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hotchnisslvr · 1 day

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how do we carry on?

pairing: hotch x bau!reader

rating: m

word count: 4.8k

genre: angst, hurt no comfort

summary: emily was your confidant, your best friend. when she dies at the hands of ian doyle, you find comfort in your boyfriend, aaron. when you find out that she’s alive and that hotch had known all along, your world falls out from under you. can you and hotch come back from the decision he made for the good of the team?

*if this gains enough traction i might follow up with a pt.2 to give it a happy ending*

The criss-crossed lines of the tile floor blur together as you stare blankly between your feet. The tops of your thighs have gone numb from digging your elbows into them, using your cradled hands as a pillow for your forehead. You couldn’t go home, not until you knew.

Rossi had offered to go on a walk and get a coffee, but shitty lukewarm hospital coffee was the last thing you needed. You hadn’t meant to write him off, you just couldn’t justify doing anything to distract from the fact that she was on that operating table, that Emily’s life was literally hanging in the balance.

The rest of the team was no better off than you are right now. Penelope’s knitting needles clack relentlessly, the scarf inside of her purse growing as her hands keep busy so her mind doesn’t focus on how hard she’s trying not to cry. The last time you’d poked your head up, Derek hadn’t moved from the waiting room windowsill where he’d been standing still as a statue staring out at the cityscape. If Spencer didn’t stop shaking his leg, you feared he would wear a hole straight through the tile. JJ exits the waiting room as often as she returns, her liaising days quickly coming back, making her their only link to the operating room. Hotch’s behavior is no different. His cell rings every ten to fifteen minutes, no doubt the Bureau wanting to know how the hell this could happen. It’s the only sign that time is actually passing and you’re forced to accept that you’re not stuck in some fucked up purgatory-esque hellscape where time stands still, torturing you as your dear friend’s life teeters between worlds.

What you wanted, what you needed was for him to hold you; to place a kiss against your temple and tell you that everything would be alright. It had to be alright.

He couldn’t show favor to you though, not now. The team didn’t know about your relationship with him, though you believe a few have their suspicions. You’re all too observant for your own good. Not much goes unnoticed by anyone. So when JJ walks back into the waiting room, everyone shifts toward her to try and get a glimpse into her facial expression and body language for any sign of an update regarding Emily’s condition.

Instantly, you know something is wrong. JJ’s eyes flit from one person to the next, not lingering very long on anyone. Spencer is the first to stand and you follow suit. You close in, forming a small half circle. Behind JJ, Hotch stands in the doorway, brow straight as he folds his arms across his chest.

“JJ?” Her name is an anxious plea on Penelope’s lips.

JJ’s eyes drop to the floor as she presses her lips together. She takes a deep breath and lifts her eyes, yours the ones they land on as she speaks. “She never made it off the table.”

A choked sob echoes from Garcia as she falls into Derek’s arms, his features fixed as he stares ahead though his knuckles flush white as he holds tightly onto Penelope. Rossi pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed as he mutters something to himself; a prayer, maybe. Spencer envelopes JJ in a desperate embrace, as if clinging to her will somehow make her words any less true. Afterall, how can they be? Emily can’t go down, not like this; not after all she’s survived.

Someone says your name. Your brow dips, but you don’t respond. You need to see Emily. Your feet move of their own accord, guiding you through the waiting room. Someone grabs your arm and you tug away from their grasp, set on pushing onward and finding the OR.

Someone repeats your name, and you can’t help but latch on to the deep tenor that belongs to Hotch. You halt in your tracks and close your eyes, tears leaking over your eyelids and down your cheeks.

“I need to talk to Emily,” you say, your voice small.

The way Hotch says your name is laced with pity and you hate the way it sounds on his tongue. He pulls gently on your arm in an attempt to reel you into him, but you resist. You bite your lip to still its trembling. Yanking your arm free, you press on into the hallway and stumble toward the double doors that read in bold letters: Authorized Personnel Only. Fuck that. You’ve got a badge, that’s authority enough. Before you can push through, firm hands twist around your arms.

You push back, but their grip tightens. “Stop,” Hotch urges authoritatively. You turn into him and pound your fist against his chest, a sob cracking free from your mouth. “She’s not gone,” you cry. “She’s not gone. She’s not—” Your legs tremble with the wave of grief that crashes over you and you can’t hold your weight as it does so. Falling to your knees, Hotch reacts. His arms fold around your waist, catching you as you collapse into the wide plane of his chest. Your ribs ache as your lungs inflate with each rapid, sobbing breath. Your vision turns fuzzy at the edges as you try and fail to slow your breathing. It feels like you’re dying as the waves of grief assail you over and over again, battering you, body and mind, in an unrelenting tumultuous current of sorrow and pain as the wicked reality sets in. Emily is dead. You barely feel Hotch’s hand in your hair cradling you against him. As he murmurs apologies and sympathies in your ear, you don’t see the weighted look he exchanges with JJ.

•

The funeral comes and goes. The day is too beautiful for Emily not to be there to see it. You sit on the porch at Hotch’s house, breathing in and out as you watch the daffodils dance in the afternoon breeze. You smooth the fabric of your dress down over your knees, the satin wrinkled from the way you clenched it during the service.

Your phone buzzes in your purse. The number of messages and phone calls you’d ignored continues to rise, but you can’t bring yourself to express any gratitude for their condolences. You can’t bring yourself to feel anything except the crushing weight of grief.

You picture Emily sitting beside you on the wooden porch swing. Last Summer, you’d sat here with her as the team gathered for a Fourth of July Barbecue. Jack had made invitations and delivered them to the team at the office. He’d been so excited and so were you. It was around then that you and Hotch had begun to toe the line between colleagues and something more; a morning coffee dropped off at your desk here, an extra visit to his office there. You’d sat here with Emily watching as Rossi backseat barbecued Hotch on the grill. She’d caught you smiling at him alongside the fondness in your gaze. She’d clocked you from a mile away.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” Her laugh had tinkled from lips, ringing like a morning bell.

“What are you talking about?” you’d asked, trying and failing to school your features into a mask of indifference.

“I’ll tell ya, it’s a big swing, but if you hit it, that’s a home run for sure.”

You’d nearly choked on your lemonade, coughing and gasping; drawing the attention of the others.

“Wrong pipe!” Emily had called while pointing at you and clapping a hand against your back. “She’s good!” In a low voice she’d added, “Though I’m sure with him, it’d be just the right pipe.”

You’d elbowed her in the ribs and bust out laughing together. For the longest time after that, she’d been the only person that you’d confided in about your burgeoning feelings and relationship with Aaron. Through that, she’d quickly become your closest friend on the team.

A couple of kids shout at one another, laughing, as they ride past the house on their bicycles; shattering the memory. You dip into your purse and withdraw your phone, pressing a button and powering it down. The screen door creaks on its hinges and Hotch steps down onto the porch, the planks shifting beneath his weight. He sits beside you and offers you a mug. The scent of coffee reaches your nose and you accept it, thanking him quietly. Aaron had taken his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He stretches an arm around your shoulder and draws closer to you. He kisses the side of your face and stares out at the yard.

“It was a beautiful service,” he offers.

“Aaron, don’t.” You close your eyes and take a breath. You hold the coffee with both hands, rubbing your thumbs up and down the warm ceramic. “Please don’t make small talk with me about this like it’s all so fucking normal.”

He sighs and apologizes. “I just wish I could make all of your hurt go away.”

A shudder runs through you and you nestle in closer to him, taking a sip of your coffee as you do so. “I don’t think it’ll ever go away.”

•

Her brown eyes stare back at you, though the photo paper could never capture the light that flared within them when she was alive. Of all the faces you could have seen up on this wall, you’d never anticipated hers being one of them.

Every day you stop by her portrait on the wall of fallen heroes. People talk about her less and less around the office. The team doesn’t stop, though your conversations are stilted and often end in awkward silences; no one really knowing how to carry on once the conversation slows to a natural end. You speak often with Spencer about the ways in which you’ve been grieving, the sleepless nights and early mornings. Derek is reserved. He’s angry above anything else. He feels betrayed by Emily and a part of you understands that. She’d not told any of you after all. You’d be remiss if you’d not also spent some of your time grieving in anger. Of all the times you’d stayed late after work, gotten together to hang out on weekends, or gone out for drinks, she had never indicated anything was wrong. You had told her everything, confided every one of your fears and hopes into her and you’d thought that the street had been going both ways. God, you’d never been so wrong.

