#6. Strategy Execution

[dvbusinessconsulting]

In today’s fast-paced Indian business environment, MSMEs must develop strategic agility—the capacity to proactively anticipate shifts, pivot strategies, and execute quickly. By integrating scenario planning, data analytics, and a flexible vision, small enterprises can outmaneuver larger competitors and thrive amid disruptions. Expert consulting, such as from D&V Business Consulting, provides the structured guidance to cultivate such agility, fostering sustainable growth through innovation, lean methods, and cross-functional teamwork.

[space-y-disaster]

Trick to get yourself to do things:

Frame it as a gift for a loved one. What's your sibling going to do with a random crossstitched cactus? Who knows! But think about how happy they could be that you made them something! Friend has been wanting you to do something for a while, but perfectionism has been the bane of your existence? Well, doing its a gift for them now -- and really, who cares if it's perfectly written, what matters is the sincerity and how surprised they're going to be when they see it!

Life hack!

[reasonsforhope]

By the way, you can improve your executive function. You can literally build it like a muscle.

Yes, even if you're neurodivergent. I don't have ADHD, but it is allegedly a thing with ADHD as well. And I am autistic, and after a bunch of nerve damage (severe enough that I was basically housebound for 6 months), I had to completely rebuild my ability to get my brain to Do Things from what felt like nearly scratch.

This is specifically from ADDitude magazine, so written specifically for ADHD (and while focused in large part on kids, also definitely includes adults and adult activities):

Here's a link on this for autism (though as an editor wow did that title need an editor lol):

Resources on this aren't great because they're mainly aimed at neurotypical therapists or parents of neurdivergent children. There's worksheets you can do that help a lot too or thought work you can do to sort of build the neuro-infrastructure for tasks.

But a lot of the stuff is just like. fun. Pulling from both the first article and my own experience:

Play games or video games where you have to make a lot of decisions. Literally go make a ton of picrews or do online dress-up dolls if you like. It helped me.

Art, especially forms of art that require patience, planning ahead, or in contrast improvisation

Listening to longform storytelling without visuals, e.g. just listening regularly to audiobooks or narrative podcasts, etc.

Meditation

Martial arts

Sports in general

Board games like chess or Catan (I actually found a big list of what board games are good for building what executive functioning skills here)

Woodworking

Cooking

If you're bad at time management play games or video games with a bunch of timers

Things can be easier. You might always have a disability around this (I certainly always will), but it can be easier. You do not have to be this stuck forever.

[yesornopolls]

The article is under the cut because paywalls suck

This is an edited transcript of an audio essay on “The Ezra Klein Show.” You can listen to the conversation by following or subscribing to the show on the NYT Audio App, Apple, Spotify, Amazon Music, YouTube, iHeartRadio or wherever you get your podcasts.

If you want to understand the first few weeks of the second Trump administration, you should listen to what Steve Bannon told PBS’s “Frontline” in 2019:

Steve Bannon: The opposition party is the media. And the media can only, because they’re dumb and they’re lazy, they can only focus on one thing at a time. … All we have to do is flood the zone. Every day we hit them with three things. They’ll bite on one, and we’ll get all of our stuff done. Bang, bang, bang. These guys will never — will never be able to recover. But we’ve got to start with muzzle velocity. So it’s got to start, and it’s got to hammer, and it’s got to — Michael Kirk: What was the word? Bannon: Muzzle velocity.

Muzzle velocity. Bannon’s insight here is real. Focus is the fundamental substance of democracy. It is particularly the substance of opposition. People largely learn of what the government is doing through the media — be it mainstream media or social media. If you overwhelm the media — if you give it too many places it needs to look, all at once, if you keep it moving from one thing to the next — no coherent opposition can emerge. It is hard to even think coherently.

Donald Trump’s first two weeks in the White House have followed Bannon’s strategy like a script. The flood is the point. The overwhelm is the point. The message wasn’t in any one executive order or announcement. It was in the cumulative effect of all of them. The sense that this is Trump’s country now. This is his government now. It follows his will. It does what he wants. If Trump tells the state to stop spending money, the money stops. If he says that birthright citizenship is over, it’s over.

Or so he wants you to think. In Trump’s first term, we were told: Don’t normalize him. In his second, the task is different: Don’t believe him.

Trump knows the power of marketing. If you make people believe something is true, you make it likelier that it becomes true. Trump clawed his way back to great wealth by playing a fearsome billionaire on TV; he remade himself as a winner by refusing to admit he had ever lost. The American presidency is a limited office. But Trump has never wanted to be president, at least not as defined in Article II of the U.S. Constitution. He has always wanted to be king. His plan this time is to first play king on TV. If we believe he is already king, we will be likelier to let him govern as a king.

Don’t believe him. Trump has real powers — but they are the powers of the presidency. The pardon power is vast and unrestricted, and so he could pardon the Jan. 6 rioters. Federal security protection is under the discretion of the executive branch, and so he could remove it from Anthony Fauci and Mike Pompeo and John Bolton and Mark Milley and even Brian Hook, a largely unknown former State Department official under threat from Iran who donated time to Trump’s transition team. It was an act of astonishing cruelty and callousness from a man who nearly died by an assassin’s bullet — as much as anything ever has been, this, to me, was an X-ray of the smallness of Trump’s soul — but it was an act that was within his power.

But the president cannot rewrite the Constitution. Within days, the birthright citizenship order was frozen by a judge — a Reagan appointee — who told Trump’s lawyers, “I have difficulty understanding how a member of the bar would state unequivocally that this is a constitutional order. It just boggles my mind.” A judge froze the spending freeze before it was even scheduled to go into effect, and shortly thereafter, the Trump administration rescinded the order, in part to avoid the court case.

What Bannon wanted — what the Trump administration wants — is to keep everything moving fast. Muzzle velocity, remember. If you’re always consumed by the next outrage, you can’t look closely at the last one. The impression of Trump’s power remains; the fact that he keeps stepping on rakes is missed. The projection of strength obscures the reality of weakness. Don’t believe him.

You could see this a few ways: Is Trump playing a part, making a bet or triggering a crisis? Those are the options. I am not certain he knows the answer. Trump has always been an improviser. But if you take it as calculated, here is the calculation: Perhaps this Supreme Court, stocked with his appointees, gives him powers no peacetime president has ever possessed. Perhaps all of this becomes legal now that he has asserted its legality. It is not impossible to imagine that bet paying off.

But Trump’s odds are bad. So what if the bet fails and his arrogations of power are soundly rejected by the courts? Then comes the question of constitutional crisis: Does he ignore the court’s ruling? To do that would be to attempt a coup. I wonder if they have the stomach for it. The withdrawal of the Office of Management and Budget’s order to freeze spending suggests they don’t. Bravado aside, Trump’s political capital is thin. Both in his first and second terms, he has entered office with approval ratings below that of any president in the modern era. Gallup has Trump’s approval rating at 47 percent — about 10 points beneath Joe Biden’s in January 2021.

There is a reason Trump is doing all of this through executive orders rather than submitting these same directives as legislation to pass through Congress. A more powerful executive could persuade Congress to eliminate the spending he opposes or reform the civil service to give himself the powers of hiring and firing that he seeks. To write these changes into legislation would make them more durable and allow him to argue their merits in a more strategic way. Even if Trump’s aim is to bring the civil service to heel — to rid it of his opponents and turn it to his own ends — he would be better off arguing that he is simply trying to bring the high-performance management culture of Silicon Valley to the federal government. You never want a power grab to look like a power grab.

But Republicans have a three-seat edge in the House and a 53-seat majority in the Senate. Trump has done nothing to reach out to Democrats. If Trump tried to pass this agenda as legislation, it would most likely fail in the House, and it would certainly die before the filibuster in the Senate. And that would make Trump look weak. Trump does not want to look weak. He remembers John McCain humiliating him in his first term by casting the deciding vote against Obamacare repeal.

That is the tension at the heart of Trump’s whole strategy: Trump is acting like a king because he is too weak to govern like a president. He is trying to substitute perception for reality. He is hoping that perception then becomes reality. That can only happen if we believe him.

The flurry of activity is meant to suggest the existence of a plan. The Trump team wants it known that they’re ready this time. They will control events rather than be controlled by them. The closer you look, the less true that seems. They are scrambling and flailing already. They are leaking against one another already. We’ve learned, already, that the O.M.B. directive was drafted, reportedly, without the input or oversight of key Trump officials — “it didn’t go through the proper approval process,” an administration official told The Washington Post. For this to be the process and product of a signature initiative in the second week of a president’s second term is embarrassing.

But it’s not just the O.M.B. directive. The Trump administration is waging an immediate war on the bureaucracy, trying to replace the “deep state” it believes hampered it in the first term. A big part of this project seems to have been outsourced to Elon Musk, who is bringing the tactics he used at Twitter to the federal government. He has longtime aides at the Office of Personnel Management, and the email sent to nearly all federal employees even reused the subject line of the email he sent to Twitter employees: “Fork in the Road.” Musk wants you to know it was him.

The email offers millions of civil servants a backdoor buyout: Agree to resign and in theory, at least, you can collect your paycheck and benefits until the end of September without doing any work. The Department of Government Efficiency account on X described it this way: “Take the vacation you always wanted, or just watch movies and chill, while receiving your full government pay and benefits.” The Washington Post reported that the email “blindsided” many in the Trump administration who would normally have consulted on a notice like that.

I suspect Musk thinks of the federal work force as a huge mass of woke ideologues. But most federal workers have very little to do with politics. About 16 percent of the federal work force is in health care. These are, for instance, nurses and doctors who work for the Veterans Affairs department. How many of them does Musk want to lose? What plans does the V.A. have for attracting and training their replacements? How quickly can he do it?

The Social Security Administration has more than 59,000 employees. Does Musk know which ones are essential to operations and unusually difficult to replace? One likely outcome of this scheme is that a lot of talented people who work in nonpolitical jobs and could make more elsewhere take the lengthy vacation and leave government services in tatters. Twitter worked poorly after Musk’s takeover, with more frequent outages and bugs, but its outages are not a national scandal. When V.A. health care degrades, it is. To have sprung this attack on the civil service so loudly and publicly and brazenly is to be assured of the blame if anything goes wrong.

What Trump wants you to see in all this activity is command. What is really in all this activity is chaos. They do not have some secret reservoir of focus and attention the rest of us do not. They have convinced themselves that speed and force is a strategy unto itself — that it is, in a sense, a replacement for a real strategy. Don’t believe them.

I had a conversation a couple months ago with someone who knows how the federal government works about as well as anyone alive. I asked him what would worry him most if he saw Trump doing it. What he told me is that he would worry most if Trump went slowly. If he began his term by doing things that made him more popular and made his opposition weaker and more confused. If he tried to build strength for the midterms while slowly expanding his powers and chipping away at the deep state where it was weakest.

But he didn’t. And so the opposition to Trump, which seemed so listless after the election, is beginning to rouse itself.

There is a subreddit for federal employees where one of the top posts reads: “This non ‘buyout’ really seems to have backfired. I’ll be honest, before that email went out, I was looking for any way to get out of this fresh hell. But now I am fired up to make these goons as frustrated as possible.” As I write this, it’s been upvoted more than 39,000 times and civil servant after civil servant is echoing the initial sentiment.

In Iowa this week, Democrats flipped a State Senate seat in a district that Trump won easily in 2024. The attempted spending freeze gave Democrats their voice back, as they zeroed in on the popular programs Trump had imperiled. Trump isn’t building support; he’s losing it. Trump isn’t fracturing his opposition; he’s uniting it.

This is the weakness of the strategy that Bannon proposed and Trump is following. It is a strategy that forces you into overreach. To keep the zone flooded, you have to keep acting, keep moving, keep creating new cycles of outrage or fear. You overwhelm yourself. And there’s only so much you can do through executive orders. Soon enough, you have to go beyond what you can actually do. And when you do that, you either trigger a constitutional crisis or you reveal your own weakness.

