#tin foil manufacturer

[landoscaring]

my thoughts on the 2024 qatar gp

what a fucking shitshow. sigh.

as is tradition, in no particular order:

1. i am proud of this weekend's strat by the team. yes, today's pit-call fucked oscar's race over, and yes, perhaps they should've known a safety car was coming, but i do think the fia's extremely careless waiting game made the team think it was not going to happen. anyways. oscar's radio sums it up pretty well (safety car! satefy car! fuck me. sweeeeet)

2. the annoying thing is we could've 100% won the championship today. the car was there, the pace was there.... we got fucked over, plain and simple. it's tough luck, yes, but also 100% on the race director's poor handling of the mirror situation. like, what the fuck was that

3. on a similar vein, lando's penalty was laughable. stop and go? 10 seconds? disgusting. yes, he deserved it. but a penalty that hadn't been used since like, 2021? harsh

4. i really avoid wearing a tin foil hat but... yeah, i've watched this sport long enough to know when the stewards are trying to manufacture a fight. the safety car timing + lando's penalty? hm

5. last but not least: fuck the fia. what the actual fuck were they thinking putting the drivers at risk with the whole not calling rhe SC in on time thing. it's not even about affecting the race result (which yeah, i'm glaring at you, charles leclerc) but actually putting their lives at risk

6. i have a bone to pick with Mr. FIA (i refuse to write his name because i hate him). today felt like a clear display of power after the comments he made earlier. so to him i say: fuck you

7. it would've been great to into abu dhabi without the pressure of the wcc on but alas, it is what it is. our car is competitive, and the track + weather should favor us, too. i have full trust in us winning it

8. i will continue to push my landoscar agenda all week on my x (same @) so if you want to have a laugh go follow me

anyways. we got LANDOSCAR CONTENT for months! lando paying back the brazil favor! LANDOSCAR SMILING!

a win, in my opinion.

lots of love to all of you 🧡

[formulawolff]

Shouldn’t they use the championship standings? I mean they have already decided that that’s the direction they are going next year in the regulations?

we will have to wait and see what they do

there’s so much speculation on what they are going to do, but i really hope they don’t use fp1 results because…

at this point the tin foil hat is telling me that the fia is trying to manufacture a championship battle for the final races.

[dzthenerd490]

Exotic Plants: Nuclear Berries

Description: Anomalous Berry Plants that only grow in heavily irradiated areas. Unlike normal plants and fruits that absorb sunlight for food they instead absorb radiation. Existing mainly on planets or old war zones where radiation was rampant in the past. Now they absorb the radiation not only making any area they grow much safer to traverse but also creating Nuclear Berries.

Harvesting: Nuclear Berries thankfully contain all radiation they absorb within so it's perfectly fine to collect one with your bare hands. Though just remember not to bite into one as despite how juicy they look, those juices are filled with radiation poisoning. Because the juice alone can poison you its best to wear gloves regardless. It's always best to collect Nuclear Berries in either baskets or bags that are wrapped or coated in tin foil. Though this is only the case for collecting small amounts. If for any reason you plan to harvest at least 30 or more berries, it's best to carry them in a nuclear protection box as the lead and zinc coating the box will better contain any radiation that might spill out.

Uses: A Nuclear Berry is extremely useful for alternative power sources when you don’t want to pay the electric bill or live on an area or even an entire planet with little to no sunlight. The radiation they absorb can be condensed into the berry to make an extremely viable power source that can power an entire house and charge your electronics for at least 5 years. After that it’s better to get another one. Since Nuclear Berries are plentiful in radioactive areas, radiation farmers typically make a great living off of mass producing them and selling them to either people who need more power or energy companies and researchers.

The leaves of a Nuclear Berry plant are actually extremely useful in circuit manufacturing and manipulation. Though they are organic when fresh they can be cut off and dry up into a material almost resembling steel. These can be sliced into circuit fibers and formed in a way where they will allow energy to flow through with great ease. As far as anyone can tell these can commonly just be used to make natural circuitry but as Nuclear Berry farming is becoming more popular it might come a time where scientists around the galaxy will be able to find newer and more exciting methods of utilizing the leaves of Nuclear Berries.

[the-technicolor-whiscash]

How hard would it be to make a Mercury spacesuit at home. Obviously you’d have to make allowances for things you’d need to manufacture yourself like valves and shit and I’m sure there’s some stuff you just can’t get so you’d have to substitute it but like. How hard would it be to just make one. To have.

Everything on Mercury just looks like you can make it in a garage to begin with that’s the problem like you look at an Apollo suit or capsule and you’re like oh that is Professionally Done meanwhile you look at Mercury and it’s all so rudimentary it’s like ok Johnny Spaceman is out here dressed in tin foil and zippers and a pair of silver-painted docs and his space capsule is a bunch of corrugated metal and wires strapped onto a missile that a very determined teenager could fabricate in their basement

[2dayihaveaheadache]

I glow pink in the night in my room

It's Obikin time again. I know, I wrote another AU yesterday but this draft was just irresistible, I found it in a pile of other drafts and cleaned it, cut the edges, clearing the hidden gem it is. So, enjoy!

A Break in Their Day - David Hettinger American, b. 1946 (insipired a scene in this story)

AU prompt: Obi-Wan is getting divorced, ex-wife Satine (maybe? choose whatever char you think would fit, 'not the most amicalable divorce'-ish), he looses himself in the process, make him miserable, (down bad coping habits, smoking, a night out with Vos, something in that line, nothing too bad, treat him tenderly). So, he drives back home, Xmas-rom con style, (Hallmark-ish but not too cheesy), great reunion with the fam (please single parent Qui-Gon!) and then meets his great love Anakin. Give them some sort of happy end!

(thank my roommate for that prompt, and yes, that is word by word how she sent it to me. She loves her Hallmark romcoms.)

I glow pink in the night in my room.

Obi-Wan lives through the divorce but he loses three things: his condo in Fort Greene, his social circle of the last decade, and their cat – his beautiful, beloved Arfour. He is not thrown out like some stray; Satine isn’t that kind of person and she isn’t heartless, no enfant terrible. He can stay, she offers with a friendly expression, that does not reach her eyes, one hand gripping the other tightly – until he finds himself his own apartment he can stay. She even offers to give him a hand financially. 

It is NYC, he adds mentally. It will take ages. Momentarily they can continue in their living situation, spending their evenings together like they used to, like friends before they became a couple – she stresses. 

On Wednesday takeout from their favorite Thai around, when both of them run home late, Mango sticky rice, Panang curry, and fake, greasy Wan Tan wrapped in tin foil, which Satine loves with all her heart. Every time Obi-Wan runs over the street to the tiny shop, half past ten, they already know the order, just handing him two steaming plastic bags. 

Bucatini Pasta on Friday. The Trattoria da Paolo is a lot more elitist and pretends to be the perfection of every cubist’s dreams. The inside is a cuboid made of white-washed concrete walls and a lot of glass, the former construction metal peeking through the concrete in a sense of beautified industrial style for people like them, that have never seen a factory from the inside but still idealize it from an aesthetic perspective because goddamn, a manufacture-like building can be pleasing to look at if it is designed by a multimillion-dollar architect. 

And on Sundays Brunch with Mace and Depa, a befriended married couple, they meet every second week. A social obligation. Nothing quite pleasant. 

They will continue as they used to, she says. Dining in the same room as the last fifteen years, drinking Chablis from the same crystal glasses, that were gifted to them over a decade ago, and setting the table with the same china, that Obi-Wan bought when he first moved out as a student, an Ikea snap.  

Everything is static. Nothing needs to change; she explains with a soft undertone – just because they have gotten a fucking divorce. 

