#Plaster Sand Making Machine

[midseo]

Artificial Sand Making Machines, VSI Crushers, Jaw And Cone Crushers

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[francixoxoxo]

⋆.˚𓆝ℋℴ𝓂ℯ𝒸ℴ𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𓆉

Finnick Odair x Victor!Reader

You come home to District 4 after winning the Hunger Games more than a little damaged. Luckily, when you reunite with Finnick, he knows just what you’re going through— and knows just how to comfort you.

The victor of the 68th annual hunger games. Your face plastered on capitol billboards. Your name on every Capitolite’s unusually plastic-surgered lips. Your eyelids engraved with the faces of all the tributes— all the children— you killed to get your head above the water.

You hold it together on the train ride home. Zipping across the barren desert twixt the Capitol and the shoreline of District 4, you picked at your newly manicured nails (they wouldn’t let a victor go on for her post-game interview with dried blood on her hands,) and tried not to recount the events of the past week.

You were only sixteen. Still a kid, though you weren’t sure you could ever go back and find the youth in you that there once was.

At the train station, your mother welcomed you home with wide open arms and wet cheeks. Her fishhook bitten fingertips traced your features, laughing with relief. Once you were securely wrapped up in her embrace, she muttered her pride in you— you definitely didn’t feel proud. When you stooped to your knees to scoop your little brother into your own arms, you certainly didn’t feel like the rock his eyes mirrored when he looked at you.

There was a small crowd, mostly people from your hometown— you held a strained smile. Searching for one face in particular.

He wasn’t there, your sweetheart.

When you moved into the victors village, the windows of his house on the coastal lane were dimmed. For days, actually. You worked up the guts to ask your mother where he’d gone, she shrugged.

“He left a few days before all the publicity,” your mother hummed, her eyes on the rag she dragged across the new kitchen counter. It wasn’t as cozy as your old home, a quaint cabin further north on the shore. There, sand was perpetually scattered across the floorboards, and wind chimes twinkled on the porch. You hadn’t had a chance to put up those chimes yet, on your new and only technically improved porch.

But you supposed the house was nice enough— it smelled of the same sea-salt, and it was large enough that you didn’t have to share a room with your brother. Still, you asked him to lay in bed with you most nights since you got home— he was one of those kids who couldn’t shut up. Maybe that used to annoy you; now, you let him rattle into the latest hours of the night, just grateful to have his little back rising and falling under your palm as he laid on his belly. Girolamo made surviving the games feel a little more meaningful. You’d clawed your way through for him, for your mother, for Finnick.

You were almost frustrated with Finnick, though conjuring up the image of the sun-kissed blonde tended to soothe your nerves. You made him promise to take care of your mother and Giro if you didn’t make it out— and you were sure you wouldn’t. And yet, where was he? What if you hadn’t won the games? Where would your family be?

All the bitter questioning was dispelled when one night, the lights in the soft-blue paneled house across the lane clicked on. You resisted the feeling to go and knock at his door, pound your open palm until he had to let you in. You thought you were allowed to be a little desperate, seeing as you just survived a government-run murder-machine.

But you didn’t. No, you tucked your knees to your chest, and stared out the window as if waiting for Finnick to come outside, wave his hands and jump up and down on the front steps. Eventually the lights clicked off again. He always was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise type of boy.

The next morning, you stepped barefoot through the sun-warmed sand downhill from your new house, a rolled beach towel tucked under your armpit and a small cooler in your other hand. You watch Girolamo as he sprints to the shore, his tan and wiry back gaining some distance on you. With a nervous bite out of your inner cheek you keep your eyes on him.

Even as you’re laying the towel down, tucking the corners under the sand against the whipping sea breeze, you think of Finnick. Where could he possibly be for two weeks? Why hadn’t you heard even a whisper from him, much less a letter?

You’re settling down on the rough, colorful material that felt nothing like the smooth, handwoven mat your mother had to trade to scrounge up some money (along with the rest of your hometown) to send you some fresh bread in the arena. To be fair, the pick-me-up paid off. Internally you hold yourself to weaving a new one later, but the promise is interrupted by a familiar voice calling out for you in a tone that makes you wonder if the boy it belonged to knew no other names besides yours.

Tossing your head over your shoulder and pushing yourself from your elbows onto your palms, your eyes settle on the source. Finnick. Your Finnick.

You’re practically scrambling to your feet, clawing at the sand around your towel to spring up. “Finnick!” You call back to him, wishing your voice wasn’t so raspy with desperation. Maybe he repeats your name, a songbird returning your notes in reply and recognition, but you can hardly hear over the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Finnick was bounding downhill, kicking up sand, casting a grainy veil between you and himself as it blew with the salt in the wind. He stumbles, and you almost find it in you to laugh at the notion that he’s falling over trying to get to you. Maybe it is silly, maybe you are just stupid teenagers sick with love. But it really just manifests in watery eyes as you run towards him with the same adrenaline that’s been blowing a whistle down your veins, nonstop since you’ve been reaped.

It’s not until you throw yourself at Finnick and he grabs you into his arms like you’re lighter than seafoam, that you remember this isn’t life or death.

Your fingers are pushing through his golden curls, his are smoothing over your dark tresses, his nose in your collar as he lifts you off the ground. A sound of surprise gets past your lips, but now you feel light enough that it delves into a real laugh.

“Sweetheart— baby— God, I knew you could do it,” Finnick praises as he finally lets your feet hit the sand, setting you down like you’re made of sea glass. His hands rove over your cheeks, your neck, shoulders, astonished laughter punctuating his words. “I knew you were strong, I knew you were.”

You know what he’s trying to say, yes, but God, you feel anything but strong. You don’t even realize tears were trickling down your cheeks until Finnick thumbs them away, and draws you back into his arms with a soft sound. A sob peals like a bell as it comes from your lips and directly into his shoulder. You clutch at his back, your fingertips threatening to tear into his loose navy shirt. His own hands, steadfast and fishhook-bitten, rub up and down your upper back.

“I know,” Finnick mutters, filling the silence and giving you something else to listen to besides your crying and the breaking waves. And, for the first time since you’ve been in District 4 since the games, you know it’s the truth. He does know. He’s one of the few who do.

“Finn,” you breathe, wiping your eyes on the fabric of his shirt. He hums as if he hears you, but you know he’s beckoning you to speak. He squeezes you tighter at the sound of your voice, smoothing over your hair again and looking out at your brother as he wades in the ocean to his knees. Looking out for him, as an extension of looking out for you. “Finn, it’s been terrible,” you manage to sob.

“I know, I know,” Finnick assures again. He wants to admit that it doesn’t get easier, not at all, but that’s not what you need to hear in the least.

“I can’t.. How do— D’you handle it? How?” You’re babbling, you know it. You sniffle, pulling away just enough to make eye contact with him. Oh, how you missed him. His eyes were even greener than you recalled, than you pictured at night in the games to soothe your jaunting nerves. The creases in his cheeks as his lips pulled taught, the light shock of hair on his forehead and the sunspots freckling his cheeks.. he was undeniable handsome. But it was more than this— he was your rock when the undertow came to drag, he was the saltwater lapping at your feet while you laid in the sun.

Finnick smatters kisses over your wet cheeks, your brow, your jaw, his hand holding you strong by the back of your head. You sniffle, but your hands squeeze his arms and the heaviness in your chest is lightened just a bit. “I don’t know.”

There’s a finality, in the way he presses forward for your lips. You sigh through your nose, which presses into his cheek as he kisses you like you’re all he’s been thinking of. It takes some effort for Finnick to part from you, he can’t resist a quick peck to the corner of your mouth as you wipe your eyes. “I don’t know, but misery loves company.”

You laugh bitterly, out of the unfairness of it all. Finnick slides his hand down your arm, clasping your hand and gently tugging you towards the towel you’d laid down. “C’mon.”

Maybe you could learn to handle it, you think, as you turn and the sea breeze gently brushes your hair behind your shoulders, some kind of welcome home.

The wind breathed and whistled past the shell of your ear, this and the rolling blue at your back would’ve been music enough even if Finnick wasn’t humming into the crown of your hair.

His hands are still woven tight with yours, though you’re certain he had fallen asleep for a bit somewhere in the two hours you’ve been sitting on your back porch. His fingers had become limp twixt your own, but at your slightest shift, squeezed as if you were going to slip through like sand.

You’d told him everything. It’s just slipped from you, water crashing down a cliff side, and you can’t take any of it back, whether your vulnerability has become embarrassing or not in hindsight.

Your tribute partner’s death. Your first kill. Real, evolutionary adrenaline that had made your head spin. The sound of a wrist bone crunching under your boot, of an ally crying when he thought you had fallen asleep (as if you could, in that arena.)

The bitterness had subsided, you’d been too relieved to just see Finnick to bring up anything prickly. Pouring your guts about the arena’s stain on you felt like enough of a damper on the reunion. But it still weighed heavily on you, balancing out the featherlight feeling of being back in his arms.

“Finn?” You find it in you to lift your face, prop your chin on his shoulder. You can feel the timbre of his acknowledging hum through his ribs. Steeling yourself, though you aren’t sure why, you mumble lamely, “Where were you?”

Finnick’s brows draw together and etch a small crease twixt them. “What?” His free hand moves from your shoulder to brush against a lock of your hair, but you shake your head to try and ward off the distraction.

“Where were you, when I came home? I heard you left while I was in the Capitol. Why?”

There’s something in the shift of his shoulder beneath you, in the brief flutter of his lashes, that tells you it’s not something you want to hear, nor something he wants to say. But he can’t deny you a thing, can he? He’s never been able to, not since you were children wading in the tide pools. Not now either, as he clears his throat and glances to the shoreline, as if the ocean could lend him a hand, for once, and sweep him out to open waters.

“I’m… Signed into an… agreement. With Snow.” Finnick speaks quietly, his eyes downcast with a kind of solemnity. He lifts his brows and you get the idea that he can’t believe it himself when he murmurs, “I couldn’t say no.”

Saying you weren’t curious, that you needed no explanation— it’d be a lie. You watch Finnick wave a splayed hand over his body in gesture, his lips pulling in an expression that cracks your heart and sends whistles down your nerves. “I, uh. To the highest bidder.”

He stops himself before his voice fails on its own, no sooner than it clicks together in your head. His body didn’t belong to him. Leaving an infinite and stretching silence that felt less like there was nothing to say, and more like leaving it unsaid was easier.

In a blink you see nothing but a little boy; with a sun-kissed face unmarred and green eyes shining from a type of fear that expels all hints of forced maturity you used to see. Just a little boy, shedding all the age the Capitol has shot into him.

You find space in the quiet to squeeze Finnicks hand. Neither of your grips loosen, not for a while, and not even when he could really use a free hand to brush away the saltwater rolling down his cheeks, because as long as you’re next to him he might as well have an extra free hand. You don’t let your own tears leave the barrier of your lash line.

“What a homecoming, huh?” Finnick mumbles after a long, long time spent in that blue. You aren’t sure how he finds it in him to smile at you.“What a homecoming,” you echo, hoping your agreement will make him happy.

You knew, deep inside, your home was changing. The ground was shifting under your bare feet and kicking up the once-sun-warm sand and doesn’t everybody know it’s silly to try and place each wind-blown grain back where it used to sit?

You couldn’t go back to before. The normalcy you were hoping might breathe warm on your skin again, it wouldn’t. You weren’t the girl you were before your name was plucked from that basket and you couldn’t consult her anymore. But you figure, maybe, this was your home anyway. This is what you have to come home to, and things could be worse, they’re already well down there, but Lord, atleast you have this.

You let Finnick dry the teardrop rushing down your face with a tender sweep of his thumb, a reminder that you aren’t crying alone.

[alethiometry]

physical 100 is soooooo funny like they take the 100 swolest mfs in south korea and make them do the most insane shit and after half of them have been eliminated the remaining contestants are rewarded by getting sent to a rec room that's stocked with wall to wall protein powders and gym machines and they all react like they're literally in the garden of eden

in their downtime, when they are ostensibly supposed to be relaxing and recovering from the challenges they just overcame, the contestants just come up with more feats of physical prowess like box-jumping their own height in stacked-up gym mats and thigh-wrestling

and then the disembodied voice of the host is like your next task is to physically drag this 2-ton ancient greek trieme across some sand and moor it to the dock and everyone is like yeah this is a normal thing i have trained to do

and THEN the final task when it's just down to the last 2 contestants it's iike. pull on this insanely heavy rope until your entire upper body goes numb and you have an existential crisis. congratulations here's 300 million won. take this sledgehammer and smash the plaster bust of your opponent's physique to demonstrate that they have experienced total ego death

[lucielxbe]

✏️

♫ kainé/salvation - nier ost nier automata au

it’s always been strange to luciel that androids were programmed with personality traits. he knows that siwoo, in particular, was programmed with ‘honesty’. though that somehow came with ‘curiosity’, which could be a good thing since he’s a scanner-type android. he still never quite understood why androids needed such things, but questioning the council of humanity’s decisions never once cross his mind.

he’s just a battler-type android, all he needs to do is to follow instructions and keep an eye on siwoo.

they’ve been assigned as partners for a long time. luciel is good at coordinating with fellow androids, but with siwoo sometimes…. they ran into trouble. one of those troubles had led to their present situation: a freaky head plastered onto a sales vehicle requesting them to find some flowers.

