#Grain cleaning equipment

[martblogs]

Grain and Seed Cleaning Equipment Market Research Report 2022 to 2028: Industry Trends, Regional Wise Outlook, Growth Projections and Opportunities

In the context of China-US trade war and COVID-19 epidemic, it will have a big influence on this market. Grain and Seed Cleaning Equipment Report by Material, Application, and Geography – Global Forecast to 2025 is a professional and comprehensive research report on the world’s major regional market conditions, focusing on the main regions (North America, Europe and Asia-Pacific) and the main countries (United States, Germany, United Kingdom, Japan, South Korea and China).

 In this report, the global Grain and Seed Cleaning Equipment market is valued at USD XX million in 2022 and is projected to reach USD XX million by the end of 2028, growing at a CAGR of XX% during the period 2022 to 2028.

 Get Request Sample Report @ https://martresearch.com/contact/request-sample/6/16284

 The report firstly introduced the Grain and Seed Cleaning Equipment basics: definitions, classifications, applications and market overview; product specifications; manufacturing processes; cost structures, raw materials and so on. Then it analyzed the world’s main region market conditions, including the product price, profit, capacity, production, supply, demand and market growth rate and forecast etc. In the end, the report introduced new project SWOT analysis, investment feasibility analysis, and investment return analysis.

 The major players profiled in this report include:

l Buhler AG

l AGCO Corporation(Cimbria)

l PETKUS Technologie GmbH

l Buhler Industries Inc.

l Akyurek Technology

l Westrup A/S

l A.T. Ferrell Company Inc

l Agrosaw

l Lewis M. Carter Manufacturing

l ArrowCorp Inc

l Grain Cleaning, LLC

l Crippen Manufacturing Company

l Alvan Blanch

l Bench Industries

l SYNMEC International Trading Ltd

l Garratt Industries

……

 Get Enquiry And Buying Report @ https://martresearch.com/contact/enquiry/6/16284

 The end users/applications and product categories analysis:

On the basis of product, this report displays the sales volume, revenue (Million USD), product price, market share and growth rate of each type, primarily split into-

Pre-Cleaning Type

Fine Cleaning Type

……

 On the basis on the end users/applications, this report focuses on the status and outlook for major applications/end users, sales volume, market share and growth rate of Grain and Seed Cleaning Equipment for each application, including-

For Grain

For Seed

……

Contact Us:-

+1-857-300-1122

 enquiry@martresearch.com

 sales@martresearch.com

[rileyslibrary]

Synopsis: A new lieutenant comes to your base—a hot one. Ghost isn’t happy.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,334

Notes:

I haven’t thought of a title, so I’m replacing it with a picture of Ghost’s expression that perfectly captures the fic’s concept. Let me know if you think of one.

Platonic fluff, duh.

Warning: Lots of swearing ahead of you, British slang as well. Told you, he’s not happy.

UPDATE: there’s a Part 2 now. Things get messy.

Want more?

———————————————————————

The rumour mill went into overdrive as soon as the ‘new guy’ arrived at the military base that morning. A former special ops legend with impressive credentials; what’s not to love?

But it wasn’t just his military skills that had everyone talking; it was also his appearance. Rumours of his Adonis-like looks had spread throughout the base, and everyone was dying to catch a glimpse of him. Even the mess hall was dominated by talk of his stunning looks.

What did you think of him? Well, you prefer to take such things with a grain of salt and not put too much stock in them. After all, beauty is a matter of personal preference, and no single definition applies to everyone. So you wanted to evaluate things for yourself.

Okay, fine. Yes, the rumours were true—the guy is exactly as they described him.

The new lieutenant stands tall and proud in front of the line you’ve all formed, his wavy hair coiffed into a deep side part with a thick fringe swooping over one eye. His chiselled jawline is accentuated by a short, perfectly groomed beard, and he gives everyone a brilliant smile as if he’s auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. His voice is booming and almost comically enthusiastic as if he were trying to engage a class of children. He gives orders by pointing at soldiers with gun fingers and winking, causing some of you to stifle giggles.