Somehow their friends have taken her side. At least to him, it feels like they have, he thinks bitterly to himself after his second glass of Chablis. They smile at him with their paperwhite teeth like he is the casting director of some toothpaste commercial and then tell him how perfectly he and Satine have fitted together for the last couple of years, a dream team, their Emily Blunt and John Krasinski. Two stars in each other’s orbit, competing who can shine brighter. 

Then they wait for Obi-Wan to grin to assure them that everything is all right like it’s his job to do, not the other way around. So, he does, he rubs their backs, puts on his most magnificent grin, and then talks about their amicable parting. No matter what has happened to their wedding band, they are still perfect for each other.

They have always been Satine’s friends, colleagues, or acquaintances, he thinks, whom she collects like pearls on a necklace to complete her image of perfection. 

Although she is already perfect, a Wycombe Abbey graduate and human rights advocate for the International Committee of the Red Cross, considered to be one of the people to hold a speech for the UNO this year. The public adores her, what else is left for her to achieve?

And he had been – well, just Obi-Wan, a graduate of a community college, born in the middle of nowhere in Oregon, no prestige legacy awaits him. 

She needs space and time to experiment – that is her reasoning when she sends her parent’s lawyers, all armed with Mont Blanc fountain pens. They have gotten married too early, foolishly young – but she will always love him some way, she states with her red lips curved into a soft smile. 

The same expression the young girl wore, he once met fifteen years ago. Back then she had leaned over a bar counter in West Harlem, some bar with cheap lush, a glass of whiskey balancing in her hand. Her hair had been chopped off as if she had cut it herself, the bangs seventies styled, which reminded him of Stevie from Fleetwood Mac, and her jeans were decorated with feministic patches, idolizing Simone de Beauvoir, and Margaret Atwood. Absolutely charming.

She had asked him out first, a witty remark on her curved, red lips about his grandpa-like sweater, some snap from a Pittsburgh Vintage store. Then she had drowned her drink and kissed him, open-mouthed like he had been never kissed before. It had felt like he was destined to fall for her. 

After the next rendezvous, he found out two more things about her. Firstly, she was always on the run for the next riot on the street, demonstrations for women’s rights, world peace, against capitalism, the elite her parents belonged to, et cetera. Secondly, she never truly lived in present; her mind was already away on the next barricade of some street fight for justice. 

Fifteen years, two apartments and one adopted stray cat later, her hair is now cut by a professional once a month, she books online, and the pair of jeans, she usually wore, has been exchanged for a suit, unpayable for a normal wallet, tailored specifically for her, the rebellious phase overcome. 

At heart she is still the same young girl, that wanted to see the world burn, fighting against policemen on street riots – that’s what he tells himself when he returns home late and finds her asleep on the kitchen table over some court case, fighting for justice – she has just adapted, matured, become more like her parents, something he would have never guessed back then. But that’s the way of time, isn’t it? He swallows. 

Their marriage does only chain them, both of them, she stresses and tries to reach for his hand, almost tenderly, he jerks back. She wants to feel young again, going to modern art exhibitions, buying cheap tickets for movies in arthouse cinemas, illegal star gazing on some rooftop they broke into, dancing through the night to techno music – fucking feeling in love again. 

She has fallen out of love with him although she is clever enough to leave that part out, he is sensitive enough to hear it. 

So, he signs the papers, takes the Mont Blanc pen from her parent’s lawyers, and sets his name under the document, which seals the fate of his broken heart, biting his lips. 

That night he finds a pack of smokes, bought ages ago, probably back in his twenties when he was still a student, half buried under a vintage copy of Stephen King’s The Last Stand, a book Satine hated for its apocalyptic content. He lights himself a smoke and hunches over the railing of the balcony. It had been her fucking idea, the condo in Fort Greene, the balcony, the cat, the entire status quo – and now it will be hers again. 

Then why does it hurt so much? 

He stares up at the dazzling night sky. The scene could be romantic if it would be shared, perfect for a Hallmark rom-com, he thinks to himself bittersweet. Or it could be painted by some artist of romanticism. Casper David Friedrich. The wanderer over the sea of fog. He nips his cigarette between his lips and breathes in the tobacco. For the next minutes, he only coughs, throat burning, suppressed tears of months streaming down his face. 

Nothing so romantic about that.

=

The next months come, the snow melts on the streets and the first green decorates the trees of Fort Greene. Half a year passes and Satine stays to be right like she always does. No changes happen. It is like Fortuna is Satine’s goddess, her word is law, and luck blossoms along her way – at least to him Satine seems to be happy. 

They smile at each other at the evening’s dinner table with stifling Smalltalk about their work. “How was your day?” “Good.” “Nothing stressful?” “Just the usual.” 

They smile at their cat when they pet it as if they have not talked about split custody before. They smile at Mace and Depa at their usual Sunday Brunch while eating brioche and French butter from Ladurée Soho. They smile at his parents-in-law at their monthly visit, drinking Tea in a painfully expensive café and talking about how wonderful it is to live in NYC, pretending to be happy even though it hurts deep inside. 

They smile at Satine’s charity events; he puts his arm around her shoulder and she gives him her hand. The paparazzi take photos of how perfect they look together. The next morning it is all over the press. The NYC dream team strikes again. The only thing missing is their wedding band, but nobody seems to notice. They see what they want to see.  

Satine and him, they do everything the way they normally would, following their strict schedules, Satine fighting in court and him teaching at university. Happy and successful together, a true power couple, everyone is inspired by their achievements. 

They attend his annual faculty party and Satine does it perfectly, dressing up in a red slip gown, laughing at his colleagues’ jokes, presenting her public persona of charming Satine, whom everybody adores and makes them tell him how beautiful his wife is – even though she is not his wife anymore. The word slips so carelessly over their tongue, marked by years of practice. Then his colleagues apologize, pad him on the shoulder and say that they still seem happy together.  

They are in modern times, you still can be together as a divorced couple, right? Obi-Wan nods and smiles painfully. 

They attend his parents in law golden wedding and this time it is his turn to behave perfectly. He wears the tailored suit, Satine picked out for him, and the watch, a Christmas presents he hates for everything it stands for a tedious status symbol but it does its job, making her parents happy. He jokes around with the guests, old-fashioned, sexist jokes, that taste bitter on his tongue. He talks publicly about his research and brags about his Ph.D. from Oxford – just as Satine wishes him to do, flaunting their happy and successful lifestyle into everybody’s faces. 

The next morning, he struggles to come out of the bedroom. She sees it, she ignores it. They do not talk about it. 

So, all they do is smile, talk, and pretend. They even smile in court like it is a contest, who can smile longer and brighter? Who can persuade more people with their smiles? Who can convince the public better, that they have been fine after the divorce? – it had been a mutual decision after all, hasn’t it?

Each day he applies a new layer to his masquerade of being perfectly fine until he feels like there is nothing else left of him inside the shell – but that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? He feels like wax from a candle, something she has molded more than ever into the perfect husband. As if now that he lost it, he tries more than ever to be him. 

His smoking habit becomes worse. He can recognize it on her face, the slightly scrunched nose, and she can smell it on his clothes. He waits for her to ask him to stop. She never does. 

So, he smokes on the balcony, a pack a week. He pets his cat, the same kitty she wanted to get. He kisses Arfour on the head, sleeping in the living room with her curled in his lap, afraid of what demons will await him in his bedroom, the empty bed staring at him daunting. Light still lingers under her threshold, he wants to know what she is doing, tell her how he is feeling, and tell her that he is a mess inside. But he does no such thing. 

Another half a year later, he resigned from his job, cleans his office at Columbia, bides his colleague goodbye, and packs the cardboard boxes into his Bentley, leaving everything else in the fucking condo in Fort Greene – after all it’s not his anymore, it hasn’t been his for a long time. He toys with the thought of driving back, thumbing the key angrily on the kitchen counter, causing her the same pain, she had done to him. He shakes his head. 