Trump may not see his own fork in the road coming. He may believe he has the power he is claiming. That would be a mistake on his part — a self-deception that could doom his presidency. But the real threat is if he persuades the rest of us to believe he has power he does not have.

The first two weeks of Trump’s presidency have not shown his strength. He is trying to overwhelm you. He is trying to keep you off-balance. He is trying to persuade you of something that isn’t true. Don’t believe him.

You can listen to this conversation by following “The Ezra Klein Show” on NYT Audio App, Apple, Spotify, Amazon Music, YouTube, iHeartRadio or wherever you get your podcasts. View a list of book recommendations from our guests here.

[captaingimpy]

Fighting Games, the FGC, and the Death of Instinctive Play

I’ve been playing Tekken and Street Fighter since the beginning. Not just in the sense of picking them up casually—I lived these games. I played Tekken 1 on PSX, I played Super Turbo and Alpha 2 Gold, and I grew up in arcades when that actually meant something. I remember when EVO was just “the tournament in LA.” Back then, getting good wasn’t about labbing frame data—it was about learning how to…

[astrologydray]

Mars through the Degrees🥳

Mars represents action, drive, passion, ambition, aggression, and how you assert yourself. The specific degree of Mars in your birth chart fine-tunes how you express your energy, determination, and motivation💪🏾.

0° Mars – The Raw Warrior

• Pure, unfiltered ambition and drive.

• Acts on instinct and impulse.

• Needs to learn patience and strategy.

1° Mars – The Fearless Initiator

• Bold, pioneering energy.

• Takes charge without hesitation.

• Can be impulsive or aggressive.

2° Mars – The Strategic Fighter

• Combines action with careful planning.

• Determined and disciplined.

• Can be stubborn or resistant to change.

3° Mars – The Charismatic Competitor

• Energetic and playful approach to challenges.

• Draws people in with confidence.

• Needs to avoid arrogance.

4° Mars – The Steady Builder

• Takes slow, calculated actions.

• Focused on long-term success.

• Can resist taking risks.

5° Mars – The Passionate Creator

• Highly expressive and motivated by inspiration.

• Enjoys challenges that spark excitement.

• Can be dramatic in reactions.

6° Mars – The Intuitive Warrior

• Acts based on gut feelings.

• Sensitive yet strong-willed.

• Needs to trust instincts but avoid paranoia.

7° Mars – The Spiritual Fighter

• Motivated by higher purpose or beliefs.

• May struggle with balancing action and contemplation.

• Can be deeply idealistic.

8° Mars – The Power Player

• Highly ambitious and focused on control.

• Intense and magnetic presence.

• Needs to avoid manipulative tendencies.

9° Mars – The Adventurous Explorer

• Thrives on new challenges and risks.

• Loves excitement and change.

• Can struggle with commitment.

10° Mars – The Tireless Worker

• Extremely disciplined and hardworking.

• Takes pride in achievements.

• Can be too focused on work and forget to rest.

11° Mars – The Rebel Leader

• Defies norms and takes unique approaches.

• Challenges authority and restrictions.

• Needs to avoid unnecessary rebellion.

12° Mars – The Hidden Force

• Works best behind the scenes.

• Strong but subtle in action.

• Can struggle with suppressed anger.

13° Mars – The Transformational Fighter

• Faces major life changes head-on.

• Overcomes obstacles with resilience.

• Can be drawn to intense experiences.

14° Mars – The Charismatic Risk-Taker

• Enjoys the thrill of competition.

• Confident and persuasive.

• Needs to avoid recklessness.

15° Mars – The Balanced Warrior

• Seeks harmony in conflict.

• Can see both sides but still takes decisive action.

• Needs to avoid hesitation in battle.

16° Mars – The Purpose-Driven Fighter

• Feels called to take action for a cause.

• Motivated by meaning rather than personal gain.

• Needs to balance idealism with reality.

17° Mars – The Relentless Competitor

• Strong-willed and never backs down.

• Thrives in competitive environments.

• Needs to manage aggressive tendencies.

18° Mars – The Deep Thinker in Action

• Combines intelligence with action.

• Makes careful yet bold moves.

• Can overthink before taking action.

19° Mars – The Daring Risk-Taker

• Enjoys pushing limits.

• Takes risks others shy away from.

• Needs to weigh consequences before acting.

20° Mars – The Determined Worker

• Focused and disciplined in achieving goals.

• Doesn’t give up easily.

• Needs to avoid burnout.

21° Mars – The Creative Powerhouse

• Expresses energy through art or innovation.

• Highly passionate and dynamic.

• Needs to channel energy productively.

22° Mars – The Strategic Mastermind

• Excellent at planning and executing goals.

• Thinks before acting but moves decisively.

• Needs to avoid over-controlling situations.

23° Mars – The Bold Leader

• Commands respect through action.

• Fearless in pursuit of goals.

• Needs to balance dominance with teamwork.

24° Mars – The Passionate Lover

• Expresses energy through deep connections.

• Highly driven by emotions and desires.

• Needs to manage intensity in relationships.

25° Mars – The Fierce Protector

• Defends loved ones and beliefs with passion.

• Extremely loyal and courageous.

• Needs to manage possessiveness.

26° Mars – The Silent Force

• Doesn’t show aggression outwardly but is highly determined.

• Works behind the scenes to achieve power.

• Needs to express anger in a healthy way.

27° Mars – The Visionary Fighter

• Motivated by big-picture thinking.

• Combines ambition with wisdom.

• Needs to balance dreams with practical action.

28° Mars – The Restless Warrior

• Constantly seeking the next challenge.

• Can struggle with settling down.

• Needs to find stability in action.

29° Mars – The Karmic Warrior

• Faces karmic lessons around anger, action, and ambition.

• Must master control over impulses.

• Has great power but must use it wisely.

[batboyblog]

Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #32

August 30-September 6 2024.

President Biden announced $7.3 billion in clean energy investment for rural communities. This marks the largest investment in rural electrification since the New Deal. The money will go to 16 rural electric cooperatives across 23 states Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Florida, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kentucky, Michigan, Minnesota, Montana, Nebraska, New Jersey, New Mexico, Nevada, North Dakota, Ohio, Pennsylvania, South Dakota, Texas, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. Together they will be able to generate 10 gigawatts of clean energy, enough to power 5 million households about 20% of America's rural population. This clean energy will reduce greenhouse emissions by 43.7 million tons a year, equivalent to removing more than 10 million cars off the road every year.

The Biden-Harris Administration announced a historic 10th offshore wind project. The latest project approved for the Atlantic coast of Maryland will generate 2,200 megawatts of clean, reliable renewable energy to power 770,000 homes. All together the 10 offshore wind projects approved by the Biden-Harris Administration will generation 15 gigawatts, enough to power 5.25 million homes. This is half way to the Administration's goal of 30 gigawatts of clean offshore wind power by 2030.

President Biden signed an Executive Order aimed at supporting and expanding unions. Called the "Good Jobs EO" the order will direct all federal agencies to take steps to recognize unions, to not interfere with the formation of unions and reach labor agreements on federally supported projects. It also directs agencies to prioritize equal pay and pay transparency, support projects that offer workers benefits like child care, health insurance, paid leave, and retirement benefits. It will also push workforce development and workplace safety.

The Department of Transportation announced $1 billion to make local roads safer. The money will go to 354 local communities across America to improve roadway safety and prevent deaths and serious injuries. This is part of the National Roadway Safety Strategy launched in 2022, since then traffic fatalities have decreased for 9 straight quarters. Since 2022 the program has supported projects in 1,400 communities effecting 75% of all Americans.

The Department of Energy announced $430 million to support America's aging hydropower. Hydropower currently accounts for nearly 27% of renewable electricity generation in the United States. However many of our dams were built during the New Deal for a national average of 79 years old. The money will go to 293 projects across 33 states. These updates will improve energy generation, workplace safety, and have a positive environmental impact on local fish and wildlife.

The EPA announced $300 million to help support tribal nations, and US territories cut climate pollution and boost green energy. The money will support projects by 33 tribes, and the Island of Saipan in the Northern Mariana Islands. EPA Administer Michael S. Regan announced the funds along side Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland in Arizona to highlight one of the projects. A project that will bring electricity for the first time to 900 homes on the Hopi Reservation.

The Biden-Harris Administration is investing $179 million in literacy. This investment in the Comprehensive Literacy State Development Grant is the largest in history. Studies have shown that the 3rd grade is a key moment in a students literacy development, the CLSD is designed to help support states research, develop, and implement evidence-based literacy interventions to help students achieve key literacy milestones.

The US government secured the release of 135 political prisoners from Nicaragua. Nicaragua's dictator President Daniel Ortega has jailed large numbers of citizens since protests against his rule broke out in 2018. In February 2023 the US secured the release of over 200 political prisoners. Human rights orgs have documented torture and sexual abuse in Ortega's prisons.

The Justice Department announced the disruption of a major effort by Russia to interfere with the 2024 US Elections. Russian propaganda network, RT, deployed $10 million to Tenet Media to help spread Russian propaganda and help sway the election in favor of Trump and the Republicans as well as disrupting American society. Tenet Media employs many well known conservative on-line personalities such as Benny Johnson, Tim Pool, Lauren Southern, Dave Rubin, Tayler Hansen and Matt Christiansen.

Vice-President Harris outlined her plan for Small Businesses at a campaign stop in New Hampshire. Harris wants to expand from $5,000 to $50,000 tax incentives for startup expenses. This would help start 25 million new small business over four years.

[fiamat12]

Re: Decoy strategy / Social media plants

Part 1 - "The Sheffield files"

If you're been following along on my blog long enough, you know I believe L has some forced obligations w/ A that make it so that N has had to use JD as a decoy. With the help of @jmuz09, we did a deep dive into the Sheffield files to demonstrate how a well planned strategy - by actors, no less - can be executed.

#1 The premise: I don't believe N was in Sheffield nearly as much as was assumed... and I repeat, assumed - because the only time there was likely a real time photo was the preview night. The other times, all we got was other people saying they saw N - never N herself posting she was there. Imo, she & Luke (and baba) could've gone to Sheffield for a long weekend on preview week, for example and taken all the pics needed to dole out over several weeks.

#2 The LEGIT vs. SUS. Below are the alleged sightings in Sheffield.

• March 1 - LEGIT. Preview night. N was captured in the Crucible theater in her pink sweater on March 1st. She was spotted taking pictures w/ several fans so it's likely legit that she was there. ⏬️

•March 3 - SUS. A fan posts a pic of her & N at a train station. N's hair is clearly longer (likely w/ extensions) than her current hair. The user has very few posts - none of BTON - and tagged Nottingham not Nicola. ⏬️

•March 11- SUS. A Sheffield "Mum on a mission" posts a sneaky pic of N & JD's Mom eating at a local restaurant allegedly on opening night of JD's play. She doesn't seem to be a Bridgy fan (never posted about BTON prior), didn't see JD's play and posted an extra pic advertising how N went to support JD. Sure, Jan. ⏬️

•March 15-17- SUS. Becky B. (BB) posts an alleged reservation for an Airbnb in Sheffield. Interesting that the response time of the host is listed, which usually only occurs when you haven't booked yet. Knowing how N feels about outing celebs in real time, it's doubtful BB would post the actual date/ location. There's nothing to suggest the pics of the gang are actually from that weekend nor the one pic. of N w/them (which was posted weeks later). ⏬️

•March 29- SUS. A fan on X posts a pic of her & N allegedly on closing night of JD's play. Interesting that she started her account in Feb. 2025. She seems to have been to see JD's play several times. She never got a photo of her, JD & N together but she definitely got alot of traffic to her page. ⏬️

#3- Why are these sm plants needed? Primarily for L to pretend he's w/ A to give her publicity per their contract (A's sm post on the 6th, pap pics on the 18th, Yungblud on the 21st, etc.) - which means N needs to appear single/ dating JD or hanging out w/ her friends (choose your own adventure). There have also been times Lukola may have needed to move around w/BN discreetly - doctor's appts. (March 15-17 was around 6-week check-up time), Christening, Mother's Day (March 30), family visits, etc.

