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theonlyonesora · 12 days ago

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The Man Who Married Me

PAIRING: Lewis Hamilton x Reader x Max Verstappen

CH – 06

The apartment on the outskirts of Brackley was small but clean, modern, and quiet—everything you needed to function without distraction. You’d stayed in it every season, before the promotion, before the engagement, before Lewis.

Now, it felt like neutral ground. A place to just be. No history. No expectations. Just work.

Trial week had begun, and Lewis was already back in Maranello. The silence between texts was longer this time. You told yourself it was normal—he was busy. Focused. He’d said he missed you when he left. Kissed your forehead. Hugged you like it still meant something.

Still… you hadn’t reached for your phone in hours.

At Mercedes HQ, the mood had shifted. There was an energy in the air that hadn’t been there in a while—hopeful, electric. And much of it came from the two men currently joking across the garage bay: Max Verstappen and Kimi Antonelli.

Kimi, the prodigy. Young. Razor-sharp. Bright-eyed but quiet. Max? Calm. Patient. Surprising.

You stood just behind a workstation, arms crossed, watching as they reviewed telemetry on a shared screen, their heads tilted close, expressions lit with that unmistakable spark of passion only real racers had.

Kimi estava sorrindo — sorrindo , o que raramente acontecia sem capacete. E Max? Ele estava provocando-o. De leve. Gentilmente. Encorajando.

The moment caught you off guard. Você não esperava isso dele.

He looked so at ease. So grounded. His presence wasn’t loud or arrogant—it was quiet strength, like he’d grown into something steadier than the firebrand who had nearly torn a championship from your husband’s hands years ago.

Maybe it was because of Kelly’s daughter. You remembered reading once that he was close to the little girl—like a father, even if unofficially. That softness wasn’t what people showed on the track or in press conferences, but here, watching him laugh quietly with a seventeen-year-old driver, it made sense.

You leaned in slightly, catching a bit of their exchange.

“She’s got this exact habit,” Max was saying, pointing at a graph. “Turns in early, like she’s afraid the grip’s gonna disappear. You’ve got to trust the car more in that corner.”

Kimi frowned. “I am trusting it.”

Max smirked. “Then your data’s lying.”

Kimi rolled his eyes. “Or you are.”

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. Max turned slightly, like he felt it—and saw you.

His eyes met yours across the bay.

He didn’t smile, but his gaze lingered. A flicker of acknowledgment. A quiet connection.

You gave him a small nod. Nothing more. And when he turned back to the data, your heart beat just a little too fast for a conversation that hadn’t even happened.

The rest of the afternoon passed in smoth rhythm—meetings, data reviews, a debrief where Max answered questions like he’d been part of the team for years. Kimi sat beside him like a younger brother finding his footing, and you couldn’t help the pride that swelled in your chest.

Your team felt like a team again.

E pela primeira vez… você não se sentiu sozinho.

Later that night, you sat alone on theapartment balcony, a cup of tea warming your hands, your phone silent beside you. You thought of Lewis. Of the way his mouth had pressed to your skin that night. Of the ache that came after.

You just… weren’t ready. Not to be alone with your thoughts. Not to wonder where he was.

Still, it felt like something you needed to do. Check in. Reconnect. Reground. You were trying. You were.

You curled up on the sofa, pulled your laptop onto your lap, and dialed.

Lewis – Video Call. The screen rang twice. Then connected.

He was lying back in a bed. Shirtless. Golden skin glowing in the soft lamplight. His braids were loose, shoulders relaxed—but his eyes flicked sideways off-screen for a split second, and your stomach dropped.

“Hey, honey,” he said, his voice soft. Too soft.

“Hey,” you replied, eyes narrowing.

“You good?” he asked, like everything was normal.

You nodded slowly, eyes scanning the screen. His bedside table had two glasses—one lipstick-stained. His phone was face-down. And then you heard it:

A woman’s voice. Faint, muffled. Laughing.

Your pulse spiked. Your chest hollowed.

“What was that?” you asked, already knowing.

He shifted. “What was what?”

“Don’t insult me, Lewis.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at you, caught between defiance and shame.

You leaned forward, voice sharp now. “You haven’t even been there two full weeks. And you’re already—already—”

He sat up straighter, jaw tense. “We agreed—”

“No,” you snapped, “you suggested. I agreed because I thought I didn’t have a choice.” You laughed bitterly. “Guess I was right.”

“[Y/N]—”

You shook your head. “I’m not doing this. Not tonight.”

And before he could offer some half-excuse, some placating we said no emotions or you knew what this was, you hit End Call.

The screen went black. So did everything inside you.

You sat there in the dark for a long time. Not crying. Not moving.

Just… frozen.

And when your phone buzzed a few minutes later, his name lighting up again, you didn’t answer.

Because in that moment, one thing became painfully clear: You were still playing by the rules of a marriage, But Lewis? He’d already left the game.

TAG LIST: @virtualperfectioncat, @starrgir1

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kanyerealdaughter · 1 month ago

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— ★ BLEACH MEN IN THE MOTHERLAND PT II

characters - shunsui , jushiro , kisuke , ryuken , starrk , mayuri , szayelaporro , grimmjow , nnoitra , tsukishima , ulquiorra , toshiro , as ndot , jugram , askin , bazz b. | pt I here! | all around the world event! |

—————————————————————————

SHUNSUI KYORAKU - moves like wind through silk easy, soft, familiar. his hat shades his eyes, but not the warmth in them. people gather around him like shade trees. he never demands attention, but always earns it.

safari reaction - “ they nap in the sun. my kind of people.” laughs as giraffes stare back. tips his hat at one. gets caught watching the sunset, silent for once.

food experience - eats slowly, savoring every bite. “ love in every spice.” shares sake with the cook after the meal, bonds immediately. teaches kids how to slice fruit.

cultural experience - dances with the elders like he’s been here forever. helps build a cooking pit, humming softly. its with a young storyteller and listens like her words are gold.

—————————————————————————

JUSHIRO UKITAKE - walks like the earth is sacred. calm, present, patient. the illness seems to vanish in the dry warmth. people gravitate to him not out of pity, but out of trust.

safari reaction - watches quietly, a peaceful smile on his face. points out birds to children, names each one. it’s humbling… how freely they live.”

food experience - praises the chef before tasting anything. eats slowly, respectfully. asks for recipes. he shares herbal remedies in exchange for mutual knowledge.

cultural experience - helps a healer sort herbs and poultices. offers.to read stories to children under a baobab tree. cries quietly during a song, tells no one why.

—————————————————————————

KISUKE URAHARA - doesn’t walk, he wanders. hat tilted, fan snapping open and shut. be’s studying, but with mischief in his eyes. people don’t know whether to trust him.

safari reaction - he sticks his head out the jeep to feel the wind. pulls out a sketchpad mid-ride.

“ inspiration strikes.”

food experience - compliments the chef dramatically. “ you’ve captured my soul.” eats like he’s trying to memorize every flavor.

sneaks seconds, then teaches a kid sleight-of-hand tricks with fruit.

cultural experience - gets pulled into a crafting circle charms, beads, riddles. barters for a handmade knife using candy and a poem.

—————————————————————————

RYUKEN ISHIDA - moves like a man out of place by choice. clothes pressed. sleeves rolled. emotion sealed tight behind cold eyes. but africa doesn’t ask for your smile. asks for presence. he gives it.

safari reaction - watches the predators closely. “ efficient.” doesn’t speak unless prompted when he does, it’s precise. stares at the vultures a little too long.

food experience - tries one bite. nods once. eats everything without complaint. quietly hands a compliment to the chef, perfectly pronounced.

cultural experience - repairs medical equipment without being asked. lectures local teens on precision then fixes their bicycles. hands a child a book before they even ask. “ knowledge first.”

—————————————————————————

COYOTE STARRK - he drifts away. animals don’t flee from him. people don’t push him. he’s just there, soft-spoken, unreachable, and strangely calming.

safari reaction - honestly he sleeps through half of it, then wakes up to say. “ hyenas are funny.” one lion stares at him too. he stares back.

food experience - only eats a little then shares the rest with the local kids and they’re more then glad to take it. says “thank you” in their language before each meal.

leans back with a satisfied sigh. “ it’s enough.”

cultural experience - lets children braid his hair without comment. sits beside the oldest man in the village, never speaking. when he finally says “ thank you.” it’s with his whole chest.