A fresh spring wind hauls through NYC when he decides that it is time to drive East. 

=

Driving East means coming home. Oregon. The tiny town of fucking Tatooine.

He does not call Qui-Gon because he can’t stand the tears that will run down his face if he does. He is an emotional wreck and all that is holding him together is clenching the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white, feeling the wind on his face from his window as he passes the streets. 

Homecoming. He tries the words on his tongue. Homecoming. He has not been home since his last year of high school.

Two days and one night in a cheap motel later, he pulls the Bentley over. His neck is aching from the long drive when he drives past the town sign of Tatooine. He pushes down the brake pedal to look around, noticing the differences between his childhood memories and the present.

Everything is like it used to be: there is still the gas station right behind the town sign decorated with spray paint, where he bought gas for his first junk car, which he had owned with barely over eighteen. Qui-Gon had helped him scrap it together, it was his father’s present for Obi-Wan’s graduation. Just a few meters down Mainstreet there is still the old barn, where he and his friends would meet up, drink their stolen lush, smoke their cigarettes, or kiss and make up for the first time – he can still feel their hopes and dreams clinging to that place. 

They had felt on top of the world back then, invincible like only teenagers could, that had not been hurt by the world yet. 

And somehow the town has changed too: The old VHS store, always lit by 80s-looking neon lights, is nowhere to be found. Instead, a new convenience store has taken its place, a glass cuboid with a green logo. So, there will be no more borrowing Child’s Play and getting scared to sleep alone at night, Obi-Wan chuckles. No more sneaking into Qui-Gon’s bed and no more midnight peanut butter jelly sandwiches to cheer up his mood. No more sneaking into the adult section as a dare. No more flirting with the cute girl behind the counter and totally embarrassing yourself. 

He pushes down the accelerator pedal, ignoring his burning eyes. Old and new puzzled together as he passed the streets and new buildings, a patchwork of memories and slate-grey asphalt. Only a few remnants have been left of his childhood, but what did he expect? Just two blocks until he will reach Qui-Gon’s house. He bit his lip and clenches his hands around the steering wheel. 

The town hall has been renovated too, the 70s-style building has become modernized, glass and concrete greeting him as he drives by. The High School is still the same grey cuboid that reeks of purgatory. From the car, he can make out the hockey field and bleachers. At seventeen he spent a good chunk of time there, writing or sketching in his notebook – or secretly watching the team train on the ground, sweaty jerseys clinging to toned upper bodies in summer. His first boy crush had been awkward, unreachable, tinted by anxiety and internalized homophobia, and the end had been misery, crying his eyes out in bed for a week straight. Qui-Gon had been helpless. 

He turns his head away and concentrates on the street again. Just a few blocks then he will see Qui-Gon again. Nausea creeps up his gullet. He stops the Bentley in front of his childhood home and lets the engine rev one last time. 

The grass lane needs to be mown; he thinks as he watches the house from afar. There is still the apple tree in the garden, where once a swing hung. Qui-Gon had installed it so young Obi-Wan could play outside while he harvested his vegetables in the garden. There are still some of them left, salade, carrots, and Qui-Gon’s favorite herbs. From the street Obi-Wan could recognize a couple of wooden boxes of beehive huts hidden behind the lush green grass, seems like Qui-Gon had started a new hobby, that would fit him. 

The white picket fence desperately needs to be colored again but Qui-Gon never really cared or better said, detested the image of a perfect suburb family connected to it, so the crumbling paint fits him better. He had always loved the mood of vintage, the nostalgia clinging to it. The kitchen window is open and some 60s pop is played somewhere in the house, probably a record player. The Zombies, Obi-Wan realizes and smiles softly, a vinyl he gifted his dad. 

Obi-Wan steps out of the Bentley and walks the last step towards the door. He rings the bell. 

The Qui-Gon, that opens, is different. His long grey hair is tucked away into a low ponytail, held together by a leather band. A few white strands have appeared at his temples and he wears machine-oil-stained jean overalls, that smell as if he has just tinkered in the garage behind the house – but most importantly, he looks at Obi-Wan like only a stranger could, confusion is painted on his face. 

The other man clears his throat, hesitantly raising his hands to Obi-Wan’s face as if he wants to touch it, feel the difference, and then jerks back as if he has burned himself, turning away from his son. 

“Obi-Wan… God, it must have been ages.” The voice sounds old, strange, and pained like it hasn't been used for ages. Obi-Wan averts his gaze and looks down at his wingtips. The leather is worn out and the stitching needs to be repaired. “Hello, Dad…” 

=

Qui-Gon offers Obi-Wan a cup of tea as they stand silently in the kitchen. 

The kettle boils on the gas ring and the older man thumps down two mugs on the kitchen counter, both handmade. The green one is taller than the other and the clay is uneven, shaped by a kid’s hands. Obi-Wan crafted it in kindergarten and Qui-Gon has ever since proudly used it as his go-to tea cup. An old Father’s Day gift. A bright, yellow sun is painted on top of it, stating “Tomorrow the sun will shine” in the cranky handwriting of a preschooler. 

Now Qui-Gon hesitates for a moment as he realizes what cup he has pulled out of the shelf. He looks over his shoulder to Obi-Wan, offers a weak smile – almost shy like you would smile at a stranger, not your long-lost son – and then drops the tea bags into the mugs before pouring the hot water over them. 

The tea tastes stale, green tea from the convenience store nearby. Nothing compared to the morning brew Obi-Wan buys for himself in NYC Chinatown when he runs the errands. Qui-Gon is not prepared for visitors, he realizes. 

The simple green tea, the brown bottles of milk from the farmers around, and the handmade cups. That is how Qui-Gon lives all by himself, austere, like an old man living by himself. He cooks his vegetables from the garden, receives pickles and silver skin onion jars from the neighbors for the winter months, and buys only the necessities from the supermarket around.

“How have you been?”, tries the older man weakly as the silence becomes palpable. He is hunched over the counter and has offered Obi-Wan the only chair in the cramped kitchen. The other one, which used to be there, has disappeared, probably somewhere in the attic or sold. Without Obi-Wan, there had been no use for it. Obi-Wan cringes when he is spoken to. 

The older man’s face is turned away, his gaze directed somewhere outside of the kitchen window, the garden, his vegetables, or the apple tree, lovelier things to look at than the stranger, that his son has become. He behaves strangely, not like the Qui-Gon Obi-Wan is used to. He behaves like a man, that has not spoken to a lot of people in the last few years. 

“Good.,” Obi-Wan speaks softly, unsure, trying the words on his tongue. No one has asked him how he was feeling since his divorce, they always avoided the topic and pretended as if nothing happened, complimenting his new publication on astrophysics, or going on about how awful New York’s traffic is. Or they offered him their toothpaste commercial smile and rubbed their hands over his back as if he is a little child that you can console with a pad on the head. 

As he takes another sip from the mug, he feels Qui-Gon’s eyes on him, calculating his reaction. 

“You drive a new car.,” says the other man, averting his eyes again. A quite expensive one is left unspoken. Not the scrap car we built for your graduation. That one is gone too, isn’t it? 

“A Bentley.,” Obi-Wan explains, nodding softly. “A wedding gift from my parents-in-law.”  

Qui-Gon looks at him for a second, one lip between his teeth. Hurt flashes his expression before his face becomes stoic again, pain hidden in his grey eyes. Then they continue to drink their tea, too many broken promises hauling in the silence between them and no one dares to speak a word. 

=

When the sun is about to set, they step out of the house to load the boxes out of Obi-Wan’s car and store them in the attic. “You can sleep in the garage.”, Qui-Gon explains as he opens the trunk and balances a box filled with books in his shaky arms. 

