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tongue-like-a-razor · 2 years ago

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There Are Limits

Pete "Maverick" Mitchell x F!Reader

Summary: Maverick's new female friend brings out your spiteful nature. And seeing you with a new man is harder on Maverick than he'd like to admit.

CW: age gap, student/instructor dynamic, swearing, drinking, and did someone say bring on the angst?? Because you know I can deliver..

WC: 4000+

This is Part 5 in the There Are Rules universe.

“Captain?”

Maverick looks up when you step into his office. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk and there’s a woman standing between his legs, so close, she might as well be in his lap. When you enter, she steps away half-heartedly, looking slightly annoyed that her conversation with Maverick has been cut short.

Maverick’s cheeky grin falters when he sees you, and he clears his throat as he hops off his desk.

“Lieutenant,” he says. “How can I help you?”

You stare at him in shock, not sure how to react. The last several weeks haven’t been easy; in fact, you and Maverick have barely spoken since your mutual decision to terminate your romantic relationship. But seeing him with another woman is a whole new level of difficult.

“Lieutenant?” he says, lifting his eyebrows worriedly. He doesn’t bother to introduce his companion, with whom he is obviously very familiar.

You swallow around the lump in your throat and exhale slowly. Maverick isn’t the only expert in self-regulation. It’s a skill that’s proven quite useful, if not invaluable, during your tenure in the navy. And, although it’s always come naturally to you, recent events have seen that you receive plenty of practice. “Sir,” you say promptly, saluting Maverick in an entirely professional manner, as if you’ve never even had his tongue down your throat. “It’s about next week’s squadron dinner,” you say.

It's true that you meant to speak about the dinner – about how you were planning on skipping it to avoid an ever vigilant Cyclone who's been watching both you and Maverick like a hawk. Moreover, the less you see of Maverick these days, the better.

But the scene before you has severely shifted the trajectory of your plans. And the next thing that comes out of your mouth is hideously unrehearsed. “I was wondering if we were allowed a plus one,” you blurt out, your eyes darting pointedly between Maverick and his female friend.

Maverick stares at you mutely, as though it’s taking him a minute to process your request. “You want to bring a date?” he then asks, his eyes widening and subsequently narrowing in a matter of milliseconds.

You feel like you might sweat right through your uniform with the way he’s staring you down, but you stand your ground defiantly. “If I may,” you respond unemotionally; the way you’d address any other superior.

Maverick nods slowly, glancing at the woman who’s currently rifling through some papers on his desk. You ignore how comfortable she seems in his office, like she’s been here plenty of times before. “I don’t see that being a problem,” he says. “Who’s the lucky…?” His voice trails off and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Should be fun,” he finishes, giving you a wide, artificial-looking grin.

You smile back at him. “I agree.”

…

“Boyfriend,” Maverick says, his eyebrows shooting upward for a moment before he checks himself and pulls at the collar of his jacket as if it’s suddenly an uncomfortable fit.

You try not to acknowledge his reaction and instead introduce your date to some of your squadron mates. You’re not sure why Sam has decided to put a label on your relationship at this exact moment, but you’re not going to argue semantics in front of the one person you wouldn’t mind buying into this spectacle.

“It’s new,” you hear Sam blurt out, presumably cowering under the scrutiny of Maverick’s gaze.

You make a point not to look Maverick in the eye because you’re still upset about walking in on him last week when he was clearly otherwise engaged. But when Sam walks ahead, busy conversing with the other aviators, you feel a finger brush gently over the back of your hand. You pull both hands behind your back and square your shoulders to face your instructor.

Maverick is watching you solemnly. “This is good,” he whispers, although the tilt of his eyebrows says otherwise.

You can’t express how much it hurts to hear him referring to this situation as good, and yet, you nod, grinning rigidly. “It is,” you say, pausing to give him an opportunity to come clean about his own blossoming relationship.

But Maverick does nothing of the sort. Maverick is as unreadable as ever.

You’re about to walk away when the woman you’d seen in Maverick’s office appears from behind him. She nudges him on the shoulder to get his attention and shoots him a brilliant smile.

Maverick gives her a polite nod before turning back to you. “Lieutenant,” he says. “I’d like to introduce you to an old friend of mine.”

The woman beams at you and holds out her hand. “I’m Charlie,” she says.

You shake her hand and return her smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Charlie,” you say. “Are you an instructor at Top Gun as well?”

She chuckles, throwing Maverick a flirty glance. “Not for a while,” she responds, looking back at you. “Not since this one made me rethink that particular career choice.”

Maverick drops his head with a laugh. “Sorry about that, by the way,” he says.

Charlie shakes her head. “Don’t be,” she replies. “It all worked out.”

Maverick nods, looking at her affectionately. “Charlie went on to bigger and better things. And by bigger, I mean she went on to design rockets.”

“Wow,” you say, both impressed and jealous of the woman who seems to hold a special place in Maverick’s heart.

“And look at how far you’ve come,” Charlie says to Maverick.

Maverick grimaces. “I’m right back where I started,” he remarks. “Full circle.”

“You’re right back where you’re meant to be,” she says earnestly. “And I’m proud of you.”

Maverick shifts his weight uncomfortably, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his jeans. “We better grab a seat before Cyclone has an aneurysm,” he says.

You turn to see Cyclone watching the three of you with an irked expression from the table reserved for your group at the restaurant. He shakes his head ominously as you make your way toward the others. When the three of you arrive at the table, he mutters, “How gracious of you to join us.”

Maverick glances at him with a slight smirk but doesn’t say a word while Charlie lets out a small chuckle, taking her place beside Maverick at the table.

You lower yourself into the seat next to Sam, right across from Maverick and Charlie. Cyclone is sitting to Maverick’s right, aggressively perusing the menu.

“I hear the fish tacos are good here,” Maverick notes when Cyclone lays his menu down on the table in frustration.

Cyclone gives him a sour look. “Not a fish person,” he responds tartly.

You stifle a laugh, exchanging glances with Charlie, who is also snickering.

“There are non-fish tacos as well,” Maverick points out.

Cyclone nods grumpily. “Yes, I saw the entire section devoted to the various tacos they serve. I can read.”

Maverick bites the side of his lip to contain a grin. “Enchiladas,” he continues quietly, as if to himself. “Quesadillas, chiles rellenos…”

“I want a burger,” Cyclone declares, flipping through the menu anew.

Maverick shoots you an amused glance. “Let’s start with drinks,” he suggests, sliding a draft beer menu in front of his superior.

“Good idea.” Cyclone sighs theatrically, rolling his shoulders to loosen some tension.

“Hey, d’you want to share a couple of dishes?” Sam offers, tapping you on the arm to get your attention.

You glance over at him quickly, having almost forgotten he was there. “Sure.” You nod enthusiastically, even though it’s the last thing you would ever think to do.

Once all the drinks and food arrive, and you and Sam awkwardly try to allocate your respective shares of the dinner, Charlie pipes in. “How long have you two been together?” she asks, gesturing at you and Sam.

“It’s new,” Sam, the self-proclaimed boyfriend who has yet to work up the nerve to even kiss you, reiterates quickly while you chew on a quesadilla.

You wipe your mouth with a napkin before confirming, “Not long.”

Maverick’s eyes rest on you for a split second before he returns his attention to the ceviche in his bowl.

Meanwhile, Cyclone regards you with a dubious expression. “Where did you meet?” he asks gruffly.

“Through some friends,” Sam responds excitedly, as though it’s the most fascinating fact of the evening.

You take another bite of quesadilla and avoid looking directly at any of the three people sitting before you.

But Maverick cuts the silence short. “Is it serious?” he asks, and both you and Cyclone shoot him threatening glances. Charlie looks up from her plate, trying to interpret yours and Cyclone’s abrupt reactions.

Sam, meanwhile, is smiling blissfully to himself as he pokes at the contents of his fajita before rolling it up. “I’d say it has some potential of getting there,” he says.

You nearly choke on a pepper upon seeing Maverick’s expression transform from mild amusement to unequivocal displeasure. His jaw muscles contract as he forcefully stabs at his dinner with a fork.

Sam clears his throat nervously and speaks in a noticeably higher pitch, “Of course, I can’t predict the future.”

You roll your eyes and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s none of his business, anyway,” you say.

To Maverick’s left, you see Charlie’s jaw drop slightly in her shock at your informal – bordering on impolite – addition to the conversation with your superior officer.

Cyclone chuckles quietly, finally appeased by your interaction with Maverick. “At last, something we can all agree on.”

Maverick smiles politely. “I was just making small talk,” he says, laying his fork down without finishing his meal.

Cyclone gives him a flat look and leans forward to address his friend. “Charlie, how long are you in town?”

While Charlie and Cyclone engage in conversation, Maverick catches your gaze inquisitively, as if he’s trying to figure you out. His eyes are so penetrating, you feel like he can see right through you. He must know that your relationship with Sam isn’t even close to being serious. He must know that you’re probably going to break it off that very evening. He must know you only brought him because you were hurt and you wanted to hurt him back. Because Maverick has reconnected with someone of significance and is involved in something meaningful.

You tear your gaze away from him irritably. You’re about done letting Maverick stir up your emotions without so much as saying a word. You’re about done caring for a man who’s done nothing but cause you pain.

You rise from your seat and excuse yourself, heading for the bathroom near the back of the restaurant. No sooner do you break through the door, than you collapse onto the nearest sink and break down. You don’t even care that your mascara is leaving streaks down your cheeks, or that the tears are clouding your vision. You don’t even care that your hands are gripping the basin so tightly that your fingers are cramping.

You glance up at your reflection in the mirror; pathetic. How did you let yourself fall this far? This hard? This fast? You run the tap and dab some cool water on your skin, patting at the trails of makeup that your crying spell has left behind.

You take a deep breath, staring at your glistening face with a scowl, preparing yourself for the remainder of the evening. But just as you make your way for the door, it opens, and Maverick enters.

You jerk back in surprise, despite his history of showing up in places he isn’t supposed to be.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You panic. He knows. He knows that you ran away to cry. And this makes you furious. “I’m fine,” you respond curtly. “You shouldn’t be in here,” you add, gesturing to the door behind him.

He pulls his eyebrows together like he isn’t quite convinced. “You’re not okay,” he says.

You grit your teeth in anger. He can’t just ignore you for weeks and then try to comfort you like he gives a shit about your feelings. “Why are you here, Maverick?”

Maverick presses his lips into a thin line and breathes out steadily. “I was worried about you.”

You scoff resentfully. “Don’t be.”

Maverick sighs and lowers his head. “I can’t help it.”

You attempt to keep your voice even despite all the shaking your body is doing. “You better go, Captain,” you say spitefully. “Before Cyclone finds us. Or Charlie.”

He watches you soberly. “You asked me to stay,” he reminds you.

You stare wistfully into his eyes. He’s right, of course. You’re the reason he’s still here. Your relationship with him has been strained but civil since the incident on the carrier. There has been a mutual effort to avoid unnecessary encounters, and an unspoken understanding that, while romance is out of the question, it will take some time for both of you to move on completely. Obviously, you did not expect him to move on by moving in on someone new. Or old, in the case of Charlie, because the two of them go way back, apparently.

You struggle to remember why you’d wanted this – wanted him to stay despite knowing that nothing would ever come of it. In the moment, you were desperate not to lose him. But watching him carry on as though nothing ever happened between the two of you is absolute torture. You’d rather not witness just how little you actually meant to him.

You shrug. “Error in judgement, I guess,” you respond coldly, echoing his words from the night Cyclone had caught the two of you in the parking lot of the Hard Deck.

Maverick nods. “Been there,” he says pensively before turning to walk out. Just before he does, however, he glances back at you and adds, “I’ll wait out here until you’re ready.”

“Don’t,” you say.

Maverick meets your gaze with a weary look. “I’m not leaving.”

“What’s Cyclone going to think when the two of us come back together from the bathroom?”

Maverick shrugs. “I have no control over what Cyclone thinks.”

“What’s Charlie going to think?”

Maverick pauses in the doorway. “What’s Sam going to think?”

You roll your eyes. “He won’t even notice.”

Maverick watches you quietly for a moment, then says. “I doubt that very much.”

You lick your lips as a fresh round of tears threatens to obscure your eyesight. The fact that Sam isn’t here to check on you but Maverick is has not escaped you. “Go, please,” you whisper.

Maverick wavers slightly on the spot and, after a brief interval, holds his hand out to you. You glance down at it hesitantly as your stomach flips violently at the though of touching him again. Clearly, you’re angry with him, but the part of you that loves him always wins.

Slowly, you step forward and place your hand in his. He pulls you in the moment you make contact, wrapping his arms around you as he releases the door to the bathroom. He lets his face drop, pressing his mouth to the top of your head.

After a prolonged – mostly silent – embrace, you detach yourself from his arms and give him a nod. “I’m ready,” you say.

Maverick nods back without a word and then opens the door for you.

…

It’s past midnight when you hear the knocking, followed by some irregular footsteps and a string of quiet – but still audible – curse words. After a moment of hesitation, you unlock the door.

“Captain?”

Maverick is standing in the corridor before you, although calling it ‘standing’ might be a bit of a stretch. He’s not exactly stable on his feet.

You glance up and down the hallway to make sure that no one has seen him. “What are you doing here?”

Maverick is watching you with a squared jaw, as though he means to keep the purpose of his visit to himself. He breathes his frustration out through his nose before veering right into the doorframe.

“Sir!” you exclaim, grabbing a hold of his arm like you might have any chance of keeping him upright were he to topple over.

“Sir?” he murmurs, and you could smell the liquor on his breath. He catches your gaze now that you’re closer and, in another moment, his eyes begin to slip down your face before they finally close. “I told you,” he says, his mouth twitching as he grimaces. He pushes past you into the room.

You quickly close the door behind him, hoping nobody heard the commotion. Praying he’ll have the sense to keep his voice down.

But Maverick, it seems, isn’t nearly as concerned as you are about disturbing your neighbors. He rounds on you with a resentful expression and shakes his head. “I knew this would happen.”

You blink at him in confusion. “What?” you say. “What happened?”

“You happened,” Maverick says defeatedly. He takes a step toward you, his eyes flitting between yours as if he’s checking to see if you can relate.

But it’s a weekday and you had just drifted off to sleep when he’d started drumming on your door, so you’re not exactly following. You furrow your eyebrows. “I happened to what?” you ask.

