#defence parts manufacturers

[sujanindustries]

Sujan Industries is a prominent defense parts manufacturer in India, supplying durable rubber parts for defense vehicles to the Indian Army.

[cathkaesque]

Relentless direct action has secured another victory in the fight against Israel’s arms trade, as Elbit Systems are forced to sell their ‘Elite KL’ factory in Tamworth.

The company had previously manufactured cooling and power management systems for military vehicles, but was sold on after stating that it faced falling profits and increased security costs resulting from Palestine Action’s efforts. 

After the sale was completed last month, Elite KL’s new owners, listed as Griffin Newco Ltd, confirmed in an email to Palestine Action that they will have nothing to do with the previous owners, Elbit, and have discontinued any arms manufacturing:

“Following the recent acquisition of Elite KL Limited by a UK investment syndicate, the newly appointed board has unanimously agreed to withdraw from all future defence contracts and terminate its association with its former parent company”.

This victory is a direct result of sustained direct action which has sought, throughout Palestine Action’s existence, to make it impossible for Elbit to afford to operate in Britain. Before they sold the enterprise to a private equity syndicate, Elbit had reported that Elite KL operating profits had been slashed by over three-quarters, with Palestine Action responsible: Elbit directly cited the increased expenditure on security they’d been forced to make, and higher supply chain costs they faced.

And these actions did, indeed, cost them. The first action at the site, in November 2020, saw Elite KL’s premises smashed into, the building covered in blood-red paint. Between March and July 2021, the site was put out of action three times by roof-top occupations – drenched red in March 2021, with the factory’s camera systems dismantled, before again being occupied in in May. Another roof-top occupation in July, despite increased security, saw the site forced closed – once again painted blood-red, and with its windows and fixings smashed through.

In February 2022, activists decommissioned the site for weeks – closed off after an occupation that saw over £250,000 of damages caused, the roof tiles removed one-by-one. After this, Elbit erected a security perimeter around the site – but to no avail. One month later, six were arrested after Palestine Action returned to Tamworth – again taking the roof and smashing through, preventing the production of parts for Israel’s military machine.

Elite KL is a ‘specialist thermal management business’. Since the sale, the company focuses on cooling systems for buses and trains, but it had, under Elbit, manufactured these systems for military vehicles. Until December of last year, Elite KL’s website was advertising its military and defence products, and it was known to provide parts for Israel’s deadly Merkava tanks, with export license records demonstrating its provision of ‘ML6a’ components for military ground vehicles to Israel. The company was also known to manufacture crew cooling systems, for the military vests of tank operators.

Elbit Systems itself provides 85% of the drones and land-based military equipment for the Israeli military, along with a wide range of the munitions and armaments currently being used against Gaza’s beseiged population. Its CEO, Bazhalel Machlis, has claimed that the Israeli military has offered the company its thanks for their “crucial” services during the ongoing genocide in Gaza

A Palestine Action spokesperson has stated:

“Each activist who occupied and dismantled Tamworth’s Israeli weapons factory did so in order to bring an end to Israel’s weapons trade, and to end the profiteering from Palestinian repression. Every defeat Elbit faces is a victory for the Palestinian people.

Kicking Elbit out of Tamworth shows once again that direct action is a necessary tactic. It is one which must be utilised and amplified in the face of the Gaza genocide.”

[sayruq]

A UN investigation found that US and UK-manufactured weapons or parts were likely used to bomb British doctors working for British and American organisations in Gaza in January, the organisations involved have highlighted. Medical Aid for Palestinians (MAP) and the International Rescue Committee (IRC) also said this week that Israeli officials have offered six different explanations about why the residential compound housing their staff was hit. The compound, which was not close to any other buildings, was struck around 6am on 18 January by an F-16 jet which "most likely'" fired a 1,000-pound "smart bomb", the UN investigation found. A month earlier, the Israeli military had given the British defence attache assurances that the site, which had been designated a safe zone and was located in the southern Gaza town of Al-Mawasi, had been marked as a protected, humanitarian area. The strike left several staff members and a bodyguard with non-life-threatening injuries, severely damaged the compound and was said to have forced the organisations to stop taking foreign doctors into Gaza as the healthcare system collapsed.

[metal3d]

6 MOST POPULAR INDUSTRIES TO USE METAL 3D PRINTING

The beauty of art lies not only in what all elements we add to it but also in, what elements we take out from it. This is what vests under the concept of Metal Additive Manufacturing, in common terms, referred to as Metal 3D Printing. It is an output of the biggest leap in technology that produces three-dimensional parts layer by layer from a metal material. In the modern era of technological innovations, there is no point in asking if it is possible to 3D print items from metal. The technology of Metal Additive Manufacturing makes it possible in the best way. Let us know how metal additive manufacturing works, the different types of metal 3D printing, its likely advantages and possible applications.

What is Metal 3D Printing?

A laser-based technology in manufacturing that uses powdered metals can be termed metal 3D printing. A vast variety of materials are available in powdered form for metal 3D printing in India including titanium, steel, stainless steel, aluminium, copper, cobalt chrome, tungsten and nickel-based alloys. They are known as 3D printing metal powders. Precious metals like gold, platinum and silver are also attainable. They are now recognised as 3D printing precious metals. So metal powder is the backbone of metal 3D printing. It is difficult and dangerous to handle in its raw state yet very widely used because of its unique features.

Types of Metal 3D Printing

As metal 3D printing technology uses powdered metals, the differences in metal 3D printing types are based on how they fuse the powder into metal parts. These methods vary considerably. It ranges from using high-energy lasers to fuse the loose powder to extruding bound metal powder filament. The most common type and widely used method is the powder bed fusion technique. In this method, machines distribute a fine layer of powder over a build plate and selectively melt a cross-section of the part into the powder layer. It is of two types: Selective Laser Melting and Electron Beam Melting. SLM machines use high-powered lasers to fuse metal layers into parts. EBM machines use an electron beam instead of a laser to fabricate parts. Then there is another method called Direct energy deposition that uses metal feedstock and a laser to fabricate parts. Another method is the EBAM technique where the Wire DED machines use a laser to melt feedstock, which is a metal wire instead of blown powder. There is the Binder Jetting method which is a large-scale, high-fidelity method of metal 3D printing. Bound Powder Extrusion (BPE) is the newest method of metal additive manufacturing. Here, the powder is bound together in waxy polymers which makes it much safer and easier to use than loose powder. Then there is the latest concept of FDM 3D metal printing which is Fused Deposition Modelling which is a plastic extrusion process. In addition to plastics, some FFF/FDM 3D printers are capable of printing metal filaments.

Advantages of Metal 3D Printing

The main advantage of Metal 3D printing is that it saves time and cost, which is very important to the manufacturing sector. Metal 3D printing uses simulation to improve the quality of the part manufactured and thus minimizes the risk of production failure. In discrete manufacturing processes, this is very much important. Another advantage of Metal 3D printing lies in its adaptability for customization. The technology can produce structures as per customer needs. The process is highly recommended to design complex components cost-effectively, create functional designs without manufacturing limitations, cut the investment in manufacturing tools, shorten the time to market and eliminate stock-related costs and risks.

Metal 3D printing Applications

Every technology has its potential applications. Metal 3D printing is no different. The typical 3D metal printing applications include fully functional prototyping, creating production tools, tooling for moulds or inserts, housings, ductwork, heat exchangers and heatsinks. It is well suited to manufacturing relatively small yet complex parts, including prototypes. It can also facilitate tooling for conventional manufacturing technologies in a much more cost-effective manner. Besides, It has wide applications in various sectors like Aerospace & Mechanical Engineering. The flexibility of 3D printing combined with the mechanical properties of metal makes this technology a boom and has found its space across the industry.

Let's Sum Up

As the world extends its dimensions, we need to extend ours too. As 3D metal printing is now available to home users also, it is now easy to print a wide variety of 3D objects. Because this metal additive manufacturing is time-consuming, complicated and expensive, it is difficult for it to be a common process. But as the technology develops, the constraints shrink and there will be a time when Metal 3D printing is widely used to change the dimensions of the world. Let us hope for such a moment where we can affordably do a lot of innovative 3D printing as commonly as now we do the printing on paper. Now regarding the cost of metal 3D printing, it can be incredibly cost-effective for the first 200 to 20,000 parts. Direct metal laser melting is a productive method for low-cost 3D metal printing. Apart from cost, metal 3d printing in India depends on factors such as the volume of your 3D model, complexity and the type of finishing that you use. Nowadays, there is a newer aspect of liquid metal 3D printing. It uses a laser to cure liquid photopolymer resin into solid isotropic parts. They produce an output having sharp edges, a smooth surface finish,dmls 3d printing service

 and minimal visible layer lines.

[seat-safety-switch]

With forest fire season approaching, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. Last year, I was trapped inside, wondering why everything tasted like I was eating it at a mid-tier barbecue joint. This year, my plan was to invent some kind of machine that absorbs the forest fire smoke and turns it back into trees. I succeeded.

You might not think that such a thing is possible. Doing so is a waste of time that you could be spending inventing your own Teletreeporter. A couple cups of coffee later, and I was driving around an old International truck (watch your feet, the floors are gone) with a prototype stuck to the back of it.

As a test, I chose to start in the smokiest part of town, the old fan factory. Someone left the place running and then locked themselves out years ago, and now the autonomous assembly algorithms are tearing the building apart in order to have enough material to keep manufacturing fans. Nobody has told the robots to stop quality-testing those fans, either, so every single one they build goes out in the parking lot, and runs until destruction. It's a big draw on the local power station, and also kind of ruins the air quality in the area. I flipped the switch, and the Teletreeporter leapt to life, popping out a perfect, not even blackened, elm tree.