“All right, soldiers, pay attention!” he says, clapping his hands like a cheerleader. “Today’s tasks are routine: cleaning, organizing, equipment repair, and inventory taking. And, hey, if we pull this off, I’ll buy everyone a round at the local pub! How does that sound?”

Some of the soldiers exchange skeptical glances, wondering if this guy is for real.

But Ghost? Oh. My. God.

Ghost’s agitation becomes too hard to hide as the new lieutenant speaks. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, moving frantically as if eager to be anywhere but here. His eyes keep rolling back as though they’re searching for some leftover patience in the depths of his skull. You keep staring at his crossed arms. They’re so stiff that his muscles must ache from the effort. It’s as if he’s trying to keep them in place, so he doesn’t unleash them and back-slap the hot lieutenant’s pretty face. That, or he’ll let out a primal scream any second now.

“Y/N,” he turns to face you, and you stand at attention, “you’re on border patrol with me today-”

“Y/N is staying with me at the office today,” Ghost opposes him. “There’s a lot of paperwork that needs to be done.”

“Can’t you get someone else to fill out the paperwork?” the man asks, shooting Ghost a wink and a grin.

“Can’t you get someone else to help you with border patrol?” Ghost winks back at him and turns to face you. “Y/N, on your feet, c’mon,” he says, walking towards the building.

You exchange glances with the new lieutenant and shrug. This is too awkward.

“WHENEVER YOU’RE READY, SOLDIER,” Ghost commands, and you dash towards him, brushing past the new lieutenant, who also happens to smell amazing. Of course, he does.

“What the fuck is wrong with you today, Lt.?” You whisper as you run behind him, “where’s the camaraderie we discussed during yesterday’s briefing?”

Ghost shoots you a glare over his shoulder. “Just trying to keep my paperwork safe,” he mutters.

“What’ll happen to the damn paperw-” you proceed to ask, but then evaluate his words; you’re the paperwork.

At the office…

He’s reticent as he sits on his desk—not like he’s a social butterfly any other day, but today, he seems angry. Almost hostile. His eyebrows are tied together, his restless leg syndrome is back, and he takes too many cigarette breaks compared to what you’re used to. He answers your questions with one-word statements when—and if—he acknowledges your presence. Yesses and nos are all you’ve been getting since you entered the office, with the occasional “tsk” he might utter while he looks at his papers.

“Pass me the stapler.” He commands.

“Magic word, Ghost.”

“Pass me the fucking stapler, please.”

You slide the stapler over to his desk. “You’re rude today, Mr Riley.” You comment, turning your focus back to the laptop’s screen.

He doesn’t reply in the form of words. Instead, his feelings manifest themselves by aggressively stapling the papers together.

“Perhaps you’d like me to ask for the stapler by winking at you?” He finally mutters under his breath.

“Like the guy that came in today?” You scoff.

Oh, you have his full, undivided attention now. He turns his chair towards you and leans his weight on his thighs as if you’re about to tell the most exciting story.

“What do you think of him?” He asks.

You flick your wrist dismissively. “I don’t know him well enough to form an opinion. I prefer to reserve judgment until I get to know someone.” You give him a pointed look, hoping to convey your message without having to spell it out for him.

“He’s a fucking bellend, I’ll tell you that much.” He mumbles in response. Guess the message got lost in transit.

“Come on, man!” You shout and punch your fist on the table, “it’s obvious that he’s got you rattled.”

“He’s not rattling me!” Ghost protests, but his defensive tone betrays him.

“Sure, he’s not,” you reply sarcastically, “that’s why you’ve been chain-smoking and stapling papers like you’re trying to murder them.”

Ghost lets out a deep sigh and rubs his temples.

“Is it his looks?” you ask.

“No, it’s not his looks,” Ghost rolls his eyes, “I’m much better looking than him, that’s for sure.”

“Are you...I don’t know, intimidated, maybe?” You shrug, “because you’re worried he might take your place as the top dog around here?”

He looks at you incredulously. “What are you talking about? I’m not worried about that.”

“Sure, you’re not,” you smirk. “That’s why you’ve been acting like a total jerk all day.”

He looks up and sighs. The poor man looks like he desperately needs an ego boost. Beneath Ghost’s tough facade there’s Simon, after all. And Simon is a human being with the same insecurities and worries as everyone else.