#4 - The planned strategy. This could be planned out well in advance w/ their PR teams, esp. if they know how long the contract between L & A lasts. PR teams can reach out to fans for a collab and ask to not release a photo until a certain date. Our Lukola guru ChatGPT reveals more strategies than we ever wanted to know. Thank you again to @lukolabrainrot for chipping in w/ the search. ⏬️

Lastly, and imo, don't waste your time trying to follow the decoy path - it's futile and confusing. (That goes for the alleged sighting in Galway today). WAIT FOR MORE INFORMATION, go back and analyze if you really need to know (!) or just sit back, relax and when you see an adjacent know what it is and move on w/ your day. All in time, time will reveal when the contract is up and Lukola can safely launch ‼️🙏✌️🫶

[mecachrome]

hi!! your ask was the first time I’ve heard about oscar’s coach emma murray, do you mind sharing any more info you have on that?

hi anon!!! of course, the interview i linked has a good amount of information but i can summarize it below because i know not everyone likes listening to audio interviews:

emma murray is an australian sports psychologist/mindfulness coach who has been working with oscar for 6 years, she actually also works with indycar driver scott mclaughlin and the richmond afl team as well!!

the funny story in this podcast is that they're like "so how did you meet oscar" and she's like "well his mum was the president of the local netball club and my daughter played there and she asked me if i could talk to her son who was in freca (she says f3 but she just doesn't know what freca is LOL. it was freca) and needed someone to talk to about his crashes and starts while he was overseas and i was like UGHHH do i really want to deal with a teenager... but i wanted my daughter to get into a good netball team so i agreed." basically oscar piastri is once again a beneficiary of nepotism. she does mention though that it only took one conversation with oscar for her to know that he was the real deal 🧡

a large part of her work is to give drivers strategies to really stay in the moment and not focus on the bigger picture, even though it's easy to let your mind wonder while you're driving. like don't let yourself get bogged down by who could crash into you, how your race could be derailed at any moment, what your engineer might tell you etc. but instead focus on minute details like feeling the car as you approach your brake markers. basically just give them ways of really grounding themselves in the pure details of driving!

there's also a blog interview from my op primer that isn't up anymore but i linked an archived version that mentions how she was very useful to oscar during his freca season because it was basically his first time being in a real championship situation, and this auto action post from 2022 where she talks about him especially in the context of the alpine saga. a lot of it is just saying how mature/good he is at immediately executing actionable feedback and finetuning his approach to his driving!!! hehe hope this helps

[dvbusinessconsulting]

The article discusses the importance of bridging the gap between strategy and execution in businesses, particularly for Small and Medium Enterprises (SMEs) and manufacturing facilities. It highlights the role of Performance Improvement Consulting Services, Business Process Excellence Consulting Services, and Manufacturing Consulting Services in helping companies achieve tangible results and sustainable growth. By leveraging these services, businesses can overcome common bottlenecks and achieve quantifiable success

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Director’s Obsession - Phase 10

Character: Director Orson Krennic x F!ISB Agent

Summary: Director Orson Krennic keeps one ISB agent under his thumb, pulling her from lunches, stealing her sleep, and destroying three dates. The project demands everything. Or maybe his obsession demands more.

Words Count: 7,552

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi🙏🏻

Phase 1 , Phase 2 , Phase 3 , Phase 4 , Phase 5 , Phase 6 , Phase 7 , Phase 8 , Phase 9 , Phase 10 , Phase 11 , -

Headcanons

A/N: To all my Krennic fans, this is an AU where the Empire wins. I wanted Krennic deserves to have his legacy. Architect Of Terror.

Phase 10 : Forever

Coruscant burned with outrage. Not in fire — but in sound.

The Senate District swelled with a furious rhythm, crowds surging like a living organism. They screamed. They wept. They chanted. Massive holo screens replayed the destruction of Alderaan on a loop — that terrible white pulse swallowing a peaceful blue planet, a billion voices silenced in the span of a single breath.

Banners of grief hung alongside graffiti scrawled in blood-red paint, and the name they all cursed was the same:

TARKIN.

The civilians had turned. Not on the Empire.

On him.

And that was no accident.

Not outside.

And especially not inside.

Inside the ISB Command Center, the storm was met with silence and steel.

Agents moved with quiet precision. No panic. No scrambling. Orders passed like currents between them, executed with military sharpness. Terminals glowed. Alerts flickered. But no one faltered.

You stood at the eye of it — the axis they rotated around.

Arms crossed, you scanned the surveillance feeds without flinching. Footage poured in from the riot zones: fists raised, effigies burned, crowds shaking barriers. But still, you didn’t move. Not even when the Senate Plaza went dark under smoke.

Major Partagaz stood near your right, ever-watchful. Across from you, Dedra’s brows were drawn tight. Heert manned the broadcast console, scrolling fast through incoming reports, his fingers twitching with nerves.

“Level seven riot in the Core ring,” an analyst called out. “Civilian injuries. No trooper response yet.”

“Good,” you answered sharply, eyes never leaving the data stream. “They hold position.”

The analyst blinked. “Ma’am?”

You raised your voice, letting it carry. “No retaliation. Not even if civilians throw fists. Not if they burn the banners. We do not fight back.”

Silence. Brief. Hesitant.

“Let them scream,” you said. “Let them grieve. Anger is a fire, but it burns out fast if you give it air.”

Heert muttered under his breath, barely audible. “This is insane…”

“No.” You turned toward him, your voice cutting clean. “This is strategy. We don’t silence them. We don’t martyr Tarkin. We offer him up. Let them hang their rage around his neck — not ours.”

You moved to the broadcast terminal. “Schedule footage of Alderaan’s destruction. Three times a day. Five-minute segments. Off primetime.”

Dedra looked up, frowning. “Why not show it more?”

“Because it becomes white noise. Too much and they go numb. Too little and they riot harder. Just enough — that’s how you feed the grief without choking on it.”

You crossed to another console, eyes scanning crowd metrics.

“Embed our people in the protests,” you ordered. “No armor. No visible rank. Have them talk. Loudly.”

“Undercover officers?” someone asked.

“No.” Your voice turned razor-sharp. “Storytellers. Let them say things like, ‘Tarkin didn’t even warn the council,’ or ‘He wanted to test it on civilians.’ Let rumors spread. Let the fire build — and then direct it.”

“Toward him,” Dedra said, realization dawning.

“Exactly.” You nodded. “Away from us. Tarkin becomes the villain. We become the parent who wasn’t watching.”

Partagaz tilted his head. Intrigued. “And then?”

“Then we apologize.” You pointed at a blank feed line on the screen. “Deliberately. Carefully. The Emperor admits a failure. The Empire grieves with the people. We show restraint. We admit flaws.”

“That’s dangerous,” Partagaz said, one brow arching.

“That’s honesty,” you replied. “Or at least the illusion of it. It buys us legitimacy.”

Heert’s voice cracked. “We’ve never run a campaign like this.”

“Exactly,” you said, smiling thinly. “Which means no one knows how to fight it.”

The next morning, the Emperor took the Senate floor.

He stood cloaked in black, hunched but unshaken. His voice cut through the chamber like a blade dragged over marble.

“The destruction of Alderaan… was a tragedy born of arrogance,” he said. “Grand Moff Tarkin acted beyond his station. He used a weapon meant for protection as a tool of ego. The Empire grieves. And the Empire evolves.”

The chamber erupted. Some with outrage. Some with grim approval. Others with stunned silence. But no one, no one, questioned the chain of blame.

And back at the ISB, as the final feed flickered into darkness, all eyes turned to you.

The entire floor had gone quiet. Agents paused mid-keystroke. Heert slowly turned in his chair. Even Dedra stilled, expression unreadable. Only Partagaz spoke — and only after a long moment of weighty silence.

“You played this galaxy like a game of dejarik,” he said.

You didn’t answer. You simply nodded once, and then turned back toward the command desk.

“Next phase,” you said. “We release controlled empathy reels. Human stories. Broadcast stormtroopers grieving. Show them as fathers. Sons. Show Imperial medics mourning. Make the people see our faces. Make them forget the helmets.”

Dedra let out a soft breath. A rare smile tugged at her lips. “You could write your own chapter in the Art of War.”

You stared at the screen. The image of Alderaan flickered again — smoke over ocean, ash over sky.

“No,” you murmured. “I’m rewriting it.”

Major Partagaz had been watching for the better part of an hour, arms folded, mouth unreadable. After a moment, he stepped aside, pulling out a secure comm. His voice dropped as he spoke into the transmitter.

"General Krennic," he said, his tone almost grudgingly impressed, "she’s remarkable. I’ve never seen anyone control chaos like this."

From the other end of the line came Krennic’s response—smooth, confident, laced with pride. “I know.”

It should’ve been a moment of quiet triumph. Of control reclaimed. Of empire endured.

Then the alarms began.

A sharp, blaring wail pierced the air, slicing through conversation and motion like a blade. Every head turned. The command center froze, screens flashing red with high-level encrypted alerts. Emergency protocols engaged. Officers stilled, then scrambled toward terminals. Techs began shouting. Chaos, real chaos, cracked open like a fault line.

Partagaz stepped back into the center of the room, reading the incoming transmission on his datapad. The lines on his face hardened as he scanned the message. Then, he looked up.

“The Death Star has been destroyed.”

Silence fell like a bomb.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

The words didn’t register at first. They felt impossible—too large to fit in your mind, too unreal to believe. But the air shifted, and so did the people. One of the junior agents dropped his datapad. Someone near the rear stumbled backward into a chair, staring blankly at a blank screen. Dedra lowered her head slowly, as if bracing for impact.

Partagaz’s voice rang again. “We’ve just confirmed. Grand Moff Tarkin was aboard the station. He is presumed dead.”

His voice broke the quiet again, grim but composed. “However— the Navy has responded. The attack led us to their base. Rebel leadership has been located. Their forces intercepted in retreat. Several key figures are now in custody.”

A sharp inhale swept the room.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

Tarkin was dead. The Death Star was dust. But the Empire had retaliated. The rebellion was bleeding.

There was no victory here. Only attrition.

Partagaz glanced at you, his tone lowering as he added, “Agent… whatever happens next, we hold the line.”

You nodded once. And swallowed the lump rising in your throat.

The silence cracked. Then fractured entirely.

Murmurs rose in waves. Shock. Disbelief. Terror. And then, grief. Whispered names. Family members. Friends. Colleagues. The quiet hum of professionalism broke apart under the sheer weight of the news.

“My cousin worked energy grid operations on that station,” someone murmured behind you, their voice thin and tight.

“I—I just spoke to my brother yesterday,” another agent said, stunned. “He said the targeting systems were nearly done…”

Your chest constricted. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

You had seen the Death Star before—up close. Watched it swallow Cinderis whole. Watched Jedha crumble. You had believed in it once. Not because of its terror, but because of its promise: that if the Empire could hold something that powerful, no one would dare challenge peace again.

But peace had never come.

And now, neither had mercy to both sides.

You thought of the people on that station. Scientists. Officers. Engineers. Comms operators who drank too much caf and laughed during shift changes. Soldiers who still wrote letters home. People who wore the same uniform as you. Who served under the same banners. Who shared the same purpose.

Gone. In an instant.

You trembled, fingers numb.