And then the switch jammed. In my defence, it was not my fault that I used a junky old switch I found in a cookie tin full of old switches that I got from some dude's estate sale. Sure, I could have tested it more, but who knows if it would have broken just the same? Either way, I was now driving around town, shitting out a constant, unbroken stream of tree sausage.

"Take cover," I shrieked as I drove recklessly past a public park, reforesting it the whole way. "I can't turn it off!" As I got on the throttle and headed towards Main Street, I noticed that the sky was beginning to get brighter and brighter. The damn thing had absorbed all the forest fire smoke and was getting a start on the atmospheric carbon. If I didn't do something soon, it was going to reverse climate change, and start pooping out bricks of solidified gasoline.

"Goddammit! Stop fixing the climate," shrieked a cop, fumbling for his gun. His threat came too late. He got creamed by a thick stream of authentic ground Brontosaurus meat, brought back to "life" by the reversion of the Jurassic period's extinction event.

[estroniaid]

There is also a public letter addressed to the prosecutor of the ICC that australians can sign to support the investigation.

The brief explains that Australia’s backing for the genocide has extended beyond the provision of political and diplomatic, to active material involvement. This includes:

“Since 2017, Australia has approved 322 defence exports to Israel, including 49 permits for Israel-bound exports in 2022 and 23 in the first three months of 2023, which may cover both military-specific goods and also dual-use devices.” The contents are hidden behind national security provisions.

“Australia is a member in the Lockheed-Martin F-35 Joint Strike Fighter global supply program and part of the global supply chain… No bombs could be dropped on Gaza by an F-35 without parts manufactured for the F-35s by Melbourne company, Rosebank Engineering (RUAG Australia).” Other firms are also involved.

“Other material support provided by Australia includes a dispatch of a ‘significant contingent’ of troops and two aircraft to the Middle East amid the ongoing Israeli attack on Gaza.”

“Further, Australians have been permitted by the Federal Government, whether explicitly or implicitly, to travel to Israel to join the IDF and its attacks on Gaza.” Australian citizens are banned from serving in any foreign defence force, aside from that of Israel.

“During the Premiership of Prime Minister Albanese, Australia also appears to have provided not insignificant intelligence assistance to Israel. The US-run Pine Gap surveillance base, located outside of Alice Springs in Australia’s Northern Territory, collects an enormous range of communications and electronic intelligence from the Gaza-Israel battlefield—data which is then provided to the IDF and which may aid its campaign in Gaza.” The role of Pine Gap was revealed by Declassified Australia in November, and has been buried by the official media ever since.

“Australia has supported Israel’s genocidal intentions in the Gaza Strip by suspending key humanitarian support to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees in the Near East (‘UNRWA’), which supports Palestinians across the Occupied Territories.” That move, based on now discredited Israeli allegations, means Australia is a direct party in the use of starvation against the Palestinians as a means of ethnically-cleansing them. (article)

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Four (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, some smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. Please note this series is 18+. Minors or ageless blogs interacting will be blocked.

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Ooh I really hope you enjoy this one! As always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. I so love to hear your feedback and chat more about this story! ILY :-*

Word count: 5.3k for this part. 

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

The rest of the evening passes in much the same way as the rest. You rejoin the group out front, Benny injecting some much needed fresh energy into the pack. He regales you all with tales of his most recent fights, delivers excruciating detail about his latest training regimen, and proudly shows off pictures of his new puppy. 

“Why am I looking at a picture of you, Miller,” Frankie jests as he holds up the screen to reveal an adorable golden retriever. 

If anyone notices that Santiago seems quieter than he had earlier in the night, they don’t say it. If they realise that you are engaging in very purposeful, overblown interest in Benny’s chat, it doesn’t get called out. There are a few exchanges between the two of you and Santiago that simulate old patterns. Lend weight to the pretence that things could even return to normal between you and him, given a little more time. 

Still, every time your eyes glance off of one another there is this intolerable heat, and you find you still can’t meet it head on. At times, your gaze is dropped hastily into the sand. At times, your eyes needle Frankie pointedly so that he might come to your aid, even if he does simply shrug and clasp the neck of his bottle a little more tightly. 

You know Santiago. And in a sense, contradictory as it may be, the hardest thing is how easy it would be to fall into your old patterns. Eventually, you begin to wonder if this tension and this awkwardness -this disconnect – is simply manufactured, in a way. Your heart’s tactic to keep him at arm’s length. A defence mechanism, because you ran away from a whole continent and yet you still fear ending up right back where you started if you can’t extricate yourself from him. 

At some stage, you tire of the beer-addled chat, and especially of Tom. Even more so of the effort of trying to make everything feel normal, whilst at the same time fearing what might happen if you could actually achieve that. What it would mean. You announce to the group that you’re going to take a long soak in the tub, and you head upstairs to the main bathroom, languishing in the sweet-scented bubbles, and attempting to wash the burdens of the day from your body, along with the gathered sweat and sand and smoke. Of course, you seem entirely unable to scrub this urge humming beneath your skin. 

When you eventually emerge there is a hush over the house, a cocooning darkness in the hallways – and you realise that at least some of the group must have retired to bed already. You’re tired, sure; but you’re still a little buzzed and not sure that you could sleep yet. You certainly don’t like the thought of staring at the ceiling, thinking about who might be lying awake too on the other side of your wall. 

“Hey. Cat. Everyone gone to bed?” you ask Frankie softly as you see him round the stairs to the landing in his socked feet, his footsteps purposefully softened. 

“Yeah, chiquita.”

“Already? Such old men,” you snicker gently. “What the hell happened?” 

Frankie’s subdued throaty chuckle cuts pleasantly through the dark. “It was a long drive,” he defends playfully; then, his tone shifts, an injection of caution evident. It puts you on edge. “Pope’s still out there though, if that helps.” Frankie must feel you bristle, as he raises his palms in the air in surrender. Or, more than likely, absolving himself of any responsibility. “Do with that what you want.” 

“Mmm-kay,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, and, from the sidelong glance Frankie throws at you, you know he isn’t buying it for a second. 

“You two okay? Something happen in the kitchen?” 

A flare ignites under your skin. You remember a different kitchen entirely. Not the one downstairs. Instead, you recall the hot, close air of the Colombian night. The flash of cool metal against your flushed skin as Santiago pressed you back and-

“-It was fine,” you lie tersely, and before Frankie can wheedle anything further out of you, you quickly hook your arm around his neck for a distracting, albeit halfhearted, goodnight hug. “’Night, Cat. Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” With a grunt, he offers a quick, friendly kiss to your cheek, his scruff tickling up against you. 

“Yeah. G’night,” he returns, looking as tired as he probably feels. And, as you part ways in the hallway, Frankie watches with resigned interest at the fact you don’t similarly retreat to your room. That instead, you shuffle onward towards the mouth of the stairs. “Don’t let the Pope’s bite.” 

And then, with Frankie’s nonsensical and yet somehow apt warning ringing in your ears you head downstairs, meandering through the quiet house until you reach the exterior. 

You are arrested in the doorway at the thought of experiencing Santiago alone all over again, but at the same time, that is exactly the thought which propels your feet over the threshold and out into the balmy night air. 

You find him there, stretched out on his back in front of the dying embers of the fire, knees folded and pointed up to the sky. An orange glow is cast over the contours of his chest where his button-down shirt now falls completely open, the wire of his headphones snaking down and around his torso. He looks peaceful like this at first. Relaxed and loose, his chest rising and falling soporifically with his breath. His eyes are closed and he has his headphones in his ears, his fingers gently drumming and tapping where they rest against the softness of his bare stomach. Your eyes follow his happy trail, until the thatch of hair disappears beneath his shorts, now tugged tight over his thick thighs. 

You note the appealing cushioning around his middle forming rolls as he shifts marginally - to better prop his head up on a second cushion. He looks beautiful. Tranquil, at first glance. 

That is, until you see him tug in a huge breath, his ribs flaring with it. Until you watch him pinch the bridge of his nose before letting out a slow, sad exhale. 

You know in that moment that you should without a doubt turn around. That you should go right to bed, even if that does result in staring at the ceiling for hours with the image of his gorgeous body seared into your mind. But, you can’t do that. 

Instead, you already know exactly what you’re going to do. You’ve known since before you came downstairs. 

Truth be told, you’ve known since before you came to the beach house at all. You’ve known since your new fella asked you to be exclusive and you said “no”. You know, because you don’t know what’s good for you. 

“Santiago,” you say to announce yourself.  “Mind if I join you?” 

He pops a bud from his ear and opens his eyes. Somehow, he doesn’t even look surprised to see you standing there. 

He blinks at you wordlessly for a moment. He could say no, of course, but you know that he won’t. 

Because he doesn’t know what’s good for him either. 

He doesn’t respond to you at all in words. Instead, he rises, shifting to the corner of his tartan blanket, arranging himself cross-legged with a groan. He pats the opposite side invitingly, gesturing for you to join him. 

You hesitate. The setting, down on the sand on that measly square of wool, seems already far more intimate than the looming camp chairs had.

“Warmer down here,” Santiago encourages, as though reading your mind through how well he can read your body, evident tension snaking through your limbs. “Come and get comfy.” 

Okay. 

You hunker down, both legs folded to one side and your weight propped on the opposite arm. You take in the setting for a moment. The beach, shrouded in a blanket of dark. The sound of the waves shushing, and the gentle crackle of the fire. 

It would be calming, if the silence between the two of you wasn’t so taut. Still, you know Santiago will shortly reach to fill the silence. He always does. You don’t even have to wait all that long. 

