#Industrial Control System Part

[my-smial]

As a very salient example from my experience, the CHIPS act pushed by Biden has actually, measurably increased domestic manufacturing - as in, there are multiple huge factories being built to produce computer chips in the US. The act worked by giving money to companies to offset the massive cost of starting a chip assembly line - those things are big and expensive, and starting a new fab line is a huge deal. Tariffs would have to raise prices to the tune of billions to make moving manufacturing domestically worthwhile, assuming there's enough demand in the US.

The act made it through Congress because the military decided that relying entirely on other countries to supply our entire electronics infrastructure is a disaster waiting to happen in the event of a war. They got weight of the Department of Defense behind the plan.

And this manufacturing is still facing major problems in implementation, for all of the reasons listed above. Safety and environmental standards need to be handled. Most of the materials are still sourced outside the country, leaving unstable supply lines supporting domestic factories and simply stepping the problem down a tier. And, crucially, the US doesn't train people in mass for these kinds of jobs. A massive portion of skilled electronics workers in the US are immigrants from east Asia, especially Taiwan, because the training for manufacturing lines exists there.* Skilled workers can't be willed into existence tomorrow, they have to spend years training in programs that the US does not have - and US college students don't have a culture of leaving to get trained in other countries.

It's rough going, but the CHIPS act is going, because it addresses many levels of this problem over the course of years. It doesn't increase costs by a random amount and claim the problem will solve itself.

(Relatedly, if you want a job for the long term, look into technical training in something like HVAC or welding. My county has order 1 guy handling heating and AC for domestic houses. He has job security forever)

[auto2mation1]

The Mavigard SD 64+ Conventional Fire Alarm Control Panel is a reliable and user-friendly safety device designed to detect and respond to fire emergencies. With support for up to 8 detection zones, it ensures fast alerts and monitoring across multiple areas. It features battery monitoring, test facilities, and is Class Delta approved for quality and performance. Ideal for industrial, marine, and commercial use, the panel offers dependable fire protection and easy operation. Trusted by safety professionals worldwide, it's built for long-lasting performance. Buy now at Auto2mation – your trusted source for fire and safety solutions

[semimediapress]

Vishay launches new high-CMTI isolation amplifiers for EV and industrial power applications

June 5, 2025 /SemiMedia/ — Vishay Intertechnology has introduced a new line of high-reliability isolation amplifiers — VIA0050DD, VIA0250DD, and VIA2000SD — targeting precision current and voltage sensing in industrial, energy, and electric vehicle (EV) systems. The VIA series delivers industry-leading common-mode transient immunity (CMTI) up to 150 kV/μs and offers tight gain accuracy of ±0.05%…

[aeliyamarineinsights]

Discover Trusted Cegelec Automation Components at Aeliya Marine Tech

In today’s fast-paced industrial and marine sectors, reliability, durability, and performance are not just desired they’re required. When it comes to sourcing trusted automation components, Cegelec stands out as a pioneer in electrical and control system engineering. At Aeliya Marine Tech, we bring you a wide collection of Cegelec automation parts, sourced with care and offered with confidence.

About Cegelec : Excellence in Electrical Engineering

Cegelec, a name synonymous with innovation, is a global leader in delivering integrated industrial and automation solutions. Known for designing high-quality control systems and electrical components, Cegelec serves a wide range of sectors including marine, oil & gas, manufacturing, power distribution, and industrial automation.

Their components are built to perform under tough conditions and are often used in mission-critical applications. From marine vessels to process plants, Cegelec products are trusted by professionals who can’t afford failure.

What You’ll Find in Aeliya Marine’s Cegelec Collection

At Aeliya Marine Tech, our curated Cegelec product listings include :

PCB Interface Boards

Control System Cards

Input/Output (I/O) Modules

Power Supply Boards

Relay Units

Signal Converters

Marine-Grade Automation Parts

All components are either brand new or used in excellent tested condition. We understand the importance of quality and functionality, which is why our team ensures that each product is carefully inspected before listing.

Why Choose Used or Refurbished Cegelec Parts?

Many companies are shifting toward sustainable and cost-effective alternatives — and that’s where used and refurbished automation components play a key role. Here’s why : 

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Whether you’re sourcing replacements for obsolete Cegelec models or expanding your current automation setup, Aeliya Marine’s offerings deliver the perfect balance of price and performance.

Why Aeliya Marine is the Right Choice

With over a decade of experience in the industrial and marine automation market, Aeliya Marine Tech Pvt. Ltd. is a globally trusted supplier. Our strength lies not just in our inventory but in our service, support, and product knowledge.

Here’s what sets us apart :

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Each product page includes images, specifications, reference numbers, and shipping details so that customers can make informed purchasing decisions.

Visit the Cegelec Product Collection

If you’re ready to upgrade or maintain your systems with Cegelec automation parts, head over to our collection today.

[plc-world]

Exploring Hitachi Industrial Automation Parts: Enhancing Efficiency and Performance

PLC World is an independent distributor of genuine, refurbished, and surplus. PLC Hardware in industrial automation and networking equipment. For more information Visit here:https://plcworld.com.au/

[vbnvertriebsgmbh]

Streamlining Industrial Success With Reliable Spare Parts Supply

The industrial sector relies on the effectiveness of its processes and machinery; hence, spare parts suppliers are the backbone of this success. These suppliers provide key parts that keep production lines rolling without any form of delay. Their main priority is to deliver high-quality parts that meet industrial standards while focusing on timeliness. This way, industries can continue without being interrupted, minimize downtime, and maintain operational integrity. With a well-established network, a Spare Parts Supplier for the Industrial Sector helps to streamline procurement and logistics for industries worldwide.

Their solutions cater to diverse operational challenges, from filtration systems to specialized machinery components. Suppliers are a vital part of operational success, combining experience, efficiency, and technological knowledge. Businesses rely on their expertise to quickly access the right spare parts when needed, empowering industries to thrive even in unforeseen disruptions. Through trusted supply chains and industry partnerships, they provide strategic solutions that sustain industries’ global demand.

[no-passaran]

Genocide experts warn that India is about to genocide the Shompen people

Who are the Shompen?

The Shompen are an indigenous culture that lives in the Great Nicobar Island, which is nowadays owned by India. The Shompen and their ancestors are believed to have been living in this island for around 10,000 years. Like other tribes in the nearby islands, the Shompen are isolated from the rest of the world, as they chose to be left alone, with the exception of a few members who occasionally take part in exchanges with foreigners and go on quarantine before returning to their tribe. There are between 100 and 400 Shompen people, who are hunter-gatherers and nomadic agricultors and rely on their island's rainforest for survival.

Why is there risk of genocide?

India has announced a huge construction mega-project that will completely change the Great Nicobar Island to turn it into "the Hong Kong of India".

Nowadays, the island has 8,500 inhabitants, and over 95% of its surface is made up of national parks, protected forests and tribal reserve areas. Much of the island is covered by the Great Nicobar Biosphere Reserve, described by UNESCO as covering “unique and threatened tropical evergreen forest ecosystems. It is home to very rich ecosystems, including 650 species of angiosperms, ferns, gymnosperms, and bryophytes, among others. In terms of fauna, there are over 1800 species, some of which are endemic to this area. It has one of the best-preserved tropical rain forests in the world.”