This wasn’t strategy. This wasn’t victory.

It was death.

And somewhere, across the stars, you knew exactly who would be watching the flames.

Orson Krennic.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was thinking.

You only knew what you were feeling.

Grief. Shock. Rage.

And a hollow silence where faith used to be.

******************

The moment you stepped into the house, the stillness hit like a wall. Not silence — silence could be peaceful. This was something else. Cold. Pressurized. Like the air itself was holding its breath.

You didn’t need to call out his name.

You knew exactly where he was.

The hum from the study guided you like a beacon you didn’t want to reach.

You found him standing at the center of the room, bathed in the soft, haunting glow of a blue hologram. The Death Star — fractured, ghostlike — hovered in front of him, rotating slowly, endlessly, as if it hadn’t just become a tomb. Or a monument to something worse.

He didn’t turn. His hands were clasped behind his back, spine too straight, jaw too still.

“That was your plan?” you asked, your voice sharp but low. “Destroy the Death Star?”

His reply came too fast. Too even. “It was the Rebels. I never lifted a finger.”

You stepped forward, refusing to let him hide in shadows and semantics. “You gave them the flaw.”

He turned to face you now — slowly, like he was above this conversation, like it was a nuisance instead of a reckoning.

“I let nature take its course,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “Tarkin made his move. The Rebellion took the bait. I didn’t sabotage anything. I just… stepped aside.”

You stared at him, something cold curling in your chest. “There were people on that station. Scientists. Officers. Soldiers. Your own.”

“They knew what they signed up for,” he said, almost dismissively. “The price of victory is blood. They died for the greater order.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “You used the Empire’s own as bait. You let Tarkin go down with it — just to be rid of him.”

His composure cracked for the first time. He stepped toward you, eyes flashing. “He was going to bury me. I built that station with my bare hands and they wanted to hand it over to a bureaucrat in a tailored uniform.”

He was shouting now. “I clawed that weapon into existence while he sat in meetings and took the glory. I gave this Empire its sharpest blade, and they wanted to hand it to a tactician with a speech impediment!”

You recoiled, not from the volume — from the rage. “So you handed them a corpse.”

“I handed them a legacy!” he bellowed, fists clenched.

“One blast that silenced a galaxy. The Rebels? Crushed. The traitors in the Senate? Exposed. I won.”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Gods, you’re proud of this.”

He looked at you then — really looked — and his gaze went cold.

“You didn’t flinch when Jedha fell. Or Cinderis.”

Your throat tightened. “Those were military targets. Rebel installations. You made the case and I followed the logic.” Your eyes stung. “But Alderaan was different. And the Death Star? That wasn’t just a weapon. That was home to hundreds of thousands of Imperials. People who saluted the same banner we did. And you let them burn.”

He stared at you, unmoved. “They were soldiers. They died for the Empire. And in doing so, they cleared the board.”

Your stomach twisted. “And that doesn’t haunt you?”

His jaw flexed. “It was worth it.”

You stumbled a step back. It was like the words had weight — physical, brutal weight — and they landed in your chest with no mercy.

He stepped closer. His voice dropped low, more venomous than before. “You sound like Galen Erso.”

You blinked. “Who?”

His lip curled slightly. “A coward. Built the weapon. Couldn’t face what it became.”

“I’m nothing like him.”

He tilted his head, slow and cold. “No. You’re worse.”

He stepped into your space, voice softening just enough to be dangerous. “You stood beside me. Praised my genius. Defended me to the Senate. Wore my name like armor. And now you want to act pure?”

He circled you, voice curling around your spine like smoke. “You made your bed. Your man is the Architect of Terror.”

You turned to follow him with your eyes, heart hammering.

“I never signed up for this.”

He stopped in front of you again, smirking like he had you pinned. “You did the moment you put on that uniform. The moment you used fear as a tool. You smiled while the galaxy screamed. And now you flinch because it got too loud?”

You tried to breathe through the nausea building in your throat. “This isn’t strength, Orson. It’s fear with better branding.”

He laughed — a sound that had no warmth left in it.

“Fear works. You want control? Fear does what policy never will.”

You stared, trembling. “Will you ever feel enough?”

That landed. He stilled. The laugh died in his throat. His chest rose with a long breath, and for just a heartbeat, he looked… lost. Like something deep inside had cracked open, and he didn’t know how to close it.

But then it passed. He blinked it away and straightened his spine.

“I built something that will outlive us both,” he said. “Something eternal.”

“And what did it cost?”

His silence was louder than any answer.

You took another step back — and the world tilted.

Suddenly, your vision swam. The nausea surged, sharp and overwhelming. You swayed, knees buckling slightly, and then he was there — hands at your waist, catching you fast, alarm flashing behind his eyes.

“Careful—” His voice was raw with concern. “You’re pale. Are you—”

You shoved him.

“Don’t touch me.”

He stepped back like you’d struck him, breathing hard.

“You’re unwell,” he said, voice tight with restraint. “You should lie down. I’ll get—”

“I don’t want you near me.”

He stepped forward again, hand reaching. “You need rest—”

“I need space,” you snapped. “I need to think. Away from this. Away from you.”

He didn’t move. Not this time. Not even to stop you.

And as you walked toward the door, something in his chest cracked wide — a silence he couldn’t swallow, a grief he couldn’t name.

He’d sacrificed it all.

The station. The soldiers. His name. His conscience.

And now he was losing you.

And the worst part was…

He still believed it was worth it.

But suddenly, for the first time in his life, Orson Krennic wasn’t sure.

************

Mia didn’t ask questions. When you showed up at her door, dressed in the same clothes from the night before, eyes dark, voice hoarse—she didn’t press. She just opened the door wider, took your bag, and pulled you into her arms. You didn't cry. You couldn’t. You just stood there, wrapped in the warmth of someone who wasn't asking for explanations, only offering space.

"Stay as long you need," she said softly.

You nodded, numbly. And that night, curled up in her guest room, your mind echoed with blue light, with cold words, with the weight of a million lives sacrificed in silence, and the terrifying, fragile new life growing inside you.

Hours later, deep in the quiet of the night, a small, soft weight landed gently on the bed. You startled awake, your instincts, honed by years of Imperial vigilance, immediately on high alert. Then, a tiny sigh, and a familiar scent of child-sweetness.

It was Elara, Mia's youngest, all of five years old, her hair a tangled halo in the dim light filtering from the hallway. She'd clearly snuck out of her own bedroom. Usually, Elara would launch herself into your arms, a whirlwind of excited chatter about her latest drawing or a new game. But tonight, she simply burrowed down beside you, quiet and still.

"Hey, baby," you whispered, your voice still rough with sleep and the lingering exhaustion.

Elara smiled, a faint, sleepy curve of her lips in the darkness. Without a word, she gently shifted, resting her head not on your shoulder, as was her usual habit, but nestled softly, almost deliberately, near your stomach.

You froze. A shock, cold then strangely warm, rippled through you. After the chilling horrors of the day and Krennic's cold calculations, this quiet, gentle presence felt profoundly different. It was a pure touch, untainted by Imperial ambition. You lay there, motionless, feeling her soft weight and the silent acknowledgment of a truth only a child seemed to grasp.

**********

The next morning, you returned to work as if nothing had happened. Hair tied back. Uniform pressed. Expression neutral. You walked onto the ISB command floor like a machine, each step meticulously placed. But your steps were heavier than usual. Your posture—a little too stiff. And your eyes, once razor-sharp, now dimmed by something far deeper than fatigue, holding the chilling echoes of a nursery blueprint mixed with the blue flash of a dying planet.

You buried yourself in retaliation messaging. Crisis framing. Broadcast schedules.

The Death Star was gone, and the public needed a story.

You stood before the operations table, voice clipped and steady.

“Push the broadcast again,” you ordered. “Three times a day, off prime hours. No dramatics, no sentimentality — just fact. The Rebels struck first. They destroyed the Death Star. They targeted Imperial lives.”

You scanned the feeds, fingers tapping across your datapad. “Mention the Senators who were arrested. Mon Mothma. Bel Iblis. All of them. The message is clear: this wasn’t a tragedy. This was treason.”

No one argued.

The room was quieter than usual. The buzz of activity was subdued, solemn. Eyes stayed low. Screens flickered, but no one spoke unless necessary.

You knew why.

The Death Star wasn’t just a weapon. It had been a city, a station, a post for thousands of officers, engineers, medics — some of whom had families. Friends. Partners. And now, they were gone.

Even here, among the ISB — fearsome, calculated, ruthless — grief had cracked through the seams.

You looked around. Eyes met yours. Then you spoke.

“Everyone who died on that station… will be remembered.”

A beat passed. Then another. Quiet nods followed. A few agents straightened, as if standing at attention. Even Dedra Meero paused, the faintest glint of respect in her eyes.

Then you turned back to the screen.

You needed to work. You needed to stay sharp.

You needed—

“Agent,” a soft voice interrupted.

You blinked.

A junior officer approached, cautiously, datapad in hand. His shoulders were tight, like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“General Krennic requested a private—”

Your head snapped up.

The voice that left your mouth was too sharp, too sudden.

“Can’t you see I’m busy trying to stop the Empire from collapsing in public outrage?!”

The command floor froze.

Dozens of agents looked up from their desks. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even Partagaz, passing by on the upper tier, stopped mid-step.

It was the first time anyone had heard you raise your voice.

The young agent flinched, face draining of color.

“I—I apologize, Agent.”

The silence rang in your ears.

You shut your eyes, rubbed your temple, exhaled.

“No. I’m sorry,” you said quietly, voice low now. “I didn’t mean—”

But it didn’t matter.

Because what you didn’t know — what no one in the room knew — was that just beyond the hallway, hidden behind the angled durasteel frame of the arch, Orson Krennic stood waiting.

Uncharacteristically quiet. Hands clasped behind his back. He had come for you — not with arrogance, not with fury, but something quieter. Something he wasn’t used to wearing.

He heard everything.

He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t walk in.

He simply turned around.

And left.

Without a word.

***************

You sat on Mia’s sofa, wrapped in a blanket that smelled faintly of lavender detergent and warm dust. Your legs were curled under you, back hunched slightly, your body as tired as your thoughts. The holoscreen droned on in the background, images of war memorials and the names of Death Star officers scrolled in slow tribute. You weren’t really watching. Not the words. Not the faces. Just the flickering light on the walls.

Your mind was somewhere else.

Orson.

You hadn’t seen him today. He hadn’t come back to the house. But that wasn’t surprising. You were still furious. Still raw. Still sorting through the fallout of what he had done. And yet, he had tried to see you — tried to speak with you at ISB. You’d shouted before you even saw him. You hadn’t meant to, but you did.

It was that kind of hurt. That kind of fight — the kind where pride and pain twisted into something so thick, you couldn’t speak without choking.

You popped another slice of meiloorun into your mouth. Sour. Sharp. It made your eyes sting, but your body wanted more. You reached for another without thinking, and another after that.

Across the room, Mia folded her arms and watched you. Not quietly. Not for long.

“Okay,” she said, her voice slicing through the silence, “what’s going on?”

You blinked. “What?”

“That.” She pointed. “You’ve been eating those like you’re on a survival ration. You hate meiloorun. You said it tastes like fermented sadness.”

You frowned. “I just felt like it.”

Mia raised an eyebrow and walked over, sitting across from you. “And you didn’t have caf today.”

“I didn’t want any.”

“You always want caf. You drink caf more than water. The kettle might as well be your god.”

You said nothing.

Mia leaned closer, eyes narrowing. “And the nausea. You gagged at breakfast. You gagged last night. Don’t lie, I heard you. And now you’re devouring sour fruit like it’s the last food in the galaxy.”

You stared down at the plate.

Mia’s voice dropped a little. “When was your last cycle?”

The question hit like a blaster round to the ribs.