“Good to see that Benny’s still… as Benny as ever.” 

“Yeah. Good to see some things never change.” You look at his lips. 

“His latest training regimen sounds pretty brutal, huh?“ 

“Uh huh.” Your eyes trail wantonly down his torso, and it’s not lost on you that he sucks his stomach in a little when your gaze drops to the soft rolls of him there. You’ve never seen a whiff of insecurity on the man before now. He’s confident as a rule - or so you thought. It’s appealing though, the softness of him. Sexy. You want to tell him that, but you don’t. Instead, you simply allow the soft smile to radiate over your face unfettered, your eyes warm and fond. 

“What are you listening to?” you nod down to his phone, headphones still strung from it and one bud remaining in his ear. Wordlessly, he passes you the spare bud and you slot it in, allowing the droning sounds to wash over you. Voices talking, and smatterings of financial and investment jargon. You quickly get the gist of it, and just as quickly relinquish the bud back to him. 

Your nose wrinkles. It’s not what you were expecting, honestly. “Financial podcasts?” 

He tilts his head to the side. Looks suddenly as old and mature and serious as you’ve ever seen him. “Gotta think about the future sometime, right?” He says it lightly, but even so, you are somewhat hurt by it. Hurt that he’s never managed to envisage any kind of future with you. 

“Right.” You nod, as neutrally as possible. 

He looks at your mouth. 

You note the brief fleet of pink tongue along the swell of his pillowy lower lip. 

You both let the silence hang there for a moment, full of possibility, and again, you know he will fill it. After all, you made it clear, right? You told him: don’t. Even if you want precisely what you asked him to deny you. “Did you see that documentary about the octopus on-”

“-I can’t get off anymore without thinking about you, Santi.” 

You interrupt him, and his jaw hangs slack for a moment, his eyes bugging out of his head as he fully registers your statement. Apparently, you don’t want to talk about Benny. Or podcasts. Or fucking octopi. You don’t want to fill the silence with meaningless chat. 

With Santiago, it had always meant something. You don’t want to stop that now. 

You let the words fall into his lap, and you aren’t even sure what reaction you were expecting. Therefore, you don’t even feel any particular type of way as you watch the multitude of emotions and stunted responses play out one by one across Santiago’s features. “Jesus, honey,” he eventually croaks. 

Then, his second-hand embarrassment finally jars you too. In a delayed flush of self-pity, you bury your face in your hands. “Fuck. How pathetic is that?” 

Santiago’s agape mouth finally closes then, a hard swallow bobbing down his corded neck. Your own self-deprecating laugh finally causes his face to split into a bemused and tentative grin. It is short-lived, however, his thick brows quickly drawing down. “You know. You’re giving me fucking whiplash over here, cariño.” 

“Shit. I know. I’m sorry. I just…” You tug your knees up to your chest for whatever comfort it can offer. “Honestly? I don’t want to talk about Benny, or whatever else. I love the guy but I… I missed you. I missed you and I just want us back. I want us to be okay, you know?” Santiago’s face twists in a mirror of your own, as if he doesn’t even know how possible that is anymore. “And, I don’t know how else to do that anymore – to make us okay - without… without that. I don’t know how to stop wanting you.” As you keep talking, your voice seems to break into a thousand pieces, as if sand in your throat is grinding it down, eroding the body and timbre of it away. “I try. I try, Santi, and it… I never…” 

Your name rises from his throat, and the sound is tired in his mouth. He knows what you’re asking him; and he doesn’t even seem surprised. “It’s a bad fucking idea.” 

“I know.” He’s not even wrong. “I know it is, but I… I don’t care anymore.” Emotion weighs down your tone. Makes it heavy. “It’s like a wound in me - the way we left it - and I just need…” Your eyes flicker and flit everywhere as you reach for the word, dancing around the scene, around his face, like the licking, greedy flames. 

You can’t find the word, the concept, the sentiment, but, as you search, Santiago’s voice filters through to you, certain and resigned. As though he understands perfectly what you crave after the wound that he left that night. “You need healing.” 

Your head whips towards him and you nod slowly, with conviction, searching his face for any sign that he might give it to you. For any sign that he might be able to repair you. He had hurt you, yes. But his fire was so hot that you think he is the only thing capable of cauterising the wound he left in his wake. The only one who can ignite you enough to heal you, as selfish and misguided as your desire may be. 

However, Santiago’s demeanour remains calm and cool even in the face of your desperation. You see only a vestige of desire dancing in his eyes now, as though all you had might truly be in the past. “You wanted out, remember?” he says thinly. With regret. He smiles even thinner than that. “No need to repeat your old mistakes, huh?” 

“I wanted out of that life, man. You were never a mistake.” 

“Heh. Don’t be so sure. If you know what’s good for you-“ 

Unconsciously, and with ill-timing, you shift on the mat in discomfort, rolling your spine to try and release some of the niggling, tight muscles – another old injury which continues to plague you long after the fact. 

“Still got that damn tweak?” Santiago asks, seemingly grateful for the diversion.  

You nod. “Mmm.” 

“Want my fingers?” 

You look into his eyes, mellow in the dancing light. How could you say no to that? “Please.”

“Come here then,” he encourages, shifting position to the edge of the porch step, his thighs spread wide apart and leaving space for you to settle on the sand before him. “Let me help you,” he insists, tipping up his chin, and his eyes softer and brighter again. 

You hesitate, but you can’t find it in you to decline the invitation. Can’t possibly find the strength to say no to his hands on you. To some relief, even in this form. “Turn around. Back to me, hermosa.” His voice is soft, so soft. Rough and undone around the edges like this frayed edge of land you perch on. 

You settle before him, and, just as he had promised, his fingers and his hands begin to inch over your body, on top of your clothes, seeking to unravel the knots. To bring you some relief. He used to do this for you all the time – always took care of you like this, and it’s bittersweet to recall a different, more innocent way his hands used to touch you. He would do this for you after training. After a mission. In the field. At the mouth of your tent when camped out in some desert or field or jungle. In the back of a Humvee on the way to the F.O.B.. At Benny’s fight nights when you’d had to sit in those shitty plastic chairs for too long. Whenever and wherever you needed it. 

His hands always knew how to fix you, long before you learned all the ways they could take you apart like a weapon in his palm. “Santiago,” you keen, as the pad of his thumb works into all your sweet spots. You don’t know what his name is in your mouth. A plea; a promise; a prayer; a poem. Perhaps all of these at once. 

“I know,” he soothes. “I know, cariño.” 

You close your eyes against the sudden tears you find threatening at the corners of your eyes. Knowing his touch again is everything you wanted, and, despite yourself, you are eminently glad it is happening like this. That he is giving, instead of devouring you, for if he did the latter, you don’t know that there would be anything left for him to take. 

His touch like this though, deft and tender, reveals that perhaps, there’s another way. That maybe, instead of burning you, Santiago could merely warm you. Maybe his flames only hurt because you had dared to get too close. Maybe you could simply learn to stay at arm’s length, where he had always attempted to keep you anyway. 

Still, that’s all very well, but… his touch - as it skims down your body - is enough to subsume you. It is a tide swallowing hot shores. It is a relief. A balm. Healing. 

“You’re so tight,” he complains gruffly, and you wonder if he is simply being careless, or whether his words were chosen ever so deliberately to remind you. To remind you of him praising you for that very same thing, under other circumstances. 

Regardless, Santiago shifts then, shuffling his hips closer towards you. His thighs -either side of your torso - boxing you in a little more tightly. Then, he braces one hand carefully against your shoulder, the other digging and kneading into your knotted muscles at the spot he always knew how to help you with. 

You moan for him, willingly, as he takes all your tension and melts it like butter. 

“Santiago,” you keen, and there it is again. A promise; a prayer; a poem. 

A plea. 

You hear him swallow thickly. Hear him exhale a sound like sea trapped in a seashell, his face dipped closer towards the shell of your ear in this new position. His breath continues to quicken as he manipulates your body, pliable under his sure hands, his warmth practically coiled around you like the fire around its fuel. 

“Do you want my fingers?” he repeats, voice now flecked with grit, even as he remains slow and languid, not whipped into any frenzy. “Tell me.” 

A stone plummets through your belly, sinking heat through your core at the mere suggestion he might touch you there too. 

“Mmmph,” you plead – a strangled affirmative wrung from your chest, and Santiago’s hand reaches around, calm and slow and tantalising. He winds his arms between your legs and his index finger trials along the seam of your shorts, up towards your clit like he’s following a carefully laid fuse line. Like he knows precisely how to detonate you, and all he needs is a spark. “You want my fingers here?” he purrs, and you moan his name, throwing your head back into the crook of his shoulder. “Want me to help you like this too?” 

You submit an unintelligible string of sounds to the air, which you hope he recognises as an affirmative. 

“Sssshhh,” he soothes, as his fingers deftly flick open the button of your shorts and you squirm in search of his friction. “It’s okay. I got you. I got you, cariño.” 

You sigh out a broken, guttural noise now, rolling your mound against his palm as his girthy fingers travel eagerly below the waistband of your clothing. Barrelling towards your want without dwelling on the implications even for a moment. On what this might mean. On what this may fix or further fracture. 

It is too much to think about that, and it is enough to know that you need some relief. 

Specifically, the kind of relief you have not been able to give yourself. The kind of relief you have not been able to find from elsewhere. The kind only Santiago knows how to give you. The only kind Santiago knows how to give you. 

“Fuck. You’re soaked,” he praises, all rusty-voice and practiced fingers, and with the ease that the thick pads of him glide through your folds you know it is true. “Holy shit, come here.” 

