#spiral from the book of saw reference

[gethighdropacidneverdie]

Always find it funny that the man that got smacked at the Oscars was in a Saw film and a driving force behind a Saw film.

[littlesapphicraccoonguy]

A certain someone who’s tumblr username starts with “spiral” and ends with “shipper” decided to take and eat cheetah William’s banana, and when seeing his distress, they told him to cry HARDER. How cruel!

[akkpipitphattana]

it’s so fucking crazy that the conversation around anti-intellectualism and media literacy has now just turned into people who refuse to do any sort of research on their own and have zero understanding of how to analyze media spouting the same talking points that they don’t even understand over and over because they think it makes them sound smart and they don’t realize that they’re actively contributing to the problem they’re trying to talk about. like yeah, you’re fucking right media literacy is dying and i’m speaking to its killer

[williameschenk]

opinion on tyler the creator?

It's funny, I went from listening to only what my Dad would listen to as a kid to obsessively listening to the music that was popular in very specific Kramer corners of the internet as an early teenager. Ironically, Tyler the Creator's music was part of the reason my TV did not stay on Cartoon Network!

Once I stopped going online as much and got obsessed with other things I stopped listening.

I'm getting back into it a little-his music and my parents' when I can stomach it-I like his new album, but I can't listen to the most popular song on it.

[pierrotpriest]

just watched cinemasins' take on spiral and i haven't really watched much of cinemasins in years or anyone talk about spiral on youtube because i assume they all say the same thing (not good, very bad, not saw, something mean about chris rock) but i will say that the cinemasins video had captions and whenever the spiral killer in the pig mask spoke on the tv or on the tapes he was referred to as "pigsaw" and i really appreciate that

[starsinthesky5]

“fun fact, she wrote about half of the first draft of so high school in one sitting at an indoor practice one day. she was feeling a little too inspired that afternoon, watching him run around in those damn athletic shorts and the black compression tank that drove her mad. let’s just say the storage closet saw a bit of action that day..”

so basically hi yes i need this as a blurb immediately

contains smut and language. mdni

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

(november)

she only meant to sit there and get some writing done. and well, to watch her guy do his thing while she simultaneously did hers. 

really. that’s all it was. harmless football fun. or so she thought.

he was her biggest source of inspiration and she needed a good dose of joe to write her next song. daydreaming about him while he was at practice, only did so much, and well, since quite a few football anecdotes were being mixed into the song, she wanted the full-fledged experience. be right in the middle of the sport she was so fond of, and the sport her man excelled at. she followed him around with those adorable puppy dog eyes and that signature pout the night before, begging for him to take her to practice the next morning. at first he was hesitant, not because people would notice her, but because he didn’t want her to catch a fastball to the face. 

that beautiful, crafted by the angels, baby face. 

he didn’t care if anyone saw her because even though their relationship was still hidden from the world, everyone who needed to know about them, knew. and that included his teammates & organization. 

anyway, she convinced him (like she always does since he physically can’t say no to her) by promising that she’d spend the rest of the evening after the game on sunday watching game of thrones with joe. ever since he found out she’s never watched a single minute of—according to him—the best piece of visual media ever created, he’s made it his mission to educate her on the masterpiece that his favorite show ever. he’s been relentless about it, bringing it up at every opportunity, dropping references she doesn’t understand, and even going as far as calling it a “relationship red flag” that she’s never seen it.  

so when she batted her lashes at him and promised a whole uninterrupted evening of watching with him—no distractions, no excuses—he caved. just like he always does.  

because as much as he loves football, and as much as he takes game day seriously, he loves her more. and if having her in the background, watching him ball with those doe eyes while she wrote so poetically about his goofy ass, in exchange for her curled up beside him, wrapped in a blanket, fully immersed in the world of westeros, is the price to pay? 

well, that’s an easy decision.

she was just sitting there on her woodvale tour blanket—the one she brought with her to the private suite every gameday because she called it a good luck charm (that’s a story for another day). her bag placed next to her and her pens, books, and film camera scattered around her. she was tucked away in the corner of the indoor practice facility, far enough away not to disrupt the players but close enough to feel joe’s presence. her journal was open, glitter gel pen gliding across the page as lyrics spilled out in a steady rhythm.

truth, dare, spin bottles, you know how to ball, i know aristotle

“well, i guess that last lyric works for him too. perks of having an incredibly athletic boyfriend who also is the most intellectual person you’ve ever met," she muttered under her breath, giggling at how joe was literally the real life version of the dreamy love interest in every high school rom-com. the kind of guy who could ace a calculus test with one hand and throw a perfect spiral with the other. the one who made teachers adore him, parents trust him, and every opposing team fear him.

she sighed dramatically, twirling her pen between her fingers. “seriously, it’s almost unfair,” she mumbled, shaking her head. “where’s the flaw? there has to be a flaw,”.

there was no flaw about him. good luck trying to find one ;)

and then, a few minutes later, the man of the hour came into her vantage point, and she nearly lost her shit. 

joe, in those damn athletic shorts and that black compression tank clinging to him in all the right places, muscles rippling with every throw, sweat glistening on his temple—he looked too damn good, distractingly good. every time she shifted her gaze, there he was, a living, breathing vision of raw desire.

her pen stilled. her thighs clenched instinctively as she fought to focus on her words, but her eyes betrayed her every time, locked on him.

“i’m so fucked,” she sighed, watching how his back muscles contracted with every stretch of his arms. she was lucky that his compression tank wasn’t so meshy otherwise those red scratches all over his back would be on display for everyone and they’d know exactly why joe was a few minutes late to the meeting this morning. oh, and tee & ja’marr would never let him hear the end of it since joe was mr. discipline for those two and their um…personal endeavors. 

anyway, one thing that always did it for her, was that black compression tank. and joe knew what he was doing when he put that on in the locker room. since it was bring your girlfriend to work day for him, he thought that he should have a little fun with it since she wanted some…inspiration. 

she barely concentrated on writing the song for the rest of practice since she was too busy practically eye-fucking him in front of everyone. she was lucky that none of the coaches saw, but some of the female PT’s definitely were giggling in the corner. 

it’s not her fault that joe is literally the hottest man to ever exist. like, scientifically speaking. broad shoulders, strong jaw, those annoyingly perfect hands that look just as good gripping a football as they do gripping her waist. and don’t even get her started on the way his veins pop when he’s focused—it's actually cruel.  

it’s not her fault that every time he walks into a room, she momentarily forgets how to function. that her brain short-circuits whenever he wears that damn black compression shirt. that watching him lace up his cleats is somehow the most intimate, most unfairly attractive thing she’s ever witnessed.  

she is so down bad. (girl, get off the floor)

it must have been his luck, or the way he felt her stare, because as soon as practice ended, he was on her—storming over like a tidal wave, hardly giving her a chance to shut her notebook before his fingers curled firmly around her wrist.

“come with me,” he commanded in a low, rough tone that tolerated no argument.

he led her down the hallway, past empty locker rooms since he was the first one to rush out of the facility, until they slipped into a storage closet where the door clicked shut behind them. in the dim light, with the hum of players filing into the locker rooms outside, he pinned her against the cool metal wall. “you think i didn’t see you out there?” he smirked, his voice a mix of teasing and urgent need as his fingers slipped beneath her top, tracing the sensitive curve of her spine. “watching me like that? biting your lip, not even hiding that look—you were thinking about me fucking you right here, weren’t you?”.

heat pooled low in her stomach, and her breath hitched as he nestled a firm thigh between hers, the pressure igniting a desperate whimper from deep within. “joe–,” she began, voice trembling from her fear of being caught but also from the pleasure in her veins.

“nah,” he cut her off with a kiss, his hands roaming lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her leggings. “you don’t get to play innocent now,”.

her fingers dug into his shoulders as he captured her lips in a searing kiss—hot, insistent, his tongue exploring as if he’d been starving for her all day. his hands moved over her body with a possessive urgency, tugging her closer, pulling moans from her even as he tried to stifle them by pressing his hand gently against her mouth, but every so often a repressed sound betrayed her desire.

“this what you wanted, baby?” he rasped against her lips, his touch speaking louder than words as he cupped her through her soaked panties, the heat between them intensifying with each slow movement. “you were writing your little songs, getting all worked up watching me, weren’t you?”.

“joe, please,” she gasped, her body arching into him, every nerve ending on fire, aching for his touch. 

he chuckled, his hand slipping with expert precision until he was teasing her, a finger sliding inside her, then another, his thumb circling her clit in a way that made her gasp and squirm. “joe, someone will hear,” she sighed, pushing her head forward to rest on his shoulder.

