you could probably strangle him right now-

“Well, Emily wasn’t the only poet and writer in her family. Her sister, Charlotte, wrote Jane Eyre, which was hugely successful. But Wuthering Heights was critiqued for being too clumsy or, rather, not well structured.” He explains, sounding like a fucking Britannica article. It was the exact thing you were going to say, and it pisses you off. You rest your elbows against the desk and put your chin in your hands, sighing dejectedly.

Mrs. Chasteen nods and writes this on the board, summing up the information into bullet points. “Correct. Very good.” She caps the marker again and turns back to the class. You raise your hand quickly, and she calls your name.

“I think Farleigh’s forgetting to mention Anne Brontë. She was probably the least popular out of the three sisters, but her works are seriously underrated. Her last novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, was one of the first feminist novels. She paved the way for other female authors and gave women a voice.” You explain, and Mrs. Chasteen looks surprised at your level of knowledge. You can feel Farleigh’s bristling energy next to you. You smile contentedly, watching as your teacher writes what you said about Anne off to the side.

“And have you read this book?” Farleigh suddenly asks. You turn to face him, unafraid of his challenging. “No, I have not. But I did a project over the Brontë sisters last year, and my research went quite in depth.” You explain, and he does one of those Olympic winning eyerolls. “Having extra information like that comes in handy, you know,” You grin as his eyebrows furrow, glaring sharply at you. “It’s not like it matters. We’re not even talking about Anne. She asked about Emily.” It seems like you two have forgotten completely about the rest of the students in the room, the teacher, and everything else in the world as you begin to argue. It just comes naturally.

“If I’m not mistaken, you mentioned Charlotte. She asked about Emily,” You mock him. He opens his mouth to say something back, then closes it and looks down.

“Alright.. anywho, now we’re going to read a short introduction to the book to give you all an idea of what you’re getting into.” Mrs. Chasteen explains, giving you and Farleigh a stern look.

Throughout the rest of the class, you and Farleigh remain silent and refuse to speak to each other, though you were instructed to discuss with the person next to you. You look out the stained glass window, watching the raindrops patter onto the cobblestone, the puddles illuminated by the golden light shining from the lanterns, the chatter around you drowned out by your own thoughts about the rest of today.

Your overthinking is interrupted by your teacher’s voice.

“Okay everyone, that’s it for today. I will see you all tomorrow. Could you two stay for a moment, please?” She turns to you and Farleigh as you’re gathering your things, gesturing for you two to come up to her desk. You both glance at each other before nodding and heading over after you’ve swung your bag over your shoulder.

“So… you two seem very.. competitive. You’re both very intelligent, make no mistake.” You wonder where she’s going with this. “Which makes me curious– May I ask which universities you two intend on applying to?”

“Oxford.” You both say at the same time, after which you immediately turn to each other with wide eyes. What? No. It can’t be. You’re seriously fucked if he applies to Oxford. They rarely ever take two people from the same school.

“You’re applying to Oxford?!” You both ask, once again, at the same time. He looks almost personally offended by you, with his upper lip pulled up and his eyebrows knitted together in a familiar scowl.

“Oh- Haha, well. What a coincidence,” Mrs. Chasteen chuckles nervously, glancing back and forth. “I went to Oxford. It was quite lovely there, and the professors–”

“No, you can’t. I’m applying to Oxford.” You point at yourself, and he scoffs. “Who says I can’t?” Farleigh asks, his voice dripping with sass. “Me.” You reply. He rolls his eyes and facepalms with exasperation.

“Well, the chances of you both getting in aren’t… impossible. If they see two exceptionally good students who are at the top of their class, they won’t mind if you’re from the same school. They only see the talent,” She goes on to explain, trying to stop an argument from breaking out again.

“Logically, they would pick the top student, though. Not students,” You emphasize the s at the end of students. Mrs. Chasteen continues. “You never know. And backup universities are a great option, if–”

“I appreciate the suggestion, but I’ll only be applying to Oxford. It’s Oxford or nothing,” You reply, your voice full of determination. “Me too. Oxford’s been my dream uni since I moved here from the states,” Farleigh adds. You turn to glare at him and he glares right back.

“Well then. That’s fine, just please try not to take up any more class time with your bickering.” She raises her eyebrows at you two. You nod. “Yes, miss.”

“And who knows,” She says, pushing her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, “You two might work better together. Two smart brains are better than one,” You shudder at the word together. You and Farleigh working together? Absolutely not.

“Think about it.” She points a finger and you reluctantly nod, just to give her some temporary satisfaction. “You’re excused,” She dips her head and you hear Farleigh let out a little sigh of relief. “Thank you, miss. Have a good day,” He nods shortly to her before turning on his heel and heading for the door. You follow suit.

Shit. You forgot about the rain. Before English class, you had made it inside before the downpour had really started. Now the raindrops covered every inch of the ground. You have to cross the courtyard to get to your next class, which is in the west wing of the school. You awkwardly stand in the arched corridor, listening to the rain, slightly shivering as you try to make a decision. The weather is always bipolar in London. It’s September, and the other day it was sweltering. Now it’s freezing and rainy.

Farleigh turns around and raises an eyebrow at your hesitation. “What are you doing?” He asks. You glance down. He’s holding a black umbrella. How is he always prepared for everything?

“Well I don’t have an… umbrella,” You mumble, gesturing to the one in his hand. “Am I supposed to care?” He replies. Of course. Why did you think he would care?

“You asked me what I was doing,” You throw your hands up. “I was answering your question!” You exclaim angrily. He rolls his eyes. “What’s your next class?” He asks hesitantly.

You pull out the small yet important paper from your pocket with your classes on it, looking down and squinting. “Biology,” You reply, looking up and watching all the other students bustling around, chatting excitedly or holding umbrellas over their head as they walk through the courtyard. You look back to Farleigh, who seems to be thinking something over in his head.

“Alright, c’mon.” He nods to you, walking out into the open area, holding up the umbrella. You step forward without questioning it, just thankful for the rare act of kindness. “I’m headed to the west wing anyway,” He says as you walk side by side, as if he has to make it clear that this is not him being generous to you. It’s simply convenient.

You wish you didn’t have to stay so close to him, but if you want to be covered fully from the rain, you sort of have to get closer to him, your head brushing against his shoulder due to your almost embarrassing height difference and your feet almost tripping over his. You both remain silent, with only the sound of the rain pelting against the umbrella to keep you company.

You eventually reach the west corridor, and he’s quickly stepping away from you and wrapping up the umbrella. You begin walking to go find your class, before you hear his voice call after you.

“No ‘thank you’ or anything?” He asks. You turn around and groan internally. “...Thank you.” You respond, very reluctantly and quietly. “You’re welcome,” He smiles sarcastically and you roll your eyes before turning back around, quickening your pace to make it to your class on time.

A week later, your first calculus assessment of the year is already upon you. It doesn’t help that you share that class, of all classes, with Farleigh. Math has always been your most difficult subject. You’ve never been quick to understand it, it never comes naturally for you. But if you put in the time and work, you can make it seem like it’s effortless.

Apparently for Farleigh, it is effortless. He makes it clear that he never studies for tests or quizzes. While it infuriates you, you also find it hard to believe. How can he ace everything when he claims he doesn’t even try?

You sit down at your desk, fishing your pencil and calculator out from your bag. You nervously chew on the eraser, waiting for the papers to be passed out.

“First assessment of the year, good luck everyone. If you fail, there will be no corrections, so hopefully that makes you feel better,” Mr. Bailey says as he passes out the tests. His sarcasm somehow only makes the situation worse. You spent hours studying for this last evening, although he claimed this was all ‘mostly a review’ from your precalculus class last year. Right. Review. You should know this stuff by now.

As soon as the paper is on your desk, you begin working, starting with the problems you know how to solve. You get in that zone, completely unbothered by your surroundings or any distractions, just working, switching between writing down numbers and formulas to typing into the calculator.

You get stumped on a question and glance up to check the time. Your eyes wander from the clock over to Farleigh, who seems completely relaxed, one hand running through his hair and fiddling with his dark curls and the other working a problem out.

“Eyes on your own tests, please,” Mr. Bailey sternly calls out. Your eyes dart over to him, where he sits behind his desk, his gaze directly upon you. Fuck. Now he’s going to think you were cheating. But what were you actually doing? Staring at Farleigh? No. You were just… observing. You go back to your test, flipping the paper over to start the graphing section.

“That’s time. Pencils down, I’ll come by to pick up your papers.” Mr. Bailey announces, standing up and starting down the rows of desks and picking up everyone’s tests. He says something to Farleigh but you can’t make it out, but you see Farleigh grin. It seems that Mr. Bailey has already chosen his favorite student. You never even stood a chance.

Once he makes it to your row and picks up your test, you begin to pack up your things. “I’ll have these graded by tomorrow. Please don’t complain to me if you fail. That’s on you.” You scoff quietly at your teacher’s harsh remarks as you make your way to the door. Thank God that was your last class of the day. Now you can head back to your dorm.

Farleigh falls into step next to you. “So, how’d that go for you?” You stare straight ahead, focusing on the path ahead of you. “Good. Honestly, it was easier than I expected.” You reply. It’s half truth. It was slightly easier than you were preparing yourself for, but you usually prepare yourself for the worst. But you can’t let him know that you still struggled.

“Really. Hmm,” He hums, and you glare up at him. “What?” You study his expression. He must think you’re lying, based on his little smirk and raised eyebrows. “Nothing. It’s just… we both know math is not your strong suit,” He pauses and you stop next to him. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be good at it.” You scowl up at him and he just grins.

“Unlike you, I actually study.” You continue walking, hoping he’ll leave you alone, but he follows you. “Aw, you actually need to study? Sad.” He pouts and you actually feel the urge to strangle him.

You turn around abruptly and he stops in his tracks. “Alright. Lovely talking with you. Bye!” You wave with a fake smile. Farleigh looks a bit surprised by your reaction. There’s only so much of his insults you can take.

“Bye,” He quietly mutters as you turn back around, walking quicker and more determined, putting some confidence into your step.

You groan and flop onto your bed once you enter your dorm. Suddenly, you realize how sleepy you are as your eyelids feel heavy You cover your face with a pillow and sigh, wishing you could rest. It sounds wonderful. But you have work to do. Reading, studying, the list goes on.

You chose this boarding school because you heard it was most similar to the Oxford experience, campus wise. It was also named the most prestigious secondary school in London. You often become very homesick, though, and you long for the comfort of your parents and your real home. At least it’s preparing you for university.

You groan once again into the pillow before sitting up and pushing the idea of sleep away. It’s time to get to work.

The next day, you wait to get your calculus test back. Mr. Bailey is handing them out while you overthink and prepare yourself for a failing grade. What would you do if you actually failed? You think you would rather be pushed off of a tall building than receive an F on a test.

Suddenly, a paper lands on your desk. You quickly glance down and see ‘97.5’ written in red ink at the top of the paper. Your eyes widen and you feel relief wash over you. Thank the Lord. You grin and pick up your test, inspecting it closer and going over your errors.

You hear someone coming up behind you. You quickly flip your paper over, hiding the grade from whoever is lurking over your shoulder. But it’s too late.

“Not bad…” A deep, American voice chuckles quietly. You turn around in your chair, and to no surprise, Farleigh is standing there with his arms crossed. He’s already seen your grade.

“Stop looking at my grades,” You hiss. “Relax, I was just curious.” He smirks at your frustration and holds up his own test. You see a ‘98’ scrawled up at the top along with a ‘good job’ next to it. You huff in response, turning back around.

“That’s not even much better than mine,” You mutter. “What’s that?” He asks, leaning over your shoulder, his breath ghosting over your neck. You shiver and remain silent, unable to repeat yourself for some reason.

“Sorry, who got the better grade?” Farleigh questions, his voice lowered. You let out a small sigh, ready to admit your defeat. “You.” You reply quietly.

“Right.” And then he’s gone, probably heading back to his own desk. What a bitch. You roll your eyes and pinch the space between your eyes, shaking your head. Yeah, he got .5 more points than you, and it doesn’t seem like much. But for Farleigh, it’s a huge win. But you’ll get him back. You always do. And you’re going to be the one who makes it into Oxford, you are sure of it.

[pxgeturner]

Miguel O'Hara is a world-renowned professional boxer, and Hobie's other best friend. One night he finally makes the two worlds collide and sparks immediately fly between the two of you. But will he distract you from meeting your publisher's deadline? And will you distract him from getting World Champ?

before you follow. m.list. Iron Fist gfx library. series m.list. tag list.