—————————————————————————

MAYURI KUROTSUCHI - walks like he’s collecting data with every step not a tourist, not a guest. a researcher. he stares at the red soil, the wild life, the skies and murmurs to himself in excited calculation. the sun doesn’t bother him, he simply adjusts his hat, tilts his head, and whispers. “ fascinating.”

safari reaction - gawks at the insects more than the lions. “ do you see this exoskeleton? extraordinary.” nearly tries to collect a beetle for study. you have to stop him.

refers to giraffes as “ decently structured oddities.”

food experience - pokes at the dishes with chopsticks he pulled from his sleeve. “ curious fermentation. primitive but effective.” eventually eats a whole spicy stew without blinking, analyzing every bite.

“ i must replicate this dish with soul Society bacteria strains.”

cultural experience - intrudes on a drum-making session to ask about the tensile strength of the materials.

the locals are confused, some amused but he gains their respect by repairing a broken tool with strange materials from his coat. that night, he documents every interaction aloud while you try to sleep.

“ they are simple… but functional. like the first prototypes of the gikongan.”

—————————————————————————

SZAYELAPORRO GRANZ - glides through the landscape like the world is his laboratory, and he’s unimpressed “ dust, heat, untapped DNA… how deliciously raw.” he smirks. he wears all white despite the dust. doesn’t get a speck on him. not one.

safari reaction - doesn’t care for the elephants until one flaps its ears and startles him.

“ hmph. large, inefficient. but intimidating… i’ll note that.” pulls out a notebook and sketches a bird’s talon.

“ potential inspiration for a new hollow trap.”

food experience - nibbles delicately, like he’s above it all. but then samples a grilled meat with a glazed stare.

“ hmm.. savage… but intriguing. there’s chemistry in this.” asks f he can bottle the marinade and bring it back to hueco mundo.

cultural experience - enters a fabric-dyeing hut and immediately critiques the pigments.

“ primitive. yet… passionate.” one of the artists lets him design a scarf, he makes it overly symmetrical, unsettlingly perfect. he gifts it to you with a grin.

“ to commemorate my brief flirtation with imperfection.”

—————————————————————————

GRIMMJOW JAEGERJAQUEZ - charges into africa like it’s a battleground. oud, arrogant, thrilling. but something about the open sky and untamed wild starts to calm him just a little.

safari reaction - tries to growl back at a lion. laughs when it ignores him. “ if i lived here, i’d be king.”

food experience - “ spicy? good. painful? better.” takes it as a challenge, eats until he sweats. ends up helping wash dishes while arguing about meat cuts.

cultural experience - gets dragged into a dance circle. refuses. then wins it. joins boys in stick fighting games and gets wayy too competitive.

grins the whole night. “ this place? kinda sick.

—————————————————————————

daddy i mean- NNOITRA GILGA - walks like he owns the dust. loud, very loud. he scowls at the heat but never slows down. the locals tease him he scowls harder. they braid his hair anyway.

safari reaction - laughs at vultures. “ ugly little bastards.” you side eye him. watches lions tear meat apart. doesn’t flinch. “ kill or be killed. my kind of place.”

an ostrich struts too close to him just stands there, staring. he stares back, slowly lowering his shades.

“ the hell you lookin’ at?” the animal walks away. he mutters. “ damn right.” *i giggle while writing this*

food experience - complains. tries it. says nothing. cleans the plate. argues about spice levels with the chef. he pointed at something you looked at that way, seeing nothing strange. what you didn’t notice is that he took a piece of meat off your plate.

he huffs seeing a young girl staring at his plate before letting the little girl steal the last piece off his plate. he doesn’t stop her.

cultural experience - locals redo his braid their way. “ tighter. neater.” pretend to hate it. doesn’t take it out. kids follow him around giggling. he calls them “pests.” carries one on his shoulders.

—————————————————————————

TSUKISHIMA SHUKURO - walks like the dust parts for him poised, deliberate, a page from a story you weren’t told. he smiles, polite and sharp, like he already knows how the trip ends.

safari reaction - remains calm, hands folded neatly behind his back. namee every animal in perfect order. the guide is impressed.

“ i’ve read extensively.” he says, but it feels like he’s lived it.

food experience - eats slowly, appreciatively. compliments each dish by name. asks how to make one sauce then prepares it better the next day.

“ i’ve always had a fondness for memory through flavor.”

cultural experience - joins elders weaving traditional cloth, they say he’s too good. tells a folk tale mid-conversation. no one taught it to him. leaves behind a book filled with pressed flowers and translated proverbs.

—————————————————————————

ULQUIORRA CIFER - stands still long enough for dust to settle on his shoulders. the animals don’t fear him. the people don’t either. he belongs to the silence here not threatening, but present.

safari reaction - watches vultures feeding. stares at the horizon until you touches his arm.

“ there is life here. even in death.”

food experience - accepts everything. eats without comment. finishes all. later, says to the cook. “ this was nourishing.” it matters. leaves an apple on a child’s seat without a word.

cultural experience - doesn’t speak, but helps carry firewood without prompting. watches a funeral dance from a distance, eyes unreadable.

says one word all night. “ beautiful.”

—————————————————————————

TOSHIRO HITSUGAYA - walks like the heat is a personal insult. his brow stays furrowed, arms crossed but he’s watching everything. the elders call him “child.”

safari reaction - stays quiet, clearly annoyed by the sun. perks at the sight of a white lion. stares at the animal the whole time.

food experience - hesitates at first, then eats everything, nodding slowly. doesn’t speak until he’s finished. “ it was… very good.” later asks the chef quietly how they got the texture right.

cultural experience - watches the youth playing hand drums, intrigued but stiff. he ends up teaching them precise snowflake folding with paper.

they call him “ ice child.” he acts like he hates it.

—————————————————————————

ÄS NDÖT - moves like a shadow that forgot to be afraid of the sun. he doesn’t speak unless necessary. his presence is unnerving at first quiet, sharp, watching with hollow eyes, but the longer he stays, the more he begins to listen. and the land listens back.

he doesn’t belong here. but he doesn’t try to. he simply exists, thin as a breath, dark as dusk and somehow, that’s enough.

safari reaction - watches vultures circling. smiles, barely. sttares unblinking at the crocodiles. “ they don’t pretend to be kind.” sits alone at the riverbank until sunset, whispering to himself in german.

food experience - refuses food at first. says nothing, just declines. butlater, eats a single roasted root. stares at it long after. “ they grew this with hope,” he murmurs. “It’s hard to swallow.”

cultural experience - children run from him at first. he doesn’t follow. just bows once, silently. an old woman offers him a carved amulet against evil spirits. he takes it with both hands, reverently.

—————————————————————————

JUGRAM HASCHWALTH - moves like tradition incarnate, his gaze steady. he wears silence like a robe and discipline like a blade. the elders like im. the warriors respect him. the children don’t fear him, they follow him all the time.

safari reaction - observes predators with grave attentiveness. “ order among chaos.” silently places himself between others and a wandering baboon.

food experience - waits until others are served, then eats with perfect posture. compliments the chef formally, then again in their language.

refuses to let anyone clean for him. “ respect must be shown.”

cultural experience - joins in repairing ceremonial spears, doesn’t miss a step. trades techniques with local craftsmen both sides impressed. participates in a sunset ritual silently, eyes reflecting the firelight.

—————————————————————————

ASKIN NAKK LE VARR - strolls like he’s on vacation, hands in pockets, shades on, smirk easy. he jokes, he lounges, he drinks it in. the locals laugh with him then realize he’s smarter than he acts.

safari reaction - “ hm, that elephant got more presence than some sternritters.” makes commentary the whole time, half-snark, half awe. gets caught alone petting a baby antelope. denies it instantly.

food experience - “ i only eat what won’t kill meee.” then eats everything. flirts with the cook mid-bite. she flirts back. helps serve dessert, steals two portions. literally has no shame.

cultural experience - helps paint tribal masks with shocking precision. crashes a dance circle, steals the spotlight. gets gifted a nickname that means

“ sweet mouth” loves it.