The Indian project aims to destroy this natural environment to create an international shipping terminal with the capacity to handle 14.2 million TEUs (unit of cargo capacity), an international airport that will handle a peak hour traffic of 4,000 passengers and that will be used as a joint civilian-military airport under the control of the Indian Navy, a gas and solar power plant, a military base, an industrial park, and townships aimed at bringing in tourism, including commercial, industrial and residential zones as well as other tourism-related activities.

This project means the destruction of the island's pristine rainforests, as it involves cutting down over 852,000 trees and endangers the local fauna such as leatherback turtles, saltwater crocodiles, Nicobar crab-eating macaque and migratory birds. The erosion resulting from deforestation will be huge in this highly-seismic area. Experts also warn about the effects that this project will have on local flora and fauna as a result of pollution from the terminal project, coastal surface runoff, ballasts from ships, physical collisions with ships, coastal construction, oil spills, etc.

The indigenous people are not only affected because their environment and food source will be destroyed. On top of this, the demographic change will be a catastrophe for them. After the creation of this project, the Great Nicobar Island -which now has 8,500 inhabitants- will receive a population of 650,000 settlers. Remember that the Shompen and Nicobarese people who live on this island are isolated, which means they do not have an immune system that can resist outsider illnesses. Academics believe they could die of disease if they come in contact with outsiders (think of the arrival of Europeans to the Americas after Christopher Columbus and the way that common European illnesses were lethal for indigenous Americans with no immunization against them).

And on top of all of this, the project might destroy the environment and the indigenous people just to turn out to be useless and sooner or later be abandoned. The naturalist Uday Mondal explains that “after all the destruction, the financial viability of the project remains questionable as all the construction material will have to be shipped to this remote island and it will have to compete with already well-established ports.” However, this project is important to India because they want to use the island as a military and commercial post to stop China's expansion in the region, since the Nicobar islands are located on one of the world's busiest sea routes.

Last year, 70 former government officials and ambassadors wrote to the Indian president saying the project would “virtually destroy the unique ecology of this island and the habitat of vulnerable tribal groups”. India's response has been to say that the indigenous tribes will be relocated "if needed", but that doesn't solve the problem. As a spokesperson for human rights group Survival International said: “The Shompen are nomadic and have clearly defined territories. Four of their semi-permanent settlements are set to be directly devastated by the project, along with their southern hunting and foraging territories. The Shompen will undoubtedly try to move away from the area destroyed, but there will be little space for them to go. To avoid a genocide, this deadly mega-project must be scrapped.”

On 7 February 2024, 39 scholars from 13 countries published an open letter to the Indian president warning that “If the project goes ahead, even in a limited form, we believe it will be a death sentence for the Shompen, tantamount to the international crime of genocide.”

How to help

The NGO Survival International has launched this campaign:

From this site, you just need to add your name and email and you will send an email to India's Tribal Affairs Minister and to the companies currently vying to build the first stage of the project.

Share it with your friends and acquittances and on social media.

Sources:

India’s plan for untouched Nicobar isles will be ‘death sentence’ for isolated tribe, 7 Feb 2024. The Guardian.

‘It will destroy them’: Indian mega-development could cause ‘genocide’ and ‘ecocide’, says charity, 8 Feb 2024. Geographical.

Genocide experts call on India's government to scrap the Great Nicobar mega-project, Feb 2024. Survival International.

The container terminal that could sink the Great Nicobar Island, 20 July 2022. Mongabay.

[Maps] Environmental path cleared for Great Nicobar mega project, 10 Oct 2022. Mongabay.

[nasa]

What We Learned from Flying a Helicopter on Mars

The Ingenuity Mars Helicopter made history – not only as the first aircraft to perform powered, controlled flight on another world – but also for exceeding expectations, pushing the limits, and setting the stage for future NASA aerial exploration of other worlds.

Built as a technology demonstration designed to perform up to five experimental test flights over 30 days, Ingenuity performed flight operations from the Martian surface for almost three years. The helicopter ended its mission on Jan. 25, 2024, after sustaining damage to its rotor blades during its 72nd flight.

So, what did we learn from this small but mighty helicopter?

We can fly rotorcraft in the thin atmosphere of other planets.

Ingenuity proved that powered, controlled flight is possible on other worlds when it took to the Martian skies for the first time on April 19, 2021.

Flying on planets like Mars is no easy feat: The Red Planet has a significantly lower gravity – one-third that of Earth’s – and an extremely thin atmosphere, with only 1% the pressure at the surface compared to our planet. This means there are relatively few air molecules with which Ingenuity’s two 4-foot-wide (1.2-meter-wide) rotor blades can interact to achieve flight.

Ingenuity performed several flights dedicated to understanding key aerodynamic effects and how they interact with the structure and control system of the helicopter, providing us with a treasure-trove of data on how aircraft fly in the Martian atmosphere.

Now, we can use this knowledge to directly improve performance and reduce risk on future planetary aerial vehicles.

Creative solutions and “ingenuity” kept the helicopter flying longer than expected.

Over an extended mission that lasted for almost 1,000 Martian days (more than 33 times longer than originally planned), Ingenuity was upgraded with the ability to autonomously choose landing sites in treacherous terrain, dealt with a dead sensor, dusted itself off after dust storms, operated from 48 different airfields, performed three emergency landings, and survived a frigid Martian winter.

Fun fact: To keep costs low, the helicopter contained many off-the-shelf-commercial parts from the smartphone industry - parts that had never been tested in deep space. Those parts also surpassed expectations, proving durable throughout Ingenuity’s extended mission, and can inform future budget-conscious hardware solutions.

There is value in adding an aerial dimension to interplanetary surface missions.

Ingenuity traveled to Mars on the belly of the Perseverance rover, which served as the communications relay for Ingenuity and, therefore, was its constant companion. The helicopter also proved itself a helpful scout to the rover.

After its initial five flights in 2021, Ingenuity transitioned to an “operations demonstration,” serving as Perseverance’s eyes in the sky as it scouted science targets, potential rover routes, and inaccessible features, while also capturing stereo images for digital elevation maps.

Airborne assets like Ingenuity unlock a new dimension of exploration on Mars that we did not yet have – providing more pixels per meter of resolution for imaging than an orbiter and exploring locations a rover cannot reach.

Tech demos can pay off big time.

Ingenuity was flown as a technology demonstration payload on the Mars 2020 mission, and was a high risk, high reward, low-cost endeavor that paid off big. The data collected by the helicopter will be analyzed for years to come and will benefit future Mars and other planetary missions.

Just as the Sojourner rover led to the MER-class (Spirit and Opportunity) rovers, and the MSL-class (Curiosity and Perseverance) rovers, the team believes Ingenuity’s success will lead to future fleets of aircraft at Mars.

In general, NASA’s Technology Demonstration Missions test and advance new technologies, and then transition those capabilities to NASA missions, industry, and other government agencies. Chosen technologies are thoroughly ground- and flight-tested in relevant operating environments — reducing risks to future flight missions, gaining operational heritage and continuing NASA’s long history as a technological leader.