The cardboard rips open and for a second all the books seem to hover in the air before they fall down on the asphalt of the street. All the book spines are exposed. Hemingway, Atwood, Steinbeck, etc. Old Secondhand shop copies from all over the place, Portland, Philly, Seattle, New York – and Tatooine. They are used, dog-eared, and pages filled with notes and drabbles.  

“I…”, Qui-Gon stutters and kneels down to pick up a copy of John Steinbeck’s East of Eden. 

The soft cover is broken, and one corner is ripped out but the young James Dean in the 1976’s version is still easily identified, staring dreamingly into the landscape. “You still do love John Steinbeck.” 

Obi-Wan only nods and takes the book from Qui-Gon’s hand, cautious to avoid skin-to-skin contact. 

He throws it into his cardboard and picks up the other books from the street, averting Qui-Gon’s eyes. John Steinbeck was or still is Qui-Gon’s favorite author.

He stacks the hardcover of Wuthering Heights on top of the Penguin classics from Jane Austen and lines up Nancy Fraser with Margaret Atwood’s The Edible Woman, keeping his hands busy, just to avoid Qui-Gon’s eyes on him. 

“You haven’t changed that much.”, exhales Qui-Gon as if he is gasping for air, grabbing blades of grass and ripping them out with his left hand. “You’ve grown a beard to hide your dimples but they are still there.” He clenches his hands into fists, crushing the grass blades. “Sometimes things aren’t as easily erased as we wish them to be.” 

Obi-Wan just stares down at the box on his arm

It is filled with remnants of his old life, which he had tried to bury in his office, far away from Satine. Notes, Books, Polaroids, etc, little gifts Qui-Gon had bought for him. 

“Still, you are not …”, tries Qui-Gon with a hoarse voice before it breaks off and a sob escapes his lips. He is hunched over the last book in the grass, fidgeting with its pages.

You are not the same as you used to be, Obi-Wan. You are 41, have greying temples, and suddenly wear tweed jackets with elbow patches, a cliché you mocked when you were 16. You have married a woman, I have never even seen and divorced her before I could ever do it. You are a professor at Columbia and not an awkward high school student anymore, who I drove to school with every morning and who stole my wine from the shelf for a night out with friends. You are not 12 anymore and get scared of Child’s Play, so you sneak into my bed at night. You are not 9 anymore and beg me to go to a real hair salon because you are embarrassed about your bowl cut. You are not 7 anymore and hate your tooth gap. 

You are not 5 anymore and love playing with your swing at the apple tree – you are not my Obi-Wan anymore. 

It pains Obi-Wan’s heart to see the old man so desperately trying to find the right words to express his agony. He kneels too and takes the last book out of Qui-Gon’s hand, carefully, only shortly brushing skin against skin. It is Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol, the book Qui-Gon used to read to him when he was a toddler and now the older man is clinging to it as if his life depends on it. Diamond tears running down his wrinkling cheeks, fighting his voice. 

“It is fine. Everything is all right. I’ll just take my old room.”, Obi-Wan assures, hesitantly grabbing the older man by his shoulders, and pushing him to his chest, unsure, an embrace of strangers. “I’m here.” 

“You will not fit anymore. The bed is too small.”, cries Qui-Gon into the shoulder of his son, all the hardness of the years breaking down. All Obi-Wan can do is murmur a soft “Sorry” into his father’s hair, caressing him gently. 

=

Convenience store sandwiches. Obi-Wan stares down at the plastic-wrapped packages and sighs. Two Rows of tasteless bread, glued together by mayonnaise, that has already diluted into egg and grease again, and sometimes a pitiful lettuce peeking out – if you are lucky.

Still, he is indecisive, letting his hand hover over one of the sandwiches. For some reason, he keeps buying them as if they will taste any different this time. They were his normal midnight snack when everything was closed except for the 24/7 discounter a walk down his street in New York. 

In Tatooine, it is not any different. Qui-Gon has fallen asleep in front of the TV, a model from the 90s while watching some Game Show about parents guessing their kid’s lover, a ridiculous concept and yet so close to the truth. 

After Qui-Gon’s heavy breathing turned into snores, Obi-Wan picked up a quilt blanket from one of the neatly folded stacks in the living room and put it over Qui-Gon, softly as if Qui-Gon was a child. He lifted his dad’s head, pushed a crocheted pillow underneath it, and kissed his forehead. Then he went to the kitchen to scan the fridge for a possible dinner solution. Except for two jars of pickles and a piece of margarine, it was empty, after a quick search a loaf of bread was found in the kitchen cabinet. He sighed. So, he figured, he could just drive to the new convenience store and buy some dinner while his dad got some well-deserved rest.

An electric bell pings as he crosses the opened door and one look over his shoulder informs him, that he has 20 minutes left to search for groceries before the store will close, fucking Tatooine. He strolls down the aisles, scanning the rows for necessities, a shopping basket dangling from his arm. For a supermarket, that barely measures two rooms, they have an astonishing variety in their alcohol collection. A Limoncello opens it on the top shelf and two steps away a Johnny Walker Black Label is just waiting for someone to take it.

“Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan grabs a beer, pushing it into his shopping basket, before turning around. Smiling through the pain, he thinks, and the next moment shame heats his cheeks. 

It takes him only a second to recognize the man behind his back. Towering a few inches over him, still wearing his biker gang leather jacket just like in high school, grinning, is Anakin Skywalker. He still styles his hair in long loose curls, that make him look like a Movie Star from the 80s, though the roots have started to grow grey over the years, his eyes still gleaming with a friendly spirit. 

“Kenobi?”, the man asks again, this time with a crooked grin, finger grabbing a beer next to Obi-Wan.  

“The one and only.”, Obi-Wan answers. His voice sounds hoarse, embarrassed to be found in the liquor section, and the opposite of content to see an old friend again, so he pushes the basket behind his back. 

“How long has it been? Nineteen years? Too many, anyway.”, Anakin grins, grabbing himself a bottle from the shelf, no shame in his action. His eyes roam over the label, before taking another one. “I thought you moved to New York, married a nice chick, and live your best life as a rich man there.” 

“How would you know?” 

“The press wrote about it, was hard to miss.”, Anakin grins again and raises his hand defeated. Obi-Wan sighs, as if Anakin self-centered Skywalker has read articles about him. At seventeen the man had barely thought about anything else than how to get into other peoples’ pants and his motorbike, why should that suddenly change? They have never been great friends anyway, barely greeting each other when they had met in the hallways. Anakin was two years his junior. Fate had diced them up once at a tedious party, letting them share one deep conversation, nothing more. 

“Obi-fucking-Wan Kenobi, ex-president of the science club of Tatooine High, now suddenly an accomplished Physics Prof at Columbia.” Anakin lets his head fall back as laughter shakes his body, curls tangling around his sharp jaw. “We all thought you’re gonna win the Nobel prize one day, turns out we weren’t so far from the truth back then.” 

Then he turns to Obi-Wan and his smile broadens. “I’ve got an idea. This lush is shit in here, convenience store shit. Often tried it and it won’t get any better this time, wanna go out for real? For the sake of the good old times.” 

What go old times, thinks Obi-Wan. They have been acquaintances, not friends, but he lets himself be dragged out of the supermarket. 

Half an hour later they sit in an Irish Pub, Yoda’s, a five-minute walk down Jefferson’s Alley. The area around Jefferson's Alley is a seedy neighborhood with tiny houses, crammed around square shaped backyards, like tenements, and no green can be found. The houses look grey and desolate in the light of the street lamps. It’s where Anakin has grown up, isn’t it? 