—————————————————————————

BAZZ-B - moves like fire wants to follow him. Loud, bold, full of chaotic energy. be’s hot-headed, sure but there’s sincerity in everything he touches. people are drawn to him, even when they don’t understand him.

safari reaction - stands up in the jeep yelling, “ THAT’S A DAMN LION!” tries to out-roar a wildebeest. fails. the people in the keep laughs at him.

quietly impressed by how the land survives the heat. “ tough stuff.”

food experience - takes a massive bite without asking what it is. challenges three locals to a chili-eating contest. actual wins. let’s just say he definitely regret what he did. although he plays it off.

cultural experience - joins kids in building a bonfire, goes overboard. ends the night lying in the dirt, grinning. “ this place’s got soul.”

𖣂 KANYEREALDAUGHTER SPEAKS - uhh i feel like this one is way boring..

words - 2.1k

» , ᴀ ᴋᴀɴʏᴇʀᴇᴀʟᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

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beauiestars · 3 months ago

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OBI-WAN KENOBI - Scars of Age

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader {PART SEVENTEEN}

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: Slow burn, pining, source material inaccuracies, medical inaccuracies, semi-graphic violence, minor character death, semi-graphic blood/injury, vomiting (not explicit or recurring), moral dilemmas, betrayal…

Beau's Note: I'm only a little ashamed of how long it has been taking me to put out chapters... sorry for the wait!

One more thing: the time skips in this story may seem a little bit drastic, but I promise there is a method to my madness! If anything interesting happened in those years, I'd tell you. Pinky promise! Much love <3

Summary: They say time heals all wounds. But with the forces of the universe tearing them apart, can two childhood best friends rediscover their connection and find solace in each other once more?

Two Years Later...

It was strange how effortlessly life resumed its rhythm. You and Obi-Wan fell back into your familiar patterns, the same morning rituals, the same exchanges of dry wit over data pads and breakfast tables. Though both of you were often pulled in different directions by missions and Council business, it felt—on the surface—as though nothing had changed. As if what happened on Felucia two years ago had been quietly erased, smoothed over by time and the indifference of the Jedi Order.

But you hadn't forgotten. Not for a second.

The Order had moved on. The mission had been classified, buried in the archives, its consequences conveniently ignored. Yet for you, the aftermath lived on in moments of stillness, in the silence between your breaths.

Your devotion to the Jedi had been fractured. Though you remained in your position, played your part, and donned the same robes, something vital had withered within you. Outwardly, you were as reliable as ever. No one suspected that your mind often drifted far from the Temple walls.

Lord Sidious had contacted you only a handful of times since Felucia—three, maybe four. Each time, it was brief. Just a reminder to stay patient, to bide your time, to pass along minor intelligence. At first, you'd hesitated. You told yourself it was just information, nothing truly harmful. But now, you didn't hesitate. You didn't even flinch. Duplicity had woven itself into your nature, as naturally as breathing.

Somewhere deep down, you suspected that Sidious had something to do with why no one sensed the truth. Why even the most attuned Jedi, even Obi-Wan, never seemed to detect the shadow hanging over you. But you never asked. Some things were better left unquestioned.

Still, the lies stung the most when they were aimed at him.

Obi-Wan was perceptive—painfully so. Now and then, he'd catch a flicker of unrest in your aura, a stray thought slipping past your defences. He never pressed too hard, never accused. Just gave you that look—concern tempered by quiet frustration. You'd always brush him off with a tired smile and a vague excuse: stress, a bad dream, a mission gone sideways. He never fully believed you. But over time, he stopped asking. He accepted your distance with quiet resignation.

He had more important things to worry about.

There was unease across the galaxy—an undercurrent of tension that no longer lurked in the shadows. It had been growing steadily in recent years, gaining momentum, and now it was impossible to ignore. The Trade Federation's blockade of Naboo was only the most visible crack in a foundation already crumbling. Corruption festered within the Senate, where self-interest outweighed unity, and idealism had long since withered into rhetoric. Every world, every senator, every faction seemed to serve a different master.

The Republic was unravelling.

You could feel it in the Force, a deep, pulsing disturbance. Darkness stirred. It seeped into the Jedi Temple like a chill in the walls, not strong enough to declare itself, but always present. The Masters meditated longer. Conversations grew more guarded. Even the younglings whispered of unease, though they lacked the words to name it.

All around you, it felt as if the galaxy were holding its breath.

The shadows were no longer confined to the Outer Rim. Whatever was coming had long since taken root in neon-lit alleyways, in dealings on Coruscant's lower levels, and behind the polished doors of Senate chambers. It had even crept into private conversations within the Temple itself—those spoken in quiet corners and cloaked in doubt. What had once festered on the margins was now spreading, inexorably, into the heart of the Republic.

The divide was growing. War was no longer a distant possibility; it was a certainty that hadn't yet announced itself.

And you knew you would have a role to play.

Lord Sidious had not revealed his full design to you, but you sensed its shape. He moved with patience, orchestrating chaos from behind the veil of politics and tradition. His plans were vast, reaching into systems and allegiances you hadn't even begun to comprehend. But he would call on you soon. You could feel it.

The Republic was rotting from within. The Jedi Order, blind in its pride, could no longer see the cracks beneath its feet. Sidious would need you ready when the first tremors began. Time was running out.

So you obeyed. You followed every order from the Council with the same precision and poise that had defined your life in the Order. You walked the halls of the Temple as if everything were as it had always been. But you felt it—the countdown. Every mission, every report, every meditation session was edged with the knowledge that soon it would all be torn away.

And still, the idea of what came next stirred something dangerous in you. A bitter fear, but also an exhilaration. The kind of thrill that came with the scent of fire in the air, the sense of standing on the edge of something unstoppable. You carried that feeling with you now, even on your current assignment, hidden beneath the folds of your Jedi robes.

Change was coming. And when it did, you would not be standing where the Jedi expected you to be.

Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi had been dispatched to begin negotiations with the Trade Federation, their mission extending across several systems to maintain diplomatic relations before ultimately rendezvousing with you on Naboo. The Council anticipated delays—the Federation rarely made things simple—so you were sent ahead, under Master Yoda's directive, to serve as a diplomatic presence and establish initial communications with the Naboo government.

Queen Amidala's advisors had arranged lodging for you upon arrival, honouring the long-standing tradition of offering sanctuary and courtesy to Jedi emissaries. As a Padawan of Master Yoda himself, your presence carried weight. You were promised safety, respect, and access to planetary officials. It was not a request—it was a duty, and the Jedi rarely entertained protest when duty called.

Still, duty didn't prepare you for Naboo's breath-taking beauty.

From the moment your ship broke through the atmosphere, you were awestruck. Verdant plains unfurled below like painted silk, dotted with pristine lakes that shimmered in the afternoon sun. Glistening rivers carved through forests and fields, reflecting back the sky like liquid glass. The capital city rose in the distance—elegant domes and ivory towers stretching into the horizon with effortless grace. Pressing your palms to the viewport like a child, you stared in wonder, unwilling to blink for fear of missing a single detail.

Even as you touched down outside the Royal Palace, the sense of awe hadn't left you. The moment the ramp hissed open, you were met by a warm breeze, fragrant with the scent of flowering trees. It drifted across your skin, utterly at odds with the veiled political tension that had brought you here.

Before the palace officials could greet you, you allowed yourself one deep, grounding breath, hoping to commit the scent and stillness to memory.

The Royal Guards were poised but welcoming, dressed in stunning armour—more ornate than practical, but no less impressive. You were escorted up the palace steps with the reverence afforded to an honoured envoy, though the title still felt foreign. Jedi were peacekeepers, not diplomats, yet in moments like this, the lines between the two blurred.

The architecture of the palace did not disappoint. Towering archways framed corridors that bathed in golden sunlight, cast through stained glass and carved latticework. Every hallway seemed to guide you into another breath-taking space—each designed with deliberate elegance. Walls were draped in tapestries, while the marble underfoot was polished to a mirror sheen.

You had to resist the urge to crane your neck at every turn. So much of your training had taken you to war-torn outposts, wastelands, and forgotten industrial moons where functionality trumped beauty. This was something else entirely—a place where art and governance shared the same breath.

The palace buzzed with activity. Diplomats, senators, planetary aides, and royal advisors moved through its halls. Whispers of tension were masked behind courteous smiles. Though your visit was officially one of peace, the threat of the Trade Federation lingered in every conversation.

Queen Amidala herself was not immediately available—surrounded by her handmaidens and engaged in private deliberations with key advisors. Senator Palpatine, ever the figure of poise, was already in attendance, moving through the palace with the ease of someone accustomed to the political scene.