“then just be quiet, love,” he murmured softly against the shell of her ear, his voice a blend of tenderness and raw desire. “i know you have a hard time with that, but you can do it for me, right?”, 

her response was a desperate, muffled moan as she grounds herself against his hand, the heat and friction overwhelming her senses, making her crave more of him, more of every touch.

joe groaned softly, his breath hot against her ear as he worked her open with slow, deliberate strokes of his fingers, teasing her until she was trembling against him. “you feel that? so fucking wet for me,” he murmured, his voice rough but quiet, mindful of the footsteps echoing outside the storage closet.

she whimpered, her nails digging into his arms, desperate for more, for him. “joey, please–," she whined again, only for him to silence her with a deep kiss, swallowing her needy sounds as he slipped his fingers out and replaced them with the thick, aching length of him.

a strangled gasp left her lips as he pushed in, stretching her inch by inch, the delicious burn sending white-hot pleasure spiraling through her. he cursed under his breath, gripping her hips as he bottomed out, his forehead resting against hers. “fuck, baby. you take me so good,”.

she clenched around him involuntarily, making him shudder, his control hanging by a thread. he pulled back and thrust into her again, slow at first, savoring the way her body molded around him, then faster, harder, the force of each movement slamming her against the cool metal wall.

she bit down on her lip, trying—failing—to stifle the moans threatening to spill from her mouth. the risk of being caught only heightened everything, made the sharp snap of his hips, the relentless press of his body against hers, even more intoxicating. “joe…ngph…please. fuck– you feel so good,”. 

joe gritted his teeth, one large hand covering her mouth as he thrust deep, his other arm bracing her against him. “shh, baby,” he panted, though he was barely able to keep quiet himself, his breath ragged, his grunts low and strained. “you gotta be quiet or this will be over faster than we want,”.

but how could she? when he was pounding into her like this—desperate, relentless, making her toes curl and her knees shake? when his cock filled her so perfectly, dragged against every sensitive spot inside her, made her see stars behind her eyelids?

her muffled cries vibrated against his palm, her body tightening around him, her release building fast and hard. he felt it, cursed under his breath, and doubled down—his fingers slipping between them, finding her clit, rubbing quick, precise circles that had her squirming in his hold.

“c’mon,” he urged, his lips brushing her temple, voice raspy with restraint. “i got you, baby. let go,”.

and she did—her climax crashing over her in hot, shuddering waves, her body convulsing, her nails clawing at his sweat-slicked skin as she trembled apart in his arms. “j..joe, oh fuck,” she whispered, trying so damn hard to keep it together.

joe groaned, barely holding on as she pulsed around him, her tight, wet heat milking him for everything he had. he slammed into her one last time, burying himself deep, his release hitting him hard, leaving him breathless as he spilled inside her.

for a long moment, they stayed pressed together, their heaving chests rising and falling in sync, their bodies still locked in place as they came down from their high.

his breath was still ragged, his body still pressed against hers as the aftershocks of their release settled between them. his forehead dropped to her shoulder, lips brushing over the damp skin of her neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses there.  “jesus,” he muttered, voice still thick with pleasure, a breathless chuckle escaping him. “you are trouble,”. 

she let out a soft, breathy laugh, her fingers slipping into his damp hair, scratching gently at his scalp. “i think you’ll survive. you’re my big strong man, you got it,”.  

he lifted his head just enough to look at her, his lips curving into that boyish grin that made her stomach flip. “barely,”.  

he kissed her then, slow and deep, his lips soft, worshipping, like he had all the time in the world. like his teammates weren’t wondering where the hell you two went. it was such a contrast from the way he’d just had her, rough and desperate—like he couldn’t get enough. now, he kissed her like he never wanted to stop.  

“so,” he murmured against her lips, nudging his nose against hers. “was that inspiring enough for you?”.

she giggled, nipping at his bottom lip. “maybeeee,”.  

his hands tightened on her waist, pulling her impossibly closer. “maybe?”.

she shrugged, playful. “i don’t know, i might need another round to really be sure. still some details to flesh out,”.  

he groaned, dropping his head against her shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “you’re gonna be the death of me,”.  

“but what a way to go, right?”.

he laughed, shaking his head as he kissed her again, all soft and sweet, like he was trying to memorize the shape of her lips. “yeah, baby,” he whispered, smiling against her mouth. “what a way to go,”. 

[praisetheaxolotl]

The Arsonist Theory, Part 1: Mandibles!

Eight years ago, a few weeks shy of the day itself, I wrote something called The Arsonist Theory. It was my last theory post before making this blog, and looking back, it was disorganized, and I could have presented it better.

So, with new evidence, I'm doing just that.

The core of the theory is this: You don't blame the arson itself for a fire. You blame the arsonist that set the fire in the first place. There is a secret third piece of the puzzle here- not the act of arson, not the fire itself, but something more.

Therefore, consider this: Bill was not the sole perpetrator of the Euclidean Massacre. Rather, he was a weapon used to commit it.

Like the original, this will be a four-part theory, just to make it more digestible. I'll refer back to the original on occasion, but most of it will be new information.

Oh, and-

MAJOR, MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE BOOK OF BILL UNDER THE CUT. THIS INCLUDES THE TEXT ITSELF AND SOLUTIONS TO CIPHERS.

With that out of the way, let's go.

In another post, I mentioned that the specific wording of "Saw his own dimension burn" having a very passive connotation to it, plus parts of the glitched page, shown here- make it incredibly likely, if not certain, that the massacre was an accident on Bill's part.

Bill's main intention was to show everyone what he had seen all along-- show them that he wasn't crazy. But that's not what happened.

Also, just as an aside- part three of the original theory has some examples of exact wording being a thing to pay attention to in matters surrounding Bill. It mostly concerns his deals with others, but in a Doylist sense, it tells us: exact wording is important with this character, so pay attention.

But let's put a pin in that for a second.

On the page teaching us how to trick everyone into loving us, there's a portion about conversation topics:

The cipher in the candy heart says "LIES," by the way, and it's the only cipher on the page- immediately setting this portion apart from all the others. Bill says here that one conversation topic on a date-- while meeting someone-- is the very specific term, "mandibles."

Say, where have I seen that recently?

Huh... that's interesting! What a specific word to come up twice, in these specific contexts! Remember what I said about exact wording? Sure you do, you have a very good memory, I admire that about you!

But that's not everything I noticed.

All that glitching? You can actually see text peeking out at certain points. And what does that text say?

"Nice to meet ya!"

Over and over and over again.

There's nothing else in my mind that can make this make sense to me. There was someone else there. He met up with someone.

But that's not all- I still have three more posts of evidence to write.

Check back here for links to them- they should all come out within the next day or two, and I'm gunning for all of it to be out before the countdown on thisisnotawebsitedotcom hits zero.

Part 2: We get it, the billboard is a metaphor

Part 3: Journey To The Vicious Spiral Nebula

Part 4: Blame The Arson, Not The Fire

[yourlocalravendork]

The not so accidental date

This is a sequel to my accidental date fic linked here (thanks for all the notes on that, it really encourages me to write more) and for timeline reasons, is set in season 5 just after the first episode.

CW: Slight spoilers for season five, Spencer complaining about the 2009 Dorian Gray film compared to the book, tiny hint/reference/foreshadow to Maeve (it's a passing comment in a mini reader spiral), fluff, Spencer spouting facts as per usual.

Spencer had been keeping track of the days since your accidental date. Three months, two weeks and three days. He had told himself that he wouldn't keep track of it, but it was his eidetic memory practically forcing him too. He couldn't help but replay the small moments in the planetarium. The way you offered your hand to help him from getting overwhelmed, the pure awe in your eyes at the stars, the soft way you admitted that you wouldn't have minded if it was an actual date. And every time Spencer would remember them, a soft smile painted his features.

He needed those smiles more than ever now that he was confined to Quantico. Due to his shot leg, he couldn't leave the BAU to go into the field. Doctor's orders apparently. And Hotch didn't take Spencer's opinion of being fine to fly as a second, medical opinion. So here he was, hobbling around on crutches. He'd long kissed the thought of a proper date goodbye once he'd gotten shot. There weren't many places you could take a guy on crutches to on a date.

However, he clearly didn't see how smitten you were with him. While everyone else was worrying over Hotch after Foyet had stabbed him, you were in Spencer's hospital room, making sure he recovered properly. You didn't want to leave his side and you were there, keeping him company before he was discharged. Spencer being the lovable, oblivious idiot he could be when it came to matters of the heart, thought you were just being friendly. That seemed to be a common theme between the two of you. Accidentally friend zoning each other.

The case you were working had wrapped up and you were heading back to the offices to grab your bags. You had no plans, you tended to live more in the moment, never knowing when your next free time would be due to the sporadic nature of your job. At your desk, you saw Spencer hobbling towards the elevator on his crutches and naturally wanted to help him.