As a teenager, Obi-Wan often hung around here, cycled around, played baseball in the yards with some other boys, and threw stones at Quinlan's window, a friend of his who had lived around. Now, Quinlan Vos was gone, married, a tattoo artist somewhere in Philly. He should visit him some days, thinks Obi-Wan, and focuses his eyes on his surrounding again. 

Anakin and his friend had been rather infamous around here. For hours they would be lying in wait on the lawn in front of houses, spyglasses in their hands, just to catch a glimpse of the white plaid skirts, or rather a glimpse under the skirt of the neighbor’s girls. 

The entrance to Yoda's is a staircase to the basement. Well-trod wooden steps and a time-worn railing lead the two down. The interior is filled with a cozy atmosphere, a jukebox plays in the corner, to the right a pool table, and on the left outside the bar counter, behind which stands a grim old man, a pipe in the corner of his mouth. With the deep wrinkles on his face, the man looks like he is over 80, with one carved crutch in his hand, and the other one on his pipe.

“Should I order something for you, my old friend? A Guinness?”, Anakin asks looking at Obi-Wan. He sits down straight at the counter and peels himself out of his leather jacket. It is thrown without caution over some chair nearby. The jacket used to be Skywalker’s treasure, the statement piece that dominated every outfit, his holy grail to impress every girl – or boy.

Obi-Wan only nods, testing the waters, and sits down on one of the barstools. After the grim old man taps two glasses of beer and pushes them over the counter, Quinlan turns to Obi-Wan, grinning, He grabs himself a pint, toasts it to his friend, and drinks off the foam with a deep swig. “So”, he says, wiping the foam from the corner of his mouth with one hand, “How have you been?” 

“Comme ci, comme ca.,” Obi-Wan only offers with a small grin, tasting his Guinness, not wanting to dive deeper into the topic. 

“Life is a bitch sometimes.”, answers Anakin, “I stayed here, and started taking shifts at Watto’s workshop after my graduation. I am now officially co-owner even though the old man rarely gets his hands dirty nowadays. But what did I expect.” Obi-Wan pads Anakin on the shoulder with the same pads he hates, but what else should he do to console him? He cringes inside at his inability. The other man turns his head to him and states, „You know what, I was jealous of you, all these years. You got to leave this shit hole.” 

“There is nothing to be jealous about.”, starts Obi-Wan, “I resigned last week, no longer Prof at Columbia, I’m jobless for the first time since my Ph.D. I said ‘fuck you’ to my friends, moved out of my condo and now sleep in my childhood bedroom. After living in New York for fifteen years, or any other place, you realize that all cities are the same, all the same, shit holes.” 

Anakin has laid down his head on the counter, staring at Obi-Wan from the side, one of his curls falling into his forehead, the others framing his sharp countenance. He still has the 80s movie star vibe to him, even nineteen years later with the first few grey strands and wrinkles next to his eyes. “I thought you married a nice, rich chic, living your best life there.” 

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Divorced?” It feels weird to nod now, admitting it for the first time in over a year even though it had happened so long ago. He takes another sip from Guinness. Anakin raises his head again, suddenly stating out of the blue, “Me, too.”

Obi-Wan raises a brow, the heartbreaker fucking Prince Charming is divorced? It does not fit into his view of the world. Back in High School Anakin could have had anybody with one snap of his fingers, how does it come that he is not a happy family man now? “I mean, I married.”, tries the other man, “Everybody else did it when the time came, so I did it, too. Saw Padme again, started a relationship, and proposed when it was reasonable. 9 nine years, that was how long our happiness lasted. I am a father now.” He sighs and taps on the counter to order himself another pint.  

“Padme Naberrie?” 

“Yes. You graduated together, didn’t you? She was on the top, perfect GPA, and had endless opportunities but she stayed here and went to the Community College. Later, working here at the local hospital. A nice girl with a golden heart, my mom loved her and that is the most important thing to me. Now she is the mother of my twins.” Anakin looks sad when he adds. “Nothing more I could wish for.” 

“What happened?”

“I lied to myself and at some point, I could no longer pretend.”, states Anakin vaguely and drowns down his pint. “But what about you? Are you a father?” 

“Yes.”, he answers fast without thinking about it. “A daughter – I mean, ehm, my cat.” 

He expects Anakin to behave strangely now, be angry or disappointed, to tell him how dare he compare having a cat to having a kid as if it’s the same, but he does no such thing. Instead, Anakin asks softly. “What is her name?” Anakin uses the present form, not the past, not like Obi-Wan has lost her. Somehow Obi-Wan wants to hug him for that.  

“Arfour.” 

Laughter burst out of Anakin, which shakes his whole body. “You still love that Sci-fi series, don’t you? How was it called again? Star Destroyer? Something with Star.” 

“How do you know- ehm, how do you remember?”

“Seriously?” Anakin looks jokingly offended. “Your whole locker was plastered with stickers from it and –“Anakin grins evilly. “I remember you having a crush on the main character. You would doodle pictures of him in your notebook when you would think nobody notice.”

“But you did?”

Suddenly Anakin’s expression shifts back to sad, his lips are pinched, and his eye bags are visible like he has trouble sleeping. “As I said, I was a liar for great parts of my life. The best probably and now it is most often too late to break free with the truth. All it does is getting people hurt who have been comfortable for years, who have settled down and fought for their luck. Who am I to suddenly destroy that because I have decided to speak the truth now?” 

“Is that why Padme left you?” 

Anakin buries his face in his hands before continuing more silently. “I, ehm, I slept with men during our marriage. Most often I would meet them through my work, I repaired their cars and they flirted with me. Later I would come to visit them in their hotel rooms and they would fucked me like a common whore on the cheap bed or against the shower while Padme set at home caring for the twins. That was what I wanted, no love, just the nagging in my heart to stop, the feeling that I was missing something.”

“She found out?”

Anakin nods. “I’m sorry, I feel ashamed for it. She found out one night, found the texts on my phone, screamed at me, packed the twins, and drove to my mother. I spent that night alone in the living room, asking myself why I was so fucked up as a person, why I could not be like all the others, happily married, a content father, why I always felt like there was missing something, why I was such a liar.”

He pauses, then he continues. “You know what is the worst? She came back the next day, told me she forgave, hugged me, and let me, the bastard, cry on her shoulder. She told me that she understood me, understood why I married her, understood why I always felt absent, understood that I loved her just not like that, and that I had tried my best. She felt sad for me, not for her and her wounds, for me, that I’ve been lying to myself my whole life.” 

Anakin orders another pint. “Another one for you too?” Obi-Wan only nods. 

Then he leans close, cups Anakin’s cheeks and kisses him like Satine has kissed him all those years ago, open-mouthed with tongue and everything, pouring all the suppressed sadness of the last months into the contact. Anakin responds in the same manner. It is not tender, it is harsh, and demanding, everybody grabbing what they want from the other, Obi-Wan’s hands in Anakin’s locks, and Anakin’s fingers sneaking under Obi-Wan’s grandpa sweater. 

It grows messy quickly, threads of salvia connecting their lips, them rutting against each other like teenagers, that found out what their crotch is used for the first time, fabric rubbing against fabric. It is not about Anakin’s coming out, it is not about Obi-Wan’s divorce, and most definitely it is not about finding love in each other. It is about forgetting the pain, the suffering, the agony, freeing the emotions, that were locked inside. It is a happy, sad, angry kiss, with biting, tongue, and sometimes a moment of tenderness, when one of them needs it. 

“Your house?”, Obi-Wan asks breathlessly before leaning in again. Anakin nods and grabs Obi-Wan by the hair, forcing their mouths together.

Later, laying in a bed together, Anakin’s arm possessively around Obi-Wan’s waist, they stare at each other in silence, a silent smile on their lips, that Anakin wishes to kiss. It was Obi-Wan’s first time with a man, Anakin noticed it, Obi-Wan sees it in his face, and they choose not to talk about it. Rather, enjoying what they have as long as it last. 