You caught only glimpses of them as you were ushered through. The officials guiding you kept their words brief, exchanging polite questions about your journey and your assignment. Your answers were careful, rehearsed—the kind that said much without revealing anything. The way Jedi were taught.

In truth, your mind was split between two worlds: one that demanded discipline and protocol, and another that pulsed with something far more elusive—curiosity, unease, perhaps even something darker.

"We sincerely apologise for the trek to your lodgings," one of the palace officials said as your group turned a quiet corridor. Her voice was soft, but carried the practiced rhythm of someone used to formalities. "We're under strict guidance to ensure our guests are spread out throughout the palace."

You turned your head slightly, studying her as she spoke. She was tall and slender, her face delicately painted—white foundation, subtle coloured accents, and a carefully poised demeanour. Still, you caught the hesitation in her voice, and the faintest flicker of discomfort in her eyes.

She wasn't supposed to say that.

Her companion—a shorter, older man with the air of a seasoned diplomat—shot her a sharp glare. She faltered, pressing two fingers lightly to her mauve-coloured lips, a silent apology or a signal to herself not to speak further.

You chose to test the waters.

"Are there any security concerns I should be aware of?" you asked, calmly. "As a Jedi, the safety of those within this palace is my responsibility, not just my interest."

The two officials exchanged a wary glance. It was a subtle thing, but noticeable. In many corners of the galaxy, declaring yourself a Jedi could earn you scrutiny, fear, even hostility. But here—amid royal decorum and political unrest—it had its advantages. They hesitated, then the older official spoke.

"With so many high-ranking dignitaries in close proximity, there's always the potential for... unsavoury intentions," he said carefully. "Particularly from Trade Federation sympathisers. The Queen shares your concern. Her security protocols are rigorous. You have nothing to worry about."

"Except getting assassinated," the slender one muttered under her breath.

A beat of silence followed. You raised a brow slightly, but no one spoke again. The conversation ended as the corridor opened up to a quiet alcove lined with intricate columns and soft lamplight.

You had arrived at your assigned guest quarters.

The officials opened the doors with a brief nod and stepped aside, offering no further explanation or farewells. You waited until the door slid shut behind you with a quiet click before finally turning your full attention to the room.

It was elegant, though less extravagant than the rest of the palace. Where the great halls dazzled with gilded grandeur, your quarters were tastefully restrained—an oasis of quiet sophistication. The room was dressed in a palette of deep blues, soft golds, and rich ivory. Finely carved furniture stood in thoughtful arrangement, each piece polished to a gentle shine. The faint scent of fresh wood and flowers lingered in the air, clean and calming.

It was beautiful. And utterly foreign.

You stood at the centre of the room, reluctant to move. It felt like stepping into a painting—pristine and untouched. For a moment, you simply absorbed it all, your presence feeling somehow intrusive in the stillness.

But the moment passed.

You reminded yourself that you'd be here for days—perhaps longer, depending on how the situation with the Trade Federation evolved. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were still off-system, engaged in negotiations and meetings on the Council's behalf. Their path to Naboo would be winding, and likely unpredictable.

You'd need something to occupy yourself.

Your first official meeting wasn't until later that evening, scheduled to coincide with the arrival of additional planetary representatives. Naboo had become something of a diplomatic flashpoint as tensions escalated. From what you'd gathered in your briefing, the palace had hosted more envoys and political figures in the past week than most embassies saw in a standard cycle.

You weren't fond of politics. You much preferred field work—missions where the stakes were clear and action was decisive. Obi-Wan felt the same. That was probably why neither of you had jumped at the opportunity to be here.

In the end, it had been settled the less conventional way: a holo-dice roll.

You chose odds. He chose evens. A flick of the wrist, a digital roll—and suddenly, you were preparing for diplomatic duty while Obi-Wan was giggling beside Master Qui-Gon, already halfway to their next destination.

You had grumbled the rest of the morning, nursing your irritation while the assignment briefing droned on. It wasn't until Obi-Wan promised to take you out for a real dinner once you returned to Coruscant that your mood lifted even slightly. It was rare that either of you had time for leisurely evenings as friends, and rarer still to make such promises stick.

But you held onto that promise. Quietly. Stubbornly.

And now, standing in this ornate room beneath golden light and Naboo finery, you clung to it like a tether. Because in the days ahead, things might begin to unravel. And when they did, it would be the small, human promises—not politics—that anchored you.

You spent most of your time pacing the length of your quarters, fingers drifting absentmindedly along the intricate carvings etched into the furnishings. Ornate swirls, delicate vines—all crafted by a hand far more patient than yours. The room itself was beautiful, but dull in its solitude. A bed, a modest wardrobe, a carved writing desk, and two ivory chairs arranged around a low table. Beautifully made, but ultimately uninspiring.

With a soft sigh, you dropped to the centre of the room, letting the lush rug absorb your weight. You stared at the high, vaulted ceiling for a moment before closing your eyes.

You tried—truly tried—to meditate.

But it had never come easy to you. Not since you were a child in the Temple, and certainly not now. While your peers melted into serenity, you wrestled with silence, always itching to move, to do. You'd been told again and again that it was something you'd eventually grow into. Decades later, you knew better. Stillness didn't suit you. And now, with Naboo's halls echoing with tension, it was harder than ever.

There was a constant stream of comings and goings—envoys arriving from other systems, ambassadors whispering in shadowed corners, shuttles lifting off into the sky as fast as they landed. Everyone had something to say. Everyone had something to gain.

And yet, you were here. Alone. Restless.

You missed Obi-Wan.

It hadn't even been a full day since you parted ways, but in moments like this—when time stretched thin and silence echoed too loudly—you found yourself wishing he'd appear at your door. Even if he was early. Even if it meant a lecture wrapped in one of his sly, barely-there smiles. His presence grounded you. Always had.

You hadn't let yourself think too deeply about what would happen to your friendship once your role in all of this came to light. It still didn't feel real. Not quite. And when you tried to imagine Obi-Wan's face—what it would look like when he realised the truth—your stomach turned to stone.

The two of you had clashed over the years. That was inevitable. You'd grown up together, trained side by side, and drifted into differences too wide to ignore. But this would be different. This would be final. This would make him hate you.

And the worst part?

You couldn't even blame him for it.

He wouldn't see the reasoning, no matter how calmly or passionately you tried to explain it. This wasn't about him—not really. But in his mind, it would be. And that might make it easier. If he hated you, maybe you could hate yourself a little less.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a firm knock on the door.

The golden Naboo sunlight still filtered through the translucent panes, scattering patterns of light across the floor as you stood and smoothed out your robes. You opened the door to find one of the palace officials from earlier standing just outside.

You blinked up at her, confused. "Is something the matter?"

She looked different now—her face even paler than before, her posture stiffer, lips pressed into a thin mauve line. Gone were the light comments and barely concealed curiosity from earlier. Now she looked like someone who'd been pulled aside and reprimanded. No more quips. No more smiles.

Her voice was tight when she spoke. "The Senator wishes to have an audience with you."

You tilted your head slightly. "The Senator?"

"Yes." Her gaze didn't falter. "Senator Palpatine."

Your brow furrowed, instinctively. An audience? With you?

"There must be a mistake," you said slowly. "I'm sure one of my colleagues from the Temple would be far better suited—and more qualified—for such a meeting."

She shook her head once. "He asked for you. By name."

That made you hesitate.

You weren't aware of any senator knowing who you were—let alone requesting you directly. And Palpatine, even before this mission, his name carried weight. Popular among the Senate. A native of Naboo. A friend to the Jedi.

Still, something twisted uncomfortably in your gut.

You nodded anyway. "Alright. I'll be along shortly."

She gave a clipped nod and relayed a series of directions to the meeting room. Then, without another word, she turned and drifted down the hall, her long frame moving as if suspended in a dream—or a trance. You watched her go, unsettled.

You gathered yourself and left your quarters, following the winding corridors of the palace. It was quieter than it had been earlier—eerily so. The grand halls felt too empty now, the hush of marble floors and distant fountains somehow ominous. It was harder to admire the sweeping architecture and warm Nabooan light when every turn of the corridor sent a shiver down your spine.

The hallway you were directed to was deserted.