Prologue. I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. Epilogue.

wc. 1.5k

an. hi. its me! Giselle, or gi, or gigi to few (not to be confused w gg, that is one of my moots. she makes really cool art.) n e ways here is the awaited Prologue for Iron Fist. Oh goodness I'm so nervous. I just want to make a few things clear. the reader is an author (obvs). She's recently graduated uni and is Latina! I write with a woc!r in mind always. I try to be as inclusive as possible, pero porque soy Mexicana, r might lean towards being more Mexican but I'll try to keep her Spanish standard and not be too specific to my family's culture. much love! hope you enjoy <3

please don't forget to reblog! likes do nothing to boost engagement.

Your foot taps against the floor. The damn blank document stares back at you. Mocking you is what it’s really doing. Fuck you, you think, I achieved my goal. I published a book and it is a damn bestseller! Only problem is that the readers want more. It’s been… some time since your first book. And sure, Jess said you can take a break before starting a new project. But you also know that it’s good to ride on existing publicity. At least be able to make an announcement that you’re writing something while all this excitement lasts. Maybe you should write something about vampires. You love vampires and how they fit into romance and how them drinking blood is a euphemism just a bit away from, the whole cannibalism-equals-all-consuming-love trope and how when a vampire attacks it’s often an allegory for rape and— but you have nothing to add to the conversation. You have nothing new to say, no new perspective or hot take, or twist. You have nothing. No ideas.

Not a single word on the page.

You have an idea, leaning forward to peck the keyboard. “F-u-c-k. T-h-i-s!” You highlight the text and italicize it.

Fuck this. At least it’s words on the page.

You reach for your cup and take a sip. “If all else fails I can ride on the rest of the signing bonus and royalties for a bit since the book is doing good, and once that dries up, I can apply to be circulation assistant at a library or something.” You sigh and take another sip. “But nobody has to know for now.” You get up, searching for your phone. You find it resting on the arm of the couch, you grab it, sliding onto the cushions, resting your head where your phone just was. “God, don’t make me a one hit wonder, I wanna be a star. I wanna be the one to push that bitch Colleen Hoover into obsoletion. Please God. Please.”

You open your phone and look for your mother on speed dial.

“Hola, nena!” Your mama’s voice is happy, she must be having a good day. You move into the kitchen. You need a snack.

“Hey, mama, how are you?” You hold the cell with your shoulder as you look through your pantry.

“Good, good,” you find a pack of roasted seaweed snacks and grab it.

“I went on a date anoche.” Your shoulder drops and the pack of seaweed slips out of your grasp.

Mi mami fue a una cita. Con un man! You stand there, trying to process that she is actually back on the dating scene.

“How did it—” you aren’t holding your phone anymore. You use the wall as support to lower yourself to pick up your phone and snack.

“—ay, mami, lo siento, mi cellular se cayo de mi mano.”

“Todo bien, hija! I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok, I’m ok. Anyways— how was the date? What’s he like? Am I going to have a stepfather soon?” you joke.

“My time for marriage is gone, muñeca, I’m just looking for companionship, pero, tu lo sabes.” You hear some subtle clinking in the background of the call, she must be stirring her coffee. You open your snack and park yourself on the couch. “Are you writing?” Ugh. Not you, too.

“I was, just finished for a bit before I called you.”

“You called me to procrastinate.” You choke on your seaweed from the accusation.

You clear your throat, “I called to check in with you. I call you practically every day.”

“But right now you called me to check up on me as an excuse to not write. Nena, I know you.”

“Okay, fine. I might be having some writer’s block,” you admit, sighing.

“And that’s okay, nena, but then you need to get out, get some inspiration. Allow the world to give you a story.” There’s mama, with her easier-said-than-done advice. But, maybe you should get out of the house.

“Alright, I’ll go out soon.”

“Tonight,”

“—I will go out to the Chinese place across the street and nothing more. I’ll talk with Hobie when he gets back to see if he has any ideas.” You hear your mama make a noise in her throat.

“You still live with that boy?” Here it comes. You’ve lived with Hobie Brown for three years and have known him for five. She’s always been apprehensive of him, since he’s radical and looks like he’s been in jail, with all the metal in his face, and why does his hair look like that? But Hobie is the one who’s kept you sane all these years. He’s held you while you cried and pushed out of your comfort zone when you were getting too stuck into your routines, most likely by dragging you to a concert or a protest. You help him thrift and flip clothes and ever since that one time his stylist had an emergency and canceled, you now help him tighten his wicks every so often. On days like that the two of you stay in, watching nostalgic movies and listening to any demos he’s recorded recently. He’s like a brother to you at this point.

“Yes, mama, I still live with Hobie. Nothing’s changed.” You move the phone down to your chest and take a deep breath.

“I didn’t like him when I first met him,” you clench your jaw as she continues— “…and although he’s one of those kids, I can tell he is a good boy. I’m glad he takes care of you.” You relax. “But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone you could kiss.” “It would be nice, but right now it’s not happening.” “Alright, muñeca. I’ll leave you alone for now, but keep your eyes open for a nice man.”

“I will, con cuidado, mami, besitos.” You make a kissing noise into the phone, and she responds with a goodbye of her own, and you wait for her to hang up the call.

You sigh, and look at the coffee table. Hobie left his song book at home, weird. It’s open to the song he was working on the other day. It’s a slower song, you can still hear the melody. You drum your fingers to the tune. He’s on an unfinished verse. You pick up a pen from the little catch-all dish and scribble down a line or two.

…

Hobie weaves through the roar of chattering, anticipating fans and into the tunnel, and walks past employees and into Miguel's prep room to see him tying his shoes. “Hey,” Miguel looks up. “Hey.”

“Are you excited?” He moves to sit by the boxer, shimmying up against his shoulder.

“Haven’t really been excited for one of these in a while.” Miguel breathes.

“Well, one step closer to retirement!” Hobie bounces out of his seat. He turns to face his friend, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You’re gonna do great, you big fuckin’ bear of a man.” He ruffle’s Miguel’s hair.

Miguel gives a half-ass hum in response.

“Well then, I’ll be out there, mate, cheerin’ you on.” He puts his hands in his vest pockets and walks out the room.

As he reaches the empty doorframe, Miguel speaks up. “Thank you, Hobie.”

“Anything for you, mate.” Hobie nods and goes to join the audience. Miguel fastens his gloves and puts on his robe. He warms up waiting for his coach.

“Ready, O’Hara?”

Miguel turns around. “Always ready for a fight.” He clenches his jaw. Walking down that hallway, the festive colors lighting up his path and the music blaring, he does his little bit, the movements molded into muscle memory.

This is it. This is his last year fighting. If he gets world champ again, he’s free.

Soon, he gets to fight his last fight. And dammit, the world championship will be his last match. Then, he’s never gonna have to come back.

He weaves under the ropes, entering the ring. Sitting on the stool, he shrugs off the robe and lets Carlos put the mouthguard in.

“You are going to show this guy exactly why people call you el oso!” Miguel beats his gloves together and nods. He might not like his job right now, but he really wants to hit something and goddammit if his opponent doesn’t look so beatable right now.

Coach Carlos steps out of the way, and Miguel stands to walk to the ref as he calls for him to center.

“We went over the rules in the dressing room.” Right before Hobie got here. “I want to remind you to protect yourself at all times, and obey my commands.” Ring the damn bell already. “God bless you both,” I don’t need it but this kid might. “Touch up,” here we go. He touches gloves with his newbie opponent and each goes back to their respective corners.

Miguel takes an orthodox stance.

The bell rings.

Miguel lands the first punch. He also lands the last.

[burninglights]

seeing some of you getting snotty about people not having first aid kits & first aid training without advising people on what they should have/what they should know is doing my nut in. without further ado:

First Aid Kits (what should be in yours)

If you’re going to uni/moving out of home, you really ought to have a first aid kit. Small first aid kits are fairly inexpensive and come with basic first aid supplies.

Included in my first aid kit is:

1 card of paracetamol tablets

1 card of ibuprofen tablets

A length of gauze bandage

1 tube of topical antiseptic (I use Savlon or Germolene)

1 tube arnica/bruise cream

30x plasters, assorted sizes

5x long strip plasters

10x antiseptic wipes

3x individually sealed small sterile gauze pads (7cm x 7.5cm)

4 sterile small adhesive dressings (7cm x 5.3cm)

it’s a good idea to also have an emergency card in your first aid kit, with the contact details for your next of kin and any health conditions written on it. They usually come as part of first aid kits anyway, and have a little clear plastic pocket to keep them in.

Also, remember to replenish whatever you use from your kit, and to keep an eye on expiration dates of medications/ointments.

Medication management

If you’re on medication long term (antipsychotics, antidepressants, statins, anticonvulsants, immunosuppressants, insulin etc.) you should have a two week overlap period; where possible, you should order a refill of your medication two weeks before your current supply runs out, so that if there are supply issues, you’re not going to be left hanging.

I’m aware this might not be possible for Americans owing to insurance and reassessment (I’m UK based, and just have to refill by filling out a form available in my GP’s office) and for those on controlled medications (opiates, methadone treatment for addiction, ADHD meds etc).

If you have medication that only requires use in emergent circumstances (ie. an EpiPen or an asthma inhaler), keep track of the expiration dates, and order a refill of your medication ahead of time. Better to have an extra inhaler knocking about for a couple of weeks than to really need one and not have it.

First Aid for Dummies & How to Get First Aid Training

Aif you’re ‘fresh out the womb’ new to first aid, or live somewhere where medical care is inaccessible, I highly recommend Where There Is No Doctor by David Werner and Carol Thuman, which gives step by step guides from scratches, scrapes and rashes up to emergent wound care. It’s not an exaggeration to say that that book kept me and my siblings alive for the first few years of our existencewhen we lived on the edge of the Kalahari 120 miles from the nearest hospital.

few bits and pieces of first aid I’ve picked up, both from training and being the world’s clumsiest son of a bitch:

Z-wrapping for wrists and ankles, especially if you’re prone to sprains. I don’t know how to explain this in a coherent way, so I’ve linked a video of how to do it.

For deep cuts or wounds that bleed a lot, you need to apply pressure and elevate the injury above the heart. It takes a nearly comically small amount of blood loss to become life threatening (blood loss equivalent to half a coke can is considered life threatening in adults) - if the blood is bright red, spurting/gushing, and the blood loss is uncontrolled, or if you have a clotting condition like haemophilia, you need to get to an urgent care centre yesterday. Call 999/911, maintain hard pressure over the wound, and keep the person calm and talking.

If someone has been stabbed an the knife is still in situ, for the love of God do not pull out the knife, or let them pull out the knife. It’s impossible to know what’s been hit without imaging, the knife acts as a seal in the wound; haemorrhage or massive internal injury are not situations you want to be dealing with outside of an acute trauma care setting. Call 999/911 immediately, and keep the injured person calm.

Learn how to recognise the signs of overdose. I went to a Midlands uni that had a reputation as a party uni, and hearing through the grapevine about ODs on nights out wasn’t uncommon. Narcan/Naloxone is a controlled substance in the UK so can’t be bought OTC, but I know it’s available to buy OTC in some parts of America and Canada. If you can, please consider carrying naloxone. If you witness an OD, call 999/911 immediately, and try to keep the person alert. If you have it, administer Narcan.

Don’t fuck with sepsis or meningitis. These diseases move fast, and can turn you into a past participle in as little as 12 hours. Get your MenACWY vaccine, know the symptoms, and call 999/911 immediately if you have the symptoms, especially if there’s been an outbreak in your area or you’ve had close contact with someone who is infected.

If you get bitten by a wild animal, (fox, bat, dog, raccoon…whatever) flushing the wound with water and then getting to A&E needs to become your number one priority. Tetanus, rabies and capnocytophaga infection are no joke: you need boosters/antibodies and antibiotics as a matter of urgency.

Finally, don’t be a hero. You are not John Wick. If someone is injured in an actively dangerous location or situation, the only thing you ought to do is call 999.

You really and truly don’t need to be able to pull a Hawkeye Pierce; the whole point of first aid is that it’s the first line of aid, and gets you to A&E or Minor Injuries so that you can receive professional medical attention.

That said, having a first aid training is incredibly valuable, both because you never know when some fuck shit is about to happen, and because by law most workplaces are supposed to have at least one first aider on staff, so it gives your CV an edge.

In the UK, the St. John Ambulance Trust offers workplace first aid certification, annual refreshers, sports first aid training, AED use & CPR certification and mental health first aid training.

You can also get personal first aid training for adults, children and babies with the British Red Cross for the cost of £37.50, as well as certified workplace first aid certification from £165.