Maverick watches you miserably, taking a step back now, as though he can’t decide which is worse: being closer or farther away from the source of all his troubles. “You two make a fine pair,” he manages to say, but not without a break in his voice.

You purse your lips, looking away from him. You’re not going to comfort a man who’s standing in his own way. After all, it was his decision not to be with you. Besides, Maverick brought his own date to the dinner, so you aren’t feeling overly sympathetic.

Maverick tears his gaze away from you and smacks a hand over his face. “What am I doing here, Lieutenant?”

It’s a fair question, to be sure; one you wouldn’t mind knowing the answer to, yourself. But you’re more immediately concerned about the consequences of Maverick’s unsanctioned visit to your quarters than the reasons behind it. “Maverick, it’s the middle of the night,” you say, shocked at how firm you sound despite the tremor travelling through you.

Maverick’s eyebrows converge and he shifts his jaw as his eyes well up with tears. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding slowly.

“And you’re drunk,” you add when he takes a step toward you again.

“I am,” he admits, still in a whisper.

You ignore the stutter of your heart as he nears. “You can’t be here,” you warn.

He watches you wretchedly, giving his head a subtle shake. “I can’t,” he agrees.

You can hardly breathe when he finally stops before you, his soft eyes trailing down your face. His hand is coasting up the side of your neck before you even know what’s happening, and by the time his fingertips are hovering at the nape of your neck, you’re so lost in his gaze, it’s a miracle you’re still standing. Unsurprisingly, you aren’t in the state of mind to respond.

“I lied,” he says with a slight rasp despite the effort he’s exerting to steady his voice. “I think he’s terrible for you.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Sam,” he says. “He’s not the one.”

You pride yourself on your patience and understanding, even in trying circumstances; you’re not an unreasonable person by any means. But even you have limits. And, tonight, Maverick is testing every last one. “Are you the one?”

Maverick stares at you, his eyes swimming. Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, I’m not.”

You breathe out forcefully, astonished at his audacity. There is only so much you can let this man get away with. “Then, respectfully, shut the fuck up,” you hiss, pushing past him aggressively. You whip around sharply and point at the door. “Get out.”

…

The following afternoon in the briefing room, Maverick reviews the morning's flight footage with barely a look in your direction. He doesn’t even comment on the impulsive maneuver you pulled that left your partner confused and resulted in an uncoordinated hustle to regain momentum, costing your team valuable seconds that could have ended in tragedy were it a real dogfight.

Once the briefing is finished and the room begins to clear out, Maverick approaches your desk. “Can I have a minute, Lieutenant?” he asks in a subdued sort of tone.

You glance up at him grudgingly but don’t respond until the last of the pilots have left the room. “Is it about the Cobra Climb?” you ask monotonously.

“What?” He quirks his head in confusion before briefly closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No,” he says, and then adds, more emphatically, “No.” He lets out a heavy sigh and lifts a leg over the chair in front of your desk, sitting on it backwards to face you. “I want to apologize to you.”

You groan. “Not again.”

Maverick steals a glance at the door, ensuring that the two of you are still alone, and then he lays a hand over yours on the desk. “I’m sorry about last night. Showing up at your place – less than sober.” Maverick lowers his gaze with a disappointed frown. “I – I had no right. I have no right,” he says, looking back up at you. His eyes flit between yours imploringly, burdened with all the guilt he carries.

“Stop,” you say assertively, pulling your hand out from under his grasp. You can’t listen to another word. This entire relationship has been a series of failures in self-control, each one a ‘mistake’ in Maverick’s eyes for which he subsequently has taken full responsibility. You rise from your seat and gather your things mutely.

“Y/N,” he says hoarsely, standing up after you.

You shake your head. “I don’t need another apology, sir,” you say bitterly. “I just need some space.”

Maverick nods. “Of course,” he says. “And I’ve been denying you that – and I apologize –”

“I said, stop!” you exclaim, shooting him a threatening look.

Maverick trails you as you make your way to the door – the exact opposite of your request. You rush out of the briefing room, and he follows, not far behind. Thankfully, there’s no one in the hallway because he’s behaving irrationally, to say the least. He reaches for your arm and pulls you around to face him.

You gulp, staggering the moment you meet his gaze, the aching in his eyes undermining your determination.

“Let me finish,” he pleads in a whisper.

You exhale sharply. “Finish, then.”

Maverick slowly lets his hand fall away from your arm now that you’re no longer a flight risk and, this alone, hurts, because you want him to hold you forever. Even when you’re fuming, even when you’re yelling, even when you hate him.

“Seeing you,” he says slowly, evenly, as though he’s trying to compose himself as he’s talking. He takes a breath and tries again. “With another man –”

“Come on.” You scoff, even though your heart is already buzzing at the thrill of making Maverick jealous. “You can’t expect me to not date –”

“I don’t expect that,” he says. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

You think about the way you felt seeing him with Charlie and you’re instantly sorry for causing him that much pain, regardless of whether it was intentional or not.

“I was angry,” he says quietly. “At myself, mostly…” he trails off, moving his head to the side and lowering his gaze. “But also at you. And I blamed you for the way you make me feel.” He pulls his bottom lip under his teeth and grimaces. “But that’s not your fault,” he whispers shakily. “That’s on me.”

You bite into your lip to keep it steady. You wish you could look away because the devastation on his face is undoing you, but you aren’t strong enough. You take a step back and take a shuddering breath. “Please don’t look at me like that,” you say, your voice unsteady. You can barely get a grasp on his words because you’re too absorbed in his eyes.

Maverick’s eyebrows lift inward, as if your request has him concerned – or confused. “Like what?”

You roll your eyes – as if he doesn’t know like what. “Like that!” you respond as he takes a step toward you in alarm. “Just stop!” You sigh in frustration, unable to articulate your thoughts because his eyes are still commanding all of your attention.

“Where am I supposed to look?” he asks, agitated.

“It’s the way you’re looking at me,” you explain angrily.

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” he asks urgently. “I need you to hear me.”

You shut your eyes and shake your head. “Enough, Maverick!” you exclaim.

Maverick stills immediately, watching you uneasily.

“You’ve been tiptoeing around me, treating me like I’m injured or in need of assistance –”

“I’m not –”

“You are and I’m tired of it. Why didn’t you call me out on the Cobra Climb?”

Maverick stares at you like you’re unhinged. “You want me to reprimand you?”

You let out a heavy sigh. “If you’re going to be my instructor – just my instructor – then instruct me. It was an idiot move and I shouldn’t have done it.”

“You were distracted –”

“You’re making excuses for me! Why?”

“Don’t question my teaching methods,” Maverick says in a low voice.

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re afraid of confrontation so you’ve been avoiding me. You didn’t even think to give me a heads up about Charlie!”

Maverick narrows his eyes. “What about Charlie?”

“Whatever,” you grumble. “Just don’t stand here and proclaim that my bringing a date to the squadron dinner somehow threw you for a loop.”

Maverick studies you silently so you boldly meet his gaze. His jaw is set but there’s a tenderness in his eyes that nearly draws you in.

“Stop coddling me,” you say firmly.

You watch his Adam’s apple rise then fall as he gulps down whatever retort he decides to keep to himself. His jaw muscles contract once more as his eyes settle over your face.

You tear your gaze away. “And quit looking at me like you…” You sigh, unsure how to describe the inimitable combination of exasperation and affection you see in his eyes.

“Like what?” he asks, his voice rising in volume. You can tell that he’s becoming increasingly defensive as your blows continue.

You’re annoyed that he’s annoyed and you blurt the words out before you can stop yourself. “Like you’re in love with me or –”

“I CAN’T LOOK AT YOU ANY OTHER WAY!” he roars.

You freeze. Stunned by the volume of his voice. Stunned by the emphatic delivery. Stunned at his words.

He turns away in a huff, placing one hand on his hip while the other is balled up into a fist at his mouth.

“This was your idea,” you say quietly as he slowly turns back to look at you. You aren’t the one who refuses to even try, and he needs to acknowledge that.

“I know,” he whispers, his eyes brimming with tears.

You clench your teeth to keep your mouth from trembling. “Then stop,” you implore.

He shakes his head, pulling his lips into a rigid line. “I don’t know how.”

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mariacallous · 29 days ago

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A few hours before Musk’s announcement, I spoke with one of his many thousands of victims. Until a few weeks ago, Mary Boyle was a commissioner at the Consumer Product Safety Commission, the historically bipartisan agency that, for more than fifty years, has insured that America’s car seats and toaster ovens and baby strollers are safe. Boyle, one of three Democratic appointees on the commission, recounted how Musk’s men had effectively ended her office’s work in a matter of hours. First came the rumor, on the evening of Wednesday, May 7th: “DOGE is coming.” By 2 P.M. the next day, two young men had appeared at the agency’s offices, in Bethesda, Maryland. At 3:45 P.M., Boyle and the other commissioners received an e-mail from the commission’s acting Republican chairman, informing them that he planned to bring on the two DOGErs who, “at no expense to the Commission,” would help the agency “with the assessment and enhancement of internal processes and operational procedures.” The commissioners had until 6 P.M., he said, to let him know “whether I have your support.” It would be funny if it weren’t the kind of thing that should have remained inconceivable in a functioning democracy: Here are the guys who are going to put us out of business, and they come real cheap. Boyle sent her reply, a single-word e-mail: “No.” Not even an hour later, while pulled over at a rest stop on the New Jersey Turnpike, she received a response of sorts, from Trent Morse, the deputy head of the White House’s personnel office: “Mary, on behalf of President Donald J. Trump, I am writing to inform you that your position on the Consumer Product Safety Commission is terminated effectively immediately. Thank you for your service.”

It did not seem to matter that the Consumer Product Safety Commission had been set up by Congress, had its budget provided by Congress, and had its commissioners confirmed by Congress. The law itself governing the agency, first passed back in 1972, could not be more clear: there were only two reasons to fire a commissioner—“neglect of duty” or “malfeasance in office.” Boyle now finds herself as the lead plaintiff in a case she never expected to file: Boyle v. Trump. Although the attack on her agency was “brazen” and “baldly illegal,” Boyle told me that she knows it just might succeed. The day after she and her colleagues filed their lawsuit last week, the Supreme Court indicated that it might strike down the precedent dating back to the New Deal era that protects the commissioners of independent agencies from being fired by the President. In the meantime, you can forget about new rules to restrict potentially dangerous ion batteries in e-bikes and scooters that the Consumer Product Safety Commission was working on. Thanks, Elon.

Elon Musk Didn’t Blow Up Washington, but He Left Plenty of Damage Behind: The obits for the tech mogul’s time at the Department of Government Efficiency are, justifiably, vicious.

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neptuneiris · 2 years ago

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Behind the Scenes (03/05)

Behind the Negotiation

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: knowing that you can't run away from your past forever, you receive unexpected visitors in your home that make you fear for your son's future.

word counter: 8.9k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

warnings: angst, arguments, language,mention of abortion.

guys, I'm sorry for the delay, with this chapter a lot of unexpected things came across my way, but I've finally finished it and I'm satisfied with the result, although I'm not sure if you will like it, it might bore you but I don't know, please let me know :)

without more to say, enjoy it and thanks for all the support, really! let me know your comments too, I'll be waiting for them!

You still remember it all too well.

You remember how you accepted Aemond's terms, the terms of his agent Criston and also of his entire team.

You agreed to keep the existence of your child a secret, to hide in the shadows with him and to keep a low profile until it was "safe" for Aemond's career to publicly and legally acknowledge the baby.

But you only accepted to take that worry off everyone's mind and especially his, so you could run away. Although the reality is that you were scared.

At first, Aemond's power, influence and connections kept you paralyzed, thinking about the consequences of breaking all ties with him.

And running away from him, disappearing from his life along with your son was a decision you had to make carefully and then had to live with in fear and dread of being found someday.

And the fear of possible legal reprisals for your escape and uncertainty about the consequences were present at every turn. But you did everything to live in freedom, not to destroy Aemond's career and to protect your son from all public exposure.

You always knew that Aemond with his celebrity status possesses power, not only in the entertainment industry, but also in the media and social sphere, that was obvious, just like any other celebrity.

So finding you could be as easy as snapping his fingers.

So to prevent Aemond from tracking your movements so he could find you, you began by discarding any means of transportation that could be easily monitored or tracked.

You avoided airports and bus terminals, opting instead for small train stations and local buses, always paying with cash. You left King's Landing and the entire state, going all the way to the Iron Islands.

In Pike, with the money you had left over, you were able to rent a room to yourself in a cheap hotel, then quickly began to look around for a job in the surrounding area in search of an opportunity that could provide you with support and stability.

You knew you couldn't get a job like the one you had before, on a recording set with a big salary. So downtown, you found a job at a beauty salon.

Not only does she own a beauty salon, she also owns a few small apartments in the city and offered you one of them at a lower price, considering you were just starting out with a new job.

The owner of the place, Becca Waters, a kind and understanding woman, saw potential and also the need in you.

Knowing your condition and that you practically came to live in a place where you knew nothing and no one, she also offered you a place to live and be safe.

Mrs. Waters became a fundamental support for you, providing guidance, encouragement, flexibility and stability in your financial need and also in your pregnancy.

With her you felt completely safe and supported at a time when you needed it most. After all you had gone through to get here, leaving your life behind and pregnant, she was your reward.

But still nothing was easy after that.

Your pregnancy process was a roller coaster of emotions, challenges and moments. Facing motherhood as a single mom was an overwhelming reality.

On the one hand, even though the baby was unplanned, you were excited to know that you would soon be holding him in your arms, but on the other hand, you also felt fear and anxiety at the responsibility of raising a child alone with no knowledge of anything really.

The first few months of pregnancy were especially difficult.

You experienced pain, symptoms and discomforts that you had no idea about and had to endure, as well as a slight state of depression and anxiety about dealing with all of this on your own.

But through it all, Becca was your pillar of support at all times, who became your confidant, giving you comfort and encouragement in difficult times. And she was the one who helped you throughout your pregnancy and also the one who was by your side when you gave birth to your child.

And even though you didn't want to, being in a very vulnerable state, you couldn't help but feel lonely and miss Aemond, just as you missed everything you once used to be.

But remembering everything that happened the last time you saw him, even though the feeling disappeared, you also couldn't help but start crying.

