#Signal processing consulting

[controlanddynamicsinnovation]

Revolutionizing Servo Control: How Spectrum Engineering Leverages High-Order Controller Auto-Tuning

In today’s fast-paced industries, precise servo control is vital for robotics, automation, and precision machinery. Tuning controllers to balance stability, speed, and robustness—while addressing friction, backlash, or sensor noise—is complex. Spectrum Engineering, with over 25 years of expertise in control system design consulting, transforms these challenges into opportunities, delivering control and dynamics innovation using the high-order controller auto-tuning method.

A Breakthrough in High-Order Tuning

Traditional tuning, often limited to PID designs, struggles with complex systems needing higher-order controllers for superior performance. However, research by Yaron Zimmerman and Per-Olof Gutman pioneers control and dynamics innovation by auto-tuning high-order controller implementation using unconstrained optimization within the Quantitative Feedback Theory (QFT) framework. By minimizing a cost function that balances performance and stability—without requiring a detailed plant model—this method ensures robust control across uncertainties like mechanical constraints. The Nelder-Mead Simplex Method optimizes parameters efficiently, reducing design time while achieving precision.

Spectrum Engineering’s Practical Solutions

Spectrum Engineering applies these principles to deliver tailored servo control solutions. Their automatic tuning algorithms optimize high-order controllers for embedded systems, addressing issues like saturation or dead zones. For instance, a client in industrial automation achieved faster response times and enhanced stability after their control system design consulting tuned their system to handle backlash. Beyond tuning, they implement Kalman filters to reduce noise, design algorithms for unique challenges, and support mechanical and electronic integration.

Why Choose Spectrum Engineering?

Through control system design consulting, patent collaboration, or team training, Spectrum Engineering offers flexible services. Why build an in-house control team when their expertise in control and dynamics innovation delivers high-performance systems? Their research-inspired approach ensures precision without complexity.

Leading the Future of Control Systems

As control systems grow intricate, Spectrum Engineering leads with advanced auto-tuning and practical know-how. Contact them for control system design consulting or explore their training to elevate your servo systems. With Spectrum Engineering, precision and performance are within reach.

[spectrumengineering]

Spectrum Engineering—How Expert Servo Control Consulting Can Elevate Your Engineering Team’s Capabilities

Engineering teams working with servo control systems face tough challenges. Fine-tuning precision, reducing vibrations and ensuring smooth motion control can be tricky. That’s where servo control systems consulting step in. Instead of struggling with these issues alone, companies in Robotics, Automotive & Aerospace, Military applications and high-precision automation can bring in experts to fix problems, speed up development and save money.

What Does Servo Control Consulting Do?

Servo control systems are critical for high-precision motion applications. However, designing, tuning and maintaining them require deep expertise. That’s where servo control consulting comes in. Expert consultants help engineering teams:

Fine-tune servo control loops for smoother and more precise movements

Eliminate system vibrations and instability for better performance

Optimize PID controllers to get the best motion control

Speed up development and bring products to market faster

Cut costs by providing expert help instead of hiring full-time engineers

Ensure compliance with industry standards in robotics, military and automation

A McKinsey study found that companies that improve motion control systems can see a 20-30% boost in efficiency and save up to 15% in operational costs. The right consulting team helps you get better results with less effort.

Why Custom Servo Control Solutions Matter

Every business has unique needs. A one-size-fits-all approach doesn’t work for servo control systems. That’s why custom control solutions are a game-changer.

Higher precision, fewer errors: The right control settings improve motion accuracy, save energy and reduce unnecessary movements.

Easy to Scale: As your business grows, your servo systems should grow too—without major redesigns.

Fewer Breakdowns, More Uptime: Poorly tuned systems cause frequent failures. Custom solutions prevent this and keep operations running smoothly.

Works with What You Have: A good consultant makes sure your servo system fits perfectly with your existing setup, avoiding costly compatibility issues.

Why Work with Spectrum Engineering?

Spectrum Engineering specializes in servo control consulting to help businesses get the most out of their motion control systems. Their experts work with robotics, semiconductor and military industries to design and fine-tune custom servo solutions.

What They Do:

Check your current system to find areas for improvement

Develop a control strategy that matches your needs

Optimize and fine-tune control loops for the best motion performance

Provide ongoing support to keep everything running smoothly

By partnering with them, you get top-tier expertise without the cost of hiring a full-time control engineer. That means faster results, better performance and lower costs.

Let’s Optimize Your Servo Systems

If you want smoother, more precise motion control, Spectrum Engineering is here to help. Custom servo solutions can boost efficiency, reduce downtime and save money. Let’s work together to optimize your system and get the best performance possible.

Need expert servo control systems consulting? Contact Spectrum engineering today and let’s get started!

[keferon]

Sigh. I wasn’t strong enough to stop. I wrote a fic too

———————————

Pilots have to be constantly monitored by special people who are trained to do diagnostics. Not just medics. Scientists, engineers. There's a surprising number of things that can go wrong with a person hooked up to a machine.

The thing is.

The procedure is designed to help.

Jazz isn't sure Prowl is getting help.

Organics are fragile.

Most of the ones Jazz had met were, at least. Flesh is more susceptible to environmental influences than metal. Flesh accumulates damage faster, both external and internal. It often generates it itself.

The processes and causes are often a mystery to Jazz, but he's familiar with the general concept.

Organics are fragile.

That's why Jaz isn't very surprised by the crowds of medical personnel scurrying around a human military base.

As Prowl explained to him, humans don't have the built-in ability to open a HUD and perform self-diagnostics. Most of the time all you get is a vague signal in the form of pain in the injured area or nausea or changes in body temperature and things like that.

Pilots have to be constantly monitored by special people who are trained to do diagnostics. Not just medics. Scientists, engineers. There's a surprising number of things that can go wrong with a person hooked up to a machine. It's weird for Jazz. He's used to coming in for physical exams only when something's obviously wrong. Pilots are supposed to get checks just in case anything about them in theory could start breaking down in the future.

The thing is.

The procedure is designed to help.

Jazz isn't sure Prowl is getting help.

He spots the scientist in purple pretty quickly. A crowd of white-haired pilots is a nightmare to identify but this particular organic catches his attention almost instantly.

He's quite...extravagant looking. And he's practically glued to Prowl. They're involved in something together that Jazz isn't sure about, but Prowl looks...wobbly...when he returns from his visits to Tarantulas. And not in a funny way.

Tarantulas holds a special interest in Prowl. Special access, too. Whenever Prowl is injured, Tarantulas is the one who must be contacted immediately. Prowl's mech system needs an upgrade - Tarantulas must be consulted.

Tarantulas slips into the crevices and oozes between the plates. His hands are all over Prowl's personal space and Jazz doesn't really know what he should do about it because Prowl apparently doesn't mind.

Tarantulas dictates what he can and can't eat. What medications he should take and what software he should use.

Tarantulas gives him these little white bracelets with the information he writes on them for the other medics, because Prowl is special for some reason and only Tarantulas has instructions for him.

Knockout wipes his hands with some kind of special napkin and jerks his head around

“If you're looking for Prowl, he's in the labs for a physical.”

Jazz pretends this information is as mundane to him as it is to everyone else on this base

“Why can't you or the other medics examine him?”

“None of us have time to deal with the creepy experiments Prowl is constantly involved in” snorts Knockout ”Last time I checked his blood could dissolve plastic. Haha figuratively of course! Don't look at me like that!”

Jazz smiles, but there's no friendliness behind that smile

“Is this scientist doing experiments on Prowl?”

“Ah. As a matter of fact. Yes. Listen...” Knockout hastily picks up the first aid kit and walks towards the med bays “You'd better ask him yourself. My shift ends in ten minutes, I'm not in the mood to start anything now.”

Jazz nods

“Suuure , no problem.”

“Can I ask what you do in there?”

Prowl has this...look. The one that shows up usually after he gets back from the labs.

In his head, Jazz calls it “'Wobbly.” It's like Prowl's little organic body's joints are coming loose. If he had joints of course (Wait, humans have joints? Right?).

Prowl squints glumly, looking up at him

“Working on improving my mobility on the field.”

Jazz lets out a quiet “oooh.”

Then pulls himself back together

“Shouldn't that involve working on your armor, and not ..uh. you?”

Prowl leans his back against the wall.

“Installing new thrusters on a mech of my class doesn't make sense. They'll increase its speed, but they'll also burn fuel faster.

And installing larger fuel tanks is something reserved for Strikers. There's no way Orion would approve such an upgrade for me.”

Jazz carefully sits down on the floor next to Prowl. It still doesn't give him a good angle on his human's face, but Prowl stares at the floor anyway so...

“And you found some kind of loophole huh?”

Prowl gives a barely perceptible shrug.

“I did some calculations and noticed that the fuel used to run the Heavy Mechs is much more efficient. It's slower to burn out, and gives significantly better performance. Which makes sense, considering it's needed to compensate for the weight of the heavy armor. Used in my mech, it would give me a ten percent increase in speed and twice as much active usage time.

Jazz glares at the top of Prowl's head.

“Sounds like an epic idea, but I'm sensing a 'but' coming...”

“But it's highly toxic.”

“It's what??”

Prowl rubs the bridge of his nose with his fingers

“Only heavy mechs can run this type of fuel because there's enough room in them to insulate the cockpit well enough from any possible chemical exposure.”

Jazz nervously pulls the servo toward Prowl but hesitates at the last second and places it on the floor next to him.

“Prowl. Prowl your armor is lovely but it's anything but heavy.”

“It is” nods Prowl “There isn't enough room in my mech to shield me from any negative effects, so Tarantulas is working on making me immune to them.”

“But that....kind of...why are you letting him? I'm no expert, but sitting inside poisoned armor can't be good for you. I don't know what he told you, but if you had asked even one other medic...”

Prowl finally lifts his head and stares into Jazz's optics for a couple seconds

“He didn't convince me of anything. I asked him to do it myself.”

“Prowl...”

“People have biases against Tarantulas but I assure you, he doesn't do anything I didn't consent to him doing. He likes to go outside the box in his research. He doesn't dismiss my ideas as too harsh. We collaborate.”

“.....”

“The result will be worth it. You'll see.”

Jazz is uncomfortable admitting it, but he sees.

The result is impressive.

Prowl can not only move fast, he can do it for a long time. He's getting more efficient (again), faster (again), better (Prowl's subjective assessment).

The maintenance team wears special masks when working on the internal systems of his mech. The fuel is toxic. Not to Jazz, but even Jazz wouldn't want it to get on his plating.

And humans are fragile.

All organics tend to be fragile.

And Prowl... little flesh-and-blood Prowl gets into this poisoned armor and it's considered acceptable? Because his organic body seems to have developed enough resistance to this kind of damage he only gets a “”mild, easily treatable“” poisoning? And Tarantulas adds another white bracelet to his arm with notes on what substances Prowl needs to put in his drinks to keep his internal components from accumulating damage.

Jazz isn't sure what to think about this.

Jazz doesn't know what to do about it.

And frankly. Does he have the right to get involved if this is what Prowl has chosen for himself?