The British Heart Foundation offer CPR training for free via their RevivR program; it takes 15 minutes, and can be used for workplace certification.

[justabigassnerd]

So Long Wisdom Teeth

Pairing - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x sister!reader

Word count - 2,876

Warnings - mentions of removal of wisdom teeth, mentions of alcohol, medicine

Summary - you go to the dentist to get your wisdom teeth removed and come out loopy, leaving your brother to keep you in check

A/N - hey y'all! Sorry it's been a hot minute since I last uploaded a fic! This was a request sent in by @hgfxbkn and I hope I did your idea justice. I'm sorry for how long it took for me to get a fic up, my second semester of uni has just started up. Anyways I'll stop rambling now! As per y'all, please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

At first, it started with a dull pain in your gum. You took some pain medicine and tried to avoid eating anything that angered the pain. Then the pain began to get worse, like something was trying to push its way through your gums but was going about it the wrong way, instead picking to push against your back molars. You attempted to truck through the pain, but it got harder and harder each day.

“You okay, kid?” Jake asked one day when he noticed you pushing your food around on your plate, hardly eating at all.

“I just have a bit of tooth pain.” You say, poking at the chicken on your plate as if it would somehow transform into something easier to eat.

“How long have you had this pain for?” Jake then asks, taking a sip from his beer as he watches you carefully.

“Almost a week?” You reply, glancing up from your plate to see Jake shaking his head softly with a worried expression. He places his cutlery down and watches you gently.

“Almost a week? y/n, we should probably book you a dentist appointment if it’s bothering you for that long. But you also need to eat. Do you think you could tolerate soup or something?” Jake says, getting up and opening cupboards in search of soup when he gets a nod of approval about soup. Jake quizzes you on where the pain is and how much it’s bothering you so he can call the dentist first thing in the morning. Jake hands you a bowl of soup once it’s ready and watches you like a hawk, making sure you’re okay and that it’s not causing you any pain. When you finish the soup Jake makes you take some pain meds and then leaves you be for the evening, only sticking his head in your room before he goes to bed to say goodnight.

The next morning, Jake watches as you get ready for school, struggling through the cereal you had made for breakfast, his concern growing by the second. He was sure the signs were pointing to a wisdom tooth problem, but he didn’t want to assume anything, especially when he hadn’t experienced any wisdom teeth problems in his lifetime. When you left for school, Jake pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled the number of the dentist. After explaining what was wrong, the receptionist managed to find a time for you to go in the day he was calling since they had a recent cancellation. Jake thanked them profusely before hanging up and immediately calling your school office, letting them know of your dentist appointment and that he’d pick you up for it. After that, he sends you a text letting you know what time he’d be picking you up before finally making it out of the house to head to Top Gun.

“I feel like such a dad right now.” He mutters to himself as he starts the engine of his truck.

When it came around to the time Jake was due to pick you up, you excused yourself from your friends at the lunch table and headed to the reception to sign out. When you’re allowed to leave, you head out the front doors and immediately locate Jake’s truck, heading over and climbing in the passenger seat. Jake drove you to the dentist in silence, the only noise being the radio and the rumbling of the engine. When he parks the truck near the dentist’s office he leads you into the daunting building, grinning at the receptionist and checking you in, heading into the waiting room with you hot on his heels. You wait anxiously in the small room until the dentist calls you in.

“I’ll wait out here.” Jake says softly when you look back at him. You nod slightly and continue to follow the dentist into the small room.

You sit back in the chair as the dentist enquires more about your tooth pain. The dentist puts the chair back as you speak and once you’ve explained everything the dentist asks you to open your mouth and begins looking to see if he can notice anything out of the ordinary. After inspecting your teeth, he decides he wants you to have an x-ray, so he can check the wisdom teeth he’s certain are causing your pain. You wait anxiously as the dentist and his assistant step out of the room after putting the machine in place. Then having to wait again when they x-ray the other side of your mouth. When they come back into the room with you, they wait for your x-rays to load and once they do, they inspect them diligently before turning to speak to you.

“Okay y/n. Looking at your x-ray we can confirm that the pain you’re feeling is a result of your wisdom teeth trying to come through. But because of the lack of space, they’ve started pushing into your back molars to try and make room. We’ll have to schedule you in for an extraction. Was that your dad in the waiting room? We need to speak with your parent or guardian.” The dentist says, glancing at the door before looking back at you.

“Jake’s my brother. But he is my legal guardian.” You say, and the dentist’s assistant excuses himself to find Jake and bring him into the room so they can discuss your procedure with him. Soon enough, the assistant reappeared with Jake in tow. The dentist had Jake sit down so he could explain the procedure and that he could book you in for an extraction the next day. You were growing more anxious by the second, only slightly reassured when the dentist told you they were going to use anaesthesia to make sure you were not conscious during the process due to how difficult the extraction could be. Once the dentist has explained everything and you’ve decided on a time to have the procedure, you are allowed to leave the dentist. You get into Jake’s truck, and he chooses to drive you home rather than taking you back to school.

“You okay?” Jake asks softly as he parks the truck in the driveway, looking over at you.

“Just peachy.” You reply, forcing a grin on your face as you climb out of the car and head into the house as Jake sighs lightly. He follows you into the house and closes the door behind him, hearing you head upstairs. Jake chooses not to follow you, knowing you probably needed a moment alone and instead contacted your school to let them know you’d be absent for the next few days and texting Maverick to tell him that he needs to be at home to take care of you so he won’t be working for a few days. When it pressed on into the evening, Jake headed up to your room and found you sat against your headboard, flicking through the book in your hands.

“What’s up?” Jake says, sitting himself beside you, glancing down at you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side.

“Just scared for tomorrow. I’ve never had anything like this done before.” You admit quietly, leaning against your brother’s side as you speak.

“You’ll be fine. Once it’s done, I’ll bring you home and you’ll get to sit on the sofa and watch all the tv you desire as you rest.” Jake says with a smile, nudging you with his shoulder as you smile lightly.

“Promise you won’t be an ass tomorrow? I don’t need you teasing me or anything.” You ask quietly and Jake’s smile drops quickly, frowning at your words.

“Hey, I only tease you because that’s what big brothers are for. If you’re nervous and need me to be serious then I’m going to be one hundred percent serious.” Jake says gently, hugging you a little tighter as he speaks. When you feel slightly calmer about everything, you slightly pull away from Jake’s embrace and tell him that you want to try and go to sleep. Jake bids you goodnight with a gentle kiss on the top of your head and leaves you to fall asleep.

The next morning, you’re awoken by your alarm, and you reluctantly get out of bed, getting dressed and brushing your teeth before heading downstairs where Jake is waiting with a soft smile.

“Morning y/n.” Jake says, sipping on his coffee as you smile weakly back.

“Hey, Jake.” You reply. You didn’t know what to do with yourself since you had time to kill before you were due to go to the dentist’s so you found yourself texting your friends to see if they could take your mind off the upcoming procedure. They promised to keep you up to date with what was happening during the next few days at school. When the dreaded time for you to head to the dentist came, you followed Jake out to his truck and climbed in. When Jake parked and the two of you headed to the dentist’s, he stuck to your side, knowing you needed him to be there. When you enter the building, Jake checks you in and you return to the dreaded waiting room. When the dentist’s assistant sticks his head in the room and calls your name, you stand up and move to join them. Jake quickly follows you to the door to the dentist’s room and stops outside the door. Before you go into the room, Jake gives you a reassuring hug.

“You’ll be just fine. I’ll see you when you’re done.” He says with a soft smile, releasing you from the hug and watching as you disappear into the room. When the door has closed, the dentist’s assistant turns to Jake.

“You’re free to head out for the next few hours. We’ll give you a call when she’s done.” He says with a friendly smile before following you into the room. Jake didn’t want to stray too far from the dentist’s office so he walked to the nearest café and ordered himself a coffee and something to eat before finding a free table to sit at. After eating his food and drinking his coffee, Jake goes to leave the café, thanking the workers with a smile before leaving the building. Jake then finds himself wandering the town to see what the shops had to offer. While he was browsing in the bookstore, his phone began to buzz and he immediately digs his phone out of his pocket and answers the call. Getting the news that your procedure is complete, he heads back to the dentist’s, letting the receptionist know he’s here to pick you up. He’s instructed to wait in the waiting room once more while she lets the dentist know that Jake was here to pick you up.

“Mr Seresin?” Jake turns to see the familiar face of the dentist’s assistant and rises from his seat, crossing to him. The assistant leads Jake to a recovery room in the building where he finds you. You had clearly only just come around from the procedure, your eyes were barely open and you waved sleepily at Jake when he came into the room.

“So, here are some aftercare details. There are lists of foods she can and can’t eat and just keep an eye on her. If anything of concern happens, give us a call.” The dentist says with a gentle smile as he hands a leaflet to Jake who takes it and nods. Jake then helps you to your feet, wrapping a supportive arm around you and helps you to his truck after thanking the dentist and his assistant. He carefully guides you to his truck and helps you in, plugging your seatbelt in for you before closing your door and rounding the truck to get behind the driver’s seat. As Jake begins the drive home, you begin to wake up a little more, but with the drugs still in your system you were quite loopy.

“Why aren’t I flying right now?” You ask suddenly, making Jake raise an eyebrow and glance at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Flying? Respectfully, you can’t fly a jet.” Jake responds, watching as you fold your arms moodily.

“I bet Mav would let me fly a jet.” You grumble, glaring at your brother.

“Considering you can barely drive a car I’m willing to bet Mav wouldn’t let you fly.” Jake responds, a small grin gracing his face at the mental image of you trying to pilot an F-18 with your limited knowledge of aircraft.

“Can I drive?” You then have a sudden mood switch, sitting up straighter and looking at Jake.

“Not right now y/n. You’re way out of it.” Jake says, sparing a quick glance at you, feeling awful when your face falls and tears fill your eyes.

“Fine.” You mumble sadly, turning to look out the window at the passing scenery. Jake was shocked at how quickly your mood was switching but he could only chalk it up to being a result of the drugs the dentist had pumped you full of.

“Can I at least watch Tangled when we get home?” You mumble sadly, a tear slipping down your cheek.

“Of course kid. We’ll get you settled on the sofa, I’ll make you some food while you watch the movie.” Jake says softly, trying to bring a smile to your face. When he arrives home, he unplugs his seatbelt and climbs out of the truck before turning to face you.

“Stay put. I’m coming around to help you.” Jake states, pointing at you before closing the door and rounding the truck. In the mere seconds, it took Jake to walk around his truck, you attempted to unbuckle your seatbelt but your drug-induced haze caused you to somehow get tangled up in the seatbelt. When Jake opened the door on your side, his expression shifted to a blank stare of disappointment as you giggled loudly at his expression.

“Jakey help me out.” You say, trying to free your hand.

“If you had listened to me, you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.” Jake jokingly muses as he moves to help you out, being careful to not hurt you as he carefully detangles you from the seatbelt and helps you out of the truck. He supports you to the front door, keeping one arm around you as he unlocks the front door, pushing it closed with his foot when you both enter the house. You pull away from him, moving to go into the living room to lie on the sofa.

“y/n shoes off.” Jake says as he takes his own shoes off in the hall. You frown and trudge back into the hall.

“I wanna lie down.” You grumble as you move to take your shoes off, lifting one foot off the ground and almost falling over. Jake was quick to catch and steady you, moving you to sit on the bottom of the steps and helping you take your shoes off. Once you’ve got your shoes off, Jake lets you go and curl up on the sofa, helping you turn the tv on and putting Tangled on at your demand.

“You want something to eat?” Jake says before pulling the list of stuff you can eat and relaying it to you.

“I can’t have spaghetti?” You ask when Jake has finished listing what was on the leaflet.

“I’m afraid not kid. So, does anything on that list catch your attention?” He asks, leaning on the sofa and looking down at you as your gaze remain fixated on the movie playing on the tv. When you finally muttered what you wanted to eat, Jake heads into the kitchen to prepare the food for you. While he’s making the food, he hears you singing along loudly to the movie's songs, dramatically singing ‘Mother Knows Best’ while Jake chuckles quietly in the kitchen. He knew he promised not to make fun of you, but he now knew he held some pretty funny stories to tell you once you were less drugged up. As Jake begins to plate up your food, he notices that you’ve fallen quiet in the living room and he figured you were either focusing on the movie or the drugs were starting to wear off. When Jake made his way into the living room with the food plated up on a tray, he finds you curled up on the sofa, now fast asleep. He smiles softly and places the tray on the coffee table so he can move to lay a blanket over you. He then turns the tv off and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I hope you know you’re a damn handful when you’re drugged up.” He chuckles quietly before picking the tray up once more and taking it back to the kitchen, covering it up for when you were awake. He then grabs his phone, lets the Dagger Squad know your procedure went well and then sat in the armchair in the living room to get a nap, while the peace and quiet that came over the house lasted.