You froze. The silence stretched.

“I— I don’t know,” you murmured. “Things have been stressful. With Scarif. Alderaan. Krennic. The Death Star. The propaganda network. Everything.”

Mia didn’t budge. She tilted her head. “You want me to book you an appointment?”

You opened your mouth to protest. To wave it off. But nothing came out.

And that was your answer.

—

Imperial Medical Center – A Few Hours Later. The exam room was quiet. Cold. Too sterile to feel safe.

You sat on the edge of the medbed, uniform pants still on, boots dangling above the floor. The scanner hummed beside you, casting a pale glow against the wall.

The medic smiled gently as she turned from the screen.

“You’re about twelve weeks.”

Your heart stopped. Then stuttered.

“Twelve—?” you echoed, voice catching.

You did the math. It came without effort. That night on Naboo. The first night. When everything changed.

You stared at the wall, numbness rising like frost on your skin. Twelve weeks. You had carried this — unknowingly — through the destruction of Jedha. Through the fall of Alderaan. Through every whisper and roar of war. Through every fight.

Through Krennic.

Beside you, Mia exhaled, a soft sound like relief.

“You’re gonna be a mom.”

The words hung in the room like a dropped weapon. Irreversible.

You looked down at your hands, still clenched in your lap. You hadn’t breathed since the words were spoken. Your heart was thundering. Not with joy. Not yet. Just fear. Just weight.

Your nieces, Ava and Elara. were buzzing with excitement, unaware of the heaviness on your chest. To them, this wasn’t complicated. It was joy. It was a miracle. It was the possibility of a new playmate.

You stared at the floor, struggling to process the weight of it.

“Do you think I could raise a child?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended. Fragile.

Mia didn’t answer right away. She glanced at her girls curled up on the carpet with their coloring books, then came to sit beside you. She placed a gentle hand on your back.

“You helped me with both of them,” she said. “Waiting for me when I went to labor, taught me how to swaddle when I nearly lost my mind. You didn’t even blink when I broke down from exhaustion and rage and hormones. If anyone can raise a child in this mad galaxy… it’s you.”

You gave her a weak smile. It didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“But in this government? With my work? I’ve done… things. I’ve covered things up. I’ve turned away from things that made me sick. What kind of world is this to raise someone in?”

Mia let out a long breath, as if she’d been holding it since the first footage of Alderaan’s obliteration hit the holos. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around what happened. Alderaan. The Death Star. I can’t pretend I understand any of it.”

She looked at you, dead-on. “But life doesn’t wait for governments to make sense. We keep going. We raise our kids. We survive. Because stopping... isn’t an option.”

You looked down again, throat tight.

She reached out, poked your arm with a smile trying to cut through the weight.

“Also, you’re a masochist.”

You blinked, startled. “Me?”

Mia laughed. “Back in Youth Program, you were the only one who finished those psych tests with a perfect score and didn’t cry during survival week. You joined the ISB when the rest of us could barely handle logistics.”

You rolled your eyes, but she kept going, teasing but true.

“And now… now you’ve got that man wrapped around your little finger.”

You raised a brow. “Orson?”

She grinned, calling out, “Girls! What do we call him again?”

The girls answers:  “Uncle White Cape!”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed.

For the first time in days, something cracked open inside you — not in pain, but something warm. It didn’t answer every question. It didn’t erase the war or the fear or the fact that somewhere out there, the man you once trusted had chosen power over people.

Now you wonder what Orson Krennic is doing right now. 

************

The low, insistent hum of the security field was a constant vibration behind Luthen’s spine, a sharp and inescapable reminder of the inevitability pressing in on him. He looked up, his gaze unwavering, as the door to the interrogation cell hissed open.

Orson Krennic stepped inside, a stark figure in his immaculate uniform, the flowing cape noticeably absent this time. His gloves were already on, pristine white against the dark fabric. His very presence changed the air in the sterile room—sharp, stifling, a sudden drop in temperature.

"Well, well. What an honor," Luthen drawled, a dry, rasping chuckle escaping him. His voice, hoarse from hours of silence, still managed to drip mockery. "The General-Director himself, dragging his boots through a cellblock to see me. Must've lost a bet."

Krennic didn’t even blink. He stopped two steps from the table, chin slightly tilted, his stare glacial, fixed solely on Luthen. "I had time. And the curiosity to see if you’d go out with any dignity. So far… disappointing."

Luthen leaned back in his chair with a slow exhale, the magnetic cuffs biting into his wrists. His body was bruised, yes, but his voice? Still dangerous, laced with the defiance of a man who knew his end was near. "You’ve already won. The Rebellion’s splintered. I’m old. Tired. You’ll have my corpse in a matter of minutes." A faint, mocking smirk played on his lips. "So… what now? You here to gloat? Or bury the last man who knows you are the reason the Death Star is gone?"

Krennic’s hand, resting at his side, slowly tightened, pulling one glove with a measured, deliberate tug. "I’m here," he said coldly, his eyes never leaving Luthen's, "because the prisons will soon overflow. Trials will become theatre. Executions will need editing." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "And you, Rael, are one more name I’m wiping from the credits."

Luthen blinked, then scoffed, a flicker of something close to amusement in his eyes. "So that’s it? Neatly cleaned up? No evidence? No whispers?"

"I don’t need to silence every whisper," Krennic said, a smirk now playing on his own lips, cold and precise. "I only need to outlive them."

Luthen’s voice dropped, the mockery replaced by a raw accusation. "You killed your own."

"And they died for something greater," Krennic said smoothly, his eyes like chips of ice. "Which is more than I can say for you."

"You handed me the flaw," Luthen snapped, struggling against his restraints to sit straighter, his voice rising in desperate fury. "You gave me the key. I may die, but I’ll die knowing it was you who let them in."

Krennic took another step closer, his voice low and lethally calm. "You were never the key. You were the lock I chose to break."

The door to the cell hissed open again. A silent medical officer stepped in, moving with quiet efficiency. No questions. No explanation. Just the sterile tray, the single vial, the filled syringe held with a practiced grip. Luthen looked at the needle, then back at Krennic, a final question in his eyes. "So this is how it ends?"

Krennic looked him directly in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "Clean. Quiet. Unremembered."

The injection was fast, a swift, almost imperceptible prick. Within seconds, Luthen’s body sagged, the tension draining from his limbs as the drug took hold. His eyes fluttered once, a last spark of defiant awareness, then stilled, his head slumping.

Krennic didn’t look away. He waited, motionless, for the silence to settle fully—the room so quiet, even the hum of the security field sounded distant, receding. He turned, a silhouette against the harsh light of the doorway, and walked towards the threshold. At the very edge, he paused, glancing back once at the lifeless form.

Then he murmured, almost conversationally, the words hanging in the sterile air:

"Legacies are for the living."

And he walked out. No guilt. No hesitation. Just the cold, quiet sound of the door sealing shut behind him.

********

The silence in the shuttle was deafening.

Outside, Coruscant gleamed beneath layers of durasteel and firelight, its towers and spires glittering like stars trapped in a cage. But inside, the air felt heavier. Not from war. Not from politics. But from something Krennic couldn’t quite name.

He sat rigid, gloved hands steepled under his chin, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes stared ahead at nothing, unmoving, locked in a calculation that had no numbers. Only memory. Only weight.

Across from him, Major Partagaz watched him like a man observing a predator that had suddenly gone still.

"You two had a fight?" Partagaz asked, voice dry.

Krennic didn’t look up.

"Isn’t that obvious?"

"You’re sulking."

"I’m brooding," he corrected, still not blinking. "It’s different."

Partagaz tilted his head. "Promotion ruins most relationships, General."

Krennic’s mouth curled at the edges.

"We’re nothing like that," he muttered, and then, softer, more uncertain, "I don’t know. She’s been... sensitive lately."

"Time of the month?" Partagaz quipped without pause.

Krennic snapped his eyes to him, a sharp warning flashing behind his cool demeanor.

"I won’t discuss that with you."

Partagaz merely shrugged, unbothered. "She’s been pale. Quiet. I’ve noticed she hasn’t touched caf. That woman used to down four cups before lunch."

Krennic didn’t respond immediately.

Because he had noticed.

He’d noticed the subtle changes — the skipped caffeine, the exhaustion she brushed off, the quiet way she held her stomach sometimes like it hurt. But he hadn't pushed. Not then.

Now, he was beginning to wonder.

"Welcome to relationships," Partagaz said with a short laugh. "Gets more complicated from here."

Krennic leaned back against the curved wall of the shuttle, eyes lifting to the metal ceiling, jaw tight.

Complication didn’t frighten him.

Not war. Not Rebels. Not even the Emperor.

But the idea of losing her?

That haunted him.

His plan had worked. It had successfully lured out the rebels and led to the discovery of their secret base. The rebellion was crushed, its leaders captured or dead. He should have been celebrating. Yet, he hadn't even mourned the Death Star the way others did. The engineers wept, the officers raged, and the Senate panicked, but Krennic remained outwardly unmoved.

Krennic simply stood still and listened — to the echo of your voice rising in the ISB command room, your sharp words that didn't know he was standing just beyond the hall.

That had been the real loss.

***********

The throne room swallowed sound and light whole.

Shadows danced like predators across the obsidian floors. The air was damp with power, heavy with fear. At its center, cloaked in darkness, stood Emperor Palpatine — as still as a statue and as ancient as ruin.

His eyes burned beneath his hood as he regarded the two men before him.

"The ISB," he rasped, "has performed… admirably."

His voice slithered across the chamber like smoke.

"The Rebellion bleeds. Their networks crumble. Their leaders detained. Their secrets exposed."

He turned to Partagaz first.

"Your agency has exceeded expectation, Major."

Partagaz bowed with measured precision. "Thank you, my Lord."

Then Palpatine’s gaze shifted — and locked onto Krennic.

"And you, General Krennic..."

Krennic stepped forward with silent discipline.

"You lost a station. But uncovered the enemy." Palpatine’s mouth twisted into something crooked and cruel. "Not a total failure."

Krennic held his ground. He didn’t react.

He didn’t need to. He had long mastered the art of surviving praise disguised as reprimand.

"You will build another," the Emperor continued. "Stronger. Faster. Perhaps smaller. But deadlier."

He tilted his head, pale lips curling.

"You are the only one I trust to do it without arrogance."

Krennic bowed low.

"Yes, my Lord."

But his mind wasn't on blueprints.

Not on alloy strength or structural integrity. Not on weapon range or kyber core compression.

His thoughts were somewhere else.

On you.

Had you eaten? Were you still angry? Were you alone?

Would you come back?

He had built a weapon once that could silence a planet. He could do it again.

But rebuilding something with you?

Earning back your trust?

That would be the real engineering feat.

The way you looked at him when you asked:

“Will you ever feel enough?”

And for the first time in his career — perhaps in his life — he didn’t want the power.

He wanted the person who saw through him. The strategist who challenged him.

The one who left.

**********************

The house was quiet when you returned. Krennic still wasn’t home. You didn’t blame him — not tonight. After Alderaan, after Death Star, after the Emperor’s disappointment and veiled demands, there were too many fires to smother.

You’re angry at him. Still, you missed him.

You showered slowly, steam curling over your skin, washing away the noise of the day. When you stepped out, you stood in front of the mirror, the towel wrapped loose around you. For a long moment, you simply looked at yourself.

No wonder you’d been eating more than usual. You weren’t just taking care of yourself anymore. Your hand lifted, almost without thought, and pressed lightly against your lower abdomen.

There was something there.

A baby.

And this child you’re carrying seems like hate caf.

You crawled into bed early, drawing the blanket up to your chin. The lights in the room were dim, casting gentle shadows against the walls. Your hand remained on your stomach, grounding yourself. Reassuring yourself that it was real. You shifted and winced, the nausea washing over you again like a tide.