Tarantulas is a creepy, haunting shadow hanging over Prowl at the slightest opportunity. Tarantulas takes Prowl to a lab and runs poison through his veins. Tarantulas adores Prowl for allowing him to do this.

Prowl insists that Tarantulas is helping.

Jazz doesn't think Prowl is getting help.

[dellieghtful]

[ZAYNE] LADS: Saying Things They Don't Mean

🍓A/N: Here comes another one >:3 we'll start off with the angsty and then I'll give u guys the groveling & yearning \\( •̀ω•́ )// I'm going to try and write for all the guys before I decide to release a longer series for this

SYNOPSIS: After a bad day, you both end up in an argument and to say the least, some things are truly better off left unsaid.

Masterlist | Rulebook | Tags

📍Character/s: Zayne

Tags: @animegamerfox @justanotherreader658

Xavier | Rafayel

Today just wasn't the day. It was surgery after surgery, consultation after consultation. The work just kept coming non-stop for the entire day and despite Zayne's cool and calm exterior, he was nearing the brink of exhaustion. Working an additional and unexpected 8-hour shift was not in his bingo card for this week. The worst part? He missed out a date with you. The only free day he was supposed to have was spent on another shift because the hospital was short-staffed as of the moment. Despite you, being kind and understanding partner with Zayne and his busy schedule, he couldn't help but feel guilty about not being able to exactly provide all your needs and wants just like any other partner would be capable of providing.

Capable. Was he even capable of taking care of you? At some points throughout your relationship, Zayne would go through the process of self-doubt. Funny, you'd think the man who just has about everything one needs before the age of 30 would doubt himself and his own capabilities?

Zayne would often ask himself if he was deserving enough to be sheltered with such love and kindness. Rubbing his temples, attempting to soothe the ache, he prepares and calls in his next patient to cater for the hour.

Zayne had worked himself to death that day, morning to night. If he'd look out the window right now, he could give out an estimate that it's way past 6:00PM. 6:50PM at most, I should've have gotten home about an hour ago. At home, with you. Zayne could feel himself take in a deep breathe and let out an exhausted sigh as he continued to eye the never-ending pile of documents on his table.

Zayne, choosing to not dwell on it, took out another pile and began skimming through the contents and carefully planting his signature at the last page of the file before tucking it away. Zayne had followed this smooth and gentle rhythm of opening folders, flipping the pages, then signing the documents. Unknowingly being stuck in a trance, Zayne had not realize the soft knocks coming from his door.

You were on the other side of the door, patiently waiting for Zayne's smooth and calm voice to give you the go-signal to come inside the room. You passed by the reception not too long ago, asking for your oh-so busy doctor of a boyfriend. Yvonne, had informed you that Zayne was busy being locked up in his office. You, then decided, to take yourself to his office with a fresh bag of takeout for dinner. You know with Zayne's busy schedule at the hospital, he probably skipped out a meal or two, not to mention you were both supposed to spend his free day to celebrate your 7th month of being officially together as a couple.

It had been a good 5 minutes and Zayne had not yet called out or come to open the door for you. You, then decided to give it another try before touching the knob of the door and pushing it open. You hadn't told Zayne you were coming today because you hoped to surprise him at work and spend the remainder of the night with him to keep him company before going home for the day.

"My love," Zayne called out, pulling himself out of the focused trance he put himself with the documents he had in hand. Sparing not a second longer, he stood up and walked towards you to cup your face and welcome you with such a warm gaze. "You did not tell me you were coming in today," He continued, already-eyeing the bags that you were holding which he presumes are dinner take-outs.

"I wanted to see you today," You started, moving your eyes past him and focusing your gaze towards the growing pile of paper works on his table. You couldn't help but scrunch your brows. "You've been overworking yourself again today".

Zayne already knew where you heading with this conversation. You and Zayne had always had the tendency to argue about his overworking habit that he can somehow never get over despite you always bringing up your concern about his health. You were his girlfriend, it was part of your job description to look after your boyfriend. Wasn't it?

Or does my opinion of him mean little of value to him?

And with that single thought, it made your heart ache a little. But, you quickly pushed that thought away in hopes of spending the remainder of the night in a good mood with a simple dinner takeout with your boyfriend.

"I brought you dinner!" You said, putting up a smile and bringing the bags of takeout in front of Zayne's face, hoping to change the subject and bring a up a better mood into the atmosphere of Zayne's office.

"I was hoping we could spend some time together over dinner. I didn't bother texting about my visit since I knew you'd be swamped with work". You said, going around your 6-foot something boyfriend and heading over to the coffee table near the couches to place the food on the table.

"I really appreciate the gesture but, you really didn't have too." Zayne said, breaking the silence between the both of you as you sat on opposite ends of the table. "Oh don't be like that. You've been working a lot lately, this is the least I can do to support my very hardworking boyfriend". You responded, with a small smile decorating your face as you pick up your meal and shove a spoonful of it in your mouth, happily chewing away your meal.

"No, I mean, you can't keep making unannounced visits here especially during the busier days". Zayne responded, taking off his glasses, and rubbing the curved space in-between his forehead and nose bridge as if attempting to ease an incoming headache. "You know how many people I have to cater from morning to night. I'd appreciate it if you could at least give me a heads-up before you come inside here like it's your second home".

"What are you saying?" You stared at him, as you carefully drop the spoon back into the box of takeout and placing the box onto the table. "I'm sorry, I didn't think I needed to book an appointment to come see my boyfriend after a busy work day".

"Well, maybe it is something to take into consideration the next time you do visit". Zayne had responded. What on earth was going on with him today? You knew where this conversation was already heading yet he chooses to act this way after you spent time out of your day-off to come visit and enjoy a good meal with him? As if the mere idea of seeing you, the mere thought of spending time with you wasn't part of his rigidly-made schedule for the day. Was being here in his presence a nuisance to him?

"Are you really going to pull this up on me now, Zayne? Come on. I just wanted to come see you today."

"Well, I never asked for your company in the first place".

And that was what set off the already-ticking bomb of self-destruction in your heart. "Okay, it's fine I understand. I didn't think being here would bring so much imbalance to your perfect schedule".

Not bothering to pick-up your meal, you quickly grabbed your bag and coat and walked towards the door, already reaching out and grabbing the knob to twist it open. You felt Zayne's presence from behind you and whipped your entire body towards his direction. "Happy first and last Zayne. I hope you find what you need with your work. Good night". Then bang, the door was closed shut, leaving Zayne at a loss for words. He fucked up and he knew that, but why couldn't he move and run out to chase you?

It didn't matter anymore what he chose to do. Your heart was breaking into tiny pieces and your vision, growing even more blurry by the passing second as you picked up your pace, walking further and further away from his office, from him.

Part 2 | Coming soon . . .

[komoboko]

𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

genya shinazugawa x gn!reader

this is sooo bad but i needed to ramble something at least so i can actually write something good soon

Genya does not have a crush on you.

No matter what anybody says he does not have a crush on you. Nope, not possible, never happened. He just appreciates your skill set as a slayer that’s all. He’s just admiring one of his comrades in the line of duty. When you catch his eyes drifting towards you, a longing look in his eyes that scream anything but platonic just ignore it. You’re just getting no signals because Genya doesn’t have a crush on you.

When you ask to train with Genya he accepts with little hesitation. Not because he wants to spend more time with you. Or because he’s missed your presence and doesn’t have it in him to ask himself. It couldn’t be that. Genya accepted because he needed some more help training himself. You’re a tough slayer and you can help him improve his skills. Nothing more than that obviously because he’s almost positive he doesn’t like you.

When Gyomei consults him about his change in behavior, Genya immediately doubts the accusations. Even with his disagreement Gyomei still suggests ways Genya could court and approach you. He was hesitant but still pursed and ended up using all of Gyomei’s recommendations to get closer to you. It’s not because he likes you, he’s just doing it because Gyomei told him to, duh. No, his face doesn’t turn red when he’s nearby you, nor does he lower his tone and his general attitude so you can see him in a better light. What are you talking about?

Genya who spends long nights staring up at the ceiling or the sky and his mind wanders off to you. Either to things you’ve done today if you saw him, or maybe something your planning on doing with him. Maybe he’s thinking about the last time you two hung out that wasn’t related to training. Maybe he’s thinking about something more, and just maybe it’s because he likes you. Just a little bit.

Poor boy who ends up apologizing to you after he ignored you or became to brash when you were around. He wasn’t trying to push you away he was just trying to process what he was feeling in the first place. Poor Genya who’s guilty and tries to improve on handling his little “problem” and not taking it out on you. It’s nearly given people whiplash by how much Genya changes when he is around you. Maybe it’s because people are noticing that Genya does like you, at least a little bit.

Genya who confronts you during a random nights and goes on a ramble expressing what he’s been feeling. All his emotions and his thoughts that were pent flying being able to spill out, thanks to Gyomei’s encouragement. Once he finally manages to get to the point he can’t seem to maintain eye contact until he hears you response of approval. His once embarrassed expression changes to one that looks dumbfounded but you can see the happiness crack through quickly.

Even when somebody ask again Genya answers the same, but everybody can tell it’s a bit different. Genya does not like you. In truth Genya adores you. He loves you with his heart and in his mind that goes beyond the boundaries of just liking you. As you deserved much more than that in his mind.

[just-your-average-supervillain]

Nocturnal Sweeping: Some Thoughts

I think this is the first time an Intervallo has concluded not on the bus, but instead on the field, immediately going into the start of the next Canto. Indeed, following in the tradition of SEA, it seems that the upcoming Jia Family Hierarch Selection will be the main focus of Canto 8 - specifically, the conflict between Hong Lu's disinterest in the role of Jia family head and the fact that the Limbus Company higher-ups (and likely the Elders of the Jia Family) think of him as the best choice for family head. I highly doubt this situation will end similarly to Canto 6, with Heathcliff becoming the master of an empty manor, but I can't really tell who will become clan head - Hong Lu, Xichun, the really buff Jia guy at the end, maybe even Huan or other characters we haven't met yet.

So, some disjointed thoughts.

Of course, other than the obvious focus of Hong Lu, this Intervallo gives some more focus to Outis and Ryoshu. Outis is coming more into her supposed role as aide-de-camp, giving sound advice and collaborating with Dante and Faust in demystifying the intrigue set out for them. She seems quite shocked by being compared to Qingtao, and might lean back on the bootlicking in favor of giving specific contributions. Outis and Ryoshu collaborating to ensure Dante's safety without their notice is also pretty neat; naturally, they want to secure a valuable asset. Ryoshu's also has some moments of her own, like eavesdropping on Hong Lu and Dante with Sinclair, her confusion at his further elaboration on her acronyming (could he be reading her mind? He does have telepathy in the original book...), her frustration at being weaker during the fight, or the weirdness she had with Don Quixote after the Sweepers leave.

Don also has some points of interest here; Xichun's interest in recruiting her, or her smelling something unusual in regards to the Sweepers' blood. It's also neat to point out little things about how she changed from regaining her memories, like regaining tact.