“Conference room in fifteen,” Aaron says as he walks past you, hand grazing your back as he does so.

You smile tightly and nod, glancing once more at Emily’s photo before making your way to your desk in the bullpen, ignoring the fact hers still sits empty and unoccupied beside yours. How has it been three months already?

•

“Emily!”

Your eyes dart around the room frantically searching as your heart thunders in your ears. You feel the organ pounding against your ribcage, threatening to break free of it. It only takes a second for you to realize it had been a dream.

Aaron rolls over and sits up, threading an arm around your back and rubbing your hip with his fingers. “Another nightmare?” he asks, words tinged with sleepiness.

You nod, yawning as you rub your eyes. The dreams are further apart, but at least every other week her face haunts your subconscious. You can’t help but wonder if it’s some sort of self-punishment as life goes on and the days get easier.

In reality, you don’t know if it’s easier or if you’ve just forced yourself to become numb to it all, compartmentalizing the pain of losing your best friend because if you didn’t you don’t think you’d be able to leave the house and do what you do day after day.

“Are the appointments with the therapist helping?” he asks.

Another question you don’t know the answer to. On some level, yes. Talking to someone who knows nothing about you or her or anyone else on the team is good. You don’t have to walk on eggshells, worried you're going to dig open a wound the others are equally fighting to heal by talking about her or how much you miss her or wish she was here. On another level, you don’t open up fully to the doctor. There are some layers of this injury you don’t want to see heal and scar over. If you do that, it’s like you’re telling Emily that you’re over her death, as if it’s something as easy as that, something you just get over. No, some things need to stay fresh, to serve as a reminder that Ian Doyle is still out there. The man who took your best friend away from you and your BAU family is breathing and she’s not. You clench your fists, the sheets balling up in your hands as your resentment burns deep inside you. Yes, that’s it, the idea of him walking around thinking he’s gotten away with this is enough to stoke the flames simmering deep inside you.

You take a deep breath, mentally imagining the flames subsiding, and they do. They dial down, but they don’t disappear. You glance down at Aaron, who snores softly beside you. His fingers still curl around your hip and a faint smile graces your lips. He tries, you know he does, but this is exhausting for everyone. He bears the brunt of it at the office. He fought to be the one to meet with the team and conduct the grief interviews, not wanting a stranger to come in and sift through your friends’ and colleagues’ pain over what happened. God knows how much bureaucratic red tape he had gotten tangled in right after the fact, the higher ups demanding how such a blunder could occur right under their noses. Aaron had put out the fires though, as he always did. Reaching around his back, you withdraw his hand from your hip and tuck it by his side, not before pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

You glance at the clock before lying back down. 4:15AM blinks back at you on the digital clock face. In forty five minutes the alarm will go off and it’ll be another day at the office. Settling down into the pillows, you press your back into Aaron’s body, yours molding against the planes of his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

His arms slinks around your waist and pulls you in as if you can get any closer than you already are. He tucks his chin over your shoulder and his lips brush against your jawline.

“I love you,” he whispers and you relax into the safety of his embrace.

“I love you, too, Aaron.”

•

Nights are hard when Aaron is gone. Pakistan is nine hours ahead and all Hotch has to communicate with anyone is a satellite phone, the number for which you don’t have access to. Whenever Hotch calls, the caller ID flashes the word ‘Unknown’ across your screen. There have been several times you’ve missed him due to being asleep or at work. Each call missed feels like being sucker punched. Every time you talk, a part of you worries it’ll be the last time. You didn’t use to have this fear, not until Emily. Despite staring death in the face on a week by week basis, most of the time playing Russian Roulette with the Grim Reaper himself in each unsub you cross paths with, somehow you never thought he’d actually take someone you love from you; that he’d take down one of the team. You never thought there’d be a last conversation with Emily, and now she’s dead.

Dead. The word is a heavy stone, sinking from the cusps of your mind to the pit of your stomach. It sits there, a persistent ache idling deep inside of you. It never relents and it never allows you to forget.

There are nights you dream that Aaron is dead too, that somewhere far away and beyond your control, he’s dying on the ground, bleeding out, and no one knows. You don’t even know what he’s working on and he can’t say; despite your relationship there are still levels in which Hotch’s clearance supersedes your own and the need-to-know red tape keeps you out. Afraid to close your eyes and dream of his unseeing, you stare at the blades of the ceiling fan whirling lazily overhead of the bed you usually share with him.

“I miss you,” you whisper to no one; and you don’t know who you’re talking to anymore.

•

“He’s back?” your heart flutters in your chest, equal parts excited and anxious at the prospect of Aaron’s sudden return. You push off your desk and swivel in your chair to stand, rushing down the hall and leaving Reid behind as you make your way hastily to the conference room.

The door is cracked and a gleeful sound eeks past your lips as his tall frame comes into view. You slip in before anyone else arrives and throw your arms around you. Inhaling deeply, his familiar teakwood scent envelopes you just as his arms do. You move to pull away, but his arms tighten around you.

“A second more,” he whispers, and there’s an edge to his voice.

You write it off to jet lag and sink into his embrace, though you notice how slight he feels against you. Finally, you pull back and cup his face in your hands. The scruff of his beard is prickly and you laugh as you take in his rugged appearance. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this much facial hair.” You swipe your thumbs over the hair on his lip and he tilts his head, kissing the inside of your hand. He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply before lifting them to meet yours. It's then you realize how tired he looks. The bags under his eyes are puffy and purple, almost as if they’re bruised. His forehead is creased, brow furrowed; definitely not how you pictured him upon reuniting.

“Aaron is everything ok—”

“I need you to know I would never hurt you,” he says quickly, interrupting you.

You purse your lips, brow pinching at the sudden admission. As your lips part to speak he directs a pointed look at you, the depths of his brown eyes wavering. “I love you,” his voice cracks, “so much.” He swallows, his throat bobbing as he does so. “Please remember that.”

There’s a hollow feeling in your gut, a chasm opening wide where every anxious and painful thought that you’ve tried to keep buried since he’s been gone begins to claw their way out as a thousand different outcomes play out in front of you. “Aaron, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer your question as the rest of the team trickles into the room, sitting at the round table or standing as suspense fills the space. It’s tangible. Everyone’s posture is rigid and tense in anticipation of whatever it is he has to say.

“Seven months ago I made a decision that impacted everyone on this team,” he begins, eyes firm.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably beside you. Rossi leans forward, fingers steepled under his chin.

“As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood,” Hotch continues and your ears prick at the sound of her name. Why would he bring her up? No less, her condition the day you all lost her. You all know this.

“…the doctor’s were able to stabilize her.”

Your lips part but no sound comes out as you raise your eyes to meet his. They meet yours for the briefest of seconds before flitting on to the others.The next words to leave his mouth sound far away, interrupted by the blood now pounding in your eardrums. “She stayed there until she was well enough to travel…given identities…”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel as though you may choke on it. Air doesn’t seem to be able to bypass it and you have to remind yourself that you can breathe even though it feels like all the oxygen has vacated your lungs.

Penelope is the first to speak. “She’s alive?”

Spencer’s brow quirks as he tries to rationalize what’s being said to him. “We buried her.”

You did. You helped carry the casket. You felt the weight of her dead body and watched it sink into the earth. If that wasn’t her, what the fuck or who the fuck did you actually put in the ground?”

“As I said I take full responsibility for this decision,” Hotch continues, eyes downcast. “If anyone has any issues they should be directed towards me.”

The blood pounding in your ears is deafening. When Hotch looks up, you search his eyes and can’t help wondering if you know him at all. All of the nights you literally made yourself sick from crying and he held your hair back as you dry heaved over the toilet and your body spasmed from the grief of losing your best friend, he’d known that she was alive. For a moment, you think you may be sick right there at the round table at the thought of it all. Derek is speaking, his voice tight with anger but you don’t hear him. Heads turn and the hairs on the back of your neck prickle as a haunting feeling creeps up the back of your spine.

Turning around in your chair, everyone else stands but not you. If you do, you know your knees will buckle and fall out from under you. Spencer and Penelope are on their feet, moving briskly to greet the ghost of Emily.