You would oblige if you were not so loose-limbed already; and so, in the next moment, Santiago is dragging you up towards him, settling your ass in the space before him on the porch step, so you sit a little higher. He is shucking your shorts and panties down and hooking your thighs over his parted, sturdy legs to spread you wide open. To give him better access to you so he can give you what you need. 

Your hands clamp down on his thighs like claws, your back flush against his chest and your head still languishing in the apex of his neck, feeling the steady rhythm in his shoulder as his arm reaches between your legs. With his other arm he simply gathers you up and holds you close to him, until the warmth of his skin seeps right through to yours. 

“Fuck! Santi,” you keen, voice ragged with need already as his fingers tease and circle where you need him. “More. Please, I need more.” 

He does not disappoint. He plunges a girthy finger into your heat, and the lack of resistance is telling, your cunt opened up and eager for him as the heel of his hand rocks a steady rhythm against your clit. He goes slower than you would like, but it turns out to be the exact pace you need -two fingers now- dragging molten heat through your core with each curl and pump and scissor he applies to your giving walls. 

“Ohhhh. Fuck!” 

“I know, baby. This is what you need, isn’t it? I know.” 

He does. He does know. He knows every damn inch of you and how to make you sing. 

“That’s it. I’ve got you. Don’t come, Princesa. Not yet.”

That’s easier said than done. Especially as his rough voice - all honey and grit - filters into the shell of your ear. As the fleck of his stubble rasps against your neck as he sucks an angry mark into your skin. Your core flutters in straight-out defiance of his orders then, and he feels you clamp down on him, tightening around his fingers. “Ah ah,” he scolds. “Hold on to it for me. Gonna get you there. Don’t worry. I got you.” 

Christ, you slosh around him as he makes you molten, and you feel his thighs begin to shake beneath yours. You feel his insistent hardness pressing at your back. “Fuck, princesa. I missed this pussy. Holy shit.” 

“Santi. I- I can’t hold on.” 

His thumb massages circles into your swollen, needy clit. 

“No, baby. Hold on for me. I know you can, huh? Don’t even think. Let me give you what you need.”

“Mmmphhh,” you moan out like a woman possessed as Santiago builds you up. 

He chuckles darkly into your neck, and smothers his spare palm over your mouth. “Shhhh. Quiet, hermosa. No-one else can take care of you like this, huh? I got you now.” 

The way he’s touching you, fingers speared inside your wet heat, is everything you’ve needed for so long. God, you’ve so needed him to help you like this. And now, he’s finally giving you relief. It’s welcome, and it’s good; but you still have enough about you, even in this state of becoming putty in his lap, to realise that he’s not giving you everything. You turn your head, tipping your lips wantonly up to him, but he won’t kiss you. His arousal presses insistently at your lower back but he isn’t making any move to get himself off. It seems obvious, even in this state of coming undone, that even as you lose yourself he won’t allow himself to get lost in you; not entirely. 

He’s navigated some extreme terrain in his time, but perhaps his feelings for you really are a jungle far too dense for him to navigate. 

Still, you certainly do not feel any lack, even if you get the sense he is holding back. It would be hard to feel any lack at all with his thick, warm fingers buried in you up to the knuckle, stroking and curling with precision against your swollen arousal, coaxing hoarse moans from your lips which he buries in the meat of his cupped palm. The pad of his thumb rubs haphazardly -almost roughly- in circles over your clit, puffy with need. Your thatch of hair is soaked, and your plumped folds are slick with your pearly, moonlit juices. 

“Holy fuck,” you rasp as Santiago’s  fingers draw a broad circle deep inside your walls, stretching you open and sending a delicious spiral of bliss through your core. He curls his fingers against your g spot, rocks his palm roughly against the mound of you, and God, it’s so good. You’re on the edge, but you still find you can’t quite let go. 

You don’t need him to give you everything, but you do need him to give you just a little more of what you’ve been craving. Just a little more healing. 

“Santiago,” you plead, tears of emotion and bliss and disbelief and sadness balling in your eyes. Relief at the fact you get to feel his touch again, and despair at how long you may next endure the lack of it. 

However, as though he senses what your body is telling him, that you are getting far too in your head by now to let go, you realise Santiago knows exactly what you need to get out of it. He always does. Always knows how to help you. “Mmpph,” you moan as he wraps his hand more tightly around your mouth and nose, playing with your air supply - just enough to provide a gentle thrill. To offer this simulation of a loss of control just long enough that you feel a secondary surge of adrenalin and arousal building within you. You gasp as he releases his palm and you suck his fingers easily into your mouth, wanting to feel full of him wherever you can. He obliges by shoving them deeper, over your tongue. 

“That’s it,” he praises, soothes, encourages, feeling it coming before you do, reading the signs in your body. Almost immediately, pleasure blooms out from your middle, completely engulfing you. 

You screw your eyes shut tight and you can barely even focus on his fingers pulsing in and out of your wet, suckering heat, or on this string in the middle of you being drawn so tight it’s about to snap. Instead you focus on him. On the warmth and sturdy form of him at your back. On the way he knows just how to touch you – where, and when, and how. The way he soothes you and relieves you. The familiar scratch of his stubble against your cheek. The soft, sweat-tacky rolls of his bare stomach cushioning your back, skin-on-skin where your t-shirt has ridden up your back. His meaty thighs. The familiar press of that hard promise up against you. But most of all his warm, sandy voice, slipping into the shell of your ear like the sounds and shushing of the sea. 

Hermosa. Cariño. Princesa. 

His words melting out of you like liquid pearls and making you shine. 

He praises you, and the sounds of him slip inside you just like his fingers, a smooth glide like the surge of the tide devouring an aching shore. His touch relieves the ache, the burn, the fire, the hurt, as you find your release. You gush over his hand, your mouth open with a hoarse, hollow moan, silently echoing the roar of the sea as your whole body becomes liquid on top of his. 

He holds you, and he works you through it, tears squeezed from your eyes with each wave of bursting, engulfing pleasure which radiates through your core – not blistering like the heat of your fire, but gentle and soothing. 

Your breath is ragged now. You have the feel of a tide between your legs.

You are sated, and yet you want more of him. You may feel healed in some ways, but your whole body still sings for him like a wound. 

He stays inside of you. Feels you for a moment, with a shuddered, satisfied moan you feel vibrate against your back before he draws his fingers out, painfully slow. You shudder too, your core still fluttering for him, and you would reach for him if you weren’t still boneless. Would seek to satisfy him too. 

“Fuck. I missed your fingers,” you purr. 

“Uh huh,” Santiago says, a little too morosely for your liking, and he unslots himself far too quickly from around your form. Far too quickly he comes to standing, leaving you feeling cold and alone on the porch stairs, shorts shunted down past your knees, exposing you to the night air. 

“Don’t you want… something for you?” you ask in confusion, in hope, eyeing the bulge tenting at his crotch and the way his hand is hung curled at his side, his fingers still shined from you. You enjoy all of that, but you certainly don’t enjoy the heaviness bedding down on his brow, and you reach to pull up your shorts as quickly as you can, the moment of relief fast-retreating, like the deceptive tide. 

“No,” he says firmly. “That was just for you.” 

You bristle at the implication in his words, your momentary bliss falling quickly away. 

He did you a favour. 

You were the one undone by your desire – your want. Not him. You were the needy one who couldn’t be without him. Couldn’t even get off without him. And damn. Here he is, slow and controlled and, for the better part, seemingly unaffected.

You know that’s not wholly true – that he does still want you, but your eyes still swim when you wonder if his desire is subdued compared to what it used to be. If it has lessened. 

Don’t you cause this frenzy in him anymore? This quickening, like he does with you? Is the flame burning in your chest -or your loins- not catching, any longer? Like the dying embers of this fire, is it almost out? 

Could there truly be an end to this? 

Soldiers. Friends. Lovers. 

What next? 

You had, at least, assumed something would be next. 

And so, as you regard him, stoic and impassive, you can barely even look at him. “You’re right, Pope. This was probably a bad fucking idea.” 

Of course it was. 

You should know better than to think you can take a piece of him without wanting to devour the whole. After all, you could never see him in fragments – only all at once. 

Had that always been your mistake, thinking that he could ever give himself over to you completely? He’s far too afraid of getting lost, even if he does hold the map to your heart in the palm of his hand. Strange then, because the palm of his hand is also where he has become so accustomed to yielding a weapon. Maybe for him, love and pain were always destined to feel the same.

You push past him, and you feel a pit open up in your middle. 

“Goodnight, buddy,” you say, your tone surprisingly sour so soon after that. “Thanks a bunch for the fingerfuck.” 

You guess the mindfuck came along for free.

You don’t want to hurt him. Don’t want to be bitter and to deepen this gulf between you all over again. But, apparently, you just can’t help yourself. 

You don’t know what’s good for you. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Forget-Me-Not 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki

Summary: You return to your childhood home to put the past to rest.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You spend the night on the couch. You don't go further than the bathroom. You can't bring yourself to check her bedroom or the one you left behind.

You go out to get your bag and change in the yellow haze glowing behind the faded curtains. You check the time. Jan is expecting you in an hour.

You emerge into the dewy morning and tramp down to ground level. You get in the car, reversing out without looking back at the dingy house. The final farewell can't come soon enough for the slanted walls.

Jan is out in the yard, hammering a pineboard as you drive down his lot. His white hair curls with the sweat beading on his skin. He stills the hammer and wipes his forehead as you pull up. 