“it sounds suspicious, we should report it it immediately,” luciel told siwoo.

“huh? we should give it a try, hello? it looks fucking weird but it seems… nice?” the other blinked his eyes at him. “this is my duty, let’s just go with it. i need to know more.”

luciel took some time to process a decision, then sighed, “i should also tell headquarters to remove your ‘vulgarity’.”

“what the- fuck you???” siwoo responded, probably on purpose.

nevertheless, they went ahead with it. they had no reason to refuse its requests anyways, perhaps they could discover more information about the machine lifeforms they were fighting to send the data back to headquarters. siwoo made the right decision.

after finding those flowers three times, it brought them to a place underground.

it’s dark, which is natural for an underground place. yet luciel couldn’t help but to remain still for a brief moment to take in the scenery lighted up by a field of glowing white flowers.

the cart lifeform sounded extremely happy and started rambling about its past, how it once had a main body that split into pieces to protect earth. it’s weird, none of this was recorded the library of data. and that is what siwoo said.

“and i thought we knew everything… hey, nii-san, let’s go look around,” siwoo goes head to explore, even though there isn’t actually much other than a bunk bed with a roof right in the middle of the field. according to the cart, a human used to live in it. “that’s weird, this bunk bed feels familiar…” siwoo mumbles, crossing his arms while staring at the bed.

luciel stays silent.

“it’s my first time seeing this flower, but why does it feel so fami-”

“oh! this is a lunar tear!” the cart interrupts abruptly. “these used to grow all over the place, like the desert… but eventually the sand took over the soil and it stopped growing. this was a dear friend’s favourite flower. you can have one though! i’ll give one to you!”

“really? that sounds like a sad story… but thanks. hey, luciel nii-san, why are you so quiet for?”

luciel scoffs at him, “reporting to headquarters about what we discovered, of course.”

yorha no.8 type S has rediscovered lunar tears. he is showing signs of recovering his 32nd life’s memories data. proceed for execution?

memories. no, that’s wrong. how could luciel make that kind of mistake? androids only have data that can be implanted, altered, or deleted; they were nothing like memories.

luciel’s finger hovers over the ‘send’ button. his eyes turn to lay upon siwoo, chatting away happily with the cart. he’s always wondered… what was the personality trait that was programmed into himself? androids shouldn’t feel pain or remorse when they destroy a fellow android, and yet at his core it feels… crushing.

it’s for the sake of humanity, he tells himself in his mind repeatedly.

“hey, what’s up?”

the executioner battler-type android smiled.

“did you know, lunar tears are said to grant wishes?”

“no way, are you serious?!”

report received. execute yorha no.8 type S.

“mmh. you were the one who told me a long time ago.”

luciel never believed that a flower could grant wishes, only god could do that. but once upon a time during the duration of siwoo’s 19th life… he foolishly thought it was possible.

[holyfunnyhistoryherring]

[Video: tik tok by user @peter.pan810 shows a person hand making wooden game pieces with silver and mother-of-pearl inlays.

Captions read, "Chinese chess is an ancient board game with a history dating back approximately two thousand years." The person soaks mother-of-pearl shells in water. Pulls them out and saws them into tiny rectangles. Sands them. "Soak seashells in water to soften, then saw them into small pieces and sand them evenly."

They lay out several sheets with Chinese characters on them. Each sheet has many repetitions of the same character. They cut them away in rectangles and glue them to the mother-of-pearl, then lay the pieces out on a wooden surface. "Glue. Air dry."

They begin sawing a tree stump with a red interior. Once there is a long round piece they can grasp in their hand, it is tied with rope a a swivel into a machine that will spin it as long as they keep pressing the pedal with their foot. Thus allowing them to carve it in shape of a column of small balls stacked together.

"Ground ivy." Strips of ivy are used to sand it down. The column is cut through, leaving each little ball with a flat top and bottom that need to be "File smooth. The hardwood is shaped into a drum-like form and roughly sanded."

The mother-of-pearl rectangles are cut into so only the part under the letters remain. "Lettering with a saw. Finishing with a file." This is further sanded and the glued on Chinese character is removed to expose a letter made out of mother-of-pearl.

These letters are now glued on the red wooden drums and traced, then removed so their outline can be chiseled in. "Lime. Outline the characters with a sharp needle,then apply lime to reveal the shape. Carving letters. Carve the letters slightly shallower than the seashell pieces for easier sanding later on."

A metal brand is heated up and pressed into the red wooden pieces. "Hot stamping." It leaves an intricate border, that is then carved in, to place gold looking wire in it. Wire need to be gently hammered and pressed in to really get in there for a smooth finish. "Embedding silver wire. The silver wire needs to be hammered in before annealing."

"Mix lacquer, lime plaster, and hide glue in proportion." Mixture is them placed in the letter shaped carvings in the wood. The seashell Chinese characters are then pressed in and the mixture that gets pressed out is wiped. "Setting mother-of-pearl inlay. Decorating utensils by setting clam shells as inlays is referred to as mother-of-pearl inlay. Air drying in the shade."

Person makes a chessboard with more red wood, and silver wire for the borders between spaces. "Chessboard." The red pieces are finished. "Waxing. Coarse grinding the stone, polishing the fabric, waxing to reduce wood cracking." The pieces are held in the light to show how overall shiny they are and then stacked in rows and columns inside a wooden red box. "Mother-of-pearl chess set."

/End video description.

Images: mother-of-pearl inlay on a black surface. First three show a bird, a landscape, and flowers, from up close. Last one is a photo of a table from a far. /End image description.]

holy shit is this gorgeous.

[sailormel666]

SERPENTINE

an arcane story

(I wrote this when the silence got too loud. Just a little world to escape to.)

Chapter 1

Nova had always suspected there was something off about her. Not wrong, exactly — wrongness was for broken machines and twisted limbs — but misaligned, like a door hung crooked that never quite shuts. Nights she didn't sleep, which was most of them, she filled the hours and the ashtrays trying to trace it back. Wondering whether it was something coiled in her blood—Undercity blood, unruly, unrepentant—that had done it. Or if it was the city itself. Piltover's shadow, thick with smoke and rot, raising her the only way it knew how: with fists, silence, and the occasional illusion dressed as love.

She preferred those answers. They made things cleaner. A product of place, not choice. Like rust on metal — inevitable, impersonal. It meant she could keep the blood on her hands without feeling the need to wash it off. After all, wasn't it a kind of love, too, the way she protected what was hers? Even if it meant doing terrible things. Especially if it meant that.

She told herself those stories—quiet, hushed lies to make the weight easier to carry. You kill to protect, she whispered. You do what has to be done. The blood isn't yours. It's borrowed. That was the trick, wasn’t it? Paint a prison with meaning, and it starts to look like a shrine.

But there was the other voice, too. Not a whisper—never that kind. More like rot in the walls, humming just beneath the plaster of her thoughts. A voice that knew her. Knew what she flinched from in the mirror.

You’re not a protector, it said. You’re a coward with a knife. All your clever words are just silence in disguise. You don’t want to hear the screaming. That’s all.

And then the worst part, the truth that never needed saying but said itself anyway:

You’re filth. Born of filth, steeped in it. Pretend all you want—you're still rot at the root. And no amount of borrowed light will ever clean you.

---

“They should just put me down. Like a sick dog.”

Nova's voice came out sand-dry, cracked with use and disuse both, like something left too long in the sun—if there were sun in the Lanes. She groaned as she peeled herself off the couch, slow and reluctant, her joints protesting with brittle cracks, vertebrae slotting into place like reluctant soldiers answering roll call.

The mirror—tilted, smudged, and vaguely accusatory—waited for her on the floor. She dropped down in front of it, cross-legged like a girl at a sleepover, if the sleepover involved blood and poison and waking up drowning in your own regrets.

Nova was compact. Slender, like a blade. Short, like a warning. A face that pretended softness, delicate in the way spider silk is. But the softness was a trap, a decoy. Ink curled up her skin in black waves: flames, sigils, jagged ornaments that whispered violence. Piercings glittered like tiny threats. Her hair, black as oil and nearly as volatile, curled long to her hips, dyed at the ends in fading colors that looked like they'd been stolen from better times. Bangs cut straight, almost ritualistic. Skin pale, undercity-pale, the kind that never met sun, only smog and shadow. Her eyes—too large, too blue—carried the insomnia of a life lived in alleys and backrooms. They always seemed to be holding back a story, or choking on one.

Today, though, those shadows weren’t helping her mystique. Last night’s choices clung to her like smoke. Or shame. Or both.

With the grace of repetition, she reached for her scattered makeup, the tools of concealment. Not to pretend. Just to recalibrate. Survival requires illusion, not denial.

“Sounds a bit dramatic. And that’s coming from me,” Jinx said from behind her, slouched on the couch with that curated disinterest she wore like armor.

Nova didn’t look at her, not at first. Just kept dabbing at the wreckage of her own reflection. Then she flicked her gaze sideways, raised her brows.

“You’re not helping.”

Deadpan. But not biting. Not to her.

Jinx grinned—wild, pleased—and unfolded herself from the cushions, drifting over with that off-kilter grace she had. She didn’t ask; she just started gathering Nova's hair, fingers deft and strangely gentle, working it into those two buns Nova always wore when things were about to get serious. Half utility, half armor.

“I told you you’d regret staying out drinking all night,” Jinx said, sing-song.

Nova stayed quiet. Drinking. If only. It hadn’t just been booze. It was pills, and vials, and bitter liquids with no names, traded in corners by people who had no gods and even less conscience. She’d looked at that sordid table, full of ruin, and thought—why not. One more time. One more night to pretend she had control. I can handle it, she’d told herself.

Fool.

“When’s that shipment coming again?”

Jinx’s voice cut clean through the spiral. Her hands were still in Nova's hair, finishing the job, pinning the last curl into submission.

Nova blinked, then reached for the old pocketwatch and squinted.

“Shit. Twenty minutes.”

Her tone was flat, but the pulse in her throat ticked faster.

“I can’t be late. If I screw this up, Father’s going to end me.”

“Heh. Tell me about it.” Jinx didn’t sound scared. But then, Jinx rarely did.

Nova stood, automatic, movements honed to precision—strapping her twin blades onto her back, the pistol to her belt. The leather jacket came last: cropped, patched, and worn like a warning. Her outfit was black from neck to boot, the only color stitched into the fabric in threadbare rebellion.

She looked the part. The stories were true: a spitfire, a shadow in leather and ink. Feminine in the way venom can be sweet. Smuggler. Killer, if need be. Survivor, always.

She grabbed her shoulder bag on the way out, hesitating at the threshold.

“I won’t be back till evening,” she said. “Jericho’s for dinner, sis?”

“Oh yes!”

Jinx lit up like a struck match. She clasped her hands, that grin breaking wide—something between sugar and teeth.

“But bring something sweet too!”

Nova huffed, halfway a laugh.

“Spoiled rotten,” she muttered.

And then she was gone, swallowed whole by the city’s throat—its alleys winding like veins, buildings stacked like forgotten prayers. Somewhere out there, the undercity was waiting. And it did not forgive.

[askforbuildwell]

Invisible Strength, Visible Quality: What Makes a Gypsum Board Brand Truly Stand Out

Step into a finished interior — clean ceiling lines, crisp partitions, sharp corners. Now look closer. What’s making that finish possible?

Not the paint. Not the lighting. It’s the gypsum board underneath — invisible to the client, but everything to the execution.

That’s why industry leaders don’t just buy boards by size or price. They choose boards by performance, reliability, and long-term finish integrity.

And when quality, consistency, and nationwide supply come together, one name consistently rises: Buildwell — regarded by professionals as the Best Gypsum Board Brand in India for projects where the finish must match the promise.

“Invisible Strength” – Why the Board Behind the Paint Defines the Finish You See

A perfect finish starts long before primer hits the surface. It starts with the right core, the right edges, the right paper, and the right fit.

That’s where Buildwell makes its mark — by delivering a gypsum board that:

Cuts clean

Fixes fast

Holds strong

Finishes smooth

And does it consistently, across cities, climates, and construction styles.

What Makes Buildwell the Best Gypsum Board Brand in India?

Let’s break it down based on real-site impact:

✅ 1. Strong Paper Lamination for Seamless Jointing

Buildwell boards use high-strength face paper bonded with precision to the gypsum core, giving you:

Fewer jointing compound failures

Stronger tape grip

Less sanding after compound application

Cleaner final paint appearance

No joint bubbling. No shadow lines under downlights.

✅ 2. Crack-Resistant Core for Long-Term Stability

The internal composition is engineered to minimize expansion/contraction due to climate, ensuring:

No edge cracks

No board warping

Better alignment across large ceilings or partition grids

Especially critical for sites exposed to both dry heat and post-install AC cooling.