The ambush and fight to protect Dante from the Heishou assassins is pretty neat in regards to who makes it to the fight; Don, Ryoshu, Outis, Meursault, and Gregor, the four strongest Sinners plus the one noted to have bizarre potential. Plus, the Sinners noted to have died in the ambush were Sinclair, Yi Sang, and Heathcliff, the three weakest, excluding the ever-vigilant Ishmael.

Faust's oddities continue to pile up. Indeed, right after the Sweepers finish their third wave, all the Sinners are wiped... except for her, who speaks as normal. She's also more upfront about when she's consulting Gesellschaft, with her naming the group when only speaking to Dante and censoring it as "Faust's knowledge" when also speaking to Outis. She's also clearly not in on all of the Company's plans, given that she OK'd the alliance to prop up Xichun instead of Hong Lu immediately before LCA declared that Hong Lu would be the chosen candidate.

It's kind of amusing to see the difference in how well Dante can read Faust vs how well they can read Outis. They pick up on a minute eyebrow tick on Faust and extrapolate her thought process, and then see Outis's very clear counterespionage signal and completely fail to understand what she means.

So, how about that Hong Lu conversation? Indeed, just as with his comment on the pointlessness of wrath, it seems that he has fully given up on having opinions or charting his own path. His cut-off comment about being placid in the face of the suffering of himself or those he cares about also definitely makes me think something horrible happened to Lin Daiyu to break his spirit. Kind of ironic that Heathcliff was the one to interrupt.

It's a bit bizarre but also maybe expected that the Sinners (other than Outis) don't react to Hong Lu being called by another name. Then again, maybe they're inoculated by Don Quixote vs Sancho or they're just not butting their noses into his business.

Also, hell yes - the Lord of Lusciousness, the Banisher of Bristliness, and the Man of the Middle, Ricardo, has returned. It seems that, as expected from the Middle, he's becoming a reoccurring issue. I suspect that we'll probably have one, maybe two more clashes in the future, but I think that chances are that his arc will be finished by the end of Canto 9. That said, he's still annoying as hell to fight.

Absolutely awesome to get to see an actual Night in the Backstreets in-game; the waves of Sweepers rushing by us really emphasizes how if they wanted to, they could dedicate themselves and wipe us out, but the sheer territory they need to cover and diminishing returns from just a few people makes it pointless to do so. Also, a mention of how the Sweepers are at the back and call of the Head!

It's neat to see how H Corp is modeled after the Walled City of Kowloon. It really re-emphasizes the cramped urban nature of the City, and doubles down on the idea of a capitalist hellscape.

It's neat to see Dante get a little bit meaner and more vicious - getting frustrated at the Sinners for eavesdropping on a private conversation with Hong Lu, commanding the Sinners to (even as a quote to motivate them) wipe out their enemies, and deciding to use a numbers advantage to jump an enemy to beat the secrets out of them... that, plus their focus on figuring out the situation with Outis and Faust, makes me think that they're definitely becoming more like their pre-amnesia self from the start of the game.

And, of course, the details clearly meant to foreshadow Canto 8 - the Bolus's life-returning properties, or Hong Lu's little detail of fighting ten duels a day. I'm kinda interested to see how the imagery of the Bolus is used in Canto 8's storu - Canto 5 got a lot of narrative mileage out of Whale and Mermaids, Canto 4 had the idea of healing through returning to the past, Canto 6 had the idea of being haunted... the blue color of the Bolus against Hong Lu's blue eye definitely gives me the vibes of this being imagery.

I can't really think of anything else to include in specific, beyond maybe Hong Lu's specialty in dueling and being a reactive fighter (Cinq ID anyone?), and how he wasn't promised a wish by the company. I really liked this Intervallo - aside from some of the harder fights - and am really hyped for The Surrendered Witnessing to be released.

[snowysosturn]

Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 14

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, mentions of drugs, mentions of selling drugs, angst, cursing, mentions of death, funeral setting

Y/n’s POV

The soft chime of the bell above the bridal studio’s door signals the end of my shift. I tidy up the counter, brush a few stray threads from my clothes, and grab my bag. It’s been a long day of fittings and consultations, but my excitement about tonight keeps me energized.

Chris is meeting my parents tonight. The thought alone sends a nervous flutter through my stomach, but it’s a good kind of nervous.

On my way out, I stop by the cafe down the street to grab two lattes and a croissant for Willow. It’s become something of a tradition to visit her after my shifts, especially when I need a pep talk. With everything going on tonight, I need her calming advice more than ever.

Willow’s apartment is buzzing with energy when I arrive. She’s blasting music in the kitchen while unpacking groceries, a pair of fluffy slippers on her feet.

“You’re a lifesaver” she says, grabbing the coffee from my hand and taking a sip. “Ugh, perfect. Come in, sit!”

I settle onto her couch, pulling the croissant out of the bag and sliding it across the table to her. “Figured you could use this.”

“You know me too well” she says with a grin, taking a bite.

As she eats, I fill her in on the news. “So.. my parents are meeting my boyfriend tonight.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “BOYFRIEND?!”

I nod, though the flutter of nerves in my chest betrays me. “Yeah, it feels right. I mean, he’s really trying, you know? So he’s coming over for dinner.”

Willow leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she studies me. “How’s he doing after today, though? With the funeral and all?”

I freeze mid sip of my coffee. “Funeral?”

Her expression shifts, suddenly cautious. “Wait, he didn’t tell you?”

I shake my head, my mind racing. Why didn’t he mention this? Now I feel stupid.

“Yeah” Willow continues, her voice softer now. “I heard it was today, Chris must’ve been there.”

I nod slowly, unsure how to process this new information. A funeral. A funeral. And he hadn’t said a word to me about it.

Part of me feels hurt, like I’ve been left out of something important. But the other part of me, the rational part, knows why he didn’t tell me. He’s trying to protect me, to keep me away from the darker parts of his world.

Still, it stings.

Willow must notice the shift in my expression because she reaches over and places a hand on my arm. “Hey, don’t overthink it. Chris probably didn’t want to stress you out with everything going on. He’s dealing with a lot.”

“I know” I say, my voice quieter than I intended. “It’s just.. I want him to feel like he can tell me these things, you know?”

Willow nods, her eyes sympathetic. “You’re in a tricky spot, Y/n. But he’ll come around. Just give it time.”

I glance at my phone and realize how late it’s gotten. “Shit, I need to get going. I have a million things to prep before dinner.”

Willow grins, her mood lifting again. “Go knock em dead. And text me after, I need all the details.”

“You’ll be the first to know” I promise, grabbing my bag and heading for the door.

As I start the journey home, my mind is buzzing with thoughts. Chris and I have come so far, but there’s still so much I don’t know about his life. Maybe tonight will be a step toward bridging that gap.

When I get to my house, I take a deep breath. Time to focus. Tonight isn’t just about meeting my parents, it’s about taking the next step, together.

Chris’ POV

The air outside the church was heavy, the kind of suffocating weight that sticks with you after saying goodbye to someone you cared about. Nate and I stood in silence as the crowd dispersed, the murmurs of the attempted hit at the funeral still fresh in my mind.

“You hear that shit?” Nate finally spoke, his voice low but brimming with anger. His jaw was clenched tight, and his hands balled into fists at his sides.

I nodded, keeping my gaze on the ground. “Yeah, I heard. It’s messed up, man. Who does that at a funeral?”

“It’s more than messed up” Nate snapped, turning toward me. His eyes were bloodshot from crying, but now they burned with rage. “It’s a straight up declaration of war. At Danny’s funeral, Chris. Do you understand what that means?”

I did, and it made my stomach churn. Whoever tried to pull this off wasn’t just sending a message they were escalating things in the dirtiest way possible. It wasn’t just about Crimson and H-Block anymore, it was personal.

“What do you wanna do?” I asked carefully, knowing full well Nate was on the verge of boiling over.

“What do I wanna do?” he repeated, his voice rising. “I wanna find out who did it and make them pay. No one disrespects my cousin like that.”

I grabbed his shoulder before he could start pacing. “Nate, you gotta keep it together. If Vince catches wind of this before you calm down, he’ll drag you into something you might not come back from.”

“And you think I’m just supposed to sit here and do nothing?” he shot back.

I didn’t have an answer for that. Nate was right to be angry, and it wasn’t like I didn’t feel the same way. But going off the rails wouldn’t bring Danny back, and it definitely wouldn’t stop whatever was coming next.

I felt like I was being pulled in two different directions. On one hand, Nate needed me. He was barely holding it together, and leaving him alone after what just happened felt like a betrayal. On the other hand, I’d made a promise to Y/n. Meeting her parents tonight was a big deal, and I couldn’t just bail.

“You’re not alone in this” I said after a moment. “But we gotta be smart about it. If we make a move now, it’ll only give Vince more of a reason to lose it. Let’s figure out who’s behind it first, then we’ll decide what to do.”

Nate stared at me, his expression a mix of fury and frustration. For a second, I thought he was going to argue, but then he exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. “Fine. But if I find out who it was before you do, I’m handling it my way.”

I nodded, even though his words made my chest tighten. There was no stopping Nate once he set his mind on something.

“Listen, I’ll check in later tonight, okay?” I said, trying to sound confident.

“Why? You got plans or something?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. I promised Y/n I’d meet her parents tonight. Dinner in hers.”

Nate’s eyes narrowed. “You’re ditching me for dinner? After everything that just happened?”

“It’s not like that” I said quickly. “This is important, too. I have to show her I’m serious about us. You know that.”

He scoffed, turning away from me. “Whatever, man. Go play house. I’ll deal with this on my own.”

“Nate-”

“Just go, Chris. You’ve got your priorities.”

The words hit harder than I expected. I wanted to stay, to make sure he didn’t do something reckless, but I couldn’t let Y/n down. Not tonight.

I sighed, running a hand over my face. “I’ll be back after dinner. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

He didn’t respond, just waved me off as he walked toward his car.

As I headed to my own car, the weight of everything pressed down on me. Nate was right, this wasn’t just about me anymore. If Vince found out about the attempted hit, there’d be hell to pay. And if Y/n’s family got even a hint of the world I was wrapped up in, things could fall apart before they even began.

Tonight wasn’t just a dinner, it was a balancing act. And one wrong step could send everything crashing down.

Y/n’s POV

The smell of garlic and rosemary filled the kitchen as I put the finishing touches on the roast chicken. Cooking wasn’t something I did often, but tonight felt special enough to make the effort. Mom had already filled Dad in on the whole boyfriend meeting the family situation, which saved me from the nerves of breaking the news myself. He didn’t say much when she told him, just gave a nod and asked what time dinner would be ready. Typical Dad.

At 6:15, I sent Chris a quick text:

“Hey, let me know when you’re on the way :)”

I set my phone on the counter and busied myself slicing vegetables for the side dish, trying not to obsess over every little detail. The table was already set, candles in the middle, the good silverware out, and plates that matched that's how much I wanted this to go smoothly.

By the time the clock read 6:30, my phone buzzed.

“On my way.”