You get out as he greets you in the way all the villagers do. A manufactured friendliness that cannot erase their true judgement. They smile in face just as easily as the mutter your name under their breath. You mother harboured little good will in Hammer Ford and blood is sacred here.

“Sorry to hear,” he says.

“Matter of time,” you shrug dismissively.

“Isn't no way to come home,” he shakes his head and coughs into his fist, “walnut,” he points the hammer over his shoulder, “like ya said.”

Walnut, like the dining table. Where she sat and drank herself into that box. You nod and follow him over to the casket. The hinges are brass and the finish is rough. What does it matter? It's just going into the dirt.

“Got cash,” you say. Jan doesn't deal with the bank, everyone knows that. Funny the little things that stick with you.

“Thanks,” he accepts the bills as you count them out. So much for a rainy day. The sun shine bright as if mocking the grin affair beneath its watch. “I'll have it taken down to Norn's.”

“Yep,” you agree, “she's there.”

You head out without further niceties. Neither of you uphold those. Better to say what you mean and nothing else.

You get to the property line and idle. You turn away from the woods. You're not ready to go back yet. 

You stop by the church first. Father Oswald sits with you to discuss the ceremony. You'll say a few words at the grave site. You don't think anyone would come to a wake. You don't want them to.

You set off again, still reluctant to retrace your steps. You drive to the spare core of the village and park outside the library. You cross the street and peer in through the window of the bakery. It wasn't there when you left.

You venture inside and peruse the sweets behind the glass. You order a black coffee and a cinnamon bun. You pay the woman behind the counter, vaguely familiar. You're certain she was a few years behind you at school.

You sit and pick at the glazed dough. You don't have much of an appetite. You don't feel much of anything. You're just wading through, try not to get lost in the tide.

You sip the coffee. Bold but rich. Not bad. Better than the instant powder gone stale in your mother's cupboard.

The door opens and shuts, several times over as you stare at the table. The city taught you apathy. You don't let the noise bother you.

The chair across from you slides out and a figure plants themselves on the seat. You raise your head, your vision narrowing to make sense of their features. You turn your head to gaze out the window as Loki blows over the top of a mug. 

You slide out your phone, a defence mechanism. Still no reception. You put it down and keep your attention diverted. He clears his throat and taps his toe next to yours.

“You know, I do have an important matter to discuss with you,” he says.

You don't react. You know that's what he wants. That's why he showed up the night before. He undoubtedly insisted on being his clan’s representative.

“You've sent your condolences.”

“Mm, yes, but that isn't what I mean,” he traces his finger up the handle of his mug. “The house.”

You lower your brows and keep your eyes beyond the window. The village moves slow as ever. Not like the endless flow of the city streets. There's no where to hide here.

“My father has an offer. The property has value.”

You check your cup, almost empty. You swig the last of it. You stand and gather the cup and unfinished dessert. You put the porcelain on the counter and toss the cinnamon bun on your way out.

The door doesn't close behind you. He's following you. Your heartbeat piques. In an instant, you're hurled into the past. You're running through broken twigs as he snickers behind you. You ball your hands as your breath hitches.

You cross the street without looking, only just dodging a bumper. You go to your car, fumbling with your keys. Before you can stick them in the slot, there's a snare around your arm.

You spin and shove Loki off of you, biting down on a shriek. You glare at him and point the key at his chin.

“Not interested.”

“My father will give you more than the bank,” he counters. 

“Don't care.”

He sniffs and quorks his head, “is this because I never called?”

You choke on a scoff. You turn and ram the keys in the slot and twist. You open the door as you step around it. The edge hits him as you swing into the driver’s seat.

“The house is worthless. The bank will give you pennies for the land.”

“Go tell your daddy you failed,” you sneer and yank the door shut, hitting the lock with your fist.

You start the engine without a glance in his direction. You pull put as he barely avoids getting his toes run over. Just as ever, this village belongs to the Odinsons. They won't have to pay the bank much to get what they want but you will never sign your name next to theirs.

[jesswritesthat]

Oikawa Tōru: Abnormality (Part 4)

Fandom: Haikyuu!! — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: A slow-ish burn

• You had your own plans set in motion since graduation, planning only a select few had come to learn. With everything in place, it was time to see Oikawa in Argentina for the final time.

Warnings: Timeskip spoilers

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

>>>>——————————>

"(Y/n)...?" The only person you knew in this area of Argentina was currently in Japan afterall...

"Um (L/n)! My apologies, in Japanaese it's (L/n) first..."

The Spanish speaker instantly corrected themselves, approaching you with mild apologetic hesitance since you were mid-call which prompted you to abruptly end it due to sudden realisation.

"No way, hi— I gotta go, enjoy Miyagi and talk soon." Once ending the call to a concerned Oikawa, the person had your full attention, a warm smile on your face due to the initial recognition.

"Brajkovic-san, you know who I am?" The language barrier was tricky to navigate, but you hadn’t been learning Spanish for nothing.

“Yes, thank Tōru Oikawa for that. So would you like to meet the team since you're here?" The player graciously laughed, nodding in confirmation before gesturing to the VBC training centre behind you both.

"It's best to get acquainted, you might be seeing a lot more of me soon. Thank you."

"Oh yeah? Your Spanish is pretty good, what's going on?" The player raised a sceptical brow, one that led you to manufacturing yet another scheme as you walked into the building.

"Well..."

———

It hadn't been long since you'd felt the sweltering heat of Argentina - the last trip highly productive despite Tōru being absent in Miyagi at the time.

Cheering echoed around you as the final point was scored by perfectly timed spike with a set courtesy of the man previously mentioned.

"Congratulations, Oikawa-chan~"

Praise was expected after games, whether win or lose because the entity of the team was talented in their own right. Not many voices could speed up his heartrate though, and only one could get his skin exceptionally hotter even after a high-cardio match.

"(Y/n)..."

It was disbelief initially, sweeping smile blinding you when he’d jogged toward you eagerly, gaze scanning your entire figure.

"My jersey - how did you...?"

"I had help, from your teammates." You nodded gratefully to Brajkovic and the others who each wore knowing smiles.

"You could've just asked me, I would've got one for you!"

"Then you wouldn't have been surprised! I wanted to do something worthwhile for you since you're always doing that for everyone else." Came your reply, his justification falling flat due to how flustered you’d gotten him with words alone.

"Why— why would you— (Y/n)! You can't say things like that!"

"Okay, think of it as me putting a price on you - about €30 to be exact." You comprisimised with a teasing tone, one he’d missed greatly if he’s honest with himself.

"Eh?!"

"Yeah, I brought Brajkovic-san lunch as a thanks."

"I'll address being worth more than €30 another time but for now: You went on a date with my teammate - before me?!" The petty attitude of Oikawa had kicked in now, hands placed on your shoulders, even it was delivered dramatically there was noteable heartache etched into his eyes.

"In my defence Tōru, you never asked."

"Fine! Go on a date with me!" Pouting, he crossed his arms over his chest as if challenging you.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

Meanwhile the San Juan team overlooked the scenario, amused but also confused as they muttered to one another.

"...is that the Japanese custom?"

"I don't think so, it's just Tōrus' custom."

"It sucks. (Y/n) and I didn't even go on a date." Brajkovic added assuredly, his team nodding along in awe.

"But it worked."

There was a moment of laughter as he left with his team to get changed, only offering you a small wistful smile as he disappeared.

Soon he’d returned freshly changed as dismissed for the day, you hadn’t waited long but he apologised anyway before reaching the exit of the venue.

"We'll walk, I know places."

"I can drop you off if—"

"It's bright outside so we can walk, thanks though." Your offer was immediately cut short by his decisive assurance but the instance of it left you questioning.

"Why'd you wanna walk, so you could show me the sites?"

To as spend as much time with you as possible before you leave again.

"To increase the chances of you tripping over so I can film it for blackmail." Oikawa taunted proudly, phone waving in his hand as emphasis.

"Not if you trip over first Captain." As you'd spoken, you'd pushed him off the path and Oikawa gave a mocking noise before nudging you back.

———

Casual conversation fuelled your sunset walk, the two of you playfully flirting with one another whilst Oikawa pointed out various things on the route like a tour guide. However, when passing a familiar building you took over and pointed across the street.

"That school has an amazing education programme, I can't wait to start teaching it next month."

"Next month? That's an odd time frame." It had gone right over his head, your sheer nonchalance about the whole thing certainly aided that, and you’d decided your follow up would reveal everything.

"Well yeah, I need time to settle into my apartment and move my furniture in. Although I suppose that's far too organised for you to comprehend huh~"

You noticed the accompanying steps subside paces back, yourself stopping and turning back to a frozen Oikawa who stared at you incredulously.

"You're - you're staying here?” He’d pointed to the pavement with both index fingers (a failed reference to Argentina you’d admit). “You're living here?!"

"I told you before we graduated that I had dreams to follow dumbass, god don't you listen?"

He caught up to you, standing opposite with his usual (non)charming disposition that you’d grown so fond of.

"Most things leaving your lips were insults, of course I didn't listen - and what about Makki?! You two live together right?"

"We agreed to go our separate ways so Hiro moved to Tokyo for work and I came here." Accompaning your wistful smile, a touch of longing there due to parting from your best friend.

"Sorry, I need to process this, uh feelings too -and I feel a lot right now- explain it to me again?" He shook his head, running his fingers through his auburn hair apologetically.

"I got qualifications in Spanish, which means I can teach Art here and hold Japanese language classes for extra money if necessary. Honestly I'm surprised you didn't work out my plans, Great King." You playfully enlightened, admiring the cute scoff he gave you at the nickname, softly continuing with a bit of nonchalance. "And well, one of my dreams happened to be in Argentina so..."