✅ 3. Clean Cutting & Easy Fixing

Buildwell gypsum boards respond well to manual and machine cutting, producing:

Smooth edges

Minimal dust

Easy alignment during fitting

Better screw holding capacity

Less material loss. Fewer rejected pieces.

✅ 4. Available in Full Range of Types & Sizes

Whatever your need — Buildwell has it:

Regular Boards – for dry interiors and standard ceiling work

Moisture-Resistant (MR) Boards – for kitchens, bathrooms, service ducts

Fire-Retardant (FR) Boards – for safety zones, shafts, fire-compliant walls

Available in standard 12.5mm thickness with multiple sizes as per BOQ.

One brand, all variants = faster approvals, fewer site-level changes.

✅ 5. Perfect Match with Buildwell System Products

Buildwell boards are designed to integrate with:

Buildwell jointing compound

Drywall screws

Metal framing

Ceiling tiles

Gypsum plaster and bond

Using everything from the same brand gives your project team complete material compatibility — eliminating site adjustments and post-handover surprises.

Where Buildwell Boards Make the Biggest Difference

🏢 Corporate Fit-Outs

Cleaner ceiling finishes, stronger edge joints, fewer complaints during walkthrough.

🏘️ Group Housing

Standardized finish quality across flats and towers with less material loss floor-by-floor.

🏫 Institutions & Schools

Impact-resistant performance and easy installation across partition-heavy interiors.

🏥 Healthcare Spaces

Smooth finish, MR options, and zero surface cracking for hygienic interiors.

🏬 Retail Spaces

Faster workability and better stability under accent lighting.

In every case, Buildwell ensures the gypsum board does what it’s supposed to: disappear from view, but hold everything together.

Why Contractors Choose Buildwell Again and Again

Boards that don’t crack while cutting

No delays due to board warping or misalignment

Consistent supply across project zones

Finish support and compatibility across the entire ceiling system

Minimal patchwork required during final handover

That’s why it’s considered the best gypsum board brand in India — because it helps contractors deliver perfect results with less pressure.

Final Word: The Best Interiors Start with the Right Board

Your painter may get the praise. Your designer may get the glory. But your gypsum board? It holds everything in place — quietly, reliably, invisibly.

Buildwell doesn’t just sell boards. It delivers project confidence.

That’s what makes it the best gypsum board brand in India — for homes, hotels, hospitals, or head offices that need finishes to last.

🌐Explore Ceiling Products at Buildwell.in

📧 Email: sales@buildwell.in 📲 WhatsApp: 7900336699 📞 Toll-Free: 18001028031

[brickmachinery]

Affordable Construction with Fly Ash Brick Making Machine

The fly ash brick making machine functions to create bricks from fly ash while using coal power plant combustion waste materials alongside cement and sand as well as water. The machine integrates fly ash as its main component along with cement and sand and water for producing robust brick elements. The available models of these machines include manual operation and semi-automatic and fully automatic functions which correspond to different project requirements.

Cost-Effective Raw Material

Fly ash exists as an inexpensive industrial waste substance which can be found conveniently. The use of fly ash as your main raw material leads to reduced production expenses when compared to regular brick production that consumes substantial energy resources.

Lower Construction Costs

The rectangular shapes together with smooth surfaces on Fly ash bricks enable builders to use less plastering material and mortar during construction. The reduced weight of these bricks diminishes both structural weight and shipping costs which results in reduced total building expenses.

Faster Brick Production

The advanced fly ash brick making machines from Brick Machinery enable the production of numerous bricks during shortened periods. The production of fly ash bricks by Brick Machinery's machines shortens project timelines while saving construction expenses which boosts efficiency during building operations.

Applications of Fly Ash Brick Making Machines

Residential housing projects

Commercial buildings

Infrastructure developments

Industrial constructions

Government-funded affordable housing schemes

[kerplunkmedia]

Types and Cost of Bricks in Chennai – How to Choose the Right Bricks for Home Projects

Building a home is a dream for many, and choosing the right bricks is one of the most crucial decisions in construction. The quality of bricks affects the strength, durability, and overall cost of your project. In Chennai, various types of bricks are available, each with different properties and price ranges.

In this guide, we’ll explore: ✔ Different types of bricks used in Chennai✔ Current brick prices in Chennai (2025)✔ How to choose the best bricks for your home project

Let’s get started!

1. Types of Bricks Available in Chennai

1.1 Red Bricks (Clay Bricks)

Red bricks are the most traditional and widely used bricks in Chennai. They are made from clay and baked in kilns.

Pros:

Good strength and durability

Natural cooling properties (ideal for Chennai’s climate)

Cost-effective

Cons:

Uneven sizes may require more mortar

Not as strong as concrete bricks

Best for: Residential homes, compound walls, and low-rise buildings

1.2 Fly Ash Bricks (Eco-Friendly Bricks)

Fly ash bricks are made from fly ash (a byproduct of coal combustion), cement, and sand. They are eco-friendly and gaining popularity in Chennai.

Pros:

Lighter than red bricks

High strength and uniform shape

Less water absorption, reducing dampness

Cons:

Slightly more expensive than red bricks

Limited availability in some areas

Best for: Multi-story buildings, commercial projects

Ideas: Check our other Blogs : Understanding the Unique Properties of AAC Blocks: Pros and Cons

1.3 Concrete Bricks (Solid Blocks)

Concrete bricks are made from cement, sand, and aggregates. They are denser and stronger than clay bricks.

Pros:

High load-bearing capacity

Uniform shape for smoother construction

Low maintenance

Cons:

Poor thermal insulation (retains heat)

Heavier than other bricks

Best for: High-rise buildings, foundations

Ideas: Check our other Blogs How to Find M Sand Supplier Near Me in Chennai – A Guide to Choose M Sand Supplier

1.4 Hollow Bricks Blocks

Hollow bricks have cavities inside, making them lightweight and good for insulation.

Pros:

Lightweight, reducing structural load

Better thermal and sound insulation

Cost-effective due to less material usage

Cons:

Not suitable for load-bearing walls

Requires careful handling

Best for: Partition walls, non-load-bearing structures

1.5 Wire-Cut Bricks (Table Mould Bricks)

These are machine-made bricks with precise dimensions and smooth surfaces.

Pros:

Uniform shape for neat construction

High durability

Cons:

More expensive than traditional red bricks

Best for: Modern homes, aesthetic construction

Ideas: Check our other Blogs : Eco-Friendly Construction Materials: The Future of Sustainable Building

2. Brick Prices in Chennai (2024)

3. How to Choose the Right Bricks for Your Home Project

Consider the Purpose

Load-bearing walls? → Concrete or fly ash bricks

Partition walls? → Hollow or lightweight bricks

Aesthetic appeal? → Wire-cut or red bricks

Check Brick Quality

Sound Test: Tap two bricks together—a clear metallic sound indicates good quality.

Water Absorption: Good bricks absorb less than 20% water.

Uniform Shape: Bricks should be even-sized for smooth construction.

Compare Costs & Durability

Red bricks are cheaper but may need more plastering.

Fly ash and concrete bricks last longer but cost more.

Chennai Climate Considerations

Red bricks keep homes cooler in hot weather.

Fly ash bricks resist dampness better in humid conditions.

Buy from Trusted Suppliers

Purchase from reputed suppliers like Chennai Civil Supply to ensure quality and fair pricing.

Ideas: Check our other Blogs TMT Bars: Weights, Sizes, and Inches – A Comprehensive Guide.

4. Final Tips for Buying Bricks in Chennai

Always ask for samples before bulk purchase.

Check for ISI certification for quality assurance.

Calculate the exact number of bricks needed to avoid wastage.

Choose Chennai Civil Supply for Best Bricks Supplier in Chennai

Chennai Civil Supply is a leading supplier of bricks and blocks in Chennai. Put your trust in our knowledge and dependability to add premium bricks to your projects. Upgrade your construction projects in Chennai by using the best bricks available from top manufacturers. As a reputable supplier of building materials in Chennai, we offer top-notch goods to satisfy all of your construction needs.

Order Bricks online : https://www.civilsupply.in/concrete-blocks-in-chennai

Location 112, Vallalar St, Moorthy Samy Colony, Padi, Chennai, Tamil Nadu 600050

Contact:  09206312345

Website : https://www.civilsupply.in/ 

Conclusion

Choosing the right bricks is essential for a strong and long-lasting home. In Chennai, red bricks remain popular for affordability, while fly ash and concrete bricks offer better strength. Assess your budget, project needs, and brick quality before making a decision.For the best brick suppliers in Chennai, contact Chennai Civil Supply for genuine materials at competitive prices

[wordsonly]

Intercom

He presses a child’s foot into Plaster of Paris.

The guaze is too small.

The cast crumbles.

In the ward,

colleagues bumble.

None volunteer assistance.

Lunch is four hours late, so

patience is thin,

productivity is low,

tempers frayed.

There is no vulnerable way

forward.

Patients, rock, mantra-bemoaning,

or patients, thin,

slip away.

Escape can be planned through

an analogue system—

Grey-textured buttons, on

off-white, slatted facias.

An officious female voice

crackles from the hissy ethersphere.

He can hear—

but the words collapse,

gibberish bouncing on Magic Sand.

He asks it to repeat.

To repeat.

repeat.

Unable to focus on its monotoned instruction.

Meaning crumbles

with the lint and gypsum—

shapes barely formed in the qualia,

honing to a footprint.

It sells him tickets.

Tickets to a therapeutic visualisation,

to a somewhere that is peaceful.

A nostalgic landscape—

where every road is wide,

every vehicle hulks, oversized.

Where insurance men assess

every risk—

every sugarized scream,

every slimline-nicotine-curve machine

- The dangers of hard candy.

Of chromium shafts.

Latex bodysuits,

In drops of red,

stretched

upon gleaming,

cylinder head

swooping yellow

Hot Rod wings.

He mutters curt, grumpy responses—

The voice,

stuttering from its robotised script,

Hearing this voice from the past, softens.

Slowly,

Recognition blooms—

It begins to tell him stories.

Stories of a past life,

one he once knew :

Of gardens.

Of gathered loved ones.

Of games played barefoot,

drenched in sun.

Of soft grass and porches.

Of shuttlecocks and cucumber sandwiches.

Fresh, red fruits sliced to brimming jugs

of lust—

Youthful and unrequited.

Hearing her wanting.

Knowing. Placing her voice.

Acknowledging it is

calling to be his.

Even though, as crushed white powder—

the sound of thin skin

A small, crepitate speaker.

—

He pretends.

He simulates obliviousness,

He is oblivious (Not knowing the difference)

He pretends the stress of tardiness

Of his duty.

His replies migrate to a robotised,

preoccupied,

disquieted detachment.

He has tickets now.

Without the requisite confirmation.

Without numbers or peace of mind.

He apologises matter of factly

and releases the button—

knowing he could make it.

If he had left,

before,

Before the conversation started,

Before he had pressed

The grey-button.

——

[maifrenthebesto]

Hot take, but Jesus didn't die for OUR sins, THEY ritualistically imagined passing their sins onto HIM during the passion.

They treated him no better than a chicken, and sold us the idea that he HAD to die to save everyone.

The greatest psyop of our time is believing that the cross is his symbol.

It is plastered by well-meaning, albeit brainwashed, believers in an attempt to remind the next incarnate that they've done it before, and will do it again.

That's why he came back in all of us.

If they kill all of us, they have no one to rule over.

Israel is not an imaginart line in the sand, it is the people who believe in the life of Cristus.

The second coming cannot be achieved by making it so that Israel (the state) is dominant over the face of the earth, but by spreading his truth, and letting it speak for itself.

The Nazis were doing to the Jews what they themselves practiced, it was the way of Nazi Germany to pass on the sins of war to a group of people as they embarked on the same fool's errand that Israel (the state) is marching towards.

If the largest intervention force in the world (The US) is an accomplice to these sins, then the current reich has nothing to fear, as long as they have a machine gun atop their glass dome.

Jesus came to teach us that he wasn't any more king than you and I were, it was the lack of comprehension, suppression, and intimidation that limited the reach and outcry of the presence of a Cristus within current society.

No wonder Gnostics were prosecuted in their time.

[rmxsolution]

The Complete Guide to Setting Up a Modern M Sand Plant

As the demand for construction materials grows, the importance of sustainable and efficient sand manufacturing becomes more evident. One of the critical components in modern construction is M Sand (Manufactured Sand), which is an excellent alternative to natural sand.

This guide will walk you through the process of setting up a modern M Sand Plant, covering the essential components such as the Plaster Sand Making Unit, Dry Sand Washing System, and more.

What is M Sand?

M Sand, also known as Artificial Sand, is created by crushing solid rocks to produce smaller particles that closely resemble natural sand in quality. Its durability and affordability make it a popular choice in the construction sector. By setting up m sand factories, companies can fulfill the market need for high-quality sand and help promote sustainable construction methods.

The Importance of M Sand in Modern Construction

With the depletion of natural sand resources, M Sand has become a crucial alternative for modern construction projects. It offers a sustainable and cost-effective solution without compromising the quality of the final product. By setting up an M Sand Plant, companies can tap into the growing demand for environmentally friendly sand that meets industry standards.