I smiled, though a part of me couldn’t help but feel conflicted. My mind drifted back to what Willow had mentioned earlier about the funeral. Chris hadn’t told me about it. He was probably trying to protect me, but it stung a little, knowing he’d gone through such a heavy day without letting me in on it.

I couldn’t shake the guilt, either. Taking him away from Nate on a day like this felt wrong. It hit me then just how serious Chris must be about me. He was choosing to be here, despite everything else going on in his life. That realization made my chest tighten in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

Another buzz pulled me from my thoughts.

“Here.”

I grabbed a kitchen towel to wipe my hands and headed for the front door, my heart thumping a little harder with each step. I took a deep breath, opened it, and there he was, standing on the porch in a black button up shirt and dark jeans, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hey” he said, a soft smile playing on his lips.

The sight of him took my breath away for a moment. He looked good, better than good, but his eyes were tired, a heaviness lingering behind them that I knew came from the day he’d had. But I don’t think this is the right time to say anything.

“Hi” I said, my voice catching slightly. I cleared my throat and stepped aside to let him in.

“These are for you.” he said, holding out the flowers.

They were simple, red roses. But something about the gesture made my heart flutter.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you” I said, taking them and stepping aside so he could come in.

“Smells amazing in here” he said as he walked into the hallway.

“I decided I’d cook tonight. Felt like the right occasion” I said, trying to sound casual as I led him toward the dining room.

Chris nodded, glancing around the house. “It’s nice. Feels.. homey.”

“It is..” I trailed off, before I started rambling. “Anyway, my parents are in the living room. Ready to meet them?”

He hesitated for half a second, but then he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

I led him into the living room, where my parents were seated on the couch. Mom stood first, her warm smile instantly breaking the ice.

“You must be Chris” she said, stepping forward to shake his hand.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you” Chris said, his voice steady but polite.

Dad stood next, giving Chris a firm handshake and a nod. “Welcome to the house, son.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As they exchanged pleasantries, I caught a brief flicker of nervousness in Chris’s eyes. He was doing his best, but I could tell this wasn’t easy for him.

“Dinner’s ready” I announced, hoping to move things along. “Let’s eat.”

As we all headed to the table, I couldn’t help but steal a glance at Chris. He’d shown up for me today, even with everything he had going on. And as conflicted as I felt about some of it, one thing was clear, he was trying. For me.

Chris’ POV

By the time I pulled up outside Y/n’s house, my nerves were shot. It wasn’t just the day weighing on me, Danny’s funeral, the whispers, Nate’s rage, but the thought of sitting across from her parents, trying to fit into their polished world, made my stomach churn. I glanced at the flowers in the passenger seat, hoping they’d help me make a good first impression.

The house was cozy but big, sitting on a quiet street that screamed stability and comfort, two things I wasn’t exactly overflowing with. I stepped out of the car, straightened my shirt, and grabbed the flowers, making my way to the door.

Y/n opened the front door, her eyes lighting up the moment she saw me. She looked.. incredible, dressed casually but effortlessly perfect.

“Hey” I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I held out the bouquet. “These are for you.”

Her smile widened, and she took the flowers, her fingers brushing mine for a second. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

I stepped inside, instantly hit by the smell of something amazing coming from the kitchen. “Smells incredible in here,” I said, trying to focus on anything other than how my pulse seemed to quicken every time I looked at her.

“I cooked tonight,” she said, leading me toward the dining room. “Figured it was a special occasion.”

“It definitely is,” I said, managing a small smile.

The living room was warm and inviting, her parents sitting on the couch as we walked in. Y/n introduced us, and I reached out to shake her mom’s hand first.

“You must be Chris,” her mom said, her smile kind but curious.

“Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you,” I replied, feeling a little more at ease.

Her dad stood next, his handshake firm, his eyes sharper. “Welcome to the house, son.”

“Thank you, sir” I said, keeping my tone polite but not too stiff.

After a few minutes of pleasantries, Y/n led us all to the kitchen. The table was set perfectly, and the meal she’d made looked like something straight out of a cookbook. I sat down, feeling a little out of place at the polished table but determined not to show it.

The small talk started as we dug into the food. Her parents asked me the usual questions, where I grew up, what I liked to do, and I tried to answer as smoothly as I could. But the longer we talked, the more I couldn’t help but notice how put together they were. Everything about them, from the way they spoke to the way they carried themselves, screamed stability.

Meanwhile, I felt like a mess, a guy with a patchy past, walking on thin ice between two worlds.

“So” her dad said, setting his fork down and leaning forward slightly. “How did you two meet?”

I glanced at Y/n, and she smiled, stepping in to help me out.

“We met through mutual friends when we were fifteen” she explained. “We hung out a lot that summer, but then we just.. drifted apart.”

“Life happens” her mom said with a nod.

“Exactly” Y/n agreed, her gaze flicking to me as if to say you’re doing great.

And then her dad hit me with it – the question I’d been dreading all night.

“So, Chris” he said, his tone casual but pointed. “What do you do for work?”

For a moment, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. I set my glass down carefully, trying to keep my expression neutral.

“I, uh..” I started searching for the right words, the ones that wouldn’t make me sound like a complete disaster.

But what could I say? The truth wasn’t exactly an option, not here. My mind raced, and I glanced at Y/n, hoping for a lifeline.

“Freelance” Y/n said, cutting in before I could respond.

The words hung in the air, and I felt my chest tighten. Ground, swallow me up. It was a good save, sure, but it also stung a little. She knew that was my go to line when I didn’t want to get into details about what I actually do.

“Oh?” Her mom’s eyes lit up with interest, leaning forward slightly. “What kind?”

“Social media marketing” Y/n answered quickly, a polite smile on her lips.

Social media marketing? Jesus Christ. From the man with zero social media presence? I could barely keep my Instagram alive, let alone manage someone else’s.

“That’s fascinating” her mom continued. “I’ve heard it’s a really lucrative field these days.”

“Yeah” I said, clearing my throat and forcing a nod. “It’s definitely.. something.”

I glanced at Y/n, who gave me a subtle look that said just go with it. I appreciated the save, but I couldn’t help feeling like a fish out of water.

Her dad, however, seemed less convinced. He raised an eyebrow, clearly about to ask a follow-up question. “Do you work with specific clients or more general campaigns?”

Before I could stammer out an answer, Y/n swooped in again. “He works on a project basis” she said smoothly. “It’s more flexible that way.”

Her mom smiled, nodding in approval. “That sounds perfect for someone your age. Flexible, creative, it must keep you busy!”

“Oh, yeah. Busy,” I said, forcing a chuckle and taking a long sip of water to hide the fact that I was absolutely dying inside.

The conversation shifted to something else, thank fuck, but I could barely focus. I felt like an imposter sitting at this pristine table, in this perfect house, with these perfect people. Y/n’s parents seemed like the kind of couple who’d had their lives mapped out from day one. Stable careers, a beautiful home, kids who followed the plan.

And then there was me. Barely holding it together, juggling one lie after another just to keep my head above water.

Y/n’s hand brushed against mine under the table, pulling me out of my thoughts. She gave me a small, reassuring squeeze, as if to say it’s okay.

I squeezed back, grateful for her in that moment. Even if I didn’t feel like I belonged here, she was my anchor. I just had to make it through tonight without screwing it all up.

Suddenly, I felt a buzz in my pocket. Crap. My phone.

Y/n clearly felt it too, her hand slipped off my leg, her warmth replaced by a flicker of tension.

It buzzed again. And again.

Each vibration felt louder than the last, rattling through me like an alarm. God, I should’ve just turned it off.

Y/n’s dad looked up from his glass of wine, raising an eyebrow. Her mom followed his gaze, giving me a polite, curious smile. “Popular tonight, aren’t you?” she joked.

“Sorry about that” I muttered, trying to play it off as casually as I could. “It’s nothing important.”

But it kept buzzing. Over and over.

I glanced at Y/n, and her expression had shifted ever so slightly. Not enough for her parents to notice, but enough for me to catch the flicker of suspicion in her eyes.

“Maybe you should check it” Y/n’s dad said, his tone friendly but firm, the kind of tone that wasn’t really a suggestion.

Y/n was already shaking her head, smiling to defuse the situation. “He doesn’t have to, Dad. It’s probably just work stuff.”

“Yeah, work.. It’s nothing urgent. I’ll deal with it later.”

Except the buzzing stopped… only to start up again a second later.

Damn it, whoever it is calling me.

Her dad leaned back in his chair, clearly skeptical. “Must be a busy night in social media marketing” he quipped.

Y/n shot me a look. A small, apologetic one, but it was enough to say you’re making this worse.

I forced a laugh. “You’d be surprised. Campaigns don’t stop, even for dinner.”

“Mm” her dad hummed, still unconvinced.

The buzzing finally stopped, and I let out a silent breath of relief. But the damage was done. I could feel the tension hanging in the air, subtle but heavy.

Y/n’s mom, ever the optimist, changed the subject, steering the conversation back toward lighter topics. But I caught Y/n’s glance again, and this time, it was harder to read.

What was she thinking? Was she mad? Annoyed? Or just worried?

I shifted in my seat, the guilt already clawing at me. The funeral, the whispers of a hit, Nate’s grief, all of it had been piling up in the back of my mind, and now it was bleeding into this moment, ruining the one chance I had to prove to her parents that I could be someone normal. Someone stable.

But normal and stable didn’t come with constant buzzing phones, or lies about jobs, or friends who might not survive the night.

As the conversation went on, I did my best to focus, to smile, to play along. But inside, all I could think about was the messages and calls I knew were waiting for me. And how, once again, the life I was trying so hard to build with Y/n was colliding with the one I couldn’t escape.

As we finished up dessert, I followed Y/n into the kitchen, insisting on helping her with the dishes. Her mom and dad moved to the living room, their voices carrying faintly as they settled into a more relaxed conversation.

I rinsed a plate under the warm stream of water, my mind replaying the awkward moment earlier at the table. “I’m sorry about that job thing” I said, keeping my voice low. “I didn’t mean to put you in that spot. It must’ve been awkward for you.”

Y/n glanced at me, her soft smile instantly putting me at ease. “It’s fine, Chris. Really. They like you, I can tell. Don’t overthink it.”

“I just.. I worry, you know?” I admitted, setting the plate in the drying rack. “They’re so put together, so sure of everything. And I’m just..” I trailed off, shrugging.

She dried her hands and reached out, her touch light against my arm. “You’re you.” she said simply. “And that’s more than enough for me. Trust me, they see that too.”

Her words settled something in me. I leaned down and kissed her gently, feeling the warmth of her reassurance seep into me. But just as the moment softened, I felt it again, the buzz in my pocket.

I pulled back slightly, my stomach knotting as I hoped she hadn’t noticed.

“I think I might need to use the bathroom” I said quickly, my voice steady even as my heart raced.

Y/n didn’t seem suspicious, just gesturing toward the stairs. “There’s one right under there” she said.

I nodded, giving her a small smile before making my way out of the kitchen. My steps felt heavier with every buzz I’d felt on my phone.

Once inside the bathroom, I locked the door and leaned against it, pulling out my phone with shaky hands. The screen was lit up with a mess of notifications, missed calls, unread messages, demands.

