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novankenn · 1 month ago

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She was Asking for it!!!

Jaune was in a frenzy as he raced about JNPR's dorm cleaning and putting things away... mostly Pyrrha and Nora's unmentionables which the pair had a habit of just leaving lying around. Nora because... well she's Nora, and Pyrrha because she wasn't used to sharing a room. Despite her outward appearances Pyrrha was a slob in private.

But the real question wasn't why the girls of JNPR seemed to prefer leaving their discarded underwear where ever it fell after being tossed. No the real question was what had Jaune so worked up that he was now currently scrubbing the door knobs with a toothbrush and brass polish. Pyrrha the only other member of JNPR currently in the dorm tried to broach the question.

Pyrrha: Jaune?

Jaune: Nope. Busy. Talk. Later.

Pyrrha: Um Jaune?

Jaune: Nope. Busy. Be. Here. Soon. Need. Perfect.

Pyrrha: ...

The ringing of Jaune's scroll startled Pyrrha and electrified Jaune.

Jaune: NO! She's Early!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune rushed about, even faster making several laps about the dorm checking and double checking before stopping, beside the door. He took a deep breath and turned the door knob.

????: JAUNE!!!!

A miniature green haired blur shot through the door and glommed onto Pyrrha's not-so-secret crush. There was a instant surfacing of a green-eyed-monster.

Jaune: Becca!

Rebecca: Little brother! You remembered me!

Pyrrha: Little brother?

Jaune: How could I EVER forget my favorite sister!

The pair separated after a solid two minute hug, which Pyrrha understood was an Arc tradition. Seeing as Jaune had done the same to every member of JNPR when they returned from trips. It was odd and first, but quickly became very... comforting.

Rebecca: SO...

Jaune: So?

Rebecca: Why, and where?

Jaune: I wanted to live up to our Heroic History?

Rebecca: Seriously? Seriously!

Jaune: What?

Rebecca: You are HEIR to the largest weapons manufacturing and design company in all of Remnant... and you want to play HERO!?!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune: I can...

Becca: No you cannot explain! Fuck sakes you designed my cybernetics! You gave me back use of my legs and arms! You know how much more of a hero that is than a dumb grimm slaying Neanderthal?

Jaune: But...

Rebecca: No buts. I'm here to check up on you. To make sure you're safe...

Pyrrha knew she was being ignored, and she was happy with that. Actually she was starting to feel a little guilty about being where she currently was and hearing such a private sibling con versation.

Weiss: ARC! I want MY notes that Ruby leant you back! I don't pay attention in class to have you leech off my good habits!

Jaune: I'm busy! I'll drop them off later!

Weiss: You will give them to me now!

Weiss still in her Beacon uniform appeared at the threshold of JNPR's dorm door. A scowl on her face.

Rebecca: Is. That. Her?

Jaune: Becca! No!

Rebecca: @&#$%@*#&&#^&#^*%@^*^*$^*@^&^&@^$*&^@$!!!!!

Pyrrha stood there completely stunned, shocked, aroused and embarrassed at the litany of filth and derogatory words Becca was throwing at Weiss as the SDC Heiress ran for it. Only being saved by Jaune scooping up his "little" older sister and restraining her.

Pyrrha: Ah... Jaune?

Jaune: Yes Pyr?

Pyrrha: ... introductions?

#rwby #cyberpunk edgerunners #jaune arc #rebbeca #pyrrha nikos #weiss schnee

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hirocimacruiser · 6 months ago

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What are old cars like to drive now?

Mazda Familia 3 door full time 4WD1600DOHC turbo review.

The second generation FF Familia tends to be overshadowed by the success of the first FF Familia. The Familia underwent a Key Concept model change in 1985, and the sports version of the 1.6 (twin cam turbo + full-time 4WD) became popular. Yasushi Shimono drove to Osaka for the later model after minor changes.

Text | Yasushi Shimono Photos Chihiro Abe

The other day, I rented a Familia car in Takamatsu, Shikoku. If you see Nippon Rent-a-Car, Toyota Rent-a-Car, and Nissan Rent-A-Car lined up at the counter in the airport lobby, if you're a car fan, you should probably rent a Mazda Rent-A-Car at this time of year.

It's a personal choice, but the Familia 1500AT I rented was actually very nice. The engine and suspension have the solid feel of a German car, and it feels great. Even though I've already driven over 20,000km, I can barely see any wear and tear.

During my summer vacation two years ago, I took a Familia rental car at the station in Tsuruoka, Yamagata Prefecture, and it was a great ride, and my family was happy with it.

For test drives, members of the media always ride in the manufacturer's so-called PR vehicles.

However, when they later try the same car in a rental car, they are often disappointed to varying degrees. I don't have the space to write about the reasons in detail here, but Familia is an extremely rare example of people rediscovering their charm through rental cars. It feels like a very seriously made car.

I am holding this.

FULLY MASCULINE NOUN CAR

In downtown Osaka, I was given a ride on a nostalgic Familia. 1988 model 3 door twin cam turbo 4W.D. It is a full-time 4WD high-performance model that was part of the second-generation FF Familia series that debuted in 1985.

I splurged on expensive 200,000 yen 0Z racing aluminum wheels for the car I bought this spring. There is a bright red mudflap in the wheel arches.

The guard hangs down. The hobby of the owner, Mr. M (35 years old), who really wants to drive a Lancia Delta Integrale, seems to be depicted on the outside.

The inside can also be customized.

It is. The front seats are BRIDE bucket seats. The handle is MOMO's Prototipo. At the tip of the shift lever is a plastic shift knob that looks like a white ball.

The main body of the 1.6LDOHC turbo engine has not been modified, but the muffler and air cleaner have been replaced with "HKS''. The suspension also uses Mazda genuine sports springs combined with GAB dampers. I'm not Kiyoshi Nishikawa, but I get the strong impression that he was trying to do things one by one, starting with what he could do. Mr. M, who works as a tire wholesaler, is a pleasant young man. It is the year of the year. When I pushed in the tape whose head was peeking out from the set, it played Mr. Children, which doesn't really suit Osaka (?).