=

As the sun raises, Obi-Wan finds himself in his kitchen again. “How did you sleep?”, asks Qui-Gon, taking a seat on the only chair in the kitchen, his voice high-pitched and still unsure. The old man has wrapped himself in a cardigan, blue and crocheted, the long gray hair is muddled together into a low-bun, yesterday's green cup in his trembling hand. 

"Good," says Obi-Wan, turning away from the sink to his father. 

Crockery is piled up in front of him, cheap porcelain with kitschy floral patterns. Primroses, which entwine around a single daffodil. Obi-Wan never liked the painted plates, but they have been cheap, a bargain in a Goodwill in Philly and they have been doing their job ever since. Qui-Gon liked the nostalgia he associated with them. Christmas dinner with some stubborn British great-aunt, he had, a Dolores Umbridge-like person from the outside but with a warm heart. So, Obi-Wan tries his best, puts on a crocked grin, one lifted corner, hums, and does the washing-up.

"And the bed still fits? No problems with the mattress?" asks Qui-Gon again. He has lowered his eyes, fiddling with a sleeve of his cardigan, where a hole still needs to be filled. He twirls the yarn thoughtfully between his fingers, furrowed eyebrows, too shy and unsure to look up into his son’s face. 

"No problems," says Obi-Wan, leaning against the stove, trying not to think about last night in Anakin’s bed. He turns slightly to his father; his head tilted to the side and tries to smile. It feels convulsive and unnatural, yet he assures in a calm voice, "All right."

"I woke up in the middle of the night," says Qui-Gon, continuing to stare at his hands, which are busy with the cardigan. “You were not there anymore. I thought you might have left again.” 

Obi-Wan stops moving, the dishwashing sponge hovering in the air, and the hot water continues to drop down on his skin. He clears his throat, tries to get rid of the bitter taste on his tongue, and lowers the sponge. "I was shopping," he explains and points to the fridge, "I just refilled what you were missing."

"Thank you," Qui-Gon says quietly, almost hoarsely. Again, he lowers his gaze to his hands, which play with a thread. Soon there will not be much left of the cardigan. "You didn't have to do that. I'll get along all by myself. "

"I know, Dad." Obi-Wan shifts back to the sink, his back turned to his father, absently biting his lower lip. “I know you are capable.” His voice is hoarse when he tries to speak again. “I met someone.”

“While you were shopping?”

Obi-Wan nods weakly, trying to hide his face from his dad, unsure of his reaction. “I felt like a liar for a long time in my life, stifling, chained in a corset. That person showed me the way out. I know at my age, finding true love is unlikely and it is not about that, it’s about trying, finally speaking the truth even though it might hurt yourself.” He pauses. “That Person is a man, ehm, his name is Anakin and I would like to introduce you two.” 

“I would be honored.” 

When he turns around, he can see Qui-Gon smiling, he is still shy, but it has gotten better. They are on the way; they just have to keep trying and fighting. One day, they might be able to smile like they used tp, happy, but it feels daring to say that. 

(To be honest, I have soft spot for this Obi-Wan, maybe I come back later and write more for him, grant him some more happiness. It's a draft, will be rewritten someday, maybe more cleaned, made more suitable for Ao3, let's see. Untill then enjoy!)

[justiceheartwatcher]

Manufacturer guidance updated in Australia after watchdog shows air fryers may be eavesdropping on people | Not the Bee

[the-firebird69]

Translate shut up you idiot and he said soon I'll be so big you'll turn it down a little not much and it's true and really that's horrible what a horrible little kid what a brat and he spoiled in his nasty and disgusting we don't want to see Brian's ass in your face with his stupid wrestling outfit on even if it's his character for Christ's sake that's gross dammit. And he has a character and his beefy and stuff and he just wear that I mean what the hell is going on in this world LOL I can't stand it these guys are going to try and build the car and won't let me so he says what should I do need to macaroni eat a macaroni dammit he says what should I do eat a shack aroni I said no definitely don't do that. But yeah they're selling like madness everybody wants to pumba and these idiots are trying to build it and they'll never sell it they'll never get it built and he reminded people

KIT CARS ARE TO GET A DREAM CAR VERY INEXPENSIVELY BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN AFFORD A REGULAR SPORTS CAR

That's what I want to say it's supposed to be cheap like you buy a $2,000 car or $4,000 car or you have one and you buy a $4,000 kit even that's quite a bit of money for some people and it works for me that's what it is and for $8,000 you get like a Porsche 911 or something now he's saying you take these sedans and you turn them into the four door and that kit can be cheap you know like four grand and you keep the tires and rims and brakes and you can change them out afterwards and it would fit better he says and it's true but these stinger cars you can do but they probably won't do that with them but boy what an idea imagine if you could do the kid for like the kids for $2,500 and I'm imagining I could make it so I was wondering if I would do that and I'm going to try and do it it sounds like a fun idea we have a lot of sedans like that from Americans that are powerful and I want to see if it goes fast and I have a lot of those Porsche cars and I got to stick them together I want to see if it works any other carbon fiber itself is lighter has a little frame and it kind of is tough as the panels is true cuz it has like a subframe and the panels don't they just crumple in like tin foil so I'm going to try it this is a great idea

Shaquille O'Neal

I've seen this stuff and I've seen it work he just doesn't ask produce it but he makes a lot of money if you did

Trump it's real hard to do and I can't seem to do it at all he says cuz the cities of mine don't do anything that makes sense you need to start manufacturing and we are doing it a little I get what you're saying what you're saying we need necessities now I got to start doing it if you cut the sugar out and use other preservatives are cheaper and it really is

Olympus

[bakematebiscuits-blog]

BAKEMATE - Crunchy Chocolate Wafer Rolls

Chocolate wafer rolls are a delicious treat made by wrapping a thin, crisp wafer around a creamy, chocolatey centre. They’re often enjoyed as a snack on their own or as a delightful addition to desserts like ice cream. Their light, crunchy exterior combined with the rich chocolate filling makes them a popular choice worldwide.

Chocolate wafer rolls are a popular snack made from thin, crispy wafers rolled into tubes, usually filled with a creamy chocolate centre. They offer a satisfying blend of textures — crisp wafers with a smooth, rich filling — and are often used as a garnish for ice cream, coffee drinks, or desserts. The flavour combination of chocolate and wafer creates a sweet yet light treat, making them enjoyable as a standalone snack or as a decorative addition to dessert presentations.

Flavour Varieties: Though chocolate is a classic filling, wafer rolls also come with other flavours like hazelnut, vanilla, caramel, mocha, or even fruity fillings. Some versions have double or triple fillings, blending flavours like chocolate-hazelnut or chocolate-strawberry, creating layered taste experiences.

Texture Appeal: The contrast between the light, crispy wafer and the smooth, creamy filling is one of the main draws. The wafer shell, made from a mixture of flour, sugar, and oil, is baked thinly and rolled tightly to achieve a delicate crispness.

Serving Suggestions: Wafer rolls are often served alongside coffee, hot chocolate, or ice cream. They’re great for dipping into coffee or milk, and the crispy texture softens slightly for a pleasant mouthfeel. They’re also widely used to top desserts like sundaes, cakes, or puddings for an extra decorative and flavourful element.

Gifting and Festivities: Chocolate wafer rolls are frequently packaged in elegant tins or boxes, making them popular for gifting during holidays and celebrations. Some gourmet versions include premium chocolate or are covered with an outer chocolate coating, adding a touch of indulgence.

Storage and Freshness: To keep their texture crisp, wafer rolls should be stored in airtight containers and kept away from humidity. Once opened, they maintain the best flavour and crunch if consumed within a few days.