Nate:

"Where are you, man?" (47m ago) "We found out who tried to make a hit earlier on. Going to fuck him up." (43m ago)

Vince:"Need you to cover a run. Meet at Dock." (33m ago) "Big hits tonight. Need you now." (29m ago) "?" (22m ago) "You have 30 mins to get here." (3m ago)

Thirty minutes. I had thirty minutes to figure out how the hell to get to the docks without tearing everything apart.

I leaned against the sink, gripping the edge like it might steady me. My chest felt tight, and my mind raced. They didn’t just "ask" for things, especially not Vince. They demanded. And missing a demand didn’t come without consequences.

But this wasn’t just about me. If I bailed tonight, it wouldn’t just be me in trouble. Nate could be left dealing with the fallout alone.

I stared at the mirror. My reflection was a mess of worry and panic. I ran my hands through my hair, took a deep breath, and tried to figure out my next move.

I slipped back out of the bathroom, tucking my phone deep into my pocket like I could bury the problem there. Making my way into the kitchen, I found Y/n putting away plates. She looked so at ease, so normal. I hated how I was about to ruin that.

“Hey” I started, my voice low, “I’m not feeling great. I think I need to head home and sleep this off.”

She turned to me, frowning slightly. “Are you okay? You didn’t seem off earlier.”

“Yeah, it just hit me” I lied, forcing a small, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to cut the night short.”

I could see the disappointment in her eyes, but she covered it quickly with a soft smile. “It’s okay” she said. “Dad’s already passed out in a food coma, so I doubt he’ll even notice.” She paused, searching my face. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just need some rest.”

She reached out, brushing her hand against my arm. “Alright. Go home and feel better, okay?”

I leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss, lingering just a moment longer than I should’ve. Part of me didn’t want to leave her, but I knew I had no choice.

I slipped into the living room to say goodbye to her mom, who was already halfway through a glass of wine. “Thanks for having me, Mrs. Y/l/n” I said, keeping my tone as polite as I could manage.

“Of course, Chris. See you soon!” she replied with a warm smile.

I walked out of the house, the cool night air hitting me like a slap. My chest felt heavy, but my feet moved fast. I wasn’t ready for this, none of it. Not Nate’s vengeance. Not Vince’s demands. Not the lies I was weaving into my time with Y/n.

As I got into my car, I stared at my phone again. Thirty minutes. Less, now.

I didn’t even start the engine before slamming my fist against the steering wheel.

“What the fuck am I doing?” I muttered to myself.

I had no answer. Only more questions, and no time to figure them out.

With a deep breath, I started the car and pulled onto the road. I wasn’t ready, but readiness didn’t matter anymore. It never did in this life.

a/n: its become more and more obvious to me that im shadow banned so i appreciate everyones interactions 🥲🥲

taglist: @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @lvrsturniolo @bernardsbunny @spaghetti835928383 @marrykisskilled @sturnsxplr-25 @bxtchboy69 @vickytaa @anikaistg @matts-girlfriend @lvrsturniolo @sophand4n4 @ilovepurpledragons @mattsside @riasturns @mattsredgaphoodie

[milfstalin]

When I met Stalin, I did not find him enigmatic. I found him the easiest person to talk to I ever met. He is far and away the best committee chairman of my experience. He can bring everybody’s views out and combine them in the minimum of time. His method of running committees reminded me somewhat of Jane Addams of Hull House or Lillian D. Wald of Henry Street Settlement. They had the same kind of democratically efficient technique, but they used more high pressure than Stalin did.

If Stalin has been inaccessible to foreigners—there were exceptions even to this—that does not mean that he lived in isolation, in a sort of Kremlin ivory tower. There were close to 200,000,000 people keeping him busy. He was seeing a lot of them. Not always necessarily the party leaders. A milkmaid who had broken the milking record, a scientist who had broken the atom, an aviator who flew to America, a coal miner who invented a new labor process, a workman with a housing difficulty, an engineer balked by new conditions—any person representing either a signal achievement or a typical problem might be invited by Stalin to talk it over. That was the way he got his data and kept in touch with the movement of the country.

[...]

My first impression of him was vaguely disappointing. A stocky figure in a simple suit of khaki color, direct, unassuming, whose first concern was to know whether I understood Russian sufficiently to take part in discussion. Not very imposing for so great a man, I thought. Then we sat down rather casually, and Stalin was not even at the head of the table; Voroshilov was. Stalin took a place where he could see all our faces and started the talk by a pointed question to the man against whom I had complained. After that Stalin seemed to become a sort of background, against which other people’s comments went on. The brilliant wit of Kaganovich, the cheerful chuckle of Voroshilov, the characteristics of the lesser people called to consult, all suddenly stood out. I began to understand them all and like them; I even began to understand the editor against whom I had complained. Suddenly I myself was talking and getting my facts out faster and more clearly than I ever did in my life. People seemed to agree with me. Everything got to the point very fast and smoothly, with Stalin saying less than anyone.

Afterward in thinking it over I realized how Stalin’s genius for listening helped each of us express ourselves and understand the others. I recalled his trick of repeating a word of mine either with questioning intonation or a slight emphasis, which suddenly made me feel I had either not quite seen the point or perhaps had overstated it, and so drove me to make it plainer. I recalled how he had done this to others also. Then I understood that his listening has been a dynamic force.

This listening habit dates back to the early days of his revolutionary career. “I remember him very well from the early days of our Party,” said a veteran Bolshevik to me. “A quiet youth who sat at the edge of the committee, saying almost nothing, but listening very much. Toward the end he would make a few comments, sometimes merely as questions. Gradually we came to see that he always summed up best our joint thinking.” The description will be recognized by anyone who ever met Stalin. In any group he is usually last to express his opinion. He does not want to block the full expression of others, as he might easily do by speaking first. Besides this, he is always learning by listening.

“He listens even to the way the grass grows,” said a Soviet citizen to me.

On the data thus gathered, Stalin forms conclusions, not “alone in the night,” which Emil Ludwig said was Mussolini’s way, but in conference and discussion. Even in interviews, he seldom receives the interviewer alone; Molotov, Voroshilov, or Kaganovich are likely to be about. Probably he does not even grant an interview without discussing it first with his closest comrades. This is a habit he formed very early. In the days of the underground revolutionary movement, he grew accustomed to close teamwork with comrades who held each other’s lives in their hands. In order to survive, they must learn to agree quickly and unanimously, to feel each other’s instincts, to guess even at a distance each other’s brains. It was in such a group that he gained his Party name—it is not the one that he was born with—“the Steel One, Stalin.”

[...]

Stalin brings certain important qualities to these joint decisions. People who meet him are first of all impressed by his directness and simplicity, his swift approach. Next they notice his clearness and objectivity in handling questions. He completely lacks Hitler’s emotional hysteria and Mussolini’s cocky self-assertion; he does not thrust himself into the picture. Gradually one becomes aware of his keen analysis, his colossal knowledge, his grip of world politics, his willingness to face facts, and especially his long view, which fits the problem into history, judging not only its immediate factors, but its past and future too.

Stalin’s rise to power came rather slowly. The rise of his type is slow and sure. It began far back with his study of human history and especially the history of revolutions. President Roosevelt commented to me with surprise on Stalin’s knowledge of the Cromwellian Revolution in Britain as shown in his talk with H. G. Wells. But Stalin quite naturally studied both the British and the American historical revolutions far more intimately than British and American politicians do. Tsarist Russia was due for a revolution. Stalin intended to be in it and help give it form. He made himself a thorough scientist on the process of history from the Marxian viewpoint: how the masses of people live, how their industrial technique and social forms develop, how social classes arise and struggle, how they succeed. Stalin analyzed and compared all past revolutions. He wrote many books about them. But he is not only a scientist; he also acts.

In the early days of the Revolution, Stalin’s name was hardly known outside the Party. In 1923, during Lenin’s last illness, I was told by men whose judgment I trusted that Stalin was “our coming man.” They based this on his keen knowledge of political forces and his close attention to political organization as secretary of the Communist Party. They also based it on his accurate timing of swift action and said that thus far in the Revolution he hid not once guessed wrong. They said that he was the man to whom “responsible Party men” turned for the clearest statement of what they all thought., In those days Trotsky sneered at Stalin as the “most average man” in the Party. In a sense it was true. Stalin keeps close to the “average man”; the “average man” is the material of politics. But Stalin does it with a genius that is very far from average.

“The art of leadership,” said Stalin once, “is a serious matter. One must not lag behind the movement, because to do so is to become isolated from the masses. But one must not rush ahead, for this is to lose contact with the masses.” He was telling his comrades how to become leaders; he was also expressing his own ideal, which he has very effectively practiced.

[...]

Glimpses of Stalin’s personal relations come chiefly through his contacts with picturesque figures who have helped make Soviet history. Valery Chkalov, the brilliant aviator who made the first flight across the North Pole from Moscow to America, told of an afternoon that he spent at Stalin’s summer home from four o’clock till after midnight. Stalin sang many Volga songs, put on gramophone records for the younger people to dance, and generally behaved like a normal human being relaxing in the heart of his family. He said he had learned the songs in his Siberian exile when there wasn’t much to do but sing.

The three women aviators who broke all world records for women by their spectacular flight from Moscow to the Far East were later entertained at an evening party at the Kremlin in their honor. One of them, Raskova, related afterwards how Stalin had joked with them about the prehistoric days of the matriarchate when women ruled human society. He said that in the early days of human development women had created agriculture as a basis for society and progress, while men “only hunted and went to war.” After a reference to the long subsequent centuries of woman’s slavery, Stalin added, “Now these three women come to avenge the heavy centuries of woman’s suppression.”

[...]

“Comrades! Citizens!” he said, as he has said often. Then he added, “Brothers and Sisters!” It was the first time Stalin ever used in public those close family words. To everyone who heard them, those words meant that the situation was very serious, that they must now face the ultimate test together and that they must all be closer and dearer to each other than they had ever been before. It meant that Stalin wanted to put a supporting arm across their shoulders, giving them strength for the task they had to do. This task was nothing less than to accept in their own bodies the shock of the most hellish assault of history, to withstand it, to break it, and by breaking it save the world. They knew they had to do it, and Stalin knew they would.

Stalin made perfectly plain that the danger was grave, that the German armies had taken most of the Baltic states, that the struggle would be very costly, and that the issues were between “freedom or slavery, life or death to the Soviet State.” He told them: “The enemy is cruel and implacable. He is out to seize our lands, watered with our sweat . . . to convert our peoples into the slaves of German princes and barons.” He called upon the “daring initiative and intelligence that are inherent in our people,” which he himself for more than twenty years had helped to create. He outlined in some detail the bitter path they should follow, each in his own region, and said that they would find allies among the freedom-loving peoples of the world. Then he summoned them “forward—to victory.”