"You came here for me?" There was a a spark of hopefulness, his eyes shooting up to meet yours with a brightness you hadn’t seen since you’d first kissed him all those years ago.

"Ah no, you're a nightmare but the sun here is gorgeous~"

"Whilst we're on the subject, I'd like to reiterate that this nightmare is worth more than 30 Euros!"

Rolling your eyes at the remark, you proceeded walking and continued the conversation topic.

"When you were in Miyagi last time, I thought you would've asked me to come with you. It'd be funny, as my answer would've been yes."

"I thought about it, god I desperately wanted to, it killed me. But I didn't want to put either of us through that again." Oikawa admitted sheepishly, flicking his gaze to the sky wearing a sentimental expression.

"Look at you, getting all mature. Well, occasionally."

"Excuse you!"

"Yes excuse me, I need directions so I can account for how long it’ll take me to get back."

"I'll walk you to..." Your hotel? Your apartment? The whole thing was still incomprehensible to him, dreams don't normally come true so effortlessly. Though he supposes you'd had your turbulences along the way.

"My new home? Of course, I'll show you around, it's quite cute actually." You grinned brightly, pulling the route up on your mobile whilst Tōru only raised an expectant brow.

"I'll have to show you mine, it's what cute actually looks like."

"Yeah, you're looking at it~" Came your smug grin, confident but playful finger guns sent to the Setter who only rolled his eyes. Yet when you'd looked away laughing, he couldn't help the loving smile gracing his lips nor the look of pure adoration crossing his eyes.

It was more than simply 'cute' he was looking at...

It was enough to subdue a snarky remark form his lips, the lack thereof surprising you greatly, but you'd let it be. This time whilst you navigated the direction, Oikawa idly typed away in his device too - more accurately hitting up the group chat.

[ Tōru: GUESS WHAT!!!! 💕🫶✨🎉🔥 ]

[ Hajime: What? ]

[ Takahiro: always so dramatic 💕🫶✨🎉🔥 ]

[ Mattsun: ^^^ ]

[ Tōru: I'll complain about you being rude later because I'm too happy - (Y/n) is staying in Argentinaaaa!!! With me!!!!! ]

[ Takahiro: yeah and what 💀 ]

[ Tōru: Obviously you knew, this ain't for you 😤🙄 ]

[ Mattsun: We all knew tho... lol you didn't??? ]

[ Tōru: Um? Excuse me? ]

[ Hajime: (Y/n) told us a month ago, they had a leaving party and everything. ]

[ Tōru: Oh? And my BEST FRIEND; my PARTNER; my favourite ACE didn't tell me? Iwa-channnnnn 😭🥺🥺 ]

[ Hajime: I heard that in your annoying whiny tone and it still grates me. Thought you knew, but get over it and go see the love of your life dumbass. ]

[ Tōru: EWWWWW!!! Disgusting 🤢🤮 Hate the very air they breathe, couldn't even look at (Y/n) for 5 seconds thx 💀 ]

[ Mattsun: (Y/n) feels the same about u 🤡 ]

[ Takahiro: true. as the best roomate and human (Y/n) knows - i vouch for what Mattsun says ]

"Everything okay?" Your teasing and knowing tone cut through his thoughts, the brunette looking to you quizzically.

"Oh yeah, just a bit distracted."

"Me too, but Mattsun is right by the way." You knew, how could you have possibly my known?

"What?!"

"I feel the same about you." Was your innocent response, two digits moving to your lips accompanied by a false gag noise, and a smug smirk on your face. Oikawa silently cursing Makki as his name lit up your notifications, the Captain whining his complaints until you’d reached your home.

———

Once arriving at your newly dubbed residence, you excitedly let him inside and skipped over a few lingering boxes filled with unpacked belongings. The necessities and personal touches were evident though, but Oikawa didn't even think before he thoughtlessly spoke.

"Y'know you could've just moved in with me..."

"What?"

"I mean we know each other and stuff, just nevermind. Your place is pretty okay looking, not as good as mine but I'll let it slide." He’d said it like it didn’t mean anything, like it was a normal thing for two friends to do. Except, you hadn’t been ‘just friends’ for a very long time.

"I'll let you slide down the toilet in a minute Shittykawa."

"So rude! That's not how you treat a celebrity houseguest (Y/n)-chan~"

You froze at the familiarity, staring at him hopelessly, like a deer in headlights. It's been a while since he'd called you that... adding that damned '-chan' to the end of your name like a stupid insult. Endearment.

"No comeback? That's not— what's wrong?"

"You added '-chan' to my name." A breath. "It's... nice to hear."

"I never thought I..." Regaining composure, Oikawa was quick to recover. "Aw do you miss it? I knew you secretly loveds it my darling little (Y/n)-chan~"

"Hell no, you ruined it. I take it back, it was a moment of weakness. Missing you must've gotten to me." Dismissively waving your hand, but he’d caught it effortless when closing in on you.

"For what it's worth, I missed you too. I'm glad, that I get to spend my life with you again."

"Yeah, me too Tōru."

It was a heavy and understanding atmosphere, an intimate but comforting air that lingered around the two of you and making it difficult to breathe in the silence of years of built up things left unsaid. Even if only centimetres apart, touching him felt like shattering the fragile wall of glass you'd always kept between you.

"So uh... what do I taste like?"

It was Tōru who'd spoken, your fingertips immediately withdrawing when he'd looked up from the floor.

"What?"

"Before I left the first time, you— you said you wanted to know, I just never found the right moment to ask." The was a hint of awkwardness lacing his tone, as shaky as it was. He was nervous now, a side you'd rarely ever seen as if he was mistaken. He wasn't, but that only fuelled your flustering.

"O-oh, I did didn't I? Can I… check again?"

There was a brief indication, him immediately understanding what you’d wanted and gave a small curt nod instantly, tilting to give you easier access. Then your lips brushed his, warm and careful like you were testing the waters, before an encapsulating warm captured you. The kiss was as heart racing as the last, but more tentative, and full of possibility. Even when you pulled away.

"It was different than the first Tōru, now you taste like watered down strawberries..."

"And?" Oikawa lowly poised, indicative in every sense of the word.

You kissed him again.

"Velvety vanilla cream..."

And again.

"Mm." His pretty whines were sweet, you'd noted.

Again.

"Your lips are, well fine I guess, I'd say €25. So, what do I taste like Tōru?" A wicked smirk danced on your lips, now deeper in colour, but ever the charmer Oikawa was immediate on his response.

"My lovely, beautiful, (Y/n)-chan - poison, specifically made with venom because of your mean tongue. Plus I'm priceless~"

"Hey! Is that some kinda witch reference? I thought we moved past that!" You argued back, the two of falling into playful taunting once more, like you’d never been apart.

"Never~ You taste like me then, since you couldn't get enough!"

"Oikawa!"

—

Maybe you'd both grown individually, but some things never changed - like the unique relationship you shared...

Although as the Setter skilfully dodged your strategic attempts at getting him back as you both raced around your home, he couldn't help but realise your signature taste hadn't changed either.

You weren't poison or anything of the sort, you never had been (only, Tōru could never pass up an opportunity to irritate you).

You didn't taste like him either (as much as he'd like you to), your lips had a unique flavour all of their own, an all encompassing heat that haunted him from the moment he'd kissed them years ago.

How could he say that though?

Just how was he supposed to illiterate, that you had always tasted like 'home'?

<——————————<<<<

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

[ Masterlist ]

[drabblesandimagines]

Syrup

From an anon request - thanks anon! :) Pairings: Rei x reader Fluffy fluff

You’re sat up on the counter, cross-legged, staring up at the television screen suspended from the ceiling, mashing X as if that would make a difference. It’s a slow afternoon in your workplace of four years – Mr Kyoshi’s Joypad – a shop purely dedicated to video games and consoles. It’s a great place to work, combining your love of video games and recently you’d entered into repairs as a side hobby. In quieter periods, Mr Kyoshi had no issues with you passing the time by gaming yourself, as long as you still attended to the customers, of course. There were sample consoles dotted around the place with recent demos installed, but the one above the counter is where you’d mainly play to show off the most recent games.

The bell dings as you reach a critical part of the fight. If you pause, you’re going to lose momentum and you always die at this point. “Welcome to Kyoshi’s Joypad where we cater to all your gaming needs!” You say almost robotically, before adding, “I’ll be with you in just a second…”

You mash X again, hoping maybe you’ll get another attack in before the boss’ big attack but it’s not to be – your character’s HP drops down to 0 and the screen displays game over.

“Ugh!” You put down the controller and hop off the counter, before spinning round. “Sorry about that, I’ve been trying to beat him since yesterday…” You trail off at the sight of the man before you. He’s tall and lean, shaggy black hair and he looks like he didn’t sleep the night before, but you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit he was attractive. He’s dressed in tight black jeans and has a blue hoodie zipped up, with a tote bag in hand.

You realise you’ve trailed off and you’re just staring at each other, so you laugh before starting over. “Er, hi! What can I do for you?” You smile, warmly. You’ve had your experience with a lot of socially awkward boys and men in your time working here – some more painful than others – so you’re aware when you might need to lead the conversation some more.

“You need to buff up your defence with iron heart when he powers up.”

“Huh?”

He points to the screen behind you.

“Oh! I’m so bad at remembering that’s a thing, you know? I just like to hit everyone with the big sword.” You scratch the back of your head – a habit when you’re nervous – and grin. “But thanks! I’ll try that next time – I’ve been stuck at this bit for ages.”

He nods and then there’s another pause.