Compliance and Quality Control in M Sand Plants

Quality control is critical in Sand Manufacturing to ensure the sand meets industry regulations and project-specific requirements. By using advanced equipment like the Dry Sand Washing System and conducting regular checks, you can maintain consistent particle size, purity, and moisture levels in the sand. Setting up a proper system for compliance also ensures your M Sand Plant meets environmental and safety standards.

Essential Components of an M Sand Plant

When setting up an M Sand Plant, it’s essential to understand the various components that make up the facility. Each unit plays a significant role in the overall efficiency and quality of the sand produced.

1. Plaster Sand Making Unit A Plaster Sand Making Unit is a crucial part of any M Sand Plant. It is specifically designed to produce fine, plaster-grade sand, essential for plastering walls and other surfaces. This unit ensures that the sand particles are uniform in size and shape, improving the quality of the end product.

2. Dry Sand Washing System The Dry Sand Washing System is another vital component. This system ensures that the sand produced is free from impurities like dust, clay, and other particles. Unlike traditional wet washing, the dry system saves water, making it an environmentally friendly option.

3. Plaster Sand Classifier In order to achieve the desired particle size for plaster sand, a Plaster Sand Classifier is used. This equipment separates sand particles based on size, ensuring that only high-quality, fine particles are used in plaster applications. This contributes to superior plaster finish and reduced material wastage.

4. Dry Sand Washer The Dry Sand Washer plays a crucial role in removing unwanted contaminants from the sand. Unlike the traditional wet process, the dry method ensures that the sand is completely dry and ready for use, reducing the need for drying time before it can be used in construction.

Benefits of an M Sand Plant

Setting up an M Sand Plant has numerous benefits. In addition to addressing the increasing need for top-notch sand in construction, it also aids in sustainability by decreasing dependence on natural sand.

Major advantages include: Cost effective: Synthetic sand is cheaper than natural sand, reducing overall construction costs.

Consistency: The use of advanced equipment such as plaster sand makers and plaster sand filters ensures sand consistency in all types of projects.

Environmental Sustainability: By using dry sand washes, businesses can reduce water consumption and help protect the environment.

Increased efficiency: Modern sanding and processing machines increase the overall efficiency of sand production, producing more in a shorter period of time.

Choosing the Right Equipment for Your M Sand Plant

Investing in the right equipment is essential to the success of your M Sand Plant. At RCMPL (your company), we offer state-of-the-art Sand Processing Equipment that ensures efficiency and sustainability. From Dry Sand Washers to Plaster Sand Classifiers we offer the complete range of equipment needed to build a modern Plaster Sand Plant.

Our machines are designed to reduce maintenance costs, improve productivity and deliver consistent results. With decades of experience in the industry, RCMPL is your trusted partner in setting up a successful m sand plant. See RCMPL for more information about our product offerings.

Conclusion

Setting up a modern M Sand Plant is an excellent investment for businesses looking to meet the growing demand for high-quality sand in construction. With components like the Plaster Sand Making Unit, Dry Sand Washing System, and Plaster Sand Classifier, the process of producing M Sand is more efficient, environmentally friendly, and cost-effective than ever before. By choosing the right equipment and processes, you can ensure the success and sustainability of your sand manufacturing business.

If you’re looking to set up an M Sand Plant, RCMPL offers a complete range of solutions tailored to your needs. Explore our offerings today at RCMPL and get started on building a plant that will support the future of construction.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“You want us to what.”

Lance doesn’t give a flying fuck how angry he sounds, potential diplomatic crises be damned – hell, he wants to cause a crisis. He wants to raise some hell.

The dignitary sniffs derisively. “The beast is a dangerous pest, Blue Paladin.”

“Not the blue paladin,” Lance growls, because he isn’t, “and I am not murdering an animal in cold blood just because you can’t deal with it properly.”

“Lance,” Allura hisses, but he has no problem ignoring her.

“Can’t deal with it properly — do you hear your paladin!” the dignitary sputters, waving an angry hand in Lance’s direction.

Shiro closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, before plastering on a tight smile and trying to salvage the situation. Usually, Lance would hate to cause Shiro any stress at all, and would do whatever he could to reduce that stress. This time, Lance is going to dig his heels in. He is not going to let a living being be needlessly exterminated. Lance isn’t anti-animal death, or anything — he has no problem with others eating meat, or using animal products. He thinks using animals as gifts and not letting any part of them go to waste is very wise, and he has a lot of respect for people who manage to do so successfully. Sport hunters, on the other hand, or people who kill without good reason? Therein lies his problem, and he’s beyond happy to make a big stink of it.

“Could you describe the beast?” Shiro asks.

“Happily,” the dignitary grumps. “I’m eager to describe its horror to you, Oh Great Leader of Voltron.”

Shiro visibly tries very hard not to roll his eyes. Lance refuses to take any joy in the reaction, even though he would usually laugh.

“The beast is as large as half our royal castle. Its teeth are larger than our tallest soldier, and sharper than a luxite blade. Its fur is rough and coarse, enough to sand the paint clean off the walls it brushes by. Its roar shakes the very foundations of our city. It walks on four legs but stands on two, right before it rears up to smash our buildings to dust. It is a menace, a pest, and a danger besides!”

“So you have a grizzly bear problem,” Lance snaps. “Close your garbage cans at night and quit complaining.”

“Lance, please,” Hunk mutters, but Lance will not back down. Not when a life is at stake.

“Has it actually…hurt anyone?” Keith asks.

Lance shoots a grateful look at Keith.

At least someone is on his side.

“Yes!” the dignitary cries.

Keith shoots a look back at Lance — a well, I tried if Lance has ever seen one — but that is not good enough. Lance glares at him.

Traitor.

“Explain,” Lance demands.

The dignitary frowns, looking down their nose at Lance and shaking their head. “I’m not talking to you.”

“Would you mind explaining,” Pidge deadpans, barely refraining from rolling her eyes.

Lance knows Pidge well enough to know that she’s not on his side, exactly — she threw stuff at him when he started insulting the dignitary initially — but there’s nothing that pisses her off more than someone talking down to her family. Even if she doesn’t agree with said family. She’s loyal, like that.

“Fine, since you asked so nicely,” the dignitary says, cutting a look to Lance, who makes a very crude gesture with his hands in response and ignores the four (4) tired sighs from assorted teammates and co. around him.

“The beast easily and ruthlessly took down several of our soldiers as soon as they opened fire on it. And it further still injured many of our knights when we sent them to its cave! It is a mindless, killing machine, and must be exterminated immediately.”

Lance throws his hands up in exasperation. “No shit it’s defending itself! What do you expect it to do, stand there while you shoot at it?”

“If it didn’t want to be shot it shouldn’t have ventured into the city in the first place!”

“It’s an animal! How the hell is it supposed to understand city limits and boundaries?”

“That’s not my problem,” the dignitary says coldly. “It has posed a threat to our people, and so it must die. And if Voltron wishes for our signature in the Coalition, you will come to our aid, or else you can count yourself down one planet’s alliance.”

Allura stiffens. “You would really risk your people’s protection over a difference in opinion?”

“Your blue paladin —”

“I am not the blue paladin, you brainless amoeba —”

“Your blue paladin,” the dignitary repeats, pointedly and icily, “has insulted us greatly. The situation is no longer up for debate. If you wish to sign an alliance, the paladin must handle the problem himself. That is our final stipulation.”

With that, the dignitary ends the call, cutting off Shiro’s pleas for him to wait.

All eyes turn to Lance.

“I am not killing an innocent animal,” Lance snaps. “Forget it.”

Keith sighs. “Lance —”

“No.” Lance clenches his fists, glaring at his team, chin raised and shoulders set. Beside him, Mr. Snuggles spreads his fangs and hisses. The mice — currently resting on his head — scramble to their feet, presumably also tensing up. Ivy — a venomous vine he picked up on a planet a few missions back — winds up his arms. “I am not just being ridiculous. You heard that idiot. They’re provoking it. It’s not doing anything wrong.”

“Lance —” Keith tries again, but Lance is not willing to hear it.

“I will not take an innocent life to buy an alliance. And if you do, I swear to God, I will never forgive you.”

With that he stomps out of the bridge, ignoring the dozens of calls of his name and pleas to “wait a goddamn second, Lance, c’mon.”

Lance stomps all the way to his room, muttering about stupid careless dignitaries and team members who won’t listen to him and how everyone is going to make him grey early and he is not Shiro, lord above, so he can’t pull that garbage off. Ugh.

He slams his door behind him and flops on the bed, and is marginally surprised to find his tears stinging his eyes.

“This is a stupid reason to cry,” he announces to no one, voice muffled in his pillow. “Why must I cry about stupid things. Why can’t I cry about regular things. This is dumb.”

There’s a clicking sound accompanying a gentle bump to the leg hanging off his bed. He drags his head off the pillow, sniffling, to see Mr. Snuggles sitting to the side of his bed, fangs clicking. The mice sit on his head, as they are wont to do (which, understandably considering the natural predator of mice, used to scare the shit out of Allura. But Mr. Snuggles has never been anything but gentle with them, even when they roughhouse on his back or play tag under his leg and accidentally trip him. He seems to be quite protective of them, actually. It’s very sweet. Lance thinks it might be a microhylid frog/giant tarantula situation, even though Mr. Snuggles can’t lay eggs, and it amuses him greatly). Ivy uncoils from his bed frame, wrapping a vine around his ankle and tugging carefully. Blue and Red both loudly mother him in the back of his mind.

It’s nice.

Lance sighs, wiping his tears and sitting up against his headboard.

“This sucks,” he says to his assortment of companions, all who seem to agree with him. Mr. Snuggles and the mice crawl up the leg of the bed to sit in front of him, and Ivy makes her way around his shoulders.

None of them can talk to him, obviously — how fucking cool would that be, though — but each one of them is an excellent listener (even the mice, who like to gossip, but Lance preemptively forgives them).

“It’s just —” Lance huffs, frustrated. “I get that the planet is probably tired of being lightly terrorized by a giant beast, sure, but is murder really the answer? Plus, have they even tried talking to it? Maybe it’s very reasonable! I’m sure I —”

Lance shoots up, startling poor Ivy, but holy shit.

Holy shit!

“That’s it!” he shouts, grin nearly splitting his face in two. He leans over, just barely managing to grab his holopad, and starts sketching out the plans.

“Now if I just — and it shouldn’t be too hard — I’ve done more in less time �� hell yeah!”

He’s startled out of his fervour by urgent squeaks, and when he looks up, he sees the mice waving to get his attention.

“Yes?”

At his acknowledgement, they scurry into formation, laying together to make a question mark with their little bodies.

Lance snorts. He may not be able to speak their language, but they have no problems making themselves clear.

“I can’t tell you,” he scolds. “You’re going to snitch to Allura.”

They mice squeak sadly, but Lance knows better. Last time he gave in to them, Allura knew within the minute.

“I’ll be back soon, okay? Don’t wait up for me. Platt, Chulatt, Plachu, Chuchule — there’s some of that fancy grain you like in the cupboard. Mr. Snuggles — here.” He opens up space youtube, quickly opening up a horror movie reaction compilation for the fear demon spider. “That’ll keep you fed for a bit.” He props the holopad up on his pillow, scrambling to his feet and heading to the door. On the way out, he pulls the string on his special blue sun lamp — “That’s for you, Ivy!” — and then he’s out the door, plans in hand, to find Coran.

Luckily for Lance, he runs straight into him.

“Lance, dear, I was just coming to look for you,” Coran says, right outside his door.

Lance grins. “I can see that.”

Coran narrows his eyes. “You’re… remarkably chipper, Number Four.”

“Mhm.”

He holds up a hand for Coran to pause. He strains his ears, and smirks as he just barely picks up on the sound of near-silent footsteps behind a closed door. He makes pointed eye contact with the advisor, then inclines his head at Keith’s door.

Coran gets the point.

“Well, if you’re really feeling so much better,” Coran says loudly — too loudly, but Lance doesn’t have much in the subtlety department either, so he can’t complain — “would you mind helping me recalibrate the fabricator?”

“Absolutely,” Lance says, dragging the advisor by the hand in the opposite direction of the fabricator.

“Will you speak plainly, now?” Coran asks, once they’ve put some distance between them and Keith’s eavesdropping ass. (That is, however, probably an unfair reaction. Keith was likely listening in to try and find a way to help, in his own awkward way. If Lance wasn’t currently feeling just a smidge betrayed, he would feel touched.)

“Okay, so. I have a Plan.” Lance puts emphasis on the word so Coran knows it’s Capitalized, because this isn’t just a regular plan. This is a rescue mission. It’s espionage. A heist, even.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes!”

Coran sighs, dragging a hand down his face.

“Lance,” he says warningly, but Lance won’t hear it.

“C’mon, Coran! You trust me, right?”

“That is a manipulative question —”

“You trust me! You said so yourself!”

“Fine, child. Yes, I trust you.”

Lance claps his hands together. “Excellent! So. I refuse to be a murderer, as you may have heard.”

“That would have been very hard for me to miss,” Coran says drily.

Lance gracefully ignores the comment. “And since I will also go apeshit if anyone else becomes a murderer, I have come up with a plan!”