However, once it started running, the Familia Integrale was a much more radical car than the standard.

First of all, the suspension is much harder than you might imagine from the specs. The ride quality is almost that of a competition vehicle, reacting honestly to the bumps and undulations of the road surface and transmitting short, jerky vibrations.

I didn't think it was power steering at first either. I slowly turned the steering wheel to turn off the engine and realized for the first time that it had power assist. That's how responsive it is. Basically, the normal engine is so energetic that it's hard to believe. Power is already 140 yen on NET display. However, it is more powerful than the face value, and at the signal Grand Prix the acceleration of all four wheels is like that of a rabbit.

I'll show you.

Even though it is a turbo, it starts to crash immediately after idling.

Delivers comfortable torque. The response in the low rotation range is also not bad. Tachometer red zone from 7000rpm. However, the latest 4-valve It's not as smooth and light as the unit.

It has been replaced with an air cleaner for competition. So, at the top end of 6500 or higher, the engine noise, mainly the intake noise, becomes louder.

Air conditioner control panels, air vents, and

-Dark areas where stereo units, ashtrays, etc. are crowded.

There was a designer who once described the center part of the dash as ``the most expensive part of the car's interior,'' but this car has a panel that says ``FULLTIME 4WD'' embedded in part of it. There is. It was kind of noisy. There is also a shiny silver switch inside the spring, and this is for locking the center differential. The owner once benefited from being muddy.

Apparently there is.

The turbo is effective without any noticeable bumps.

It starts to work, and what's more, it works like a turbo. I miss the way the green snail lights up in the instrument panel every time the turbo kick explodes. What's more, every time I shift up and release the accelerator, I hear the resonant whine of the turbine, which is nostalgic. I wasn't able to do it this time due to time constraints, but I was able to drive on mountain passes and some dirt roads, and it still looked really interesting. Manly and sweaty, a perfect masculine noun.

It's Luma.

Of course, the current Familia, which no longer has a sports model in its lineup, is not such a macho car. However, the Familia has always been a car that has not had a fancy feel to it for generations. Fancy is something like ``a womanly thing that a man has come up with.'' I like the character, which is unusual for domestically produced vehicles, but I'm sure there are people who say that's why it doesn't sell well.

PIC CAPTIONS

The second generation FF Familia underwent a full model change in January 1985. It has a 3/5-door hatch and a 4-door sedan body. Initially, it started with 1.3ℓ and 1.5ℓ NA and turbo units, but a 1.6ℓ turbo unit was soon added. The photo is of the later model. The body size is: total length x width x height = 3990 x 1645 x 1405mm. Wheelbase 2400mm.

The steering wheel has been replaced with "MOMO" and the seat has been replaced with "BRIDE". When the New Familia was announced, the company emphasized the improved quality of the interior, saying, ``If the packaging is the same, the quality of the interior is important.''

With minor changes in 8 years, NA unit

The remaining old E-type units were wiped out and replaced by B-type units. Photo of 1597cc 16V DOHC turbo with 140ps @ 6000rpm and 19.0kgm torque @ 5000rpm

Mr. M's Delta Familia has a majestic red mudguard. The ``GAB'' and ``HKS'' stickers and white OZ wheels clearly reflect the owner's taste.

#Mazda Familia #Familia 4WD turbo #Mazda 323 turbo 4WD

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materialsscienceandengineering · 9 months ago

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Research team develops a more durable coating against ice

Ice-repellent coatings have been around for some time, but until now they have been very sensitive and detach quite quickly from the surfaces they are meant to protect. A research team led by Anna Maria Coclite and Gabriel Hernández Rodríguez from the Institute of Solid State Physics at Graz University of Technology (TU Graz) has now succeeded in remedying this shortcoming. They have developed a highly ice-repellent coating that adheres to a wide variety of materials and is very resistant to abrasion. The team's paper is published in the journal ACS Applied Materials & Interfaces. The researchers achieved this progress by using a manufacturing technology called initiated chemical vapor deposition (iCVD). This makes it possible for a strongly adhesive primer material to gradually transition into the ice-repellent compound.

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dr-albertwesker · 4 months ago

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[WESKER'S REPORT / EXTRA]

A very intriguing incident . . . A series of bizarre murder cases have been occurring at a wintry village in the rural Caucasus region of Russia. The villagers there are clamoring about a legendary monster, "Almas", having risen from the dead . . . This wretched state of affairs effortlessly reminds me of those initial bizarre cases in Raccoon Forest. Three kilometers away from that village there stands an antiquated chemical plant built during the Soviet era, ownership of which, according to our investigation, currently lies with a prestigious European aristocrat. Foreign capital appears to have been invested five years ago for undertaking major underground development. Geological surveys reveal the presence of solid bedrock, perfect for constructing a certain kind of facility. It would seem as though we've solved the puzzle. Umbrella has shamelessly clung to life in the five years since Raccoon's annihilation. Despite facing accusations of leaking the virus along with their stock prices crashing, they unfurled the trial with a campaign claiming it all to be a U.S. Government conspiracy, which has been successful in stalling for time until their eventual death sentence. Fortunate for Umbrella, then, that they had been colluding with the government from the beginning. A state naturally has secrets of its own that can be dusted off, and their survival tactic was to sell those off piece by piece to the court and mass media in order to foment public skepticism. Something akin to madness lurks more or less within every person and organization, even among nations. The most deranged in that incident, however, was none other than Umbrella. A simple-minded Umbrella is exhibiting signs of a revival. B.O.W.s are starting to overrun war zones. They are supplying those B.O.W.s as weapons. We've also received reports that, beneath the surface, Umbrella have arranged a framework for manufacturing bioweapons while operating ships to transport them. The time has come. They tinker with the t-Virus, cultivate mutant organisms, then sell them. Moreover, even if they were to yield certain results, with their capacity for imagination incapable of treating the virus as anything more than a vector for bioweapon production, they will only end up exposing their defects at some other point in time. The "Philosopher's Stone" is destined for the hands of a truly worthy alchemist. The unworthy must be taken off the stage. This place is sure to be the site of Umbrella's end.