[the---hermit]

2024 reading goals

Let's talk about reading goals for the new year. I also want to be better at checking in during the year how I am doing with my goals, so expect further updates (ideally each quarter).

read all the books I buy during the year (or the most of them anyway): This has been one of my main goals for the past couple of years. I think I have been pretty good with this. I never got to read the 100% of the new books, mostly because at the very end of the year between the holidays and all I always accomulate some books, but never too many, and I generally end up working my way through them at the beginning of the year. Having this goal in mind has made me better at buying books I actually want to read right away, and at not making my physical tbr get bigger every year. It is fundamental for me to keep being as good as I can be with this goal, and I am pretty confident I can do a good job.

read more non fiction that is not uni related: I love non fiction books but since I have a lot of non fiction to read for uni I never really read much in my free time. I would like to read more in my free time, and I decided to keep a very minimal goal of a non-fiction book for each quarter of the year. Of course any book I have to read for a class does not count. If I can get more than one non fiction book read each quarter that is even better but I prefer starting with an approachable goal.

decrease my physical tbr: After sitting down and writing out all the unread books I own it is imperative I do something to conquer my physical tbr. I have done it with my graphic novel section, I can do it with the rest. The main focus is the fiction section, but I will keep track of the non fiction as well. I haven't planned how to yet, but I think my main approach will be to fit as many of the books I already own in the propts of the reading challenges I will do during the year. I might look for audiobook to help me with this goal. Once I'll have a better plan I might write a specific post about it.

get back to reading in French: For years I have been saying I need to work on picking back up my French and this year this is one of my goals. To do so I would like to slowly get back into reading in French. Again I want to keep this approachable so I'd like to read one French book each quarter. Ngl if I read even just one book it will be a win because it will be more than I have done in the past years. For this I will need recommendations, because I only own The Stranger by Camus in French, and no other books. I am thinking about getting a copy of The Hobbit since it's one of my favourite books and I know it pretty well, that could be a good option to start. But any recommendation is welcome. (Note for my future self checking in: even if i read one book each half of the year that counts as enough because I am scared to read in French again so I need to go easy on myself)

[puckpocketed]

Autumn Hockey Diaries - Defencemen, Hockey Blinders, and the Hand of the Narrative: Brock Faber In 2 Minutes and 9 Seconds

[Foreword: This essay is not what I thought it would be. It's probably not what you think it will be either. I've cut down a lot of the content because it was approaching thesis length, and I've got a lot of uni-related writing to get through. Appendices of cut content and extra reading will be published some time down the road. Look for #puckmortems.]

Brock Faber is not on the agenda. Brock Faber is a gliding figure in the middle of my screen, on occasion. More often, he is a hunched over body on the blue line, or he’s directing traffic behind the net, or he’s a blurry smear of green-red-white on the outer edges of where the play is happening. Nonetheless, it's like he’s never off the ice. “how do i even begin to write about a rookie” I say into the void in a despondent blog post, not long after I reluctantly accept that the itch won’t leave until I do. This is deeply inconvenient. I’m already in the middle of researching for another piece, halfway through an ice hockey book which I picked up in an attempt to familiarise myself with forward cycling and forechecking systems. Ironically, I have the Flyers vs Wild game up to watch an entirely different 21-year-old defenceman. My eyes snag on Faber anyway. 

Let’s rewind a bit.

HOW DID I GET HERE?

Those following along already know this, but I’ve been meaning to write about the Anaheim Ducks. They caught my eye in December 2023, not long after I plunged heart-first into hockey — and then, of course, the Drysdale-Gauthier trade happened in January, and the idle research project I had going on kicked into high gear. I began to dig and dig and found narrative after narrative, and as I tried to sift through sensationalised click-farming and journalism, I felt the other narrative, capital ‘n’ Narrative, begin to close in. I was out of my depth; the rebuild was an abyss, Drysdale was inextricably linked to the media’s whipping boy, Trevor Zegras, and I was a little too fond of the Ducks to be any more lax with my research.

I wanted terribly to have clips and analysis on hand, real proof to throw in peoples’ faces when they made assumptions. There was too much to say, and too much tape to watch, and far too many books I needed to read in order to have the correct language and technical knowledge to do that kind of piece justice. I resigned myself to becoming one of those guys drawing over gameplay with a virtual marker one day. Afterwards, I picked up Take Your Eye Off the Puck: How to Watch Hockey by Knowing Where to Look by Greg Wyshynski. Unsolicited review: it’s got relevant information but all of that is sandwiched between unfunny Xennial sarcasm and Harry Potter references that are transparently desperate attempts at being accessible/relatable/fun — save your money unless you can hold your nose about all of the above. The man himself is possibly the worst thing you can be as a human being: annoying on Twitter. Any quoting from his book that I do is purely because, on occasion, he has anecdotes to share that can’t be found elsewhere.

So there I am, days out from the fallout of January 8th and rewatching Drysdale's first match.

WHO IS NUMBER 7? THE CALDER RACE, AND HOCKEY BLINDERS

But Brock Faber, number 7 a beacon on his back, surefooted and scanning the ice like a centre, is always just there. He’s skating every other shift, he’s on the penalty kill, or controlling the gap on a Flyer forward, he’s somehow also anchoring the power play — and really who is this guy? His name sounds familiar. The usual skim of articles turns up hype and speculation, opinion pieces written after Connor Bedard was confirmed to be out for 6 weeks with a broken jaw. They float Faber as a possible Calder contender, should Bedard somehow fail to catch up after his recovery.

And that’s where I’ve heard Faber’s name. He’s part of the class of poor bastards who have to share their debut season with Bedard, the fourth-coming of Gretzky — similar to Bedard’s draft year, yet infinitely worse because it’s the goddamn NHL and being in a different draft class doesn’t do you any good if you’ve got to share actual ice with him. All are afterthoughts, are footnotes in Bedard’s wake. When you speak of the rookies of the 2023-24 season the spectre of the Next Next Next One looms, and you can’t help but let slip the pity you nurse for those who would be the sweethearts of national media coverage, the new wave, if not for that monstrous boy and his, at the time, 33 points in 39 games.

There’s a border here. I step around it tenderly — helped along by a heavy dose of cognitive dissonance — when watching ice hockey, it isn’t to be crossed. I call them my ‘ice hockey horse blinders’, hockey blinders for short. They’re required safety equipment at this point, mandatory so that my sanity stays intact against everything ice hockey can be (aside from the best sport in the world): the retributive justice, the implications behind calling a player ‘soft’ for daring to protect themselves in a scrum; the insular masculist locker room culture which, in the end, is built upon rituals and language that degrades women and positions queerness as lesser-than.

One must also avoid thinking too hard about the way players are bandied about and dealt with like livestock, the way that they’re workers who sell their labour, too, and how they only really get to self-advocate when the collective bargaining agreement rolls around; how even then they’re hampered by all these unspoken traditions, arbitrary codes. Breathe and forget for a moment, for at least sixty glorious minutes of skating and violence, that for any athlete — for any prodigy — to exist and thrive, a child’s life was appropriated, taken in hand and moulded to fit a pipeline of production, because sports is a business the exact same way music and movies are.

The more I learn about Brock Faber, the harder it is to keep the hockey blinders from slipping off.

 “Brock Faber shouldn’t be possible,” is what people write about him in one form or another. They marvel at his strength, his size, his resilience; release article after article about how another rookie d-man would likely buckle under the weight of the work, how none of this was ever expected from someone so young and untested. Yet, the longer I sit with it the more unsettled I am. I watch his time on ice tick up and up with each game, hear on broadcast and read online that he’s on track to break the record for rookie average TOI. As of writing, he’s got 430 minutes on his next teammate for total time on ice. The only players on the Wild ahead of him are their goalies. The longer I put off finishing this essay (months now, from the time I first committed words to document) the wider this gap will grow. They say no one ever expected this from him, but an insidious thought creeps in: hasn’t the Narrative demanded this all along?

TIME, HAUNTING, AND MINNESOTA

Turns out I wasn’t wrong about Faber’s presence on the ice. The Wild have him skating minutes that usually go to veterans. He skates for 28:49 in the Philly match. Between the 10th of December and the 6th of January, Faber played 13 games. In 10 of them, he spent over 24 minutes skating. In half of those games, he logged over 30 minutes of ice time.

(NHL.com, highlights mine)

These are playoffs numbers, and they don’t just call it “playoffs hockey” because of the physicality. Exhaustion and injury go hand in hand, and playoffs hockey claims it’s tributes every year — rarely is it that this pace is sustainable, evidenced by how no teams make it through playoffs completely healthy. Top d-men are capable of it, yes, but it’s best avoided. When it happens, it’s an aberration. Poor management of ice time can result in sloppy play due to exhaustion. For the player who is exhausted, who fears exhaustion at critical junctures, they may choose to limit themselves, to compromise on plays to preserve their energy. More salient: every surplus minute extends the timeframe for possible injury, and every additional responsibility piled on top of that opens the door to potential burnout. So why do that to a rookie? What would compel any coach to do this, considering the risks?

Is Faber that good?

The question warrants another step backwards. Trouble is, this is where the tape begins to skip, a reverb-stutter-reverse that’s impossible to ignore. How far back to go? Does it start with the injuries that gutted the Wild’s d-core, shifting Faber into the limelight for sheer lack of options? Maybe further? Maybe it began in the mere hours between when Faber lost a devastating final match with his college team and signing with the Wild to play his very first NHL games — the third of which was the fucking Stanley Cup playoffs. 

Or perhaps it kicked off with the Wild buying out the Parise and Suter contracts in an effort to purge the team’s culture and start afresh? This was Wild management signalling that they’d take the salary cap penalty for now, but they were banking on a significant cap rise in the coming years. The subsequent “devastation” when Gary Bettman announced that the salary cap would only be going up by 1 million the following season — guaranteeing the Wild’s next few years would be lean ones — is what led to Faber being traded from the LA Kings for the Wild’s Kevin Fiala, after all.

But maybe linearity isn’t the play. The Narrative cannot be temporally bound, so why should this essay? The weft and warp of the Narrative sprawls out in four dimensions: the present weaves itself into the past; futures that never were dig their way down into the seams of time to rip into the present; and history is a concertina of repetitions and echoes, the same threads again and again.

Time and history are a deep well, I hover and put my ear to the dark, and Minnesota is the sound that echoes down. Minnesota, Minnesota, Minnesota.

Minnesota, the State of Hockey — and Brock Faber is a Minnesota boy. The Gophers, his college team, are a Minnesota team. He grows up going to Minnesota Wild games. And, because no kid gets to play for the team they grew up watching, he gets drafted 45th overall by the LA Kings. That’s the business; when you play hockey you are at the mercy of the draft lottery and the end-of-season standings. 

(@ mnwild via Twitter/X)

Only, this is the Narrative we’re talking about. The moment someone says ‘unlikely’ or ‘never’, it emerges and reasserts itself: sometimes things can be right out of a movie script. In Faber’s case, a dream. He talks openly about just how happy and grateful he is to be there. A real hometown hero — the title conferred upon him by media and fans and the ever-present Narrative. Faber doesn’t get to escape it just because the chances are slim, just because all the other Minnesota boys were scattered at the draft.

The Minnesota Wild as a franchise is held within its grip, too.

What do you call a Cup drought when it’s never rained in the first place? Meet the Wild, a middling American expansion team that’s not quite young enough to excuse their limping performance anymore, not quite old enough to have a sterling legacy to fall back upon. “Advancement seems there for the taking. It’s the least they could do after teasing this forsaken market April after unfulfilling April,” writes Brian Murphy; an embittered rally against the Wild’s historic floundering, even as he gushes about Faber’s first few games. Playoffs made in 13 out of 23 seasons aren't awful odds…until you read a little further to find out they’ve never come within sniffing distance of the finals. They are, it seems, perpetually on the cusp of — something. I couldn’t tell you what. Destruction? Greatness? Glory, even?

(via sergeifyodorov)

Just over 5 years ago, the front office asked for continued support in an open letter to fans. There would be a little patience required, but not too much — not when glory was just around the corner. The letter does not mention the vortex of rumours surrounding the locker room, the two veteran contracts they had to excise. They wouldn’t be rebuilding, of course, no need to panic and no need for a teardown — they had the pieces in line and were ready for a real effort, a deep run at the playoffs and a Cup, and “nothing less.”