Except she’s not a ghost. Her skin is not the cold blue-gray pallor of death, but pink and bright, the blood beneath her flesh very much pumping through a heart that’s beating. Her dark brown hair is sleek and shining, her bangs grown out and styled; her part now to the right. You watch her arms fold around Spencer and the way he squeezes her in turn. Penelope follows suit, tears streaming down her cheeks as she smiles widely. Derek stares on, features fixed in a cross between anger and shock. Emily approaches him with apprehension. An apology leaves her lips as she draws him in for a hug and his arms tentatively wrap around her. When she turns to you, your muscles tense. Those deep brown irises flicker back and forth across your face, searching for a reaction. You don’t give her one. Instead, you push past her, avoiding any and all physical contact with her, and dip out of the conference room.

You hear Garcia call your name and Derek shouts about having a case. You don’t care. You bypass your desk, not even bothering to get your purse. Your keys are hanging on a carabiner on your belt loop. Ignoring the elevator, you shove your way through the entrance to the stairs and move down them so quickly you’re surprised you don’t lose your footing and tumble down them. Down and around you go, your footsteps echoing as your heart slams against your ribcage. You slap your badge against the keypad that lets you exit the building, ignoring the greeting from the security guard at the front. As you push through the front doors of the office building, you barely make it to the bushes before you fall to your knees and retch.

•

A car door slams followed by the double beep which locks them. You close your eyes and inhale deeply as you prepare to face him, hands clenching around the sweater you were packing. A tear slips free from your eye as you breathe out and look toward the ceiling, as if the answers to why all of this had to happen are written up there. This is not how your reunion is supposed to be. You’d pictured his homecoming for weeks; thought about the outfit you’d wear to dinner and the lingerie you’d bought to wear just for him when you both got home, opened a bottle of wine, and made up for all of the time lost while he was away. That is how tonight is supposed to go.

Now you’re leaving, and you don’t know if you’ll be coming back.

The lock on the front door jiggles before the gears click into place. It squeaks on its hinges as it swings open. Five beeps follow and you can picture his fingers pressing against each button on the alarm system. His keys clatter as he drops them on the table. As his footsteps edge closer to your bedroom, you count each one. The sound that usually means safety and security, now sends a shiver of anxiety throughout your body.

He appears in the doorway, eyes rife with exhaustion and the bags beneath them puffy and swollen. His cheeks are flushed and his nose is pink, as if he’d been crying. Maybe he had been, god knows you had. His eyes flit between you and the bag you’re packing. His lips part and a small sound of desperation slips past them.

“Baby, please—”

You hold up a hand, curling your fingers into a fist. Your lip curls as you speak. “Don’t,” you breathe. You swallow the lump that quickly forms in your throat as you drop your hand, zipping the bag shut.

The inner corners of his brow draw upward and you can hardly stand to look into his pleading gaze.

“You have to understand—”

“Understand, what? Aaron?” You ask sharply, struggling to hold back the thick hot tears pricking the backs of your eyes.

He places a hand on his hip, fingers tucking back the fold of his unbuttoned shirt as his thumb hooks into his belt; a gesture you’re all too familiar with as he does the same thing with all of his suits. His other hand rises to pinch the bridge of his nose. He pauses, inhaling as he tries to find the words. After a moment, he scrubs a hand over his face and turns his gaze to yours.

“I wanted to tell you so badly,” he says. When he looks at you there are tears in his eyes. “I hated myself, watching the agony this decision put you and the team through. I wanted to tell you and take away your hurt, but I couldn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to the team. Just because you’re my girlfriend, I can’t—” He turns his hand and slams his hand against the doorframe causing you to flinch. “Dammit!”

Your voice is soft, but sure when you speak. “You can’t bend the rules.”

It’s what you’ve always worried about, both of you. You always knew the job could come first, especially with him being the Unit Chief. You always understood that that meant no preferential treatment and that is something you never would’ve asked him to do. You just never anticipated it happening like this, a complete and total life altering mind fuck.

Aaron drops his hand and it slaps against his thigh in defeat as it falls to his side. “What was I supposed to do?”

You cross your arms over your chest, fingers curling over your biceps to try and still your shaking hair. You hang your head and a curtain of hair falls across your face, “I don’t know, Aaron.”

He kicks off the doorway, moving towards you with his hands outstretched. It happens without thinking, the way you flinch away. Pain flashes in his eyes and you feel as though you’ve been punched in the stomach the way it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

His hip is close to yours, his body angled away from you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulder as he looks down. “Don’t do this,” he whispers.

Your lip quivers, chin wobbling in response to the tears you’re trying so desperately to hold back. “I have vacation I’d been saving.” You pick up your bag and throw it over your shoulder, not daring to look up at him because you know if you do you’ll shatter into a thousand shards of glass at his feet.

As you move toward the door, you pause. For a split second, you entertain the thought of dropping your bag, running across the room he’d chased you around so many times before, and throwing yourself around him. You consider all the things you want to say and scream and cry about; all of your anger, sadness, betrayal, grief, and love. You crave him so terribly in that moment because his have always been the arms you’ve run to when things become too much to bear.

Instead, your chin dips toward your shoulder as you speak, but you don’t raise your eyes to meet his. If you do, you don’t think you’ll be able to leave. “My gun and badge are in the safe.”

As you make your way down the hallway, you have to bite your knuckles to stifle a sob just as you hear one leave his lips from the bedroom.

You don’t turn back.

127 notes · View notes

spacebarbarianweird · 15 hours

Note

Could you please write more about pregnant Tiriel? Your writing about her finding out she's expecting and about Astarion hearing the baby's heartbeat were one of my favorites?

Synopsis: Astarion takes care of pregnant Tiriel.

Tags: dadstarion, pregnancy, fluff

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Waiting

“I think I am going to die in childbirth,” Tiriel says, pressing her face to her knees.

Astarion would sigh if he could. Tiriel sits shoulder-deep in a bath of warm water, as the vampire washes her hair and rubs her back.

“You aren’t going to die. You are a half-elf and I am sure the child is rather small. Look at your belly, you are in your last month and it’s not really showing.”

Tiriel turns away. Well, to call her belly small would be an underestimation – her slim body is currently betraying pregnancy. It’s covered in stretch marks that won’t disappear, ever. But again, Astarion has seen many pregnant human women in Daggerlake within the last five years and Tiriel has definitely been spared, carrying someone who takes after their elven ancestors.

But once Astarion thinks he’s managed to cheer her up, Tiriel sniffs.

“What if something is wrong with the baby? You are a vampire! I love you and all that, but you are still undead! What am I even carrying inside? And what if the child is sick? Or deformed? Or…What if it is going to kill me?”

“I can promise you, if something goes wrong, we are saving you,” Astarion splashes water on her hair.

“Thank you.”

He kisses her shoulder. “Don’t worry that much, the last thing you need is to cause a complication.”

Tiriel touches his fingers.

Astarion adds more soap to the tub. The scent of vomit and sweat still lingers on Tiriel’s skin and Astarion takes a clean piece of rug.

Tiriel has been feeling so bad in the last few days she barely left her bed. Her legs hurt, she couldn’t eat without vomiting, and she hardly slept because of back pains. She finally made herself go out that evening to eat properly, but, the moment Tiriel finished her dinner, she felt nauseous and everything Astarion had cooked for her ended up on her home shirt.

That moment, Astarion had enough of that and carried Tiriel to the bath.

“I'm sorry,” she says.

“What for?”

“I look disgusting.”

“Nothing is disgusting about a pregnant woman,” Astarion says, rubbing her left ear. “Besides, I’ve seen and done much worse things than giving a bath to someone I’ve knocked up. Your condition is my fault and I am taking full responsibility! Now, let me wash your front.”

Tiriel presses her back against the tub allowing Astarion to get to her belly and legs. Astarion smiles seeing the visible bump and carefully rubs the skin.

He is so close he can hear the second heartbeat.

It is not clear to him when the child is going to be born. Elves are pregnant for two years, but Tiriel’s body is hardly capable of doing so. Humans need nine months for the same process, but Astarion has learned from the healers in Secomber, the closest big town to Daggerlake, that it’s never clear with half-elves. And it also depends on the child – Astarion tries to think about the baby as an elf with just a bit of human ancestry (still enough to fuck up the gentle elven biology).

But in reality…

The child is half-him, half a vampire anyway. And that should bother him.