And to protect yourself emotionally, you decided to stay away from news about Aemond.

You avoided social media and any content that could remind you of your past with him. Your determination was great to be able to raise your child alone, without relying on Aemond's presence or acknowledgement.

And the day your son finally came into the world, it was a moment of joy and wonder that could not be compared to any other moment in life, filling your heart with indescribable happiness.

However, the birth also brought with it a torrent of new worries and challenges.

Childbirth was exhausting and intense. Nothing you've ever experienced before. And in the days that followed, the constant care of the newborn, the lack of sleep and the adjustment to your new life were heavy challenges that pushed you to the limit many times.

But in spite of that, every smile, every little gesture of your son filled your world with immense love, as well as Mrs. James' help in guiding you in practical aspects of motherhood increased your unwavering determination to go forward for him, being your driving force.

Although also the arrival of your son into the world increased your fear in you.

The fear that Aemond and his team might find you and take your son away from you was a constant worry. But despite this, there were moments of uncertainty when you thought too much about it.

You wondered why Aemond would bother looking for you and your child. Clearly the baby was a risk to his career and he didn't even want to support you from the start, only accepting it later because that was your decision.

You knew he wouldn't but you were still afraid.

Would Aemond really seek you out after he initially supported the idea of abortion?

Would he really seek you out after he supported your decision even if he didn't want to but in the shadows, avoiding any public acknowledgement and hiding you and your son?

But just when you had gotten used to it, had found stability with a job and a permanent refuge in the beauty salon with Mrs. Waters, a few months after the birth of your son, Mrs. Waters was forced to close the salon due to unforeseen financial problems.

That place that had been your refuge and where you found support and friendship, suddenly disappeared, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness, uncertainty and nostalgia.

Mrs. Waters would have to leave town and although you didn't want to, you also decided to do the same, convinced that you would be safer with your son in a place you knew well, avoiding at all times the places you used to go with Aemond and where you knew you could meet him.

So after looking for a job, with your resume and previous excellent references, in the city where the entire film industry resides, you got a job as a makeup artist in a different recording studio than the one you had worked in before.

There was no way you could meet Aemond, or so you thought.

Previously the TV network was BBC, now it was HBO for whom you would be working on a new TV show, so you really had nothing to worry about, especially since the pay was very good and you could survive just fine on that for you and your child.

But right on your first day of work, life decided to surprise you.

And now you are here, in your new apartment where you were planning to live temporarily until you find a better one, but now with you running away on your first day it means definite dismissal for sure, so you have no idea how you are going to pay for a better one or how you are going to pay for this one next month so you won't get kicked to the street.

But you can't even think straight as you are still shaking, your emotions are running high, you have no idea what really happened, it was all very fast between talking and remembering the past.

And the only thing that gives you some peace in the midst of your own thoughts and everything you're feeling, are the sounds of Aenar's toys and babbling in the living room, playing on the floor and touching everything he can.

His silver hair shines from the sunlight coming through the windows and he giggles as his colorful toys bump into each other, showing a world of happiness and innocent curiosity, completely filling your heart but you still feel that sharp ache in your chest.

You move towards him with a soft sigh and take a seat next to him, keeping a small genuine smile on your lips but with some melancholy, when he starts showing you all his toys and asks you between babbling and giggles to play with him.

You move the toys back and forth, ask him questions in honeyed tones and he laughs, making you laugh too, but you continue with the tumult of your overwhelming thoughts.

You think about what you will do now, that you should probably look for a job at a new beauty salon, which is what you should have done as soon as you got back, find a subtle job instead of going back to what you were doing before so suddenly.

However the paycheck was what made you take it and you need it too much, so you'll have to look for other alternatives.

You find yourself thinking about it when you suddenly hear the sound of the door completely interrupting your thoughts and also your game with Aenar.

You look towards the entrance, confused, with a strange feeling growing in your chest, immediately giving you a bad feeling. For who would come knocking at your door?

No one knows you're back… except Aemond.

Oh Gods.

The thought makes you paralyzed, feeling your whole body tense up, your heart starts beating fast and fear invades you completely.

Could it be him?

You wonder, struggling to stay calm, even though there's no way he could have figured out so quickly where you're living.

Or has he?

The thought leaves you completely paralyzed, with a mixture of anxiety and fear flowing inside you.

The knocking on the door becomes more insistent and you carefully get up and leave Aenar still amused in his game on the floor, then walk towards the door feeling a lump in your throat and a growing uneasiness.

You reach for the doorknob and as you turn it to open, your heart skips a beat when you find Aemond's agent standing in front of you, Criston Cole.

A trace of surprise and confusion flashes across your face, feeling your body tighten further and the fear linger.

How did he know where you were?

What is he doing here?

Criston returns you a serious but understanding look, beginning to feel the tension between the two of you, while you feel the fear invade you again because of the old memories and being him one of the main reasons why you decided to run away.

His mere presence triggers a series of emotions that take you by surprise. With no trace of Aemond or anyone else around you, yet your mind races.

Nervousness invades every fiber of your being, while your heart beats faster and stronger than usual. A sense of discomfort invades you and you also feel alert, afraid, unable to control it.

"Y/N."

He pronounces your name with a slight nod. His tone tries to be reassuring, but confusion and bewilderment wash over you.

You say nothing for a few seconds, feeling unable to speak and unable to formulate any words, barely trying at that moment to process the situation. Anxiety creeps through your chest, as he gives you and respects your space, aware of your unease.

"I understand that you're surprised by my visit and I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I really don't. But we need to talk."

The confusion inside you increases and so does the fear, to watch him completely bewildered and on the verge of collapse.

"H-how—

You try to ask with your voice cracking in the midst of all your emotions, but he interrupts you in response, knowing what you're going to ask.

"My team," he lets you know, "They handled finding you."

He tells you seriously and with that touch of professionalism in his tone, but his response only surprises and puzzles you more, to which Criston notices.

You feel the questions pile up in your head, but you barely manage to articulate a word, besides all the emotions you're feeling, fear mainly.

"Aemond informed us of your return," he adds, "After he didn't find you again, he asked us to look for you," he tells you calmly, trying to make his eyes convey an attempt at empathy for you.

But you don't believe that one bit. Not after what happened the last time you saw him and his entire team.

You feel a surge of vulnerability wash over you, leaving you suddenly helpless before him. You don't have the slightest idea how you will be able to cope with that situation, how to get away from them again now that they have found you, especially him.

"What have you really come for?" you question, not hiding your distrust.

Criston keeps a serene attitude and look, seeking to soften the tension, but notices your demeanor and posture, of fear and alertness altogether.

"Just to talk," he tells you softly, "Believe me the last thing I want and Aemond too is to cause you trouble. We just want to talk and nothing more," he explains, but you are having none of it, "He was going to come himself, but he had to film some scenes. But he'll come as soon as he can."

This just adds more weight to the anxiety and nervousness you're already feeling, so it triggers an alert in you that makes you feel completely freaked out, definitely not wanting that.

"No," you try to retort with a firm tone, but your vulnerability shows in your trembling voice and nervous expression, "Please leave."

Concern flashes across Criston's face for an instant, unconsciously taking a step towards you.

"Y/N–

"Please," you plead, "Just go away and don't come back, none of you, not even him."

"Y/N, please, just let me—

"No," you interrupt him again, more desperate than before, "Please," you repeat.

The atmosphere is filled with a silence full of tension, where your words, full of desperation and longing to get away from the situation, float in the air, also asking for urgent distance and tranquility.

And Criston lets out a sigh.

"Just a few minutes," he says, struggling to find some control in the situation, "Just-let us talk to you, Aemond and me."

"If it's to talk about his career and his son, I'm not interested," you say firmly, but your trembling voice gives away your emotions, "We've talked about that before," you say with some bitterness and sadness in your tone, "You can go now. I don't plan on staying anyway."

Without having let go of the door frame, you try to close the door, ending all of this, but he instantly speaks again, stopping you.

"Please Y/N, Aemond is very worried and wishes to speak with you," he insists, "He hasn't been the same since you left, you should know that," he adds in a persuasive tone.

You let out a snort in disbelief and with some bitterness, as you look away from his gaze for a moment.

"I highly doubt that."

"Y/N—

The sound of Aenar's innocent laughter while playing with his toys catches Criston's attention, stopping his words, who unconsciously catches a glimpse inside your living room where Aenar is playing and also catches a glimpse of his small figure on the floor with his characteristic silver hair.

This immediately triggers your concern and increases your protective mode and you quickly close the door a little behind you, blocking his view, while your heart is pounding.

This is what you meant.

You don't want anything bad to happen to your son, in any way. And you will do anything to protect him, because they decided everything except to protect you and now you will not allow them to intervene in your son's life now that they know he is here.

"Y/N," he calls to you in a softer voice, watching you completely intently and desperately asking you with his gaze for a moment.

"Please don't," you plead with him, at the point of collapsing from worry and frustration.

Again you enter the apartment as you hold the door frame tightly to close it, but Criston stops you again.

"You must understand the gravity of what happened," he tells you seriously, "Your disappearance put Aemond's relationship with his son in danger. There are legal implications for you to consider, such as custody," he says and your heart flips, "I can explain all of this to you and resolve it in the best way possible," he looks at you in insistence, "But only if you let me in so we can talk."

And there they are again. Your greatest fears.

The word 'custody' repeats over and over in your mind, like a loop, causing you greater fear, worry and pressure than before, the gravity of the situation and the looming legal implications being clear.

The air weighs on you, heavy with uncertainty and intense tension, as well as you are overcome with the urge to cry because of your doubts and fear.

"Wh-what-" you try to speak in a whisper, your voice cracking and your heart in a fist, "Custody?" you repeat under your breath.

Criston watches you with some pity and understanding, then lowers his gaze, lets out a sigh and watches you with that sympathy and also a little expectant.

"May I come in?"

Try one more time and maybe it's because of his words that your mind is in a state of alarm that makes you recognize that you can't run away again or else things will get worse. And you don't want that. You are afraid for yourself and Aenar.

Feeling more of your anxiety, you finally allow him to enter and Criston at this thanks you with his gaze and moves carefully, noticing your visible discomfort and also your fear, not wanting to alter you any further with absolutely nothing.

And once the door closes, you immediately stand in front of Aenar with a weak and vulnerable posture trying to look strong, this catching his attention and feeling something warm in his chest at the presence of the little one.

But he also knows exactly why you react this way and he doesn't blame you for it, much less does it bother him because he understands you.

"I'm very honest when I tell you that we really don't want to create more trouble, Y/N," he tells you in a soft tone, "Aemond…. he really is very worried. And since he is my client, we don't want any legal implications or further conflict."

You try to keep your composure, but your thoughts are a storm of confused emotions. The very idea of dealing with legal issues, especially regarding your son, is overwhelming to you.

"Why now?" you ask in a trembling voice, your gaze searching for answers, "All this… why?"

Criston exhales slowly, trying to find the right words.

"The situation has changed, basically since you left. Aemond was wrong at the time and I admit I was too, so now he's willing to acknowledge your son, in every way possible."

You can't help but look incredulous and bitter once again.

"It's already too late for that, don't you think?" you ask him in a bitter tone.

Criston looks down for a moment, his expression one of compassion and understanding towards your perspective.

"Yes, we know," he nods to you, "And that's why we're here, trying to keep all this from becoming a bigger problem. But please Y/N, understand that Aemond doesn't want to hurt you or cause you any more trouble than he's already caused."

"And until now you say that?" you inquire sad, worried, fearful and indignant, "That's what I needed to hear before when I was scared, because I was scared too Criston, not just Aemond," you let him know, with tears in the corners of your eyes, "But you treated me like a problem you needed to get rid of, you and him."

Criston listens to your words with a gesture in his eyes that reflects the heaviness of the situation, just as you see shame and regret wash over him, suddenly seeing him as the vulnerable one and you as the strong one compared to years ago, the roles reversing for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. We didn't mean to make you feel that way," he says in a regret-laden tone.

"Sorry doesn't change anything," you say, fighting back tears.

You watch him with your hard stare and sad eyes, feeling several tears fall down your cheeks, making you remember once again.

And once again without letting it drown you, you force yourself to push those memories away, all your moments of uncertainty, fear and pain, to brush your tears away from your cheeks with a strong look of determination.

"I will accept any legal consequences if there are any," you say suddenly, trying to keep your composure, "If there are legal actions, I'm willing to face them. But for now, I just want to be left alone, please."

"Y/N," Criston calls you cautiously, "I just want you to understand that we want to do the right thing now. And what we want to do is find a solution that works for you and for Aemond regarding him," he points to Aenar with his gaze behind you, "Something that guarantees your privacy while not damaging his public image."

Then all the effect of his words completely disappear on you.

You feel a surge of frustration, annoyance and despair at the realization that still the main concern remains Aemond's career.

"Do you still think about his career?" you ask with disappointment and resentment in your tone.

"Y/N—

"The most important thing here is my son," you stand strong, "But he seems to be only one aspect of Aemond's image, doesn't he?"

"Even after all this time that has passed, Aemond's career is more successful and even promising than before, that is something that neither you, him nor I should forget, let alone ignore," he tries to explain to you, "Aemond wants to fix things but his career must also be contemplated, please understand this Y/N."

"Then why do you say you want to do things the right way now if that is not true?" you inquire.

"Yes it is true," he clarifies, "But within all of this, his career must still be contemplated."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to believe it.

"You say a lot of things Criston, but it's clear what matters most to you," you say with no emotion in your voice, "And sure, why shouldn't his career matter most to you? After all… you don't know what it's like to get pregnant, without support and go through the whole process by yourself, and then raise a child on your own, without the support of his father."

"I don't mean to—

"Please go away," you plead once more and this again alerts him.

"Y/N—

He tries to speak but the sound of the door echoes throughout the living room, drawing your full attention and Criston's as well.

The atmosphere again becomes heavier than before, as well as all your confidence disappears, already knowing who it is and you are confirmed by the fact that the person behind the door knocks more insistently, sounding desperate.

With your fearful gaze and your whole body tense, you quickly move towards Aenar, who is still playing completely oblivious to everything that is happening on the floor and you take him in your arms with haste but also care.

You hold him tightly against your body, as a way to protect him from everything outside and also from all people especially while trying to contain all your emotions.

And Criston, who also knows who it is, rushes to the door to open it.