You can fall in love with robots on another planet.

Following in the tracks of beloved Martian rovers, the Ingenuity Mars Helicopter built up a worldwide fanbase. The Ingenuity team and public awaited every single flight with anticipation, awe, humor, and hope.

Check out #ThanksIngenuity on social media to see what’s been said about the helicopter’s accomplishments.

Learn more about Ingenuity’s accomplishments here. And make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[cressidagrey]

The Drawer

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Part of the The mysterious Mrs. Piastri Series.

Summary:  There is a drawer in Felicity's mind.

Warnings and Notes: Some more context for the Silverstone chapter, also some insight into Piastri family dynamics in this verse. Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

There was a drawer in Felicity’s mind that no one knew about.

Not Oscar.

Not Bee.

Not even the professors who used to stare at her as if she were a marvel or a mistake.

Certainly not her parents, who had made her intelligence the defining trait of her existence, before they realised it also made her uncontrollable.

It wasn’t metaphorical. Not really. She’s always seen her thoughts as architecture—corridors, rooms, switches—and that drawer? It was real.

Smooth metal. Coded lock. Hidden behind a panelled wall, so even she had to work to reach it. She built it young, instinctively, the moment she realised how much of her mind was terrifying.

Not just brilliant.

Terrifying.

Because she knew what she was capable of.

Not just the soft brilliance people praised her for—solving equations on the train, reading journals like bedtime stories, explaining mechanical stress tolerances to a three-year-old. That was the friendly kind of smart. The kind people could admire without being afraid of it.

It was a drawer in the deepest part of her brain. Filled with truths she never let surface. Scenarios she’d played out but never spoken. Numbers she’d crunched just to see how far she could push a system, a structure, a person.

She didn’t like the contents.

Not because they were monstrous. But because they were possible.

A drawer full of the things she could do.

And that was the thing.

Felicity could do so many things.

She could write a paper that would fundamentally reshape the way the world viewed mechanical cognition. She could dismantle institutions in six bullet points and a spreadsheet. She could design systems so precise they would make countries pivot. She could break things. Build new ones. Rewrite rules.

But she didn’t.

Because she knew how dangerous it was to hold too much power in your head.

That was the terrifying part about Felicity’s mind. Not just that it could solve things. But that it could predict them. Build them. Unbuild them. Break a system with a smile, bend rules until they screamed without ever technically snapping them.

The drawer held plans she’d never use. Arguments she’d never make. Responses sharp enough to cut and leave no scar. Equations that could manipulate systems most people didn’t even know were rigged. Ideas that could change industries—ruin them, in some cases—if she ever let them out.

She never had. She never would.

Because Felicity, for all her brilliance, for all the terrifying elasticity of her mind, had made a choice very early on:

Kindness.

Kindness as rebellion. Kindness as resistance. Kindness not as softness, but as control.

It would be easy—so easy—to weaponise what she knew. 

To be cold, untouchable, triumphant in the way the world sometimes worshipped people who were sharp enough to draw blood. 

But Felicity had grown up under that weight. 

The genius child. 

The gifted girl. 

The one with the test scores that could split atoms and the eyes that saw too much. She had seen how quickly awe turned to fear. How quickly people began to see you as other.

So Felicity failed the IQ tests. Not failed, exactly—but she answered just enough incorrectly. 

They’d tested her, of course. Again and again.

She’d made sure to get a few wrong every time.

Not because she couldn’t get them right.

But because she’d already figured out what perfect scores meant.

Perfect scores meant more pressure.

More isolation.

More adults speaking about her instead of to her.

More expectations that stole her childhood before she could claim it.

So she let the number drop.

She missed the logic trap here, the pattern extrapolation there.

Felicity learned how to underperform just enough to be labelled brilliant, but not inhuman.

Even now, as an adult, she sometimes wondered what her real number was.

And then forced herself not to care.

160.

It was the number she gave when someone asked. A score high enough to seem impressive. Low enough to still feel human. 

Kind of. 

Even Oscar didn’t know the rest.

He knew she was clever. Knew she could rewire an engine with her eyes closed, design systems on paper napkins, debug code while stirring a risotto. Knew she’d earned a PhD while raising a toddler. Knew she could predict tyre degradation better than some engineers.

But he didn’t know the extent.

She never let him see it all.

Not because she didn’t trust him. But because she needed one place in the world where she wasn’t being measured. Where she could be small and ordinary and barefoot in the kitchen, with flour on her hands and Bee at her hip.

Oscar made space for that version of her. Never asked for anything else.

He called her brilliant sometimes, but always like it was a secret he was lucky to know.

Still, the drawer remained. Locked. Heavy.

Felicity could open it any time. Could unspool every thought, every possibility, every blueprint. She had the capacity to reshape things in her image—universities, companies, ideologies.

But Felicity didn’t want that.

She wanted to plant tomatoes and teach Bee how to read tire degradation charts. She wanted to place mosaics on the bathroom wall and write love notes into the margins of Oscar’s travel calendar. She wanted to bake bread and be left alone.

Sometimes, she worried what people would think if they really knew.

If they saw how far her mind stretched. If they knew the truth behind the quiet way she lived.

She wondered if they’d be afraid of her.

So she kept it hidden. Chose love. Chose patience. Choose not to win every argument, not to finish every sentence, not to prove every point. Choose not to be the sharpest thing in every room.

She built a life where brilliance could live without needing to bare its teeth.

Even Oscar—her Oscar, the one person who saw her fully—didn't know the contents of the drawer. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

Because he didn’t love her for what she could do.

He loved her for who she chose to be.

And that mattered more than any number ever had.

Felicity Piastri could break the world if she wanted.

But she'd rather raise one small girl to love it instead.

***

Oscar wasn’t stupid.

He’d never been. Not about her.

From the outside, maybe it looked like Felicity lived simply. That she liked soft things and quiet days, and teaching their daughter how to make pancakes shaped like brake callipers. 

Maybe it looked like she’d set her brilliance aside—like she’d traded academia for motherhood, engineering for sourdough starters and thrifted overalls.

But Oscar had seen it.

Oscar had known for a long time that Felicity was smarter than she let on.

Her intelligence wasn’t a secret—she had a doctorate, after all, and could explain things to Bee that most engineers would struggle to unpack for adults. She could read technical sheets like bedtime stories, fix electrical issues in the garage with a sigh, and beat him at chess in nine moves while stirring dinner on the stove.

Oscar knew Felicity was brilliant.

Not in the casual, top-of-the-class way most people used the word. Not even in the terrifyingly competent, engineer-who-fixes-cars-better-than-his-mechanics kind of way.

Felicity’s mind was something else entirely.

Felicity remembered everything.

Not just formulas or wiring diagrams or where she’d last seen his keys (spoiler: it was always where he swore they weren’t). 

Felicity remembered things with the kind of clarity that felt almost impossible. Entire pages of textbooks from university, word-for-word. The serial number of a broken dishwasher part she’d glimpsed once six months ago. The lyrics to a song Bee had sung in a kindergarten play, she only rehearsed at home once.