"Give me your bag," you offered, hoping that could help him a little bit. "It's fine, really, I've got it." That was Spencer for you. Insistant that he didn't need help. "You sure?" you pressed. "Yep," he said with a nod. You nodded back, not entirely convinced but knowing you weren't going to get any other answer. As the two of you waited for the elevator, you couldn't help but think about Spencer and how well he'd been doing with getting girls and their numbers. You'd heard from Derek about this Lila a few years ago, an upcoming actress who he kissed in her pool. You also saw the way a bar tender had fallen for his magic trick and managed to get her number last year, not that it went any far. But if you didn't act soon then who knows who would steal his heart away from you? Perhaps a genealogist who he has a sweet, over the phone relationship with? You shook the thought from your head. You were being absurd. But you did have to seize the moment. "Are you doing anything now?" you asked as the elevator finally arrived. "Well, I was planning on catching up on some Doctor Who, they've just found more footage in the BBC's archives," Spencer shrugged as the two of you got in the elevator. "That can wait, right?" you asked, being slightly bolder than usual. Spencer picked up on it, arching a brow at your question. "I guess, why?" You took a deep breath, it was now or never. "Well, they've just made a movie of The Picture Of Dorian Gray and I know you like classic literature so I thought maybe you'd like to go and see it with me. You know, a proper date this time." Spencer hummed in consideration for a moment before a soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The thought of you and him, in the cinema together, on a proper date, sounded nice. Although the more he thought about it, he started to spiral a little. A date. Oh god. He wasn't used to dates. The only reason he managed to get through the last one was because he didn't know it was a date. You'd picked up on his spiral and decided to back peddle. "It's cool if you don't want to though," you shrugged, as if you couldn't feel your heart shattering. "No, no, no," Spencer frantically reassured you. The last thing he wanted was for you to think he was rejecting you. "I…I'd love to."

And that's what led the two of you here, sitting in a dark movie theatre, almost awkwardly sat next to each other. Spencer didn't know the appropriate distance he should be keeping from you and you didn't know how close Spencer would want you sat. Neither of you thought about asking each other. Oh no, that would require common sense, something you both lacked when it came to each other. However, as the film went on, Spencer scooted a little closer, whispering references to the book and complaing when the film deviated from the source material. You had to stop yourself from giggling at some points and you were half convinced Spencer was ready to walk out by the end of it.

"A total disservice to the book," Spencer complained as you made your way back to your car, "Absolutely nothing like the book. Everything is out of order and they miss out key points. And what was that about Henry's daughter? Lord Henry never has a daughter. Don't even get me started on Dorian and Sybil's relationship though. The book shows how one dimensional their relationship is. They courted each other in the film, they don't even go on dates in the book. And you would've thought they could've kept Basil's love confession in the film. But no, of course they couldn't." You watched Spencer rant as he got into the passenger seat next to you. You couldn't help but think how endearing all of this was. He was getting so worked up over something so trivial. "So you didn't like it then?" you asked with a hint of amusement as you pulled out the cinema car park and started making your way to Spencer's apartment complex. "It was nothing like the book," he said, watching as you drove. With all of his rambling about the film, it was like he'd forgotten this was a date. He seemed a lot more comfortable now, showing how his awkwardness was just a mental barrier when it came to the unknown. "You know, the book was considered to use homoerotic themes to seduce Lord Alfred, Wilde's lover, so it was used for Oscar Wilde's trial for sodomy." There was the usual Spencer. Spouting random facts like it was second nature. "Yeah, a lot of the passages had to be heavily edited if he even wanted it published." He continued spouting contextual facts about the book all the way home. A soft smile painted your lips, listening to every one. Who needed the radio when you had your own personal encyclopedia next to you?

When you finally reached his apartment, you were convinced tonight could be called a success. Even if Spencer didn't particularly enjoy the film, he at least had a nice time info dumping to you on the way home. "Did you enjoy tonight?" you asked as you parked outside his apartment complex. Part of you was nervous to hear his answer. You wanted tonight to have gone well, especially due to the success of you accidental date. "Aside from how far off the movie was to the book, yes, I did enjoy tonight," Spencer nodded with a soft laugh, his hair falling into his face as he did so. You couldn't stop yourself as you reached out and adjusted it behind his ear. As soon as you processed what happened, you pull your hand back. A pink dusting coated Spencer's cheeks.  He wasn't expecting that. Not that he was upset by it, just flustered. "I… I guess this is me," he said after a few moments of silence, gesturing to the building. "Yeah, I guess it is," you nodded. You didn't want tonight to end, "Maybe we could do this again sometime?" you asked tentatively, not wanting to overstep any invisible boundaries. Spencer swollowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did. "Yeah, that would be…. That would be nice," he nodded, a shy smile toying at his lips. "Do you need any help getting up to your apartment?" you asked, genuinely concerned with his leg injury. "I'll manage," he reassured you with a soft smile. "Be careful then," you replied. For a few moments, the two of you just sat in your car, neither one of you sure if you should make a move. It was awkward but in that beautifully awkward way you and Spencer had managed to trademark as your own.

Spencer was the first to break, clearing his throat and unbuckling his seat belt. "I will," he nodded, going to open the car door. You nodded back at him, watching as he got out and hobbled on his crutches. "Goodnight, Spencer," You called out of your window to him. "Night," he called back before disappearing inside of his apartment building. For a minute you just sat there, processing the fact that you had just been on a date with Spencer Reid. An actual date with Spencer. Your head rate picked up and a smile exploded onto your lips. You felt like you were on cloud nine. And as you pulled away, you couldn't help but wonder if this would be the first of many dates with the BAU's resident boy genius.

[luigisleftshoe]

Father to be Luigi Headcanons

When you tell him, he short circuits. It doesn’t matter how you tell him, cutesy note, direct announcement, accidentally show him the test. He just stares at you, dead silent, blinking like you told him you saw God in your breakfast toast.“You’re… wait. Wait. You’re—holy shit.” Then he drops to his knees and just wraps his arms around your stomach like you are literally holding the sun inside you.

He cries. Not like sniffles. Full tears. Starts talking too fast. Laughs mid-cry. Wipes his nose on his hoodie sleeve.“Are you okay? Are you scared? Are we gonna be okay? You’re gonna be such a good mom. Like unfairly good. I love you so much I might combust.”

Immediately panics about everything. Googles prenatal vitamins Orders 4 types of water bottles. Buys books with titles like "Engineering the Modern Father: Emotional & Structural Load-Bearing.” You tell him he’s spiraling. He stares at you like: “I’m literally responsible for protecting the vessel of our love, babe. I’m chill. This is me chill.”(He is not chill.)

Turns into the weirdest health nut alive. Bans you from lifting grocery bags. Meal preps aggressively. Has a meltdown over mercury levels in canned tuna. “Babe, this hummus has SODIUM. You’re carrying our future. You’re a national monument.”

He adds “baby-related zones” to his mental map. Hospital. Closest 24-hr pharmacy. The route to your OB/GYN. “Safe bathrooms within 10 miles.” honestly he'd probably build you a  custom Google Map. Color-coded. Shared with you. Titled: “Pregnancy Pathways: Wife Protection Plan v1.” or something dumb like that 

Starts timing your commute. Like if you normally take 13 minutes to get home and it takes 16 today?You’re getting a text like:“Not trying to be crazy but are you good? You’re +3 mins over your projected arrival time.”

Becomes weirdly obsessed with nesting but in a Luigi way. He’s not just building a crib. He’s: Comparing ergonomic gliders. Creating a color-coded “vibe board” for the nursery. Installing blackout curtains while shirtless and muttering: “I’m making a cave for our little cave goblin.” Also insists on a stupid theme like “Jungle Italian Renaissance” 

Talks to your belly like it’s a walkie-talkie. “Hey kid. It's me. Your dad. She’s doing great. Kicked ass at work today. Just wanted you to know you’ve got a good one growing you.”, “If you ever hurt her from the inside, we’re gonna have beef. Love you tho.” Also puts headphones on your stomach and plays the Interstellar soundtrack.

Gets extra soft during sex. Like, he still knows how to make you feel good, but now he’s obsessed with holding you, whispering into your skin: “I’m inside my wife while she’s carrying our baby. This is some spiritual shit. I’m overwhelmed.” Also cries after and tries to hide it bc ya know he has to be tough.

Man is SAT at every doctor's appointment. He doesn't care what kind of work conflict he has or anything he is making it to every single one and taking diligent notes. He will ask a million questions and asks them again after you leave. He will start a shared notes app with you of all the stuff the doctor said too just so you can refer back to it at any given moment. 