#wesker's report #albert wesker #resident evil #the umbrella chronicles #[White Queen Archives]

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rehauindia · 9 months ago

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https://www.rehau.com/in-en/interiors/solid-surfaces

Solid surface countertop material for interior design from best manufacturer in India. Add solid surface material to your kitchen, office, hotel, medical laboratories.

#solid surfaces for countertops #countertops solid surfaces manufacturer #solid surface solutions #interior designs material

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sreegs · 1 year ago

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Would you be willing to share your sources relating to the submarine/submersible technology? I believe you, but I’d love to a. read more on the subject and b. Share something that isn’t a tumblr post with a family member

i linked wikipedia articles in my reblog which, themselves, have sources in their references, but i'm not sure what specifically you're asking for a source on.

i presume you're asking why i asserted a sphere is safer than a cylinder which is more or less just physics and not strictly related to subs. a cylinder has more surface area than a sphere of the same diameter therefore it has more surface for pressure to act on. moreover the nature of material manufacture means that a cylinder has more seams (2) than a sphere (1).

spherical pressure hulls are usually made of two halves of forged titanium or steel then fused together along one seam. the titan was two halves of a titanium sphere attached to the ends of a carbon-fiber tube. where the tube was joined to the spheres it made two seams. this is really oversimplifying it but the point is to highlight that seams can provide a point of failure because they're not part of the same continuous material. the more seams the more potential points of failure

if you're asking about the DSVs themselves, when it comes to functional deep-sea capable vessels i guess it's important to point out the difference between a "submarine" (the long tube shape you see used in the military) and a deep-sea vessel like a bathysphere (which is not a submarine because of its lack of mobility).

submarines, especially modern ones, can handle some pretty impressive depths but they don't go anywhere near as deep as vessels designed to travel to the deep sea. military sub max operational depths are probably classified but their reported depths are in the hundreds of meters

modern dsv's dive past ten thousand meters. which is way, way more pressure.

so to understand modern DSVs, here's the description of the batysphere concept and some of the original designs, which which were the first deep-sea capable vessels just much more primitive. they were lowered on cables and didn't travel on their own power. so they weren't really vehicles

here's the next logical step, the bathyscaphe, which allowed it to move up and down under its own power, however the crew cabin is still a sphere. you can see them protruding from the bottom of the vessel in some photos

"deep-submergence vehicles" (which i linked in that reblog) are a bit more closer to submarines in terms of design and mobility, but their crew cabin designs are still spherical, with few exceptions. the deepest-traveling ones are spherical

crew cabins are pressure vessels. meaning they're built to withstand the force of the pressure of the water outside the vehicle. DSV's may have multiple components in compartments that don't look spherical at all from the outside but it makes sense when you realize some of these compartments aren't pressure vessels. some are solid foam. some even flood with sea water by design

take a look at this diagram of the Alvin with crew inside:

the largest pressure vessel is the crew cabin. there's a few other smaller pressure vessels to provide variable ballast (flooded with sea water or pumped with air) and some mercury vessels to provide leveling trims (to tell which way is up)

the rest of the vehicle is either pressure-resistant foam or empty space in which water can get in because the components inside are small enough and engineered to withstand the pressure. remember, because water pressure acts in all directions, the less surface area you have, the less pressure you need to worry about to maintain whatever function you need to perform. since the crew compartment is so big and so important, it's the thickest titanium and probably engineered to more exacting safety standards than some of the other parts

a couple people have already commented more on what i posted with good insight into things i can't explain as well. here's someone going into detail about the sphere vs cylinder issue:

and here someone linked a very informative youtube about the manufacture of the DSV Limiting Factor including footage of the crew compartment being forged from titanium

#titanic #oceangate #deep sea vehicles #submarines #infodump #physics

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inkformyblood · 11 months ago

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until we meet again (CWFKB #17)

Magical kiss, Canon Divergence - Left the Jedi Obi-Wan, Jedi-positive, General Qui-Gon. (injury detail) @codywanfirstkissbingo

The man speaks with a grin that’s entirely bloody teeth and latent fury sparking to the surface, his hands steady over the fresh hole torn into Cody’s chest. “So, come here often?”

Oh stars above, Cody has found a civvie medic with a sense of humour. He considers, briefly but weighed up all the same, throwing himself back outside of the tent and taking his chances with his own stubbornness to keep his blood inside his body. The man, sensing this somehow, leans further forward, one of his hands pressing sideways with a squish that feels like it should echo from rotting fruit exploding underfoot. Cody lets himself be herded onto a bed that creaks beneath his weight as he lies back, but the blanket is soft enough against his palms and Cody sighs, letting his eyes drift closed. Any moment of peace is luxuriated in, hole in his chest or not.

“You haven’t answered my question,” the man prompts. Metal knocks together somewhere to Cody’s left, the man’s hand steady on his chest, before the fabric of his blacks is cut. The line of the scissors burn a thin line of warning over his belly and Cody is moving before he can stop himself, bracing his feet against the cot and pushing—

He stops himself, pain lancing up his chest and over the curve of his hips, wordless screaming agony, and he collapses back against the bed. Breathing is difficult, every gasp tinged with sour bile, every pant painted with copper and iron. The man continues cutting away the fabric in his way, his gaze flickering between a well-worn look of intense focus, his brow pinched into a crease between his eyes, and manufactured care. It had to be false to look so sincere.

“You could,” Cody begins before he tips his face sideways, spitting a wad of something dark and liquid off the edge of the bed. “You could at least buy me dinner first.”

The man laughs prettily, wide and unhurried in his luxuriating delight of it. He laughs like a man who has never known war or maybe, a man who has known too much of it. His hands are streaked with Cody’s blood, dark over the pads of his fingers and the creases of his palms, a trickle sliding down his wrist like a caress. Cody watches it go, his lip curled back over his teeth.