It wasn’t something she ever bragged about. Felicity didn’t do that. But Oscar had seen the way it worked, the way her eyes would go a little distant when she was accessing something buried in a mental archive no one else could reach. Like she was pulling open a drawer in her head and retrieving exactly the right file.

But there was something else. Something beneath the brilliance she allowed the world to see.

What most people didn’t realise—what even her own professors hadn’t figured out—was that Felicity Piastri was smarter than she let on.

It wasn’t that she lied. It was that she edited.

She softened the edges. She chose quiet, every time. She let other people win arguments she could’ve dismantled in seconds. She smiled through conversations she could have rerouted, rewired, rewritten.

Oscar saw it. In the way she paused before answering a loaded question. In the way she hesitated before explaining something complex, like she was calibrating, gauging how much truth to give. In the way she’d sit silently for long moments before asking a single question that dismantled the entire problem.

It was in the way she sometimes stared at a problem—not with confusion, but with hesitation. Like she already knew the answer. Had known it five minutes ago. But was weighing whether or not to share it.

It was in the way she let other people think they’d found the solution first. The way she edited down her thoughts into bite-sized pieces, digestible, unthreatening. The way she built space for others to keep up, even when she could’ve sprinted ahead.

Oscar saw it. Always had.

She never talked about it directly. Never told him the full of it. But he’d seen flashes. Once, early in their marriage, she’d rewritten the firmware on Bee’s baby monitor after it glitched. Not patched. Rewritten. In an hour. While breastfeeding.

Oscar had seen her write equations upside down on napkins. Had seen her reprogram Bee’s tablet because the parental controls were inefficient. Had watched her make an engineer go quiet with a single, softly-phrased observation.

She did it all while wearing thrifted cardigans and cutting the crusts off sandwiches.

But Oscar saw.

He never asked what else she was capable of. Didn’t want to know the limits—if there even were any. It wasn’t fear. Just reverence.

Because she never used it as a weapon. Never used it for leverage. Never made him feel small.

She could’ve built empires. She chose to build a home instead.

And Oscar thought that was the most terrifying, awe-inspiring thing of all.

He’d seen the shape of her mind in the way she mapped out their life. The way she always knew when he’d be tired before he did. The way she tracked logistics and race schedules, cross-referenced nutrition plans and school rosters and still found time to replace the smoke alarm batteries before he remembered they even existed.

He saw it in Bee, too. That fierce little spark that Felicity somehow guided with both freedom and quiet structure. Like she knew how to give Bee the right questions before she ever offered the answers.

And her memory… the older they got, the more years they layered onto each other, the more he came to realise: it wasn’t just impressive. It was intimate.

Because Felicity didn’t just remember numbers and maps, and measurements.

She remembered him.

Things he’d said in passing, half-asleep or distracted, that she somehow tucked away like treasures. The fact that he hated the sound of crinkling chip bags. That he liked exactly twelve raspberries in his porridge. That he didn’t like being touched when he was overstimulated after a bad race — but he did like having her nearby, just within reach.

She remembered the stories he only told once. The ones he hadn’t even realized were important until she brought them up again, years later, gently, like holding something fragile.

She remembered the colour of the shirt he wore the first time he kissed her.

She remembered all the versions of him — even the ones he tried to leave behind.

Sometimes, Oscar thought about how exhausting it must be. How heavy it must feel to carry everything. To have a brain that never let anything go. 

Oscar had always known she was something more. That brilliance was only the surface. That Felicity could see things others didn’t, feel patterns before they existed, stretch logic so thin it became poetry.

She never showed it all. Not even to him.

But he saw it anyway.

In the way she rewrote financial models to stabilise their family income. In the way she adjusted Bee’s lessons mid-week because she sensed boredom before Bee could say the word. 

In the way she rewired the battery system of his sim rig because she didn’t like the voltage drop, and did it while talking to Bee about the life cycle of stars.

Oscar knew.

He just never said so.

He never said anything. Never pushed. Never asked.

Because he knew—deep in his bones—that Felicity had spent her whole life being treated like a resource. A phenomenon. A marvel to be studied, dissected, and showcased.

He would never do that to her.

What she needed—what he gave—was safety. Space. The freedom to be clever without being dissected for it. The right to choose gentleness without being underestimated.

So he didn’t pry. Didn’t press.

He just held her hand when she needed grounding, listened when she muttered equations under her breath, and kissed her temple when she got that look—that distant, calculating look—before she blinked it away and smiled at him like she hadn’t just solved something the world didn’t even know was broken.

Felicity never showed him the drawer.

She didn’t need to.

Because he already knew what she kept inside it.

And he loved her anyway. Not in spite of it. But because she’d chosen him—and Bee—and love and bread and softness, over every sharp and brilliant thing she could have unleashed instead.

Her mind wasn’t a party trick. It wasn’t a tool. It was an act of love, the way she wielded it.

She used it to take care of the people she loved.

To take care of him.

Oscar wasn’t blind.

She was brilliant. Always had been.

But the most remarkable thing about Felicity wasn’t her mind.

It was the fact that she could’ve been anything—could’ve ruled rooms, reshaped industries, rewired entire schools of thought—and she’d chosen this.

Chosen him.

Chosen Bee.

Chosen tomato plants, and mosaic tiles, and quiet, ordinary joy.

She chose kindness. Again and again and again. 

And he respected the hell out of it.

Because Oscar knew, in the marrow of his bones, that if Felicity ever opened that drawer—if she ever stopped pulling her punches, if she ever decided to stop choosing kindness—then the world would bend.

[auto2mation1]

Sulzer 112.029.192.200 F0 19 Modular Electronic Control Rack System - Auto2mation

The Sulzer 112.029.192.200 F0 19 Modular Electronic Control Rack System is a reliable and efficient solution for industrial control applications. Designed with a modular structure, it allows easy integration, flexibility, and quick maintenance. This system supports stable operation of automation processes in demanding environments. Its compact design saves space while delivering powerful performance. Ideal for marine, power generation, and process industries, the Sulzer control rack ensures precise monitoring and control of equipment. Choose the Sulzer F0 19 Control Rack from Auto2mation for dependable performance, easy setup, and long-term reliability in industrial automation systems.

[newobsessionweekly]

Aftershock - Office Barbie

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tim Bradford x younger!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: Weeks later, fate (and a lost bet) brings Tim to a community conference—where you just so happen to be the key speaker.

Fluff

Warnings: sexual tension? kissing? not proofread

You didn’t expect to see him again.

Not really. You figured Sergeant Bradford belonged to that weird category of men you clash with once and remember longer than you should. Like a slow burn from a too-hot pan. Irritating, and then it lingers.

Tim wanted to leave the second they walked in.

“You two are evil,” he mutters to Lucy and Angela as they weave through city-funded booths and low-effort posters with cheap pamphlets about green living.

“This is what you get for losing a bet, Bradford,” Lucy chirps.

“I thought the punishment was brunch,” he growls.

Angela grins. “Brunch and an event. That’s how you learn humility.”