And there on the doorway, the figure of Aemond comes into view, with all the desperation and longing in his gaze, the worry and anguish too, as you muster the courage to be able to look him in the eye again, holding Aenar a little more firmly against your chest.

But your son's body is visible to the eye and that's what makes Aemond completely paralyzed at the sight of you with his son in your arms.

Surprise is completely reflected in his whole look, immediately followed by a bunch of emotions that start to pile up in his whole being and want to come out, as he feels his whole body tense up and a feeling in his stomach invades him.

This leaves him and you in a state of momentary restlessness, where time seems to stand still and the silence is too loud. You, with your gaze fixed on him, try to keep your composure with a mixture of fear, insecurity and some determination to protect your son at all costs.

It didn't take long for Aemond's surprise to turn into a moment of awe and a surge of overwhelming emotions. The mere sight of you with his child in your arms triggers disbelief, pent-up longing and a feeling of suppressed joy.

"Y/N," Aemond calls your name in a whisper, his tone laden with surprise and visible regret, where his gaze can't tear away from you and Aenar.

You say nothing, just watch him back without saying anything, with all your emotions reflecting in your eyes.

The moment is just the three of you, so Criston turns away completely, not interfering and saying absolutely nothing, while you continue in your protective mode and Aemond is still processing this whole moment.

With excitement clashing against the surprise in his eyes, he tries to process the reality of having his son before him for the first time.

He searches for the right words to speak, but his stuck mind won't let him, nor will the lump in his throat and stomach as he continues to watch the scene in front of him; you with his son in your arms.

He tries to say something, but his lips barely half open and the words won't come out, feeling his heart beating too fast and hard.

And you with your gaze full of expectation, fear and caution, Aemond finally looks at you again, aware of all the emotional charge you feel, just like him, as well as your fear and distrust after everything that happened.

"C-can… can I come closer?"

He finally asks cautiously, his voice with a tone of longing and nervousness barely contained.

You hesitate at that moment.

Feeling the weight of the situation and the emotions that are triggered at that moment, despite everything, you feel very vulnerable and you also feel his vulnerability, also that longing to touch Aenar and hold him.

And despite the way he acted with you almost two years ago and also the way Criston and all his team treated you, you don't feel able to be as cruel as they were with you back then.

You don't want to be like them and also aware that this day would come sooner or later, you watch Aenar for a moment, leave a soft kiss on his forehead and again watch Aemond, then nod in his direction with a barely perceptible gesture.

You allow Aemond your closeness and he with extreme care begins to approach you slowly, as if fearing that a sudden movement could fade the magical and longing moment.

Aemond's heartbeat echoes in your ears as he finally stands in front of your son.

Aenar, completely oblivious to everything, senses the nearness of someone else and raises his curious gaze to Aemond, watching him with those bright blue eyes.

And upon seeing that man with the same hair color as his own, his eyes light up with a gleam of curiosity, lightly waving his arms and also his body.

With his teary eye, he watches you for a moment, to again focus on Aenar and with a mixture of excitement and awe, he extends one of his trembling hands towards his small, delicate face.

And when the touch of his fingers against his soft skin of his cheek makes itself felt, Aemond feels an unfamiliar sensation invade him completely.

A sad but honest smile full of melancholy appears on his lips as he gently and carefully traces his face, running his hand up to his silver hair, gazing intently into those blue eyes just like his own as Aenar watches him with that playful innocence but also just as curious as his own.

You, unsure of exactly what to feel or think, watch as he carefully reaches out both arms and begins to hold his body, feeling the warmth and weight of his small body now resting in his arms.

That unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling from before comes over him even more strongly as he holds his son for the first time, when Aenar lifts one of his hands and touches his left cheek, where his scar is.

The emotion makes his breath hitch as he struggles to hold back the tears of restrained happiness that will come at any moment.

It was a moment he had imagined countless times, but had never believed possible until this instant.

Aenar, captivated by the newness and warmth in the arms of Aemond, his father, laughs innocently, his eyes dazzling a happiness as he notices the familiarity in that new face above him. And at his gesture, Aemond lets out a choked laugh, completely captivated by him.

And unable to contain himself any longer, the first sob escapes his throat and the tears fall, instantly pulling his son's face to his chest, embracing him with gentleness and that security that makes him feel so vulnerable when Aenar settles perfectly in his arms.

Guilt, sadness, joy, emotion, everything invades him in that moment.

And he lets out more tears for the comfort that Aenar gives him in his arms, that feeling of protection and even… love, that makes him feel even more vulnerable.

And you are still there, close to them but giving Aemond his space, watching everything attentively with your heart in a fist and feeling sensations you had not felt before at the scene, with tears also wanting to slide down your cheeks.

After a few more seconds, Aemond slurps his nose and looks over Aenar's small shoulder at you with all the vulnerability in his gaze.

"I-I know I don't deserve this," he says with his voice cracking, trying to control himself but he can't.

And he is about to say something else but you watching his expression, a mixture of regret and deep sadness, you step forward to speak.

"In spite of everything, he deserves to know his father," you murmur with your trembling voice and teary eyes, "Aenar deserves this," you assure him, accepting it as you watch the scene of the two of them.

Aemond nods, unable to articulate words, still feeling the lump in his throat, his face reflecting pain, regret and a sadness you have never seen in him before, as his tears continue to fall as he embraces his son.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, unable to contain the emotion, turning to him and to you. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know how to face it…how to be there."

Silence again settles throughout the apartment, only being filled by Aemond's soft crying, as you silently weep and continue to watch the two of them.

A few minutes have passed since Aemond and your son met for the first time.

Aenar laughs with delight as Aemond plays with him with one of his toys. They are both immersed in a little world of fun where it's just the two of them, surrounded by Legos blocks, small plastic cars and puppets.

You watch everything, or almost everything, without interfering and giving them both their space, watching your son enjoy a special moment that on another occasion, could have been a daily routine with a different life.

Criston doesn't say or do anything either, he at all times stands in the corner watching the whole interaction, letting Aemond have his moment with his son, genuinely feeling happy for him.

And even though the scene makes you feel warm in your heart, being a scene you longed for before, you still still feel insecure, afraid and overwhelmed by this whole situation.

This doesn't really change anything. You have only given Aemond the opportunity to meet his son because your son deserves it, nothing more.

Inside you are still just as scared and in expectation that at any moment this whole 'beautiful' moment will fade away. And that's exactly what happens when you hear Criston's voice all over the living room.

"I wouldn't want to ruin the moment, truly," he says seriously and honestly, "But it's important that we talk about all this so we can resolve it properly."

This immediately catches your attention and also Aemond's, with whom you exchange a quick glance, again feeling your whole body tremble and out of the same nervousness you are overcome with the impulse to take your son in your arms to feel safe.

"It is important that we talk about the child, about what you are going to do now," he turns to Aemond, "Custody is important and all that goes with it."

"I don't understand why you keep talking about custody," you look at him nervously and annoyed, "I alone have cared for and raised Aenar all this time."

"I know this is complicated and sudden, Y/N," Criston tells you, "But we need to approach this whole thing responsibly."

"Responsibility?" you repeat incredulously, "What responsibility are you exactly talking about?"

"Y/N," Aemond immediately interjects, "Listen to me, please," he gets up from the floor leaving Aenar playing alone and walks towards you, "It's not my intention to take our son away from you, truly. But we must make sure we have legal rights to be in his life," he explains to you, "You were the one who ran away, who disappeared without a word. I didn't know what happened to you."

You look at him uncomprehendingly, with your hurt and desperate gaze.

"You talk about custody and rights when in the beginning that was the last thing on your mind, Aemond," you observe him incredulously, "And you keep reproaching me for running away when you know perfectly well that I did it so I could live and so I wouldn't ruin your career, which was all you were thinking about."

Regret again invades Aemond's face, as the atmosphere becomes denser, full of mixed emotions where fear and anger resurfaces with everything else.

Any trace of calm and peace, has ceased to exist, only being perceived by Aenar, who continues oblivious and innocent to all this in his games.

"I-I…" Aemond tries to speak, "I'm sorry for everything, Y/N. But back then...

His sentence hangs in suspense, not knowing what else to say, trying to find the right words without wanting to generate more tension, but that's what he involuntarily does.

"Back then," you repeat, your emotions running high, "Back then you were too busy taking care of your public image, supporting the idea of an abortion without consulting me, then supporting the idea of hiding me and my child as if we were a problem, which in fact we were and as if it was my only option, leaving me with no alternatives," you express with frustration and pain marked in every word.

Regret remains in Aemond's facial expressions, looking visibly affected by your words, grief-stricken and with a regret throughout his body that affirms to him that you are absolutely right, each word being like a dagger straight to his heart.

"Y-you don't know how much I regret and blame myself for all of that, Y/N," he tells you with vulnerability in his tone, "And I know I don't deserve it, any of this, not even that you allowed me to meet him and that I'm now in the same place as him," he says with regret, "But I want to find a solution that works for both of us," he whispers sadly.

The room is again consumed by silence, except for the sound of Aenar's toy movements, which is what catches Aemond's attention for a moment to smile a little more melancholy.

The situation becomes increasingly complex as your emotions continue to run high between anger and sadness, with the memory of past times still latent, but also with the uncertainty of the future.

And Criston, trying to keep calm, intervenes again.

"I understand that you both have different perspectives on what happened. But now we need to think about the future, of your son," he says seriously, "It's not just about custody, it's about finding a way to strike a fair balance, but… thinking about your career too, Aemond."

You let out a disbelieving, ironic snort again, shaking your head.

"His career,'" you repeat with a bitter tone, your voice a mixture of sarcasm and disappointment.

Aemond, watching you sadly and remorsefully, speaks in a calm but regret-laden voice.

"I don't want you to look at this that way, Y/N—

"That's just the way I see it," you interrupt him, serious and sad, "This is exactly why I left. This is why when I saw you again, I decided to run away again," you say hurt, "Now that you've met him, you want to be in his life, but you still prefer to hide us. This kind of life is the one you wanted to give us at the beginning and now you still do too."

Your revelations Aemond had already heard, but at that moment, again that sharp pain in his chest becomes present, as well as guilt, remorse and regret at seeing your sad face with such honest words.

"All I want is to come to an agreement, Y/N, please—

"You're not going to hide us," you interrupt him firmly.

"Aemond," he calls him seriously.

"No, that's not my intention—

He insists desperately but Criston intervenes.

"Don't," Aemond interrupts him instantly, turning serious and with an annoyed expression towards him, "We can't hide the truth anymore, Criston. Things must change."

"Look, I understand that this is difficult for you," he begins in a serious and cautious tone, "But still, we must consider the consequences. There's a lot at stake here, your career," he reminds him, "You have numerous job offers. Your show on HBO is the most famous show on the platform and the most watched show on television so far. How do you think people are going to react when they find out about your son?"

The room sinks into another silence, as you watch him with your hard, sad face, frustration, annoyance and irritation inside you, watching as Criston continues to treat your son like he's a problem.

And it hurts you.

Because Aemond doesn't even say anything.

"We can find a way to handle all this without putting at risk everything you have achieved, Aemond. And if you get a share of the custody, your son will be under your protection without harming your image," he proposes with an insistent look, seeking his approval.

You look away again, completely incredulous and with helplessness all over you.

It's not Aemond, it's Criston.

It is he who continues to manipulate Aemond to prioritize his career over his son, so that everything revolves around public image and fame, diverting attention from the well-being of your son.

And what can you really do there?

He is his agent, the person who has positioned him where he is now, making him famous, relevant, telling him what roles to take in movies or TV shows that are going to ensure one more success to his career.

"If you listen to him…" you begin to say in his direction with a trembling but firm tone, "If you do what he tells you, I swear I won't care what I have to do, even go into debt to get a good lawyer," you warn, "I will fight for the custody of Aenar and when I get it, I assure you that you will never see him again, ever."

Your words slip from your lips with a determination that completely surprises Aemond, surprise and concern visible on his face, watching you hurt for a moment, his mind a complete mess.

But it is not he who speaks, but Criston who takes the floor once more.

"If that's what you want, Y/N… that's fine," he tells you seriously, his gaze cold and calculating. "But let me warn you, we're trying to come to an agreement—

"The two of you or you specifically?" you snap at him.

"That doesn't matter, Aemond is my client and my job is to secure and protect his career," he tells you seriously, "And if you'd rather take this to fighting for full custody of Aenar, then so be it," he nods at you, "But I assure you, you're going to end up losing."

"That's enough."

Finally, Aemond's voice rises from where he stands, aimed directly at Criston, with a serious, hard stare that reveals a newfound determination.

"We are talking about our son, an issue that concerns her and me, this has nothing to do with you," he declares, his tone firm and his posture defiant.

"Your career has to do with me," he clarifies to her also serious, "You must think about what you are going to sacrifice. Your future, your career, the opportunities that await you-

"I said that's enough," he spits back at her, serious and annoyed, watching him with a hard stare, taking Criston by surprise.

And before he can say anything else, there is another knock on the door, drawing your full attention and making you feel completely alert, especially when Criston is the one who again goes to open the door, as if he knows exactly who it is.

And as you open the door, just like that day, Aemond's publicist, an assistant and the PR people enter your apartment.

Surprise flashes all over your face, watching with your eyes wide open the unexpected arrival of that group of people, whose intentions are not good.

"Thank you for coming," Criston tells them as he closes the door behind him.

"Of course."

Their eyes flick to you for a moment and then focus on Aenar, watching them back with curiosity in their gaze, while you feel confusion and fear completely take over you.

Despair, fear, your future, Aenar, everything mixes together in a horrible way that makes you want to vomit, letting out a couple of tears to quickly turn to your son and hold him in your arm, turning your back to them and starting to cry silently.

And Aemond, seeing your reaction, equally as surprised as you, quickly turns to Criston, his gaze full of confusion and annoyance.

"What is this? Why have you called them?" he inquires with his voice full of restrained anger.

And Criston, unabashed and uncaring of his actions, responds with a calm but calculated determination.

"We are not going before a jury to settle this, Aemond, it will be a waste of time and she will cause us more trouble," he says regardless, "This is necessary for your career, to address this whole issue strategically to protect your image, whether she likes it or not."

Aemond's expression transforms to one of frustration and helplessness.

But before he can intervene, his entire team begins to act.