He’s still braced across the expanse of Cody’s hips, a warm and solid weight against his thigh, makingCody wonder if they could have met some other way. Some hole-in-the-wall cantina where the drinks were cheap and embellished with a twist of something sweet and the man could slide into the space at Cody’s side like it had been made for him, take his wrist and pull him out onto the dancefloor despite the bruised egos of the collection of others that Cody had turned down.

“Here.”

Cody holds his hand up, snapping back to the sore and aching present in the same blink. The man deposits a ration bar onto his palm, the thin packet already torn open in an uneven line, and returns to threading a curved needle. “We’re doing things the old-fashioned way, I’m afraid. I’ve patched you up internally but the outside will need some assistance.”

“And this is for?” Cody takes a bite of the bar. He’s not about to turn down free food, especially when it arrives in any different flavour than grey. The bar is dry, crumbling at his first bite and he cups his palm to his mouth, chewing at the pieces that have broken away. There’s some kind of fruit mixed in, sweet and soft and Cody would tear himself open to be able to eat it again. The man leans forward, the needle held aloft and the light catches the sharp point of it like a magic show, nothing in this hand, nothing in that hand, but look. He picks one of the sections out of Cody’s palm but it never touches his skin, hovering above the bloody pad of his fingers. The man tips his head back to eat it, his hair falling free from the bun he had likely drawn it up into hours before. Copper on his hands, copper in his hair.

He winks at Cody. “That is dinner. Now hold still, soldier, and let me work.”

There’s the expected sharp stab as the needle pierces through skin, the ache as the thread is drawn after it, and Cody grinds his heels into a bed that is far softer than he deserves, his jaw clenched so tight it would shatter. “Cody,” he grits out, digging dirt-streaked nails into his palm, drawing out a dark piece of the fruit and pressing it to his lips. It bursts, sticky and smearing across cracked and ruined skin.

“Pardon?” The man blinks up at him. His weight is mostly resting on his knees now, splayed wide and nestled into indentations on the bed. One hand smooths over the dip of Cody’s waist, trying to settle him with the repetitive splay of his fingers.

“My name. Cody.”

“Cody,” the man repeats. His fingers trace over the seam of Cody’s waist, following the curve of a scar before his touch moves to another, then another. “It’s a good name. Suits you.”

“Thanks,” Cody answers, an old burn of learnt embarrassment catching the back of his throat, the memory of chasing something sharp and blue with something just as sharp but pink. His name is his name and he had chosen well. Might as well lean into it. “Picked it out myself.”

The man cracks open on a laugh, pausing his wandering exploration of Cody’s waist and the sharp bite of the needle against his stomach. He doesn’t tip forward but it is a neat thing, clinging to the tatters of his professionalism like it would keep him afloat. His cheeks are slightly pink and a wash of freckles stand out with the additional flush of colour. There’s a single mark high on his cheek, just beneath his eye, and Cody’s attention snaps to it like a named target. “I can understand the impulse.”

“Oh?” Cody commits the man to memory deliberately, the curve of his smile and the precise colour of his eyes. He had thought he would be sick of blue after shipping out from Kamino and it’s endless rolling oceans but the man seems made to surprise him. The man’s grin only widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and he pushes the needle through the last necessary piece of Cody’s stomach, drawing the wound entirely closed. His stitches are neat, evenly spaced to reduce the scarring later with bacta rationed for the more severe cases, and Cody nods once, reaching down to trace his fingers over the man’s work.

“If you would care to leave me a good review on Spelp,” the man says, still seated across the stretch of Cody’s thighs, his hands clasped in front of him and something about the pose sparks familiarity but it vanishes as soon as the man leans forward to trace his hand over Cody’s stitches. “My name is Ben. But you will possibly have better luck finding me under Kenobi.”

Cody nods once and the reality of the situation catches him like a blow. Ben is a civvie medic with something strange about him — Cody has been a soldier since before he had been pulled from his decanting tube, he knows how badly he’d been hit and this wound looking a week old already is not the same injury he’d been brought in with — and Cody is likely never going to see him again after they ship out from this planet. A name and a memory is the only thing they’ll ever be to each other. He wants to make sure it’s a good one.

“Not going to kiss me better, Ben?” Cody asks, his cheeks flushing with heat but his hands are steady. He doesn’t look away.

Ben’s brow raises, delight washing over his face. “Do you always ask your medics for a get-better-kiss?”

Cody shrugs. The movement doesn’t hurt as much as it should have done and he wants to kiss Ben. He wants to remember him in a way that is permanent and the scar across his belly will accomplish that well enough, but he wants more. Wanting is new, still shiny out of the packet. “Only the pretty ones.”

Ben cackles, low in the base of his throat, something meant to be savoured with ice and a warm fire, sipped until it’s gone. He leans forward until he is lying flush with Cody, his nose brushing against Cody’s, his breath brushing his cheek and smelling faintly of mint and disinfectant. “Sweet-talker,” Ben murmurs, no heat behind his accusation, and he stands suddenly, pushing himself off of Cody.

The medtent is fucking freezing. A shiver rattles through Cody, newly-stripped to the waist and bereft of human contact, mitigated by the heady flush of embarrassment coursing through him. He makes to sit up, intent on throwing himself in front of a droid, somewhere where he would be actually useful, when Ben stops him, a hand on his shoulder. Cody notes that his back is to the entrance, partially shielding Cody from the view of any passing troopers outside. “Remember what I said,” Ben says. “Remember my name.”

“Ben Kenobi,” Cody repeats.

Ben grins and leans forward to kiss him, just once. There is a warm mouth pressed against his, Cody leaning into his touch, and Ben retreats, his smile smaller, softer, wistful in a way. “Take care, Cody.”

Standing to his full height, Ben picks up a spare undershirt from next to him, folded and still faintly warm from the transport box. Cody knows a dismissal when he hears one and he takes the shirt, pulling it on carefully. As he tucks the shirt into the ruins of his former flightsuit, Ben moves into another section of the tent, separated by a length of fabric and Cody walks back onto the battlefield as he bolts his armour back on. The chestplate is ruined, dented and torn where Cody had been hit, but he picks up a spare and throws himself back into his task. He doesn’t think about Ben Kenobi. He doesn’t think about the kiss. He doesn’t think about the accelerated healing of his wound, the way he picked up the ration bar without touching it, and the way that another shot like the one that had just sent him to the medbay alters trajectory in midair and crashges into the ground at his feet.