Once you hit the third trimester? He’s fully insane in the best way. Has you on live location. Has the hospital on speed dial. Has your OB’s entire office schedule memorized. Is running simulations in his head for “what if the water breaks at Target” vs. “on the freeway” vs. “in your sleep”. He’s sending you texts like: “Leaving for work. Your phone’s charged, right? Remember: if labor starts, call me, not Uber. I’ll dropkick a minivan.”

he absolutely spent the third trimester over-researching birth options. He’s made charts. He’s watched vlogs. He’s asked his friends inappropriate questions. He’s printed out: Hospital birth plan, Home birth plan, and “Emergency forest birth” plan (just in case). And he has each one stuck to your fridge just in case.  He has a binder labeled “BABY STRATEGY.” When you ask what he actually wants, he says: “I want what you want. But also... home birth just feels so “sacred”. I wanna catch the baby myself. What if they imprint on me.” He’s both dead serious and so unqualified. You tell him: “I’m not pushing out a baby next to our houseplants.” He nods. Understands. Still gently lights a candle “for ambiance” when you hit 38 weeks.

When your water actually breaks, he thinks he’s the one dying. You're like “hey babe I think—” and he’s IMMEDIATELY ON THE FLOOR. “It’s happening. Oh my god it’s happening. Babe? Babe. Where is the bag. WHERE IS THE BAG.” Trips over the cat. Puts your sneakers on the wrong feet. Fully tries to hand you your skincare bag instead of the hospital one.

He’s still trying to convince you to labor in the bathtub before you go. “Babe. One bath. One soothing breath. You love baths. It’s in the plan. Page 3.” You’re like “I am leaking LIFE. We are LEAVING.” He salutes. Grabs the bag. Opens the wrong door. Walks into the closet.

In the car he is every kind of maniac. One hand gripping the wheel The other hand gripping your thigh like it’s an anchor. Voice shaking as he tries to coach you through contractions using a YouTube video he half-remembered from March “Breathe in 4. Out 6. You’re doing great. You’re incredible. You’re hotter than Beyoncé. I’m so scared.” Keeps whispering “my wife is having my baby” like it’s a spell.

At the hospital, he is both deeply unhelpful and absolutely devoted. Cries when they ask if he’s the dad.  Holds your hand like he’s on a sinking ship. He is absolutely terrified of getting in the way of the doctors and nurses trying to help you but he also completely glued to you at the same time. And when the nurse says “she’s fully dilated”? He just blurts out:“Wait I thought we had more time. I didn’t even get to do the affirmation mirror thing.”

In the quiet moments between contractions, he’s whispering to your stomach. “Hey kid. I know it’s wild in there. Take your time. Be safe. But also please be chill. Mommy’s doing amazing. Daddy’s losing his mind.”

And when it’s go time? He’s right there. Holding your leg. Crying. Absolutely useless but incredibly present. He sees the head and gasps like he’s watching the Northern Lights. Then yells “BABE. OUR BABY HAS A SKULL. I CAN SEE IT. THIS IS INSANE.”

When the baby comes out, he falls apart. Just drops to his knees beside the bed. One hand on your face. One on your thigh. Sobbing. “You did it. You did it. I love you. I love them. I’m gonna pass out. But like romantically.” He’s shaking when he holds the baby. Can’t stop staring. Mumbles: “Hi. I’m your dad. I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you.”

[blackbat05]

A Year On

Oliver Wood x Reader

Plot: You've finally achieved your dreams of opening a bookstore. A good friend is there to help you with a much needed confession between the two of you.

A/N: This took me longer than I would have liked but what a whirlwind this year has been - in a good way! I'm so thankful to so many people for the support~ In a way, this piece also reflects my experiences in its own unique way. Thank you for always supporting me and have a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! May more good things come our way~ Tagging the lovely @the-slumberparty

Genre: Fluff, PG-13

Prompt: Has it been a year already?

“That’s the last of it!” Hermione beams as she waves her wand, the last box sitting nicely on the pile of the many other boxes that the two of you had been bringing into the shop the whole morning.

The shop that you had finally acquired.

“Thanks Hermione, you really didn’t have to give up your whole Saturday morning for this. Don't you have to get Christmas decorations for the house?"

“Are you kidding?” She admonishes. “My best friend has finally achieved her dreams of opening her own bookstore? I’ll be your first customer!”

You give her a hug, feeling equally giddy and lightheaded from the success. Sure, it was only the first step, but you allowed yourself to savor this small win.

“I was hoping to be your first customer, but I guess I’ll just have to settle for second.” A voice pipes up from the entrance.

“Oliver!” You squeak at the sight of the burly young male clutching a bouquet of sunflowers. “Please, come in!” You invite him in, ignoring the pointed look that Hermione gave you.

“Well, I’ll be on my way then. I have to meet Ron in twenty minutes. Don’t want to be late!” Hermione happily sing-songs as she bids goodbye to the two of you. The bell jingles before plunging the shop into silence once more. Oliver strides forward, presenting you with a bouquet of sunflowers.

"Congratulations. You've done it."

You take the flowers carefully, grateful. "Thank you for making the time. You must have been incredibly busy with training."

"And miss the opening of your bookstore?" Oliver brushes off the minor inconvenience. "I'll be a terrible friend."

You laugh, but your heart sinks a little at the word - friend.

You weren't going to lie, the little admiration for the Keeper back in school had grown into a crush and spiralled out of control. Not to mention how he was there for you during your worst period of time.

"Has it been a year already?"

"Huh?"

Oliver's question snaps you out of your daydreams and you swore you saw him chuckle.

"You know, since I last saw you." He refers to the time when you found yourself out and down of luck in your job and life. The depression slowly crept behind you before swallowing you whole. No matter what your family said or tried, you refused to budge, believing that it was something you could never climb out of.

But Oliver refused to give up on you.

He did everything he could - making sure you ate, riding on his sleek broom after training in the vast countryside and showing you the empty shop in Hogsmeade that was now proudly occupied by you.

"Yeah. When you told me you made the down payment for the shop, I thought you were pulling my leg at first. Then you showed me the deed and that's when I knew it was real." You paused, unsure.

"I still don't know why you did it."

Oliver walks around the boxes, observing them like they belonged in a Museum. You wait with bated breath.

"Can I be honest?"

Oliver picks up a book from an opened box. “You only deserve good things.” He looks at you with his big brown puppy eyes that made you fell in love- a big ass capital L with him in the first place.

“You were always so optimistic, helping everyone, listening to their troubles. Including mine. Remember when Flint knocked me off my broom and I had an injury so bad that I was unsure if I would be ready for Puddlemere’s tryouts?”

You remembered well. Oliver was a mess. You still can’t forget the image of the twins running out of his dorm, hair set aflame on their bright Orange hair. They warned you not to enter but you told them that they were just being ridiculous. Two hours and eight minutes later, you managed to get Oliver out of the dorm to have supper. When George asked you how you did it, you replied with two words.

“I listened.”

“And you saved me.” You think Oliver is just being nice but you take one look at him and his expression is dead set on serious.

“You always gave so much to others, never expecting anything in return.” He says. “So… I wanted to be the first to do something for you.”

Your breath hitches as he takes a step forward, freckles from playing Qudditch evident on his rosy cheeks.

“Ollie…” You use the nickname that only you’re allowed to call him.

“This is so crazy.” Oliver lets out a huff of air. “I’ve practiced this so many times in front of actual mirror and I’m tongue tied.”

The butterflies in your stomach flutters and you swore you could float a few feet of the ground. But you remain patient with the adorable man in front of you trying to gather his remaining bearings.

“I’m so proud of how far you’ve come. This is all your own efforts and I’m glad to be part of it.” Oliver starts, before his eyebrows crinkle at his own speech.

“What I’m really trying to say is that I love you. I love you so much for seeing who I really am beyond Gryffindor's Qudditch Captain. For being there for me every single day... and I want to be there for you... if you'll have me."

You almost burst into tears at your best friend's sweet and vulnerable confession. No more dancing around each other, no more games. You throw yourself around his burly frame, face nestled in his chest.

"Yes. Yes I'll have you dork." You muttered, not exactly ready to let him see your puffy eyes. But Oliver doesn't care as he gently pries you from the comfort of his red sweater.

"I'm sorry it took me this long. I thought with everything that has happened over the past year, you would want to settle down first before anything else."

Could this man be any more perfect?

"I appreciate that Oliver, I really do. Though I am not entirely blameless." You admit, feeling a teensy bashful. Oliver is confused for a moment and when he understands that you held the same feelings as he did, a charming grin is plastered on his face. You know what that means - he's ready to tease you.

"Really? Oh do tell."

Flame rushes to your face as you open another box of books for the much needed distraction.

"You know what, forget I ever said that."

"Now you know I can't do that. When did you figure out you had feelings for me? Ooh was it when you saw me half naked in the locker room during our last year?"

"Oliver Wood, if you continue this- nonsense. I'm going to have to put you to work!" You stumble over your words, not fooling anyone.

"Well then, use me as you wish. My day is yours to command."

It was your turn to smile as the two of you started to arrange the books on the shelves in synchronized teamwork.