“In any case,” you say, trying to comfort him, “nobody takes such douchebags seriously in the army. And I get it; the guy’s trying to make a good impression and all, but, my God, he needs to chill with all the...” you start winking and pointing gun fingers left and right.

He’s so happy he lets out a sharp chuckle. “He’s a fucking nobhead, isn’t he?” He asks, “trying to take charge and acting like he knows everything.”

“Indeed,” you reassure him, “and that cologne, I almost fainted as I passed him; how could you stand beside him for so long?”

“Don’t ask.” He shakes his head.

You reach over and give his arm a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it, Ghost. You’re the most respected operator here,” you say, giving him a small smile, “just do me a favour and give the guy a chance; he has so much to learn from you.”

He nods. “I wanted to neck slap him so hard,” he mumbles, “knock his pretty white teeth out.”

“Which are fake, by the way.”

“Are they?” He asks, shocked.

“100%.” You reply with conviction as if you are the guy’s dentist.

“I knew it.” He yells, slaps his hand on his thigh, and turns his chair back to his desk.

You look at him from the corner of your eye. He seems much more relaxed now. Hopefully, he takes your advice to heart and proceeds with the same resilience and leadership he does on the battlefield. Or, maybe, you temporarily diffused a potential conflict, and the captain will have to get involved pretty soon. Who knows. At least he feels confident in himself now, and the guy’s teeth will live to see another day.

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

[takusan-no-ai]

Let’s take a break

PAIRING: Lycaon x Female Reader (Romantic) (Angst)

SUMMARY: (Y/N) is a workaholic; and while Lycaon can relate to always having work to do, he also understands the importance of rest.

Lycaon loves his job dearly, always going above and beyond to achieve the best. And just as much as he loves his job, he loves his girlfriend. (Y/N), she’s a proxy of few words; not out of shyness, but simply a lack of time to speak. She works so much her inter-knot level maxed out in a month.

It was on one such days that Lycaon was lucky enough to have the day off. While the couple often worked together, actually spending quality time wasn’t as often as Lycaon would like. So anytime he could, he made it a goal to perfect every opportunity.

“Clean environment? Check. Flowers? Check. Favorite snacks? Check.” He mulled over every last detail. “She should be here soon,” he said while fixing his tie and brushing his fur. He sat on the couch, looking at the clock as time ticked by.

An hour late. Lycaon had already discussed with (Y/N) the meetup time. “She’s always been hard working, but it seems that has long gone past a healthy amount.” With his mind set in stone, Lycaon made his way to (Y/N)’s home.

“The number you are trying to reach is either turned off or in a hollow.” Lycaon tried to call (Y/N) for the fifth time; at first he thought she might’ve been away from her phone, but now his worry was growing stronger. He finally made it to her door and knocked multiple times, only to get no reply.

Lycaon leaned on the door and listened for anything. A sudden thud rung in his ears as he kicked in the door. “(Y/N)!” He screamed out.

The room was dark, windows covered with no light seeping through. Electronic equipment, takeout, and paperwork dirtied the living space. Lycaon sighed deeply, understanding the situation. He looked around until he found (Y/N), on the floor, having passed out and falling off her chair.

He moved her to the bed so she could sleep and proceeded to clean the entire house. Everything was spotless by the time he was done, and it was at that point he heard the floorboards creaking from the bedroom.

(Y/N) opened her door, having just woken up. There was a small bruise on her forehead from the bang, but it wasn’t anything permanent. She looked around aimlessly, noticing the clean interior (and probably exterior) of her home. She immediately knew what had happened. Her head hung low as she walked towards her couch and sat down.

Lycaon placed a platter of sliced fruits, veggies, and whole grains on the table. “They help relieve stress,” he said. (Y/N) covered her face.

“I’m so sorry–”

“It’s okay.”

“If I had finished the work faster–”

“That wouldn’t have fixed anything.” He quickly shuts her down. (Y/N) grabbed an apple slice and ate it. Lycaon sat next to her, placing his tail in her lap. “You can pet it if you wish.”