In the quiet after the battle, Cody pulls his helmet off and scratches at the tangle of sweat-soaked curls at the back of his head. His stomach aches but he doesn’t think he’s torn any of the stitches. Qui-Gon waits at the head of the table, his head bowed as he splays his fingers over the controls. The display shifts, widening over a single piece of earth before it flickers and scans sideways. Qui-Gon throws his hands up in dismay before he clasps them in front of himself. Same gesture, same bite of familiaity catching on the weave of Cody’s thoughts and he’s speaking before he can stop himself. “Sir, is the name Kenobi familiar to you?”

Qui-Gon straightens and Cody forgets how tall he is every time, used to the non-regimental curve of his shoulders, the way he sinks into his posture. “I have a Padawan named Kenobi.”

Skywalker, slouched in the corner, speaks around his nails, worrying at the edges as he had watched Qui-Gon prod at the controls. “Master, he left the Order.”

“A sabbatical, dear one,” Qui-Gon corrects, trodding over the floorboards of a well-worn argument. “Obi-Wan can return anytime he would like and he will always be my Padawan in one way or another until he decides he isn’t.”

Skywalker grumbles something that sounds like attachments and Qui-Gon silences him with a look before returning back to Cody. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering, sir.”

Seemingly satisfied, Qui-Gon turns back to the screen. It’s pink now, somehow. Cody didn’t realise that was even a setting that could be changed. Skywalker’s eyes narrow, his features drawn tight. “I do miss him. I’m glad that he’s doing well. And, to answer your inevitable question Anakin, I know he’s doing well because he’s met my Commander here who is a good person to have met.”

Cody doesn’t think about kissing Ben. Not here, not now. He doesn’t know how much the Jedi could pick up from his thoughts and that is a memory just for him, until they meet again.

#codywan #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #star wars #cwfkb2023 #cwfkb #my writing #fanfic #cody x obi wan #spelp is space yelp #if u saw the note i left to myself about it no u didnt

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stylam · 2 years ago

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Acrylic Solid Surface Sheet - Stylam

If you’re looking for new ways to bring a touch of shine and elegance to your projects? Give Stylam a try! We can customize acrylic solid surface sheets with any size and color that your project requires. Stylam is a proud pioneer manufacturing company in India for Solid Surface Sheets. With a variety of thicknesses and lengths, you’ll be able to create the perfect piece for your next design project. Contact us for more details!!

#acrylic solid surface #solid surface #laminate manufacturer #laminates #laminate

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poly-thot-one-piece-edition · 1 year ago

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Between the Three of Us

Marco x afab!Reader x Shanks

CW: omegaverse elements (it is such a small part of the story I almost hesitate to mention it), violence, group sex, sex, swearing, it's a noir detective AU I'm sorry I really don't know what else to say.

Summary: A One Piece Noir Detective AU x reader story

You've stolen the treasure of the century - a puzzle orb that's a map to Gol D Roger's treasure. But the map itself has some secrets, and so do you. Pursued by the Mafia family that hired you to steal the orb you find yourself in Feathered Talon - an agency of freelance detectives with connections across the island - and the Grandline.

Are Shanks and Marco your unexpected saviors? Or will you be betrayed yet again, and handed over to the iron will of Absolute Justice - the mafia family in control of the Grandline?

Chapter 1: Caught

The whole thing had been simple.

Break into a heavily fortified, World Government subsidized museum and steal its crowning jewel - Roger’s map to the One Piece. Get in, get the goods, get out. It had been meticulously planned, and the plan had been rehearsed dozens of times.

Your benefactors had money to spare on such an endeavor, and the treasure that Roger’s map led to, was rumored to be incomprehensible in value. Gold and jewels aside, he had found the One Piece, and while many believed he had tossed the accursed item into the depths of the ocean, your client seemed to believe it was all still in his cache.

Gol D Roger - treasure hunter to some, gentleman thief to others. He had retired some years after finding the One Piece and had become a sort of Legendary Detective, along with a few people from his original crew.

The government had never been able to pin him with actual proof of law breaking, and so his agency had been legit. He went from having the government as an enemy to having the government and the mafia families as enemies, and yet at the same time there were strange alliances mixed all up in it.

Disease and bad luck had been the end of his days, but to so many people he was practically a god. A miracle of a man who had lived his life to its fullest with nothing to apologize for.

You had a solid appreciation for Roger yourself, avid inner city treasure hunter that you were. Little less appreciation for him turning his coat to the side of the law, but being a free lance detective was a far cry from being a government dog, so it was forgivable.

Roger and his past wasn’t your problem right now.

The job had gone off flawlessly. So flawlessly you’d had extra time to spare in the museum before you had to leave and came upon an interesting discovery. The map wasn’t just a map.

About the size of a bowling ball, but unbelievably lighter, the brass orb with its lines and circles was believed to be a sea chart. Coat it in ink, roll it out on paper and it would provide you a course.

Provided, of course, you knew the correct way to roll it out, and how to set it before inking it.

The orb’s surface shifted seamlessly. The craftsmanship was completely beyond anything anyone could manufacture nowadays. Whatever ancient genius had made it before was still eons ahead of his time, but what that meant was that the orb had an innumerable number of settings.

In this sense you could use it to navigate the entire world. As long as you knew how to set the surface of it, it could get you anywhere. But that also meant, if you didn’t already know how to get somewhere you couldn’t set the surface correctly, and in this way it became a museum piece, instead of the pride and joy of the world government.

You weren’t stupid. You weren’t, perhaps, wise, but you were really good at puzzles. Especially spatial ones. You were also good at languages and pattern recognition, but that was a facet of dumb luck. You had an eidetic memory, more photographic than auditory, but your brain was a one way trap for information, bypassing your short term memory in record time and becoming an easily accessible long term memory immediately.

You didn’t always know what to do with the information you gobbled up, but you always had it.