Erskine Caldwell, reporting that dawn from Moscow, said that tremendous crowds stood in the city squares listening to the loud speakers, “holding their breath in such profound silence that one could hear every inflection of Stalin’s voice.” Twice during the speech, even the sound of water being poured into a glass could be heard as Stalin stopped to drink. For several minutes after Stalin had finished the silence continued. Then a motherly-looking woman said, “He works so hard, I wonder when he finds time to sleep. I am worried about his health.”

That was the way that Stalin took the Soviet people into the test of war.

[inmyglowupera]

Hormones & Weight loss (part 2) : Insulin

Insulin is a key hormone that regulates blood sugar levels by helping your body store and use glucose for energy. It plays a critical role in maintaining energy balance, but elevated insulin levels, often caused by overconsuming refined carbohydrates or poor lifestyle habits, can promote fat storage and lead to insulin resistance. This makes weight loss harder and increases the risk of metabolic conditions like type 2 diabetes.

💛 Signs & Symptoms of Imbalance:

• Strong cravings for sugar and refined carbs

• Difficulty losing weight, especially around the abdomen

• Energy crashes after meals

• Persistent hunger, even after eating

💛 How to Support:

• Balance your meals: Include a mix of lean protein, healthy fats, and high-fiber foods to keep blood sugar levels stable and reduce insulin spikes.

• Reduce sugar intake: Limiting refined carbs, sugary beverages, and processed snacks can lower insulin demands.

• Exercise regularly: Both aerobic exercise (e.g., walking, cycling) and strength training improve insulin sensitivity and help muscles efficiently use glucose.

• Improve sleep quality: Poor sleep increases insulin resistance and disrupts metabolic hormones. Aim for 7–8 hours of consistent, restful sleep.

• Use timing to your advantage: Consuming carbohydrates post-workout optimizes glucose uptake by muscles, reducing the risk of fat storage.

💛 Supplements that may help:

• Berberine: A natural compound that supports blood sugar control and enhances insulin sensitivity (Source).

• Chromium: An essential trace mineral that aids in blood glucose regulation.

• Magnesium: Plays a crucial role in glucose metabolism and insulin signalling.

• Inositol (Myo-inositol): Especially beneficial for insulin sensitivity in people with metabolic syndrome or PCOS.

This content is for informational purposes only and is not intended to replace professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult a qualified healthcare provider before making significant changes to your diet, lifestyle, or supplement routine. If you suspect a medical condition, seek the advice of your doctor or a licensed medical professional.

[k-hotchoisan]

₊˚⊹⋆𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓿𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓚’𝓼 𝓣𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓦𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭₊˚⊹⋆

Welcome to K’s Twisted Wonderland. In honour of hitting 2K, I’m inviting my wonderful angels for a little treat into my twisted wonderland.

Watch your step, be careful who you entangle yourself with, and especially don’t talk to bad guys.

Or do. Who’s stopping you? 🥀

Waiting to join the fun? Taglist applications here

Please note: these fics are completely fictional and contain heavy smut. Please thread responsibly.

🍄✨ 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 ✨🍄

🍄 Hooked — Hongjoong

You were supposed to have budding feelings for Peter Pan. You were supposed to like him. Until he leaves you with the mermaids, and your saviour turns out to be someone unlikely. Someone who wants to keep you all for himself.

🍄 Queen of Hearts — Seonghwa

Following that stupid black rabbit was a bad idea. Now you’re wondering through Wonderland, confused, trying to understand the world and it’s inhabitants frightened over the land’s monarch. Running into the hedge maze after hiding from the Jabberwocky, you come face to face with the Queen of Hearts himself, yet you can’t seem to stay away from him.

🍄 Pomegranate — Yunho

Bring the descendant of Hades, Yunho takes over the crown, stuck in a boring loop of ruling over the Underworld. And his world completely flips when he encounters you during one of Zeus’s grand parties, and he wants to keep you all for himself.

🍄 Mirror, Mirror — Yeosang

Years after the Evil Queen’s death, her son takes over the throne to continue her legacy of destroying the fairest one of them all. He consults his mother’s heirloom—her trusted mirror—to find out who he needs to personally hunt down, only to become entangled with the woman he’s supposed to kill.

🍄 Big, Bad Wolf — San

Your mother always warned you to be careful of the woods whenever you went to deliver bread to your grandmother. You’re over her nagging. Nothing has been bothering you in the woods for the past decades. You’re not afraid.

Famous last words when you meet the big, bad wolf.

🍄 Beauty and her Beast — Mingi

Bearing the curse, Mingi lives isolated in his palace, watching the time run out on the rose petals, signalling his impending death, hopeless and cold. It’s not until he meets you, who decides to trade places with your crush, who had trespassed in Mingi’s garden, to be imprisoned in the palace with Mingi.

🍄 Crown of Ice — Wooyoung

You’ve heard of his cold and ruthless ways of freezing people to death, and now you are sent to kill him and bring back the crown of ice that sits on his head.

It’s just that you didn’t realise you’d be melting his heart and entangling yourself with him in the process.

🍄 Siren’s Call — Jongho

You can’t forget the night where you should have drowned when you fell off the cruise ship, only to appear back on shore eight years ago. The seas have always been calling you, you swear—hearing hums that sounded borderline hypnotic especially during the full moon nights. Your parents have warned you to stay away, especially with the rumours of sirens infesting the ocean.

But what they forgot to remind you about sirens was that they can also take on a human form.

© all rights reserved k-hotchoisan ✨🩷

[sixseasonsofodestawithatardis]

Explaining PIP, the reforms and how YOU can help!

Recently, Prime Minister Rishi Sunak and Secretary of State for Work and Pensions Mel Stride announced measures to reform PIP (Personal Independence Payment). It's a benefit given to disabled people, whether they are employed or not, to help provide support for the extra costs incurred due to being disabled. PIP can be paid on anything you need, such as a carer, adaptions, your bills or a night out (yes, disabled people are entitled to a social life I'm NOT arguing with anyone about this!) On top of the changes to sick notes, the announced reforms are an assault on disabled people to desperately cling to power!

Below is an explanation of PIP and the reforms so people can answer the open consultations, call for evidence, and sign a petition. We need as many people in the UK as possible to answer both to try to stop these reforms from happening.

What is PIP?

The Tories are saying PIP is a one-size-fits-all benefit, which again is a lie as PIP is designed to look at how your disability affects your daily life and how difficult it makes it for you to participate in society, not whether you have this specific disability so it only affects you in these ways! It doesn't matter whether you're diagnosed or not, either. There are two categories they look at throughout, known as the 'Daily Living Component' and the 'Mobility component' The process involves 50 pages you have to fill out (link to Turn2US for proof https://www.turn2us.org.uk/get-support/information-for-your-situation/claiming-personal-independence-payment-pip/fill-in-the-personal-independence-payment-pip-form#:~:text=You%20usually%20get%20the%20paper,it%20is%2050%20pages%20long.)

With hundreds of letters from Doctors as proof of your condition! And then an assessment in which you will answer all sorts of demeaning questions, give in-depth answers that you don't feel comfortable sharing, and hope the assessor has understood how it affects your life and written it down properly and that you'll get the right amount of money at the end of this assessment or re-assessment.

To get the standard rate in both components, you need 8 points; to get the enhanced rate, you need 12 points.

They'll then give you two, three, five, or ten years (10 years is known as a fixed-term award and a light-touch review) to undergo the terror of the PIP assessment again.

The reforms proposed and why they're terrifying!

The reforms they've suggested so far are

One-off grants for aids and appliances

receipts to then be claimed back at a later date

the changing of eligibility for PIP or the category 'Long Term sickness'

Vouchers instead of cash payments

If you've read those four options and thought they were cruel, infantilising and impossible to make work, then you'd be right.

As a disabled person, bills don't magically disappear. You still have council tax and rent to pay or a carer. Will landlords and councils accept these vouchers? A one-off grant won't work here either. The vouchers also signal that we can't be trusted to pay for our own needs and aren't responsible—which is far from the truth!

Aids and treatments are already covered by the NHS, so this is redundant and will be futile, especially when you consider the long waiting lists for mental health treatment (and just generally) on the NHS—and even if they aren't, we do know that and will use PIP to save up for it, etc. It's easier and more economical to give us cash payments.

To have the receipts to claim back expenses, we need to have the money to spend on said expenses.

Changing the eligibility will (much like these other suggestions) put more disabled people at risk. If you want mental health to improve: Fix the NHS, wages, sort out the cost of living crisis and fund the research/support for Long Covid sufferers.

How you can help! - UK-based people, plz sign everyone else. Please reblog & signal boost!

If you live in the UK, there are currently two consultations open ( the sick note one closes on 8 July 2024, and the PIP one closes on 22 July 2024). Ideally, the responses will be used to decide whether these reforms go ahead.

Here are links to the two reforms for PIP and changes to the sick note process.

Please note that the PIP consultation ( the first link) is 6 pages long and must be completed in one go. It's also filled with typos, repeated questions, and very difficult wording in many places, so be on the lookout for that! People are rightfully complaining about its accessibility, so the link and end date may change. I will update this post if this happens. I also know answering stuff like this is overwhelming, so here is a thread by PeachyInWales on Twitter about how they approached the consultation. If I see any samples by any disability activists or organisations, I will post them here, too!

This second link is the second consultation or call to evidence. Which GPs are being stripped of the ability to sign sicknotes for people on benefits, which is again ridiculous!

And the last link is a petition from SCOPE to stop the government from demonising disabled people further.

Ultimately, we're trying to stop a benefit that is difficult to get and barely covers costs for many applicants from getting worse.

If I've missed anything then let me know! I'm sorry the post was so long, but it's a lot to go through! Again, UK-based people, please share your thoughts if you can and sign the petition! If you are not currently living in the UK, please share these links or the post so other UK-based users can see this and try to help.

Thank you!

[infiniteeight8]

I liked this one so much, I'd love anything from before or after this part about Stephen having lost magic but still having something to look forward to: https://www.tumblr.com/infiniteeight8/781677587770605568/hello-i-have-returned-with-a-different-prompt

It’s rare that I write out of chronological order, but this time the idea that came to me was a prequel, so here we go!

I did about ten seconds of research into neural interfaces, so there’s some vague and possibly wrong technobabble in here. Just roll with it.

-

The Order would never force him out, but living in the Sanctum quickly becomes more than Stephen can bear. The place is saturated in magic, and Stephen can’t touch any of it anymore. He only waits as long as he does because he’s afraid the Cloak will return to its glass case when he goes. When he finally admits that, Levi drags him out of there itself. Stephen actually laughs.

Of course, then he has to figure out where he and Levi will live. He’s not without resources—he’d had very good insurance as a neurosurgeon, even if it had taken a while to get it paid out—but something in him recoils from the idea of renting an apartment. Half a reference to the dilemma over lunch with Tony and the next thing Stephen knows he’s been cheerfully installed in a guest room. “I’ve got lots of space,” Tony says. “You can stay as long as you need while you figure things out.”

Stephen gets the distinct impression Tony is glad to have company now that Ms. Potts has moved out.