Tim’s already working on a plan to fake a phone call when the lights dim and a new voice comes through the speaker system.

Sharp. Confident. Familiar.

He turns his head—and his body goes still.

“Holy shit,” Lucy whispers beside him. “It’s her.”

Angela lifts a brow. “Tell me that’s not your girl from the construction site.”

Tim clenches his jaw. “She’s not my—”

“She called you Grinch,” Lucy interrupts, grinning. “You called her Barbie. And now she’s out here talking about carbon-neutral foundations in heels that could kill a man.”

“I think I love her,” Angela whispers.

“She’s not—” Tim tries again, but his voice dies in his throat as you scroll through your presentation, completely composed. He watches the way you move—elegant, direct, sure of yourself. You don’t look nervous. You look like the stage was built for you. Like the mic came from your purse.

You look… expensive. Like someone who knows how to win a boardroom, a bet, and a man—if you feel like it. Like the version of you he wouldn’t know how to approach, if he hadn’t already seen you in a hard hat and work boots, barking orders at construction workers during an earthquake like it was just another Tuesday.

You don’t dress like this for conferences.

Usually it’s practical shoes, maybe a sleek ponytail, something just polished enough to prove you take yourself seriously, but not too much—so no one calls you “daddy’s little intern” behind your back.

But today?

Today you wear hot pink.

The blazer is tailored, the skirt is short, and the heels are unapologetically sharp. Office Barbie realness. And you own it. You glide across the conference stage with your presentation remote in one hand and a bulletproof smile in place, heart pounding but controlled.

You’ve got this.

You’re talking sustainability in construction—carbon reduction, green infrastructure, water retention—and you know your shit better than half the men in the room who’ve been in the industry twice as long as you’ve been alive.

But then you see him.

Scowling like someone dragged him here against his will, still looking too good in a plain black T-shirt and jeans. And still somehow managing to make his scowl sexy.

You inhale, steady your hands on the remote. You don’t let it show. Not the way your stomach tightens or how your heart does a messy skip at the sight of him. You keep your voice level and your smile unfazed.

Because this isn’t the time. Or the place.

But God, you missed that face.

Tim hears words. He knows you’re talking about sustainability, about long-term environmental impact, about scalable urban design. He even recognizes a few terms. But none of it sticks. All he can focus on is the curve of your mouth when you speak, the fierce spark in your eyes, the way you command the room like you own every inch of it.

He's absolutely screwed.

Lucy elbows him hard. “Close your mouth, Bradford.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re drooling,” Angela stage-whispers.

“I’m going to kill both of you,” he growls.

“You’re welcome,” Lucy sings.

The second you step off stage, the conference organizer pulls you aside. Praise, compliments, the usual. But your eyes keep darting to the back of the room, where the tall, broody one is whispering furiously to his two grinning companions.

“What are you doing?” Tim hisses.

Lucy clasps her hands like a rom-com fairy godmother. “Helping you get laid. Now shut up and be nice.”

Angela tugs her away. “Don’t be a caveman. Go say hi.”

Tim glares after them. But he moves.

God, he looked even better up close. A little scruffier than last time. Brooding. And his eyes—so blue they could knock the wind out of you.

Tim gave you a slow once-over, and that smirk hit.

He stands there, hands in his pockets, the corner of his mouth just barely tipped up. That same annoyingly sexy, broody look on his face. Blue shirt stretched across his shoulders like a sin.

“Office Barbie suits you.”

You roll your eyes—but you’re smiling. “Still calling me that?”

“Still acting like you don’t love it?”

You step closer, arms crossed. “What are you doing here, Grinch?”

“Lost a bet.”

You bite your lip to hold in the laugh. “That explains the permanent scowl.”

Tim glanced at the now-empty stage, then back at you. “You were good.”

“Only ‘good’?” you teased, stepping closer. “I worked on that presentation for weeks.”

He tilted his head, eyes lingering on your mouth. “To be honest, I didn’t hear most of it.”

“Oh?” You raised your brows, pretending offense. “Too many big words for you?”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Too many distractions.”

Your cheeks warmed. But you didn’t flinch. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Maybe,” he said, eyes dropping briefly—pointedly—to your legs before dragging back up to your eyes. “But the view was decent.”

You let out a soft laugh and cocked a hip. “You flirting with me, Sergeant?”

He stepped closer. “Would it work?”

“Depends.” You toyed with the button of your blazer. “Are you here to arrest me for having too many words in my presentation?”

“Didn't bring cuffs."

You gave him a slow, deliberate once-over.

“That’s too bad. I did prefer the uniform.”

He smiled. Actually smiled. It was a little crooked. A little dangerous.

And it did things to your insides.

Before you could say something even more reckless, a voice called your name. One of your professors—old, sweet, the type who’d ask you for lecture slides in a USB drive.

“I should go."

But when you started to step away, he reaches for your wrist—not grabbing, just touching. His fingers brush against your skin and it jolts through you like a live wire.

“Wait—can I get your number?” he asks.

You pause. Smirk.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

He raises a brow. “You’d rather I stalk you?”

You lean in slightly, lips just shy of his ear.

“You’ll have to catch me first.”

Then you’re gone—heels clicking as you cross the room, leaving him standing there with a frustrated groan and a look that says challenge accepted.

The event wrapped up an hour later, long after the panels ended and the buzz of too many conversations filled the air.

And there he was.

Leaning against his truck like he belonged there. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Watching you approach like he hadn’t been doing exactly that since the second you walked in.

You slowed, one brow raised. “Stalking me now?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I’m just being polite.”

You glanced at the truck. “Didn’t think Grinches offered rides to strangers.”

He stepped forward, opened the passenger door for you like a damn gentleman. “Get in, Princess Barbie.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away.

The inside of Tim’s truck is warm. Smells faintly like pine and leather and whatever cologne clings to him naturally, subtle but unmistakably him and masculine in a way that makes your thighs press together instinctively. You settle into the passenger seat, crossing your legs, careful to tug your skirt down as far as it'll go.

He starts the engine. Glances at you. “Seatbelt, Barbie.”

You smirk. “Worried about my safety, Sargeant?”

His jaw flexes, his eyes on the road now. “Always.”

Silence falls for a beat, thick and brimming with the words neither of you are ready to say. Then he clears his throat.

“So… what are you studying exactly?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Civil engineering. Sustainability focus. You know, boring stuff.”

He scoffs. “Didn’t look boring from where I was sitting.”

You give him a side glance. “You mean from where you were staring?”

His mouth twitches—almost a smile. “You were hard to miss.”

You feign surprise. “Because of the heels or the facts?”

Tim shoots you a look. “Definitely the heels.”

You laugh, and he exhales like he can finally breathe again. The ease between you returns, like it never left—not after the earthquake, not after the adrenaline wore off.

Not even after weeks apart.

The car settles into a smooth cruise, city lights rolling past the windows. Tim rests his right elbow on the center console. His fingers dangle—casual, relaxed. Then they brush against the bare skin of your thighs.

Heat crackles up your spine. You don’t move. Neither does he. His pinky drags the lightest line over your skin—so subtle it could’ve been an accident. But it’s not. You both know it.