“So, er, can I help you with anything in particular, or did you just want to browse, or…?” You could ramble enough for two.

He puts down the tote on the counter, hesitating before retrieving the contents. “I read online that you do repairs?”

“Yeah! Of course, this voids any warranty on the product, so if it’s still in that period we’d always advise going to the manufacturer first.”

“Mm. No, they’re out of warranty.” He pulls out two controllers. One looks crusted with a questionable substance and the other seems fine, albeit worn.

“Lemme guess – drift?” You point at the battered one.

“Yep.”

It’s a known problem with these controllers – just the amount of use over time wears them out and as a consequence your accuracy takes a hit as the joystick takes on a life of its own. It’s annoying for first person shooter games, as well as racing games – both genres you suspect this guy is into.

“And, er, what happened to this one?” You point, not quite daring to touch it yet until the mystery substance is identified.

“My daughter gave it a bath in syrup.”

“Ah.” You nod, and poke at it cautiously and find it to be horrendously sticky. The thought crosses your mind that this man looks a little young to have a daughter and there’s no wedding ring… You mentally smack yourself for prejudices.

“The other one has been drifting for a while, so I was mainly using this one until…” He shrugs.

“So, I can definitely fix this one for you.” You tap on the drifter. “Syrup one… Well, I can give it a go but I can’t make any guarantees on its survival.”

“That’s fine.”

You grab a repair form from under the counter and note down the make, model and status of the controllers. “I can do the both for 10,000 yen, if that sounds okay?”

The man nods. “Sure. How long will it take?”

“So, I do all the repair work from home where I have the proper set-up as there wasn’t any room in the store.” Mr Kyoshi was not an organized man – he loved retro games and consoles and the back room was overflowing with boxes. It wasn’t good to perform any repairs back there with all the dust, so you’d set up a dedicated space in your bedroom. “I can usually get the drift fixed in an evening, but I think I’ll need some extra time on the syrup, so it might end up being Friday. I’m probably going to have to use a combination of things to see what works…”

He frowns at the mention of Friday – probably the only controllers he owns.

“However, since we don’t want you to be without…” You crouch down below the counter and retrieve a controller from the box you keep back there for such occasions. “You can borrow this. It’s one I’ve refurbished for the shop and you can tell it’s seen a lot, but it still works great.” You slide it over to him. “And you can just bring it back when you come to collect yours.”

“Thanks.” He feels it in his hands. “Could tell I can’t wait that long, huh?”

“Hm, well, I know there’s a Morio Kart online championship coming up and that a lot of people are practicing… I might be way off here, though.”

A smile creeps up on the man’s face. “Hm. Maybe.”

You slide over the form with a pen and tap at the bottom. “Haven’t lost my touch! So, if you want to just write your name and phone number down there for me.” You grab a zip-lock bag to stick the sticky controller in – you don’t want to put that in your backpack.

“My phone number?” His face looks quizzical.

“Yeah…” You smile. “You know, so I can let you know when to pick it up?”

“Ah.” He scribbles down the two bits of information quickly.

“Great! Is there anything else I can help you with today?” He shakes his head as he puts the loaned controller in the tote bag. “Okay, have a good day.” You grin as he heads towards the door.

“Good luck,” he nods up towards the ‘game over’ screen.

--

Through extensive research (aka browsing numerous forums and checking videos), by late Thursday night you’d got the syrupy controller back to its best. It was a bit of trial and error with rubbing alcohol, a tiny toothbrush and a scraper to try and dislodge the sticky residue from every nook and cranny - the payment was probably not worth the amount of time you’d spent on the thing but you were a sucker for a cute guy. The other controller was an easy enough fix at least, one you’d done a number of times already for other clients.

You were covering the 12-8 shift in the shop on Friday – Mr Kyoshi liked to keep it open a little later ahead of the weekends, so as soon as you got in you dug out the form and rang the number the customer – one Rei Suwa – had left you.

It rang for a little too long and you were now expecting it to go to voicemail when suddenly the ringing stopped.

“Hi.” A curt greeting.

“Hi!” You answered cheerfully. “It’s Kyoshi’s Joypad here…”

A loud bang cuts you off. It sounded like a gunshot in the background. He must have one hell of a surround sound system.

“Yeah?”

“So, good news! Both the controllers are working, so if you wanna drop by…”

“What the hell, Rei?! Are you seriously on the phone right now?!” A voice screeches, before there’s another burst of gunfire. “Get to cover!”

You roll your eyes – you must’ve disturbed a Call Of Duty session with his buds.

“Thanks. I’ll be there later on today.”

“Dude!” The other voice hisses.

“Okay, bye.” But the dial tones tells you he’s already hung up. You place the phone back on the receiver, before and putting the fixed controllers underneath the desk along with the form to be collected later and get on with your shift.

--

It’s half three and you’ve been kept pretty busy. You’re sat behind the counter, finishing off the last of the stock audit when the bell rings again and you look up with your automatic greeting.

“Welcome to Kyoshi’s Joypad where we… Whoa.” You wished you hadn’t said that last part out loud.

The man standing the other side of the counter from you is in an incredibly well-fitted suit, waistcoat and red tie. His dark-hair is tied up on top of his head, revealing an undercut. His face seems similar but you can’t quite place it.

You manage to stop yourself gawking. “I mean, whoa-t can I help you with today?” You know as soon as it comes out of your mouth that it was not the smoothest save and the slight smile on the man’s face just seems to confirm it.

“I’m here to pick up the controllers…” He mumbles, and then you put two and two together. This is the same guy from the other day?! You found him attractive then, sure, but this look… Ooft.

“Oh, Rei! I’m so sorry, the suit threw me off.”

“You don’t like it?” He looks down at the fit with a frown.

“No, no! I just… It’s not what the average clientele wears in here, so I just didn’t put the two and two together. It looks good, really good…”

“I had a meeting.” That doesn’t really blend with what you heard on the phone earlier, but maybe that was a lunchbreak thing? You shouldn’t judge, you spend a good deal of your working day gaming and get away with it.

“Oh, cool. What do you do for work? I mean, you know I work here, so…”

“I guess you could say I clean up the city.”

“Ah…” You nod as if you get what he means, but you don’t. There’s an awkward silence and then you remember what he came in for. “Right, your controllers!” You bend down and retrieve them – they’re in a paper bag with the shop’s logo on. You slide the bag across the counter. “Should be as good as new.”

“Wow,” he peeks in the bag and retrieves one, then the other, looking closely. “I can’t even tell which one was the syrupy one.”

“Thanks!” You smiled. “I was pretty pleased with how it turned out too. I’ve tested them both out with a couple of games, but if something doesn’t seem right just bring them back and I’ll take a look, free of charge, of course. I like happy customers.”

“Thank you.” He retrieves the store’s controller from his suit pocket – you’re not sure how it fit in there. “And this is yours. I kept Miri away from it to make sure it didn’t come back in syrup.”

“Miri - is that your daughter’s name?” He nods. “That’s cute. How old is she?”

“Four.”

“She must be a handful.”

“Mm.” There’s a pause. “Did you beat the boss from the other day?”

“I did – thank you. Your tip did the trick. I promise I’ll remember about my status boosts from now on, or at least try.”

Someone stands behind Rei with a game in hand, ready to check out. You want to keep the conversation going, but Mr Kyoshi doesn’t pay you to flirt with handsome men – though he does bemoan why a nice young lady such as yourself is single…

Rei notices the person too. “How much do I owe you again?”

“Oh, yeah. 10,000 yen, please.” You enter the amount into the register as he passes over his card and you slide it through the machine. “Thank you. Here’s your receipt. Hope to see you again soon!”

“Thanks. Me too.” He picks up the paper bag and gives you a small wave as he leaves.

--

It’s Monday when you’re next back in the shop. The morning is very quiet and after you’ve taken the usual deliveries, you’re sat back upon the counter playing another quest when the bell rings. You immediately pause and slide off the counter, ready to greet the customer. “Welcome to… Oh, Rei. Hi!” You smile and he smiles back almost sheepishly. He’s in casual attire today and has a bag in his hand.

“Morning.”

“How can I help you today?”

“Er, I’m afraid Miri had another accident.” He places the bag on the counter and you peek inside. It’s soaked in syrup again.

“What – how?!” Your eyes widen at the sight of it.

“Blame Kazuki, he’s always giving her pancakes…”

“Kazuki, huh?” You try and ask casually.

“Yeah, my room-mate. We, er, co-parent. It’s a long story. Can you salvage it?”

“I think so. Leave it with me. It might be another two-day job, if that’s okay? I can lend you a controller again if you need two…” You grab another form and jot down the details.

“Thanks, but I wouldn’t want her to drench yours either. She can just watch me.”

“It’s sweet that you guys play together.” You smile. “Can you write your number down again for me?” You’ve already filled in his name.

“Sure.” He notes it down. “How are you getting on?” He points up to the screen.

“Mm, better! It’s my own fault – I’ll admit I like playing for the storyline more than the combos.”

“No, I can understand that.” His phone chimes with an alarm from his pocket. “Ah, sorry. I need to head. You’ll ring when it’s ready?”

“Mm-hm. Speak soon.” You watch him leave, disappointed the conversation was so short today. You let out a sigh and hop back up onto the counter, resuming your game.

--

You call Rei Wednesday morning after you’ve successfully eliminated all traces of syrup again – this time it’s quiet in the background on his side. He says he’ll be by in the afternoon and, true to his word, he appears with a little girl holding his hand.

“Hi, Rei!” You smile brightly as he heads over to the counter. Miri, you presume, is bouncing on her heels and looking around the shop in wonder, squealing as she recognizes different video game characters.