You swallowed and pressed on, passing beneath ornate archways and ancient murals that depicted Nabooan monarchs and battles from centuries past. Their painted eyes seemed to follow you, and though you knew it was only an illusion, you still couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

At the end of the corridor, you found the door. Slightly ajar.

That was strange.

You reached out, fingertips brushing against the polished wood as you pushed it open. The hinges let out a sharp squeal, and you winced.

The room was a private study, mirroring the aesthetic of your guest quarters. A large, ornately carved desk sat at the centre, behind it a high-backed throne-like chair silhouetted against the light of a tall arched window. Shelves lined the walls—filled with relics, antiques, and what appeared to be high-end comm and data encryption devices. The air smelled faintly of incense and polished wood.

You stepped inside.

The door slammed behind you.

You jumped, heart leaping into your throat as the sound echoed across the room. You whirled around, instinctively reaching for the handle—but the moment passed, and you cursed yourself. How had you let yourself get caught so off guard?

Slowly, you turned back toward the desk.

The chair behind it shifted. Turned.

A shadowy figure sat, obscured by the harsh light from the window behind him. At first, he was nothing more than a silhouette. But as your eyes adjusted, the shape sharpened. The posture, the presence, the press of his gaze.

"Senator Palpatine?" you asked, quietly.

The corners of his mouth curved, almost imperceptibly.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆

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serabythesea · 2 months ago

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Intuitive readings guide

Please read and follow the guidelines to not get your asks deleted or messages ignored :

1. Include initials of anyone you are asking about including your own

2. Include your age ( you must be 18+ to ask for readings )

3. I do not offer readings on the following topics : 18+ topics , illegal things, gambling , twin flame, religious figures, spirit guides, angels .

4. If you followed the guidelines but for some reason I do not vibe with you I will unfortunately reject your reading request by sending you the following emoji: 🐚

5. Include something that you feel embodies your current self, this can be a book, an aspect of nature like a river and then another thing that embodies what you would like to be. ( it’s a way that you can invite me into your energy space so I can give you more accurate readings )

6. You have to understand that this is for entertainment purposes only. Do not take readings seriously or make life decisions based on them.

7. Be patient, be respectful, be kind. Reading for others can be very energetically exhausting, I have tried doing this many times and quickly stopped due to energetic exhaustion. I would like to really develop this craft and become professional at it in the future, but I can only sustain this if I do not burn out. So please be patient because I do need to take breaks in between to cleanse my own energy after tapping into so many others.

8. I am open to exchanging readings if anyone is interested.

Temporary request:

9. Everyone who asks for readings will need to answer a quiz where they need to rate 30 quotes before they receive their reading. I am collecting data for my math essay for school. :)

#free readings #intuitive readings #tarot cards #tarot reading

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oneshotnewbie · 1 year ago

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If you come back soon could I pretty please request an Amelia (greys) one shot where the reader is her girlfriend and is brought to the ER in critical condition as Jane Doe but as soon as Amelia sees her she’s hysterical and all she wants to is reasure and hold the readers hand! YOU WOULD MAKE MY QUARANTINE SO MUCH BETTER I LOVE YOUR WORKS SM

Authors note: So... um... I know I waited so long to post this request but... I HAVE MISSED IT IN MY INBOX FOR SO LONG AND WHEN I FOUND IT TWO DAYS AGO, I WROTE IT IMMEDIATELY! I am so sorry. I hope you're still out there somewhere recognizing your request and reading it ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

The hustle and bustle of the emergency room echoed through the cold hallways as the double doors were pushed apart to make way for the ambulance crew and their critical patient. The vehicle's red and blue lights cast flickering shadows on the walls, while the howling sound of the approaching accident conveyed to hospital staff the urgency of the situation.

The paramedics, with serious faces and rustling uniforms, wheeled the gurney into the emergency room. An unknown woman lay on the stretcher, pale and motionless, only the shallow rise and fall of her chest showed any life. A white sheet covered her completely, and her blood-stained hair stuck damply to her forehead. The slow, monotonous beep of the portable monitor accompanied every breath.

Dr. Hunt, the emergency physician in charge, immediately rushed to the bed. His expression was professional, but the depth of his gaze betrayed some concern. The nurses and also Dr. Keppner rushed to help the team take over.

"What do we have?" Owen asked as he looked over the medical file one of the paramedics handed him. "Unknown female person, middle-aged, found unconscious in a park, presumably after an attack. Stabbed in the chest and abdomen. We cannot say any more. No identification and no indication of possible previous illnesses."

The paramedics quickly explained the course of events, how they found the patient and what first aid measures they had taken. The information was relayed with the precision of a well-trained team, but uncertainty about who the woman was and what had happened to her hung in the air.

While Hunt and Keppner began checking vital signs, the unknown woman was wheeled into an examination room. The nurses exchanged hand signals and quietly instructed each other on the next steps. The background noise is a chaotic orchestra of clanging instruments, murmuring conversations and the beeping of medical equipment.

April Keppner leaned over the patient and began a thorough examination. She checked the pupillary reaction, palpated the pulse and analyzed the respiratory rate. The monitors showed unstable readings and the two doctors' facial expressions hardened. A quick look between the two revealed that they were worried.

"We need a CT scan immediately," Owen said, turning to the nurses present. "I also want blood samples for a comprehensive analysis. Let the lab know it's urgent."

While preparations for further examinations were underway, the nurses and doctors tried to keep the unknown woman stable. An intravenous line was placed and fluids began flowing through her derm. The monitors continued to show jittery signals and the tension in the room increased.

"Call Dr. Shephard and Dr. Altmann. I want them here as quickly as possible!" He ordered as he continued to analyze the data on the screen. "And someone should inform the police. We have to find out who she is and what happened in order to prevent further damage."

The exam room was now in a coordinated state of emergency and in a room that was normally a place of rescue, the medical team battled uncertainty and a race against time to save a woman's life. He was abuzz as the neurosurgeon and cardiologist burst through the door almost simultaneously with quick steps. Their eyes were focused, the rubber of their Crocs squeaking in unison with the machines.

"Shephard, the patient is exhibiting unstable neurological signs. The CT scan and blood results are pending," she informed Hunt as he cleared the way for her to the bed.

Amelia nodded curtly and fully entered the room, closing the door behind her. A glance at the monitor and the papers on the tablet caused her eyes to flash briefly before she focused back on the patient. However, as she leaned over the lounger, she froze.

Her features slipped away, the slight smile on her lips fading as she realized who was in front of her. The woman on the lounger was none other than you. Hunt and Keppner stared at her as she noticed her reaction, not understanding why she didn't move forward with her work. "Amelia, we have a critical situation here. The patient's identity is unknown and her values are concerning. We urgently need your expertise!"

Amelia shook her head slightly, as if she could push reality away. Her heart raced as she double-checked that her eyes weren't playing tricks on her. "This is y/n. Y/n y/l/n. She's my girlfriend. Find her family, get them here!" A strangled sound escaped her throat and the world around her seemed to stand still for a moment as she processed the shock.

The emotional rollercoaster went through all the ups and downs, from worrying about you to the overwhelming need to stay in control. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for your lifeless and bloody hand.

"Y/n," Amelia whispered with a strangled sound in her voice and the two doctors and friends of the neurosurgeon were also dumbfounded, their breath catching in their throats. "What happened to you?"

Owen Hunt moved closer and tried to reassure her, while also conveying the urgency and explaining the neurological details. But Amelia only heard fragments. Her gaze was lost in your eyes, which were closed as if you were in a deep sleep.

"Amelia, I know it's hard. But we have to act immediately. The CT results are crucial and we have to find out what happened to her to prevent something worse. She could die!" April urged, concerned about her colleague's professionalism.

But Amelia couldn't let go. She ignored the two of them, her focus solely on you. The world outside the exam room seemed to fade as she held your hand tightly. "Y/n, you have to hold on. You can do this," she whispered in your ear, tears of despair welling up in her eyes. "You're strong, you know? We'll get through this together."

In her emotional despair, an internal struggle unfolded within Amelia. Her professional self fought against her personal connection to you. The shouts of other doctors and nurses became a muffled background noise as she refused to loosen her grip on your cold hand.

"Amelia," Owen Hunt spoke in a calm but firm voice. "We need you now. She needs you now. Let's find out what happened to her together.