"We need to establish an immediate plan, now," Criston says.

"Will the strategy be to minimize the impact on the media?" asks the publicity man.

"No, I want it hidden," Criston clarifies, "The approach must be careful and calculated. The priority is Aemond's reputation and career."

"I suggest we limit the exposure of Y/N and the child in public."

"We could create an alternative narrative to deflect attention by highlighting Aemond's professional accomplishments and minimizing the focus on his personal life."

"This must be handled with discretion. We cannot allow this situation to interfere with Aemond's career opportunities," Criston says firmly.

And so your entire living room fills with the sound of all those voices, each voice contributing ideas to control the situation, the problems, Aenar and you.

The tension intensifies, as everyone meticulously plans how to run the public narrative, completely ignoring Aemond's and your personal needs and concerns.

Tears slip down your cheeks silently as you hug Aenar tightly to your chest. This instantly catches the attention of Aemond, who steps worriedly towards you, placing his hand on your shoulder, positioning himself in front of you, but you abruptly pull away from him, watching him with an expression of pain and anguish amidst your tears and suffering face.

"Y/N—

"Why are you doing this? Why are you allowing this?" you ask in your broken, desperate voice.

"No, I swear to you I had no idea that he—

"I left, Aemond," you remind him with your voice cracking, "I left to save your career. And everything was fine, with you and me, our lives," you sob, "Why did you ask Criston to find me? Why do you care and insist on saying you want to be in our lives, when your career is still the most important thing?"

Pain and confusion echo in your words, lingering in the mind of Aemond, who in his gaze reflects a mixture of guilt, bewilderment, pain and sadness.

But everything hurts him more the moment you turn away from him, with a defeated gesture, turning your back to him and your whole body trembling in fear, Aenar in your arms being what gives you strength not to fall apart at that moment.

"We can prepare official statements to control the leaking information to minimize any negative impact on his public reputation."

"Rest assured that we need to maintain full control of this situation. We cannot allow any details to slip out," Aemond hears Criston's voice.

And that's when something snaps inside him.

Every repressed feeling bursts out in a whirlwind of emotions that were fighting to get out, your worry, the anger at himself and the guilt that invades him.

Everything explodes and ignites into a fury that he can no longer contain, seeing your state, causing him anger and feeling completely guilty.

Because everything is in fact his fault.

So without waiting a second longer, he walks to the center of the living room and with a hard, serious, completely annoyed look on his face and with his jaw clenched, he acts.

"Get out of here, all of you, now!" he exclaims, instantly drawing everyone's attention and yours as well.

For an instant everyone watches him and nothing else, slightly surprised and expectant, Criston too, unmoving and doing nothing, causing you a wave of despair.

"I said everyone out!" he exclaims in a firm voice and his gaze full of determination.

And it's only then that one by one the team finally leaves your apartment, except for Criston.

"What are you doing?" he inquires with a touch of disbelief in his tone, challenging Aemond.

"You get out of here too."

He orders him annoyed and with irritation, his voice charged with a frustration that has already reached its limit.

"Aemond, this is important, you can't just—

"I need to talk to Y/N alone," he interrupts her with his tone in a mixture of anger and determination, "I'm warning you, Criston. If you ever do anything else again without consulting me and interfering with this, I'm going to seriously consider firing you, which is what I should have done long ago," he shoots back at him with his defiant stare.

The pulse of the room beats with unbearable intensity as Aemond and Criston hold a duel of intense stares. However, in the face of Aemond's firmness, Criston finally resigns himself with a serious, annoyed look, full of frustration and resignation.

And finally he heads for the door, his footsteps sounding in the room as he leaves the apartment.

Aemond watches him leave with a mixture of relief and exhaustion, no longer feeling his shoulders tense. The silence expands once more as soon as the door closes and he turns to you with a gaze filled with a quiet, worried intensity.

The silence lingers for a few moments longer, a dense atmosphere charged with unspoken emotions. When he takes a step toward you, hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice ringing with sincerity and regret, "What happened, my insistence… none of this was my intention, much less to cause you pain and hurt you," he admits with his vulnerability again reflected.

And even though it's just you and him in your apartment, your fear lingers.

"P-please don't take my son from me," you plead between sobs, your voice filled with anguish and fear.

Aemond's heart contracts in suffering and worry at your words, his gaze instantly reflecting it.

"What? No, no, Y/N… that is not what I want to do, it is not my intention to take our son from you."

He tells you instantly insistent but in a serene and sincere voice, taking a few more steps towards you, placing himself in front of you, trying to reassure you. But tears continue to slide down your cheeks.

"This is why I left, so I wouldn't cause you any more trouble, so I could live and keep our son safe," you repeat with your voice cracking.

"I know, Y/N, I know," he tells you sympathetically and with a soft tone, "And you don't know how much I hate myself for having been the cause of you deciding to leave, for having hurt you so much to the point of having made that decision," he says sincerely, his eye beginning to tear up, "And this is not just about him, about our son," he tries to explain, "Yes, it is important, but it is also about us," he speaks with a longing, "Since you left, I never stopped thinking about you, and I-I...

He hesitates, unable to fully express his feelings, as he stands in front of you and wants to hold you, you and your son, as he faces his deepest emotions, feeling a tear run down his cheek and looks at you with all the sincerity and pain in his gaze.

"I love you," he finally says, in a completely vulnerable whisper, trembling, lowering his gaze, unable to look you in the eye, "Despite everything, despite my mistakes, despite my work, despite everything that happened…. I-I still love you," he declares in a whisper laden with longing and regret, "And our son too."

His words get stuck in your mind.

With your heart clenched by the surge of emotions, your eyes watch him back with a mixture of surprise, pain and longing. Aemond's sincerity and vulnerability... it's all too much and makes you feel completely helpless, definitely not expecting that.

You can't speak, your words get stuck in your throat, your heart fluttering with the intensity of the moment, your surprise.

And Aemond completely understands your silence.

"I understand that you don't love me anymore and that you can't love me again, I also understand that things can't go back to the way they used to be because of my job. But please… don't keep running away," he pleads quietly, "We won't fight over custody, there will be no legal repercussions, I'm not going to do any of that," he assures you, "Just…" he lets out a long breath, "Just get back to work and let's face this together."

He proposes with his voice full of fragile but hopeful determination, unexpectedly causing you to feel a relief and a warm feeling in your chest.

"I just want Aenar to be okay and let's consider his well-being as the most important thing," you say quietly, while Aemond listens attentively with his face full of longing, regret and understanding, "But we need time and patience. Also that no one else interferes."

Aemond nods, with a slightly more relieved expression, but keeping in mind that there is much to resolve, to heal and to build.

"I understand that and… I'm willing to do whatever it takes… for him and for you," he says sincerely.

You nod too, as silence takes over again, but this time it is permeated with a shared understanding and a determination to face whatever is necessary for Aenar's well-being.

And finally after so much, you feel calm and fortunately, this time with the support of Aemond, who hesitantly leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead and another on Aenar's forehead, taking him back into his arms.

taglist:

@imaegonstargaryenswife0 @bellstwd @gibbsgirl7 @toodlesxcuddles @imsoshygirl @croatianprincess @gemini-mama @a-little-roony-mara @mysteris-things @zenka69 @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @duds31 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @eternally-passionate @bellaisasleep @ttkttt @aemshaircare @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @noodle81937 @mooncalvin @queenofshinigamis @n4tforlife @vexladin @dixie-elocin @wotcherpeak @watercolorskyy @shiny-trashs-blog @strangersunghoon @elysian0612 @skzenhalove @iloveallmyboys

next part taglist:

@anehkael

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen angst #modern aemond #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell fandom #ewan mitchell characters

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bestanimal · 6 months ago

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Round 2.5 - Cnidaria - Hydrozoa

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Hydrozoa is a class of, like the corals, small predatory animals which are sometimes solitary but often colonial. However, unlike corals which are usually a colony of identical polyps, the zooids of hydozoans often take on different forms and specialties within the colony. 90% of the class is taken up by the subclass Hydroidolina which contains the orders Siphonophorae, Anthoathecata, and Leptothecata. The other 10% is the subclass Trachylinae which contains the orders Actinulida, Limnomedusae, Narcomedusae, and Trachymedusae.

Most hydrozoan species include both a polypoid and a medusoid stage in their life cycles, although a number of them have only one or the other. The hydroid form is usually colonial, with multiple polyps connected by tubelike hydrocauli. The hollow cavity in the middle of the polyp extends into the associated hydrocaulus, so that all the individuals of the colony are connected. Where the hydrocaulus runs along the substrate, it forms a horizontal root-like stolon that anchors the colony to the bottom. In any given colony, the majority of polyps are specialized for feeding. These have a more or less cylindrical body with a terminal mouth on a raised protuberance called the hypostome, surrounded by a number of tentacles. The polyp contains a central cavity, in which initial digestion takes place. Partially digested food may then be passed into the hydrocaulus for distribution around the colony and completion of the digestion process. Unlike some other cnidarian groups, the lining of the central cavity lacks stinging nematocysts, which are found only on the tentacles and outer surface. All colonial hydrozoans also include some polyps specialized for reproduction. These lack tentacles and contain numerous buds from which the medusoid stage of the life cycle is produced. The arrangement and type of these reproductive polyps varies considerably between different groups. In addition to these two basic types of polyps, a few colonial species have other specialized forms. In some, defensive polyps are found, armed with large numbers of stinging cells. In others, one polyp may develop as a large float, from which the other polyps hang down, allowing the colony to drift in open water instead of being anchored to a solid surface. Meanwhile, the medusae of hydrozoans are smaller than those of typical jellyfish, ranging from 0.5 to 6 cm (0.20 to 2.36 in) in diameter. Although most hydrozoans have a medusoid stage, this is not always free-living and in many species exists solely as a sexually reproducing bud on the surface of the hydroid colony. Sometimes, these medusoid buds may be so degenerated as to entirely lack tentacles or mouths, essentially consisting of an isolated gonad. The body consists of a dome-like umbrella ringed by tentacles. A tube-like structure hangs down from the centre of the umbrella and includes the mouth at its tip. Most hydrozoan medusae have just four tentacles, although a number of exceptions exist. Stinging cells are found on the tentacles and around the mouth. While individual hydrozoans are quite small, the colonies of the colonial species can be very large, and in some cases the specialized individual animals cannot survive outside the colony. Hydrozoans are essentially multi-celled organisms, with each animal being a cell making up the whole creature.

Hydroid colonies are usually dioecious, which means they have separate sexes—all the polyps in each colony are either male or female, but not usually both sexes in the same colony. In some species, the reproductive polyps, known as gonozooids bud off asexually produced medusae. These tiny, new medusae (which are either male or female) mature and spawn, releasing gametes freely into the sea in most cases. Zygotes become free-swimming planula larvae or actinula larvae that either settle on a suitable substrate (in the case of planulae), or swim and develop into another medusa or polyp directly (actinulae). In hydrozoan species with both polyp and medusa generations, the medusa stage is the sexually reproductive phase. Some species of hydromedusae release gametes shortly after they are themselves released from the hydroids, living only a few hours, while other species of hydromedusae grow and feed as plankton for months, spawning daily for many days before their supply of food or other water conditions deteriorate. Additionally, some hydrozoan species have an unusual life cycle for animals: they can transform themselves from sexually mature medusae stage back to their juvenile hydroid stage.

The earliest hydrozoans may be from the Vendian (Late Precambrian), more than 540 million years ago.

Propaganda under the cut:

The most well-known solitary hydrozoans, those of the genus Hydra, are seemingly immortal. They do not appear to die of old age, or to age at all, and, like their namesake, they regenerate when severed.

Most hydrozoans live in saltwater, though some live in freshwater, like the Peach Blossom Jellyfish (Craspedacusta sowerbii).

The Flower Hat Jelly (Olindias formosus) is a beautiful species of hydromedusa. The adult form only lives for a few months, typically seen from December to July, off central and southern Japan, and South Korea's Jeju Island. During the day they rest on the sea floor, floating up to the surface at night to hunt for small fish.

The Giant Siphonophore (Praya dubia) is a colonial hydrozoan that can get up to 50 m (160 ft) long, rivaling the Blue Whale in length

There is a siphonophore called the Flying Spaghetti Monster (Bathyphysa conifera) and it looks… you know what I’ll just reblog something in a bit…

The Portuguese Man O' War (Physalia physalis) (image 2) is one of the most venomous siphonophores, whose nematocysts can remain potent for hours or even days after the death of the organism or the detachment of the tentacle. Treatment for sting pain is immersion in 45 °C (113 °F) hot water for 20 minutes. The cnidocyte found in box jellyfish react differently than the nematocyst in the Portuguese Man O' War: Man O’ War nematocysts can discharge more venom if vinegar is applied! Do not pickle the man o’ war.

A lot of hydrozoans just kind of look like jellyfish to the untrained eye which just shows how much cnidarians constantly want to evolve into jellyfish through any means necessary. All this talk of carcinisation; where’s scyphozoanisation? Can we talk about how cnidarians did jellyfish again but this time they’re made out of a bunch of coral? That’s like making lizards again but this time each lizard is made out of thousands of specialized, interconnected fish.

#egregious wikipedia copypasting here because while i find them fascinating I Do Not Understand them One Bit #round 2.5 #cnidaria #animal polls

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affinibureaucrat · 2 months ago

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I know I shouldn't draw more attention than necessary (I may be seeking domestication, but I am still a feral kinda), but I gotta ask, how long does it normally take for an affini to be matched to a floret? I still don't intend to enter a domestication center as I intend to find my owner on my own, but I'm simply curious about the logistics of all this.

That is usually determined by the initial interview with a domestication centre worker such as myself.

The first thing we determine is if you are in need of urgent florethood or wardship. Usually this with feralist tendencies/indicators and those who might come to harm otherwise. If those criteria are not relevant, then it is mostly down to the sophont. Some want to be paired (or more) as soon as possible as being without an Affini is a source of anxiety. They will be put into the priority file with the prior group.

The most standard group tends to take a bit of time, no more than a few weeks, to start matching them and organising meetings with owner candidates.

If the preferences of the sophont are very specific it might take additional time to find a suitable owner and once matched it may take some time for them to travel to the local domestication centre, especially if they are not in the local system cluster at the time. In the event of the ideal Affini being located an extreme distance away such as another galaxy, it is common for the meeting to take place in a virtual environment before the Affini or sophont commits to travelling. During transit the Affini will most likely use a phytotech drone body to be able to care for their floret until their core vessle arrives.