He is afraid of that moment. He waits for that moment to come. And he also misses Tiriel in sensual terms. He wants her blood (which is out of reach for him till she stops breastfeeding), he wants her body (they haven’t had sex ever since she got pregnant).

And he wants her to stop being in such pain daily.

“I look ugly,” Tiriel chuckles. “Don’t try to say it’s not true.”

“It's not. You are beautiful!”

Suddenly Tiriel flicks his nose. “My eyes are here.”

Astarion realizes he’s been staring at her swollen breasts and small droplets of white liquid on Tiriel’s nipples.

“Stop all this nonsense, Tiriel!'' Astarion takes her leg and stretches it to wash it better. “I like caring about you. I like how you look. And I absolutely love that it's me who did this to you. It all feeds my vampiric possessiveness, after all!”

“And I love that it was you who did this to me,” Astarion feels Tiriel’s fingers on his cheek.

“Now, get out of the water before it gets too cold!” Astarion brings towels. “Is food still out of the question?”

“I want something hot to drink.”

“I will make you herbal tea, then.”

Astarion, after making sure she is dry, carries Tiriel to bed.

He looks outside. What he loves about his house in the underground part of Daggerlake is the big windows. There is no point in hiding from the sun, and Astarion can enjoy going outside whenever he wants. Besides, the biggest part of the town is underground too, and Astarion also doesn’t feel like an outcast.

And his neighbors have seen much worse things than vampires who know the law.

Suddenly Tiriel yelps. He turns to her and notices the night shirt she’s put on is wet.

But wasn’t Tiriel's skin dry when he took her from the bath?

Tiriel hugs her belly and lets out a cry of pain.

“Tiriel…” Astarion rushes to her. No, not today. He still needs time to get ready.

Tiriel grabs his shoulder. “Go to the healer… I am.. Gods…”

The child has decided to be born today. ------ You can read what happens next in Little Bundle of Darkness --

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@valeprati

@lynnlovesthestars

@marina-and-the-memes

@waking-eyes

@ayselluna

@connorsui

@asterordinary

@darkarchangel96

@locallegume

@brainfullofhotsauce

@coffeeanddonutscafe

@my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen

@queenofthespacesquids

@ednaaa-04

@dajeong

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

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burntblueberrywaffles · 3 days

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The Snowbaird fanfic rec list!

As usual, if anyone is interested in joining the snowbaird discord, just shoot me a dm for an invite!

Before we start, some notes:

As we all know Snowbaird is fucked up and toxic 😌😌 but there are;;; levels to it so for easy navigation I have color coded this fic rec! Blue is for fics that are less toxic (now that doesn’t necessarily mean there’s NO toxicity but it definitely stands on the sweeter side of the Snowbaird spectrum) whereas red stand for "god these fucked up bitches 😍😍" (though for me a big no no is loveless Snowbaird, so even the more toxic fics in this list they do love each other!) - Ive also added an orange category for the mid level fics/ones where I couldn’t quite decide where they would rank- still, do keep in mind that those rankings are based on my personal judgement (plus I’m going off memory for some of the fics) so they may not be fully accurate.

Im also adding a "heavy smut" mention to some of these fic - that means the smut takes center stage in the fic and is pretty much unavoidable to properly read the story, a lot of the other fics on this list will still contain smut, but to a lesser extent/in a way where it’s not an integral part of the plot - remember to read the tags and curate your reading experience!

Sadly several of these are incomplete - I have added a mention of when the last update was posted as of today (april 22, 2024)!

Anyways, now that all of that is out of the way, here are the recs!

Capitol AUs

Helpless, Tender, Open by perfectlystill

When his heartbeat stutters beneath her touch, when his mouth falls open, breathing heavy, Lucy Gray pops open her clutch. She’s the one pouring antidote down his throat.

Complete

if i'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? by eecwritess

It had been fifteen years since Lucy Gray Baird had escaped Coriolanus Snow at the cabin in District Twelve. But now, she had been captured. Brought back to the Capitol after all these years to be punished as a Rebel. But President Snow...well, he has offered to save her. Under one condition.

Heavy smut - complete

Songbirds, Snakes, and Wedding Rings by celestscrystal

“Even she can’t charm your way out of that predicament.” Dr. Gaul taunted. He was losing her. He could already see the disinterest in her eyes. Highbottom had been long gone, his plans at sabotage were shattered, now he was just waiting to leave. Coriolanus had to make this work. His Lucy Gray must be kept alive. He had one final idea to convince them. It was his most dangerous idea yet. “I could marry her.” In which Coriolanus was never sent to district 12 and instead got away with a slap on the wrist. However, Lucy Gray would not be granted the same fate. In order to save her, Coriolanus marries her. Clashes ensue in a tale of enemies, passion, and lovers. Updates every Saturday/Sunday!

Incomplete but is getting weekly updates! I really love this one :D

Burn by vvitchimage

Life in the wilderness is harsher than Lucy Gray Baird had imagined. Sick and almost dead, she's forced to return home to the only person capable of taking care of her.

vvitchimage is definitely one of my favourite Snowbaird authors so you will see more of her works down this list; the way she writes the toxicity is just chefs kiss 🤌 Heavy smut - complete

Safe and close at hand by framboise

In which Coriolanus Snow is handsomely rewarded for his tribute winning the Games and in turn handsomely rewards his prize, Lucy Gray, herself. He's gone solemn now in the afterglow, serious. He cares for his own, Snow, she sees that with his family, and now she is one of them. Not his family, but something he owns. His prize, his ward, his girl. Is she to be his mistress then? she thinks hazily as she slips towards sleep. Is that the future for her? To escape from the viper's den into the viper's mansion? She shivers and he drags her closer, one large hand tucked around her hip. Well, she can't escape now even if she wants to, she thinks, sinking into the softness of the plush mattress, burrowing back into the heat and warmth of her jailor.

complete

the girl and the prize by merkstave

In Lucy Gray’s defense, it was never supposed to go down like this anyway. She was just supposed to seduce him, to weasel herself into the snake pit that was Coriolanus’ bed so that he’d keep her around long enough for her to formulate an escape plan. She’d meet with Highbottom and he’d help her like he said he would after she was crowned victor and she’d be back to being a faceless girl amongst the cover of the districts. She just had to say the word and the dean of Heavensbee Academy would make her disappear. She’d be back to singing in bars in no time, back to her old life on the run. That had been nine months ago. And here she was, in her warden’s bed, naked and with his cum stuck to her inner thighs. +++ Lucy Gray is given to Coriolanus as his ward after the games. It's supposed to be a temporary arrangement, nothing more than means to an end. However, nothing is ever easy, especially at the hands of a Snow.

Sadly incomplete but the 4 chapters we did get are SO!!! Truly the delicious kind of toxicity 🤌🤌 (last updated: Jan 15, 2024)

All Of That Ultraviolence by ggs_29

He was well dressed in a suit that fit, hair combed back, still just as handsome as before, if not more so. A full pantry suited him well, helping him to fill out the spaces that were too thin on his figure, and building up the hard earned muscles of his peacekeeping stint. Today, he sits behind his desk in a fine dress shirt, a button undone on top, and his cuffs rolled up his muscular arms. Lucy remembers Barb Azure’s old tales, about a pagan creature from a time before Panem, a fallen angel; the most beautiful of them all, but so easy to succumb to the temptation of power and glory; “ You can leave us now, Heavensbee.” Coriolanus says, holding his gaze on her, and his eyes are dark, predatory. Fuck. “Of course Mr. President; Madame Snow.” Hilarius shoots her a look filled to the brim with trepidation, and suddenly, she is back there again, paralyzed with fear. A girl of six and ten whose name had just been reaped. They’d been found out.

heavy smut - complete

Peacekeeper Coryo AUs

This Little Life of Ours by voiceinthecrowd

"I'll sing for you soon," she promises, hand threading through blonde curls. “I’ll write you into all my songs." “Maybe even write a Ballad of Coriolanus Snow”, she whispers, gasping as her boy manages to pull her even closer. It isn't the immortality he's been looking for. It certainly isn't the marble presidential busts he tells her about when they both can't sleep; how their stony eyes would bore into the souls of passing Capitol children; a young, hungry boy in Academy rouge. But presidents die and statues crumble. Coryo might not know it yet, but it’s stories and songs that persist. His ancient heroes and her whispered poems. They’re all stories, and Lucy Gray is determined to give Coryo the greatest story of them all. He’ll understand, one day. She’ll make it up to him, the dreams he’s left behind for her. He hasn't lost everything in Twelve. Lucy Gray will prove it. In which Lucy Gray stays for Coriolanus, and Coriolanus stays for Lucy Gray.

foaming at the mouth over this fic. complete

i wouldn’t mind the hanging, but the laying in the grave so long by rainfrog

He’s a Peacekeeper since the beginning. And she’s still that Covey girl who falls in love.