A conflict between duty and personal pain raged within Amelia. Finally, she reluctantly gave in and removed her hand from yours. However, her gaze remained focused on you, and concern for you was reflected deep in her eyes. She struggled with fear for you as she prepared to resume her professional role as a neurosurgeon.

A deep breath flowed through her body and with a firm resolve she wiped the tears from her cheeks and turned her gaze to the surroundings. "Dr. Hunt, take her to the CT immediately. She's probably having a brain bleed." she spoke, her voice firm. The neurosurgical focus returned fully, analyzing the medical indicators.

The trauma surgeon nodded in agreement and began giving the necessary instructions, getting you up to the CT scanner. Amelia stayed at your side, letting go of your hand for a moment to oversee the diagnostic process.

The minutes that passed felt like hours. The results of the CT scan appeared on the screen, and Amelia scanned the images with a trained eye. She analyzed each region of the brain, looking for signs of bleeding, injury or other abnormalities. The intensity of her concentration was palpable, and the medical staff eagerly awaited her assessment.

"We have severe damage to the frontal lobe," Amelia explained, swallowing hard as she continued to study the images. "It looks like a severe traumatic brain injury. We need to operate immediately to relieve the pressure and prevent further damage."

The team immediately began preparing for the operation. The sterile atmosphere of the operating room seemed to embrace Amelia as her professional role took over. In her surgical uniform, surrounded by a team of experienced professionals, she struck her familiar Superman pose and focused on the procedure ahead.

During the operation, which lasted several hours, your girlfriend showed an impressive mix of calm and precision. Her hands worked in sync with the instruments as she gently treated the damaged tissue. Monitors in the operating room recorded progress, and the medical team closely followed their experienced leader's every move.

After what seemed like endless hours, but which passed like seconds, she finally closed the last stitches and the atmosphere relaxed slightly, but the uncertainty about the outcome of the operation weighed heavily on her.

Amelia let out a frustrated gasp before exiting the operating room, tearing off her gloves and hood. She immediately went to the waiting area to inform your siblings and parents. The tension in her chest eased as she saw the expectant looks of the people who were now her family and your sister immediately threw her arms around her.

"The operation is complete," Amelia began, trying to keep her voice steady as she also clung to your sister to keep her emotions at bay. "It was a complex brain injury for reasons still unknown, but I did everything I could. The next step now is to wait and hope she remains stable."

Your family breathed a sigh of relief as Amelia explained more details about the condition and cooperation with the police. Her words were reassuring to your sister, but she still felt the knot in her stomach. The outcome of the operation was uncertain, and there was no way of knowing whether you would ever wake up and be your old self again.

In the silence of the hospital hallway, as she left the waiting people behind, a moment of exhaustion overcame her. Her eyes wandered back to the exam room where she found you in. The image of you on the lounger didn't fade, but Amelia found comfort in the fact that she had saved you. Now things could only go uphill and she couldn't wait to look into your beautiful eyes again.

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sholiofic · 3 months ago

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Whumpril day 25: Too Weak to Stand

I finally wrote a Whumpril ficlet! Set after Babylon 5 5x02.

It would have been nice if Londo could say that the worst thing about having had a nearly fatal heart attack was that it weakened him so thoroughly that he could not get out of bed for necessary matters without help. Unfortunately this was not the worst thing; he had many other contenders for that, including the aforementioned heart attack tearing him down the middle and opening up a shattered, raw chasm in his hearts into which other people could insert themselves with astonishing ease. It was all very new and uncomfortable.

In fact, compared to that, getting out of bed with human medics who were used to dealing with patients of other races was quite nice.

"Why, Miss Ybara," he purred as the medic, a recent transplant from Earth, wrapped her arm around him to help him stand. "How very forward of you."

Feeling the stirring against her arm, she promptly dropped him on the floor in shock and dismay.

"Apologies," Londo said, ingloriously, trying to roll over. The horrified medic bent to help him. "I suggest ... assisting a Centauri patient in some other way. Beneath the armpit is the usual manner. We do not have important nerves there like you humans do."

"I'm so sorry." She helped him up. Londo clung to her, gripping an arm in case she decided to drop him again. "Was that -- uh --"

"I regret to say it is hard not to when someone is groping them."

"Oh God. Oh God, and I took all the comparative anatomy classes ... I'm so, so very sorry."

"Please don't apologize. It is not the worst thing that has happened to me lately." Far from it.

"Londo, stop harassing my nurses!" Dr. Franklin called from somewhere else in Medbay.

"I am not!" He could have added that technically Medic Ybara was harassing him, but she looked too distressed for it to be fun, so he merely patted her hand, and added loudly, "I was clumsy, and so I fell. The medic is very kindly helping me."

As she adjusted her grip very considerately and unfortunately to avoid any 'sensitive areas,' Medic Ybara whispered, "You could have reported me for that. Thank you."

"You did nothing wrong," he offered, patting her shoulder.

She was very kind to him the rest of the time he was in Medbay, bringing him Centauri treats that she must have worked hard to find in the Zocalo, sitting with him and sharing human music she had brought from Earth to keep him entertained during the long hours when Vir or one of his unexpectedly frequent other visitors were not present. Another person quietly inserting herself into his newly opened hearts, and he did not mind at all. She was fun to chat with; he had always liked to discuss Earth culture with those who were happy to talk about it.

After he left the Medbay, he looked up appropriate human gifts and sent her a box of very expensive imported-from-Earth chocolates - hard to get here! - and a data crystal of Centauri music in exchange for the time she had spent playing her own for him. He hoped she enjoyed both of them.

#babylon 5 #b5 #londo mollari #whumpril #I feel like londo would have exactly two modes with the medbay nurses:#favorite patient or worst patient ever #there is no in between

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scraplette · 11 months ago

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This is random but I noticed you mention you were a big Rung/Skids shipper and I'm curious about something. I wasn't active in the fandom where MTMTE/LL were coming out and I feel like I missed huge discourse or something, because I'm really confused about why I have always seen Rung/Fort Max and Rung/Whirl and MegaRung everywhere but nobody seems to ship Rung with the guy he was super close with from the beginning and committed suicide thinking about and coughed up crystals over? I know it's not because it's wrong for therapists and patients to date because all of those people were Rung's patients. Do you know why this is?

Hello there! Sorry for the late response, I wanted to do this on desktop and just hadn't found the time.

You've sent a really interesting question but, I'm sorry, I'm not sure I have an answer for you. Heck, even at the time the comics were coming out I was always surprised by the lack of content for the ship. There was some discourse about Rung dating paitents but, funnily enough, Skids was never really a part of it. He wasn't really considered by the fandom as one of Rung's paitents so it wasn't an issue. The storyarc we the readers found out that Rung was treating Skids, was also the same arc where Rung quit. You did have some folks producing some excellent content for it(@littlestowl is still hands down my fave writer for this pair and @herzspalter did some hecking good fanart!) but never to the same extent as other ships. Not gonna blame people for that, we all have our preferences! Live and let ship and all that! So, since I had no anwers of my own I decided to counsult THE COUNCI(my friends who like Transformers) for their opinions and they came up with the excellent points. We even gathered DATA(we looked at Ao3 XD) Nothing definitive, of course, because obviously we're just a group of robot fans and can't speak for every TF fan on the net. These are just our thoughts and general vibes. 1) Rung is just so darn shippable. He potentially works well with a lot of characters and was pulled in lots of diff directions. Speaking as the main Rung/Skids shipper of the group I sort of get this(stupid sexy Rung) but even with all the diff ships sailing Rung/Skids still seemed oddly small in comparsion. 2)Another friend brought up a good point, Rung/Skids are a lovely ship but they're very wholesome and nice. Now, there is nothing wrong with that but you can't deny that spicy ships oozing with, as they put it, DRAMA just get folks excited. Lots of the other ships had this in spades. 3) Another friend had a lovely thought to add to this and I agree with it 100%. I'm just going to quote them directly "Which is kinda a shame because they have other kinds of cool drama - Rung basically compromised his position for Skids! Skids revived Rung's memory! The non-goodbye! But not conflict -drama." 4)Perhaps the venn diagram of Skids fan and Rungs fans didn't neccisarily crossover. Looking at the DATA, we can see that the most popular ships for Skids(in order) were SkidsSwerve, SkidsGetaway, and SkidsRung. I'm not sure if the Getaway fics were written pre or post betrayl.