Funny, a little over 5 years before that there was yet another letter asking for yet another small stretch of patience, right after acquiring two very familiar contracts. Parise and Suter, for those unaware, were brought in as two experienced players who would push the Wild over the line from “perennial playoff team” to Cup winners. Big name free agents, with lots of clout to go with them — and of course they chose Minnesota, says owner Craig Leipold, citing their “strong ties to the area.” Glory was, once again, just around the corner — what could go wrong?

And this time there’s been no letter but now they have Brock Faber, so bright and talented and so willing to just keep going, taking what he’s served, assignment after assignment. They have Kirill Kaprizov, a true superstar, ‘The Guy’, the kind who plants a flag and becomes the franchise. They’ve got Marco Rossi, yet another of their rookies who has made an incredible, unexpected splash — NHL-ready against the odds. The final season of the Parise-Suter buyouts will come in the next two years, and with it will arrive the much-needed relief of league-wide cap increases.And now, we see, the Narrative keeps the wheel spinning, keeps the story going in that reverb-stutter-reverse — and glory is just around the corner.

DEFENCEMEN AND THE SIZE ISSUE

Let’s talk about what it means to be a top pairing defenceman in the modern NHL. The Minnesota Wild’s d-core is fried from season-derailing (and in Jared Spurgeon’s case, ending) injury, yes. But normally, filling in wouldn’t fall to a defenceman in his rookie year. Where another team might’ve spread the responsibilities, Faber is given the lion’s share of downed d-men Brodin and Spurgeon’s duties. He's the power play quarterback, a given presence on the penalty kill; he’s out on the ice during OT; at times sent out as a catch-all shutdown defenceman versus the league’s best forwards (I watch him try to keep up with McDavid reviewing an earlier match against the Oilers and I think, with my heart in my mouth: you are so fucking young). It’s more than just a lack of options. To answer my own question: Faber might actually be that good.

I’m talking around it, but the Norris Trophy isn’t handed out to defencemen who can’t rack up points. And on the whole, defencemen who aren’t geared toward offence don’t score. The debate comes around every season now, I assume, to just make a new award for the best defensive-defenceman — this is entirely down to how the responsibilities and expectations of d-men are undergoing rapid evolution in the shadow of elite skaters and puck movers like Cale Makar and Erik Karlsson. The age of pure stay-at-home defencemen — those that play shutdown to the exclusion of all else — is seemingly winding down, has been for a while. “Offensive-defenceman” is no cute rejoinder for d-men who happen to have a little offensive upside. From Bobby Orr until now, it’s become synonymous with a set of traits that define the league’s best blueliners. Skating prowess is part of it, being able to carry and protect the puck is part of it, but the best of the best are able to seamlessly transition from defence to offence, joining the rush from the d-zone after a turnover, to become lethal in the slot.

Where Brock Faber lands on all these metrics begins with who he was before he arrived in the NHL. He makes a strange case amongst all the rookie defencemen I’ve had the chance to research, a mixing pot of what’s usually found desirable in a prospect — and a few quirks that separate him from the pack. I was shocked when I found out Faber played an exclusively defensive role for the Gophers right up until he signed with the Wild — and before then had spent no time on the power play. “I just hated getting scored on by these kids in college,” says Faber in his interview on the Wild’s official team podcast [43:31]. He goes on to tell the hosts; it actually feels easier to play in the NHL at times, because his teammates know where they’re supposed to be, and if he pushes up on an opportunity he can trust someone else to drop back and fill that gap — he is certain that this has smoothed the bumps in his offensive leap forward. And how has he done? Incredibly, by all accounts. Of the many scouting videos, podcasts, and articles I’ve perused, this trajectory is… rare. At least, for top defenceman prospects. He’s got it all backwards, see; as opposed to the archetype of the puck-moving, dynamic attacker who has leaks in their defensive game (presumably, something that must be worked on as they come into their own in the NHL), he came in a defensive powerhouse, a shutdown-d, and had to learn to let go of the blue line and attack. It took two months for the Wild to ease him into taking on Spurgeon’s role as PP1 quarterback, but since then he’s been a standout player.

Past the power play, Faber’s point and goal production has skyrocketed in comparison to his pre-NHL career — seemingly out of nowhere. He’s got the skating and the stick handling ability to do it, and now it seems he’s begun to hone that killer instinct. Coach Evason, before his dismissal, let out a critique of a then-struggling Wild: "Brock Faber can't be our best player every night.” On a streaky, at times unstoppable, at times paper-thin Wild defence, Faber was a boon.

One very obvious way Faber has adhered to the specifications laid out by scouts is his height and weight. It’s said that defencemen take a little longer than forwards to start showing up in the NHL from the time they’re drafted. It’s the body-size issue, according to some. The d-men who make the cut are older, bigger. The myth goes: while rookie forwards might get away with being 5 '9’’ and underweight on account of agility and hockey sense (and more than a little help from coaches who send them out while the puck is in the o-zone), when you’re a blueliner, and hence the only thing standing between Auston Matthews’ finisher, Nathan MacKinnon's rush, and a clear shot on your goalie and the back of the net, you can’t afford to be small. 

We’re living in a post-Statistical Analysis Revolution hockey world, though, so we know a little better about size. An alternative explanation to the size myth is something I’ve only ever heard of in oblique references — specific to d-men, coaches call it the “200 game” threshold for development. Further inquiry, (including appropriation of university catalogue access and trawling JSTOR), has turned up little helpful literature on the origins of this belief, aside from a stub of an article that called the cutoff “artificial”, taking note that prospects who failed to perform to standards by the 200-game mark were written off as doomed AHL ‘tweeners. I did, however, find a very interesting statistical analysis write-up by the folks over at Dobber Hockey.

Undersized forwards don’t float through on skill and quickness alone; one of the biggest predictors for success is, according to Dobber and Mat Porter, falling within the league average for size and weight. The theory here has been dubbed BT, short for “breakout threshold”, and represents the number of games taken for any given player to become competent and start producing consistently in the NHL. That number, for the average player? 200 games. And contrary to stereotypes, undersized defencemen and forwards struggle.  Furthermore, a stat that defies intuition arises when examining those on the taller end. Data doesn’t lie: “Bigger defencemen and exceptionally-sized forwards need 400 NHL regular season games.” Porter posits that growth spurts can be a detriment to young players just entering the NHL; the jump in body mass causing a mismatch in their expectations of their bodies, a “simple physics” problem, necessitating a slight buffering period as they readjust their physical and spatial awareness around the changes.

The belief remains, however, that larger is better. I’m understating just how much it pervades hockey discourses. It’s present in scouting reports and has had measurable impacts on drafting; I hear it on hockey podcasts; it’s thrown out casually during interviews by coaches and fellow players; it's the first thing you'll hear from a caster who isn't familiar with a player's game. I can’t read or listen to anything about Faber without stumbling across it — the preoccupation with size.

The language used to praise Faber and players like him has my stomach twisting in a discomfort that I find hard to quantify — players, coaches, and the media all talk about him, and the hockey blinders slip. He’s a “workhorse”, a “stud”, he’s got “a man’s body” — and call it projecting, call it reading too deeply into innocuous statements, but the closest thing I can compare it to is hearing my AFAB body spoken about as an object whose value can be reduced to its function, its usefulness, its closeness to sexual maturity.

Elite athleticism is produced when you derail a child’s life and set them on the path, just the same as all the other entertainment industries — think: the k-pop idol machine, pageants, child actors and models who then become adult celebrities, and, of course, the emerging phenomenon of the child influencer. For men’s sports, there’s something extra on top of the commodification of children’s bodies — it’s the vernacular of near-fetishistic worship; of the masculine, the oxymoronic youthful-but-mature, the virile.

I’ll be very clear here: I’m not reading anything malicious from specific people, I’m not accusing anyone of crimes, and in no way am I implying that ice hockey is unique here. Just the opposite, in fact. I know professional sports hinges upon producing stars, that the commodification of young bodies is endemic to the business. Those stars are, stripped down to the basest definition, workers who perform with their bodies and sell their labour, whose bodies will inevitably be coveted and revered for their adherence to the Platonic ideal of their respective crafts. MYTHMAKING: THE SHIFT

“Brock Faber’s play in overtime of the Minnesota Wild’s Dec. 14 victory over Calgary almost certainly has been long forgotten,” says Judd Zulgad in yet another article covering the miracle of Faber’s rookie season. Zulgad is wrong. This overtime play has been repeated, over and over again, a new myth constructed around Faber before our eyes. “He’s completely exhausted, but not only [gave] a second effort, he’s got the wherewithal to bump the puck back so we can gain possession and get a line change,” says Wild coach John Hynes — this particular quote is a favourite for the beat writers who mill out post-game fluff pieces.

The overtime starts like any other: face-off at centre ice, 3-on-3. The broadcast takes note that Brock Faber is starting, that he’s developed offensively in his rookie season. Things fall apart not long after.

Overtime line changes are tricky business. The margins for error are razor thin with 3-on-3; a sloppy line change during OT is a free odd-man rush for the opposing team. Almost guaranteed instant annihilation, and a pretty rude thing to put your goalie through to boot. You must, must clear the puck from your zone before changing over. This is how Brock Faber ends up on the ice; trapped with the puck in the Wild’s d-zone for 2 minutes and 9 seconds. 

Time trickles on as he engages in a scrap along the boards. The broadcast takes note of just how long he’s been on the ice around the time that I do, and then he stumbles. And what you’ve got to understand about Brock Faber is that the comments about his poise aren’t for nothing: Faber doesn’t fall, he doesn’t lose his edges. His skating, his balance, his ability to leverage his reach — is elite.

He takes a knee after the play moves away, slow to get up. The casters say what we’re all thinking as he skates back to the safety of the bench: “he’s running on fumes.” How can anyone watch this and feel anything other than sorry? He is barely there. He is carved down to the marrow, and all that made him wonderful to witness — his beautiful skating, his steadiness, his mastery of the craft — is cut away by exhaustion. Watching him tip over, watching his desperate last-second handling of the puck — it feels less heroic every time. I replay the overtime again and again to write this section and I ache. I am with him out there, losing my feet and my breath just the same.

When he makes it back to the bench, finally, there is no relief. The cameras voyeuristically linger on his pale, worn face, his eyes sweat-stung, as he slams his stick against the boards, each hit shuddering through his body. I want to take it from his hands. I want to wipe his brow and tell him he can rest, rest, rest. Later, giving an interview, instead of taking up the accolades he’s recounting how his turnover led to that endless overtime stretch. He is, of course, not wrong. But he’s not seeing the larger picture.

Consider: this is the kid who grew up watching the Minnesota Wild fail year after year, who likely held a secret hope that they’d draft him when it was his day — this Minnesota boy and his home-grown, Minnesota heart. He never once thought of himself as separate from Minnesota, because this is home, this is where his hockey dream was born; and this is where it must, to him, be fulfilled — of course he’d take on everything they ever asked, swallow down his duties and only ever be grateful.

There is no other way this could’ve gone.

THE HAND OF THE NARRATIVE

I'm trying to love ice hockey with my eyes open. If you haven't figured it out by now, my writing is rarely just about players or hockey concepts. It's about me - these posts are essentially a diary I've chosen to publish. Recently, I had a lecturer read this essay. She commented that it read like someone trying to come to terms with loving hockey. She was right.

"It would be just like the Minnesota Wild to carry on with their perennial early playoffs exits." That's how this paragraph started, when I was first drafting this piece. I'll be transparent; I believe in the potential of this team, and I want them to make an honest effort to win the Cup - but I need it to happen some other time. Armchair GM/coach moment: they aren't ready. They didn't feel ready to me, with their captain out and a rookie d-man holding their blue line together, and injury after injury piling on as the season entered its last weeks. I saw them pushing for another run at the Cup, saw their continued use of Faber in all situations, and thought, ah - see you in another five years. Wanting it simply isn't enough. And Brock Faber, as good as he is, cannot sustain this team on myth. No one person can.

I started this essay terrified Faber would get injured from over-use and play through it for the sake of the postseason, like so many players do; or that he would hit the infamous 'rookie wall' and flame out in his development (in the back of my mind, the question is still there). A few days ago, the Minnesota Wild were mathematically eliminated from playoffs contention. I breathed a little easier. I liked this team too fucking much to see them suffer. I wrote this essay with a kind of despair over Wild management and their preoccupation with Win-Now at the cost of the future. I wondered if Kirill Kaprizov's prime would run its course with the Wild barely scratching the surface of a playoffs run year after year. I wondered at times if the hand of the Narrative would intervene and make it so. The Minnesota Wild are haunted like that.