“Lance. Number Four. My dear. Time is not our current luxury. Please share your plan.”

“Right. Okay.” Lance rocks back on his heels, shooting Coran a guileless smile. “How well do you think you can imitate my mannerisms?”

———

Lance has no idea how powerful he truly is.

Seriously. Completely oblivious. He’s convinced that he’s the only one on the team who’s not powerful — and Keith knows this because those are the words Lance said with his own mouth. He’s so convinced that power is Shiro’s strength, Pidge’s intelligence, Hunk’s wit and compassion, Allura’s regality, and Coran’s wisdom. He’s even completely sure that Keith has power in his speed and initiative.

Somehow, though, the heart of Voltron does not know how he holds everyone in the palm of his hand. He does not see the picture of terror he makes; jaw clenched, brown eyes flashing with determination, back straight and shoulders set, demonic spider at his side, telepathic mice gathered on his head, poisonous, sentient vine wrapped around him — and the spirts of two lions, red and blue, growling in tandem behind him as he swears that no harm will come to the beast by Voltron’s hand.

Lance did not see the fear in the dignitary’s face. He did not notice his team staring at him with wide eyes, leaning far away from him and his own army. He did not see the pure, concentrated power rippling from him in waves.

If Keith’s being totally, completely honest, it’s kind of hot.

But it’s also a pain in the ass. As much as Lance’s greatest strength is in convincing people to listen to him, when he sets stubborn eyes on a task, the Universe herself cannot sway him. Keith has a snowball’s chance in hell of managing either.

“Just try,” Shiro pleads. “Please. Attempt to convince him that, as much as it sucks, killing the damn beast is the easiest way to secure this alliance and move on.”

“Shiro, your braincells are spilling out your ears like loose marbles if you think that I can convince him to even listen to the words I will attempt to say.”

“Holy idiom, there, cowboy,” Pidge teases, and Keith breaks away from the intense stare-down with his brother to stick his tongue out and shoot her the finger.

“That’s a normal idiom. Sorry that you grew up in Michigan where the most interesting insult you ever hear is someone saying please with a little more passive aggression than usual.”

“…Alright. Point to Keith.”

“Mhm. That’s what I thought.”

“Paladins!” Allura snaps, ignoring Hunk’s smartass comment that she is also, actually, a paladin, and as such is included in such snappish remarks and thus has lost a good chunk of ethos. “Focus! Stars, it’s like I have to do everything around here. Keith. Put your big boy pants on.”

Shiro chokes with laughter, desperately trying to pretend it’s really a cough, but it fools no one.

God, those two need to stop hanging out together. Shiro is dragging Allura down to his level. Poor woman.

“Talk to Lance,” she continues. “He only really listens to you.”

Keith looks at her incredulously. “Listens to me — have I missed something? I asked Lance to lead a briefing yesterday and he asked me what deity died and made me king of the jungle. He doesn’t listen to a goddamn word I say.”

Allura raises an eyebrow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Lead the briefing yesterday?”

Keith deflates. Because, well. “Yeah,” he mutters.

“So you’re just being a pussy, then,” she summarizes – why does Pidge insist on teaching her modern slang and why does she like it so much – and this time Shiro doesn’t even pretend he’s coughing. Hunk and Pidge also lose their shit.

“I resent that,” Keith says haughtily, denying nothing.

“Yeah. Okay. Off you go. Convince him to at least attempt to hear us out.”

Keith sighs, but does as asked, making his way to his and Lance’s rooms. He decides to take a minute and gather his thoughts — see, he’s learning, look at how not-impulsive he’s being — and heads to his room first.

When he gets there, he spends a few meditating beside his bed — he’d rather stick a hot iron through his eye than admit it, but Shiro and Black may be a little, teensy, itty-bitty bit correct about taking time to gather up thoughts and reflect or whatever.

Just as he’s about to get up and knock on Lance’s door, he hears Coran’s heeled boots click down the hallway.

Oh, fuck yes. If Coran talks to Lance, he might actually listen without argument! Lance has no issue following Coran’s instructions!

…On the other hand, Coran’s just as much of a — and Keith says this with all the fondness in his heart, believe him, if he didn’t find it so damn endearing he would not be spending his nights imagining what will happen when he finally grows enough of a pair to ask Lance on a date — tree-hugger as Lance is. He won’t be happy about the beast killing either.

But, hey. Coran’s a wise guy. It’s probably fine.

Just in case, though, he gets up as quietly as he can — he knows Lance’s goddamn bat ears will hear him if his fucking heart beats too loudly — and leans against the door to hear their conversation.

“Lance, dear, I was just coming to find you,” Coran says.

So far, so good. If Coran was already trying to find Lance, it was probably to try and gently convince him that saving the beast might not be the best option, right?

Keith heart sinks a little as a new thought worms into his brain: maybe, Lance isn’t just being stubborn, and he’s actually upset. Maybe Coran is going to make sure Lance is feeling okay, like a good person.

…Yeah. That’s more likely. Keith kind of feels like a jackass.

He startles out of his thoughts as Coran’s voice, notably louder than before, speaks again.

“Well, if you’re really feeling so much better, would you mind helping me recalibrate the fabricator?”

“Absolutely,” Lance says, and he does sound remarkably happier than he did when he stomped out of the bridge.

Huh. Maybe Lance convinced himself…?

As he thinks it, he knows it’s not true. But it might not be best to bring it up now, then. He’s only just gotten into a good mood, it will probably be better to bring it up over dinner, or something, when the good mood has enough time to settle properly.

Keith nods to himself. Yeah. That’s totally not an excuse because he doesn’t want Lance to look at him in complete betrayal again when Keith attempts to convince him that saving the beast is not an option, or anything.

Right.

Totally.

———

Lance is feeling remarkably better at dinner. Coran wasn’t sure about the plan, at first, but Lance was very convincing, so he relented. It helped that Coran also is not fond of needless animal murder, which is why he’s Lance’s favourite.

(Well, currently. Usually everyone is tied for his favourite, but no one else had his back today at the meeting, so they’re all currently tied for second-favourite. But they’ll have a chance to redeem themselves after this mission is over.)

He and Coran are the last to arrive to dinner, predictably, so Lance doesn’t waste a second.

“I am now on your side,” he announces as soon as he walks through the door. “You’re all correct, we should get this alliance at all cost, and murder the beast in cold blood. I am completely on board with your plan and happy with all the innocent blood about to be on my hands.”

The team, also predictably, stare at him in shocked silence. Lance sits primly in his chair, accidentally-on-purpose elbowing Mullet in the head, and immediately shoves food goo in his mouth so no one can ask any follow-up questions.

Also predictably, that does not work.

“…There were a lot of contradicting words in that announcement,” Mullet says. (Lance is currently very mad at him and as such he has been demoted from fond nicknames and even his regular name so he will be Mullet until Lance wants to bite him — angrily, angrily, not the way he usually wants to bite him — less.)

“Ooooh, SAT word,” Lance responds, just to be a jackass.

(It works. Keith reaches over to attempt to flick him, but unluckily for him Lance is very used to that reaction to his particular brand of annoying, and so Mullet falls off his chair due to Lance kicking it out from under him before his flick lands).

“So,” Lance says, as Mullet curses at him from the floor, “does anyone else have any comments or concerns?”

There is a very heavy, loaded silence, before Shiro, Allura, and Hunk sigh in tandem.

“Yeah, you’re not going to be leaving my sight,” Hunk says.

“Agreed,” Shiro mutters, head in his hands. “Sorry, buddy, but at the moment I can’t trust you not to go rogue. I was going to let you stay on the castle with Coran, but I no longer think that’s viable. You’ll have to stay with me for the mission.”

“That’s fine,” Lance says, working very hard to shove the smugness out of his voice. He thinks he does a pretty decent job. “You’re all dead to me anyways, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Christ,” Pidge mumbles into her goo.

Allura pinches the bridge of her nose. Lance hears her muttering ‘I signed up for this’ over and over under her breath.

The rest of the meal passes in tense silence. When Lance finishes, he stands up abruptly, tucking his chair back in with enough force that he might as well have thrown it, and washes his dishes with such vigour that he actually has to slow down so they don’t break. He then stalks to the door, pauses, and faces the team (except Coran, who is visibly fighting back a smile and avoiding eye contact — hehe, Lance knew he’d get him fully on board eventually).

“I am going to go to bed, for my final night as a man with a soul,” he says. “I’m sure the rest of you soulless individuals will have no problem going right to sleep tonight, but I will be tossing and turning for the whole time, as I ponder how many of my moral codes I will be breaking tomorrow, so I’m going to get an early start so I can squeeze out as much rest as possible. Have a wonderful rest of your evening.”

He walks calmly out of the room until he’s out of eyesight, then sprints full speed to Coran’s room, resisting the heavy urge to jump on the man’s bed to expel some nervous energy. Instead, he meticulously reorganizes the advisor’s bookshelf. (He gets pretty into it, honestly. Coran has a veritable rainbow of colours decorating the covers of his collection, and Lance loves to go ham with the colour coding. That’s the best part of the ‘tism, he reckons.)

“I had those ordered in a specific way, you know.”

Lance practically jumps to his feet at the teasing remark, turning to face Coran so fast he makes himself a little dizzy.

“Did it work?! Are they suspicious?! Are they ready to velcro me to one of them so I can’t run off?!”

“It did work, you evil mastermind. They’re all convinced you need to be under constant surveillance. They’ve even created shifts so you’re always being watched.”

Lance cheers.

See, his plan is really quite simple. No matter what he says or does, the team is never going to fully trust him with this mission. And understandably so — Lance has made his position quite clear. It would be foolish of them to think that Lance wouldn’t try anything. No matter what, they’re going to be wary of what Lance is doing.

But Lance was counting on that, you see.

He fully expected to be under watch. He also knew that they expected him to fight them, tooth and nail, the whole way. But if he subverted their expectations, just a little — if he said he was on board with the plan while making it very clear that he had no intention of following anyone’s orders — well, now they’re paranoid.

And if there’s one thing paranoia does, it’s make you sloppy.

Tomorrow, they’ll be so focused on watching Lance, so focused on thwarting whatever potential mutiny that they think he has cooked up, that they’ll be forgiving if Lance’s mannerisms are a bit… off. They’ll expect it, even. And they’ll spend so much energy on watching Lance and planning for his acting out that they won’t notice if Coran, up in the castle, isn’t sending a constant barrage of cheery check-ins on the comms.

And, most importantly, they will not be investigating the beast very closely at all.

The actual plan is very simple, with all that information in mind. All Lance has to do tonight is record and set up some of Coran’s regular check-ins to sound off during the day. Then Coran is going to exercise his shapeshifting ability — he’s going to turn into Lance for the day, as shifty and suspicious as possible.

And Lance? Lance is going to sneak out the castle after everyone’s already gone, find the beast before they do, and solve the problem his own damn self.

After all, that’s what the stupid dignitary wanted.

If you wish to sign an alliance, the paladin must handle the problem himself, the dignitary had said. Lance smirks to himself.

That’s not a problem.

Not a problem at all.

———

The first emotion Keith feels, immediately upon waking, is intense dread.

And if that doesn’t sum up the day he’s about to have. Fuck’s sake.

He already feels pretty guilty about yesterday. Besides the fact that Lance is his right hand man — they’re supposed to have each other’s backs, and Keith definitely didn’t have Lance’s, because even though Lance wasn’t in the right he wasn’t in the wrong either — and they’re supposed to be leading this as a team, Keith knows part of the reason things fell apart so quickly is because he didn’t talk to Lance last night. He probably couldn’t’ve convinced Lance to kill the beast, obviously, but they could have definitely explored some different angles together. By letting things fester, Keith pretty much ensured that Lance was going to come up with some elaborate, dangerous scheme that was going to cost them an alliance, and worse, possibly get Lance hurt or killed. (Lance had a good track record with dangerous animals, sure, but this is a beast. The thing sounded like a mix between a polar bear and a dragon. There’s only so much Lance can do, uncanny abilities or not.)

But what’s done is done. Keith can’t very well redo yesterday and make Lance un-mad at him and everyone else, so he’ll have to make do with what he’s got.

And what he’s got is first shift on make-sure-Lance-doesn’t-mutiny-duty.

Fuck, Keith thinks as he makes his way out of his room, this is going to be the Actual Worst.

As usual, Keith is one of the first people on the bridge. Unusually, Lance is next. (Usually he is last, and also late).

“Hey, Lance,” Keith says, trying to muster up a smile.

Surprisingly, Lance beams right back. “Hello, Numb — uh,” his smile falters. “I mean, hi there, Mullet.”

Keith slumps. “I’m still Mullet, huh.”

Lance nods.

“You reckon I’ll work my way back up to Keith, soon? I’ll do anything, you know I will. I’ll even try your horrible face mask with you.”

To his further surprise — Lance must have actually slept well, or something — Lance smiles again, and this time it’s soft even to Keith’s eyes.

“Really? You would do that?”

“I’d do anything for you,” Keith says, and it’s more than he means to.