(Y/N) petted his tail, the stress evaporating from her, but it was still too much. She began to cry, no amount of strength to hold back her tears. Lycaon pet her hair as she leaned on him.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?”

(Y/N) didn’t say anything for a while, not until she stopped crying.

“Ever since I was little, I grew up in a house where if you couldn’t do everything yourself after being taught once, you weren’t good enough. It was like a war zone, a never ending one.” Lycaon’s ears began to droop as she continued on.

“I was ostracized in my family, but the teachers, and my employers always praised me. So I guess I clung to that feeling. And sometimes…,” she started tearing up again.

“What is it?” Lycaon asked her.

“Sometimes…I feel like maybe I don’t really love you. Like maybe I’m self consciously clinging to you because of your praise, just like everyone else. And it hurts! Because I really do love you, but I’m afraid that I’ve just convinced myself to believe that.”

Lycaon caressed (Y/N)’s cheek, making eye contact with her. “If you know that you love me, then you love me. The way your heart beats, mine is in sync with. I feel your pain and you feel mine. That’s not fake. And it never will be. I love you too, (Y/N).”

She smiled, hugging him so tight it will likely bruise. “For starters, I’m going to cut back on the workload.”

“And I will be of service to you, my love. As always and forever.”

- Fin

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Monsters in the Garden (Ettore x Reader) 18+

No one comes to your garden but you, not even Dr. Dibs. So what is the most dangerous man on the ship doing leaning against your doorway and watching you work?

Pairing: Ettore x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT SMUT; hand job; kissing; blood; mentions of rape, murder, and violence; female genital mutilation; vague mentions of corpse mutilation

Author's note: This was inspired by a session I had with the Ettore AI made by @harrenhalhottie (RIP). It was just so good I had to write it out for y'all. This Ettore is a little different from normal, but I can't help but look at a one-dimensional character and want more. Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you want a Part 2, because I have ideas...

This song also heavily influenced the vibe:

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3

Monsters in the Garden

You were on your knees, leaning over one of your raised garden beds when you noticed him leaning against the open doorway. He wasn’t quiet on his approach – he wanted you to know he was there.

Ettore was always there, in some dark corner, watching you.

By this point, you were almost used to the burning feeling that crawled beneath your skin whenever his eyes were on you.

In the right light, those eyes were a mesmerizing blue. The color reminded you of the sky back on Earth. If he hadn’t been so goddamn creepy, you might have been happy to stare into his eyes just to remember home, even briefly.

But he was easily the most unsettling person you’d ever met. Always leering at the other women on board – though in the past weeks, you had apparently become his one and only target– and using the Box proudly, far more than anyone else did.

It was no wonder why. You knew what he was.

Everyone on board was a killer, including you. But Ettore was the worst. The most dangerous of you all. For he was the only one who had… done worse than just kill his victims.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Well, some would say what you had done was worse. But that was different. Your victim was already dead by the time you started your work on his corpse, and it had been more than deserved.

You did not let yourself linger on that. You never did these days. The further away from Earth you got, the more distant it seemed. The rage, the guilt, all of it.

Ettore wasn’t distant. He was mere feet away from you, intruding on your garden.

Not yours, not really. Because of your past – specifically, the degree in horticulture you were only one semester away from completing when you were arrested – you were assigned to look after the gardens instead of something more related to the actual mission of the ship like the rest of the crew.

Or more basic, in Ettore’s case. Dr. Dib’s called his assignment “ship maintenance,” but you all knew what he really was: the janitor.

But he never came in here. You made sure of it, keeping everything meticulously clean and fixing all your equipment yourself so no one – least of all Ettore – would ever have a reason to intrude on your space.

You didn’t even allow Tcherny, the other gardener, in here. He was fine with it. He preferred the vegetable and grains and left the medicinal plants – kept in their own room – to you. The only person beside you who ever came in here was Dr. Dibs, and she hadn’t been here in months. She didn’t like the dirt.

Yet there was Ettore, just staring at you.

His eyes weren’t that beautiful, bright blue you so rarely glimpsed. His chin was slightly tucked into his chest, his strong brow casting his eyes into darkness. His face was blank, unfeeling, and unmoving, save for those eyes.