5) Not really important but something I thought was a cool detail. Rung/Skids was really popular in the Japanese side of the fandom. I even own a physical doujin anthology for the pair! I can't remember any names of the top of my head, it's been years, but there were lots of lovely pieces of Rung/Skids fanart on the JP art sites.

I'm always a little sad about Rung/Skids. I always thought here were always lots of hooks throughtout the story that could lead the pair to more. Lots of little quiet personal moments just for the two of them. Like, Skids defending Rung against Getaway's snide comments. Ratchet sending Skids to Rung because he things the little chap is lonely. That final weirdly tense exchange between them will always sit a bit oddly with me. I know at the time there was a theory that Skids might've been into Nuatica at the time but nothing seemed to come of it, so I geuss we'll never know. I think I remember reading that Alex Milne didn't realise that would be their last interaction together, otherise he would've done the panel differently* Thank you for your ask! It was lovely to look back on old fandom memories ^_^ I hope I gave you some insights. As for myself, I'm hoping to get back into fic writing so no doubt I'll be adding to my collection of Rung/Skids drabbles.

*IMPORTANT UPDATE EDIT THING! I couldn't drop the final goodbye between them and the Alex Milne thing(it was nearly a decade ago so I was worried I'd misremembered) so I hunted down the original tweet and I've misremembered!

Sigh, what a shame that the final on-page interaction of my fave ship is forever off key and weird because of Writer/Artist miscomunucation :<

#Rung #Skids #MTMTE #Rung/Skids #Skids/Rung

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mariacallous · 6 days ago

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ChatGPT thinks I’m a genius: My questions are insightful; my writing is strong and persuasive; the data that I feed it are instructive, revealing, and wise. It turns out, however, that ChatGPT thinks this about pretty much everyone. Its flattery is intended to keep people engaged and coming back for more. As an adult, I recognize this with wry amusement—the chatbot’s boundless enthusiasm for even my most mediocre thoughts feels so artificial as to be obvious. But what happens when children, whose social instincts are still developing, interact with AI in the form of perfectly agreeable digital “companions”?

I recently found myself reflecting on that question when I noticed two third graders sitting in a hallway at the school I lead, working on a group project. They both wanted to write the project’s title on their poster board. “You got to last time!” one argued. “But your handwriting is messy!” the other replied. Voices were raised. A few tears appeared.

Ten minutes later, I walked past the same two students. The poster board had a title, and the students appeared to be working purposefully. The earlier flare-up had faded into the background.

That mundane scene captured something important about human development that digital “friends” threaten to eliminate: the productive friction of real relationships.

Virtual companions, such as the chatbots developed by Character.AI and PolyBuzz, are meant to seem like intimates, and they offer something seductive: relationships without the messiness, unpredictability, and occasional hurt feelings that characterize human interaction. PolyBuzz encourages its users to “chat with AI friends.” Character.AI has said that its chatbots can “hear you, understand you, and remember you.” Some chatbots have age restrictions, depending on the jurisdiction where their platforms are used—in the United States, people 14 and older can use PolyBuzz, and those 13 and up can use Character.AI. But parents can permit younger children to use the tools, and determined kids have been known to find ways to get around technical impediments.

The chatbots’ appeal to kids, especially teens, is obvious. Unlike human friends, these AI companions will think all your jokes are funny. They’re programmed to be endlessly patient and to validate most of what you say. For a generation already struggling with anxiety and social isolation, these digital “relationships” can feel like a refuge.

But learning to be part of a community means making mistakes and getting feedback on those mistakes. I still remember telling a friend in seventh grade that I thought Will, the “alpha” in our group, was full of himself. My friend, seeking to curry favor with Will, told him what I had said. I suddenly found myself outside the group. It was painful, and an important lesson in not gossiping or speaking ill of others. It was also a lesson I could not have learned from AI.

As summer begins, some parents are choosing to allow their kids to stay home and “do nothing,” also described as “kid rotting.” For overscheduled young people, this can be a gift. But if unstructured time means isolating from peers and living online, and turning to virtual companions over real ones, kids will be deprived of some of summer’s most essential learning. Whether at camp or in classrooms, the difficulties children encounter in human relationships—the negotiations, compromises, and occasional conflicts—are essential for developing social and emotional intelligence. When kids substitute these challenging exchanges for AI “friendships” that lack any friction, they miss crucial opportunities for growth.

Much of the reporting on chatbots has focused on a range of alarming, sometimes catastrophic, cases. Character.AI is being sued by a mother who alleges that the company’s chatbots led to her teenage son’s suicide. (A spokesperson for Character.AI, which is fighting the lawsuit, told Reuters that the company’s platform has safety measures in place to protect children, and to restrict “conversations about self-harm.”) The Wall Street Journal reported in April that in response to certain prompts, Meta’s AI chatbots would engage in sexually explicit conversations with users identified as minors. Meta dismissed the Journal’s use of its platform as “manipulative and unrepresentative of how most users engage with AI companions” but did make “multiple alterations to its products,” the Journal noted, after the paper shared its findings with the company.

These stories are distressing. Yet they may distract from a more fundamental problem: Even relatively safe AI friendships are troubling, because they cannot replace authentic human companionship.

Consider what those two third graders learned in their brief hallway squabble. They practiced reading emotional cues, experienced the discomfort of interpersonal tension, and ultimately found a way to collaborate. This kind of social problem-solving requires skills that can be developed only through repeated practice with other humans: empathy, compromise, tolerance with frustration, and the ability to repair relationships after disagreement. An AI companion might simply have concurred with both children, offering hollow affirmations without the opportunity for growth. Your handwriting is beautiful! it might have said. I’m happy for you to go first.

But when children become accustomed to relationships requiring no emotional labor, they might turn away from real human connections, finding them difficult and unrewarding. Why deal with a friend who sometimes argues with you when you have a digital companion who thinks everything you say is brilliant?

The friction-free dynamic is particularly concerning given what we know about adolescent brain development. Many teenagers are already prone to seeking immediate gratification and avoiding social discomfort. AI companions that provide instant validation without requiring any social investment may reinforce these tendencies precisely when young people need to be learning to do hard things.

The proliferation of AI companions reflects a broader trend toward frictionless experiences. Instacart enables people to avoid the hassles of the grocery store. Social media allows people to filter news and opinions, and to read only those views that echo their own. Resy and Toast save people the indignity of waiting for a table or having to negotiate with a host. Some would say this represents progress. But human relationships aren’t products to be optimized—they’re complex interactions that require practice and patience. And ultimately, they’re what make life worth living.

In my school, and in schools across the country, educators have spent more time in recent years responding to disputes and supporting appropriate interactions between students. I suspect this turbulent social environment stems from isolation born of COVID and more time spent on screens. Young people lack experience with the awkward pauses of conversation, the ambiguity of social cues, and the grit required to make up with a hurt or angry friend. This was one of the factors that led us to ban phones in our high school last year—we wanted our students to experience in-person relationships and to practice finding their way into conversations even when doing so is uncomfortable.

This doesn’t mean we should eliminate AI tools entirely from children’s lives. Like any technology, AI has practical uses—helping students understand a complex math problem; providing targeted feedback when learning a new language. But we need to recognize that AI companions are fundamentally different from educational or creative AI applications. As AI becomes more sophisticated and ubiquitous, the temptation to retreat into frictionless digital relationships will only grow. But for children to develop into adults capable of love, friendship, and cooperation, they need to practice these skills with other humans—mess, complications, and all. Our present and future may be digital. But our humanity, and the task of teaching children to navigate an ever more complex world, depends on keeping our friendships analog.

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darkmaga-returns · 3 months ago

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To begin, the paper discusses the EudraVigilance system, which serves as the European Union's centralized system for managing and analyzing information on suspected adverse reactions to medicines. Operated by the European Medicines Agency (EMA), it plays a critical role in pharmacovigilance, ensuring the safety of medicines authorized or being studied in clinical trials within the European Economic Area (EEA).

EudraVigilance facilitates the electronic submission and exchange of Individual Case Safety Reports (ICSRs), documenting suspected adverse drug reactions (ADRs). The case reports are submitted by national regulatory authorities, marketing authorization holders, healthcare professionals, patients, and clinical trial sponsors. You can think of it as somewhat like the CDC VAERS system, and it has similar problems.