Until you rolled onto your side and pulled his pillow close.

It still smelled like him—sharp and clean, cedarwood and sterile linen. And somehow, that steadied you. The ache in your gut, the dizziness, all faded under the weight of him—of what little piece of him still lingered in the scent.

You hugged it tighter.

Sleep came slowly, but eventually, it pulled you under.

Krennic stood outside the door for a long moment before keying in.

His limbs were heavy. His mind, heavier.

He hadn’t wanted to come home. Not because he didn’t miss you—but because he feared what he wouldn’t find. The cold of the house. The emptiness of it. The absence of your shoes by the door.

But when he stepped inside, dropped his gloves, and looked down—he saw them.

Your boots.

He froze. A sharp breath left him like a wound.

She’s here.

The relief was immediate and staggering. He tossed his cape onto the hanger, kicked off his boots, and stepped quietly down the hall toward the bedroom. Every part of him braced for disappointment.

Then he saw you.

Asleep. Curled beneath the blanket, one hand resting gently on your stomach, the other clutching his pillow.

Something in his chest cracked open.

He retreated quickly, silently to the fresher. A quick shower, rushed and quiet. He changed into a black tunic shirt and returned to the bedroom, careful not to wake you.

But the moment he lay beside you, you stirred.

Your eyes fluttered open. You turned your head.

He was there. Hair damp. Breath held. Watching you.

"Are you still mad that you’re stealing my pillow?" he said softly.

You didn’t smile, but your voice held warmth. "It’s mine now."

He chuckled. "Yes, yes. It’s yours."

There was a pause, heavier than the dark.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked, more hesitant this time.

Your answer came easily.

"I am."

He nodded, accepting it without defense. His hand rose, fingertips brushing your cheek.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly. "Everyone said you looked tired. I didn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it. You’ve carried so much of my ambition on your back. I should’ve carried some of it for you."

You didn’t speak at first.

Instead, you reached up, gently took his wrist, and guided his hand away from your face. Slowly, deliberately, you placed it over your belly.

You looked at him, voice quiet. “I’m pregnant.”

The world seemed to stop.

He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.

“What?”

You smiled faintly. “Yes. I got checked today. I’m… more than three months.”

His hand didn’t move. His eyes searched yours like he needed confirmation, like the words hadn’t quite sunk in.

“We’ve been…” he started, then stopped himself. “All this time and we didn’t even know…”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you warned with a tired laugh.

Krennic stood up slowly, hand pulling away from your stomach, only to comb through his own hair like a man who couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.

“Wow,” he said, mostly to himself. “I’m shocked.”

Then he kissed you — not with heat, not with urgency — but with something close to awe. A kiss like a thank you. Like reverence.

When he pulled away, his face had changed. You knew him well — the shifts were small. His eyes brighter, his mouth softer. The lines in his forehead had eased.

It was unexpected. He wasn’t prepared. Not for this. With weapons, there were plans. With structures, there were blueprints. He could measure and control.

But a child?

Becoming a father?

He had dreamed of it in vague, distant ways. You were always in that dream. But not yet. Not now.

And still—he wouldn’t take it back. Not for anything.

Because this meant you were staying.

Because this meant you were his.

Forever.

***********

You woke up late.

The kind of late where the sun had already stretched halfway across the sky and silence settled over the apartment like a heavy blanket. The bed beside you was empty, still warm. Krennic was gone — not gone gone, but not beside you. You pushed the sheets off, sluggish and groggy, your body feeling heavier than usual. The smell hit you next. Something warm, savory, not too greasy, not too rich.

You followed it.

Out in the kitchen, on the long counter, was a neatly arranged breakfast. Nothing extravagant. But every detail was deliberate. Fruits, boiled grains, steamed root vegetables. A small pitcher of chilled water infused with sliced meilooruns.

“You made this?” you asked, still in your sleep shirt, hair a mess.

Krennic stood by the edge of the counter, arms crossed. Not in uniform. Just a black shirt and slacks. Casual, at least by his standards.

“I did some research,” he said. “Turns out sour and bland helps with nausea. And hydration’s non-negotiable. You haven’t been drinking enough water.”

You blinked at him.

Your stomach answered for you, growling so loud it made his lips twitch.

You sat down, picked up a fork, and tasted the soft grain and sliced fruit. No nausea. No queasiness. Just… hunger.

You looked up at him. “It’s good,” you said.

His arms were still crossed, but the look on his face — that rare thing, half pride, half worry — made your chest tighten. "Why did you come back?"

He gave a faint smirk, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes yet. “I thought you hated me. Saw me as a monster.”

You took another bite, swallowed, and stood up. Slowly.

“I figured if I didn’t show up soon, you’d send Death Troopers to Mia’s apartment and give my nieces an early trauma.”

That earned a quiet scoff from him. “Last I heard, they were enchanted. One of them saluted and tried to trade her coloring book for a blaster.”

You tried not to smile. Failed. “Exactly my point. That’s what I want to change, Orson. I want a future where kids aren’t impressed by guns. Where they don’t think armor and capes are the same as safety. I want a world where they grow up safe — not conditioned to fear power.”

He went quiet.

Not defensive. Not amused. Just… quiet.

The kind of silence that meant he was actually listening. Absorbing it. Turning it over in that calculating mind of his like it was a new variable he hadn’t accounted for.

You took a breath. You had to say it.

“I can’t change you.”

That made his jaw tighten. Just a flicker — but you saw it. That was the hard line. The cut that actually landed.

You stepped closer, took his hand gently in yours, and guided it down to your stomach.

“Stop building terror,” you said softly. “Start building something else.”

His hand tensed at first, as if unsure whether he should be touching you at all. But then it softened, resting flat against the faint curve that wasn’t quite showing, but was there. Real. Alive.

He stared at your belly like it might vanish if he blinked too long.

Then, without a word, he dropped to one knee.

He leaned in slowly and pressed a kiss there — light, reverent, unsure. Not the Krennic anyone else knew. Not the cold director. Not the general. Just a man who didn’t know how to say what this meant, only that it meant everything.

When he looked up, his voice was lower than you’d ever heard it.

“Your mother is the only one in the galaxy who’s ever given me orders.”

You bit your lip. Something twisted painfully and beautifully in your chest. You weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry.

Then, slowly, his expression changed.

He sighed, a hand dragging through his hair like the weight of the world had just settled back on his shoulders.

“The Emperor asked me to build the second Death Star.”

You inhaled sharply. “But you don’t sound sure.”

Krennic didn’t answer immediately. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again. He shifted back on his heels, still kneeling.

“If you’d asked me a few months ago…” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have hesitated. But now?”

You waited a beat, then asked gently, “If you had the chance… would you stop building the Death Star?”

Krennic’s gaze lingered on you for a long moment — not evasive, not unsure, just… calculating in that way he always was, but softer now, tinted with something more human.

Then he exhaled, steady, deliberate.

“I’ll build something better,” he said, with quiet confidence.

Not arrogance. Not a threat. But a vow.

His hand was still resting on your stomach, and for the first time in his life, Orson Krennic wasn’t thinking about power, or legacy, or even victory.

He was thinking about a future that wouldn’t need to be ruled by fear.

A future worth protecting.

A future that had just begun with you.

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Please feel free to leave your comments. I'd love to know what you think. What do you want too see in the next chapter?

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle.

Check it out!

Link for Arrogant Ex-Husband

Amazon.com

Link for Dad I Can't Let You Go

Amazon.com: Dad, I Can't Let You Go eBook : Bing, Alina C.: Kindle Store

[glowupwithamy]

Finish what you started and transform your productivity

Recently i picked up a book i hadn't read in a long time for the past week i hadn't been able to work properly my tasks were going unfinished so i opened my cupboard and saw that book right in front of me. Then i read the whole book in just a one night and it sparked inspiration in me ..So i thought why not share everything i learned with all of you?

So I'm giving you guys a structured summary of Finish The Art of Following Through - Taking Action, Executing & Self Discipline by Peter Hollins -

1. The Importance of Execution

The ability to follow through allows you to create the life you desire rather than settling for the one you currently have. The process consists of focus, self-discipline, action, and persistence

2. Barriers to Follow Through

- Inhibiting Tactics: These include setting bad goals, procrastination, succumbing to distractions, and poor time management.

- Psychological Roadblocks: These encompass laziness, fear of judgment or failure, perfectionism driven by insecurity, and lack of self-awareness.

3. Staying Motivated

To remain motivated holds both external and internal motivators -

- External Motivators: These involve utilizing other people or resources to encourage action, such as accountability partners upfront investments and self bribery

- Internal Motivators: These focus on understanding personal benefits and improvements. Ask yourself questions such as How will this benefit me? and How will my life improve?

4. Developing a Manifesto

A manifesto is a set of daily rules that guide your actions so her are the some key rules -

- Rule 1: Identify if you’re acting out of laziness and avoid it.

- Rule 2: Limit yourself to three major tasks per day.

- Rule 3: Establish daily limitations and requirements

- Rule 4: Reaffirm your intentions through statements like I want I , will and I won't

- Rule 5: Reflect on the future consequences of not following through

- Rule 6: Utilize the concept of "just 10 minutes" to push through discomfort.

5. Follow Through Mindsets

- Mindset 1: Recognize the worthiness of your efforts.

⭐ Mindset 2: Become comfortable with discomfort.

- Mindset 3: Understand that learning comes from completing tasks.

- Mindset 4: Manage stress and anxiety effectively

6. Overcoming Procrastination

Procrastination can be managed through strategies such as:

- Temptation Bundling: Combine unpleasant tasks with enjoyable activities.

- Creating Momentum: Make starting tasks as easy as possible to gain momentum.

- Leveraging Fear: Use productive paranoia to spur action but cautiously

7. Minimizing Distractions

Create a work environment free from distractions and focus on

⭐ Single Tasking: Avoid multitasking to eliminate attention residue ( I will also create a separate blog on this topic i used to face this problem earlier and i have used many methods to reduce my habit of multitasking so i will write a blog about it. Don't worry )

- Batching Tasks: Group similar tasks to improve efficiency.

- Creating a Don't-Do List : Identify tasks to ignore and avoid ( This method is literally too much helpful )

8. The 40–70 Rule

This rule suggests acting when you have 70% of the necessary information as waiting for 100% is unrealistic

9. The Importance of Rest

Recognize the value of rest and relaxation as essential for mental recovery

10. Common Pitfalls

- False Hope Syndrome: Avoid unrealistic expectations and set achievable goals.

- Overthinking: Avoid excessive rumination and focus on taking action.

- Worrying: Concentrate on the present and control what you can.

11. Developing Daily Systems

Establish daily behaviors that promote consistency and long term success

⭐ Keep a Scoreboard: Track progress for motivation ( Ive been using this method for the past four days it literally shows me where I am making mistakes and what I need to do to complete my unfinished tasks )

By following these structured advice you can improve your ability to finish what you start and achieve your goals

If you have any questions or tips to share feel free to drop them in the comments in here to chat , Stay connected for more tips and insights thanks :)

[zoetica]

Notice of Discovery: Lenticus somnium Manifestation in "Xenobacillus glossophagii"

Alien Botany archival task force, The Institute for Psychogametous Life / zoeticaebb.com

May 12, 2185

Executive Summary 

This notice details the manifestation of the Lenticus somnium specimen, a psychogametous lifeform documented within the recovered Novy Mir "Alien Botany" archive [Ebb, 2180, 2022], within the literary work "Xenobacillus glossophagii" [Siratori, 2025]. At 1243 pages, “Xenobacillus glossophagii", represents the most expansive example of podcore identified to date and exhibits significant thematic and conceptual infiltration from the Lenticus somnium. We recommend immediate investigation into the mechanisms of Lenticus somnium transmission and its demonstrated capacity to propagate within novel mediums, coupled with a reassessment of associated psychological and biological risks [Ebb, 2025, "Observations on Extraterrestrial Organisms Documented in the Recovered Novy Mir Archive"].