They almost didn’t look human, but animal. Yes, that was the look of a predator. And it was directed at you.

You turned away from him to face the garden bed again, hoping he would lose interest if you didn’t engage. But if he didn’t, and he did try something…

Well, you had your spade next to you. It was probably sharp enough to dissuade him from doing anything you didn’t approve of.

So, you resumed your work, carefully tending to your poppies.

Once the lovely purple-pink petals that were just unfurling fell in a few days, you would harvest the sap from the seedpods so Dr. Dibs could synthesize more of the sedative the crew was forced to take each night. Only a handful, carefully selected by you, would be spared and allowed to produce the seeds that would become the next crop.

Though you hated playing a part in producing the drugs, the poppies were still your favorite plant. They were the only flowers you had left.

The garden was always your happy place, even on Earth, and you quickly found yourself concentrating not on Ettore or the sounds of the ship or even the ship itself. There was only you, the dirt, and your beloved plants.

So, when you finally stood and looked away from your work, you had entirely forgotten that Ettore stood there.

Still, he remained leaning against the doorframe, watching you. He hadn’t moved a fucking inch.

You jumped slightly at the unexpected sight, your hand flying to your racing heart.

While he did not flinch at the motion, Ettore’s brow raised slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

At least the hunger in his eyes had abated. Somewhat.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, love,” he crooned as he uncrossed his arms and took two steps forward.

God, you had never heard him speak before.

His voice wasn’t particularly deep, but it was low and smooth. His accent was like something out of those British action movies a boyfriend in high school loved to make you watch. Perhaps it was those memories – of either the boyfriend or the handsome actors, that made his voice sound almost alluring.

It had to be. It couldn’t be him.

You instinctively stepped back, raising your hands to try and communicate that you didn’t want him near you. Unfortunately, you forgot your spade on the ground, leaving your hands empty. Fortunately, your gloves were loose enough that he could not see the slight trembling in your fingers.

“I just…” you stammered. “I forgot you were there.”

He just stared at you impassively, those predatory eyes taking in every detail of your face, then traveling lower and lower.

Some of the hunger returned when his gaze landed on your breasts.

You had to shut that shit down.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, pouring all your contempt into your voice to mask the fear that still crept within your blood.

Ettore looked back at your eyes, the corner of his lip flicking up as though he was holding back a sneer. “Just passing through.”

You risked looking away from him to glance at your watch. It confirmed what you already knew. “You’ve been standing there for over an hour,” you informed him. One hour and eighteen minutes, to be exact. “Hardly what I’d call ‘passing through.’”

He raised his brows slightly, apparently surprised it had been that long. “Guess I lost track of time. Watching you is…” he turned his eyes, not to your body, but to the flower bed you had just been working in. When he looked back, he gave a sly smile. “Relaxing.”

Bullshit, you thought. But then you bit back the sharp tang of your own cynicism. Gardening was relaxing to you; it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he honestly found watching you relaxing as well. If it had been anyone but Ettore, you probably would have believed them without a moment of doubt.

But it was Ettore.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

You glared at him for a long moment, trying to communicate that you wouldn’t be fucked with – you wouldn’t be a victim. Then, when he still didn’t drop his gaze from yours, you took it as an acknowledgment of the threat and turned away from him.

You were at least half-expecting him to pounce on you then and there, but he didn’t. You didn’t hear a single sound as you walked to your workbench, situated on the opposite wall from the door, and took off your gloves.

“There’s nothing more to watch,” you said over your shoulder. Then, grabbing a clean rag from one of the drawers, you began wiping the dirt from your forearms – rinsing it off in the sink would risk a clog, which would mean a visit from maintenance and Ettore. “I’m done for the day.”

He didn’t reply, only grunted his acknowledgment. He never moved as you continued to wrap up your work – cleaning your tools, sweeping the dirt that had made its way out of the beds, and washing your hands. Still just watching you.

At least it confirmed that it wasn’t the gardening he found ‘relaxing.’

Finally, you discarded your rags in the laundry bin. It would need to be taken out soon – it was ready today, but you were already running later than you wanted. In just ten minutes, you had an ‘appointment’ with Dr. Dibs, and you didn’t want to make her angry. Again. Doing so has become kind of a bad habit of yours.