There are pages worth of writing to add to this essay that I've cut for brevity, and for the sake of telling Brock Faber's story in a way where it wouldn't be obscured by it.

I considered talking about my athlete friends. I spoke to them, informal interviews, we talked about the kind of mentality instilled in children who dream of going pro. You never say 'no'. You love your sport, you let it turn you inside out, you would do anything to keep going. Most of all, you think I'm still young. I can play through this pain. And once you aren't young anymore, you think I'm not young anymore. I'm running out of time. I have to play through this pain. And when your best years are behind you, your ideas about your body and your health are so twisted that you will grind the cartilage in your knees away to make the jump, you will play yourself into irreparable nerve damage just to be remembered, just to have the chance to touch greatness.

This is the truncated version. This is what I fear most when I think of the crushing weight of the Narrative upon someone like Brock Faber. He's hardly the first young athlete to be put in this position, he won't be the last. This essay is about him in the loosest sense that I'm covering the beats of his career and his team. It's not about him at all in the sense that it's about me and my crisis of faith.

To break character: I've been talking about the Narrative with a capital 'n', as though it is an entity with a will of its own. Sometimes it feels that way. It's not, and it doesn't, and it feels that way because we care so much. The hand of the Narrative is just how I rationalise the coincidences, the eerie parallels, the compelling threads of story that exist in sports.

I've wrestled with how to conclude this piece for months now. Since I started writing, I've taken up sports photography, produced poems and essays and assignments about hockey, and I've started ice skating - and in the process I've fallen in love with my dilapidated local rink. I'm now covering the AIHL, which zero people on this website care about. A lot has changed. I still don't know how to finish this, so here are some closing thoughts:

The hand of the Narrative is as real as we make it.

My leftist ennui about professional sports under capitalism could probably be explored on another platform - in a different essay that won't be hosted here.

That thesis I'm never writing about haunting, hauntology, and hockey is probably a symptom of some greater preoccupation. (There's an unfinished manifesto sitting in my drafts.)

If you're a Wild fan reading this - sorry for the editorialising about the Minnesota Wild. I'm quiet about it, but I do love this team and I want to see them be the best version of themselves.

Brock Faber deserves the Calder. He deserved it when I first started this piece, when maybe five people were talking about it, and he deserves it now.

Despite the turmoil of the season, the disappointments, the setbacks - I am still so excited to watch this team and write about them.

I think I'm going to love hockey for a long time.

[my-castles-crumbling]

hi cas :)

im not sure this is me asking for advice because i don’t think there’s really a recipe for getting over someone but i just need to rant into the void

so there’s this girl. let’s call her lucy. we went to the same high school but never really met. she was a year older and one of those “popular” girls i guess, so we never really crossed paths, but we knew about each other. she was one of those girls who made the room brighter just by being in it. like calling her gorgeous is an understatement. and she was always super kind to everyone. like all the boys in school had a crush on her at some point.

so fast forward a bit, first year of uni. i moved into a big city and enrolled into the same university as lucy’s best friend. let’s call her cathy (lucy lives in a different city about 4 hours from us). cathy and i quickly become really close and of course she starts mentioning lucy a lot. she also talks about me to lucy. cathy starts telling me how we should definitely hang out, how we have so much in common and how lucy would love to get to know me (we both loved taylor swift read the same books etc) but as we lived in different cities it was kinda hard to arrange. quickly we developed this kind of weird parasocial relationship through cathy. like lucy would tell cathy to ask my opinion on something, she would send cathy voicemails to forward to me when she wanted to discuss something, she also invited me to a harry styles concert but i was busy so i couldn’t go and so on. i should maybe point out that she didn’t really use social media so that’s why she didn’t dm me or something.

at one point i discover that lucy is a lesbian. cathy never really mentions it but it becomes quite obvious from some stories. and at this point, i kinda start crushing really hard. my little lesbian heart is only so strong and here’s this drop dead gorgeous girl who is so amazing and we have so much in common and god what is a girl to do.

i learn that lucy has a girlfriend and get kinda sad but can’t really complain so i try to get over my little crush and move on. however, one day lucy deletes all pictures with her gf from instagram she briefly had. a few weeks later she messages me and tells me she wants to visit me and cathy, and that there’s this big 1989 tv release party in the city i live in and she would love for us to go together. i’m of course smiling into my pillow.

so she comes in october for the party. this is our first time officially hanging out. and god, we have the best night ever. nothing explicitly romantic happens, but we just have so much fun. we go out for drinks and talk and then we go to this party and dance and drink and have the time of our life. and at this point i’m really thinking about this as a date, because we’re both queer and she hugs me and holds my hand and we actually cuddle in front of the club. and then. it’s really late and we’re both kinda drunk and want to go home so she calls her ex (?) to pick us up. i agree as i’m pretty tired but i’m also so confused as i have no idea what’s going on here. anyways, the night ends and we have brunch tomorrow and talk about how we had a great night, but don’t mention anything else.

long story short, she gets back together with her girlfriend and kinda stops contacting me as frequently, but half a year later, i’m still hung up on a girl i literally spent 24 hours with. and sure, i’m interested in other girls, have other crushes i guess, but somehow my mind always comes back to her. the reason i’m writing this today is because i haven’t listend to taylor in a while, but ttpd came out and suddenly i hear her in every song and she still told cathy to ask me my favourite song as soon as it came out. and she still talks about wanting to visit me and god i want to just move on so bad. but i know i’m gonna text her as soon as another party comes up when we’re both free. and it’s just gonna be the same thing over again.

Hi! <3

damn, this is...this sounds so difficult.

Honestly? I think Lucy needs to make up her mind. It sounds like she's trying to have her cake and eat it too by being with her girlfriend and flirting with you, and either she doesn't know what she's doing (which isn't great, but it happens) or she's not thinking about anyone else's feelings (which is worse).

I know it is so easy to get hung up on someone like this- there's like...such a fun aspect of a romance like this where it's drawn-out and a bit forbidden and kind of dramatic. But the problem with something like this is it hardly ever ends well and you deserve someone who wants you wholly.

Of course, this is all easy for me to say, as I'm not the one to experience it. But I think if I were you, I would take this album release as an opportunity to think about what you deserve and how you can use the songs to process your feelings. Because the important thing is, you deserve more, and you're not getting it, whether it's on purpose or not.

<3 <3 <3 <3 Sending you all the love!

Also, naming you deserving anon in case you want to update/write back!

[heartyearning]

☀️ SUMMER READING WRAP UP ☀️

i read like 30+ books in july & august & wanted to do a quick little summary of that here bc i read some absolute bangers. in no partic order + these are only the good ones bc i dont need to talk about [title redacted bc im nice]

headshot by rita bullwinkel: i got this in a bookstore near my sister's art uni & you could tell it was an artunibookstore bc there were so many books i'd never heard of but this one is SO up my alley. it's about a group of teenage girls in a boxing competition and follows each of their matches from the perspectives of the girls. they don't talk to each other so they each have this really skewed vision of the other person, especially considering that there's a competitive aspect to what they're doing anyway & the fact that none of these girls feel like they're respected in their day-to-day lives. if you're a teen following me you NEED to pick up this book, i felt like it so perfectly encapsulates that feeling of being 15-17 esp if you're socialised as a girl. everything is both grandiose and gritty at the same time, these girls have FEELINGS pouring out of their ears and it is so so so well written. absolutely loved it. also look at this cover:

LOVED!

big swiss by jen beagin: this is kind of in the same vein as headshot & generally in the same vein of a lot of general fiction i've been into lately. i've known about it for a while but did wonder whether it was worth getting it / whether it would do more than just scratch the itch that i already had scratched after reading headshot & let me tell you it absolutely did. big swiss follows a transcriber of a new york sex therapist who accidentally meets and becomes involved with one of his patients. greta, the protagonist, has got a lot of weird habits and thought-patterns but since the book is written from her pov it's easy to go along with the idea that this all isn't THAT weird until it really starts to be reflected back at her through other people when big swiss starts talking about her in the therapy sessions greta transcribes and onwards. it's really good, i also love that greta's a bit older than a lot of the protagonists in books like these that i've read. i also love this cover with the painting on it but i personally had a copy with an illustration of big swiss & greta's dogs (even tho piñon was brown on the cover, not black, but i'm letting it go) which was very cute as well.

chouette by claire oshetsky: iykyk. this book is really good for many reasons but let me introduce it by saying it was good because it handles a VERY tricky subject matter and does so with incredible grace. chouette follows the birth and childhood of chouette, an owl-baby which came about after Tiny had sex with her female owl lover in a dream. (i don't have my copy with me rn but the opening line is something along the lines of "it was a shock to me when i discovered i was pregnant after i dreamt i had sex with an owl lover, especially because my owl lover was a woman." <- that but like. good writing. i wish i could remember the phrasing better) in this book the concept of an "owl baby" is actually a stand in for having a child with mental development issues. chouette is an owl-baby in a world of dog-children, that sort of thing. i was very cautious when reading this book bc it's told from the pov of tiny, who doesn't always love being a mother (and i'm sensitive about that topic so i didn't really know how i'd respond to this) and also the subject matter in general can go wrong in so many different ways. chouette is really good though, at no point does tiny think of her daughter as being anything other than who she is. she's not some genius savant nor is she broken & in need of fixing. she's simply a baby / young toddler with her own needs and desires and her own personality. very sweet, very emotional book. music plays a big role in this book (again, iykyk) and there's an accompanying playlist which i ended up not listening to bc i didn't have wifi but i do also like that aspect of it.

we go around in the night & are consumed by fire by jules grant: pros of moving in with someone who used to work in publishing & book selling: i now have access to a bunch of new books i've never heard of before. we go around in the night is an incredible book about an all-female gang in manchester (at least i think its manchester, i do not recall) and how they deal when one of their members is shot and killed. the plot and concept themselves are really good but what stands out especially is the writing style which is in part stream of consciousness and in a larger part just very particular to the pov character & how their mind works. we follow the povs of the head of the gang and the daughter of the woman who was killed. it's very emotional, very rough to read bc it deals so much with grief and also it's so intimate because with the way it's written you just feel so deeply inside the characters' minds. really cool.

fantasy break: i reread all of my branderson books (or at least the cosmere ones), so that's the first mistborn trilogy, warbreaker & the first 4 stormlights. not gonna summarise those indiv bc i'm pretty sure none of my followers on this blog give a fuck but i am actually very pleased to have re-read them bc 1. i love them and 2. it's made the scope of the cosmere a bit more understandable again. also i get very emotional about fantasy & cried like a baby at the end of mistborn & also at the end of oathbringer. and at the middle of rhythm of war. when adolin's in shadesmar with maya? yeah. sobbing.

little, big by john crowley: i listened to this on audiobook every day for about 2 weeks as i walked my dogs and did my chores and what have you. this audiobook is 24 hours long and usually that's my limit on audiobook length, anything longer than that & i start to check out mentally, but i could honestly listen to little, big forever. if you don't know it's this multi-generational novel about faeries and a family involved with them tangentially through the contact one of the early women had with faeries when she lived in the uk. it's a book about an american family though and though the faeries are ever-present in the actions and consequences that befall this family, it's so much more about love. familial love, romantic love, love for a place, love. it's absolutely incredible and read by the author who has the most wonderful accent (maine, i believe?) which just transports you even more into the world of these people. i'm generally all for a novel read by a trained & skilled narrator, not the author (reading is a skill) but john crowley does a very good job and anyway i didn't mind it when voices sounded alike because you understood who was speaking anyway just by what they were saying and anyway it's a family so it's okay if they sound similar. truly such a wonderful experience, i really loved this book.

others i read and just want to quickly mention: giovanni's room, gut symmetries, the book of elsewhere (i love china miéville etc etc), edinburgh (by alexander chee) & a couple more but these are the ones that i enjoyed most / got most out of

[cheshire-castle-library]

November 28, 2023 | A Darker Shade of Magic - 001

I decided to do this anyway, and maybe its cringe or annoying, but I'm still excited about this book even a few exhausting Uni days later. I'm also hoping to like.... prevent myself from falling off of reading by giving myself some interaction to do with it?? This is very much going to be a Spoiler-filled series of posts (assuming I keep up with this), so please be warned. I'm probably going to use Keep Reading cuts and tags so I'm not super annoying with this.

I made it through the first true chapter, and I'm honestly really excited I picked up this book. I recognized the author's name from Bookblr posts about Viscious, but I have that in audiobook form and I already knew I was going to be spending too much at the Barns and Noble that night, so I didn't pick it up. Instead I was really drawn in by the blurb on A Darker Shade of Magic, so I took the chance on it and it proceeded to sit, egging me on, in the corner of my consciousness for the next few days. I'd even started reading something else I bought that day! But something about the vaguely Vash the Stampede figure on the front (and His association with the last book I got brainworms reading) and the idea of a setting of not only one period London, but many, and I could no longer hold myself back. Its Finals, what's better than starting a new obsession? ...