1. Manufacturing Process

Wafer Preparation: The wafer mix, usually made from wheat flour, sugar, and emulsifiers, is poured into a high-temperature baking mould, creating a thin, crispy sheet.

Rolling and Filling: The sheet is quickly rolled while still warm to form a hollow tube. After cooling, the tubes are filled with chocolate cream using an injection process that ensures even distribution of the filling.

Packaging: Wafer rolls are typically packed in foil-lined containers or tins to preserve their crispness and prevent moisture absorption.

2. Global Popularity and Cultural Variations

Asia: In countries like Japan and Thailand, wafer rolls often feature unique fillings such as matcha (green tea), taro, or red bean. They’re enjoyed as a light snack and sometimes paired with green tea or traditional desserts.

Europe: Italy and France offer wafer rolls as a classic treat with espresso or gelato. Some varieties even incorporate liquor flavors, giving them a gourmet twist.

Latin America: In places like Mexico, wafer rolls are often dipped in chocolate or sprinkled with chili powder for a spicy kick, reflecting local flavor preferences.

Flavor Variations and Types

· Double-Filled Rolls: Some varieties feature multiple fillings, like chocolate-hazelnut or chocolate-caramel, for layered flavors.

· Coated Rolls: Higher-end options might have an extra coating of chocolate on the outside, sometimes sprinkled with nuts, sea salt, or coconut.

· Health-Conscious Options: Many brands now offer low-sugar, gluten-free, or dairy-free versions to meet different dietary preferences.

· For more details contact https://bakemate.in

· Email: enquiry@bakemate.in

[darkmaga-returns]

Leaked footage from a United Nations assembly meeting reveals a decades-long agenda for global control, aimed at weakening the population by 2025 through invisible, insidious methods.

The footage reveals that toxic, mind-altering chemicals have been covertly released over major population centers for years, damaging human health and ecosystems alike. Those streaks in our skies, dismissed as harmless vapor trails, are in fact bioweapons used to quietly destabilize societies around the world.

And now, the most disturbing plan of all is set to unfold: the release of toxic, man-made clouds designed to trigger a global famine in 2025.

Before we dive in, subscribe to the channel on Rumble if you haven’t already, and join the People’s Voice Locals community to support the channel and join our incredible team.

Anyone paying attention can’t help but notice the dramatic changes in our skies. The sun, which used to shine as a vibrant orange orb, now seems whiter and smaller.

Gone are the days when clouds danced in the sky, forming beautiful, organic shapes like cirrus, cumulus, and nimbus. Instead, they have become stark and grid-like, resembling the bars of a massive prison planet.

The elite believed they could carry out this silent transformation without facing scrutiny, thinking we would passively accept it all.

For decades, mainstream media insisted that chemtrails were nothing more than a wild conspiracy theory, pushed by so-called ‘tin-foil hat’ wearers who deserve to be mocked and ridiculed.

There is just one problem for the elite and the corrupt mainstream media. They underestimated our resolve. We are not going down without a fight. Investigators are uncovering their crimes and whistle blowers are coming forward in their droves to expose their secret agenda.

State Department whistleblower Willam Blum said “no matter how paranoid or conspiracy-minded you are, what the government is actually doing is worse than you image.”

[lhdpcb]

PCBA Fabrication vs Assembly -  A Comparison

Understanding the Building Blocks of PCBA Fabrication

PCBA fabrication acts as the foundation for any successful assembly process. It involves transforming your digital PCB design into a physical bare board, ready-to-receive electronic components. Here's a breakdown of the key steps involved in PCBA fabrication:

Data Preparation: The first stage starts with meticulously translating your PCB design files (typically Gerber files) into a format suitable for manufacturing. This involves defining various parameters like layer stack-up, drill locations, and component footprints for precise fabrication.

Material Selection: Selecting the appropriate base material for the PCB is crucial. Industrial applications often rely on high-quality FR-4 laminate, offering a balance of electrical performance, thermal stability, and cost. For specific needs, advanced materials like Rogers or Taconic may be used.

Panel Fabrication: Multiple identical PCB designs are arranged onto a larger panel for efficient material utilization. This panel then undergoes various processes like drilling, routing, and copper etching.

Dilling: Precise holes are drilled through the PCB to accommodate component leads and vias (interconnections between layers). Advanced drilling techniques like laser drilling or mechanical drilling are used depending on the board thickness and hole size requirements.

Routing: Excess copper is removed from the PCB surface to create the desired circuit traces that connect the various components. Routing techniques can include milling, laser ablation, or chemical etching.

Copper Etching: This process removes unwanted copper from the PCB surface, leaving behind the desired circuit pattern. Chemical etching is commonly used, but other methods like plasma etching may be employed for finer features.

Lamination: Different layers of the PCB, including copper foils and dielectric materials, are bonded together using heat and pressure to create the desired layer structure.

Surface Finishing: The exposed copper surfaces on the PCB are plated with a thin layer of solderable material, typically tin or gold, to ensure proper electrical connections during assembly. This process can be performed using electroless plating or electrolytic plating techniques.

Electrical Testing: Upon completion of PCBA fabrication undergoes rigorous electrical testing to ensure continuity of circuits and identify any potential defects before they proceed to assembly.

Role of PCBA Assembly in Bringing it to Life

Once the bare PCB is fabricated, the magic of PCBA assembly takes center stage. This stage involves attaching electronic components to the PCB and forming strong electrical connections. Here's a closer look at the key steps in an industrial setting:

Solder Paste Stenciling: A precise amount of solder paste is deposited onto the designated pads on the PCB using a stencil with laser-cut apertures that match the footprint of the components.

Component Placement: High-speed pick-and-place machines accurately place the various electronic components onto the PCB with the solder paste acting as a temporary adhesive.

Reflow Soldering: The entire PCB assembly is then passed through a reflow oven. This oven heats the PCB to a precisely controlled temperature profile, allowing the solder paste to melt and form permanent electrical connections between the components and the PCB pads.

Cleaning: After reflow soldering, the PCB assembly undergoes a cleaning process to remove any residual flux from the soldering process.

Inspection and Testing: Automated Optical Inspection (AOI) technology meticulously scrutinizes the assembled PCB for defects like solder bridging or missing components. Additionally, In-Circuit Testing (ICT) verifies the electrical functionality of the entire assembly, ensuring it meets the design specifications.

Programming: For certain PCBAs, programming-specific components like microcontrollers may be required using specialized programming tools.

Example for Better Understanding of the Difference

To illustrate the distinction between fabrication and assembly, let's draw a parallel with building a house. Fabricating the PCB is akin to laying the foundation and constructing the basic structure of the house – walls, roof, and floors. On the other hand, PCBA assembly resembles installing electrical wiring, plumbing, fixtures, and appliances, bringing the house to life and making it functionally complete.

How PCBA Fabrication Makes a Difference in Industrial Applications

High-quality PCBA fabrication is the backbone of a vast array of industrial applications. Here are some prominent examples:

Industrial Automation: Industrial control systems, programmable logic controllers (PLCs), and human-machine interfaces (HMIs) all rely on meticulously fabricated PCBAs to deliver reliable performance in demanding industrial environments.

Medical Devices: Pacemakers, defibrillators, and other life-critical medical equipment require robust and reliable PCBAs, demanding stringent quality control measures throughout the fabrication and assembly processes.

Telecommunications Infrastructure: Complex communication systems, including base stations and routers, depend on high-density PCBAs with intricate designs and high-performance materials.

Aerospace and Defense: Aircraft avionics, communication, and weapon control systems necessitate rigorously tested and dependable PCBAs, often utilizing advanced materials and specialized manufacturing techniques.