You shift, just barely. His finger follows.

Still, neither of you look at each other. You chew your lip.

“You were impressive today,” he says, voice lower now. “Seriously.”

You glance at him.

“Thanks,” you say, softer. “I wasn’t sure anyone actually listened.”

“I did,” he murmurs. “Mostly.”

Your brow lifts. “Mostly?”

“I was distracted.”

You smirk. “By the visuals?”

“By your mouth,” he says simply. “Hard to focus on what you’re saying when you look like that.”

A pulse flutters in your throat. You open your mouth to answer—but then the car slows. A red light.

And suddenly, he turns. His fingers shift, pressing slightly into the inside of your thigh. His other hand leaves the wheel. And then he leans in.

You meet him halfway.

The kiss starts soft—testing, brushing. But your lips part almost immediately, like your body was waiting for this, begging for it. His hand cups your cheek. Yours tangle in the collar of his shirt. His tongue slips past your lips, deep and claiming.

It’s slow for a second. Then it’s not. The kiss turns wild—hungry, open-mouthed, teeth and breath and want. Like all the flirting, the near-misses, the power plays between you were just foreplay for this.

Your back arches into the kiss. His hand slides up your thigh, firm and confident. You gasp softly against his mouth, and he swallows the sound like it feeds him.

Then someone honks, announcing the green light. You both freeze.

Tim pulls back slowly, his forehead resting against yours for a beat before he straightens and puts the truck in gear again, cursing under his breath as he drives. His fingers never leave your thigh.

He pulls up in front of your apartment building, cuts the engine, and hops out to open your door before you can even unbuckle.

Chivalry looks good on him.

You step out, heart pounding, the kiss still tingling on your lips. But the second you’re on the sidewalk, his eyes are on your mouth again.

You smile up at him, voice low and teasing. “You know… I live alone.”

He raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. “As an cop, I suggest you stop saying that to strangers.”

You grin. “Didn’t know you were a stranger back in the car, Sergeant.”

He steps closer and kisses you again. Harder this time. Wilder. His hands find your waist, dragging you against him as your fingers tangle in the front of his shirt. You kiss him like you’ve been waiting—because you have. For weeks. For months. For this exact moment.

You fumble with your keys, still kissing, still gasping between touches.

The door opens. Neither of you stop as you kick the door shut with your heel.

Tim presses you up against it, his mouth hot and hungry on your neck.

You pull his shirt over his head—god, he’s ripped—and he does the same to you, sliding your blazer off your shoulders, fingers grazing your skin, leaving heat in their wake. You gasp when his lips find your collarbone.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs.

You look him in the eye. “Don’t you dare.”

[hoovesandfloorpaws]

"That said, both Styles and his therapist have questioned why he cares quite so much about being likeable. This is one of the things he thought about a lot in his big pandemic reflection. In part, it's a choice, he explained. He recalled moving to London after The X Factor and hearing tales of petulant celebrities screaming because someone got their coffee order wrong and deciding to never be that guy, to never give someone a petty reason to bad-mouth him. But more recently he's come to worry that the drive for approval came from a more complex place, a place of caution, fear, control." "Styles said he often spent interviews terrified about saying the wrong thing until he stopped to question what abhorrent belief or bizarre opinion he was scared he'd accidentally reveal and realized he couldn't think of anything."

"And he thought about the cleanliness clauses in the contracts he used to sign, which would dictate that they would be null and void if he did anything supposedly unsavoury, and about how terrified that used to make him. And about when he signed his solo contract and learned that the ability to make music would not be affected by personal transgressions, he burst into tears, a reaction he still seemed shocked by, retelling it to me now, years later. "I felt free," he explained."

"When Styles began therapy about five years ago [so in 2017], he was reluctant initially, feeling it was a music industry cliché. "I thought it meant that you were broken," he said. "I wanted to be the one who could say I didn't need it." He returned to the home theme that has underpinned our conversation, explaining that therapy has allowed him to "open up rooms in himself" that he didn't know existed, allowed him to feel things more honestly, where before he had tended to"emotionally coast.""

"Recently Styles began to work through issues related to intimacy, dating, love. "For a long time, it felt like the only thing that was mine was my sex life. I felt so ashamed about it, ashamed at the idea of people even knowing that I was having sex, let alone who with," he said."

"You look back, especially now there's all the documentaries, like the Britney documentary, and you watch how people were abused in that way, by that system, especially women. You recall articles from not even five years ago, and you're like, I can't even believe that was written."

He has been thinking a lot recently about autonomy, ownership, privacy. About what he should be able to keep to himself, what he should be able to simply communicate through his music without follow-up questions or prying. Around the time of Fine Line, he faced scrutiny around his sexuality. People became incredulous that he wore dresses, waved Pride flags, and yet hadn't clarified with precision, publicly to a journalist or on social media, the specifics of who he'd slept with, how he defined. This expectation is, to him, bizarre, "outdated." "I've been really open with it with my friends, but that's my personal experience; it's mine," he said.

Despite the acceptance that some things could, should, have been different, he still feels lucky every day, he said, lucky to make music, lucky to do what he loves.

"You can't win music. It's not like Formula One," he said. "I was like, in my lifetime, there will be 10 more people who burst onto the scene in that way, and I'm only going to get further away from being the young thing. So, get comfortable with finding something else that makes you happy. I just found that so liberating."

"I just want to make stuff that is right, that is fun, in terms of the process, that I can be proud of for a long time, that my friends can be proud of, that my family can be proud of, that my kids will be proud of one day," he said.

-- original interview link, Better Homes And Gardens Magazine 26 April 2022 (remake of this post)

[aeliyamarineinsights]

The Kongsberg 603528 Alarm Control Panel is a very important component in marine automation, designed to monitor and alert operators to potential issues on board. This advanced panel provides real-time alerts for various ship systems, ensuring quick response to emergencies. Its user-friendly interface and robust design make it ideal for harsh marine environments. The Kongsberg 603528 enhances operational safety by offering reliable, accurate alarms, helping prevent costly damage and downtime. Easy to integrate with existing systems, it supports efficient vessel management. Choose the Kongsberg 603528 for dependable, top- quality alarm control in marine operations.

[kropotkindersurprise]

July 21, 2024 - Palestine Action activists have broken into two factories which are part of Elbit’s supply chain, causing extensive damage. One group invaded the premises of Manchester-based Dean Group International, and another broke into Ametek Airtechnology in Sunbury on Thames.

Dean Group International uses a specialised technique called “investment casting” to manufacture components for arms companies, including Elbit’s Kent-based subsidiary, Instro Precision. This was verified last month when activists broke into the latter factory.

Ametek Airtechnology specialises in thermal and motion control solutions for weapons including missiles, military vehicles and fighter jets — including Israeli F-35 fighter jets used to bomb in Gaza. Ametek’s subsidiary United Electronic Industries lists Elbit Systems as a “valued customer” – a connection which was also confirmed through sightings of deliveries to Elbit’s Shenstone-based subsidiary, UAV Engines Ltd.