Something odd that I didn't really notice until I got to the page with the big roman numeral 2 on it is that the chapters are broken into sub-chapters like some light novels I've read; I've never seen that in a western novel before, but I also maybe don't read a lot of non-textbooks these days so who knows if that's more common than I imagine. But structurally, it makes the transitions of scenes nice and clean, so its maybe something I'd like to play with in my own writing. I've been really enjoying how Schwab doesn't explain every little detail, but still gives us enough of whats important. The way Kell uses his magic, the way Kell takes care of his appearance, the colour and act of drawing blood - but not so much the transitionary actions when they aren't characterizing or important. When he was leaving the bridge, in 1-3 for instance, we got Kell's little flex of wrist to still the stream and make it reflective, and Schwab spent the time to explain relaxing the wrist when voices carried from other parts of the park; but we didn't get a, "and Kell stood, before walking off the bridge". Instead it was just a "Kell continued on his way". It honestly answers some questions I've had with my own writing, that I've been brunting up against with my NaNo novel this month. How much do I need to explain for the audience to see the motions? I think my difficulty with imagined pictures makes me assume you need a lot more detail to conjure up a scene than is really necessary. I'm also thoroughly enjoying Kell's character. There's a certain stylishness that's innate with the coat of many coats, that honestly resonates with me via my favorite tabletop OC I play. Also a kind of snarky, cocky, stylish, magic-user; I'd like to imagine what chaos Ashton and Kell might get up to if left in a room together. Though the discussions of the rules of Magic would be very interesting, because the Blood of Heroes Sorcery power is much more the Halloween Town "Want something and then let yourself have it", while the magic system of the Many London's seems more structured so far. Though there's this hint in Kell's relationship to magic, that it might not be so different. Something that's interesting to me about it is that the "elemental magics" are less will and word and more just the will part; but the magic described as "true magic" has a language associated. Something feels logically backwards to me about that - implying that the "elements" (which includes Bones) are less natural than the true magic. But then again, the True Magic is life itself, so maybe it makes sense that life is the underlying true magic. But why is the true magic tied to something of human construction - language - while the others are controlled in a more intuitive way?

I'm really excited to learn more!

[slowdancingtorock]

Ireland - Day 34

My second Saturday off. I barely knew what to do with all this free time. I didn't really bother with tourist attractions as I figured they'd be just as overcrowded today as they were last weekend. Of course I slept in first of all. Which meant I got up at 10 which is ridiculously early compared to other days that I slept in. Anyway, I took my sweet time for everything before I actually did anything interesting.

I decided to check out Grafton Street as it's where we'll be going with the students on Monday. Found some nice places to hang out with my colleagues in case we don't feel like doing any shopping ourselves. Also, they have some huge shops there, it's mental. Like I got to test out almost the whole Tom Ford fragrance line up (I still don't really get the hype behind Fucking Fabulous, it's just another fresh fragrance to me but okay) and soooo many places to find clothes though they were all rather expensive. Still did some browsing but didn't find anything I liked.

Afterwards I went to the next park and found a nice place to sit down and check out the book by Seamus Heaney that I bought the other day. While I still find metre exhausting to get right, I really enjoy the poems themselves. I like 'em, they're as pretentious as those I'd read for uni - or even the ones by William Blake (though I should have seen that coming considering he thought himself to be a prophet of some sort). It was relaxing and time passed by rather quickly today. I hope the same goes for tomorrow as free time without the need to rest after work is rather hard to get through. Seriously, I don't know what to do with myself besides reading and going for walks - I don't want to watch Netflix or YouTube the whole day, I can feel how much it rots my brain after like 2 hours, it's amazing how I didn't notice that earlier.

Anyway, my song of the day is Outside by Calvin Harris and Ellie Goulding. To me it's such a basic song and it barely makes any sense to me but I really like listening to it when I am more focused on what I'm doing. Honestly, I didn't listen to music at all today if I had listened to music during my "shopping" or reading I probably would have picked something like Outside; simple, calm and something where I wouldn't regret if I zoned out while playing it.

[lizziestudieshistory]

Books of 2023 - January

I'm trying something new and writing vague thoughts on the books I've read this month as I've finished them. So if I repeat myself or I ramble (more than usual) then I apologise. Not that anyone reads these anyway 😅

The Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare - pleasantly surprised! I remember not getting on with The Winter's Tale when I first read the play as I found it disjointed. However, this time I really got into the themes and Shakespeare's examination of age/corruption/irrational passions vs. youth/rejuvenation/constancy in love. It's a WEIRD play and it definitely has a confusing plot, however, I did enjoy myself.

Rhythm of War by Brandon Sanderson - an underwhelming reread. Rhythm of War wasn't my favourite to start with and this reread really showed how formulaic sections of this book were (mainly ALL the stuff in Urithiru). I really didn't need another Kaladin fight scene after part one and that's sort of half the book... I did enjoy elements, such as looking at Kaladin's depression and Raboniel, but the vast majority was disappointing.

On the Knocking on the Gate in Macbeth by Thomas de Quincey (essay) - interesting essay I read randomly whilst on a break in the library at uni, it discusses act 2 of Macbeth and how Shakespeare creates an emotional response from the audience with a knock. I don't have much to say tbh...

Shakespearean: On Life and Language in Times of Distress by Robert McCrum - a pointless vanity project that shouldn't have been published. I only continued with this because I bought it and I NEVER buy nonfiction - clearly a rule I need to stick to! The points of interest came from McCrum pulling from other people's work (and citing it badly!!!) either by paraphrasing or directly quoting. I still don't really know what McCrum had to say for himself on the subject of what makes Shakespeare "Shakespeare" or "Shakespearean"... So what was the point? I also found myself disliking McCrum on a personal level, he came across like that unpleasant public schoolboy in your uni class who thinks he's smarter than everyone else, and is slightly sexist... Not a great impression.

Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare - a reread of an old favourite. I found this read very different to my previous experiences, this isn't to say that I didn't enjoy it but I found myself bored with the "B" plotline with Malvolio and Sir Toby Belch... And Olivia wasn't as dazzling as usual... However, I did really enjoy discovering how fabulous Viola is and thinking about late Elizabethan/early Jacobean gender norms and identity. So swings and roundabouts.

A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K. Le Guin - I really wasn't expecting to like Earthsea, I'm not sure why but I had a feeling it wasn't going to be for me... I was so wrong! I had a lovely time with this first book. I don't think it's going to be a new all-time favourite series, but it is one I'm going to enjoy picking up every now and again as the mood takes me. Le Guin is a beautiful writer, her prose is lyrical and captivating in a way we rarely see in fantasy. It's simple, elegant, and layered - a child could read Earthsea and yet there is a rich thematic lining to this story that I loved pondering as I read through. The characters and narrative distance did mean I couldn't lose myself in the story as I would with someone like Robin Hobb, but I loved A Wizard of Earthsea in a different way. I'd highly recommend giving it a go if you're interested in classic fantasy!

The Poems by William Shakespeare - I've never tried Shakespeare's poetry before, at least not seriously, you can't go through the British education system without reading sonnet 18 at some point. Poetry usually isn't my thing and I only enjoy epic and narrative poetry...and this is still the case, as this collection proved. I enjoyed Venus and Adonis, and The Rape of Lucrece much more than The Phoenix and Turtle or The Passionate Pilgrim. Both of the longer narrative poems gave me something to think about, usually surrounding the themes of each poem and its historical context. The shorter works I found myself largely indifferent - although The Phoenix and Turtle is very beautiful.

[make-me-imagine]

HI HI!!! that’s so exciting you hit 8k! I started following you just before the 7.5k marker and that wasn’t even that long ago!

anyway i’m super excited you always do the best ships, I was wondering if I could get two drabbles with the jealous prompt? one for Shadow and Bone and one for Star Trek (AOS or ENT)? I have no gender preference

a little about me i’m in uni (and like a week behind) I major in Physics and minor in Astronomy, I love engineering and building trinkets and things. I like to image in the grisha verse i’d be a Fabricator inventor either in ketterdam or the little palace. and in star trek i’d be a Science Officer boldly going and all that good stuff. if i’m not in class i’m at my job (a dog training facility) and if i’m not there i’m at a my other job (teaching ballet for ages 3-13) so i’m pretty much never home except to sleep. when I don’t have something to do i get bored quick so i like to keep moving but I love what I do. I’m pretty introverted and I typically don’t talk to people my own age if I can help it. I tend to lose track of time and will actually work on something i’m interested in all night if no one’s there to stop me. i’m also apparently super oblivious to flirts or advance’s cause I think people are just being nice and apparently my being nice back looks like flirting back. and that’s how I ended up dating someone for two weeks without even knowing. I like collecting skills like lock picking or wood working or osteoarchaeology or sewing, just the most random things. I love to read and if I can’t actually hold a book i’ll listen to audio books. i’ve also started mapping stars and making my own planetarium project.

I can’t think of anything else so if you need anything else just let me know! :)

Thank you!~

Also: "and that’s how I ended up dating someone for two weeks without even knowing." WHAT?? lmao that sounds like a moment write out of a fic to me lol

I hope you like them :)

Ships and Drabbles are under the cut~

Shadow and Bone:

I ship you with Inej.

I think Inej would be in awe of your fabricator abilities, and your usefulness and talent outside of being a Grisha. She gets along well with more introverted people, so I think she would be super comfortable and feel safe around you.

Runner Up: Kaz Brekker

'Jealous'

Inej felt a hot burning in her chest as she watched you flirt with the Grisha. She continued to tell herself it was for the job, it wasn't real, you didn't mean it.

She trusted you, but the Grisha that kept moving closer and closer to you with every word? She did not trust.

"Careful Inej" Jesper's voice appeared beside her, making her jump "That jealousy is showing on your face. I'm afraid you might turn green."

"Shut up Jesper." She whispered quickly, her eyes never leaving you.

After a few more painstaking moments, she let out a soft breath as you stepped away from the Grisha after he handed you a slip of paper. She felt the heaviness in her chest start to lift.

Once you reached her, you handed the paper to Jesper who quickly left. Sitting down i the seat beside Inej, you let out a sigh "I'm glad that's over."

Sliding a bit closer so your shoulders were brushing, she slipped her hand into yours underneath the table "That makes two of us."

"How badly did he flirt with you?" She asked after a moment.

"Horribly. I couldn't even understand half the innuendos he was making." You scoffed.

Inej cringed a bit as she glanced back at the man, seeing him looking over at you. She took in a deep breath. "i think we should go before he decides to come talk to you again."

As you looked back over your shoulder, you saw him wink at you and you looked away. "Good idea."

Inej slapped down some money for her and Jesper's drinks before she grasped your hand and led you out of the bar.

As you saw the way she looked back at the man, you smiled softly before teasing lowly "Were you jealous?"

She let out a sot 'Tch' Sound and refused to respond, but you saw a subtle smile cross her face, telling you the answer.

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

Star Trek ENT:

I ship you with Trip Tucker!

Trip is pretty extroverted, but he is attracted to more introverted types. He loves the sides of you that others don't often get to see. He would also think it was adorable how oblivious you are to flirting, until it was him flirting with you. You'd have a moment of "Are you flirting with me?" "Have been for a month now, thanks for noticing" lmao

Runner Up: Uhura from AOS

'Jealous'

Trip glanced at you a few times as you got ready to leave for your shift. He cleared his throat lightly, "So I saw you hanging out with that new engineer, what's his name, uh- Tyler?"

You looked over at Trip, noting the odd tone in his voice "Toby? Yeah, he's pretty nice."

"Yeah...he seems like a ray of sunshine."

You blinked a couple times before you turned fully towards him "Certainly sounds like you agree" You said with a sarcastic laugh.

Trip smiled softly "No, no, sorry, yeah I'm sure he's cool, he just...seemed to be flirting with you."

"Did he?" You asked, frowning.

"Yeah, of course I knew you wouldn't notice, but I did. He seemed pretty intent on getting you to notice him."

You took a small step closer to him "So you're saying you're jealous?"

He smiled but shook his head "No." He said with an obvious lie "I just don't know him, or trust him to back off."

"Well if it helps, he does know we're dating."

"Did he know that before or after the flirting?"

"When was he flirting?!" You asked bewildered.

"In the cafeteria when you were getting lunch! I went by with Malcolm and I saw you two in there, he was obviously flirting."