Why Choose LHD Tech for PCBA Fabrication Services

At LHD Tech, we understand the critical role of PCBA fabrication in your industrial projects. Our state-of-the-art manufacturing capabilities and commitment to quality ensure that your PCBs meet the highest standards. We offer comprehensive services, including:

Design Support: Our experienced engineers can assist you with PCB design optimization, ensuring manufacturability and minimizing potential issues.

Material Selection: We carefully select high-quality materials to meet your specific requirements and ensure optimal PCB performance.

Fabrication Process: Our advanced fabrication facilities utilize cutting-edge equipment and techniques to produce high-quality PCBs with precision and efficiency.

Quality Control: Rigorous quality control measures are implemented throughout fabrication to ensure defect-free PCBs.

By partnering with us at LHD Tech, you can trust that your PCBA fabrication needs will be met with the highest expertise and dedication. While you can explore our website for details related to our services, please feel free to contact us today to discuss your project requirements and let our team guide you in case you have any queries.

[atplblog]

Price: [price_with_discount] (as of [price_update_date] - Details) [ad_1] From the manufacturer UNIVERSAL COMPATIBILITY FOR EVERY DEVICE The charging cable is curated in a way that it is compatible with all Type C enabled devices, be it an android smartphone, tablet, PC peripheral or any other Type C to Type C compatible device Charge Fast. Sync Superfast The FLiX cable helps you charge your Type C compatible devices charge fast. The sync is even faster! So go grab one Super Safe & Super Strong This FLiX cable comes with multiple layers for safety and strength. Inner core is made of tinned copper followed by Aluminum foil and then cover with high grade TPE jacket The King of C Universe Compatible with all C type devices of OnePlus, Samsung, IPHONE, IPAD, Macbook, etc SPEED SYNC IS HERE With high transfer speed of up to 480mbps, this charging cable has been made to offer you the fast data transmission along with swift sync speed. Now, you can transfer your data, your movies, files, music, document, and much more with ease and total convenience without worrying about the data loss Its Aluminum Alloy Shell Housing Makes It Last Longer With 5000+ Bends Lifespan With Extended Frame Protection for Strain Relief

Connect USB Type-C enabled devices (MacBook, Chromebook Pixel, OnePlus, Galaxy Note 7 etc.) with standard USB Type-C 3.0 enabled devices and accessories Fast Charging Compatible: 3 AMP fast charging cable with up to 480mbps data transfer for a fast and secure connection. The cable is Power Delivery (PD) compatible which supports more than 18 Watt of power transfer Cables are bend tested over 5000 times and come with superior fused connectors. The connectors and the cable are unified into one and hence there is no possibility of the connector snagging-off the cable. The cable is engineered to ensure uncompromised long life and durability. The USB-Type-C 3.0 to USB Type-C cable is guaranteed compatible for fast charge and sync with all devices with a USB Type-C port. Compatible with all versions of Quick Charge (QC), Adaptive Fast Charging & Turbo Charging standards. At a perfect length of 1 meter, the cable for Type C devices is ideal for both charging through wall charger or connectivity with a computer. It’s neither too long nor too short. Just perfect! [ad_2]

[lowsmokecable]

What Materials are Used in Auto Wiring Harnesses

　　The automotive industry has undergone significant changes over the past few decades, and with each advancement, the complexity of automotive wiring harnesses has increased. These harnesses are essential for transmitting power and signals throughout the vehicle to ensure optimal operation of electrical and electronic components. As a professional automotive wiring harness manufacturer, we understand the importance of using high-quality materials to ensure safety, reliability, and durability. In this article, we will discuss the materials commonly used in automotive wiring harness manufacturing.

　　Conductive Materials: Copper and Aluminum

　　At the heart of any wiring harness is the conductive material that carries the current. Copper is the most commonly used conductive material in automotive wiring harnesses because of its excellent conductivity, flexibility, and tensile strength. It can carry high current loads without significant voltage drop, which is critical in automotive applications where performance and safety are critical.

　　Insulation Materials: PVC, XLPE, and TPE

　　Insulation materials are critical in automotive wiring harnesses because they protect wires from environmental factors and prevent electrical leakage. Polyvinyl chloride(PVC)is a common insulation material favoured for its flexibility, durability, and resistance to abrasion, chemicals, and temperature changes. It is suitable for both low- and high-voltage applications and can be easily colour-coded for wire identification.

　　Cross-linked polyethene (XLPE)is another popular insulation material used in automotive wiring harnesses. It has superior thermal, chemical, and physical properties to PVC and has enhanced abrasion resistance, making it ideal for harsh automotive environments.

　　Thermoplastic elastomers(TPE)are a blend of plastic and rubber, so they have the properties of both materials.TPEs are used in applications that require flexibility and durability, such as areas that experience frequent movement or vibration.

　　Protective Coverings: Corrugated Tubing, Braided Sleeving, and Foil Tape

　　To further protect wires from environmental hazards such as moisture, heat, abrasion, and chemical leaks, additional protective coverings are required. Corrugated tubing made from nylon or polypropylene offers an excellent balance between flexibility and strength and is commonly used to wrap automotive wiring harnesses.

　　Braided tubing made from materials such as polyester or nylon provides physical protection while maintaining flexibility. They can also reduce noise by minimizing vibration and rattle of cables within the harness.

　　Foil tape is made from aluminium or copper and can be wrapped around the harness to shield electromagnetic interference(EMI), which can disrupt the operation of sensitive electronic components in modern vehicles.

　　Connectors and Terminals: Brass, Copper, and Plastics

　　Connectors and terminals play a key role in connecting wires and ensuring reliable electrical connections. Brass and copper are widely used to manufacture terminals due to their excellent conductivity and corrosion resistance. Terminals can also be plated with materials such as tin or gold to further improve performance and lifespan.

　　Committed to Quality and Innovation

　　As a professional automotive wiring harness manufacturer, we are constantly exploring and adopting new materials and technologies to ensure that our products meet the highest standards of quality and reliability. Our commitment to innovation is matched by our dedication to sustainability, which compels us to seek environmentally friendly materials and manufacturing processes.

　　In summary, there are a variety of materials used in automotive wiring harnesses, which are selected for their ability to withstand the harsh conditions in which automobiles operate. Copper and aluminium remain the conductors of choice, while insulation and protective jacketing materials such as PVC, XLPE, and TPE ensure the integrity of the wiring harness. Connectors and terminals made of brass, copper, and durable plastics ensure a solid electrical connection. As a manufacturer, we are committed to providing the automotive industry with wiring harnesses that are superior in performance, safety, and quality.

[ismaelfarmer]

Policies have become the main cause of the proliferation of street drugs in the United States

The streets of Oregon are flooded with drugs, and the number of deaths from drug overdoses continues to rise. The 'Measure 110' law, which is accused of 'enabling' drug use, is considered the culprit. Oregon lawmakers will soon vote to decide whether to terminate the decriminalization of drugs policy or amend it. Walking the streets of Portland, the largest city in Oregon, one can see people openly using drugs with lighters in hand, holding tin foil containing drugs or meth pipes, turning into an 'open-air drug market.' A homeless drug user, Hood, told Reuters, 'Just like smoking, we can use it if we want, without worrying about getting caught. But now the authorities are cracking down again, wanting to reclassify drugs as criminal.' In November 2020, Oregon voters passed 'Measure 110,' which legalized the possession of small amounts of heroin, methamphetamine, marijuana, and fentanyl, among other drugs, but manufacturing, trafficking, and driving under the influence remain criminal offenses. This policy aimed to address addiction issues in a more humane way, rather than simply punishing. However, after over three years of drug decriminalization, Oregon's drug problem has worsened, prompting Oregonians to reexamine the decriminalization policy and sparking controversy over its repeal.