A Palestine Action spokesperson said: “Without suppliers such as Dean Group International and Ametek, Elbit couldn’t make weaponry which is used to commit genocide. Whilst our government continues to facilitate Elbit’s crimes, Palestine Action will continue to use direct action to end the complicity and shut Elbit down”. [video]/[video]

[genderqueerdykes]

im not sorry the truth of the transmasculine experience is ugly. i'm not sorry that we have to frequently discuss sexual and physical violence and abuse. i'm not sorry that we have to discuss violent physical abuse and death. i'm not sorry that we have to discuss homelessness, mental illness, addiction, disabilities, and other challenges in life.

we struggle. we do not instantly gain male privilege the second we come out. even if we pass. when someone knows we're trans we're treated like a woman no matter what. we can sometimes get lucky and pass with strangers but eventually people around us find out because people tell each other without our consent.

we face all kinds of abuse due to the fact that people feel entitlement to our bodies, regardless of what our AGAB is. they feel entitled to our faces, our hair, our entire appearance. they focus on the face that we're ruining something "pretty". they threaten corrective sexual violence to remind us that we're "just women". it happens constantly. this is not an isolated incident and virtually nobody wants people to talk about it when it comes to transmasculine people.

trans men often get injured for one reason or another. usually because someone wants to make them "prove" they're a man, to "toughen them up" or to "prove to them that they're a woman". sometimes this results in sexual assault. other times it results in physical assault. and sometimes people just kill trans men. all because they hate that a "woman" can transition into a man.

it's an ugly part of our reality but it needs to be discussed because otherwise people use the lack of that conversation as ammunition to say transmascs don't struggle.

transmasculine people struggle to stay housed. transmasculine people get kicked out of their living situations very often for many reasons. it's hard for transmascs to get jobs because often times people want either a man or a woman for a specific position and fuss over what they think the transmasc's gender is. misgendering is a huge issue at work. going stealth at work can be painful. being in the closet at work can be painful

transmascs are often disabled and struggle to get care due to people not taking AFAB patients' pain and symptoms seriously. this is a huge issue with any kind of AFAB person or any woman. all woman and AFAB people struggle with having their symptoms taken seriously when seeking serious medical attention to the point of possibly being undiagnosed for life, thus being unable to get on disability. trans women face this just as much as AFAB cis women, it's a huge issue in the medical industry

transmasculine people struggle to say on their hormones (or access them at all). testosterone is a controlled substance in many countries which means that you need a prior authorization to get the medication and need to consistently see a provider to get blood tests and check ups. it can be difficult to do so if you are low income and sometimes certain pharmacists will intentionally find ways to withhold hormones due to their own prejudices

transmasculine people struggle to get pregnancy support and care. it is very difficult for transmasculine people to figure out how to navigate their pregnancy, either due to their HRT provider not knowing much about pregnancy, or having a gynecologist who's not familiar with transmasculine health.

transmascs get denied from spaces made for men constantly. even if they pass, if word gets around that they're trans they can easily be kicked out of a space. transmasculine lesbians are often removed from lesbian, transmasc and/or non binary spaces. transmasc butches are often ostracized from all communities their identities correlate to. trans men and transmasc enbies are seen as a threat to women.

there is ugliness in every pocket of the queer community when it comes to how cisheteronormative society treats us. we all face disgusting treatment that needs to be addressed. it's important to consider how this system affects everyone underneath it. we need to talk about the positive things, it's good to help those are questioning, but we also must discuss what struggles we face in order to humanize ourselves and show that we people, too. none of us have it easy.

[fairyyofshampoos]

The contrast between public image vs true self

- or the core theme of the movie «Kpop demon hunters»

⚠️ Spoiler Warning: This analysis contains major spoilers for K-pop Demon Hunters, including character arcs and the ending, read at your own risk and thank you for your attention, hopefully this will give you some more insight.

Before diving into how this theme shapes the film's characters and narrative, we first need to understand the K-pop industry itself - an industry built on illusion, perfection, and suppression.

I. The cult of perfection

At the heart of the K-pop industry lies a meticulously curated image of perfection. Idols are expected to look flawless, act politely, remain scandal-free, and constantly exude positivity, regardless of what they're experiencing behind the scenes.

From a young age, they are trained not just in singing and dancing, but in self-policing: how to smile through pain, how to speak without controversy, and how to behave like a product rather than a person.

But behind this shiny exterior lies a reality often hidden from public view. Many idols suffer in silence under the weight of:

Mental health struggles

Burnout and sleep deprivation

Loneliness and isolation

Repression of one's identity (dating bans, hiding sexuality, masking trauma)

The system demands that anything not aligned with perfection be either discarded or hidden - swept under the rug for the sake of image.

In that sense, being a K-pop idol and being a demon hunter in the movie are not so different - both live double lives, expected to protect the world while sacrificing their own truth.

In my perspective, the two major figures in the film that represent this oppressive system are - Celine and Gwi-ma.

Celine - the group's mentor, stands firmly by the "never show weakness" ideology. She instructs Rumi to keep her half-demon identity a secret, even from her closest friends and fellow group members. Celine's intentions may stem from protection, but the effect is the same: Rumi must suppress her truth for the sake of image, reinforcing the idea that authenticity is a liability.

Gwi-ma - the demon king and the villain of the movie, mirrors the darker, more exploitative side of the industry. He doesn't just feed on fear - he weaponizes it. He uses people's deepest insecurities against them, turning them into tools for his own gain.

This can manifest in different ways:

Stripping people of their souls to gain power

Tempting them into soul-binding deals, transforming them into demons

This allegory is chillingly close to reality. In the real world, some artists quite literally sacrifice their lives to the idol system - drained by impossible expectations, endless schedules, and the inability to be human in a world that only values performance.

Gwi-ma's demonic deals feel eerily similar to what some idols go through: giving up pieces of themselves for fame, validation, and survival, only to slowly lose who they are.

But not all control in the industry looks like outright abuse. Sometimes, it comes disguised as guidance, care, or tradition.

In this light, Celine - Rumi’s guardian and mentor represents the conservative face of the industry. She’s not like Gwi-ma, who openly feeds on pain and insecurity. Celine is veiled in good intentions and legacy, believing she’s protecting Rumi by telling her to hide her demon side and uphold the image of perfection. Her motto is simple: “Never show weakness.”

And that’s exactly what makes her so dangerous.

Celine isn’t trying to destroy Rumi - but she is trying to erase or fix parts of her.

She’s a stand-in for the real-life managers, producers, and executives who claim to “know best,” silencing idols’ identities, emotions, and struggles in the name of professionalism and survival.

While Gwi-ma is the industry’s dark side personified - exploitation, dehumanization, manipulation, Celine is the polished exterior. She is the system trying to preserve its legacy, no matter the human cost. And her belief that Rumi must hide her truth for the sake of the group reflects the way real idols are often discouraged from speaking up about their trauma, sexuality, illness, or dissent.

Celine’s role reminds us that harm isn’t always loud or monstrous. Sometimes, it’s dressed in smiles, and quiet expectations.