Most of the time you transcribed things and sent them to Ohara, or sold them to information brokers to pay your rent. It was a gift you kept separate from your working identity - if people knew you were practically a walking camera, they wouldn’t do business with you.

But right now your knack for puzzles and your gift were coming together. Without really thinking about the consequences, you whirled and snapped the orb into a frenzy, stopping all the parts where you wanted them.

The small orb lined up perfectly as a map of the world, one island raised ever so slightly above the rest. You ran your thumb over it, applying just the barest hint of pressure and the little island shifted and dropped, with a satisfying click.

An invisible seam along the redline parted, letting you open the orb into two halves. You knew, as soon as you saw it you knew what you were looking at, but the gravity of it was enough to make you bring the two halves together again. A few turns, a couple twists, and the orb was back as you had found it.

You left the museum, mind reeling with possibilities. Your only immediate option was to finish the job. Hand off the orb, take your payment, and be done.

But the hand off had gone bad. Your presence was requested, the people around you knew what you could do in unsettling detail, and your job wasn’t over. The night went from robbery to attempted kidnapping.

You had slipped the grasp of those around you, nicked the orb, and bolted. The two things on your side were your own skills - what made you a good thief, made you a good runner, and second to that they needed you alive.

Wanted you alive, at the least.

The short-ranged stun guns missed their mark, and the longer-range guns couldn’t risk killing you, and so the small scuffle turned into a city-wide chase. The deep hours of the night turned into the wee hours of the morning, and you had lost your pursuers a few times.

As good as you were at shaking them, they were skilled at tightening the net. You needed to get off the streets before-

The crack in the air of a muffled gunshot followed the force of impact as it slammed into your shoulder. Searing pain followed as your mind caught up with the facts, and you nearly toppled before you broke into a mad dash.

When your legs moved, your arms moved. When your arms moved your shoulder screamed. You only had the orb under control because you’d stolen someone’s shoulder bag earlier, trying to snag a collection of items in an attempt to disguise yourself and change out your clothes.

You were beginning to suspect that your gear had been tagged, but everything you’d been able to check was clean, and everything you couldn’t be sure about had been swapped out. Maybe that’s why you were being shot at now - better to risk it than to let you slip away.

It didn’t matter, your problem, and its resolution were still the same: you had to get off the streets.

You took a few errant turns and ended up almost in a courtyard of sorts. There wasn’t any grass, it was a concrete lot and a sidewalk, but the business front didn’t face a street. Just the interior of the little open area. There were a couple of alleys that came into this, and one driveway just large enough for a vehicle. There was a garage, a wheelchair lift, and a set of stairs up to what looked like the main way in.

Pulling out your lockpick you zipped up the concrete and metal stairs as quick and quiet as you could, relieved to find they were solid, sturdy, and silent. You rammed your custom tool into the lock, effectively breaking it, you didn’t have time to be gentle, and stepped in, closing the door swiftly and quietly.

You leaned against the wall, straining to hear outside and letting your eyes adjust to the interior inside. There were a few desks, but the office space was pretty open. The sign outside had been enlightening enough.

Feathered Talon, Detective Agency, at your service.

Feathered Talon. Sounded like a talisman of some sort. Mythical creature. Useless romanticism, you were sure. You didn’t hear any ruckus outside, and a few fleeting glances through the slats of the blinds didn’t show any movement.

Stepping into the office, you took a better look around. The place wasn’t just set up for business, it was set up for living. There was a kitchen down one hall, a daybed against the wall, out of the way of the rest of the needs for a kitchen. A half-bath nearby, and probably a full bath further down the hall. This one looked like it was more for clients to use than it was for whoever lived here.

Lived. Humph. You’d just have to be quiet while you assessed your damage and dodged your persistent pursuers.

You set your bag down beside the sink counter, and pulled down the collar of your stolen shirt. The soft light of a nightlight by the sink was as much light as you were allowing yourself, but at least it gave you a better look at your current problem.

No exit wound. The bullet was still inside your shoulder, probably lodged right against your scapula, if you had to take a terribly uneducated guess. You didn’t have a second mirror, and you couldn’t move enough to look at your back – the pain in your shoulder was simply too bad.

You took a few deep breaths, letting them out slowly, calming yourself and focusing on your own body for a moment. There wasn’t a sensation of blood running down your back, so you weren’t in danger of bleeding out, but the slug couldn’t stay. You couldn’t get it out, not right now. All you could hope was that you could stay out of sight long enough to make it to the Public Defenders – a kind of wild bunch who had the sort of connections, and did the sort of work you needed right now.

“I can stitch that.” The sound of the voice hit your ears and your body moved. You shifted further into the small bathroom, little more than a penknife in your good hand, eyes focused on a tall man standing in the doorway.

He takes a step back, putting his hands up. He’s trying not to look intimidating, but he’s nearly seven feet tall, and the tattoo across his chest looks a little familiar even in the dim light.

“Rough night, yoi?” He half asks, half states, and he looks down the hall just before you hear the sound as well. There’s a ruckus in the courtyard. Nothing serious, the sounds of a lot of boots and talking. He looks back at you and you look at him, and there’s a quiet understanding between you.

“How’d you get in?” His voice is soft, just above a whisper.

“… Broke the lock.”

“Not the window?”

You shake your head. “Internal break. No one should be able to tell from looking.”

A smile crosses his face, and he relaxes more. “Smart. Who is it?” He questions, inclining his head down the hall.

“B… Boss Akainu’s men.” You admit hesitantly.

“Absolute Justice?” He nearly hisses the question, leaving you in the bathroom and heading toward the front door.

You gather your things, pulling the shoulder bag snug against yourself as you step down the hall a little, listening in to whatever’s happening. If this blonde is going to sell you out, you at least want the chance to outrun him. The entrance to this place might be in an interior courtyard, but one of the other windows could face the street.

You could hear the tall man saying something out into the courtyard. You weren’t entirely sure what it was, but he sounded like he was angry at the people making all the noise – as though he was playing things off like they’d ruined his sleep, and not like he was trying to give you over to them.