Timeline

2180, October Publication of Chimeric Herbarium: The World of Alien Botany”.

2182, August Discovery of previous publication of Chimeric Herbarium in 2022 by IPGL archival team.

2183, January IPGL Alien Botany archival task force formed.

2185, March Discovery of Lenticus somnium psychogametous spread in 2025.

2185, May Publication of this notice.

Preliminary Findings

To study the psychogameotous potency of the Lenticus somnium (see Appendix A), we have pieced together the following chronology.

2022, October “Chimeric Herbarium: The World of Alien Botany” [Ebb, Oakley] published

2023, December Estimated first contact between Lenticus somnium and Siratori 

2024, June 6 Siratori proclaims, “Ebb’s work is Xenopoem”

2024, June 15 First Siratori propagation: Lenticus somnium × operator R. Sojelenskaya [Ebb, 2022] appears on the cover of “Xenopoem” Japanese edition [Siratori, 2024]

2025, January 6 Xenopoem conference and study group are formed

2025, January 29 Documented direct somal vector infiltration

2025, May 9 Siratori exhibits awareness of the mechanics of psychogametous replications:

“Zoetica Ebb demonstrates glossophage morphogenesis—the process by which symbolic units (colors, forms, textures) self-replicate, mutate, and colonize perceptual fields across species boundaries. [Her] aesthetic production instantiates an emergent multispecies semiotic ecology, where symbolic infection becomes both aesthetic strategy and evolutionary force.” [Siratori, 2025] 

2025, May 10  Lenticus somnium × “Xenobacillus glossophagii” published (Siratori xenohybrid)

2025, May 10 - (ongoing)  Continued mutation and propagation of Lenticus somnium.

Characteristics of Kenji Siratori's "Xenobacillus glossophagii":

The discovery is significant because Xenobacillus glossophagii is the largest body of work to date with clear signatures of psychogametous spread, including:

The cover is a direct transmission of Lenticus somnium.

The text of "Xenobacillus glossophagii" demonstrates strong thematic and conceptual links to the "Alien Botany" archive, with specific elements (hybridisation, parasitism, profound isolation, psychological deterioration, the vulnerability of human consciousness, viral psychological spread, host destruction or metamorphosis),  traceable to the characteristics of the Lenticus somnium specimen and its reported hybridisation with Novy Mir mission operator R. Sojelenskaya [Ebb, 2180, 2022].

Compulsive profuse recreation of emergent pseudoscientific imagery [Siratori 2025] associated with and resulting from the original Lenticus somnium specimen chart [Ebb, 2180, 2022].

Methodology

The criteria for the identification of psychogametous spread, given in [Ebb 2180, 2022, p. 50]:

Physical manifestation

Symbolic transmission

Self-directed or automatic replication

The manifestation is a novel mutation

The criteria for identifying podcore given in [Ebb 2180, 2022, p. 50]:

Recurrent themes of hybridisation, parasitism, profound isolation, psychological deterioration, and the vulnerability of human consciousness within extreme environments.

An involuntary drive in exposed individuals to connect, investigate, reinterpret, and transmit the "Alien Botany" archive content in interconnected groups, sometimes followed by revolution following replication.

A compulsion to create novel iterations of Alien Botany imagery or concepts, occasionally accompanied by descriptions of these creations as "seeds" or "spores," indicating acknowledgement of symbolic or biological propagation. This behaviour is consistent with psychogametous replication, wherein the host's cognitive processes are utilised for the organism's reproduction [Ebb, 2025], thus suggesting a relationship with the archive that transcends conventional fandom or academic interest.

Analysis

This manifestation satisfies all criteria for determining psychogametous spread. "Xenobacillus glossophagii" is a physical object; Siratori and Ebb never having met before its publication makes psychogametous transmission the only vector for its genesis; Siratori propagated and published voluntarily, i.e. in a self-directed manner; the recurrent themes outlined in podcore identification criteria above are present; the diagrams within the book are evidence of alien germination and mutation, seeded in Siratori by Lenticus somnium. Furthermore, we find:

Kenji Siratori, through the creation and publication of "Xenobacillus glossophagii" and his continued reauthorisation of Alien Botany elements, constitutes a prolific new vector for the replication of Lenticus somnium, successfully facilitating its manifestation within distinct mediums.

At 1243 pages, "Xenobacillus glossophagii" represents the most extensive work within the podcore genre to date, indicating a significant psychogametous propagation of Lenticus somnium-related themes, imagery, and its underlying influence.

Recommended Actions

It is the assessment of the Alien Botany archival task force that the following actions are recommended, aligning with the IPGL's multi-faceted approach:

Comprehensive Analysis: Initiate a detailed literary analysis of "Xenobacillus glossophagii", focusing on identifying the textual mechanisms – including specific linguistic patterns, recurring imagery, and narrative structures – through which the characteristics and potential influence of Lenticus somnium have been transmitted and transformed.

Comparative Phenomenological Study: Undertake a comparative study contrasting rigorously documented psychological and physiological effects of direct exposure to "Alien Botany" archive materials (specifically the Lenticus somnium specimen) with carefully verified reader responses to "Xenobacillus glossophagii". This study should be consistent with IPGL ethical guidelines.

Risk Assessment and Mitigation Strategy: Initiate a comprehensive risk assessment to evaluate the full spectrum of potential adverse psychological and long-term physiological consequences associated with exposure to "Xenobacillus glossophagii". Based on this assessment, develop and implement a robust mitigation strategy [IPGL Safety Protocol Gamma-9].

Development of a Global Containment and Public Awareness Strategy: Develop and implement a global containment strategy aimed at mitigating the potential spread of Lenticus somnium-related effects through "Xenobacillus glossophagii", including careful consideration of potential restrictions on the work's dissemination and the launch of targeted public awareness campaigns emphasizing responsible engagement and potential risks, consistent with the IPGL's commitment to "public engagement as active participants in this process" [IPGL: A Novel Approach, 2025].

Conclusion

The publication of "Xenobacillus glossophagii" represents a critical juncture in the ongoing investigation of psychogametous lifeforms. The confirmed manifestation of Lenticus somnium within this expansive literary work, firmly situated within the podcore genre, necessitates decisive and coordinated action. The Institute for Psychogametous Life must prioritize understanding the mechanisms of this transmission, assessing the potential risks to the wider public, and implementing effective strategies for containment and mitigation. Podcore has evolved from a niche interest to a potent vector for the propagation of alien psychogametous life.

References

Ebb, Z. (2022). Chimeric Herbarium: The World of Alien Botany. [ISBN 978-1-3999-3003-1]

Ebb, Z. (2025, March 20). Observations on Extraterrestrial Organisms Documented in the Recovered Novy Mir Archive, with Considerations for Potential Psychoactive and Psychic Influences, and the Propagation of Psychogametous Lifeforms.

Ebb, Z. (2025, March 22). Psychogametous Lifeforms: A Theoretical Framework for Symbolic Reproduction.

Ebb, Z. (2025, May 6)The Institute for Psychogametous Life: A Novel Approach to Investigating Symbolic Alien Replication and Human Cognitive Response.

Siratori, K. (2025) Xenobacillus glossophagii.

Siratori, K. (2025) Xenozoetic Translation-Invariance: Neural Encoding and Glossophagic Adaptations in Lepidoglossum sapiens

Appendix A

Lenticus somnium Attributes:

The Lenticus somnium specimen [Ebb, 2022] exhibits the following critical properties relevant to this incident:

Psychogametous Reproduction: The primary mode of propagation occurs through the transmission of symbolic representations that exert a direct and demonstrable influence on human cognitive processes. As theorized, "'a psychogametous lifeform can be defined as a biological entity that encodes its reproductive information into symbolic forms, such as images, text, or sounds. These entities utilize cognitive systems, particularly human minds, as a medium for information transmission and reinterpretation'" [Ebb, 2025].

Nervous-system Breach and Incubation: Lenticus somnium displays a potency in inducing vivid dream incubation and persistent isochromatic after-images in exposed individuals. Its unique visual characteristics function as a highly efficient “psychogamete,” readily establishing itself within the human mind following even brief exposure [Ebb, 2025].

Induction of Anomalous Phenomena: Exposure to symbolic representations of Lenticus somnium has been consistently linked to the triggering of specific anomalous effects in human subjects, including vivid hallucinatory palinopsia and involuntary ideomotor reflexes [Ebb, 2025, "Observations on Extraterrestrial Organisms Documented in the Recovered Novy Mir Archive"].

Symbolic Autonomy: The symbolic representations of Lenticus somnium possess a degree of autonomy, demonstrating the capacity to propagate and potentially evolve independently of their original source material and the initial observer [Ebb, 2025, "Psychogametous Lifeforms: A Theoretical Framework for Symbolic Reproduction"].

Implications for IPGL Research:

The emergence of "Xenobacillus glossophagii" presents several critical implications for the ongoing research at the Institute for Psychogametous Life:

Manifestation Across Media: This event unequivocally demonstrates the capacity of psychogametous lifeforms, specifically Lenticus somnium, to manifest and propagate effectively across diverse artistic mediums, extending beyond visual representations to encompass complex literary expression within the podcore genre [IPGL Preliminary Findings, 2025-05-12]. This aligns with the IPGL's aim to investigate "'symbolic alien replication'" [Ebb, 2025].

Amplified Psychological and Physiological Effects: The expansive nature of Siratori's work appears to correlate with a reported amplification of psychological and physiological effects in readers. Initial anecdotal reports and emergent discussions indicate a heightened incidence and intensity of anomalous phenomena consistent with Lenticus somnium exposure.

Cross-Cultural and Genre Transmission: The successful integration of Alien Botany themes within posthuman literature confirms the potential for cross-cultural and cross-genre transmission of these psychogametous phenomena, posing a potentially global concern extending beyond established podcore communities and traditional Alien Botany enthusiasts. This necessitates a broader understanding of "'human cognitive response'" to symbolic alien replication [IPGL: A Novel Approach, 2025].

[theonlyonesora]

The Man Who Married Me

PAIRING: Lewis Hamilton x Reader x Max Verstappen

CH – 03

Monday morning hit you like cold water.

Your phone buzzed violently on the nightstand just after 6 a.m., dragging you out of shallow, restless sleep. You blinked at the screen, squinting against the low light. Toto Wolff – Incoming Video Call.

You answered on instinct, still wrapped in sheets, voice hoarse. “Toto?”

His face filled the screen—sharp, serious, and very much not in the mood. “Kimi’s connecting. So is Dieter. We need to talk. Now.”

That was all the warning you got.

A few moments later, your team’s top executives began to appear one by one in the call—Kimi from her apartment in Monaco, Dieter already in the office, and several others scattered across Europe. You pulled on a hoodie and tied your hair up as fast as you could, dragging yourself out of bed and into the kitchen for coffee, still emotionally hungover from your weekend with Lewis.

And then Toto dropped the bomb.

“Max fucking Verstappen has signed with us.”

The room went silent.

You froze mid-step, blinking as if your screen had glitched.

Kimi’s mouth fell open. “What?”

Toto’s expression was unreadable. Controlled fury. “Red Bull lost him over internal politics and Helmut’s refusal to approve some demands. We didn’t even pursue him. His management came to us. And it’s done. Paper signed. Effective immediately. This season.”

You stared at your laptop, heart suddenly beating faster. Max Verstappen. Four-time World Champion. Red Bull’s prodigy. Mercedes’ future.

It was unbelievable. Historic. Chaotic. And absolutely brilliant.

You felt… something. For the first time in days, you actually felt something other than despair or numbness. You stood straighter. You reached for your notebook. You were awake.