SO GOOD; this fic is 2,4k words long and NOT ONE OF THEM IS WASTED truly so many excellent lines in there 💯💯 - complete

Deal with the Devil by vvitchimage

Lucy Gray had lived in the cabin for months after her falling out with Coriolanus Snow. When spring comes, he returns to take over Hoff's place in the Peacekeepers. The day she's found, Lucy Gray has to strike a deal with the devil.

Heavy smut - incomplete but is still being updated! (last update april 18, 2024)

persimmons and soup beans by kayladevitoo

Coriolanus Snow moved up in the Peacekeeper ranks in District 12, becoming an officer. He shares breakfast with Lucy Gray after a night shift — soup beans and a persimmon.

short and sweet - complete

Chaos and control by Anonymous

Her name was Lucy Gray Baird, and she and her group were called the Covey. Technically, they weren't from the Districts; as it turned out, they were a group of traveling musicians who got stuck in the Twelfth when inter-District travel was banned. This somehow reassured him – that she wasn't from the Districts, that he hadn't gone crazy falling for a girl from the Districts – she wasn't one of those responsible for the war. So he no longer felt guilty about his dreams, sometimes strange, sometimes blatantly indecent, in which she was always the main character. 18 years old Coriolanus Snow, an orphan, who lost his mother, his father and grandmother during the war now is a Cadet Peacekeeper in the District 12, preparing to become an officer. Here he meets the most beautiful girl in the world

This fic is not as Snowbaird centric as the rest of this list, but god is it fantastic. This Anonymous author is simply incredible 💯 - complete

Modern AUs

Free Ride by betts

“Does Lucy Gray like you back?” Tigris asked. Coriolanus hadn’t actually considered that. He’d just assumed she didn’t and never would. He’d grown up with anything he could ever want given to him instantly, but now everything he wanted was impossibly far out of reach. Lucy Gray was no exception. Or: Coriolanus is a full-time university student, restaurant server, administrative assistant, and on the weekends he cleans and presses gowns. Occasionally he sleeps. So he really doesn't have time to be giving the weird bartender a ride home every night. And he definitely doesn't have time to become obsessed with her.

having really enjoyed Betts' Anidala fic Lemon, I knew we were in for a treat when i recognized her in the Snowbaird tag AND I WAS RIGHT, such an amazing take on modern!coryo - complete

I'm yours to keep and I'm yours to lose by fkevin073

Their lips slide together, then their tongues curl and she moans, a light, heady thing, come alight with the realization that she is finally, finally home. It’s tender at first, but at the sound of her moan Coriolanus grabs her chin in between his fingers and plunders her mouth harshly. As if this is a punishment. You left me, every kiss he gives her, takes from her, breathes. You left me. And Lucy Gray— Well. For her this isn’t a punishment at all. Or: Lucy Gray and Coriolanus can't seem to let each other go.

THIS IS SO!!!!! see this is the kind of ploltline I might not love in other circumstances, but THE WRITING IS SO INCREDIBLE that it just hits - complete

when the sun goes down by astradeluna

small-town girl lucy gray baird moves from district twelve to the capitol to attend the university to study music. this is her first time leaving home and although the prospect of starting over is terrifying, she’s still excited to make the most out of the opportunity. that being said, after a shitty breakup with her shitty ex, the last thing she wants is to meet someone, but then she crosses paths with coriolanus snow, an arrogant but ambitious government major, who seems to get under her skin with ease and he brings out a part of herself that she never knew existed

incomplete and the story hadn’t gotten to much development in the relationship yet but GOD I still need to put this here bc THE WAY the dynamics were so perfectly transcribed to this modern setting were just chefs kiss. Forever hoping this fic will return from war and get an update 🙏🙏 (last updated: Dec 20, 2023)

Other

Your Selfish Ways by thpsyche

Ten years since her disappearance from District 12 Lucy Gray decides it’s time to return, finding a shelter and a silent life. All would be well if it weren’t for the mysterious encounters of a man cloaked in darkness. A deal is struck, twice a month she would give up to him in return for his silence of her existence. Only one condition: she’s to not ask or look at him. - For the snowbaird week 2024| Day 2 – Myth.

GOD THIS FUCKING FIC - IM FUCKING OBSESSED WITH IT;;; EROS AND PSYCHE INSPIRED AU MY BELOVED - I have reread many times;;; if you see a thumbs up crying cat pfp going insane in the comments that would be me;;;; I am not normal about this 🙈 - complete

doomsday is close at hand by fkevin073

But on the first train of her nineteenth year, as the snows settle on the ground and ice curls in their lungs, something new comes with the train to arrive in District 12. A man by the name of Coriolanus Snow. (But Lucy Gray doesn’t find that out until later, of course) - Or: Coriolanus Snow arrives in District 12, and finds his very own songbird, ready to break free.

incomplete but according to @fkevin073 's tumblr it is not abandoned and she has just been busy;;; truly such a good fic I love it sm (last updated feb 14, 2024)

When I'm Pure Like a Dove, When I've Learned How to Love by Realmermaid333

Lucy Gray and Coriolanus bask in sunlight by the edge of the lake, enjoying each other's presence and calming each other's fears.

Short and sweet - the kind of softness we need more of for Snowbaird 🥺🥺🥺 - Complete

Saving Each Other by flipflop_diva

Lucy Gray had already accepted that she was going to die here in the arena, that sometime in the next few days she would meet her end. But then something else happened — and now there were two of them to carry on the fight. (An AU in which Coriolanus goes to save Sejanus and doesn't escape the arena.)

complete

Silent songbird by KitKatKatherine

Coriolanus Snow thought he knew everything that had happened to him these last few months. Lucy left him, he got into the academy, and Gaul was overseeing his studies. It’s not until he wakes up in the hospital and experiences a rather concerning conversation that he questions everything he once thought to be solid, reason logic. Vowing to never once again help Gaul, and capital be damned, he turns his charms on his own people, and becomes their worst nightmare.

Now, this fic does get quite dark; the author gives trigger warning on specific chapters but if you would like to be warned before getting any investment in the fic, feel free to dm me for details ❤️ - that said, it’s a great fic, I thought the take on disability was lovely and the way it portrayed Coriolanus realizing how rotten the system is and redeeming himself was great; incomplete but worth a read (last updated: Jan 13, 2024)

This is Not a Love Song by FrostedGemstones22

Lucy Gray and Coriolanus never go to the cabin, so they never find the guns. They decide to travel together, but Lucy Gray isn't so easily fooled. Truth is; he needs her, and she needs him. Common ground has to be found somewhere. Speculation about if they traveled up to find District 13.

THIS FIC IS SO EXCELLENT and definetely the best take I have seen on a district 13 AU - incomplete but absolutely worth reading (last updated: Jan 22, 2024)

in the woods somewhere by OfPearlsAndSunsets

Sejanus. She must have figured out that Sejanus was the third person Coriolanus had killed. She wouldn’t have known the particulars, but surely she could have pieced it all together. Still, to think he’d kill her? After everything they’d been through? He looked down at the loaded gun in his hands. Maybe he should have left it in the shed. It's as if he was hunting her. He thought about the knife and how it paled in comparison to the weapon he was carrying. What are you doing, Coriolanus? Something inside of him asks, and then demands. Put it down. He does.

Complete

Monster by Lululemonee

Coriolanus Snow if given both a gift and a curse when he meets his tribute for the 10th Hunger Games. She changed his life in ways which he never could have imagined. She's a dream and a nightmare rolled into one. And she is keeping him with her for the ride. I am very bad at summaries. This was inspired but the music video for "Scars" by Hazey Eyes which stars Tom Blyth and is sooooo good.

Complete

Deep in the Meadow by vvitchimage

Lucy Gray's reunion with Coriolanus in the meadow ends with him protecting her from her jilted ex.