Still, you’d put him, and this agency, at enough risk. It was better if you left than get them involved too deeply. Especially since, so far, they seemed like nice enough people.

Turning away from the front door you go down the hall and find a room with an open door. Peeking in you don’t see or hear anyone inside, but it’d be hard to see anything – there’s no window. You furrow your brow and step back out into the hallway.

The small hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you feel a cold bead of sweat slide down your spine. Something causes your stomach to knot, and you can’t even register the pain in your shoulder from the unsettled feeling that’s fallen over you. You want to run, but you don’t know if the hallway is a dead end, or if it wraps back around to the office areas.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look down the hall toward the source of the feeling that’s screaming for your body to run.

A man is leaned against the wall. He looks calm and relaxed, an easy smile on his lips and hooded brown eyes regarding you in the dim light of the hall, but the façade isn’t fooling you. He’s a dangerous man, and every fiber in your body is telling you to run, but you already know you’d never outpace him.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice is certainly disarming, you’ll give him that much. Speaking of disarming he seems to be missing most of one.

“I… wasn’t exactly invited in the first place.” You reply as evenly as you can. “I thought it best to make use of his distraction and, um, not impose further.” You take a step back, but you can already feel someone behind you.

“Let me patch that shoulder.” The familiar voice behind you says. “We’re going to be more discreet than the hospital, at least.”

Your eyes are on the man in front of you. Some part of you has determined he’s the more dangerous one, though you’re effectively surrounded. It doesn’t matter who you kept your eyes on.

“I don’t have any money on me.” It’s kind of a last-ditch attempt. You’ve already realized these two mean to keep you here, one way or another. They’re just being polite about it.

“A good story has quite the value.” The red-head says, taking a drink from a bottle you didn’t even realize he was holding. Water, wine, or poison, the sharp look in his eyes was proof enough he wasn’t phased by whatever was in the container. “I’m sure your story will be worth the patch job.”

You turn toward the man behind you, and the blonde looks down at you with an equally genuine smile. Your shoulders drop, and the action reminds you that you have a bullet lodged in it. Almost nothing about this evening has gone as expected, or as you had hoped, and you weren’t yet sure if this was your luck turning, or staying the course.

“I am… in your care, it seems.”

#Between the Three of Us #x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #red haired shanks #portgas d ace #benn beckman

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mariacallous · 7 months ago

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The U.S. defense industrial base just got a $20 billion shot in the arm from the national security supplemental bills passed by Congress last week. But although officials and experts believe the funding will provide a much-needed jolt to military production and help open up new factory lines, some say it’s still not enough to respond to China, Russia, and terror threats at the same time.

“We have begun—begun—to rebuild the industrial base with the supplementals,” Bill LaPlante, the Pentagon’s acquisition chief, said at an event last week. “Calling it a wartime footing, no.”

The biggest need? Money. Officials and experts say that the United States needs more of it, lots more, to make the real investments. At the peak of World War II, the United States was spending nearly 40 percent of its GDP on defense. It’s down to less than a tenth of those spending levels now. And the need to spend more has gone up with the Chinese spending more—and with Russian factories working around the clock.

“It’s still shy by quite a bit [for] what you would need to get our stockpiles in the right shape, get our industrial base in the right shape, help the Taiwanese, and get the Ukrainians in a position that they can get some leverage in negotiations,” said Jeb Nadaner, a former U.S. deputy assistant secretary of defense for industrial policy. “If the benchmark is against the calendar and the clock, we’re still falling behind every month. And that can’t go unnoticed by China.”

But the jolt will allow the United States to surge artillery production and solve key bottlenecks.

One is the production of solid rocket motors used for everything from Javelin anti-tank weapons that can hit a tank from a little over a mile away to intercontinental ballistic missiles that can propel warheads across the Atlantic and Pacific oceans if a U.S. war with Russia or China ever went nuclear.

Aerojet Rocketdyne, which was recently bought out by L3Harris Technologies for nearly $5 billion, was one of only a few suppliers. But the supplemental gives several billions of dollars for companies, such as Orbital ATK, to expand their solid rocket motor facilities.

And it provides money from the Defense Production Act—the same law that Washington used to force U.S. manufacturers to produce more masks, gloves, and face shields during the coronavirus pandemic—to build out a second tier of rocket motor suppliers, including X-Bow Systems in Texas; Ursa Major in Colorado; and Adranos in Mississippi, which was recently bought out by defense technology company Anduril. The idea is to fast-track work that wasn’t going to be done until at least 2026, if not 2027 or 2028, according to a congressional aide, who spoke on condition of anonymity to talk about military contracts that hadn’t been made public.

There’s also about $100 million to help Williams, one of the only American makers of cruise missile motors, speed up production in Michigan. Those motors are used in the long-range anti-ship missile that might one day help Taiwan fend off Chinese landings; the armor-piercing joint air-to-surface standoff missile; the Tomahawk land attack missile that is the U.S. Navy’s weapon of choice; and the Harpoon missile that the Ukrainians have used in the Black Sea.

There’s also money to build factories for ball bearings, printed circuit boards, and other subcomponents for the $311 billion that the Pentagon wants to spend in the upcoming year to develop new weapons. Processor assemblies, castings, forgings, microelectronics, and seekers for munitions have been major bottlenecks. And there are recruitment and attrition problems almost across the board, from welders at shipyards to rocket engineers, a generational problem that might need vocational-training fixes at the high school level and up.

But with some Democrats pushing back on the Biden administration’s $850 billion Pentagon budget proposal as too costly, there’s also a focus on smaller attritable capabilities that don’t need a whole lot of start-up capital or defense industrial muscle to get moving.

There’s a ton of counter-drone money, about $600 million, that will go toward Coyotes, a small drone capable of intercepting other drones, and Roadrunners, an air defense munition that takes off vertically—just like the F-35 fighter jet variant flown by the U.S. Marines.

Some members, such as House Armed Services Committee ranking member Adam Smith, have advocated for ending production of ground-launched nuclear weapons. Congress is also trying to scrap old weapons, including F-15 fighter jets, the A-10 Warthog aircraft, and littoral combat ships used by the Marines. Smith is even curious about using microwaves as the next generation of air defense instead of directed energy.