If present you had went back in time to tell past you that this would be your life? You would have snorted it off and continued moping around. How funny a year could be so different.

Perhaps, that was the magic of Christmas.

[daydreamer-in-reverie]

I want to put focus on how significant parents are in the Hunger Games franchise, most especially on the role a parent has in shaping their child’s psyche and I want to do this by using Katniss, Peeta and Snow as reference. 

In the books and the movies, parents are more or less background characters. We truly only see glimpses of them. Both of Peeta’s parents are alive yet we rarely see them featured prominently in the books/movies. Both of Snow’s parents are dead and we only get to hear of them in passing and while Mrs. Everdeen is alive, she’s often relegated to the background because of how dismissive Katniss is towards her mother. 

Yet these characters and the very essence of their beings are shaped by their parents. 

Beginning with Katniss, we saw how deeply her father’s death wounded her. He was their provider, the sole person responsible for bringing food onto their table. We know how deeply he was loved by his children and his wife and how beloved he was by the other citizens of 12 by Katniss’ stories. Mr. Everdeen was a well known figure in the Hobb and Katniss firmly believed that it was because of him that people took pity on her and allowed her to bargain with them. It was his death that served as a catalyst to Katniss’ journey to becoming a Victor. Without his death, without Katniss being forced to hunt to serve her family, she wouldn’t have made it out of the arena. To Katniss, her father was the hero deserving of being placed on a pedestal and it was his values and actions that she tried desperately to emulate to protect her family. 

On the other hand, Katniss scorned her mother. She hated Mrs. Everdeen’s inaction when she spiraled into a deep depression after her husband died. And though it wasn’t Mrs. Everdeen’s fault, I can’t blame Katniss for feeling this way about her mother. She and her sister were near the brink of death by starvation on the day she met Peeta. Even when Mr. Everdeen was alive, Katniss was partial to her father because he stoked the rebellion in Katniss’ heart while it was her mother who tried to stop it. Katniss perceived her mother’s depression as a weakness and even after she got better, Katniss was determined to keep her at arms length. The love she felt for her mother may have been unconditional but she constantly put her mother under the test. Waiting to see if she would disappoint her, fail her by abandoning her once again. And when Prim died and Mrs. Everdeen left for District 4, Katniss’s unconscious bias against her mother was once again reaffirmed. 

It’s why Katniss struggles to form a good bond with motherly characters like Effie but maintains relatively good relationships with fatherly figures like Haymitch and Cinna. Katniss openly admits that of the two people who guided them throughout the Hunger Games, it was Haymitch she was most alike. They grew up at the Seam, and shared similar features and she was adamant that should she have been forced into becoming a mentor like Haymitch was, she was looking at what her future would have looked like. Drunk and continuously intoxicated like Haymitch was. 

On the other hand, we have Peeta. 

Peeta was routinely abused by his mother. While we don’t know the full extent of what it was he had to endure, we know that it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Peeta’s mother took pride in the knowledge that District 12 would finally have another Victor, and she wasn’t referring to Peeta. We saw him take a beating to feed Katniss and whatever relationship Peeta had with his father was practically nonexistent. It was his mother that served to be the looming presence in his life the same way Katniss’ father haunted her. It’s why I believe Peeta got along so well with Effie and why Effie likely preferred Peeta over Katniss. Aside from the fact that Peeta was so much more civil to Effie than Katniss was to Effie, Peeta always deferred to Effie. He and Effie are similar in the same way Katniss and Haymitch are similar. 

Peeta was characterized to be of the merchant class, the “upper” class of District 12. As a given, Effie is from the Capitol, the upper crust of Panem. It was Effie who provided Katniss and Peeta with the script necessary to ensure their survival after the 74th Games and in return, Effie knew how effectively a person’s image and reputation could mean life and death in the arena and in this, Peeta is in agreement. While Katniss may have used a bow as a weapon, Peeta used his words. He always knew the right things to say and do to get people to side with him, so much so that he managed to convince the careers of the 74th Games, his biggest enemies in the arena, to ally with him. Had anyone else been in his situation, they would have been killed. Peeta craved Effie’s maternalism the same way Katniss craved Haymitch’s paternalism because these were the things they lacked growing up.

And then there’s Coriolanus, who lost both his parents and it is both of these parents who haunt him. His mother, described to be beautiful and kind, was represented by the powder compact he kept with him constantly. His father, harsh and cruel, represented by the handkerchief that Snow kept with him.

In TBOSAS, Snow has two mentors himself. 

Dean Highbottom and Dr. Gaul.

It’s not lost on me that in them, the characterization of the two are reversed from Snow’s parents. Highbottom, like Snow’s father is stern and harsh. He is Snow’s biggest critic and while I doubt Mr. Snow would go so far as to hate his own child, he would not have been kind to Coriolanus had he lived past the war. Yet Highbottom and Mr. Snow’s similarities end there. Because of Highbottom’s remorse and the kindness that he showed Lucy Gray after she won the Games, he takes after Snow’s mother in that regard. He is compassionate and filled with horror at the abomination he created.

On the other hand, Gaul treats Snow with a gentleness that Highbottom never had for him. Though Snow finds Gaul creepy, it is Gaul that takes him under his wing. It is Gaul who stitches up his wounds after he is attacked in the arena and retrieves Sejanus and Gaul who praises him for his ingenuity at suggesting the sponsoring system. Gaul genuinely likes Snow and begins grooming him to become her replacement in the event that she dies. But while Gaul may have been a woman with the capacity for gentleness, she is a terrible human being who threw children into the arena to fight for their survival. She is the same woman who hung a child for running away from the games and paraded the corpses of children on the streets of the Capitol. She is pure evil. She is exactly like Snow’s father. 

It isn’t loss on me that Snow, who has an abundance of maternal figures in his grandmother and Tigris, chooses to take after Gaul, who is externally like his mother but internally like his father, rather than Highbottom, who is the opposite. 

At every instance Snow had to do good, to choose to do the right thing and be like his mother, he intentionally continued to do the evil thing for the sake of his selfishness and be like his father. 

“You look just like your father, Coriolanus.” Were the words Tigris used to describe him at the end of the movie because that is precisely who he chose to become. 

And as Snow poisons Highbottom and becomes a gamemaker under Gaul’s tutelage, he kills whatever remnant of his mother he had left in him, fully embodying his cruel father’s ideals.

[pagan-stitches]

A new diagnosis, self help, and ritual cleansing

Recently organized and ritually cleansed bookshelves.

I was recently diagnosed with ADHD. Which was a huge eye opener for me. A lot of behaviors which I had for years negatively labeled, and not really understood, really affected my self esteem.

Realizing that my brain isn’t neurotypical and researching ways to adapt my focus, and just basically help myself function like everyone else, has been resulting in some big changes over the last couple of weeks.

One of the biggest helpers for me has been utilizing a “to do” app and calendar. I’ve programmed it to remind me throughout the day to do very basic tasks (it’s really embarrassing how basic some of these tasks are) and do things like text my mom and sister once a day, so a month doesn’t go by when they haven’t heard from me and start to assume I’m spiraling again. One of the worse things about ADHD has been the toll it has taken on my personal relationships because of the lack of appropriate prioritization on my part.

Which leads into what any of that has to do with this blog. 😊

With the end of my February Holy Week I’ve been going into a big ritual/folk magic cleansing of the household (which in itself will be spiritual cleansing of my psyche) leading into my devotional new year at the spring equinox.

During this time period I plan on researching and utilizing traditional folk cleansing rituals. So far I’ve sprinkled a lot of hátová salt and water.

Organized sewing boxes

If you saw my post last week about organizing my sewing boxes you might recognize the beginning of this project. I cannot and will not put up “before” pictures (I have carefully curated my blog photos over the years to not show physical evidence of the disaster that is my life).

Organized makeup, cleansers and creams, and jewelry.

Earlier this week I started with the bathroom, the smallest room in the house, untangling messes in drawers, jewelry boxes and cabinets. Yesterday I continued with the bookshelf in my bedroom. I discarded books that hadn’t been touched in years and whittled my collection down to what I consider necessary reference material for my folk practice. I interspersed baskets which will hold seasonal altar items.

I’m really excited about this massive ritual and feeling the most positive I have in over a year. Part of my hope with this cleansing ritual is that it will kickstart other necessary changes in my life.

Do any of you have go to folk cleansing rituals? I’d love to hear from you.

[littlesapphicraccoonguy]

This doesn’t make much sense and it isn’t that much like the trend people were doing with this sound, but I made this lazy little animatic type thing anyways :3

Sorry that the wording didn’t make much sense in it, I’m just really tired and I’m not good at this sort of thing(angst)

[fizzyxcustard]

Covert Eyes (25)

Prologue| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6| Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Spooks

Pairings: Lucas North x OC (Amy Holland)

Warnings: Stalking behaviour, anxiety, language, sexual references, angst, smut, heartbreak, gunshot wounds and recovery, abduction, hostage situation, PTSD, torture mention.