You bend down and retrieve Rei’s controller, placing it on the counter before leaning over it and grin down at Miri.

“So, syrup bandit, we meet at last, huh?”

Miri grins back up at you. “Oh, you’re the pretty lady that fixes them!” Rei’s face flushes red and he stutters, but you can’t help but find it adorable. Miri’s attention span drifts and lands on the Morio Kart display demo to the side. “Do you get to play all these games all day?!”

“I sure do! Sadly, I have to let the customers have a go too otherwise my boss gets kinda mad.” You wink. “Speaking of which, you can play Morio Kart if you like.”

“Oh, can I? Can I, Papa Rei?” She tugs at Rei’s arm again with a pleading look.

“Sorry, Miri. Papa Kazuki said we needed to be back by 4 today. How about we swing by another time, and we can play when we get home, okay?”

“Okay, Papa Rei.” She nods, though her eyes stare longingly at the demo machine.

“How much do I owe you today?”

“5,000, please.” He slides over cash this time and you ring it through the register.

“Now, young lady, please can you promise me not to cover this in syrup again?”

She frowns. “But Papa Rei told me to do it so he could come see you again!” Rei looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up in that moment.

“Oh, did he?” You laugh, feeling your own cheeks flush. “Well, here’s your receipt and…” You grab a pen and write along the bottom. “..my gamer tag.”

He nods his head frantically, grabs the receipt, the controller and Miri and speedwalks to the door. “Thank you! Bye.”

“Bye, pretty lady!” Miri beams and Rei yanks her out of there.

--

When you get home later that night, you make a quick dinner before collapsing on your bed as you boot up your games console. You logged into the network, and a notification beeped. One new request from ReiSuwa1.

You hit accept and see he’s still online, playing the game you’d struggled on the other day. Coincidence or deliberate, you muse. A few minutes later, another notification comes up. ReiSuwa1 is inviting you to voice chat.

Your stomach flips as you grab your headset and put it on, before hitting accept.

There’s a beep to show you’ve been connected.

“Don’t tell me there’s been another syrup incident.”

A chuckle fills your ears.

[sujanindustries]

 India's Defence Parts Manufacturing Policy: A Comprehensive Guide

Imagine a nation that can independently produce its defense equipment, from fighter jets to submarines. This is the vision behind India's military manufacturing policy. Historically reliant on imports for its military requirements, India is rapidly progressing toward defense manufacturing self-sufficiency, with an increasing number of defence parts manufacturers in India playing a crucial role in this shift. 

These manufacturers, which range from large-scale public-sector endeavors to innovative private-sector businesses, play an essential role in developing a wide range of defense components and systems. This change is about more than just national security; it's about strengthening the economy, creating employment, and establishing India as a worldwide military manufacturing powerhouse. The participation of local manufacturers in this attempt is a big step forward.

Policy Objectives:

Self-reliance is the cornerstone of India's defense production policy. This entails less reliance on foreign suppliers and the development of home capacities to design, develop, and manufacture a wide range of defense equipment. The policy intends to do this through many major strategies:

Promoting Public-Private Partnerships (PPP): Bringing together business and public sector entities to encourage innovation and efficiency.

Foreign Direct Investment (FDI): Encourage foreign direct investment (FDI) in the defense sector to attract capital, technology, and best practices.

Research and Development (R&D): Improving R&D infrastructure and capabilities, emphasizing indigenous innovations.

Export Promotion: Assisting domestic manufacturers in approaching global markets, thus expanding the economic benefits of defense production.

This defense policy is a boon for aerospace parts manufacturers in India, offering them a platform for growth, innovation, and global outreach. It is consistent with the larger goal of making India self-reliant in the defense and aerospace industries, reinforcing national security and economic vitality.

Achievements and Milestones:

In recent years, the policy has resulted in remarkable accomplishments. Indigenously built military equipment such as airplanes, battleships, and missile systems has increased in India. The Tejas Light Combat Aircraft and the Arihant-class nuclear submarines are notable examples. The policy has also attracted global defense companies to establish manufacturing units in India independently or through joint ventures.

Challenges and Solutions:

Despite these advances, the path has challenges. These include technological gaps, bureaucratic hurdles, and the need for a skilled workforce. Addressing these issues needs a multifaceted approach:

Streamlining Regulatory Frameworks: Making it easier for enterprises to participate in defense manufacturing by simplifying procedures and regulations.

Enhancing Skill Development: Investing in education and training to create a trained workforce capable of addressing the needs of this high-tech sector.

Fostering Innovation: Establishing innovation centers and funding research to overcome technology gaps are two ways to foster innovation.

Impact on the Economy and Security:

The policy on defense production has significant economic and national security ramifications. It stimulates industrial growth, produces jobs, and can earn foreign currency through exports. From a security standpoint, it increases India's strategic autonomy while decreasing susceptibility to supply chain disruptions. The initiative has also increased the importance of defense parts manufacturers in India. These firms are more important than ever. Their success and expansion under this strategy indicate India's determination to develop a robust and self-sufficient military sector.

Final Thoughts: 

The defense production policy in India is critical to the country's overall defense and economic strategy. While issues must be addressed, the policy's emphasis on self-sufficiency, creativity, and teamwork points to a hopeful future. As India develops its military manufacturing capabilities, it improves its defense preparedness and adds to its aim of becoming an economic powerhouse. This strategy is about imagining a future in which India remains at the forefront of defense technology and innovation, delivering security and prosperity for its people.

Sujan Industries is well-known in India as a significant maker of military parts, particularly control links, O-rings, gaskets, diaphragms, rubber pistons, boots and bellows, radar seals, mounts, and bushes. Sujan Industries is the preferred choice for top-tier defense parts manufacturers because of their high-quality and trustworthy goods—our dedication to quality guarantees that every component they manufacture meets the highest reliability and performance criteria.

[zeep-xanflorp]

m: i promise to stop. [...] if you help me, i promise i'll never look under the curtain at a rick thing to figure out what's bad about it ever again.

r: and you can never say no to me.

m: what are you, keith raniere? [a cult leader]

r: for two weeks.

m: fine.

this is an interesting part of the episode for me. morty's morals aren't only being challenged, they are being dismantled. by seeing the galaxy at its worst, he's developed a taste for the immoral. he can understand why rick is trying to keep him from the truth and there's almost a defence of rick's actions behind what he's saying. like this idea that rick is protecting him from harsh cold reality by being dishonest. and that morty is thankful for that instead of being like "why are you even doing this in the first place?" like he did in the past.

and IDK. i think rick is manufacturing an environment where he can continue to get away w more and more fucked up stuff. the family doesn't care but morty was always the one who kept rick in check morally but he's just agreed not to do that anymore.

i think that opens some interesting future potential for the pair. there has to be sometime in the future where this will come back and i'm excited for it.

[zvaigzdelasas]

Weapons, ammunition and equipment are in strong demand as Western countries continue to support Ukraine in its war with Russia, while growing instability in the Middle East and tensions with China are also boosting orders. Many governments are issuing major contracts to begin rebuilding ammunition stockpiles after sending huge amounts of hardware to Kyiv, at a time when the Israel-Gaza conflict and attacks by Houthi rebels on ships in the Red Sea are creating more uncertainty. Meanwhile, Britain has partnered with Japan and Italy to develop a next-generation fighter jet, and with the US and Australia to develop a new generation of nuclear-powered submarines under the AUKUS pact.

BAE, which is the UK’s biggest manufacturer and largest defence contractor, revealed in November that it had booked £10bn of orders since June alone, including £3.9bn related to AUKUS. The company has also secured ammo-restocking contracts worth around £410m in Britain and another $8.8bn (£6.9bn) contract to continue running an ammunition plant on behalf of the US Army.

Babcock has been awarded contracts to support the Ukrainian navy, maintaining two minehunter ships that were previously part of British forces. The rally of defence and aerospace companies has also been boosted by a burgeoning turnaround at engineering giant Rolls-Royce, which maintains fighter jet and boat engines for the Royal Air Force and Royal Navy, including the reactor cores for Britain’s Vanguard nuclear deterrent submarines.

2 Jan 24

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Leaders of several First Nations from the Ring of Fire region in northern Ontario demanded a meeting with Doug Ford at the legislature on Tuesday, saying they needed to discuss concerns over possible mining in their territories – but the premier refused their request.

Indigenous Affairs Minister Greg Rickford offered to go in Ford’s stead, but that offer was rebuffed by the First Nations.

“We refuse to meet with Rickford, we want to meet with Doug Ford directly,” Neskantaga First Nation Chief Chris Moonias said on the front lawn of Queen’s Park. “We want him to sign this declaration of respect for the right for the First Nations to say no to mining in their homelands.”

Ford and his government want to mine the Ring of Fire for metals to be used as part of a vision for an end-to-end manufacturing chain for electric vehicles and the batteries that power them.

Grassy Narrows, Wapekeka, Neskantaga, Kitchenuhmaykoosib Inninuwug, and Muskrat Dam First Nations have created the Land Defence Alliance in an effort to defend their territories in the Ring of Fire. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada, @vague-humanoid

[metal3d]

6 MOST POPULAR INDUSTRIES TO USE METAL 3D PRINTING

Metal additive manufacturing has recently developed a lot to bring great benefits to different business sectors. These benefits include reduced material use, lowered costs, and production acceleration. It also enables designers and engineers to create anything from jigs and fixtures to more advanced forms like visualisation aids. The possibilities of using 3D printing for product development and manufacturing in different industries are limitless. The days are not far for you to think of outsourcing metal 3d printing for your industry. The countdown begins!