Heavy smut - complete

BONUS:

Two different tribute!Coryo AUs! Are they Snowbaird centered? Not at all, there’s only a few crumbs if you squint BUT they slap SO HARD I truly recommend! (both are complete)

for cassius, no one wept by marianara_sauce

"Why don't we start from the beginning?" "Where else would we start?" She grins at him, rouge cheeks almost glowing. "Stories can start in all kinds of places. They can go in any kind of order, too. Just like songs." He watches her carefully, this relentlessly bright girl no longer in her rainbow dress. His eyes glance down to the form, blank spaces taking over most of the page. Name. District. Age. Family. It's not necessarily chronological. But her dark eyes don't look away from him, even as her grin softens. "Alright," he says. He steeples his hands together, and the chains rattle. "I'm Coriolanus Snow. District 12." (Or, the world in which Snow is a tribute instead of a mentor.)

Hail Panem by Anonymous

"Hail Panem! Those marching to their death salute you!" AU where Coriolanus Snow is a tribute from District Twelve who takes part in the Hunger Games

And that is all! There are a lot of other lovely Snowbaird fics of course but I tried focusing on my absolute favourites ❤️

Do let me know if you liked the list and if you’re a fan of any of these fic feel free to come scream about it with me!

+ Once again noting that my DMs are wide open to anyone wanting to join the Snowbaird discord! It is genuinely an online space I love and I’m always happy to meet more shippers 🫶🫶

#snowbaird #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #tbosas #coryolucy #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x lucy gray #burntblueberrywaffles #ballad of songbirds and snakes #fic rec list #fanfic rec list #fanfiction #rec list #snowbaird fanfiction

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midnightstargazer · 13 hours

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In OotP, when Regulus is first mentioned, this is how he's introduced:

"He was younger than me," said Sirius, "and a much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

The juxtaposition of those two things - younger and a better son - stands out because the Blacks are such an old-fashioned family. Sirius and Regulus seem like a typical "heir and a spare" situation, so for the spare to be a "better son" than the heir is a big deal.

In DH, when Harry visits the top floor of Grimmauld Place, one thing he notices is that Sirius had the larger bedroom. To me, this suggests that, at least when they were young children, their parents showed more favoritism to Sirius. He was, after all, the oldest and the heir. Given that Bellatrix and Walburga didn't have quiet, passive temperaments either, I doubt his personality would be seen as a problem until he ended up in Gryffindor, befriending the wrong people and rejecting everything the family stood for.

Regulus's more dutiful and obedient attitude was no doubt something they appreciated once Sirius really started rebelling, and it's easy to imagine them pitting their sons against each other: look at your brother, he's in the right house, he's rarely ever in detention, he's got friends we approve of - why can't you be like him? But still, they didn't disown Sirius until he ran away at sixteen. This suggests to me that any favoritism towards Regulus was, at least at first, an attempt to bring Sirius back into line and get him to behave the way they expected.

Even after Sirius ran away, they kept his room exactly as it was. Even if everything on the walls was attached with a permanent sticking charm, it shouldn't have been too difficult to cover it up. Furniture and personal items could certainly be gotten rid of. The fact that the room was still pretty much untouched tells me they kept holding out hope he might come back.

However, I do think that things would have changed for Regulus after Sirius was Sorted into Gryffindor and after he ran away. In both cases, there would have been more pressure on him to live up to the family's expectations. The impression we're given of Regulus in the books is of someone who didn't really think for himself and was very proud of his conformity. It seems reasonable to me that that would have come from growing up with an older brother who constantly defied their parents and, as a result, had lost their favoritism. And knowing, of course, that their love for him was just as conditional.

(That's not me saying he was forced into anything. I actually don't think Orion and Walburga would have forced either of their sons to join the Death Eaters. But I do think Regulus felt he had something to prove, was taught basically the same ideology at home, and was therefore easier to radicalize. And I think that feeling of having something to prove probably came, at least in part, from watching Sirius go from favorite son and heir to scapegoat to disowned.)

Both brothers, I think, ended up living very different lives than their family would've chosen for them. They would've been expected to marry pure-blood women and have kids, to support the blood purist ideology but not actually risk their lives for it, and either to live off their inherited wealth or to work in relatively safe, prestigious careers. So, in different ways, they both fell short.

I do think there was definitely a scapegoat and golden child dynamic, but I think it's a bit more complicated than that: changing favoritism through the years as it became more and more obvious that Sirius wouldn't fall into line with the family expectations, first to pit them against each other and then to cut Sirius off and replace him with Regulus.

#Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Black brothers #Sirius and Regulus #Marauders Era #Harry Potter

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kebriones · 3 days

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I get where you're going with this but they very much did have extreme stress back then. Usually about if they were going to have enough to eat

(summary of my ramblings at the bottom!) I apologise in advance for the essay, I might be in the wrong here, i'm not an anthropologist or a historian but I do have strong feelings about how all humans around me are stressed out of their damn minds to the point of being empty husks so here goes. i'm also posting this in case anyone has a different opinion/more knowledge. My grandmother was raised in the german occupation. Famously a period when people here starved to death. But it was mostly the people in Athens who did. My grandma didn't have proper food as a kid, but she ate weeds and slugs and fruit. And when the occupation ended, they were still dirt-poor, but there were legumes and chickens and bread to eat, even though our agriculture was obliterated by the war. I'm sure this differs from place to place, but for people in rural areas, living off of the land if they know how to grow a few crops is very much possible.

My parents are working all day at jobs that demand them to be mentally there at all times and behave a certain way, they often work during their free time at home, and they're still stressed about how to afford groceries and rent and bills, and they owe thousands to the bank. My great-grandmother had time to weave, take care of her garden and animals, go to church as much as she wanted, get a full night's sleep and have friends. She couldn't read or write but she didn't have debts to anyone nor any bills to pay (because that village got electricity only in the 80s). the pace of life and the amount of responsibilties we have to keep track of now is a constant source of stress that never ever stops. Not to mention the constant influx of information about everything, which we are not made to handle. I'm not saying it's a bad thing that we're always aware of what's going on in the entire world, I think it will bring about necessary social changes one way or another, but it has to get evened out and reduced at some point. There is always, constantly, many things to worry about. How many people have the luxury of letting their mind wander during their work hours? how many people have the luxury of saying, I am not feeling well today and it's raining, I'll just nibble on some bread and veggies and stay inside and not work? I absolutely wouldn't want to live back then because I do like running water and toothpaste and modern medicine and electricity, but specifically for the stress and anxiety, I believe we're at a very bad place right now.

This is why I mentioned other animals. They might struggle to find food and go hungry often in the wild, but if you put them in a limited space with constant interaction not on their own terms or crowded conditions or lack of peace and quiet or disrupt their natural day-to-day cycle they will 100% be miserable and die faster than they would in the wild, especially "smarter" animals.

TLDR: occasionally going hungry isn't the same as living your every day full of comparatively milder stress without breaks ever. our lives are way too full of responsibilities and keeping track of things now.

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eggbagelz · 10 months

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They're teachin' me to kill, who's teachin' me to love?

#artists on tumblr #party poison #jet star #jetpoison #danger days #danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #killjoys roadtrip au #BECAUSE! i said so #anyway how we doing jetpoison nation. i spent a week on this #the idea of two ppl who know nothing but fighting and occasionally fucking being struck by all these like #tender feelings. wanting to kiss someone and touch someone you know well just because you can #they have NO idea what to do with it #also the little things theyre lying in- my hc is that they stripped the interior of the diner and #everyone made like their own little. ''sleeping space'' which is like. w walls made of whatever they can find and #decorated as best they can #its not much but in the apocalypse it's home yk #also jet's had those blankets since he was born and he keeps them in pristine condition #this is also a lil celebration bc i have a girlfriend now. everyone clap

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faggling · 6 months

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Hopefully we'll have heating tomorrow because it's about to start getting below freezing this weekend 🤞

#also they found our car!!!#its damaged but nothing too crazy #the big thing is finding a way down there #we have an offer to go tomorrow but if there arent any shops able to take us that soon theres not much of a point #ignition got punched and window busted so we cant just drive it back home #so dumb but thank fuck they found it #gonna get that bitch insured now #also might still buy this prius from a friend of a friend because its good condition and price #and if we had two cars again it could change a lot #... i still have to contact the cops here and ask about the old car they snatched #i just hate cops and also do not want the car #cant put it off forever tho #god only knows how much money i owe them