Summary: Lucas takes notice of a young woman, Amy, but his obsession and want to get to know her begin to spiral out of control. Amy is now working for MI-5, after being recruited by Ros. But will her involvement with Lucas cause even more problems and heartbreak?

When Amy's parents get involved, how will things pan out for Amy and Lucas?

Official soundtrack list:  here

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. People who don't engage are gradually being removed from my tag list.

This fic does have an ending in sight...finally. :)

Feedback, comments and suggestions are always very valuable. My messages and ask box (including anons!) are open.

Thank you so much to those of you who have remained with me through this journey writing this story, and while we are very close to the end of this story, it's not the end of Lucas and Amy! ;)

Morning sickness began, or at least got stronger; Amy couldn’t quite tell. Most mornings that Amy had got up in the last month and she had felt nauseous, probably due to her anxiety spikes, and not just the hormones beginning to surge.  

On the day that Amy was due to meet with Ros and she could barely keep any food in her stomach. Two rounds of toast had been immediately thrown back up. Three days later would be Amy’s booking appointment, where she would speak to a doctor or midwife face to face and begin the process of booking her first scan.

Amy was shaking in the bathroom, unable to control the emotions that were flooding her. She couldn’t face the mirror and turned away, feeling the tears begin to fall. They had been relentless the last six weeks. And after she had been faced with three positive pregnancy tests and then been pushed away again by Lucas, that huge, gaping hole in her gut had grown exponentially. It was overpowering her now, rendering her broken. 

Nights were the worst. Amy was left alone with nothing but her thoughts, and she would always think of Lucas. She replayed the memories of when he tickled her under the bedclothes, when he would come behind her in the kitchen and wind his arms around her, the feel of his hand in hers, the smell of his cologne, the sound of his voice. Every night and she prayed he would contact her, but he didn’t. Her texts and WhatsApp remained empty of any new messages from Lucas North. 

Even her dreams reflected her deep longing for him, and the emptiness that was dragging her down, pulling her into a black sea of nothingness. Upon waking she would remember shards of her dreams in which she was calling for him, crying out, begging. And when she woke, she would feel tears clinging to her cheeks. 

Ros waited for Amy in a Costa, which was in the city centre of Coventry. She slipped away towards the back of the shop and waited. It wasn’t long before she saw Amy’s familiar figure step into the building. 

Amy stopped, scanned the sea of heads and then nodded as she caught Ros’ gaze. 

“What would you like? I’ll get it,” Ros offered with a faint smile. 

“Just a cup of tea, please. I need to keep it a little more bland. I���ve been really sick the last day or two,” Amy said. 

Ros didn’t answer, but instead walked to the counter and placed her order. 

Amy sat down, being temporarily taken back to the café she frequented with Lucas. The place where it all began just over a year ago. It would be their one year anniversary the following week if they had still remained together. The night when Amy had fully let him in, the beginning of their rocky relationship.

Amy watched Ros order their drinks. Why did these people sacrifice everything in their lives just for the sake of a job? What was it about MI5 that was so special? They had given up their normal lives, friends, family, for this job. Lucas thought he could have a normal life, but that had all turned out to be false. No one had a normal life. The long list of casualties on the job proved that. Amy had heard about many of them. Surveillance operatives who had found themselves in deeper shit than they could have ever imagined. 

A tightness was growing in Amy’s chest now, that sensation which had been a friend of hers since Lucas left her life. She woke up with it every morning now, sometimes accompanied with a tension headache and a sense of dread at facing a new day. 

“What should I do?” Amy asked simply, as Ros placed the drinks down on the table. “Lucas is adamant that my parents are right, and has told me he’ll come to the scans and birth but won’t be with me. How can I get through to him?” 

Ros sighed and began opening a sachet of sugar. “Lucas is stubborn at the best of times. But if you want to be together enough then you’ll do it. Lucas wants you safe, and neither of us can argue with that.” 

“I’m not worth the fight for him.” 

“No, it’s not that at all,” Ros said, shaking her head for emphasis. “I’ve known him about three years now, and never saw him as content as when he was with you. He finally seemed at peace with himself. You really bring out the best in him, and he adores you. Never think anything less than that. Lucas never does anything by half measure, especially when it comes to you.” 

Amy looked down into her lap and felt the tears come again. “I wish he would let me make up my own mind. He’s always making decisions for me.” 

“I know, and I’ve told him that. By your parents and Lucas protecting you, they’re suffocating you. We’ve all got to make our own way in life sooner or later. I’ve made enough of my own choices in life, some good and some bad. I know full well that this job comes with risk to those you love. I lost someone I loved through it.” 

“I’m so sorry, Ros. I had no idea,” Amy replied. 

Ros smiled at Amy. “You didn’t know him, but you’ve probably heard his name mentioned. Adam Carter. Things wouldn’t have worked out between us. I always knew that. The job kept us apart, but he died on the job, same as his wife, Fiona. MI5 will either make or break you, Amy. But either way, once you’re in, you don’t leave. You and Lucas are truly devoted to each other, and you deserve happiness.” 

***

“You’re approximately twelve weeks,” the midwife told Amy. “Baby is growing well. Seems quite active.” 

Then Amy heard it: the first actual sound of her baby’s heartbeat. Amy smiled, staring at the screen, looking at the moving mass. Sharon held Amy’s hand, watching her daughter’s face as it lit up for the first time in six weeks since being home in Coventry. 

“I estimate your due date approximately the last week of August.” The midwife wiped the gel from Amy’s stomach and paused the image on the screen, printing the scan. “I’ll book you for your next scan, and hopefully then we can determine the sex of the baby, if you want to know.” 

Amy smiled. “I’d love to know. I always had it planned out in my head that if I had children, I’d want to know. It helps me get to know them better.” 

The midwife, a middle-aged lady with short greying hair and glasses, smiled. “That’s nice,” she said simply. 

Amy looked away and sighed. Of course the midwife wouldn’t be as interested; she saw dozens of pregnant women every day, and no doubt they all sounded like a broken record to her. 

Would Lucas want to know the sex of their child? He should have been here, but Amy couldn’t stand the idea of him being half in and half out, having to see him at scans but not being able to go home with him. Everything at the moment was a mixture of emotion, and it was confusing. One minute she was sad, the next angry. The grief of an ended relationship, and the anger of Lucas making the decision he had, alternated frequently, like a whirlwind. 

In the car and Amy sat in the passenger seat, her thumb trailing the curve of the baby’s head. “Should I send a copy to Lucas?” she asked absently. 

“I still think it’s best he has no part in this,” Sharon hissed. “We’ll all pull together as a family, we always do.” 

***

Time passed, weeks turning into months. 

Amy felt the tension and anxiety lessen, as the nausea got worse by her fifth month, and then eased again. The fluttering sensations began, something she knew was inevitable as the baby grew. Her stomach was becoming harder and more prominent, resting a little heavier on the waist of her trousers. 

Ros still remained in touch, having formally put Amy on early maternity leave after two months of sick leave. She had done all she could to keep the position open for Amy and also enable money to continue coming in, so she at least had something to live off. 

Lucas was silent. Sometimes his deafening silence brought her to tears in the middle of the night as she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, praying he would be back beside her one day. She tried to imagine what the baby would look like, giving it Lucas’ grey blue eyes. But thinking on the baby’s appearance, always caused her to break down again. 

***

Over a hundred miles away, in London, Lucas sat at the dining room table. He stared at the wall, the lifeless atmosphere of the place seeping into every fibre of his being. Three and a half months now he had lived by himself, haunted by Amy. Every inch of the place reminded him of her. After all, it was her flat originally. Living with her had been bliss; he would kiss her on his way out of the door, or at the main door to their office as they travelled in, pining for the end of the day when he would see her again. 

Lucas walked slowly into the kitchen and looked out of the window, into the communal garden. It was growing dusk, with longer days moving in as the weeks passed quickly through spring. He thought of Amy, imagining her sitting in the garden, holding a baby on her lap, reading her old battered copy of The Hobbit, with a warm sun high in the sky. He had given her the ultimate gift, the one thing she had wanted for a while now, but he couldn’t enjoy it with her. Lucas knew she would be an amazing mother; doting, kind, eager to play and re-live her own childhood through their little one. 

Work seemed to be the only thing that got Lucas through each day, making him soldier on in this empty existence. It felt like being back in prison. Rather than being locked in a cell, he was locked in loneliness within his own mind. Memories of Amy were all around him. Would he ever be able to let go? The more he pondered on that fact, the more he knew the answer. The years Lucas had spent with Elizabeta had revolved around their work as operatives, and upon his return to the UK from Russia, their temporary ties were still work-based, her being his handler. The months with Sarah were, again, work-based. Everything revolved around MI5. Amy was so different. Their relationship had been built away from work, despite work being the thing that was constantly pushing them toward breaking point. Their love for each other was almost innocent, pure. It didn’t revolve around necessity. 