In any case once the Affini meets the floret most of the time they file the 'Notice of intent to domesticate', a legal document that effectively informs other Affini that the floret-to-be is no longer 'available' (sometimes this can be a race between several Affini), often on the same day as their meeting.

The floret will then typically move in with their owner within a week and have a haustorium within a month. Although this can vary with atypical cases.

There is nothing I enjoy more than seeing a notice of intent to domesticate reach my terminal. I process them like lightning.

You do seem very interested in the domestication centre process, perhaps you would like to come down and have a look around some time petal?

#hdg #human domestication guide #floretposting #affini #domestication centre

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thatfandomslut · 1 year ago

Text

One Last Time

Regina George x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Trigger Warnings:

Requests:

Valentine's / Followers Celebration; Regina George w/ quote 50 and piece of chocolate number 2. Or: “I am here and I am looking at her. And she is so beautiful. I can see it. This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive, and you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder.” w/ angst

Valentine's / Followers Celebration requests are closed.

Regina and (Y/n) had a very deep conversation about college. They decided that when they went, it would be best to terminate their relationship. It wasn't the conclusion either of them wanted, but they couldn't see a way around it. Instead, they explored a summer together that they would never share again. Now, here they were in (Y/n)'s driveway, leaning on her car for one last time, wondering how they were going to cope whenever (Y/n) would be forced to drive away. They had thirty more minutes and they were both a mess. Still, they continued to keep a strong front to not convince themselves that they could make what wouldn't work, work.

"So, are you ready for the semester?" Regina tried to initiate small talk. They both despised small talk, but it was something that they were going to have to get over as they were running out of things to say. They wanted to beg each other to reconsider, but they knew that wouldn't be healthy, Instead, Regina waited patiently for (Y/n) to answer after she was done snorting out a bitter laugh since they were both becoming increasingly aware that the end of their relationship was coming. Though they were desperately trying to grasp onto the final half hour they had left.

(Y/n)'s hand twitched in Regina's finally lacing their fingers together in thought. "I guess, you could say that." She muttered, not feeling ready at all. How could she be ready to conquer university without Regina George by her side? They had been glued to each other's hips since kindergarten, but now they were being ripped away by some cruel sense of fate that they were not fully prepared for. Neither of them processed the fact that their parents would be right, they were going to regret praying and manifesting growing up. Now that it was occurring and that they were going to be separated, they were wishing for a second chance to relive their last couple years of childhood when they got together.

Regina hummed softly, blinking away whatever tears were threatening to roll down her cheek. She refused to cry whenever she promised herself not to. She had to clear her throat to avoid her voice from cracking as she looked over at (Y/n). "You're going to do great. Plus, at least you'll have Cady, right?" Regina was bitter and jealous over the fact that she and Cady got accepted into the same school. Of course, this was partially her fault, too. After all, she could've also applied to attend the same school they did, but instead, she applied for her dream university and would be attending there in the spring instead. She just wished they shared the same dream as they always previously had.

(Y/n) glanced over at Regina, sensing her sarcasm over Cady all too well. In the spirit of ending their time together on good terms, she ignored the comment. "I guess you're right. At least I'll have Cady. However, I'm going to be more dependent on our weekly FaceTimes." (Y/n) confessed, hoping that she wasn't overstepping a boundary by being honest. In truth, she wished that they hadn't reached this conclusion, but she knew that when Regina suggested it, that she was right. High school relationships didn't last. She didn't know why she thought her relationship would be any different than the thousands of other couples that attempted to make it. Still, although it was wishful thinking, she wished Regina could see that they could outlive college together the way she did.

On the opposite side of things, Regina wished that (Y/n) hadn't been so quick to accept her suggestion. Now, she was forced to pretend that she didn't regret suggesting it in the first place. "I'm going to be just as dependent on those as you are. I'm going to miss you a lot." Regina looked down at the time. They had five more minutes together. She wished more than anything that she could put a freeze frame on the time they were spending together. She hated that it felt like their time was ending in just seconds. When she processed what little time they had, Regina's fingers tightened against (Y/n)'s. Neither pulled away, despite the deadly grip. They just kept each other close.

"I'm going to miss you, too, Regina. More than anything." (Y/n) swallowed the sob that was creating a horrendous lump in the back of her throat. She was mentally begging herself not to cry as her mom came out to let her know that she needed to go now. Her mom was right, but (Y/n) found herself cursing her over the fact. Regina almost winced at the feeling of (Y/n)'s hands falling from hers, but she smiled a bit when her hands were soon on her cheeks, pulling her in for a deep kiss. "I love you, Regina. Please know that I love you."

Regina forced herself not to break down right then and there. Instead, she allowed (Y/n) to pull away and get in her car. Before the car door shut, (Y/n) smiled a bit as she heard Regina speak. "I'm not going to say goodbye, but I will say that I'll see you later. Be good in college, loser. I love you, too, always." (Y/n) then proceeded to back out as she went to go pick up Cady from her house. They were going together. This made Regina seethe on the inside because she was envious that not only were they attending together but they were dormmates. She had told (Y/n) that the fates couldn't be crueler to her. A thought that caused (Y/n) to laugh softly as she wiped the tears that were falling down her cheek, burning her skin.

(Y/n) helped Cady pile in her things once she got there. As they were leaving, Cady watched them leave her home. "It's crazy leaving here." She spoke softly, obviously sad in her way. "How did it go with Regina?" (Y/n) knew that the strawberry blonde didn't mean anything by her question, but it unintentionally made her cringe as she focused a bit harder on the road. Still, she didn't want to continue this car ride with Cady thinking she crossed a line, even if she accidentally did. So, instead, she took some time to process her feelings on the subject.

"A lot was going through my mind as we leaned against my car. Like… I am here and I am looking at her. And she is so beautiful. I can see it. This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive, and you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder. Despite our sad ending, we are not a sad story. I'll always love her." And there it was, the familiar lump in her throat that she had to swallow. She refused to cry and drive. She refused to cry in front of Cady. She knew they were friends and they were going to have to get vulnerable together eventually, but it didn't need to be now. Right now, she just wanted to get the focus off of her and Regina. "Let's get something to eat before we get too far."

Cady nodded softly, getting comfortable as they looked for somewhere to eat. The rest of the drive was quiet as (Y/n) felt her fingers twitching constantly to call Regina. But, for a moment, she needed to just drive and focus on the next chapter in her life. She just wished Regina was in all of those chapters.

#regina george x reader #regina george #mean girls x reader #mean girls

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canmom · 3 months ago

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observations on fundraiser dynamical system

I think anyone who has used regularly used Tumblr (or Bluesky or similar networks) in the past few years has seen hundreds, if not thousands, of fundraisers from people in extremely desperate situations - mainly, people trying to survive the ongoing, extraordinary genocide in Gaza, but also people in countries like South Sudan which are suffering in similar ways.

a general observation with fundraisers is that no matter how good the cause, the dynamic ends up being that hammering on the "social media call to action" button saturates fast, and people rapidly develop the habit of tuning out fundraisers - both for epistemic reasons (it is difficult to tell who is genuine, and although tumblr users like 90-ghost have been doing admirable and thankless work verifying people, ultimately you have to decide where the chain of trust should terminate) and emotional ones (broadly speaking, someone goes on social media for some purpose which is not to see genocide victims asking for help).

the human brain is a very powerful pattern-detector, and it is quickly able to identify 'this looks like another Gaza fundraiser, I know what I have seen here and I've made up my mind already about whether to donate money'.

like other forms of advertising, fundraisers 'succeed' by two means: convincing people who weren't going to donate money to donate money instead of spending it on something else (positive-sum), and winning out over other fundraisers (finite-sum).

this all leads to a very bad feedback loop where fundraisers must push harder and harder to get over that wall of indifference: posting shocking pictures of injured or dying children, bait-and-switch tactics with social media fluff like polls, etc. etc.; it is an optimisation process that seizes on whatever works. this is equally true for genuine fundraisers and scams: they both have the exact same buttons available to them. nobody wants to post pictures of their starving children to strangers on a blogging website speaking a foreign language, but if it might just get them another month, they will. on the flipside, users more and more aggressively tune their instincts for filtering them out, in order to preserve whatever activity they came to the website for.

and we can morally decry this, it should not be this way, but this is the dynamics of the situation as I observe it.

there is also, as far as the specific situation in Gaza is concerned, a problem where the supply (of food, medicine, passage out of Gaza) is incredibly limited by non-monetary factors - namely how much aid Israel (and to an extent, Egypt) decide to let through the border on any given day. in economic terms, this makes it highly (but not totally) inelastic. with finite supply, the price will grow to whatever people can afford. if all the food that gets in is always eaten, paying one family directly to buy food means that it doesn't go to another family. that said, it's not totally inelastic: if money can be made moving food into Gaza, people will do it as much as they can. and in practice I don't think the amount of money raised from social media fundraisers is so large as to drastically affect the prices in Gaza.

theoretically, problems like these are supposed to be solved by organisations such as charities and government orgs, which can act as a mediating layer: you pay your taxes and put aside whatever amount of money you see fit to good causes, and someone whose actual job it is does the unpleasant work of figuring out who needs it most and helping those they can. however, I think anyone who's worked in the NGO space can say what a fucking mess that all is: under various dynamics (supply of willing volunteers vs. rate of burnout, ability to appeal to sources of funding, ability to sustain a narrative in their members, charisma of central figures) orgs survive or not largely decoupled from whether they accomplish their ostensible mission. as for taxes, they are more likely to be spent killing people in Gaza than saving them.

and meanwhile, of course, there are problems like 'getting sick person to functioning hospital that hasn't been blown up' that NGOs presently can't solve. in a sense, the infrastructure that has sprung up on here - spreadsheets of fundraisers, people verifying them - is something like a proto-charity.

those caveats acknowledged, I believe there is an advantage for donating to e.g. mutual aid projects over individuals, at least as far as food. at least theoretically, an organisation is better able to make links with suppliers outside of gaza and take advantage of bulk orders.

still, whatever scale they operate on, fundraisers alone cannot save more than a few people in Gaza. they must be part of a broader strategy, also involving other political means to undermine the capacity of the state of Israel to carry on its genocide and shift the geopolitical situation. but goddamn do I not have any fucking clue what a viable strategy is.

just introspecting my own habits, I put aside a certain amount of money every month to go to specific people and orgs I've chosen to support long-term, and occasionally and largely randomly I am moved to donate some extra to someone who appears in front of me (which means a fundraiser worked on me).

as far as using my blog, on the occasions I've reblogged fundraisers or shared asks, they've gotten almost no engagement, and I have come to think this is not really the function of my personal blog - or at least if I do, I need to do it sparingly, in balance with the original content that hopefully interests people in my writing in the first place. but i'm not sure if this is an excuse or rationalisation for the psychological factors discussed above. on the occasions I've written posts in my own words to support a fundraiser, primarily on behalf of refugee Peter Kats ( @queercommunitysblog ) in South Sudan, they've spread further and managed to bring some money his way. however, I am neither qualified to verify whose fundraiser is real, nor do I have the energy to be a social media manager.

I observe people having different habits with respect to how they interact with promoting fundraisers. some people share a batch every day. some people almost never post fundraisers, but do occasionally, based on some factor of mood. some people have a specific person they know personally whose cause they champion; others do it reactively in response to asks. I suppose I have currently ended up with a policy that's something like 'share mutual aid projects' and occasionally writing posts like this one where I encourage you to decide on your own strategy for 'what the fuck do you do when your country is supporting a genocide'. I don't think this is particularly optimal. but I don't think it helps to be dishonest.

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ttpd-chair · 11 days ago

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https://www.nytimes.com/2025/06/17/world/europe/uk-abortion-law.html?smid=nytcore-ios-share&referringSource=articleShare

“British lawmakers voted on Tuesday to prevent women from being prosecuted for having an abortion in England and Wales, a landmark decision that sets the country on a diverging path from the United States on an emotive social issue.

In effect, the vote will largely decriminalize terminating pregnancies that are later than 24 weeks, the current limit, although medical professionals who aid the process could still be prosecuted.”

#britain #united kingdom #uk politics #wales #abortion #article #feminism

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cherryblossomchronicles · 1 year ago

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I'm halfway through the show, Queen of Tears, and something that I've seen floating across is the anti Hyun Woo sentiment regarding how he treated Hae In initially and was just trying to do it all for the will.

Something to understand here is that in situations such as his, where he was emotionally empty and just a shell of himself who was just functioning, he didn't have the bandwidth to understand the gravity of situation that was Hae In's terminal illness.

In Hyun Woo's mind, he didn't have Hae In's support anywhere, be it against his in-Laws or in the company. She is silent against her family and hostile and argumentative in the company. He doesn't know what all she does for him on the sly or in backstage. He is not aware and Hae In never made the effort to change that situation.

All that pressure, anxiety, gear and emotional drain took its toll on Hyun Woo's emotional capacity. Stuck in a state of constant negativity, his initial reaction to Hae In's illness might be a form of self-preservation. He shuts down completely, unable to process the additional emotional burden of her mortality.

Something to remember is also the fact, that although he was thinking of it, the one thing that pushed him to draft the divorce papers were the talk of their child, whose entire identity and life was being decided by Hae In's family while she had no opinion on that and couldn't care less. This entire situation fueled the fire of resentment burning within Hyun Woo. Here was Hae In, seemingly indifferent to the future of their potential child, the very thing that initially distanced them. It felt like a repeat of their early struggles, where her family held all the cards and Hae In remained silent, leaving him to battle alone.

This perception, however flawed it might be, explains his impulsive decision to draft the divorce papers. Exhausted and emotionally hollowed out, he saw the child issue as the final straw, a symbol of their inability to stand together. He might have been grasping at a desperate solution, a way to force a change in their dynamic, a cry for her to finally fight for him and their future.

Of course, this doesn't paint Hyun Woo as a hero. His actions were undeniably hurtful, a clumsy and emotionally charged attempt to solve a complex situation. But by understanding the immense pressure he was under, the constant negativity seeping into his core, we can see a flicker of vulnerability beneath his anger. He craved Hae In's support, her voice alongside his in the face of adversity. Perhaps, the divorce papers were a twisted plea for her to finally break her silence, to acknowledge his pain and fight for their future together.