It’s just as well, because Stephen has nothing to do, so he ends up trailing after Tony like a stray puppy half the time. Which is how he ends up here, on a couch in Tony’s lab, watching as the man works on the next generation of Colonel Rhodes's leg braces. Not that Rhodes has asked for a new generation. The set he has have already made the Stark Industries name in the field of  assistive devices, but Tony is never satisfied. Not when it comes to his best friend.

Tony waves and a new hologram springs to life. It’s remarkable how intuitive he’s made the whole— Stephen frowns. “Are you reading signals from the spinal column or the peripheral nervous system?” 

“Peripheral nervous system,” Tony says, looking over at him. “Why?”

“The electrodes you’re using must pick up a lot of noise.” Stephen stands and walks over to get a better look.

“They do; we process it out after,” Tony says. “Rhodey didn’t want implants.”

Stephen makes a thoughtful noise, reaching out and manipulating the diagram. “There’s improvements to be made without implants,” he says absently. Tony certainly did his research, but he doesn’t know the nervous system like Stephen does.

Tony tilts his head. “Show me.”

Three hours later, after Levi and DUM-E herd them out of the lab to eat lunch, Tony asks, “So what’s the going rate for a neurosurgeon’s consulting fee?”

Stephen starts to protest and then catches Tony’s sly glance and has to let out an exasperated laugh. “Is there anything you won’t take it upon yourself to fix?”

“Probably not,” Tony says, grinning. “Come on, was I wrong? If that’s what you can do when you’re out of date on the literature, then imagine what you’ll have to offer once you catch up. And you obviously enjoyed it.”

“I did,” Stephen admits. He hadn’t even considered consulting, probably because he’d written the idea off so thoroughly after his accident. But now… Well, Tony didn’t build the newer armors by hand, but they were no less a work of his mind. Stephen didn’t have to hold the knife himself for his work to impact the field, and it turns out he found the intricacies of the human nervous system just as fascinating as he ever had. “How did you know?”

Tony scoffs. “Come on, that was easy. You insisted on being called Doctor even when you were entitled to being called Sorcerer Supreme. Doesn’t take a genius to see that it’s still a part of you.”

“Apparently it did take a genius,” Stephen shoots back, smiling slightly. “Since no one else thought of it.”

Tony just laughs.

[oneshotnewbie]

do you write for greys? if so, could you do something with Amelia Shepherd and teen reader? Whether it's her daughter or a patient, i don't mind. and could the story be suuuper cute and fluffy? or whatever you feel up to writing is fine. Thx! 🥰

Summary: Amelia Shepherd meets a talented young medical student who wants to learn from her. A close relationship develops between the two of you, with Amelia not only sharing her medical expertise, but also acting as a mentor and friend while you help Amelia regain confidence in herself after botching a surgery that she actually knows by heart.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Amelia Shepherd hurried through the busy hallways of Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, her gown flapping behind her as she was summoned to a consultation. Her mind was whirling as she prepared to tend to a new patient when suddenly a gentle voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Excuse me, Dr. Shepherd? Would you have a moment for me?" you asked and Amelia turned around, a young woman with a backpack over her shoulder and a stack of books under her arm catching her eye. Your eyes sparkled at her, and the neurosurgeon could immediately see the glint of curiosity in them.

"Of course," Amelia spoke and smiled. She tilted her head to the side and slipped her hands into her coat pockets before continuing. "How can I help you? Are you hurt?"

You stepped closer and held out your hand. "No. My name is y/n y/l/n. I am a medical student interning and I heard that you are one of the best surgeons here. I would really like to learn from you."

Amelia's smile deepened as she saw the determination in your expression. "It's nice to meet you, y/n. And of course I'm happy to help you. What exactly do you want to learn?" she asked and you beamed with joy, keeping pace with her as she continued walking, signaling you with a hand signal to follow her. "Anything you can teach me! I admire your work and want to learn as much as I can from you."

The brunette felt a wave of warmth in her heart. It had been a long time since someone had so enthusiastically asked to be her mentor. Far too long. "Well then let's get started." she said, leading you through the corridors of the hospital to the consultation she was needed for.

In the following days, Amelia and you spent a lot of time together. She showed you the different departments of the hospital, explained complex medical cases and even let you watch some operations. As you worked together, you began to get to know each other better, and Amelia became more and more impressed by your intelligence, ambition, quick wit, and kindness.

One day, while you were taking a break together in the cafeteria, you turned to Amelia with a shy smile. "Could I perhaps ask you for a favor, Dr. Shepherd?"

Amelia nodded and placed a hand on your shoulder while fishing for her fork with the other hand. "Of course, y/n. What's wrong?"

You hesitated for a moment before continuing nervously. "Well, I recently heard about a scholarship available for promising young doctors like myself, but the application process is quite demanding. I was wondering if you could perhaps write me a recommendation?"

Amelia smiled softly and nodded. "Of course I will, y/n. I'm sure you're an excellent candidate. I'm happy to support you and hope to see you here permanently as a medical student." She answered and you beamed with gratitude and relief, barely able to contain your joy. "Thank you, Dr. Shepherd. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"From now on it's Amelia, not Dr. Shepherd." She interrupted and as she continued to smile at you, she couldn't help but feel warm and fulfilled. In you she saw not only a talented young medical student, but also a friend and a possible successor. And she looked forward to supporting you on your journey, just as so many others had supported her when she was an aspiring doctor herself.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The news of your successful acceptance into the prestigious Grey Sloan scholarship spread like wildfire through the hospital, and Amelia couldn't help but beam with pride as she prepared to teach you everything she knew.

When you came to see her in person the next day, Amelia could hardly contain her excitement. “Congratulations, y/n!” she shouted, walking the last few centimeters towards you to pull you into a strong hug.

You grinned widely with joy and returned the hug as you laid your head on her chest and she planted a kiss on the top of your head. "Thank you, Amelia! I couldn't be happier!"

Amelia stepped back and regarded you with a beaming gaze as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, leading you with her. "You deserve it, y/n. I knew from the beginning that you would make it."

The two of you walked up to a meeting room before you started talking about the future and how you would work together. You were excited to finally have the opportunity to develop the full extent of your knowledge and skills, and the neurosurgeon promised to support you every step of the way.

In the weeks and months that followed, an even closer friendship developed between the two of you. You continued to spend a lot of time together, both in and out of the hospital, sharing your thoughts, fears, and dreams.

Amelia was impressed by your eagerness and insatiable desire to learn and grow. She recognized that you were not only a talented aspiring doctor, but also a remarkable young woman with a strong moral compass and a warm heart.

As a mentor and friend, she stood by you when you needed support, be it with difficult medical cases that she assigned to you or with personal challenges. She encouraged you to do your best and never give up, no matter how big the obstacles might be.

And while Amelia helped you grow professionally and personally, she also found comfort and inspiration in your close friendship and enthusiasm. Together you went through ups and downs, but through your mutual support and affection, you grew stronger and closer together.

For Amelia, you were not just a student or a colleague, but an important companion on her own path, and she was grateful for the chance to have you on her path. Because in you she not only found a mental heir, but also a friend for life. She was able to lean on you especially in the difficult times, like during the time of her brother's death.

She had thrown herself back into work immediately after the funeral without taking a few days off, and now she was standing in front of the mirror in the relaxation room at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, staring at hersel. Her eyes shone uncertainty and self-doubt as she reflected on the events of the last few weeks.

An operation gone wrong. A patient who had suffered. And above all, the agonizing realization that she, an experienced surgeon, had made a mistake. A mistake that could have been avoided. A mistake that haunted her and shook her confidence in her own abilities.

Since her brother's tragic death, Amelia had struggled with grief. She had thrown herself into work to distract herself and numb the pain, but somewhere deep inside her doubt continued to gnaw at her. You had been a constant source of support and comfort during this dark time. As her young student and friend, you had not only supported Amelia with medical matters, but also served as an emotional support, encouraging her and reminding her that she was not alone.

There was a knock on the door that took her out of her thoughts and you walked in, a worried look on your face. "Amelia, how are you?" You asked softly, stepping closer. The brunette sighed and turned to you, her eyes dark with pain. "I'm sorry, y/n. I failed. I should have been more careful, I should have been better."

You moved closer to her and put a hand on her shoulder from behind, giving it a tight squeeze. "Am, everyone makes mistakes sometimes. You're only human." You spoke but she shook her head at your statement, unable to overcome the self-blame that tormented her. "But I should have known, y/n. I should have known better."

You looked at Amelia seriously and then lowered your voice to a very soft, quiet whisper. "Amelia, I know you are going through a difficult time. But I want you to remember who you are. You are an incredibly talented and passionate neurosurgeon. You have helped so many people and saved so many lives. Mistakes don't define your entire career."

Your words slowly penetrated Amelia's veil of self-doubt. She raised her eyes to meet yours, but you nudged her to look back in the mirror. When she had done this, you spread her legs with a light kick of your foot and placed one arm after the other on her hips. "Say it, Amelia."

"I am a superhero, let me fly." She whispered and you made the gesture with your hand that warned her to repeat the sentence. You had her repeat it several times until she realized which reflection she was looking into. "Just one strong and combative personality can make mistakes and still shine as much as you do in your Superman pose."

"Thank you, y/n. It means a lot to me." She spoke much stronger and you smiled softly. "We all need a reminder of who we really are sometimes. You are not alone, and I am here to help you remember."

Amelia threw her arms around you before getting back to work with you. Slowly but surely, Amelia began to regain her confidence in herself. With your support and your regular forcing to pose as Superman whenever she had self-doubts again, she overcame them and returned to her true passion: healing and helping people.

Amelia's journey has not been easy, and there have been many challenges and setbacks along the way. But with your continued support, she found herself back, strengthened by your friendship and unwavering confidence in her.

[the-most-humble-blog]

WHEN SHE ASKED, I DIDN’T HESITATE — BUT I’M STILL PROCESSING THAT WET, GASPED-OUT INVITATION

A Blacksite Literature™ Transmission

Codename: Classroom-All-Day Pussy

Classification: Polite Degeneracy // Primal Access Granted

---

I swear I was trying to be a gentleman.

I had no idea I was thirty minutes away from getting wet-signal greenlit like it was a high-stakes airstrike. And I don’t mean “she gave me a look.” I mean this woman gasped and blurted:

> “Do you want to go, like… have sex?”

No seduction arc.

No Netflix delay.

No “Oops I dropped my phone on your lap.”

Just blunt-force feminine permission mid-sentence — as if her Skene’s glands overruled her frontal cortex. As if her own body was like *“Girl, either we mount this man or I will.”

---

I Was Trying to Be Civilized

She came over, fresh from her last class. Petite. Shorter than I remembered. Wearing that post-academic frazzled look like she’d been carrying a messenger bag full of crushed dreams and overpriced textbooks all day.

I’m scrambling in my head like:

> “Okay, don’t look at her like that. Pick a movie. Something chill. Nothing serial killer-y. Nothing that says ‘I’m a fantasy man-baby.’ No anime. No MCU. No Requiem for a Dream. Play it cool.”

I complimented her nails. I touched her hand like I was auditioning for boyfriend eligibility.

I smiled like a therapist mid-consult.

But apparently my voice said “safe,” and my eyes said “I will rearrange your internal feng shui.”