One way to numb the pain was alcohol. In the last few weeks and Lucas had welcomed whiskey and vodka into his life on a more permanent basis. The bedside table housed half empty bottles. 

Lucas even made himself feel the pain of showers, turning on the fast jet of water so he could be taken back to his days of torture in Lushanka. Re-live the waterboarding, where ice cold water was thrown over him as he begged for mercy and tried desperately to hold onto the information the Russians so badly wanted. He deserved the pain and the anguish. Beneath the water he shivered and wept, waiting and wishing for everything to end. Then maybe upon his deathbed, he could at least see her one last time in his moments of euphoria. 

That night and he sat on the edge of the bed, downing whiskey from the bottle. He rubbed his stubbled chin and stared aimlessly through the gloom. 

Amy was so ready to fight for you and you just let her go. 

But she needs to be protected. Her and the baby. 

You want her and she wants you. Fuck what her parents think. 

The arguments raged. Back and forth the voices went, turning into whispers the more that Lucas drank from the bottle. 

Tears trickled down Lucas’ cheek as he picked up his phone, and for the first time in months, he sent a single message to Amy. The alcohol had worn his inhibitions right down. 

I love you. 

***

Amy stared at the message, unable to comprehend that Lucas had actually sent her something. He’d been silent now for months, so she had taken this as her sign to leave him be and go through her pregnancy alone. The timestamp on the message was 2:04am. Messages in the dead of night were always a cry for help in some way. She whispered his name, still feeling stunned and not sure what to do. 

A few hours passed and Amy still wondered what on earth to do with the message from Lucas. She’d looked back at the message multiple times, making sure that she wasn’t imagining it all. But it was still there. Three simple, desperate words. 

An incoming call came from Ros. 

“Hi, Ros. Is everything okay?” Amy asked, trying to force a cheerful tone. 

“I wish I could say it was,” she replied. “Lucas didn’t turn up for work this morning, and has been coming in smelling of drink. Amy, he’s not doing well. He needs you.” 

Amy sighed and swallowed hard. “He’s stubborn, Ros. No matter what I say and do, he won’t let me come back. You know he won’t.” 

“Something tells me not this time.” 

A short time later and Amy was staring at a letter she had left on her parents’ dining table. She had explained that she needed to go back to London and was taking the next available train out to London Euston. Amy knew her parents would go absolutely ballistic, especially her mum. But there was no way she could let Lucas remain alone and suffer. 

Lucas had suffered enough in his life and all Amy wanted was to see him find peace, wherever and whoever he found that with. He deserved peace; after all, he put his life on the line daily to protect the UK public. Of course he deserved some peace. She wanted to embrace him, comfort him, just be there and hold him during his dark hours. 

On the train an hour later and Amy flicked through her purse, checking that she had enough cash to get her across London to her old flat. But as she rummaged in the coin compartment, she felt something long against her fingers. It was her original flat keys; two of them held together on a ring. One got her through the front door into the lobby area, and the other got her into the flat itself. Why had she kept them all this time? Was it because she always knew she would one day be going back? 

The flashing of buildings and landscape somehow soothed her, while a teenage girl of around sixteen years of age sat next to Amy, flicking through Instagram, and occasionally posing in her front facing camera. 

The closer she got to London and the more she could feel the fluttering in her belly, which was now showing. 

For a second, she placed her hand on her bump and smiled. 

We’re going to see your daddy. 

Apprehension and excitement both rose inside Amy. She had missed Lucas more than she could ever express, and while on the underground and then walking the street, getting closer to the flat, she could feel her anxiety taking hold. 

The last time she had been in London and it had been cold, but now it was mild, a sure sign of spring. It was just after six in the evening when she made it to her old building and looked at the familiar sight. Sadness rose in her chest and she thought back on the day she had moved in, nervous at the prospect of a new beginning. Now she had another new beginning on the horizon, one that involved a new person, a new life. 

Amy let herself into the main front entrance of the building, and then walked down the corridor to flat number three. With a deep breath, she knocked, waiting for a response. 

***

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[apenapaperandadoofus]

Yes, I agree with you. Some things can only be truly understood when you put yourself in someone else’s shoes. Xie Lian was spoiled in some ways and doted upon by his parents; he was a prince. But I’d argue that there’s also something to be said about how Mu Qing and Feng Xin treated Hong Hong’er, and how the “one cup of water and two people” question ties into not just class inequality from above, but also how even those beneath the social hierarchy can internalize class bias. The system affects everyone. Xie Lian was kind and humble, but he also used to say, “I want to save the common people.” I saw a post suggesting that “common people” referred to those beneath the crown, and while his belief in saving everyone was sincere, he was also overconfident and self-righteous in thinking he could carry the burden all on his own. He had heart, but not experience. He was only 17. The Xianle arc shows his complicated relationship with the crown and with himself. Honestly, I liked Jun Wu’s prince arc more in some ways. He was more mature when things hadn’t yet spiraled out of control , or maybe the situation was just different. Civil wars are much harder to write about. I admired Xie Lian for not wanting to unleash the plague on the Yong’an people, but at the same time, I felt frustrated with how things unfolded. Yes, it was Jun Wu’s doing he wanted Xie Lian completely isolated but Xie Lian also had little to no experience as a prince, since he spent most of his time cultivating and disliked how his father handled politics. During those years, he began to understand why people steal, why they drink...swear, how everyone has their own life and path, and why sometimes, people must separate. And yet, even through all of that, we have Hua Cheng someone who would stay for him even after death, even when his soul was on the verge of destruction, just to stand by his side eternally.

If you ask me Mei Nianqing is a character who, like many elders, won’t easily listen to the younger generation because he sees them as naive. It was also Xie Lian who vouched for Mu Qing. The thing is, MNQ is a Guoshi, and even as a prince, Xie Lian’s role was technically beneath that. In many Asian cultures, your teacher or guru holds the highest status. You can challenge their ideas, but you can’t use your authority against them.In some ways, I do think Xie Lian could’ve done more. But from his position, he saw the problems as linear. He believed that if he, as a prince, took people under him and used his status or eventually became a god things would be resolved. I give him credit for standing up to his father, the king, and questioning him. But in reality, issues like these are much deeper and more complex. One person alone can’t bring about change. These kinds of problems require society as a whole to come forward and address them together.

He learned the true meaning of his stance on “one cup and two people” by distributing his own luck to those less fortunate after his second banishment, and he refused to take off the two shackles that brought him misfortune because they reminded him of Wu Ming—a ghost with no name, his last believer—who destroyed his own soul for Xie Lian as a result of Xie Lian having once thought of taking it out on innocent people for things orchestrated by White No-Face.

BTW, it was nice talking to you, and I really like your posts about your mom reacting to TGCF , they are my favorite. I wish I could also share this type of stuff with my family, especially my mom, but it’s just hard for me. People here still aren't very open about these things. Have a good day!

Oh yes! There’s also the fact Mu Qing is also in his way classist- everyone in the book, in Xianle, seems to place importance on class, like XLs father, they seemed to grow in that environment.

Like I said, I think XL is a case of both- he sometimes does things he doesn’t realize arent helping the cause but that’s mostly bc of ignorance- while I do think he has a really optimistic look to change the way people view the whole class situation, it’s a bit wonky since he hasn’t experienced being of a lower class or station, so maybe what he thinks could help could actually cause more harm.

I really wish we could have learned more about Jun Wu! If he was a lot like XL when he was a prince, but got to live a bit longer (I think? I think JW ascended younger but he spent longer as a god didnt he? Correct me if I’m wrong) I wonder how he had matured as a god, and what his choices then would have been.

I think his story is really tragic- obviously it doesn’t justify what he did to XL, but imo the heavens back then totally deserved to be turned into sidewalks pFT. I think it’s so sad how someone who clearly cared so much for his people was practically driven crazy by not only heaves, but because of the betrayal of his people themselves.

I know some people don’t like that Jun Wu didn’t get killed (I’ve seen some) but I think (not to justify his actions btw) that eventually the prince he was got buried behind the hurt and evil exterior. I think the Jun Wu that wanted to save the common people is still there, just like when XL was white no face, but buried underneath the hate, and sadly, unlike XL he wasn’t able to have someone place a bamboo hat on his head, or a Hua Cheng to show him otherwise.