“Toto,” you said carefully, finally unmuting yourself, “are we announcing this today?”

He gave you a look. “Do we have a choice?”

You nodded. Already shifting gears in your mind—PR strategies, team restructure meetings, integration timelines, preparing George’s farewell statement. George would be leaving—sad, yes. But Max Verstappen? A generational talent. And now your driver.

And that was the moment it hit you.

You loved your job. You loved the team. The sport. The chaos. The adrenaline. It had been your sanctuary before Lewis, and somewhere along the way, you’d forgotten that.

But now? Now, the fog inside you cleared, just a little.

You weren't just his wife.

You were Head Executive of Mercedes F1. And Max Verstappen was coming to drive your car.

For the first time in over a week, you didn’t feel like crying. You felt like working.

.

The entire day pulsed with adrenaline, the kind only Formula 1 could conjure.

Calls from media outlets, sponsors, FIA representatives, journalists digging for details—they all came flooding in like a tsunami. WhatsApp pinged non-stop. Your inbox was a battlefield. There were statements to revise, press timelines to coordinate, and internal memos to update. Everyone wanted a piece of the story: Max Verstappen signs with Mercedes.

You barely left your desk.

Your fingers moved quickly, eyes scanning contracts, your voice brisk in back-to-back Zoom calls. The house around you faded—walls, silence, time. Even hunger. It all blurred as you threw yourself into the work, the strategy, the escape.

Because that’s what it was. An escape.

You couldn’t bear to sit in your living room and wonder where Lewis was emotionally—or worse, who he might end up with now that your marriage came with an invisible asterisk.

You couldn’t keep checking your phone to see if he texted some vague “Thinking of you” while possibly planning something physical with someone else in the near future.

So you threw yourself into your old religion: work.

.

By mid-afternoon, you were on your third coffee and fifth call of the hour when you felt him watching you.

Lewis stood by the doorway to your home office, a glass of water in hand, wearing a hoodie and sweatpants. His hair was pulled back, a slight crease in his brow. He wasn’t angry. Not exactly. But there was a question in his eyes.

You placed a hand over the mic, muting yourself. “Give me ten minutes,” you whispered.

He nodded once, quietly turning to leave.

And for a second—just a second—you hated that he looked hurt.

Because hadn’t you been hurting all weekend? Hadn’t he started this?

You didn’t owe him your stillness.

.

When the last call ended an hour later, you stepped into the kitchen and found him there, scrolling on his phone, long legs folded beneath him at the counter. He looked up when you walked in.

“You’ve been at it all day,” he said casually.

You shrugged. “It’s a big day.”

“Still… season hasn’t even started. You usually try to slow down a bit when I’m home.”

You paused, then leaned against the counter across from him. “Yeah, well. I needed the distraction.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then set his phone down.

“Is this about us?”

You let out a soft laugh—bitter, tired. “What part isn’t?”

Lewis stood, walking toward you. “I’m not doing anything yet. You know that, right? I haven’t even looked at anyone.”

You stared up at him. “But you will.”

He didn’t deny it. Just studied you with that frustrating calm of his, the kind that made you want to scream and collapse into his arms all at once.

“This thing—this arrangement—we agreed it wouldn’t change us.”

But it had. You both knew it.

You gave him a faint, polite smile and turned away.

“I’ve got another call in ten minutes,” you said softly.

And you left him standing there. In your kitchen. In your home. Feeling like a stranger again.

[the-catch-center]

I. ORIGIN IDENTITY (2025)

Name: Nathaniel "Nate" Carter Date of Birth: March 12, 1993 Origin Point: Houston, Texas, United States Profession: Personal Trainer and Amateur Bodybuilder Psychological Profile: Highly ambitious, narcissistic tendencies, obsessive focus on physical perfection, and a deep-seated desire for recognition and fame.

Summary: Nathaniel Carter was a product of the 21st-century self-optimization culture. His life revolved around sculpting the ideal physique, not for health, but for adulation. Dissatisfied with his reality, he sought to rewrite his existence by exploiting temporal loopholes, aiming to implant himself into a past where his idealized version of success could be realized.

II. INTENDED TEMPORAL INSERTION (1975)

Alias: Chadwick "Chad" Thompson Target Date of Birth: June 6, 1957 Insertion Point: Des Moines, Iowa, United States Intended Role: High School Football Prodigy transitioning to a collegiate athletic career Physical Blueprint: 6'4", 245 lbs, muscular build, clean-cut appearance, embodying the archetype of the 1970s American football star. Psychological Conditioning: Assertive, competitive, disciplined, with a singular focus on athletic excellence and the pursuit of national recognition.

Summary: Carter's plan was to become the quintessential all-American athlete of the 1970s, leveraging his knowledge of future sports strategies and training methodologies to dominate the era's football scene. His ultimate goal was to secure a legacy as a sports icon, complete with endorsements, fame, and the adulation he craved.

III. INTERCEPTION AND REASSIGNMENT

Interception Date: April 14, 2025 Location: Temporal Transit Corridor 7B Reason for Interception: Unauthorized temporal insertion with high risk of causality disruption. Reassignment Protocol: Subject rerouted to a timeline and identity with minimal historical impact potential.

IV. ASSIGNED IDENTITY (1990s)

Name: Giovanni Bianchi Date of Birth: April 14, 1944 Assigned Location: Modena, Italy Profession: Opera Singer (Bass-Baritone) Physical Characteristics:

Height: 5'11"

Weight: 290 lbs

Build: Broad, burly, with a prominent abdomen

Hair: Sparse, with a receding hairline and balding crown

Facial Hair: Full beard stubble

Body Hair: Dense chest and shoulder hair

Feet: Size 28EE, intentionally disproportionate for biometric tracking

Psychological Profile: Grounded, passionate about music, family-oriented, with no recollection of previous identities.

Summary: Giovanni Bianchi is a respected opera singer known for his powerful bass-baritone voice that resonates with audiences. He leads a modest life, deeply rooted in Italian culture, with a loving wife and three children. His daily routine includes rehearsals, performances, and family gatherings, embodying a life of stability and artistic contribution.

V. TRANSFORMATION PROCESS

Mental Reconditioning: Subject's memories were systematically overwritten, replacing all traces of Nathaniel Carter and Chadwick Thompson with those of Giovanni Bianchi. This included fabricated memories of childhood in Italy, conservatory training in Vienna, and a flourishing opera career.

Physical Alteration: Utilizing advanced morphogenic technology, the subject's physique was transformed from a lean, athletic build to a robust, middle-aged form. The process included:

Redistribution of muscle mass to increase body girth

Induction of male pattern baldness

Enhancement of vocal cords to produce a deep, resonant voice

Augmentation of foot size to 28EE for identification purposes

Summary: The transformation was executed seamlessly, with the subject exhibiting no resistance due to the complete mental reconditioning. The new identity aligns with the SCC's objective of minimizing temporal disruptions by integrating deviants into low-impact societal roles.

VI. CURRENT STATUS

Family: Married to Lucia Bianchi; father to two daughters and one son. Career: Performs regularly at regional opera houses; teaches vocal techniques to aspiring singers. Community Standing: Well-respected figure in Modena's cultural scene; known for his generosity and mentorship.

Notable Irony: Giovanni's son, Marco Bianchi, exhibits exceptional talent in American football, eventually securing a scholarship to a U.S. university in the early 2010s. This unintended echo of the subject's original aspirations serves as a testament to the unpredictable nature of fate.

VII. OPERATIVE'S NOTES

Observations: The subject's transition from a self-absorbed fitness enthusiast to a humble opera singer is both effective and poetic. His current life, centered around art and family, stands in stark contrast to his previous narcissistic pursuits.

Commentary: It's almost amusing how the universe finds balance. Carter sought fame through physical prowess, yet now his voice—a tool he never valued—is his most celebrated attribute. The oversized feet, a permanent reminder of his temporal transgressions, ensure he remains grounded, both literally and metaphorically.

VIII. TERMINATION PROJECTION

Projected Date of Death: August 22, 2019 Cause: Natural causes (myocardial infarction) Location: Modena, Italy Remarks: Subject will pass away peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by family, leaving behind a legacy of music and mentorship.

[astrologydray]

Pallas through the degrees

Each degree gives Pallas a specific tone—some degrees make you a warrior strategist, others a silent psychic, a healer, or a visionary. These tell us how your brain sees the world’s patterns… and how you’re built to solve what others can’t.

0° – Bold and raw strategist; you jump into problems instinctively.

You trust your first hit of intuition and usually nail it before others finish processing.

1° – Strong-willed and fiercely independent in thought.

You’re devoted to your own logic and don’t wait for validation.

2° – Steady, grounded thinker; your intelligence moves slow but deep.

You don’t miss anything—especially when money, loyalty, or long-term value is involved.

3° – Mentally flexible and witty; you process everything through language and vibes.

You’re sharp in conversations and catch subtle patterns quickly.

4° – Deeply intuitive; your intelligence is emotionally rooted.

You read people’s moods and hidden needs without them ever saying a word.

5° – Creative problem solver with childlike spark.

Your strategy often involves humor, art, or playful genius.

6° – Precision thinker; you can spot the flaw in a system instantly.

You’re wired for service, health, and smart solutions that actually work.

7° – Balanced, aesthetic thinker; you see symmetry and fairness in everything.

You solve relational issues with clarity and grace.

8° – Intense psychological strategist.

You’re gifted at seeing what’s not being said—and using that to shift the whole dynamic.

9° – Expansive thinker; your wisdom is philosophical or global.

You’re great at connecting patterns across time, cultures, and beliefs.

10° – Structured, executive strategist.

You organize thoughts into blueprints for success—you’re made for leadership.

11° – Abstract thinker with a gift for innovation.

You’re a mental rebel, always scanning for a smarter, freer way forward.

12° – Quiet mystic; you receive patterns through feeling, not logic.

You download wisdom from the subtle or spiritual realm.

13° – Laser-focused and unshakable.

You’re not afraid of chaos—you can find the center and take control.

14° – Clever, adaptable, and always three steps ahead.

You’re a mental shapeshifter who solves problems with a joke or a twist.

15° – Charismatic and radiant thinker.

You shine when you’re expressing your vision creatively or publicly.

16° – Skillful, steady, and rooted in logic.

You’re great at mastering the basics and building smart, sustainable results.

17° – Diplomatic mind; you can charm and out-think at the same time.

You keep things fair but always strategic.

18° – Powerful, intuitive, and emotionally complex.

You work behind the scenes and can dismantle a problem from the inside out.

19° – Bold belief-based thinker.

You fight with facts and fire—and your opinions usually stick.

20° – Wise beyond your years with a CEO brain.

You apply ancient logic to modern goals, and people trust your judgment.

21° – Inventive thinker with a rebellious edge.

You challenge every norm and usually win.

22° – Quiet and fated intelligence.

Your wisdom feels karmic—almost like you’ve been solving the same soul puzzle for lifetimes.

23° – Imaginative strategist with a dreamy edge.

You solve problems through visuals, feelings, or fantasy worlds that make more sense than reality.

24° – Functional brilliance; you create efficiency like it’s art.

Your logic is beautiful, earthy, and helpful.

25° – Dramatic, compelling thinker.

You perform your intelligence and captivate people in the process.

26° – Deep strategist with a love of hidden systems.

You see patterns in power, pain, and transformation—and know how to work with all three.

27° – Visionary problem solver; you teach others how to think bigger.

Your wisdom is bold, clear, and influential.

28° – Structured and legacy-driven wisdom.

You’re here to make real moves with your mind and leave a mark through strategy.

29° – Karmic closure; you’ve been carrying this sacred intelligence across lifetimes.

Your pattern recognition is profound, and your solutions often feel final, fated, or deeply healing.