Lance frowns, and Keith’s heart sinks for the millionth time in just a few hours.

“Except help me save an innocent animal’s life,” he says, and there’s nothing Keith can say to that.

They sit in tense silence until the rest of the paladins arrive.

Shiro counts them once they do, like they’re kindergarteners and he’s a very tired EA, and furrows his brow when he finishes.

“Six. Including me. Who are we — where’s Coran?”

“He said he’ll be here in a few dobashes,” Lance says. “A calibrator broke down in the control room somewhere — nothing urgent, but he wants to get it fixed to get it out of the way. He’ll be back before we’re gone long.”

“That’s fine. Thank you, Lance,” Allura says, transparently trying to ease the tense line of his shoulders, a little.

It does not work. Lance sets his jaw and looks away.

Allura sighs. “I’m sorry, Lance,” she tries. “I know this is hard for you. If it were possible, and we had more time, we’d find another way.”

“Whatever.”

Keith decides that enough is probably enough. Allura and Shiro look genuinely dejected and apologetic, and both Pidge and Hunk look upset.

“Look, Lance, this situation sucks for everyone, okay? It sucks. We’re going to do what we can. If we get to the situation in question and we can actually manage to fix things without killing the beast, then that’s what we’ll do, okay? We’ll do our best.”

Lance exhales, shoulders slumping. He looks… guilty, and his guilt certainly does nothing to appease Keith’s.

“Sorry,” Lance mutters. “I know this is hard for everyone.”

Keith swallows the lump in his throat. He genuinely can’t remember the last time a non-major battle mission sucked so unequivocally for everyone involved, but Jesus Christ.

“Let’s just go,” he says, and everyone nods before following him off the castle and to the wet, humid heat of the planet.

———

Lance wants to bolt the second they step out of the castle, but he knows better than that. So he waits, watching them carefully from the windshield (he’s got no better word for it, okay) of the bridge until they’re itty bitty specks. Then he throws on his backpack, grabs his scanner, waves to his pets, and runs in the direction the beast was last seen.

He keeps up a pretty quick pace for a while, not bothering to muffle his footsteps — he doesn’t want to startle the poor thing — and keeps his ears peeled for the sounds of a large animal making its merry way through the woods.

By ‘large’, he means ‘unfathomably gigantic’, because everything on this planet seems to be. Every tree is as wide as four Hunks, and taller than the castle. The various small woodland critters he’s seen running around have been at least the size of Pidge. Idly he wonders how the hell the evolution on this planet even worked, because all the flora and fauna seems to be gigantic, but the people here aren’t much bigger than humans.

He eventually starts to hear the sound of running water, and wastes no time following it. If he’s correct — and he truly thinks he is, as does Coran — this beast will be sitting carefully by the river’s bank, waiting for fish to swim close to it.

See, Lance is almost sure this beast is the planet’s equivalent to a grizzly bear.

And he’s positive it’s injured.

It’s the only thing that makes sense! He did some light research last night, and discovered that the planet is right in the midst of their springtime. He also discovered that, over the winter months, the planet’s city limits had expanded pretty dramatically, cutting into a large chunk of the forest. Lance believes the new city limits bled into the bear’s hunting grounds, and when the bear woke from hibernation in the spring and went looking for food, it ran into the new neighbourhoods. Startled, of course, it got defensive, only further terrorizing the people. Lance thinks that the bear was dazed enough to be hurt by the city’s armies, and now the bear is in pain and full of anger towards the new animals in its territory.

Of course it’s attacking.

Now, if only the team stopped a goddamn second to listen, and I wouldn’t have this problem, Lance thinks to himself, but pushes the thought away just as quickly, scowling to himself.

He forces himself to pause the reflection and save it for later, because it’s not the right time. He’s on a mission. He doesn’t have time to feel sorry for himself, let alone have time to be mad at the team.

It’s just as well that Lance pulled himself out of his thoughts, because straight ahead, looking at him warily, is the bear.

And oh, what a beast it is.

The dignitary — not to give him any goddamn credit, the bastard — was barely exaggerating. The bear is huge. It’s definitely not bigger than a castle, sure, but it’s big enough that Lance knows to keep a respectful distance, and right now the bear is sitting. He can’t imagine how scary it would be on a rampage.

For the first time, a tiny tendril of guilt crawls up his spine. The dignitary might be a pompous dick, but Lance is starting to realise that’s coming from a place of genuine fear, for themself and for the people they represented.

(Lance is still not going to kill the bear, obviously. It’s not the bear’s fault that it’s scary. But Lance is willing to admit that he did not handle the situation with the dignitary like an adult, and especially not like a paladin, and probably owes them a bit of an apology.)

“Hey, there,” Lance says softly, slowly swinging off his backpack and setting it down in front of him.

The bear growls in warning.

“I know, I know, you like your space. I’ll stay over here for now.”

Without looking away, Lance crouches down, blindly searching around the bag until his hand wraps around the two objects he’s looking for. He slowly takes them out and carefully sets one of them — a back of Altean-style dehydrated wild berries — on the ground in front of the bag. With his other hand, he pours a steady stream of water on the pouch, and he and the bear both watch as the pile of berries gradually grows in size until it’s the size of Lance himself.

Lance sits next to them, criss-cross-applesauce, with his backpack on his lap.

“These are for you,” he says, tone even. “I figured it might be pretty hard for you to forage or hunt right now. You must be hungry.”

Logically, it should be impossible for the bear to understand him. But it must like his tone, because slowly — ever so slowly — it uncurls, keeping a careful eye on Lance as it limps over to him and the berries next to him.

Its legs are the size of Earthen tree trunks. Its head alone is bigger than Lance. Its teeth —visible now that its mouth is open, tongue hanging out, salivating in anticipation of the wonderfully juicy berries — are sharper than any razor.

Lance should be afraid.

He’s not.

“Oh, you’re a beautiful thing,” he coos as the bear leans forward and takes a tentative bite from the pile.

The bear side-eyes him — a look that so clearly says ‘bitch, please’ that Lance can’t help his laugh.

“And you take no shit, huh?”

The bear grunts, apparently deciding the berries are safe, and then digs the hell in. It devours the pile so quickly that it’s there in one second and gone in the next.

Once the pile is finished, the bear turns to look at Lance expectantly.

Lance holds his hands up. “I got nothing!”

The bear huffs — no, really — and ambles closer to Lance. It lowers its great head down, and with a nose bigger than Lance’s head, starts sniffing Lance’s backpack for more.

Lance laughs again. “There’s nothing in there, you silly creature. No food, anyway.”

The bear finally decides he’s telling the truth — or, more likely, doesn’t smell any more food — and flops to the ground, looking to Lance in what he can only describe as petulance.

“I have no more food,” Lance says again. He reaches out hesitantly, slowly, and carefully rests his hand in between the bear's cute little ears when it makes no move to stop him. “But I might have more help for you, though.”

The bear rumbles. Lance takes this as an indication to continue.

“I noticed you were limping. Your front right leg. You’ve got some matted blood on there, too. If you’ll let me, I can clean that wound, stitch it right up, and you’ll be as good as new. That sound okay?”

The bear doesn’t make any more noise, but it does flop over on its side, leaving its right side up for access.

Lance takes a deep breath.

“Okay, big guy. Let me fix you up.”

He gathers up his bag and walks over to the wounded leg in question. He inspects it, but can’t really see the wound under all the blood.

“I’m going to clean it first, okay? I’ll get some river water first. That’ll be better than antiseptic.”

The bear grunts.

Lance grabs a clean cloth out of his bag — really, it’s a queen-sized sheet, but in comparison to the bear looks as small as the tiniest of rags — and soaks it in the frigid river, ringing it out as best as he can with his tiny human hands.

He walks back over to the bear and begins gently wiping away the nasty, coagulated blood from matted fur. It takes a while, but he’s eventually able to see the wound.

He does not like what he sees.

The wound starts cleanly, like it was a cut, but then looks torn, like the flesh was ripped. Lance isn’t sure what weapon may have caused it — that’s more of Keith’s thing — but knows it was certainly no natural cause.

“I’m going to need to apply quite a bit of antiseptic,” he tells the bear, even though the bear most certainly does not know what that is. “It’s going to hurt, but I need to do it, because it already looks a little bit infected.”

He opens his massive tub of antiseptic and holds it out for the bear to sniff. Its giant nose wrinkles, and then it looks pained, but it carefully lays its head back down on the ground and tenses its muscles.

Lance takes that as permission.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry,” Lance babbles as he pours the horrible chemical over the wound and the bear roars in agony. “I know, I know. I know. It’s okay. Let it out. It’s done, now, once the sting fades.”

The sting must fade eventually, because the bear quiets, although it breathes heavily and remains tense.

“It’s okay,” Lance whispers, petting the first patch of uninjured fur he can reach. “It’s alright. The worst part is over, okay? That hurt so bad that you’ll barely even feel the stitches, okay? Just the smallest pinch.”

The bear whines, high and long, and Lance bites back tears.

This could all be avoided if people just used some compassion, for fuck’s sake.

He closes his eyes and swallows roughly. That’s not fair. It’s unlikely that anyone meant for this to happen, and it’s unfair for Lance to blame people. Sometimes life just sucks.

But it’s his job as a paladin to make it suck marginally less, and by God, he is going to do his job.

“Ready for the stitches, big guy? It’s the second-to-last step.”

Lance reaches into his back again and digs out the absolutely giant suture needle, so big it’s basically a weapon, and the beast-sized sutures. He gets to work carefully stitching up the wound, applying every ounce of Abuela’s sewing lessons into his furrowed brow and steady hands.

It takes a while, but eventually the wound is closed up neatly.

“Almost done,” Lance assures the bear. It makes an almost purring noise in response, which makes Lance beam in delight.

He takes two last things from his pack — some Altean antibiotic numbing ointment, and a mummy’s amount of bandages.

“This’ll be cold,” he warns, before spreading a generous amount of the ointment onto the wound. The bear audibly sighs in relief, slumping further into the ground as its muscles finally un-tense.

Lastly, Lance carefully wraps the wound in the bandages until it’s completely covered, then stands back, hands on his hips, to access his patch job.

“I think you look okay!” he says with a grin. “Try standing.”

The bear gets up using its three unharmed legs, then gingerly applies weight to the injured one once it’s balanced.

It blinks.

It applies more weight.

Suddenly it roars, in delight this time, and ducks its head to nudge Lance gently in thanks. Lance laughs, petting the creature everywhere he can reach.

“You’re welcome!” The bear makes that almost-purr noise again, and Lance sighs. “Now all we gotta do is convince this whole damn planet that you’re a big, giant softie.”

The bear pulls its head away, making Lance pout, and stares at him for a moment.

“What? You have any bright ideas? I, unfortunately, did not plan this far. I kinda thought something would come to me on the way.”

The bear grunts. Then it opens its great jaw, reaching for Lance, but it doesn’t eat him — it carefully hooks Lance’s hoodie in its teeth, lifts him up, and tosses him gently on its back.

Lance blinks.

“Well this is a — development.”

The bear grunts again, pawing at the ground. It starts off down the river, but not in the direction where Lance assumed its cave to be.

It’s headed to the city.

“What’re you — oh,” Lance cries, and is a little embarrassed to be outfoxed by a bear.

“That’s a great idea! If the people see you treating me gently, then won’t be so scared, and I’ll be able to explain. You’re so smart!”

If Lance didn’t know better, he’d think the bear seemed smug.

But he does know better, so he gets comfortable, organizes his pack, and starts planning what he’s going to say to make this whole crisis blow over.

———

“See! There it is again! It is going to attack us, we must act immediately!”

Keith wonders how badly it will make everything worse if he feigns a heart attack. He thinks he could be pretty convincing.

“Animals make noises,” Keith says tiredly. “The roars are not getting any closer. How did the previous attacks go? Was there some sort of roar-increase?”

The dignitary hesitates. “Well, no. The first time it happened the beast seemed startled, and then it was angry.”

“Shocking, that,” Lance says, and this time no one fights him.

The longer this debate has been going on, the clearer and clever it has become that Lance was correct.

Before they decided to go after the beast, the team decided it would be best to get as much information from the dignitary, security team, and royal family of the planet as possible. They expected it would take maybe half a varga to go over a couple reports, make a plan, and go after the beast – and hopefully manage to subdue it rather than kill it, to solve the problem on as many fronts and please as many people as possible.

Of course, because the universe finds their endless struggle amusing, it did not go that way. Instead, they’ve been here for the past four vargas at least, trying to get as much information as possible from the scattered reports and eye-witness accounts they could gather, all while half-watching Lance in tense silence (who, to be fair, has mostly stayed in one place and ignored everyone except for making the occasional bitchy comment).

They are getting nowhere.

It turns out the royal family and many community leaders are not nearly as fond as the dignitary and the soldiers of killing the beast. No one can agree on anything, not a plan of attack, not a plan to avoid attack, nothing. Keith has been listening to the same circular arguments ever since he got here, and as the not-black-paladin, he’s expected to contribute, so he has to pay attention. And usually that’s tolerable – it’s not the first time he’s expected to participate in a meeting that has gone on forever and done nothing productive, nor will it be the last – because he’s got Lance next to him, with a running commentary and joke stream that makes the whole thing easier to bear, along with a steady hand on his arm when he gets mad and often even a solution to wrap the whole thing up.