The paper’s abstract is as follows:

Aims: We aimed to describe suspected adverse drug reactions (ADRs) in infants resulting from medications transmitted through mothers' milk, as reported to the European ADR database, EudraVigilance. The research sought to understand the frequency, seriousness and nature of these ADRs to assess potential risks associated with maternal medication use during breastfeeding. Methods: Data from EudraVigilance were analysed. The study included all reported ADRs suspected to be related to medications transmitted through mothers' milk from 1 January 2013 to 1 July 2023. The data were categorized by reporting time, infant age and sex, seriousness and type of ADR, and the medications involved. Results: A total of 922 suspected ADRs were reported in breastfed infants. Serious ADRs accounted for 133 cases (14%), with 15 reported fatalities, primarily associated with methadone (n = 11) and diamorphine (n = 3). COVID-19 vaccines were linked to half of the suspected ADR reports (n = 479, 52%), while serious ADRs were mainly associated with nervous system drugs (n = 73, 43%), particularly anticonvulsants and opioids. Most cases (n = 511, 55%) occurred in infants aged between 1 month and 1 year.

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thelongestway · 1 month ago

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At this point in the story, I am very much unused to two things: 1) writing action/feed sequences from a point of view that has zero comprehension of said sequences; 2) of calling anything that's a full AI anything but "it"; 3) ye gods lack of pronouns is annoying to edit for, but that's not new. :P

Not entirely happy with the action sequence here, but not sure with what yet. But--as always, things resolve in the writing. So without further ado...

Chapter 7: Monster

It was uncanny, the way the Friend silently fell in line with our preparations for departure. The moment things were decided (and our two available patients prioritized for rescue before its own operation), it let Zaharije call the shots, carrying out his every command with absolutely no complaint, like it was nothing more than a scalpel in Zaharije's practiced hand. I didn't mind--more than that, it was a relief to have it along. On our own, we would never have managed to get Pirro and our own patient down to the beat-up little shuttle and stock it with our food and medical supplies. (Not to mention that we wouldn't have had a shuttle.)

We worked in that silent camaraderie I usually enjoyed with Zaharije alone, with only Ghostwheel occasionally providing status updates to the Friend. I understood nothing about their exchanges, save that the hacker was getting progressively more worried, but it was almost like the Friend absorbed that worry into itself. It steadily continued to chip away at the mountain of tasks we presented it with, not shying away even from the most menial ones, and refused to move up the hacker's timeline at the expense of our patients.

When our workload lessened somewhat and Zaharije went to retrieve the patient's family, the Friend also made ample use of that time, preparing its weapons and inquiring with me about the Encephalon patient, what we'd been able to find out about them, and how our knowledge could be applied to its rescue mission. It turned out to be very good at guiding the conversation--now that I was sure that it really did work for the good of our patients, and for the good of the poor souls Encephalon was experimenting on, I found myself answering its questions to the best of my ability, because most of what it wanted to know was to how to keep those patients alive if they were to be moved.

(Even though I still wasn't sure why exactly the Friends and Encephalon were at odds--after all, they did very similar things! But at the very least this Friend, right now, was helping us, and I could live with that.)

I did not have good answers for the Friend, though. With the data Ghostwheel brought us, it became obvious that even though we did not know how many… I couldn't call them patients, not with what Encephalon was doing to them. We did not know how many experimental subjects Encephalon had, but it was obvious we would need a much bigger ship. Preferably one that was well equipped, medically speaking.

(A rescue ship. I only knew one rescue ship, and that name had been on the tip of my tongue the whole time, but I refused to give it countenance. What was the point? Even if that ship somehow decided to drop whatever she was doing and decide to help evacuate random victims of Encephalon monstrosities, Trellin was thousands of light years away. And if I let on that I knew her, the Friend might put two and two together, and then…

Well, it probably wouldn't shoot me until we were out of here and our patients were safe. But all bets were off after that.)

"From what I can see, at least half the people in the data Ghostwheel dredged up cannot be disconnected outright without it killing them." I said to the Friend as we sat waiting for Zaharije to come back and drinking terrible stimulants.

(I didn't know about the Friend, but I was closing in on almost twenty hours without proper sleep. Quick naps that I learned from continuing to practice medicine in the Rim--which often had the kind of barbaric 24-hour shifts old Earth allegedly used to have--and stimulants helped me keep functional, but it was getting difficult.)

(At least the tiredness helped me not to process the horror of those nervous systems fused together. That was just about the only benefit.)

The Friend nodded, unsurprised.

"Understood. So what's the solution here, doc?"

"There are only two that I can see. Move the system they're connected into together with them, or be ready to reconnect them into a compatible life support system. The latter is probably more plausible, but you'd still need a very large and well-equipped ship for this."

The Friend processed this information as it clicked the components of its rifle back into place. I felt myself tense. But then it leered at me and said, "This Friend likes people who are good at options, doc. If they can't be disconnected--what happens then? Are they suffering?"

"I can't tell that from a bunch of logs and pictures!"

"It is good, then, that you are going together with this Friend. It will want an assessment on that."

I was about to ask what exactly it was planning to do with that assessment, but I didn't get the chance to. Because Ghostwheel spoke up in our shared workspace, their voice urgent.

Zaharije? Zaharije, Friend, you've gotta cut--

And then they screamed.

Both the Friend and I were on our feet, and the Friend yelled in its feed voice, Ghostwheel? Zaharije? Status?

Silence, from both of them, in which the only sounds were the Friend clicking something on its gun and the quickening pulse in my ears.

Then a long, keening whimper.

Shit. Shitshitshitshit. We have to go. We have to go now.

"We're not going anywhere," I snarled. "What about Zahar--"

It's dead! Ghostwheel snapped. And if you don't go, we'll all be dead! Start the fucking departure sequence!

The Friend wasn't listening. Instead it was moving towards the airlock, weapon at the ready, and exchanging data with Ghostwheel at a speed I couldn't follow. All I could do was grab a medkit and trail behind it, until it turned right before exiting back onto the station.

"Doc," it said, sounding for all in the world like an emergency responder talking to a clueless civilian. "This Friend needs you to do several things if we are to live. First, you must remove your feed interface. Do not put it back on, no matter what happens. Use shuttle radio only."

That, I didn't need to be convinced of. I pulled the electrodes off my skull, and the sudden silence was deafening.

"Good. Now, this Friend has initiated a communications lockdown mode on the shuttle. You will need to prepare it for launch without communicating with the station. The bot pilot will do most of the work. Your job is to ensure that nothing breaks through the lockdown."

"I--I'm not a pilot! Or a feed technician!"

"You don't need to be one. Ghostwheel will help you, but they are easier to compromise than you are. Follow their instructions."

"And you're not a doctor!"

"No," it said, "but this Friend needs to do this anyway. It will do what it can for your friend, and will return here as soon as possible. But if it doesn't come back, you must remember: your patients won't survive without you. The shuttle will launch if contact is lost with this Friend, and there is a course laid in. It will be your responsibility to get them to safety."

To this day, I don't know why I listened, why I hadn't insisted on going with the Friend. Was I too much of a coward to argue, to just follow it out of the airlock, no matter what it told me, to go save my friend? Or did I listen because the Friend knew what it was doing, and I did not, and I knew how much harm patients or bystanders that didn't listen to doctors could do? Because if things were this bad, it wouldn't matter if the Friend got Zaharije out or not, not if we didn't have a ship?

It didn't matter. The airlock closed behind it, and I went back to the shuttle terminal.

I had no idea what I was doing.

"Ghostwheel?"

"Yeah," they said, terrified voice crackling through the speakers. "First, keyboard to your right. Input the following…"

I followed the instructions, and then the next ones that followed for the next couple of minutes, until the bot pilot said, "Launch ready. Awaiting captain's orders."

There was nothing on the radio, so I said, "You're monitoring the Friend, right?"

"Fuck no, I'm not. It was so fucking stupid to go back in there with how they're all augmented. I'm not that stupid."

"What? But you said you'd cover--"

"I said I'd cover your launch from station authorities! Not from whatever the fuck just got into the Friends' augments, and nearly fucking erased me, and--"

They cut off.

"Ghostwheel?"

"Fuck," they said, voice choked up. And fell silent.

"Contact lost," the bot pilot said. "Launch sequence initiated."

#the nameless fanfic #time to orbit unknown #ttou #tmbd #horrible crossover thoughts #my writing #rough draft

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