You rolled your eyes softly and shook your head. "I think you think anyone who talks to me is flirting at this point."

"Oh trust me, I can tell from a mile away when someone is flirting."

You let out a soft laugh "Yeah sure. But if you must know, it was after that, that I told him we were dating."

Trip nodded his head "How did I come up, did he ask you to hang out or something?"

"No, he did not. We were talking about the movie night and I saw me and my boyfriend were going."

"So he was leading you into asking you out!" He said in an 'AHA' manner.

You let out a sigh "Okay, whatever, but he knows now alright?" You let out a perplexed laugh "Can we drop it now?"

He sighed "Fine, but if I notice him flirting again I'm gonna say something."

You patted his arm as you ushered him from the room, "Yeah yeah, alright."

[lady-grace-pens]

Foad Excerpt [7]

It’s been a whole ass month since I shared a raw snippet lmao oops

I got my writing mojo back and I’m making good progress though! I just hit 31k today ☺️ Here’s a snippet in honor of it. It’s probably longer than what I should be sharing, but fuck it! In honor of the milestone, we ball.

All fluff between Emily, Arthur, and Ilya as they relax at a garden party being held at the uni. This is actually one of my favorite scenes so far. I almost shared the more angsty, climactic half of it but I just shared some angst in the word search tag I did a few days ago. Plus I don’t want to spoil too much ;)

Taglist: @wordwizards @flowerprose

•••

I run my fingers along the sides of a heaping glass of sweet tea bought from the refreshments table. Arthur, at my request, fans me with Ilya’s book—a copy of an old Russian novel none of us are familiar with. It isn’t long before he fumbles with his pockets, taking out a silver coin. Be flips it in the air before sliding it across the table. “A penny for your rose, Ilya, what do you say?”

Ilya pushes all his spare flowers towards us. “Take ‘em all. I’m done anyway.”

Arthur plucks a rose from his pile. Using a pocket knife, he cuts the stem little over halfway, and whittles away all the remaining thorns. Meanwhile, Ilya weaves the last stem into his crown.

“Lovely work.”

Arthur glances up from his work. “Quite. How’d you learn something like that anyway? Pardon if I’m wrong, but you don’t strike me as the artistic type of fellow.”

“I’m not. I picked it up to surprise Cal.”

“Aw, isn’t that lovely? You know, that reminds me of a bloke I once knew back in secondary. This was after I went back. Big sort of school, so new kids weren’t at all uncommon. But this fellow—he was the beefy sort of type, you know. Rugby player. Thing is, he had the most demanding witch of a girlfriend…”

The rest of their talk melts into a slush pooling at the sides of my sweating tea glass. The rich brown liquid is a prism catching the few strands of sunlight that peek beneath our umbrella. On the table, it projects glimmering visions of Matthieu’s eyes.

His absence hasn’t been lost on me. I must’ve given him a dozen reminders of this event within the past three days alone. My hair has gone white stressing the significance to him, not that he isn’t already aware. The Agricultural Society is the backbone of Ravnna’s funding. Our pride. This is their chance to display the fruits of their monumental care for their craft. If not for the sake of nature, I would’ve at least expected him to at least come for that. The fact that it means something to the people he cares about. But low and behold, what does the man text me this morning?

“Sorry babe I’m gonna be late. Y’all go without me.”

A simple line without a rhyme nor reason. While a late entrance would be superior to his complete absence, I’m still expecting a strong excuse.

I check my phone. Nothing new. Only the time shifting.

“Haven’t heard from Matt, have you?” Ilya asks.

I cross my arms. “He told me he’d be late, but he never said how late. God only knows if he’s planning to show up at all.”

“Depends on how bad his uncle needs him.”

“That’s what he blew this off for?” I slam my wedges against the ground. “Fuck. I’m happy it’s not anything else, but… Dear Lord. They act like those trees are going to sprout legs and walk away.”

Arthur and Ilya share a laugh.

“You act like he didn’t tell you or somethin’.”

“He didn’t.”

“Logger, isn’t he?” Arthur takes a sip of my tea.

“Yes. Also that’s my drink.”

“But I bought it with my money, love. Technically it’s mine.”

I twirl my hair and give him my richest fake laugh. He rests his elbow on the back of my chair, all pride and playfulness. Speaking again. I fall deadpan.

“Careful with the roses, love, some of them have thorns.”

Arthur, unchanging, returns to his pruning. “And some like to think their thorns are much sharper than they realize.”

Ilya breaks out in a fit of laughter. I’m shocked he isn’t falling with how harshly he’s leaning back.

“Oh quit your laughter over there!” I snatch one of the thorn-laden stems Arthur broke off and throw it at him. “It wasn’t that funny.”

“Yes it was.”

Your smile says it all, dearest,” purrs Arthur.

“You—“ I slap his shoulder. “Shut up! This isn’t a smile. Even if it was, it’s surely from the heat and nothing else. God knows that joke was so dry, I can hear my Grandpappy coughing.”

Ilya keels over the chair next to him. “Oh my God, Em.”

Arthur, groaning, buries his head in his hands. At this point, I can’t resist my lips springing up like the flowers surrounding us.

“Lord almighty, this entire conversation has to be cleansed.”

“Hand me my book, Em,” asks Ilya as his hand pops up from the table.

My lungs birth a half-formed laugh that more so resembles a breath of air. I throw his book across the table.

“Too lazy to fetch it yourself, huh?”

“Damn right.”

Arthur clears his throat. Between his fingers, he twirls the freshly cut, dethroned English rose. He says nothing but wears a smile—go figure. Is there some sort of question he’s expecting me to answer? Perhaps a continuity error between the strands of silk petals? Before I can ask him such, he raises the rose to my ear, intertwining it with my curls.

“Love,” he says while his breath, like the late summer sun, tantalizes my skin. “Won’t you take a walk with me? For the better part of an hour, all you’ve done is sit here waiting for the likes of some guy to show up. Take a look at where you are, darling, we’re in paradise! I don’t want to see you wasting any more time not savoring it.”

My heart is exiled to my guts, where it becomes a feast for the wriggling maggots churning my intestines. I reach for my phone. If Matthieu catches me alone with him… The thought of that possibility is enough to bring me chills. It’s best if I wait here for him, really, but… without any news of his arrival… I could very well be damned to this chair for another hour before I get so much as a text claiming he’s on his way. In the grand scheme of things, what is a brief little distraction?

[dreamsinfiction]

May 2024 recap (aka the month I finally took a breather)

Looking back, I think this was the month where I told myself to breathe, chill and pace myself a little bit. Cos at the rate that I was going, I was definitely going to hit burnout stage pretty soon.

This was also the month that I went back on dating apps and also realising that maybe they aren't for me because of a slew of reasons which I will get into in another post. Wait, scratch that, I'll get to it now because boy do I have a lot of grievances.

My Gripes with Online Dating

a) The guys on there are usually quite creepy? - I mean I already have my antenna up because nowadays you can't be sure what is a scam and what isn't (those with blurry, resolution 140p photos are definitely trying to scam). But scams aside, sometime the people on there are pretty weird.

b) Very passive men - I don't know if this is Muzzmatch thing or just dating apps in general, but what is the point of you clicking match with someone when you don't do anything after that?? And it's not just a oh-maybe-this-person-is-not-on-the-app-anymore kind of thing, they've actually seen that we've matched, that I've tried saying hi but leaving me ghosted without saying anything 🙄 As a classic introvert, I do need someone to lead the convo or at least participate in it -.-

c) Men who I can't click with - I don't know if this is a specific M/M issue (I think it is) but I feel like I can't click with about 90% of them mainly because of education background. Not trying to be elitist but a lot of them don't have a degree so naturally the way we think would be very different. I don't think I'm that assertive/liberal in my thinking but wow some of them are super, super conservative. Oof.

Anyway, enough about men. One thing I'll say is that they make for very funny banter stories between me and my colleagues hahahaha.

On to the main programming,

Highlights of May:

I really think I treated myself quite kindly this month (even though work was intense as per usual) hehe.

a) Went on a little cafe date with Jac and Sya (and discovered a new place to study/hang out!). The coffee here was so gooooood. I have since gone back here a few times to study/chill heh. It's also nestled in BookXcess which finally has an outlet here! Books were priced pretty cheaply too.

b) Continuing on with the book theme, I also went for my first ever book event/sharing! Went with Chinyi, who I've been talking to on my bookstagram (definitely being more social with my reading this year and on my IG heh) and she jio-ed me to go for one at Wardah Books! Picked up "When You Think You're Falling" because of her recommendation too. Ameera Aslam's sharing on her thoughts when writing the book and how it reflects her life journey with faith is so real. I felt very seen in that moment - to know that others are also having their ups and downs with faith, how the lows may be really low but what's most important is not to be perfect (and give up when you inevitably can't acheive that) but to pick yourself up and try again. Love that ❤️

Truly an inspiration - I love discovering local authors!

We then went to Penny Uni to have brunch and coffee and wow, it's been a long time since I clicked with a new friend that we spent 1.5 hours there and the time just flew by~ I don't even know what we talked about but love it when the conversation is so easy and effortless heh.

Can never go wrong with Penny Uni's french toast.

c) Went for Hamilton with Fatin! Huge fan of the show since watching the Disney+ version so knowing how big a theatre nerd Fatin is, of course I asked her if she wants to come along too heh. We both loved the show even though it's put on by the Aussie cast (Lafayette was played by a pretty cute Korean-Australian). Fatin even said it was way better than the West End one she watched while she was studying her Master's in London hahaha.

Our friendship is now, what, easily 17/18 years? But it still feels like we're back in secondary school just that now we're talking about adulting, having back pains and bonding over family problems instead of prepping for band SYF, Limau/Linau, and the Kerbaus HAHAHA.

d) Went driving again for the first time! Have to say, Tommy is a very patient and nurturing teacher (tho Sya may say otherwise? 😜). I felt more confident of being behind the wheel again after a long time even though we started with baby steps like turning, parking and changing signals heh. Hopefully driving in Jeju will be less stressful than in Singapore!

e) Started watching Lovely Runner after seeing all the hype online - GAISE THE HYPE IS DESERVED. This show will easily be one of my favourites this year (could possibly be the top show of the year?) and it is just so cute with a dash of heartwrenching pain after all the plot twists it takes. It's about idol culture but not really, quite a bit of time-travelling and second chances, and cute lovey dovey moments between the two leads. It's coming out in August on Netflix so pls watch it and share my joy/pain in watching it too heh. If the first 10 minutes of the first ep doesn't make you tear, I think you may actually have no heart muahahaha.

And lastly, definitely the highlight of the highlights....

f) Going on a short cruise trip with the family to Phuket! I always feel relaxed on cruises cos there's limited activities anyway and you have a lot of time on your hands to just step out onto the balcony, enjoy the sea breeze while reading the hours away. There was many a sunset that I fully enjoyed. Of course it being a family trip it was a bit rocky here and there (which family trip isn't hahaha) but overall, I'll choose to remember the moments that made me zen and help me recenter myself before stepping on Singapore soil again.

Gotta love a Kobo - I can fit so many books of different genres and read them according to my mood haha.

Truly peaceful.

[str4ng3v4mp]

Impressively slow reading pace

I feel like my reading pace is so slow its almost impressive. Like the time it takes me to start and finish a book is almost record breaking. And I always finish the book- its not like I get bored and just stop reading, I would say Im actively reading the book for the months it takes me to finish.

Its not even like Im not enjoying the book either; most of the time Im actually really enjoying it. The last book I read (The Exile- Pearl S. Buck) took me longer to read 'cause i had to take breaks between all the deaths. It was just so depressing I needed to take a breather.

The book that has taken me the longest to read thus far however, was The Winter of Our Discontent- John Steinbach. That one took me 9 months. Now tbf I was just starting my first year in university so I was very busy with transitioning and getting used to uni life. But 9 months is quite impressive still imo.

I also have a very slow reading pace in general. Like it just takes me ages to actually read the words on the page. Ik some people are able to skim pages and actually comprehend whats going on but idk Ive never been able to. I read slow but at least my comprehension is decent.

Im also the worst book critic ever- everything's at least a 3 star and thats when Im being strict. I feel like every book is enjoyable for a different reason, so i cant really compare and rank them. I enjoy most books I read for different reasons. Also I basically only ever read 'classics' or 'modern classics' or at least books that have been super popular. So chances are the books popular because its good in one way or another.

Anyways, Im currently reading Crime and Punishment- which is definitely one of the longest books Ive picked up, so this could be a record worthy finishing time! I am hoping to finish it over the summer but I know myself and ik the chances are slim.