Il. Persona vs Reality

In the K-pop world, every idol is assigned a role - sometimes by their company, sometimes by the public, and often both. These personas help make the group more marketable: the cold, mysterious one, the bright bubbly one, the clumsy maknae, the charismatic leader. It's branding - but for a human being.

Over time, these personas start to become cages.

Idols aren't just performing on stage, they're performing off it too, carefully maintaining their image in interviews, on livestreams, and even in private moments caught by hidden cameras or fan interactions. The longer this act is kept up, the harder it becomes to remember who they are beneath it.

The characters opposing the ones that represent the system, and suffering directly under their influence - are the victims: Rumi and Jinu.

Rumi - the Crowned but Caged

Rumi wasn’t just chosen to be a star, she was born into it.

Her mother was a member of the Sunlight Sisters, a past generation of demon hunters whose fame and legacy still cast long shadows. After her mother’s death, Rumi was raised by Celine, her mother’s groupmate, who shaped her into the centerpiece of the next generation: Huntrix.

From the beginning, Rumi was destined to lead. The responsible one. The strong one. Her image, particularly in the mv for Golden, presents her as almost mythical, untouchable - clothed and poised like nobility. She’s not just an idol. She’s a symbol.

Rumi’s persona is not one she chose. It was placed on her like a crown - and like a crown, it’s heavy. She must live up to the memory of her mother, the expectations of her fans, and the control of Celine. And all of this, while hiding the truth of who she really is: half demon.

Even among her closest groupmates, Rumi is taught to hide the parts of herself that don’t fit the image. Because in the world of idols, difference isn’t beautiful - it’s dangerous.

Jinu - the Haunted Performer

400 years ago, he was a poor boy with nothing but a dream and a bipa. Then came the voice: Gwi-ma, the demon king, whispering promises of power, fulfillment, and freedom from suffering. Jinu accepted. And from that moment on, his life was no longer his own, but at the hands of a devil, to do as he pleases.

The truth of what happened is fragmented. Jinu offers Rumi a version in which he lived with his family in a palace until his transformation forced them into exile. Gwi-ma, however, offers another: that Jinu left them behind to feast alone, turning his back on them out of selfishness. The past is uncertain - but what is clear is Jinu’s torment.

In many ways, Jinu is a symbol of the performer who’s lost touch with who they used to be. He’s played the part for so long, he no longer knows what’s real. But something in Rumi starts to crack through the mask.

Jinu is a fool.

A fool for believing the sweet words of a devil who dragged him into hell.

A fool for listening to the very voice that shames him, haunts him, and convinces him he’s a monster.

And perhaps most tragically - a fool for hesitating. For spending the entire film suspended between two choices: to keep following Gwi-ma’s orders or to stand beside Rumi and fight back.

He never fully chooses. He deepens his bond with Rumi - they share moments of quiet understanding, even sing a duet called “Free.” But all the while, he’s still stealing souls, still feeding the very monster that keeps him chained.

And maybe that’s the most painful part of all:

Jinu wants freedom, but he doesn’t believe he deserves it.

He thinks the past owns him. That redemption is for someone stronger, someone purer.

So he stays on the fence - torn between guilt and longing, between who he was and who he could become.

Jinu isn’t the cold villain he pretends to be - he’s a scared, broken boy who made a mistake, and keeps making it again and again.

III. The cost of being authentic

At the heart of the movie lies a painful truth: becoming your true self in a system that profits from illusion demands sacrifice. For both Rumi and Jinu, the path to authenticity is paved with betrayal, guilt, and the loss of everything familiar. Their arcs begin in isolation but end in collision - where honesty, no matter how flawed, becomes the only way forward.

Gwi-ma, the demon king, doesn’t enslave with brute force. He marks his victims with glowing patterns - symbols of repressed fears, insecurities, and shame. These marks are deeply metaphorical: they reflect how the K-pop industry often treats an idol’s humanity as a flaw to be concealed. In the real world, these “patterns” mirror mental illness, trauma, hidden identities, or even the simple fact of growing up - all things that can result in an idol being blacklisted, exiled, or torn apart by public scrutiny.

Gwi-ma weaponizes guilt. He manipulates memory, twists truth, and gaslights his victims into thinking they are the problem.

This is the dark side of K-pop personified: the voice that tells you you’re only loved when you’re perfect - and disposable when you’re not.

Jinu, caught in Gwi-ma’s grasp, spends the entire film torn between two versions of himself: the selfish monster that Gwi-ma insists he is, and the boy Rumi sees - someone capable of change. He listens to the voice that shames him and uses his past as a leash. And in doing so, he keeps hurting the one person trying to free him.

Rumi, on the other hand, is marked too - but hides it. Half-demon by blood, she’s taught to suppress every trace of it. Not just by Gwi-ma, but by Celine, who enforces a “show no weakness” policy, insisting she preserve the perfect idol image at all costs. But when the truth inevitably comes out - on stage, under the lights, in front of her members, Rumi is forced to confront what she’s spent her whole life avoiding: the fact that perfection was never hers to begin with.

The film’s climax doesn’t revolve around a final battle alone - it’s built around music, with each key song symbolizing the emotional journey of its characters.

“Your Idol”, performed by the Saja Boys under Gwi-ma’s control, is a chilling anthem of seduction and consumption. It reframes the idol as savior, obsession, and parasite all at once. With lines like “I’m the only one who’ll love your sins” and “Thank you for the pain, ‘cause it got me going viral”, the song reflects the toxic co-dependence between idols and fans, where personal suffering is exploited for engagement, and authenticity is replaced with spectacle.

By contrast, “What It Sounds Like” is the antidote. Rumi sings not to entertain or seduce, but to confess. It’s a song about brokenness, honesty, and finding strength not in illusion, but in truth. Her voice trembles. She admits her shame, her fear, her failure. But she does it openly and that act alone begins to undo everything Gwi-ma built.

Where “Your Idol” thrives on manipulation, “What It Sounds Like” is liberation.

It’s what happens when someone stops trying to be what the world wants, and simply says: this is me.

The most powerful moment in the movie is not the slaying of Gwi-ma - it’s what precedes it. After everything, it’s Jinu who returns in Rumi’s moment of weakness, not as a hero, but as someone finally choosing to break free from the voice that’s owned him for centuries. He gives her his soul - not because he thinks he deserves redemption, but because she believed in it for him.

Jinu: “You gave me my soul back. And now… I give it to you.”

This act of sacrifice becomes Rumi’s power. With his soul, she defeats Gwi-ma. And from that act of truth, a new honmoon is formed - not golden, polished, and performative like before, but rainbow-hued: multi-coloured, real, and whole.

IV. Conclusion

K-pop Demon Hunters isn’t just a story about fighting demons. It’s about fighting the ones we carry inside us - the ones fed by perfectionism, guilt, fear, and shame. It shows how the K-pop industry, for all its glamour, can often demand silence over truth, masks over identity.

But it also shows that healing doesn’t come from fitting the mold. It comes from breaking it.

Rumi and Jinu’s stories prove that authenticity isn’t free, it costs you everything false.

But in return, it gives you something far more powerful:

A voice that’s finally yours.

A past you no longer have to erase.

This is what it sounds like.