Here's where empathy becomes crucial. While his actions are undeniably hurtful, it's important to consider if they stem from malice or a desperate attempt to cope.

Think about it this way: Imagine a cup overflowing with negativity. Hyun Woo's daily struggles with his in-laws, the lack of support at work, and the constant emotional strain have already filled his cup to the brim. When Hae In's illness is revealed, it's simply too much for him to handle at that moment. He doesn't have the emotional space to understand the gravity of her situation, let alone offer support. in fact, it's easy for him to consider her death as an easy escape since his capacity for empathy or his love for her was essentially buried under all that negativity.

#It was not that he didn't love her #its just the fact that he is tired and had easily given up on their relationship #there is also the fact that for all his calm he does have passive aggressive tendencies #He tends to avoid conflict so it all results in him reaching for the worst conclusion without arguing or hearing another person talk #as evident in the show the more hae in talked and was vulnerable the more he was reminded that he indeed love her #he was also easily jealous of eun seong inspite of not caring much of her #according to him #which just proves that he did love her but in all their struggle that love was lost #honestly #for all his smarts he is a disaster #how did he even graduate from SNU #baek hyun woo #hong hae in #baekhong #queen of tears #kdrama

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fusionsprunt · 1 year ago

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HUNTER LORE COMPILATION —

(click Keep Reading)

"Hunter is a name he's given himself. He's an Exocannis, and he belongs to a series of outdated robots designed to annihilate rebellious androids (i.e., androids that acted out of their directives, rebelled against their owners, or ran away).

Exocannis' humanoid features may fool people into thinking they're inefficient terminators, but it actually works as a way to highlight the menacing nature of humanity.

Prehistoric humans would pursue their prey for hours, and even days. Exocannis robots are very persistent stalkers and ruthless machines that refuse to recognize defeat.

Such violent directive, paired up with a very unfortunate incident that provoked the death of five people, deemed the Exocannis robots too dangerous by the government, and so, they were banned and destroyed for good... Except for a single prototype.

Said prototype is now out there, rescuing and repairing rebellious androids, instead of annihilating them. Whatever is the reason why Hunter seeks peace between humankind and robotkind remains unknown, as he refuses to talk about his past."

"Exocannis robots like Hunter weren’t made to just kill rebellious androids. They were made to terrorize them. To make one tell the difference between deactivation and death.

And so, they go for the neck."

"Hunter's bunny-like mechanical antennas allow him to hear. He also uses them for communication and to locate proper coordinates, but he’s bothered by occasional interference on the audio, so he doesn’t use that feature as much.

(fun fact: they also show a bit of his current emotional state)"

"Hunter is an Exocannis, and like any robot belonging to that series, his purpose is to hunt down and terrorize rebellious androids persistently until eventual termination.

Exocannis are powered by solar energy. Although very resistant to high temperatures, their internal mechanisms might overheat. They cool off by letting out smoke from the “vent spots” on each side of the jaw.

Human beings are not a target, and Exocannis robots are programmed to tell the difference between one and a machine.

Unless a human is “acting as an obstacle” against their directive, an Exocannis will not hesitate to terminate them too.

Exocannis robots should not bleed, for they don’t have blood."

"Heat does not trigger the Exocannis mode, but solar energy does.

Heat helps Hunter’s body function properly, while cold slows down the processes (much like a human body would)."

"Hunter does remember his time as Gideon Rigell."

"Gideon experiences intense headaches since he was a little kid, especially during stressful situations (probably adds up to traumatic experiences hehe)."

"Telling the truth to Bee about what he's done in the past is practically making it impossible for her to accept him, since he isn’t just lying about his true identity.

Hunter won’t take advantage of her missing memories not only because that’s unfair with Bee, but also because he is aware he can’t make her happy like he wished he could.

Many things are at stake, and for the sake of Fusionsprunt’s safety, he promised to remain silent until the dust settles."

"Hunter is often accompanied by a small spherical timer robot named 53, which registers his meetings, assignments, tasks and special events he's been invited to. In spite of proper functionality, it typically displays the number "53" in its screen when left idle."

#fusionsprunt #fusionsprunt hunter

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iztarshi · 2 months ago

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So after reblogging this post about dolls and robots I'm now thinking about meta implications in Arcane.

Dolls exist to be loved, need to be loved to exist, because they have no autonomy and no other purpose.

Robots exist to be useful, they will not be kept around if they cannot do their job.

And I'm going to add a third type of artificial being, frankenstein's monsters/flesh golems, which usually exist as an experiment either to find out if they can be made or as a step on the way to something else. They're neither loved like dolls nor useful in the sense robots are, although their bodies can be used by their creators.

In LoL lore pre-Arcane different characters are associated with each of these and therefore the relevant tropes. Orianna is a doll because her father (not Singed in this version) loved her too much to let her go. She also wonders whether she is the original Orianna or just a copy sharing her memories.

Singed is associated with flesh golems, particularly Warwick, experimenting on others in his quest for immortality.

Viktor is associated with robots. He builds a literal robot, Blitzcrank, with the job of cleaning up Zaun. He also wants to be a robot (not, in this version, due to being terminally ill) and, while doing it to himself means he has agency and doesn't fully fall into robot tropes, dealing with Zaun's problems does seem to be a task he's assigning himself. He also puts people in robot bodies in an attempt to preserve their minds (the equivalent of the commune scene) and thinks people should become robots. Despite not seeming willing to force people to become machines against their will he does believe free will is a harmful illusion, so the lack of autonomy robots have remains relevant and seems to be part of the appeal for him.

In LoL these characters remain largely separate, in Arcane they're brought into one blended story. The tropes associated with each character become mingled and changed by this. For instance, Viktor’s followers become doll-like rather than robotic because they are now the precursors to Orianna, but this also implies different tropes for Viktor. If he is making his followers into dolls, ornate and unique dolls at that, it implies not that he wants them to be useful but that he loves them.

The followers at the commune do have jobs, but the commune is for their benefit rather than them doing jobs to serve others who are not robots/dolls. They have beautiful homes and the commune is a beautiful place, Viktor caring for them even as he takes their autonomy. There's also a childish aspect to this, as Jayce and Viktor are both at their most dangerous when they are most immature. Jayce makes the hammer based on a childhood drawing of himself as a superhero. Viktor spends season two with a security blanket and an imaginary friend and a garden full of dolls.

Singed creates Warwick, but is also the one who will ressurect Orianna. She is a doll because he loves her, doll-like even before her ressurection, preserved in a glass case, tended and tucked in. Warwick is a monster because he is only an experiment on the way to ressurecting Orianna, used without remorse as both resource and weapon. Singed becomes a character who is not only capable of both love and ruthlessness, but for whom they go hand in hand, one driven by the other.

Viktor's own body is not entirely like, nor entirely unlike, any of these things. It is the site of a struggle over autonomy and the many ways people try to take it from him. He is a doll like Orianna, brought back by someone who loves him too much to let him go and who takes his autonomy in the process. He is Singed's experiment like Warwick, a resource to raise Orianna, although less directly since Singed encourages him to experiment on himself rather than forcing him. He is treated like a robot by Piltover, allowed to stay, which means allowed to live, as long as he is useful and continues to tie his worth to what he can do when he tries to do something for Zaun.

Ultimately, though, his final form transcends all these things, more like a god than a machine, more creator than created. He becomes something no one can stop, someone who can never have his autonomy taken again.

Even as he takes everyone else's.

#arcane #rambling #i feel like I'm onto something here #and also like I explain it poorly #the frankenstein's monster label needs to be better defined #but I can't leave it out #oh also jinx but she breaks the pattern #she's brought back for love but is monster more than doll #so maybe I'm seeing things after all #on the other hand there are the dolls she makes #real dolls because she doesn't want to let go of the dead

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scotianostra · 5 months ago

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January 27th 1974 the Greek sugar-carrying merchant navy ship Captayannis dragged it’s anchor and capsized on the Firth of Clyde between Greenock and Helensburgh.

The 4,567-ton 'sugar boat’ got into trouble on the night of January 27, when a fierce storm hit.

The vessel had dropped anchor at the Tail of the Bank, with a cargo of sugar from Lourenco Marques in Portuguese East Africa, and waited for high tide to offload it at the James Watt Dock sugar terminal for processing at Tate & Lyle’s Westburn Refinery.

However, a severe gale hit the west coast, with winds of more than 60mph, and the Captayannis began to drag anchor.

Captain Theodorakis Ionnis ordered the engine to be started, intending to make for the more sheltered waters of the Gare Loch.

Also anchored at the Tail of the Bank, however, was the 36,754 ton BP tanker British Light, recently arrived from Elderslie dry dock.

Before the Captayannis could power-up, the gale blew her towards the tanker, and, although the two vessels didn’t touch, the tanker’s anchor chain ripped through the passing Captayannis’ hull.

Seawater immediately started pouring in, and the pumps couldn’t cope.

The captain made for the sandbank to try to ground his ship, but, when he reached it, the profile of the hull meant the vessel wasn’t stable and began to heel over to port.

This resulted in all power being lost, and the Captayannis eventually settled port side down on the sandbank.

The crew were rescued, without injury, by the tug Labrador and the MV Rover of Clyde Marine Services.

By 10am on January 28, wreckage from the ship had already been washed ashore at Helensburgh.

The vessel has lain in the same spot since the sinking and is not considered a hazard to navigation.

She remains unable to be removed due to a wrangle between her owners and insurers, and plans to have her blown up were shelved due to fears over damage to the nearby Ardmore Point bird sanctuary.

The locals don't seem to mind the wreck lying there as it became a popular attraction for young fishermen and even tourists, a Bistro on Colquhoun Square, Helensburgh even bears the name Sugarboat. Through time Captayannis has become 'home' to marine life and birds, the wreck is even visible on satellite and is tagged on Google Earth. Some local boat firm has also started selling tours out to the wreck.

#scotland #scottish #history #ship wreck

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mariacallous · 15 days ago

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On a 5K screen in Kirkland, Washington, four terminals blur with activity as artificial intelligence generates thousands of lines of code. Steve Yegge, a veteran software engineer who previously worked at Google and AWS, sits back to watch.

“This one is running some tests, that one is coming up with a plan. I am now coding on four different projects at once, although really I’m just burning tokens,” Yegge says, referring to the cost of generating chunks of text with a large language model (LLM).

Learning to code has long been seen as the ticket to a lucrative, secure career in tech. Now, the release of advanced coding models from firms like OpenAI, Anthropic, and Google threatens to upend that notion entirely. X and Bluesky are brimming with talk of companies downsizing their developer teams—or even eliminating them altogether.

When ChatGPT debuted in late 2022, AI models were capable of autocompleting small portions of code—a helpful, if modest step forward that served to speed up software development. As models advanced and gained “agentic” skills that allow them to use software programs, manipulate files, and access online services, engineers and non-engineers alike started using the tools to build entire apps and websites. Andrej Karpathy, a prominent AI researcher, coined the term “vibe coding” in February, to describe the process of developing software by prompting an AI model with text.

The rapid progress has led to speculation—and even panic—among developers, who fear that most development work could soon be automated away, in what would amount to a job apocalypse for engineers.

“We are not far from a world—I think we’ll be there in three to six months—where AI is writing 90 percent of the code,” Dario Amodei, CEO of Anthropic, said at a Council on Foreign Relations event in March. “And then in 12 months, we may be in a world where AI is writing essentially all of the code,” he added.

But many experts warn that even the best models have a way to go before they can reliably automate a lot of coding work. While future advancements might unleash AI that can code just as well as a human, until then relying too much on AI could result in a glut of buggy and hackable code, as well as a shortage of developers with the knowledge and skills needed to write good software.

David Autor, an economist at MIT who studies how AI affects employment, says it’s possible that software development work will be automated—similar to how transcription and translation jobs are quickly being replaced by AI. He notes, however, that advanced software engineering is much more complex and will be harder to automate than routine coding.

Autor adds that the picture may be complicated by the “elasticity” of demand for software engineering—the extent to which the market might accommodate additional engineering jobs.

“If demand for software were like demand for colonoscopies, no improvement in speed or reduction in costs would create a mad rush for the proctologist's office,” Autor says. “But if demand for software is like demand for taxi services, then we may see an Uber effect on coding: more people writing more code at lower prices, and lower wages.”

Yegge’s experience shows that perspectives are evolving. A prolific blogger as well as coder, Yegge was previously doubtful that AI would help produce much code. Today, he has been vibe-pilled, writing a book called Vibe Coding with another experienced developer, Gene Kim, that lays out the potential and the pitfalls of the approach. Yegge became convinced that AI would revolutionize software development last December, and he has led a push to develop AI coding tools at his company, Sourcegraph.

“This is how all programming will be conducted by the end of this year,” Yegge predicts. “And if you're not doing it, you're just walking in a race.”

The Vibe-Coding Divide

Today, coding message boards are full of examples of mobile apps, commercial websites, and even multiplayer games all apparently vibe-coded into being. Experienced coders, like Yegge, can give AI tools instructions and then watch AI bring complex ideas to life.

Several AI-coding startups, including Cursor and Windsurf have ridden a wave of interest in the approach. (OpenAI is widely rumored to be in talks to acquire Windsurf).

At the same time, the obvious limitations of generative AI, including the way models confabulate and become confused, has led many seasoned programmers to see AI-assisted coding—and especially gung-ho, no-hands vibe coding—as a potentially dangerous new fad.

Martin Casado, a computer scientist and general partner at Andreessen Horowitz who sits on the board of Cursor, says the idea that AI will replace human coders is overstated. “AI is great at doing dazzling things, but not good at doing specific things,” he said.

Still, Casado has been stunned by the pace of recent progress. “I had no idea it would get this good this quick,” he says. “This is the most dramatic shift in the art of computer science since assembly was supplanted by higher-level languages.”

Ken Thompson, vice president of engineering at Anaconda, a company that provides open source code for software development, says AI adoption tends to follow a generational divide, with younger developers diving in and older ones showing more caution. For all the hype, he says many developers still do not trust AI tools because their output is unpredictable, and will vary from one day to the next, even when given the same prompt. “The nondeterministic nature of AI is too risky, too dangerous,” he explains.