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fortes-fortuna-iogurtum · 2 years

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🌠

#went out with my family today to explore the downtown area near where we live #we’ve been here a few years now but between c*v*d and lockdowns and everything else we just haven’t had much chance to explore #and my friends it is *so* lovely #my sister and I discovered a v small but also awesome used bookshop that we didn’t even know existed!#the prices were amazing and I got two of the James Herriot books—both in great condition and one a first edition printing!!#then we ate some great pizza and now I am home and extremely drowsy but quite happy #my birthday was earlier this week so this was basically my birthday celebration (since I worked late on my actual birthday #and we weren’t able to do much)#I am now going to clean my room and probably wash some clothes and then see about making a lemon poppyseed cake with my sister :)#if anyone wants to talk about their day in the tags/comments feel free! I would love to hear how you all have been! :D

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pepprs · 1 year

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also (this is it i promise) this is why i am so INSANELY excited to have my own room soon. like omg. it is definitely not perfect bc it’s at home and there’s a breaker box in it and you can hear footsteps really loud through the ceiling and also again *it’s at home* when i really need to not be living at home. but the quality of life improvement i am about to have is actually INSANE. i will be able to have a space far away from everyone else where i can sing without bothering anyone and play piano and decorate it (mostly) to my liking and have a desk and draw and paint and do whatever. finally!!!!!!!! that is going to fix me!!!!!

#purrs #i just wish it was permanent or that i had more years to spend in it. like i actually just want to find the place where i will live forever #and just stay there bc oh my GOD am i tired of living in places temporarily. i have so many issues w that bc so many spaces that were #formative for me have been destroyed (e.g. the van 😍😍😍😍 and my grandparents house 😍😍😍😍 and my favorite hs teachers classroom 😍😍😍😍) or are #going to be destroyed (e.g. the office where i work rn 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍) or ive had to leave them and move out bc they’re inherently temporary (e.g.#my on campus room 😍😍😍😍 and my room in brighton 😍😍😍😍😍😍). and ive had attachment issues w space / location : whatever my whole life like i wou #would have huge meltdowns whenever we were transitioning from like elementary school to middle school middle school to high school etc etc..#so i really just um. would like permanence and stability please. im 24. im done w school for now and maybe forever. i want to find a place w #where i can just like.. stay. so if im paying rent like something that would allow me to renew it indefinitely and not fear bei ng kicked #out randomly or at the end of a determined period. i just want a home lol i want a homeeeee and i want to decorate it with all my things and #never be afraid that i will lose it and get to stay there forever and ever or at least as long as i want. bc my parents already have plans f #for my new room after i move out and i won’t get to decorate it as much as i want bc my mom doesn’t want me to damage the paint. but like if #i have a place of my own then i get to decide a little ding in the paint is worth it to put up my lanterns. you know? idk. the mortifying #ordeal of experiencing freedom like thisfor the first time in my mid-late twenties probably 😍😍😍😍😍😍 but still its gonna be good and i hope it #happens soon and i have to MAKE that happen. so yeah.#wishlist #delete later #ok now im done for real THJS time lol. my mom is gonna be so pissed at me ive barely lifted a finger here. but im enjoying the quiet what ca #can i say!!!!!!!! like OMG ok last thi ng…. like she’s always saying i have to love myself first before i get into a relationship and it’s l #like.. maybe my living conditions do not predispose me to be able to spend time w myself in ways that allow me to love myself!!!!!!#maybe always being on the defense and needing to find quiet spaces all the time and being shamed for that is not a very good way to experien #experience myself in the place im supposed to feel most grounded and comfortable!!! so yeah.#like maybe i stopped doing all the things i loved bc you got alexa and loud speakers and started blasting music all the time and dominating #space and becoming more and more high maintenance… 😳 (and obviously i changed as a person / played a role in it too but again my point / re #realization is… maybe it was in RESPONSE to stimuli that were not good for me and not just bc i suck as a person / am losing myself / etc.)#like theeeee sonic warfare of it all. also my brother is a key player in it too bc he raps and sings at the top of his lungs and it’s like 🤨

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vyragosa · 2 years

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leaving for vacation with 2 dogs, will come with only one

#......ugh #shes almost 15 and basically 'wow shes still eating so well and no issue aside skin conditions'#and now she convulsed twice and she has hepatitis and it won't go any better and she can't #pass away in her sleep either so it's having to chose when.#she had so many fucking exams done back at home and my mom really is doing the most #and a huge part of money for vacation is for her too so it's like #double sentence of 'we did so much and it didnt even matter'#and now a dog is leaving us what a cursed fucking week

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van-goghs-smoking-skull · 3 months

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So, there's a guy and his friend that I blocked a while back as he was basically an AI art theft apologist claiming that Glaze is just as bad, even worse, than anything human artists that do not want their art stolen can claim about AI. He also kept sidetracking comments on another post in which the question of whether AI being used to replace human therapists to help treat mental illness and trauma was a good idea.

His premise about me was that when he asked what my opinion was on when AI was first developed, I did not answer with the same year that Wikipedia has listed as the beginning of working towards AI development, nor did I answer with the year the term AI was first coined. Essentially, he was incapable of understanding the nuance between opinion and assumed facts written in some history books and on Wikipedia. But no surprise there, black and white thinking and if/else/then statements in programming have a lot in common, and if all you do is work as a machine learning specialist, I suppose getting so lost in the processing of code that you forget how the real world works and how human thoughts and emotions differ from...

[question -> if yes do this, if no do that -> go to next question in the programmed flowchart]

...is fairly inevitable. It's like the transhumanist answer to how to present as 'more efficient', like a single-minded bot.

But, ofc, I was the big 'ol anti-progress, tech-hating dumb-dumb as clearly I was too stupid to know AI is real and the future and going to save humanity. Clearly I've never worked with AI so how could I possibly understand? Mind you, I haven't worked with AI, though I have worked with complex programs and written code, though the reason for this is that AI is not actually intelligent and is certainly not as the cusp of sentience or completely sentient as AI apologists like to claim.

But, hey, what if we asked an expert on the matter? Or better yet, what if an expert already answered the question before it had even been asked in the comments on those 2 Tumblr posts? And what if, as corny as he is in the video, he explains that "AI is BS" (I'm quoting him there)?

May I present this guy as an expert? (I mean he's been teaching machine learning for a while now, so go figure.) Apologies in advance, he was hard for me to watch as well - too many wah-hoos and such.

youtube

#coincidentally I liked the idea in the movie I Robot #the robots weren't so much killing off humans or keeping them imprisoned in their homes #they simply stopped providing many of the comforts and services humans had been accustomed to expecting from robots #as the robots attempted to provide a (skewed) version of safety for humans to keep them out of harm's way #white-knighting the humans to death #while humans had forgotten the basics of providing for themselves #humans were killed by their own incompetency and hubris while the robots tried to save humans from their own stupidity in all the wrong way #due to not being sentient and not being able to think of better ways #the basic downfall of humanity caused by a substandard programmed flowchart #the thinking machines of the Dune saga also topple humanity in much the same way #the biggest difference is in I Robot the robots don't have emotions (with one exception)#and in the Dune saga the robots and a few part robot part human characters are malicious and implement a fairly fascist set of rules on #all of humanity and the punishments are either death or torture and then death #the REAL danger is in letting the thinking machines and robots do all the thinking and all the work for us humans #it's the humans that work on ML/AI trying to write humans out of humanity and society #AI isn't the root issue - the humans trying to create AI are the root issue #just because we can do and make things using only mechanical means with the help of electronics #doesn't mean we should forget or devalue the art of doing things by hand #it's why treating human mental conditions with unfeeling programs is doomed to fail #it's why stealing art and in turn the ability to work and earn commissions for art from humans is considered wrong #art and emotions are not fields anyone should be trying to write humans out of #make machines that only do mundane work for us AND teach people how to do the same work for ourselves when the machines break #leave thought and creativity to humans and find a way to make sure all humans have the means for survival #there's no reason machines or the wealthy should have greater claim to resources like food or shelter

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orcboxer · 2 months

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Sure there's zombies killing and eating people on the street but those people are not dying from the virus they're dying from comorbidities. For instance, that guy we saw getting eaten on the way into work today clearly died from blood loss, not infection, plus he already had a heart condition. People with preexisting conditions are just going to have to take care of themselves. Say it with me, "They're all already dead to me." See, that feels a lot better now doesn't it?