But, obviously, Lance is furious with him and everyone, right now, and is sitting as far away from Keith as he can manage, doodling on his holopad.

It’s miserable.

“I simply feel like there are more options that we should consider,” someone says diplomatically. Since that is literally the ninth time that exact sentence in that exact tone has been said in this meeting, Keith does not get his hopes up. He’s honestly half prepared to die and be buried in this stupid meeting room.

As the room descends into arguing once again, with absolutely zero new conclusions or changes, Keith finally gives up on paying any further attention. There’s nothing he’s missing, there’s nothing he’s contributing, and, he will admit it, doing meetings without Lance on his team is genuinely more than he can handle. He has no idea when he reached this level of codependency – because he can distinctly recall a point in time where doing meetings with Lance so much as in the same room would have them at each other’s throats in seconds – but he is in no place to handle it now. He lets himself drift, staring out the window across the table from him and deliberately thinking of anything except the flash of hurt in Lance’s eyes before it settled into fury, last night during the call.

As he observes the pretty scenery in front of him, rolling hills of yellow grass and an off-blue sky, he notices something strange along the backdrop of a pretty countryside. Along the edge of the far-off forest, there is a dark spot, out of place from its surroundings. He squints his eyes, leaning forward to try and figure out what it is. His posture piques the curiosity of the others at the table, and soon everyone is looking at the spot, watching with growing concern as it seems to get bigger, significantly bigger, and starts even to take shape.

“It has come again,” the dignitary says, hushed. They have genuine fear reflected in their eyes, which softens Keith slightly towards them. Maybe they aren’t just being a stubborn dick.

It takes a second to process, but soon the room descends into chaos, because for all that they have been discussing for hours, no plans have been made. Time is up, though. The beast as come to them, and now they must plan on the fly.

“Ready the guards,” says the queen. “Be vigilant and prepared. I would have appreciated more time, but there is none. We must be prepared to protect ourselves and our people. Last time we managed to scare it off with –”

“Wait!” Pidge shouts, the only one still sitting and facing the window. There is command in her voice, the likes Keith rarely hears from her, and her fingers twitch like they do when she’s calculating something in her head, solving a problem none of them even considered. “Nobody move!”

All the gathered officials in the room stand in tense silence, half watching Pidge and half watching the rapidly approaching beast. As it gets closer, it becomes apparent that it’s not approaching on its own. The beast, which Keith can now see resembles a truly gigantic bear, has a carefully bandaged leg, more than is capable for an animal, and is guided forward but someone sitting on its back, tiny in comparison to its head but visibly determined from even this distance.

“I knew it!” Pidge crows, springing up from her seat and pointing at Lance with manic glee in her eyes. “I fucking knew it! Your posture is way too good!”

Lance stares at her for several moments, eyebrow raised, and then sighs. Keith watches with a dropped jaw as he grows several inches taller, as his hair gets redder and his face gets bushier, until Coran sits in the place where Lance just was.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Shiro mutters, dragging his hand down his face. “I’m going back to the astral plane.”

Coran shrugs. “Lance’s plan simply had more research and direction. Also, I’ve not been out on a mission in too long. I will admit that played a role in my decision.”

“Well, Jesus, Coran, do you think we maybe could have –”

“Hey, guys, not to interrupt, but the giant beast is getting closer, people are aiming fire at it, and my dumbass best friend is currently riding on its back, so,” Hunk says. “Can we maybe worry about that first?”

The seriousness of the situation hits them all pretty quickly, and they adjust their attitudes accordingly. Lance is approaching faster by the second, no longer a shadow in the distance but a distinct figure, waving his hands like a dumbass and either completely oblivious or completely apathetic to the myriad of weapons, poised to fire, pointed in his direction by a horde of soldiers. The team rush outside with the rest of the officials, calling out for people to hold their fire, although it doesn’t do much, and the great beast swerves several times to avoid getting blasted.

“Stop! Stop! Don’t shoot! That’s a paladin!”

“Fire away!” the dignitary shouts over them, fury lighting their features and stubborn set to their jaw. “The insolence of their paladin does not negate the risk the beast poses!”

The paladins and the dignitary, along with several others on their side, glare at each other. The team may not approve of Lance’s methods, and there will be some serious discussion later, but that doesn’t change the fact that their fucking friend is out there being shot at, and they’re not going to stand back and let it happen.

“I swear, if you hurt him –”

“If he wasn’t trying to be hurt he shouldn’t have –”

“Hold on!” Lance shouts, finally close enough to hear. “Everyone – cool it for a sec! Hold on!” 

There’s still a lot of fear on a lot of faces, and a lot of anger, and a lot of weapons raised. But when a guy riding a fucking giant beastly grizzly bear the size of a house tells you to cool it for a sec (Jesus fucking Christ, Lance),  then you cool it for a sec. There’s a kind of inherent authority demanded. 

Lance pulls gently on the beast’s when he reaches a respectable distance, and it stops. (Keith knows, at this point, with the demon spider and the poison plants and just…everything else, he shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow he still is). He leans down and kisses it right between the ears, which causes several gasps and, if Keith is hearing correctly, a couple fainting bodies to hit the floor, before hopping to the side and sliding to the ground. His slight smirk suggests to Keith that the show of friendliness with the beast was an intentional one.

He keeps on hand on the beast, but he turns toward the gathered crowd of people, searching until he finds whoever he’s looking for – who, it turns out, is the dignitary. 

“I have come to apologise,” he says solemnly. His tone and posture give no indication of sarcasm, and in fact, he has softened his entire face considerably, looking to the dignitary with more grace and understanding than anyone has, so far, let alone the person who not twenty four hours ago was flipping them off and calling them a brainless amoeba.

“I give up,” Allura mutters after a moment of shocked silence, throwing her hands up and sitting heavily on the ground. “I rescind my position. Hunk, you’re in charge now.”

Hunk pats her delicately on the head. Lance easily ignores the both of them. 

“I really am sorry,” he says to the dignitary, which Keith thinks might be a hard case to make with the giant beast of controversy not two feet behind him. “I didn’t…I think there was some miscommunication here.”

The dignitary sniffs derisively, keeping one wary eye on the beast. “If by that you mean you refused to communicate with me at all, then yes.”

Lance holds his hands up in surrender. “Yeah, fair. I didn’t handle this well. But there was something off, here. If you’ll allow me to explain?”

For a moment Keith thinks, somehow, everything is going to go smoothly (for once). The dignitary seems to be genuinely considering Lance’s offer, and from experience Keith knows how convincing Lance’s earnestness can be. Besides that, this whole alliance is rocky, and the tension is coming to a head – a civil agreement could end this whole thing. Lance, although still among the most stubborn here, is offering something of an olive branch. 

But all at once, the dignitary’s eyes harden. They open their mouth, stubborn set to their shoulder, and Keith’s hand tightens on his bayard. Lance, sensing the incoming fallout, does what he does best:

He talks. 

“Corduroy was as scared as you were!” Lance blurts. The absurdity of his statement gives everyone pause – who the fuck is Corduroy – and he takes that opportunity to steamroll right on, talking so fast it’s difficult to keep up but impossible to look away. “You guys expanded your city limits in the winter, right? An increase of the entire perimeter to compensate for new growth and new projects. You’ve been planning for it for years, replanting a forest farther out to prepare for what you have to cut down. But Corduroy’s hunting ground was all the way to the edge of the first.” He looks back at the bear, who Keith can only assume he has named Corduroy, and smiles at it. It makes a rumbling noise in the back of its throat and limps forward, causing several scattered shouts of fear and raised weapons, but the beast only stares at them in what can only be described as judgement before nosing gently in Lance’s hair. 

Keith’s jaw drops. Lance has had, what, four vargas with this thing? Five? And it already treats him with the same quiet affection that Blue or Red do, covering him in affection when he comes buzzing into their hangars, a bundle of enthusiasm. Only this bear is wild, and untameable, and apparently scared and injured besides. 

The Blue Paladin is the Paladin of empathy and fluidity, indeed.

“Corduroy didn’t intend to attack anyone,” Lance continues softly. One of his hands reaches up to stroke the flank of the beast, as high as he can reach – which is not high. He doesn’t even reach up to the bear’s shoulders. “But if you woke up from a month long nap to try and find some food only to find other people taking residents where you used to live and hunt, and all of those people were screaming and running and making a ruckus at you, you’d get defensive too, I think. In fact you did! Understandably. This whole thing was just fear from all sides.”

The queen clears her throat. “The beast,” she says. “Corduroy. It…you have subdued it?”

“Not subdued,” Lance corrects. “It was just hungry. And hurt. And a little distrusting, I think, but it seems to understand reason pretty well.”

The queen hesitates for a moment, then nods to herself. She takes a step forward, her people parting for her instantly, until she is inches away from the beast. The beast watches her warily, but does not bear its teeth, nor does it growl at her closeness. 

“Don’t, your majesty,” the dignitary begs. There is genuine fear in their voice. Keith wonders what has made them so afraid, if it was just the up-close struggle with the beast itself or if there is more to it. He figures it’s not his place to ask. “Just because one inane individual has somehow earned the beast’s trust does not make it trustworthy. Remember the pain it has caused.”

“And look at the pain we have caused it,” she murmurs. The bear snorts, injured leg pawing carefully at the ground. Slowly, giving the beast ample time to turn away, she extends her hand. The air itself feels like it’s holding her breath. Her hand finally stretches out as far as it can go, and she rests it on the bear’s great snout as it bends its head to meet her. The touch seems to loosen her shoulders instantly, and with her relief the rest of the crowded people exhale, tension that has been building finally coming to a head and leaking out.

“I can’t say I approve of your methods,” the dignitary says begrudgingly. “But I suppose I did ask you to solve the problem yourself, didn’t I.”

Lance beams. “Yes! I was very smug about it!”

Keith hears a snort behind him. When he looks, Hunk and Shiro are looking deliberately at the ground.

“The important thing is that I think this matter is as good as solved,” Coran interrupts smoothly. His face is a mask of pleasant professionalism, and Keith suddenly remembers that Coran has been managing disastrous diplomatic affairs for longer than toilets have been invented on earth, so. Maybe they should be asking him along for way more missions than they do. “I trust, your majesty?”

The queen nods. “Yes, I think so. If you’ll return with me to the meeting room, we can outline final arrangements for the alliance, and then you may return to your ship.”

“Indeed,” Coran says, cutting a glance back at the rest of the gathered team. He meets eyes with Keith, then glances at the stubborn way Lance distances himself from the rest of them, and purses his lips. “We have some matters of our own to settle, I believe.”

———

The walk back to the Castle is silent, and endlessly, endlessly tense.

Lance expected it to be. Well, kind of. He didn’t expect it to be easy. He’s grateful, at least, that he was allowed to say goodbye to Corduroy, to bite back his tears and hold the great beast tightly. He’s grateful at least that the team gave him that kindness, before this strainedness, the discomfort, the side-eyes and significant looks.

Coran isn’t mad at him, which is better than nothing. Coran slung his arm around Lance’s shoulder the second they left to the castle, the way Lance does to Hunk when he’s anxious, and walks next to him merrily humming to himself.

“You did the right thing, child,” he whispers as they climb the steps, lagging behind everyone else. “Were there things you could have done more gracefully? Yes. But you made the best choice and worked with what you had. I’m proud of you.” He presses a kiss to Lance’s hair and squeezes his shoulders gently, allowing Lance a moment to shudder an exhale and compose himself, before letting go and walking off, knowing Lance can handle himself.

Lance straightens his spine. He can handle this.

Everyone stops just inside massive front hallway of the castle entrance. Lance considers just marching forward to whatever room he likes and making them follow him, but he doesn’t quite have that much confidence. As unlikely as it may be, some part of him hopes that no one is even going to bring up this whole��thing. He hopes Shiro is going to clap his hands and say ‘great job, team’, and they’re going to split off to unwind as they always do after missions.

But of course not.

“So are gonna head to the briefing room, or…?” Hunk asks, wringing his hands.

For whatever reason, the idea of locking himself in the briefing room to sit at a table and discuss the matter as they usually do makes him want to throw up. The idea of going anywhere, or waiting even one half second longer to talk about the situation makes him feel like he’s going to explode.

“You promised that we were a team,” Lance blurts. He’s not sure who he’s addressing, and he’s not facing anyone, eyes trained to a random spot on the wall, but the words bubble out of him, as warbled and hurt as he feels. “But you left me.”

Lance can feel his eyes begin to burn, and the humiliation of it makes him hunch, makes the surety of Coran’s earlier words fade to the back of his mind. He can feel the lump in his throat grow larger and larger, feel the unsteady pound of his heart, but he can’t bring himself to move, to look around the room, to meet eyes with his teammates. He forces them open and keeps his gaze locked on the wall, unblinking, terrified to let the water he feels building start to drop, because he can’t afford to look weaker than he already does.