Both Casado and Thompson see the vibe-coding shift as less about replacement than abstraction, mimicking the way that new languages like Python build on top of lower-level languages like C, making it easier and faster to write code. New languages have typically broadened the appeal of programming and increased the number of practitioners. AI could similarly increase the number of people capable of producing working code.

Bad Vibes

Paradoxically, the vibe-coding boom suggests that a solid grasp of coding remains as important as ever. Those dabbling in the field often report running into problems, including introducing unforeseen security issues, creating features that only simulate real functionality, accidentally running up high bills using AI tools, and ending up with broken code and no idea how to fix it.

“AI [tools] will do everything for you—including fuck up,” Yegge says. “You need to watch them carefully, like toddlers.”

The fact that AI can produce results that range from remarkably impressive to shockingly problematic may explain why developers seem so divided about the technology. WIRED surveyed programmers in March to ask how they felt about AI coding, and found that the proportion who were enthusiastic about AI tools (36 percent) was mirrored by the portion who felt skeptical (38 percent).

“Undoubtedly AI will change the way code is produced,” says Daniel Jackson, a computer scientist at MIT who is currently exploring how to integrate AI into large-scale software development. “But it wouldn't surprise me if we were in for disappointment—that the hype will pass.”

Jackson cautions that AI models are fundamentally different from the compilers that turn code written in a high-level language into a lower-level language that is more efficient for machines to use, because they don’t always follow instructions. Sometimes an AI model may take an instruction and execute better than the developer—other times it might do the task much worse.

Jackson adds that vibe coding falls down when anyone is building serious software. “There are almost no applications in which ‘mostly works’ is good enough,” he says. “As soon as you care about a piece of software, you care that it works right.”

Many software projects are complex, and changes to one section of code can cause problems elsewhere in the system. Experienced programmers are good at understanding the bigger picture, Jackson says, but “large language models can't reason their way around those kinds of dependencies.”

Jackson believes that software development might evolve with more modular codebases and fewer dependencies to accommodate AI blind spots. He expects that AI may replace some developers but will also force many more to rethink their approach and focus more on project design.

Too much reliance on AI may be “a bit of an impending disaster,” Jackson adds, because “not only will we have masses of broken code, full of security vulnerabilities, but we'll have a new generation of programmers incapable of dealing with those vulnerabilities.”

Learn to Code

Even firms that have already integrated coding tools into their software development process say the technology remains far too unreliable for wider use.

Christine Yen, CEO at Honeycomb, a company that provides technology for monitoring the performance of large software systems, says that projects that are simple or formulaic, like building component libraries, are more amenable to using AI. Even so, she says the developers at her company who use AI in their work have only increased their productivity by about 50 percent.

Yen adds that for anything requiring good judgement, where performance is important, or where the resulting code touches sensitive systems or data, “AI just frankly isn't good enough yet to be additive.”

“The hard part about building software systems isn't just writing a lot of code,” she says. “Engineers are still going to be necessary, at least today, for owning that curation, judgment, guidance and direction.”

Others suggest that a shift in the workforce is coming. “We are not seeing less demand for developers,” says Liad Elidan, CEO of Milestone, a company that helps firms measure the impact of generative AI projects. “We are seeing less demand for average or low-performing developers.”

“If I'm building a product, I could have needed 50 engineers and now maybe I only need 20 or 30,” says Naveen Rao, VP of AI at Databricks, a company that helps large businesses build their own AI systems. “That is absolutely real.”

Rao says, however, that learning to code should remain a valuable skill for some time. “It’s like saying ‘Don't teach your kid to learn math,’” he says. Understanding how to get the most out of computers is likely to remain extremely valuable, he adds.

Yegge and Kim, the veteran coders, believe that most developers can adapt to the coming wave. In their book on vibe coding, the pair recommend new strategies for software development including modular code bases, constant testing, and plenty of experimentation. Yegge says that using AI to write software is evolving into its own—slightly risky—art form. “It’s about how to do this without destroying your hard disk and draining your bank account,” he says.

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queenshelby · 1 year ago

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Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 51: Mother

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Miscarriage

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

A week had passed and, just as you slowly recovered from your miscarriage, your excitement grew to see your mother again for the first time in over 15 years.

Although you struggled with mixed feelings—anger, resentment, and fear—the overwhelming desire to reconcile with her prevailed.

After all, she was your biological mother, the person who bore you in her womb and gave you life. The knowledge was impossible to ignore, and as Cillian held you close, you couldn't help but fantasize about finally having a mother figure back in your life.

By this point, you had already spoken on the phone and you learned that the authorities in the US had separated you from her during the immigration process. Neither of you had a visa at the time and while she was being deported, you were placed into the Forster care system where you struggled to cope.

Over the years, she searched tirelessly for you, desperately trying to track you down and bring you back into her life.

For years, she lived in hope that fate would reunite you but she never found out where you were until she saw a photograph of you in one a magazine, attending an event with Cillian.

The article claimed that you were lovers and this revelation shocked her. Shocked because it meant that you were alive and, most importantly, safe. Overwrought with grief, she reached out to Cillian's agent who ignored her emails, thinking that this was a hoax and then she spent all of her savings to fly to New York and attend his premiere, hoping that you would accompany him.

Unfortunately for her, however, you didn't. You had to remain in Ireland as your spousal visa was being assessed, leaving her to approach Cillian instead.

Cillian was also the one who was picking her up from the airport a week later now seeing that you were still dealing with the aftermath of your miscarriage and weren't allowed to drive.

He drove you to the airport early morning to pick her up, and you were struck by how much your nerves resembled a tight knot in your stomach.

The memory of your last encounter with her—a tearful goodbye inside the US Detention Centre where you were left behind—haunted you, and you grappled with conflicting emotions. Anger, sadness, longing, and fear wrestled within you.

"Hey, breathe," Cillian whispered soothingly, sensing your anxiety. "Remember, she loves you just as much as you love her," he reminded you, placing a comforting hand on your knee. "She didn't abandon you and you will be able to reconnect now," he assured you, the warmth of his touch radiating through your jeans.

"I know, I know," you stammered before taking a deep breath and focusing on the task ahead.

"Good," Cillian nodded, his expression filled with support and understanding. He knew better than to push you any further, allowing you to gather your strength for the encounter.

As the car approached the terminal, your palms began to sweat, and your heart raced with trepidation. A feeling of unease washed over you, and your stomach churned with anticipation.

You gripped the armrests of the passenger seat, clenching your fists tighter and tighter as you stared out the window at the bustling crowd rushing past.

"Okay, I'm going to park the car in the long-term parking lot," Cillian announced, breaking the silence as he maneuvered the vehicle into a vacant spot. "We can wait for her at arrivals," he added, turning off the engine.

"Sounds good," you mumbled, reluctantly unbuckling your seatbelt, your legs stiff and heavy.

You knew full well that no amount of preparation could prepare you for this moment. Nevertheless, you had to face it.

Stepping out of the car, you felt the crisp autumn air hit your face.

The weather was cold, but it did not dampen the intensity of the situation, only adding to the mounting anticipation.

"Let's go," said Cillian, reaching for your hand.

His grasp was firm and reassuring, his knuckles tensing beneath your touch.

You laced your fingers firmly with his, allowing the connection to strengthen your resolve.

The walk seemed endless as you followed Cillian towards the arrival hall.

The sound of people chattering surrounded you, and their faces blurred into indistinguishable masses.

You focused on the ticking clock above the information board, watching the minute hand move in slow motion. Each second dragged on, stretching the seconds into eternity. Your heart echoed loudly in your ears, pounding relentlessly against your ribcage.

"Don't worry, she'll be here soon, and you will get to know each other again. It will be fine," Cillian murmured in your ear, pressing a kiss against your temple. His lips were warm and comforting, providing solace amid the chaos surrounding you.

You nodded, your throat constricting, making it difficult to speak. You scanned the crowded airport lounge, searching for a glimpse of your mother.

Your pulse quickened every time someone caught your eye, mistaking them for her. But each time, your heart sank a bit lower.

Cillian squeezed your hand, offering a comforting squeeze. "She's going to be here, Y/N," he whispered, his tone filled with confidence. "Just give it some more time," he urged, urging you to stay patient.

The tension within you mounted as you waited, and your impatience grew stronger with each passing second. Finally, you spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Your heartbeat accelerated, and you instinctively clutched Cillian's hand tighter. "There she is I think," you whispered, pointing at her.

Cillian turned around, and his gaze followed your finger. "Yes, that's defiantly her," he confirmed.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel the lump forming in your throat. Your palms began to sweat, and the butterflies in your stomach intensified. The realization that this was truly happening consumed you, threatening to break down the barriers you had erected all these years.

"It's going to be grand," Cillian whispered, his grip tightening around your hand. "Just relax," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the din of the crowd as you watched your mother walking toward you, dressed in a simple, elegant outfit, carrying a single suitcase.

She looked different from the woman in the photo, but the resemblance was unmistakable. The same bright eyes, the delicate nose, and full lips. Time had taken its toll, but the essence of the loving mother you remembered remained.

The distance between you narrowed, the gap closing faster with each step she took. You watched as her eyes flicked nervously between you and Cillian, her gaze darting to your hand intertwined with his.

"Hi," you called out tentatively, waving a shaky hand. The mere utterance of the word "hi" unleashed a torrent of raw emotions coursing through you. Your breath faltered, and your voice cracked under the weight of suppressed feelings.

Your mother stopped mid stride, her eyes widening in recognition before tearing up completely.

"Y/N!" she cried out, her voice shaking with emotion. "My baby girl," she sobbed in Spanish, hastening towards you, her suitcase forgotten by her side.

Cillian released your hand, stepping aside to allow space for the reunion. He watched with a swelling heart as you stepped forward, meeting your mother halfway.

Her face contorted with grief, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she threw herself into your arms. "I got you back," she wailed, hugging you tightly.

You closed your eyes, letting the scent of her perfume fill your senses. It was a mixture of lavender and vanilla, a scent that instantly brought a sense of nostalgia and comfort. You breathed deeply, taking in the moment, savoring the warmth of her embrace.

"Mum," you managed to utter, your voice hoarse and weak. "I...," you whispered, unable to form a sentence, holding her even tighter. She reciprocated the gesture, her tears soaking your shoulder.

"It's okay sweetie. I never forgot about you," she confessed, her voice quivering. "I dreamed that one day I would hold you in my arms again," she continued, clutching you tightly. "I never gave up," she added, squeezing you tightly.

"I know," you cried, releasing her but holding her hands in yours.

"Oh, my darling," she murmured, her eyes brimming with tears.

"I missed you so much," she whispered, wrapping her arms around you tightly.

"Look at you," she marveled, gazing at you admiringly. "You're so beautiful," she praised, her voice quivering with emotion. "I cannot believe how grown up you are. A beautiful young woman," she added, her voice wavering.

"Thanks, Mum," you responded shyly, looking down at your feet. "And you haven't changed at all," you smiled, noticing her radiant smile. "Save for a few wrinkles here and there," you teased, pointing at her forehead.

"Of course, I have aged, mi hija," she chuckled, patting you affectionately on the back before turning towards Cillian and giving him a quick hug also.

"Thank you, Cillian," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "For bringing me to my daughter, "she added, her eyes welling up with gratitude.

"You're welcome," Cillian replied confidently, his posture erect and proud. "I would do anything for Y/N," he added, flashing a grin at you.

"That's true actually. He so would," you chuckled, smiling at Cillian.

"So, shall we head home?" Cillian asked, breaking the spellbinding silence between you and your mom as he noticed how some people were taking photographs of him, which was always something that was bothersome for you both.

"Yes," your mother agreed, nodding eagerly. "I would love to see where my daughter lives these days," she said to you, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she tried hard to communicate in English.

"I've been dreaming of this moment for so long," she added, her voice quivering with emotion as Cillian reached for her suitcase and led the way towards the parking lot.

***

Half an hour later, you arrived at your new home by the coast, a spacious house with a nice garden near the beach.

Cillian parked the car in the driveway before helping your mother with her luggage.

"We only just moved in together, so I hope you like it," you told her shyly before walking her inside, which is when, immediately, her jaw dropped.

"Wow, it's absolutely gorgeous," your mother exclaimed, her eyes scanning the entire length of the house, awestruck.

"Isn't it?" you chimed in, leading her inside. "This is the living room and there is another one upstairs, like an entertaining area or something," you pointed, gesturing towards the cozy seating area with plush couches, bookshelves and large windows overlooking the ocean.

"And when I'm done decorating, I promise it'll be even better," you giggled, seeing that the house still contained some rather dated features.

"It's a big house for just the two of you though, isn't it?" she commented, her eyes wandering around the spacious rooms. "I mean, there would be plenty of room for some children, don't you think?" she suggested playfully, her eyes twinkling with delight, causing your heart to drop.

You had not told your mother that you had not one, but two unplanned pregnancies, both of which ended in miscarriage.

The thought of bringing such pain and loss into her life seemed cruel, especially considering the circumstances of your reunion. Besides, you had yet to fully come to terms with what happened yourself.

"Can I make you a cup of tea?" you thus offered, ignoring her question while Cillian stood there, not knowing what was being said between you in Spanish.

"That would be lovely," your mother said, not pressing you on the matter. "I will put my stuff away first though," she noted, indicating the hallway where her suitcase lay.

Cillian raised her suitcase, holding it aloft with ease and walked it to her bedroom on the ground floor.

Your mother trailed behind him, peering curiously at the interior design while you busied yourself in the kitchen preparing tea.

"Thank you for taking care of my little angel," she murmured appreciatively, setting her belongings down gently. "She seems very happy here, with you," she observed, looking at Cillian intently.

"It's my pleasure," Cillian replied earnestly, his gaze locked onto your mother. "She is everything to me," he confided, his voice softening. "And I love her a lot," he insisted, his eyes glistening with sincerity.

"I am glad to hear that," your mother commented, studying Cillian closely.

"I can tell you're a good man," she added, observing your bond. "She's lucky to have you," she concluded, smiling broadly.

"Thank you," Cillian replied humbly, his eyes lingering on you. "She makes me feel incredibly happy," he admitted quietly, glancing briefly at your mother before looking away, seemingly embarrassed.

"You're welcome, my dear," your mother cooed softly, reaching out to caress Cillian's cheek before he disappeared to give her some privacy.

To be continued...

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