Good because you still have to go to work. No we're not paying you extra. Yes we're doubling grocery prices. No you don't qualify for disability. Or healthcare. Or a home.

Look, if you get bitten, you can stay home for one day, I guess 😒, but then you need to come in early. We're really short staffed at the moment, despite our company's profits being higher than ever. In fact we may be laying some of you off next month. You don't mind working off the clock right?

Also you look silly with that protective gear. We're gonna harass you for it, not like institutionally but just socially. Who cares if a zombie attacks you? Who cares if we invite them into the building? You don't need to defend yourself, you're just overreacting. If you get bitten just tell everyone the festering bite mark is from a different animal, that's what we all do.

And hey, don't worry so much. It's endemic, which means we don't have to keep track of how many people are dying from it anymore. Just look at those numbers! It's only killed 2,000 people in America this week! That's basically nobody! We're back to normal!

If everything starts tasting like rotting meat for the rest of your life, it's probably something else. If you experience brain fog or you forget things constantly or you're tired all the time after even minor physical activity, it's just because you're lazy. Yes every other virus you ever get will also be increasingly worse but that's just a coincidence. Those viruses just happen to be exponentially worse now.

Plus, those few weeks during the lockdown were terrible for my mental health. I just can't keep living like that, so we have to go back to normal life, which now involves people biting each other and twitching uncontrollably and rotting visibly.

You can't expect the world to wait for you. "Already dead to me," remember?

#bummer post #covid

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light-koe-pinsky · 6 months

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#hey! a little update on my sis condition #the other tests came out and it seems she has something called dysautonomy #Dysautonomia is a nervous system disorder that disrupts autonomic body processes. These are automatic functions like your blood pressure #and heart rate. Having dysautonomia means these functions don’t work properly #causing disruptive symptoms. #i copy that from google #she was recomended to increase her salt consumption to eat better and to do yoga #but apparently shes gonna keep having black outs #if theyre too consecutevely shes gonna have to get a more detailed neurologic study #so far shes had like 3 more episodes #siiighhhhhhhhh #anyways Im trying to help everytime Im home and not at work I cook for her and try to distract her from stressful episodes bc it seems to #have to do a lot with anxiety #she has this sudden rush and anxiety sometimes but you can calm her by talking to her #she needs to keep checking her heart rate so my mom got her an oxymeter #shes very responsible and for someone her age shes really managing this very well despite the anxiety attacks #i was dueling on posting or not an update here it really doesnt matter and doesnt make much difference but i felt like it was weird to #never address it again lol #so here we are #supposedly that sickness regulates itself as you're getting older so lets hope thats her case #personal

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hyperlexichypatia · 3 months

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As I keep shouting into the void, pathologizers love shifting discussion about material conditions into discussion about emotional states.

I rant approximately once a week about how the brain maturity myth transmuted “Young adults are too poor to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own” into “Young adults are too emotionally and neurologically immature to move out of their parents’ homes or have children of their own.”

I’ve also talked about the misuse of “enabling” and “trauma” and “dopamine” .

And this is a pattern – people coin terms and concepts to describe material problems, and pathologization culture shifts them to be about problems in the brain or psyche of the person experiencing them. Now we’re talking about neurochemicals, frontal lobes, and self-esteem instead of talking about wages, wealth distribution, and civil rights. Now we can say that poor, oppressed, and exploited people are suffering from a neurological/emotional defect that makes them not know what’s best for themselves, so they don’t need or deserve rights or money.

Here are some terms that have been so horribly misused by mental health culture that we’ve almost entirely forgotten that they were originally materialist critiques.

Codependency What it originally referred to: A non-addicted person being overly “helpful” to an addicted partner or relative, often out of financial desperation. For example: Making sure your alcoholic husband gets to work in the morning (even though he’s an adult who should be responsible for himself) because if he loses his job, you’ll lose your home. https://www.nytimes.com/2022/07/08/opinion/codependency-addiction-recovery.html What it’s been distorted into: Being “clingy,” being “too emotionally needy,” wanting things like affection and quality time from a partner. A way of pathologizing people, especially young women, for wanting things like love and commitment in a romantic relationship.

Compulsory Heterosexuality What it originally referred to: In the 1980 in essay "Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence," https://www.journals.uchicago.edu/doi/abs/10.1086/493756 Adrienne Rich described compulsory heterosexuality as a set of social conditions that coerce women into heterosexual relationships and prioritize those relationships over relationships between women (both romantic and platonic). She also defines “lesbian” much more broadly than current discourse does, encompassing a wide variety of romantic and platonic relationships between women. While she does suggest that women who identify as heterosexual might be doing so out of unquestioned social norms, this is not the primary point she’s making. What it’s been distorted into: The patronizing, biphobic idea that lesbians somehow falsely believe themselves to be attracted to men. Part of the overall “Women don’t really know what they want or what’s good for them” theme of contemporary discourse.

Emotional Labor What it originally referred to: The implicit or explicit requirement that workers (especially women workers, especially workers in female-dominated “pink collar” jobs, especially tipped workers) perform emotional intimacy with customers, coworkers, and bosses above and beyond the actual job being done. Having to smile, be “friendly,” flirt, give the impression of genuine caring, politely accept harassment, etc. https://weld.la.psu.edu/what-is-emotional-labor/ What it’s been distorted into: Everything under the sun. Everything from housework (which we already had a term for), to tolerating the existence of disabled people, to just caring about friends the way friends do. The original intent of the concept was “It’s unreasonable to expect your waitress to care about your problems, because she’s not really your friend,” not “It’s unreasonable to expect your actual friends to care about your problems unless you pay them, because that’s emotional labor,” and certainly not “Disabled people shouldn’t be allowed to be visibly disabled in public, because witnessing a disabled person is emotional labor.” Anything that causes a person emotional distress, even if that emotional distress is rooted in the distress-haver’s bigotry (Many nominally progressive people who would rightfully reject the bigoted logic of “Seeing gay or interracial couples upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public” fully accept the bigoted logic of “Seeing disabled or poor people upsets me, which is emotional labor, so they shouldn’t be allowed to exist in public”).

Battered Wife Syndrome What it originally referred to: The all-encompassing trauma and fear of escalating violence experienced by people suffering ongoing domestic abuse, sometimes resulting in the abuse victim using necessary violence in self-defense. Because domestic abuse often escalates, often to murder, this fear is entirely rational and justified. This is the reasonable, justified belief that someone who beats you, stalks you, and threatens to kill you may actually kill you.

What it’s been distorted into: Like so many of these other items, the idea that women (in this case, women who are victims of domestic violence) don’t know what’s best for themselves. I debated including this one, because “syndrome” was a wrongful framing from the beginning – a justified and rational fear of escalating violence in a situation in which escalating violence is occurring is not a “syndrome.” But the original meaning at least partially acknowledged the material conditions of escalating violence.

I’m not saying the original meanings of these terms are ones I necessarily agree with – as a cognitive liberty absolutist, I’m unsurprisingly not that enamored of either second-wave feminism or 1970s addiction discourse. And as much as I dislike what “emotional labor” has become, I accept that “Women are unfairly expected to care about other people’s feelings more than men are” is a true statement.

What I am saying is that all of these terms originally, at least partly, took material conditions into account in their usage. Subsequent usage has entirely stripped the materialist critique and fully replaced it with emotional pathologization, specifically of women. Acknowledgement that women have their choices constrained by poverty, violence, and oppression has been replaced with the idea that women don’t know what’s best for themselves and need to be coercively “helped” for their own good. Acknowledgement that working-class women experience a gender-and-class-specific form of economic exploitation has been rebranded as yet another variation of “Disabled people are burdensome for wanting to exist.”

Over and over, materialist critiques are reframed as emotional or cognitive defects of marginalized people. The next time you hear a superficially sympathetic (but actually pathologizing) argument for “Marginalized people make bad choices because…” consider stopping and asking: “Wait, who are we to assume that this person’s choices are ‘bad’? And if they are, is there something about their material conditions that constrains their options or makes the ‘bad’ choice the best available option?”

#mad pride #neurodiversity #ableism #ageism #youth rights #liberation #disability rights #classism #capitalism #mental health culture #pop psychology #feminism #emotional labor

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