“I try—” He can’t quite manage to choke down the tears, and his voice comes out weak from the failure of it, not quite raspy but reedy, almost. “I try so hard. I know that’s not enough, but —”

“It is.”

Lance looks over, startled at the same choked quality the words have to his own, and finds Hunk in a similar state, cheeks wet and eyes blurry. The rest of the team, upon further inspection, do not look angry with him but distraught, and it shocks Lance, truly, because he knows that they love him, obviously they do, but then why was he less important? Why was his position the wrong one to have? Why was he not consulted with the same seriousness as a random dignitary from a not-yet-allied planet, if not moreso?

“You guys don’t trust me enough to make real team decisions,” he whispers. “I’m not — I’m not smart enough for you.”

Every face looks stricken. Coran, even, looks at Lance wide eyes.

But it is Keith who makes a strangled noise, a sound caught in his throat, and says “No, Lance, that’s not —”

— and something in Lance, that has been bent since yesterday, cracks in two.

“I trusted you the most,” he chokes out. He doesn’t say the words so much as flings them in Keith’s direction, barbed and pointed. “You’re my — you said I was your right hand. You said you couldn’t lead without me. You said there’s no one else you trust more to have your back.” His face twists. His next words are near silent, but nonetheless ring through the hall. “You lied.”

Keith’s hand, extended halfway between them, remains frozen, unmoving, as still as he is. The only part of him that moves is his chest, rapidly swelling and flattening with his quick breaths. Lance’s breathing is just as quick, heartbeat only racketing with every inhale, but none of it is actually managing to carry any oxygen to his lungs, and his vision begins to blur, limbs start to feel heavy.

“I just want to be your equal,” he manages, before his legs begin to give out from under him and he stumbles to the floor, barely managing to catch himself in a sitting position. He sees Shiro twitch out of the corner of his eye, either a startled jump or a reflex to catch Lance does not know, but ultimately he doesn’t move; none of them do, frozen in their spots.

For a while Lance sits there. At one point he puts his head between his bent knees, breathing heavily, blinking the spots out of his eyes. It takes his lungs a long time to start working properly, for every inhale to actually bring in air, but even then it’s shuddering. All the strength and stubbornness, and maybe even adrenaline, that has kept him up through this mission has leaked out of him. He is too weak even to stand.

He feels when someone sits down heavily in front of him. The floor vibrates slightly with the force of it, tingling at his palms flat on the floor.

“You make me nervous,” Keith says quietly. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“That’s a stupid cliche.”

“You’re a stupid cliche.”

Lance’s head is still between his knees, but he can almost feel the intensity of Keith’s wince, the force at which he cringes in on himself. It unfortunately makes him smile.

“…Sorry. Reflex.”

It’s not okay, really. But he’s getting there.

“It’s okay. You’re still learning how to express your big boy feelings.”

Keith kicks him gently on the ankle, and this time Lance looks up, meeting his wry smile.

“I really am,” he says softly. He holds Lance’s gaze for a moment, then his expression shifts to something more troubled, eyebrows creased and mouth turned down, although his indigo eyes hold the same softness.

“You do things…I’ve never seen anyone do what you do. No one can come close. No one else can coo at a fear demon spider, no one else can befriend man-eating vines, no one else can scoop up a scorpion. No one else can tame a grizzly bear the size of a house. That’s all you, Bug Boy.”

Lance’s breath hitches. Keith’s use of the nickname is deliberate, evident in the slow and careful way he said it, and it is a risk. He knows the history behind the name, and Lance’s history in general. Further still he recognizes the precocity of the situation they’re in.

But for the first time since Lance learnt what that nickname really meant, since he learnt how most of his peers felt about him, the name doesn’t sting. In fact, something like pride blooms in his chest, if cautious and surrounded by doubt.

“Then why didn’t you let me try my way? Why were you — why was everybody — so dismissive?”

Keith shrugs. “Honestly? I was floundering. I was completely out of my element and I was stressed out and I just chose the easiest option.”

“The option that was the least fair to you,” Allura summarizes, taking a seat next to them. “And I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Hunk says. Pidge and Shiro quickly follow suit, earnest nods and leaky eyes, all coming to join Lance on the floor. On even footing. Coran’s hand comes to rest gently on his head.

“We will do better next time,” Shiro promises. “You have very distinctive strengths, Lance. I’ll be remiss to forget then again.”

“Ditto!” Pidge says, solemnly holding her hand up.

Lance considers making them squirm and really beg for it, but tears are actively streaming down his face, and also his mouth keeps trying to smile without his permission, so he decides to let it slide.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he threatens.

Keith grins at him. “Good, you Snow White-ass heart attack inducer.”

[textilemanufacturers]

10 Different Types of Casting Process Used in Manufacturing

The article aims to discuss the various kinds of casting processes that are used globally in the manufacturing industry for producing quality products.

There has been a notable increase in the industrial products. That should not be a problem, because there are several kinds of metal casting services. With the help of these services,  complex products can be effortlessly manufactured.

In order for the firm or company to choose the right or specific kind of casting manufacturing process, they need to first know the different types of casting processes that are used in the manufacturing industry.

Each of the casting process methods comes with its own benefits and flaws. A brief overview of various types of casting processes has been provided in the article.

What is the casting process?

The casting process is a method where the metal parts are produced according to the specific needs of the clients. It is done by pouring the molten metal into a mould. Then once it has been poured, hardened, and cooled, the desired shapes are designed.

So, casting helps industries achieve their goal of having the metal pieces according to their shapes, ideal for mass production. Besides, there are several kinds of casting that can immensely help to satisfy the user requirements.

What are the different types of Casting Processes?

There are different kinds of casting processes that can be used according to the needs of the user.

Sand Casting Process

The sand casting is a simple process of casting that helps cast ferrous or non-ferrous metal alloys. This method is mostly used for the production of metals that find applications in the automobiles like the engines, cylinders, and crankshafts.

The mould is produced from silica-based substances that can be naturally bonded. Then it is used to produce a mould surface that is smooth. The mould surface consists of two parts namely, cope (the upper half) and drag (the lower half).

Then the molten metal is poured into the desired pattern. Then it is left to harden so that it can form the final shape. The excess metal is removed in the final metal casting product.

Gravity Die Casting

This method is also called permanent mould casting. Here the metal and the metal alloys are fabricated using the moulds that come reusable. They can be steel, graphite, and the like. The metal casting process can be used to make items like gears, pipe fittings, wheels, and so on.

The molten metal is directly poured into the mould cavity. This happens when there is an influence of gravity, where the die is angled to adjust the filling. Then, the molten metal is let to cool down so that it can solidify inside the mould.

This method uses the mould from the bottom up, which enables it to have a greater casting rate than sand casting. But it can be somewhat costly than most methods.

Pressure Die Casting

There are two types of die casting, namely low-pressure die casting and high-pressure die casting. Low-pressure die casting is used for the production of large components. The high-pressure die casting is used in the production of geometrical shapes that need very high precision.

Some examples would be nonferrous metals like zinc, tin, copper, and aluminum.

Investment Casting

This type of casting is also known as lost-wax casting. Here the metals are produced by using the wax pattern of the metal. Then a refractory material and a binding agent are used. This is done so that the exact shape is obtained, and the molten metal can be poured into the mould.

It is a labour-intensive process that is expensive as well. This method is used to produce several products like gears, bicycle trunks, moto discs, and blasting machine replacements.

Plaster Casting

The casting process makes use of the mould that contains ‘Plaster of Paris.’ Here, the plaster is allowed to cool and then the metal is let to dissolve in the contents, due to the limited thermal conductivity.

This helps achieve high precision. The method is used to produce cross-section pieces that are narrow & need to fit in small gaps. It helps in the production of small castings that contain small amounts of castings of 45 kgs.

Centrifugal Casting

This kind of casting is called roto casting where cylindrical objects are produced for industrial applications. It is done with the help of the centrifugal forces. Here the metal is poured into the spinning die of the metal casting.

Then at high pressure with the help of the centrifugal forces, the molten metal is shaped inside the die. Because the spinning happens constantly, the metal that is in molten form takes the shape of the centrifugal casting.

Examples can include bush bearings, clutch plates, piston rings, and cylinder liners.

Lost-Foam Casting

This method is almost the same as the investment casting. However, the pattern is made of foam, and not from wax. When the design of the metal has been produced, the casing is coated with a refractory ceramic.

Then the molten metal is poured into the mould. The method is used to produce alloy steel, carbon steel, alloy cast iron, and ferrous alloys.

Vacuum Casting

This kind of casting method happens under a vacuum pressure of 100 bar. This is done to help the exhaust gas from the mould. Besides, it helps remove the bubbles and air pockets, when the molten metal is poured inside a vacuum chamber.

Then the metal is cured in a heating chamber. The products formed are commonly used in the automotive, aerospace, electronics, marine, and telecommunications.

Squeezing Casting

In this casting method, the high pressure is used for preventing shrinkage. But due to the specialised tooling requirements, it can’t be used for large production. Some products include space frame joints, aluminum front steering knuckles, chassis frames, and brackets.

Continuous Casting

In this type of casting the production of metals profiles comes infused having a constant cross-section. It is mainly used for the production of steel bars. Besides, it can be also used for semi-continuous casting.

The molten metal allows a solid metal surface to form on the liquid metal. The solidification of the metal happens from the outside. Then the remaining strands of the metal can be taken away from the mould.

Conclusion

This is it. These were some of the most popular casting methods that are used in the market. Each method has its own pros & cons. From the above article, it becomes obvious that choosing the appropriate casting method is critical for producing sublime products. With so many different types of casting methods metal components can be produced. It becomes crucial that the right kind of casting method is used to produce quality goods.

[goforcleaningservices]

After Building Cleaning: Remove The Dust And Dirt Efficiently

Dust, paint splatters, cement residue & a wide variety of dirt accumulate on construction sites. Dirt residues need to be removed once the construction business is finished. Maintaining cleanliness is essential for ensuring both a presentable environment and a safe one. It is imperative to ensure that the premises are safe to prevent any health hazards and potential liabilities. Effective post-construction cleaning requires the use of various equipment including vacuums, high-pressure cleaners, scrubber-dryers, and more. It will make the premises look welcoming, clean and safe.

Post-construction cleaning responsibilities

The period between the conclusion of a construction project and the occupation or utilization of the premises is commonly referred to as the "after-building cleaning" phase. The primary objective during this phase is to ensure that the premises are fully prepared for use. In terms of thoroughness, after-building cleaning is closely comparable to fundamental cleaning. It is important to note that each trade involved in the construction process is accountable for maintaining cleanliness within their respective working areas.

Variety of dirt types on construction sites

Stickers, films, mortar, plaster residues, grout, cement residue, paint splashes, varnish splashes, glue residues, and more are all forms of residual dirt commonly found on construction sites. However, the most prevalent type of dirt is dust. Dust comes in various forms due to the wide range of activities carried out during construction. Mineral dust, such as concrete, sand, lime, or gypsum dust, is one of the most frequently encountered types of dust. Additionally, quartz dust, wood dust, microbiologically contaminated dust, and fibre dust, like glass, ceramics, or asbestos dust, are also commonly present on construction sites.

Post construction cleaning: The general practice in post-construction cleaning is to start from the top and work your way down. Due to the variety of dirt present, a combination of tools and manual equipment is used for effective cleaning after construction work. 

Cleaning and Vacuuming Floors: Wet and dry vacuum cleaners play a crucial role in cleaning construction sites. Dust and liquid residues need to be eliminated during post-construction cleaning. A combination vacuum cleaner can handle this task efficiently. After removing coarse dirt and dust, using a scrubbing or scouring machine is recommended for thorough floor cleaning. These machines are effective in removing cement or plaster smears from smooth surfaces, allowing the floor to be ready for use. In case of stubborn grout residues, manual cleaning may be necessary before using machines. 

Windows and Shelves: Post-construction cleaning involves cleaning windows of all sizes, from small ones to large glass fronts. This process includes removing protective films, stickers, and dirt using a window washer and squeegee. It is important to use an adequate amount of water to ensure thorough cleaning without causing scratches. For surfaces like cabinets, manual cleaning with microfiber cloths is recommended. 

Outdoor Areas and Additional Services: If outdoor areas like driveways, courtyards, or building facades require cleaning after construction, appropriate equipment should be chosen based on the type of dirt and surfaces involved. High-pressure cleaners are suitable for paved driveways. It is essential to follow local regulations for wastewater disposal during outdoor cleaning.

Disposal of construction site waste: Proper disposal of waste generated from post-construction cleaning is crucial. Construction waste typically consists of different building materials, toxins, and remnants of chemical products. It is important to categorize the waste into residual and hazardous materials. In London, it is mandatory to follow a waste classification code for disposal. 

If you hire Go For Cleaning for post-construction cleaning, then you can save a lot of work, time & budget. They are well-equipped & experienced to provide the best solutions for after building cleaning London.

[midseo]

VSI Crusher, Jaw And Cone Crusher, Artificial Sand Making Machine

We are Manufacturer, Supplier, Exporter of VSI Crusher, Jaw And Cone Crusher, Artificial Sand Making Machine, Finopactor from India.

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