The United States is also torn between near-term needs, like 155 mm artillery ammunition, and long-term needs—like a sixth-generation fighter jet that will follow the F-35. “There are going to have to be some trade-offs between preparing for a near-term fight and near-term deterrence and probably making some trade-offs on some next-generation weapons systems,” said Seth Jones, the senior vice president and director of the international security program at the Center for Strategic and International Studies in Washington, D.C.

Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is still going to be a major factor in setting requirements for the U.S. military. “We’re going to be selling 155 [mm] like a drunken sailor for a few years,” said Mark Montgomery, a senior fellow at the Foundation for Defense of Democracies. “The Western alliance needs the U.S. to crank 155 [mm] for a decade.”

Other weapons used in the early days of Ukraine’s defense of Kyiv are likely to hit a plateau in production. Those include Javelin systems; the High Mobility Artillery Rocket System, or HIMARS; and Stinger anti-aircraft missiles, which the Pentagon sent to Ukraine in large numbers early in the war and are also included in the supplemental, but which have taken on a secondary role as the fight has been bogged down in trench warfare for months and months.

Allies can help solve some of the bottleneck problems. The United States is co-developing new glide-phase interceptors with Japan as well as co-producing guided multiple-launch rockets with Australia and guidance-enhanced missiles for Patriot air defenses with the Germans. But after the political fights that took the supplemental more than six months to get through Congress, LaPlante and other officials acknowledged that the United States now has an image problem in showing itself to be a reliable torch-bearer for the global defense industrial base.

There’s another major production plateau that members of Congress are trying to stave off: attack submarines. The Biden administration’s proposed budget for the upcoming year slashed funding for one attack submarine. For years, producing two a year had been the standard, even though U.S. shipyards only produce between 1.2 and 1.4 Virginia-class submarines each year, and new variants are 24 to 36 months behind schedule.

And there are dependencies that are difficult—if not impossible—to cut. The United States still buys a significant amount of its titanium from Russia, which is used for everything from landing gears to tank armor, and is only slowly ramping up production of rare earth minerals, which are dominated by China. But the U.S. military’s weapons are ravenous for rare earths: The F-35 needs 900 pounds of rare earths to run, and the Virginia-class submarines need more than 10 times that amount. The military also needs lithium ions used in advanced battery production that China also dominates.

Where Congress and the Pentagon are having more trouble jolting the defense industrial base to life is for weapons that might be used in the Indo-Pacific. The U.S. Army’s precision strike missile that would be used to hit incoming Chinese ships from more than 600 miles out, for instance, is still being developed—the seeker that would find enemy vessels isn’t finished—so there’s no way to ramp up capacity, at least not yet.

But before the United States ramps up industrial capacity, some members of Congress want the Pentagon to take a good, hard look at what’s already on the books.

“Where can we look within the budget and say, wouldn’t we be better to spend more money on these things that we really do need?” Smith said. “So before I get into a discussion about, ‘Gosh, it’d be great if we had another $50 billion,’ where are we spending the money that we have? I think that’s the first question.”

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hirocimacruiser · 10 months ago

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Achieving a goal is the beginning of a new challenge. To run really fast, HKS thinks.

A drag race scene where people compete for 0.001 seconds over a distance of about 400 meters in just a few seconds. '91 is a drag field that demands quick response and power from the engine, clutch, suspension, and even a single drop of oil or gasoline, as well as durability and transmission ability to handle instantaneous high power. -In '95-'96, the ``HKS R32 DRAG GT-R'' won the series championship in the RRC Drag Race Championship for three consecutive years. The following year, in 1997, the ``HKS DRAG 180SX'' in the BERC Drag Race Championship Pro Stock class and the ``HKS R33 DRAG GT-R'' in the Pro GT-R class achieved the Avec Championship. Having achieved one goal in 1997, what we aimed for in 1998 is:

Quarter mile time in 9 seconds with FF base vehicle. They then talked about their know-how from drag racing to date, and ``HKS FF DRAG CELICA'' made its debut. The first goal was achieved on October 9, 1998 at Sendai Highlands with a time of 9.886 seconds. He further improved his time to 9.727 seconds, and in 1999 he set a goal of breaking the quarter mile in the 6-second range, and has already begun a new challenge. "Achieving a goal is the beginning of a new challenge" - HKS' never-ending battle continues

HKS

■Company overview

●Name HKS Co., Ltd. Established October 31, 1971

●Capital 607,475/Kawa Representative Director and President Naruyuki Hasegawa

●Location Head Office 2266 Kamiogawa, Kunikami City, 418-0192

●Business details

Development, design, and product sales of automobile parts, racing engines, turbocharger-related parts, and automotive components and systems Design, development, and manufacturing of original mufflers, suspensions, and engine parts Development of complete cars, development of aircraft engines

●Number of employees: 407 (333%, 74 women)

●Equipment overview

Experiment building: Dynamometer (1,000/800/600~300/200/PS) Chassis dynamo, exhaust gas analyzer

Old experimental building: Dynamometer (600/600-500-200/PS)

Manufacturing factory: 10ft machining center, 5 NC lathes, 41 cam polishing machines, 21 biston narai, 11 turning centers, 21 crank Kenjoshi, Monzen Kendanmei, 21 surface grinders, 1 gun drill machine.

Muffler factory: Pipe bender, robot welding machine, 1 laser machine, shell machine, multi-spot welding machine 11, 100T press, TIG welding machine, CO2 welding machine multi-stage

Muffler 2nd factory: Pipe bender / shirring / Yasuda machining center 1 piece

Suspension factory: Cold solid coiling machine, continuous coiling machine, surface grinding machine, shot peening machine, automatic setting machine, automatic load testing machine, etc.

●Affiliated companies

HKS Aviation Co., Ltd. HKS Service Center (Tokyo/West/Kyu)

HKS USA, INC (USA)

HKS EUROPE()

#HKS #JDM #HKS GTR #HKS 180SX #HKS drag car

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