Which thinking of it like that- because we saw it with XL, which was kind of what Jun Wu went through, I think it’s tragic because Jun Wu clearly just goes fuck it we ball, and buries it all out of anger. So I hope, even if it was late, that after being sealed in mount tonglu, being with MNQ slowly unburied the starry eyed prince from before- or rekindles the flame. Once again, not justifying his actions and I don’t think I’d like him to reconcile with XL, far too much trauma there, but I hope he personally gets to grow and become at peace. While he can’t undo the insane damage he did, he at least won’t do anymore? Lmao. I just hope he regains his love for humanity, no matter how long it takes. After all, even he was shaped by the terrible heavily officials before him (again not justifying mass genocide -the old heavens deserved it tho- or traumatizing XL) but he was kind of driven to that madness also by being around terrible, greedy people, and facing betrayal by the people he’d worked so hard to protect :(

Maybe it’s because I’m someone that can’t forgive easily (cough Hua Cheng cough) but I give SO many props for XL for not destroying Yong’an. Obviously it’s easy for me to say “oh I would have ended it all!” But yknow just like XL with the lower class when he’s a prince, I can’t 100% say I know what it would feel like ahshs

But seriously I remember admiring XL so much- I was angry for him and at that moment when I first read I was still angry (since I read everything in one go the 100 swords and everything else’s feelings hadn’t had time to fester lol) so I was like “crap no! Destroy them! Get your revenge they deserve it!” But then XL did it- and most would see it in like…such a Mary Sue way? Like in movies where the hero can kill the villain but doesn’t because “oh the goodness of my heart I would never go to your level because I’m so kind and righteous” and it’s kind of annoying bc you KNOW a normal person wouldn’t do that and that it’s because the author doesn’t want the audience to think the MC is evil! Or has any flaws!

But with XL it feels natural. I didn’t think oh the author did this because XL is such a Mary Sue and is ALWAYS so kind like a Disney Princess (I do think he’s a Disney Princess lmao) but you actually see him crash out before- you see him get mad and that’s what makes the forgiveness more bittersweet because you might be mad- but you see why XL at the end doesn’t destroy Yong’an- it’s not because the author was afraid to show XLs bad side- in fact MXTX shows us all of humanities flaws with her chats characters in a realistic way that I love because I feel like media nowadays is afraid to have characters that have flaws, that have ugly sides, just like we normal people do.

I love seeing XL at his kindest moments because they mean more after seeing his angriest ones. The kindness he shows is ten times more meaningful and significant because you have seen him be angry- you have seen him make mistakes and let his feelings consume him. But that’s what makes him so lovely- because you see it all and what shapes him, and you understand he’s just someone who had to grow up too quickly and was set up to fail, but is still kind.

And I love that’s what HC loves about him because people see flaws as something ugly- when they’re what makes us humans. Obviously we can work on ourselves, but we will have flaws no matter what, no one can be perfect. And the fact MXTX makes them gods, when usually religions make their deities be such perfect beings (except the Greeks I believe which is why I loveeed reading about them when I was wrong, the gods seemed like what I would think actual gods would act like- prideful, overconfident, etc etc) and MXTX shows even they have flaws which aaaaa I looooove

I actually did not know in Asia teachers or guoshis were held to such a high status actually! I thought even if he was the teacher, since XL was a prince he would have more power but it doesn’t seem like it, that’s so interesting! Then it makes more sense as to why maybe XL couldn’t directly speak to him, or change his mind so easily, I understand! My apologies for not knowing before! I still think since like you said, he stood up to the king he wouldn’t be afraid to step up to MNQ, but maybe there’s the fact XL was in a bad place with his father and Guoshi at the time took a more parental figure whom he respected.

And of course, I loved talking to you too! Feel free to message me or drop an ask about whatever you want to talk about! I love needing out over books and media, even if sometimes views don’t align I love reading and even arguing (respectfully) the points of view! I hope I was able to correctly articulate my thoughts haha, sometimes words be hard 😭

It really sucks you aren’t able to share something you like, I hope you’re able to someday :( if you want, you can talk to me, I’d love to hear you out 🥰

I’m happy you enjoyed my mom’s silly reactions, they made me laugh and I’m glad it made others as well!

Have a great day! Sending you tons of hugs 🤗

[miiv12]

“Where is it? Where is it?!” Annie moved from one corner of the apartment to the other, checking spots she knew she’d checked at least twice already, but did it anyway in case she had just missed it the last two times. Eva sat at the little kitchen island that served as their dining table, eating her cereal while watching cartoons, or she had been, now she was more interested in watching her guardian turning their living space into a mess in search of one of her many notebooks. “I can’t believe I lost it! Oh I can’t let Mr. Griffiths down like this!” Annie cried as she kept searching, but there was no sign of the book anywhere, she hadn’t had the time to make digital copies yet and now the book was missing! There was no way she could go to work and face her bosses if she didn’t have them. “Oh gosh, I’m going to lose my job for sure! A-And they won't give me a good reference-or worse, they give me a bad one and then no other place will hire me ever!” Before she could spiral deeper into her panicked thoughts however, Eva looked over at the clock, then back at her sister. “Um, Annie, we should be going by now, right?” The older girl broke out of her spiral to glance up at her, looking confused for a second before her eyes landed on the clock and she nearly shrieked. “Oh gosh! We’re gonna be late, come on!” In a blur she picked up her bag, packed Eva’s lunch into the child’s bag, snatched up the girl herself and ran to the front door, quickly pulling her shoes on and helping Eva get her raincoat on before they rushed out of the door, barely remembering to lock it behind them. “Okay, you remember Ms. Thorstad is gonna pick you up after school while I’m at work?” Eva nodded. “I know! And you know she told us to call her Nana!” “I know, I just don’t think-made it!” The two jumped onto the bus just before the doors closed and Annie sighed in relief as they sat down, taking only a second to wind down before continuing. “Anyway, I’ll be home by 8, try to get your schoolwork done before then, okay? But if you have trouble I'll help you once I get home.” The child sighed, but nodded. “Okaaayy…” Annie looked everywhere around the school grounds she had been to yesterday, asked other students and faculty if they'd seen it, checked lost and found, but still she found no sign of her notebook, eventually she had to give up and head to class to avoid being late, but how was she supposed to focus like this? She might lose her job over this! Eva and her needed that money, badly. The professor was late, leaving her with nothing to do but to just sit there and wallow in her misery and negative thoughts. At some point she’d started tapping her pen against the table, another of her nervous habits whenever her thoughts started to overwhelm her, like chewing, it was hard to get rid of. She kept tapping her pen at a rapid pace, so lost in the repetitive motion and her own thoughts she almost missed it when something was dropped onto the table next to her. Annie yelped and dropped her pen, quickly looking up in alarm, staring in confusion when she saw her missing notebook laying on the table. “That is yours, no? You left it behind yesterday.” An unknown voice spoke next to her, prompting Annie to look up at the speaker, her eyes widened in shock upon seeing it was Élodie standing in front of her. The other girl’s stance was loose, her posture even worse standing than it was when she was sitting, but Annie had to admit that though her tone was very apathetic, her voice was quite pleasant, the accent was easy to pick up on too. “Oh, uh-yes, it is, um..thank you.” She replied, so caught off guard she couldn’t help the slight stutter. Élodie hummed in response and sat down next to her, taking out her phone and starting to mindlessly scroll through whatever it was she was looking at.

Annie realized she was staring at the other and quickly averted her gaze, instead focusing on her book as she picked it up and went through the last couple pages, just to make sure they were as they were supposed to. Sighing in relief, she placed the notebook back in her bag in it’s specific pocket before glancing at the person who had likely just saved her job. Maybe she wasn’t as bad as Annie first thought her to be.. She cleared her throat and turned to face the other girl, it was only polite to introduce herself right? “So, uh..Hi, I’m Annie, Annie Xavier, and you are?” No way was she telling her she already knew exactly who she was, from experience people didn’t always take that well.

“Élie.” The taller replied, tone much more dull now compared to a moment ago, she didn’t even bother looking up from her phone, which Annie found quite rude. Should she refer to her by the nickname? People usually used them with those they were close to, right? But it was the name she was given. "Thanks Élie, again, for bringing my book back, I was really freaked out when I couldn't find it this morning-it's really important, I don't understand how I just forgot it like that, I don't usually misplace my things-Sorry, I'm rambling aren't I?" She asked sheepishly, looking away from the other girl in embarrassment, internally scolding herself for the silly habit she just couldn't get herself to stop completely, she seemed to have a lot of those. "You are, do you always have trouble knowing when to stop?" Élie asked, her gaze still glued to the phone in her hand. The comment made Annie's face turn a reddish shade from embarrassment and stirred an uncomfortable mix of self-consciousness and frustration within her, things she did her best to hide and ignore. Instead focusing on her annoyance at just how rude the other was, you weren't meant to say that stuff out loud! She already dealt with enough thinking others thought those things about her, and here was this rich brat just telling it to her face. Maybe Annie was right the first time and miss Ulivieri was just as bad as she thought.

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