---

Something in the Way I Said Something I Don’t Even Remember

Ten minutes in, I’m talking. I have no idea what I’m saying. Some combination of confident nonsense and light flirtation. Maybe a comment about her wrists. Maybe the way her ankles were crossed. Maybe something about how I noticed her but didn’t want to intrude.

Whatever it was? It cracked the seal.

She gasped. Like… gas-ped.

Like a dream moan escaped by accident.

And then:

> “Do you want to go like… have sex?”

As if asking if I wanted water.

Before I could answer, she grabbed my hand, brought it down, and showed me how wet she was.

No warning. No tease. No drawn-out game.

Just confirmation by humidity.

---

The Real Shock Wasn’t That She Said It. It Was That She Meant It.

She wasn’t joking.

She wasn’t testing.

She wasn’t playing flirtation chicken to see if I’d flinch.

Her body had already decided.

Her glands were way ahead of the vote.

And in that moment?

My “gentleman” mode short-circuited.

Because what the fuck is the proper protocol when a woman places your hand between her thighs and says: “I’m not asking for reassurance. I’m asking for entry.”

---

Showerless, Shameless, Classroom-All-Day Pussy

Let’s address the obvious:

She didn’t shower first.

She didn’t “freshen up.”

She came from three hours of lectures, note-taking, and walking across campus in tight jeans.

And I don’t give a single fck.*

Because horniness does not care about showers.

It doesn’t care about your skincare routine or pH balance or if your thighs rubbed raw walking to class.

Horniness is a biological override.

And if she’s standing in front of you with pupil dilation, shaky breath, flushed chest, and a wetness that could drown a weaker man?

You don’t check Yelp reviews.

You don’t ask the pussy if it’s had a spa day.

You thank the gods of timing, bless the Skene’s glands, and say, “Yes, ma’am.”

---

Why Did It Work?

Because I didn’t push.

I didn’t perform.

I didn’t try to “game” her.

I sat there with a calm presence, a grounded tone, and a gaze that told the truth.

That if she made the offer? I’d honor it.

And something in her knew.

Knew that I wouldn’t shame her.

Wouldn’t tell.

Wouldn’t fumble.

Women can feel it.

They know who can handle them mid-flood.

And that day?

I was chosen.

---

And Again. And Again.

It wasn’t a one-time fluke.

Once the gate was opened?

She wanted to return.

Because here’s the thing about classroom-all-day pussy:

It remembers.

It remembers who made her gasp like that.

It remembers who held her like an offering instead of an orgasm machine.

It remembers who made her feel sacred and ruined in the same session.

That kind of connection?

She’ll cross town for it.

No shower.

No script.

Just possession with informed consent.

---

Final Transmission

You don’t get moments like this by accident.

You get them by being:

Still when others fidget

Clear when others lie

Warm when others sell charm

And absolutely fucking real

This wasn’t “game.”

This was presence.

This was self-control so steady it made her want to give it all up.

Because that moment?

That gasped-out wet invitation?

That was her body saying:

> “I don’t need a gentleman.

I need a man who can be polite — but won’t hesitate.”

And I didn’t.

— Blacksite Literature™

Codename: When the Skene’s Glands Speak First

Recommended Reading: Your Own Wet Recollection

---

[z-socks]

Armored Heart

As the war trudges on, the senate's interest in protecting the existing Clones wanes, forcing Obi-Wan to find a solution that Cody doesn't originally care for, leading to a discussion that doesn't end the way either of them thought.

Or, a quick and bittersweet one-shot that addresses my headcanon about why the Jedi wear less armor as the Clone Wars goes on.

Also on AO3

Two and a half years. Two and a half years the war had raged on and the loss with it. Two and a half years of Clones - Brothers, men - left to rot in battlefields, names painted on their armor if any from their squads knew them. Shinies rolled out in a matter of hours to take their place. And now, now Obi-Wan and his commander were staring at a holo projection of a committee member representing the Senate denying his request for more plasti-bond to fix his men’s armor. Two and a half years of sending men, his men, into battle, two and a half years of undoing conditioning to offer his troops some semblance of personhood, and the Senate couldn’t even spare them a few credits to repair their most valuable display of identity!

“Perhaps you could source some plastoid from the dead.”

Obi-Wan heard Cody’s low growl from across the holo-table. “I’m afraid that solution won’t work for the men,” the Jedi offered, tone curt as he tried to release his frustration into the Force. “Their armor is too culturally intwined. To be stripped of it in death would be to label the fallen as traitors. I cannot make such a request to ones who have been nothing but loyal to the Republic.”

The committee member did not appear swayed, annoyed expression on their visage, blue and distorted on the patchy hologram this far out in the Outer Rim. It didn’t help they spoke with a translator, words garbled with the weak signal and delayed with the translation. “General, the Senate cannot afford to fund every request.”

Obi-Wan raised a brow. “This is a cost saving measure in the end. By repairing armor instead of replacing it-

“I’m sorry, general, but this is what the Senate has decided on.”

“Without consult of the troops, I’m sure.”

“Consult with the Clones is not required for the Senate to make wartime decisions.”

Oh how that rubbed Obi-Wan the wrong way. He grit his teeth. “Yet they’re the ones you send into battle for you.”

The committee member simply checked their chrono and sighed. “General, we are at war. Everyone has to pitch in.”

Pitch in. Pitch in? Obi-Wan had sacrificed his very ideals as a Jedi to lead in this war. His men suffered and died every campaign for the Republic. Pitch in. How many hours had he and Cody logged in planning battles to prevent loss of life across the galaxy? How many Clones volunteered their very souls to bring safety to civilians in the middle of enemy fire?

Pitch in.

The committee member couldn’t even sacrifice the time to extend this discussion. How was that ‘pitching in?’

Well fine.

With practiced ease, Obi-Wan unfastened his chest, upper arm, and leg armor, dropping it on to the holo-table before the committee member. Cody stared at him wide-eyed from behind the projection.

“If you would please,” Obi-Wan began with strained politeness, “inform the committee we have found a source of plastoid to melt into plasti-bond.” He leaned in. “Oh and do feel free to explain to the press why one of the Republic’s high generals is without armor.”

The committee member scowled but ended the call, leaving only Cody’s tight jaw and tendon-showing neck.

They’d taken the call on the bridge and several officers, Clones and nat-borns alike, were suddenly reinvested in their work. Too interested, really, especially for the night shift.

Obi-Wan took a breath and pointed to the plastoid mound on the table. “Cody, please have that sent to Lipp. I believe he has a processing station in the quartermaster’s office.”

There was no yes sir, just a sharp nod, a clear sign that Cody was seething. Instead, his commander barked an order for Boil to take the armor to Lipp and Cody followed Obi-Wan off the bridge. They stayed near lock-step the whole journey to Obi-Wan’s quarters. Obi-Wan could feel Cody’s emotions through the Force, a tight, red-hot thing that sat unnamed in his gut.

“Tea, commander?” he offered, maybe as a distraction, maybe as a disguise, an excuse to prolong the inevitable words Cody would tear into him.

Again, Cody stayed silent and only followed Obi-Wan through the door. It barely closed before Obi-Wan put up a hand to stop whatever barrage was coming his way. “Not a word, Cody, please.” He crossed to the tiny hotplate and kettle, setting the temperature. “I know you’re upset. I know you think I’m being reckless. But I’ve fought for years without any armor. And if it means the men can repair theirs,” he threw his hands up, “without having to strip the dead, Forcesake, I still can’t believe that was an actual suggestion.” He watched the first of the bubbles appear in the kettle. A sigh, a huff of a thing that blew loose hair from his forehead. “So please, please just….” Another sigh. Heavier, harder. “I’d rather they have their armor. It’s theirs. And it keeps them safe and-“

A finger under his jaw had his gaze turning from the boiling water. The contact was burning, but not as smoldering as Cody’s amber gaze, pupils dark pools that ate up the brown with every blink.

“I love you.”

“Co-“ he was cut off by a press of lips. Rough, needy, wanting, and a bit sloppy in the way a first kiss tended to be. Obi-Wan leaned in closer - Cody still unpracticed but very quickly learning - angling his mouth, repositioning to allow the kiss to deepen, now soft. Warm. Barest moisture.

A moan escaped his throat and it had Cody’s hand curling around Obi-Wan’s waist and pulling him closer. Obi-Wan brought a hand to Cody’s cheek, thumb brushing the trailing end of his scar. His hips hit something. The counter. Cody had backed him up to the counter. The hand on his waist slid lower, and lower, and-

The kettle whistled, a blast of reality to pull them apart.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, still feeling Cody’s breath ghost his lips even as he pulled farther away. With a rough swallow, Obi-Wan attended to the kettle, motions rehearsed and automatic as his mind raced to catch up with what had just happened.

Cody had kissed him. Kriff! He’d confessed his love and-

The overfilled cup burned his hand with the hot water. Kriff, kriff, kriff.

“I should leave,” Cody murmured.

Kriff, kriff, kriff.

“Cody, no. Stay. I…” You what, Kenobi? "I'm sorry.” No, that wasn’t right.

Cody didn’t meet his eyes. “I should check on Boil.”

“Cody.” His hand found Cody’s of it’s own volition. “I… I want this.”

Cody’s gaze was so bright, so hopeful. It killed him to add the rest of it.

“But we can’t.”

Cody nodded, slowly, pain rippling through his sunrise Force presence. “I know.” He slid his hand out of Obi-Wan’s grip and rested it for a moment on his Jedi’s chest, right over his heart. “Should’ve kept your armor.”

“Cody.”

“It’s such a big target.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, regretting the moment Cody removed his hand and slipped out the door.

[scificrows]

Today I'm thinking about this:

Or Miki was a bot who had never been abused or lied to or treated with anything but indulgent kindness. It really thought its humans were its friends, because that’s how they treated it. I signaled Miki I would be withdrawing for one minute. I needed to have an emotion in private.

And about how Murderbot slowly starts calling its humans its friends in Exit Strategy, tentatively at first:

Were they my sort-of human friends? My clients? My ex-owners, though legally that was only Dr. Mensah. Were they going to see me and yell for help, alert security?

but also more confidently later:

Maybe that was why I had been nervous about meeting Mensah again, and not all the other dumb reasons I had come up with. I hadn’t been afraid that she wasn’t my friend, I had been afraid that she was, and what it did to me.

The only tag I can access on Ratthi is a partial that says my human friend. That’s strange and unlikely, but the pre-catastrophic-failure version of me seemed sure about it, and I don’t have anything else to go on.

and Mensah confirms this at the end of the book too:

I just want you to know you already have options here, and I expect you’ll have more offers for your services or advice as a security consultant. And that you have friends here you can discuss things with, whatever you decide to do, or wherever you decide to go.

The thought that a bot could see its humans as its friends (and because they treat it as a friend too) made Murderbot so emotional in Rogue Protocol that it needed a minute to process it. And later on in the series it starts to understand that its own humans are its friends too - and how much they care about it and that it can go to them for help if it needs them and I just. I think I need to withdraw and have an emotion about this in private too.