So, you turned to face Ettore, who continued to stare at you as you stepped within a few feet of him. He stood a little taller at your approach, puffing his chest out as that near-rabid hunger took over his eyes once more.

Your stomach fluttered, and you told yourself it was only because you were nervous about whatever Dibs planned to do to you tonight.

But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, and your heart sank at the realization that it was because you – or rather, your traitorous, repressed body – found Ettore attractive.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

He would be just your type if you didn’t know why he was here. You had never been able to resist a good jawline, and his could cut fucking glass. And as you took another step closer, his height became just as enticing. You always told people you only liked tall men so they could reach things for you. But really, you just loved the feeling of having a big, strong man to protect you.

No one had looked at you like you needed protection in years. No, you were now what people needed protection from.

“Though she be but little she is fierce,” the lawyer had said when convincing the jury to not be put off by your size. A fitting quote, since Shakespeare himself had inspired some of the more gruesome details of your crime.

And now, you couldn’t help but take another step forward, then another. All along, savoring how far back you had to tilt your head to look into those beautiful blue eyes.

God, as he tilted his chin back as well, the bright lights of the garden set them blazingly bright and the bluest you’d ever seen them. They were even better than the sky back home…

You forced yourself to look away when you felt heat begin to pool between your thighs. Instead, you stared over his shoulder to the hall, trying not to snap when you heard him laugh slightly at your movement. Was the blush you felt visible?

“You’re in my way,” you said, your voice more of a whisper than you intended.

When his smirk faded, and his lips – very pretty lips, you realized – fell slightly open, you thought he would have some cutting remark. But he only stepped to the side to allow you through.

As you passed him, you were close enough to catch his scent. Everyone on the ship used the same soap, so how did he smell so different? Beneath the clinical smell you all carried, there was something deeper, more masculine.

You really needed to calm down before your appointment with Dibs. She knew you didn’t use the Box – not after that first time had failed to get you off, despite the engineering genius of the contraption – so seeing you this riled would lead to questions you didn’t want to answer.

Touching other inmates was against the rules. And even if this wasn’t touching… even thinking this way about another prisoner may incur her wrath.

So, you walked a more than respectable distance away from him before turning back. He was still half-in, half-out of the garden. But he wasn’t staring at you anymore, but rather at the poppies...

When was the last time he had seen a beautiful flower?

You glanced at your watch again. You barely had enough time to make it to the infirmary.

“I need to lock the door,” you said, drawing his gaze back to you.

His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced from you back to the door, then back to you again. He sucked his teeth as he looked at you in condescending disbelief. “You need to lock up flowers?”

“It’s protocol,” you answered. Perhaps your tone was a bit harsher than it needed to be, but you were both criminals - murderers. He could handle a little bitchiness. “And there’s more than just flowers in there.”

Ettore let out a laugh that was little more than a hard exhale, but the twinkle in those eyes told you that he was indeed amused. Then, crossing his arms, showing off the odd, triangular tattoo on his forearm, he stepped away from the door.

You would have to walk by him again to get to the door. Perhaps he was cleverer than you gave him credit for – if you had previously given him any credit at all.

If you weren’t so pressed for time, you might have stayed to tease him some more. This was surprisingly fun, even when you knew what he wanted from you and what he had done to get it from other women. You were just that bored.

And horny. You were very, very horny.

That would be what got you in trouble.

You scoffed, pushing past him to lock the door. It took all your effort to slip the key in as your fingers trembled at the feeling of him hovering over you, his breath hot on your neck as he stepped closer to you.

This shouldn’t make you horny. On the contrary, it should make you afraid. But still…

When the door finally locked, you spun around quickly, tucking the key between your fingers like a claw – something one of the college policemen once told you about.

But Ettore stepped back – once, twice. And then the was pressed against the wall opposite you. His stare was still hungry, and you could easily see how heavy his breathing had become, but he didn’t advance.

“I have to go,” you told him, unsure why you were doing it. It wasn’t like you needed his permission or even wanted it. “I have an appointment with Dibs.”

His eyes darkened then. Not with lust or animalistic hunger, but rage. It was almost… possessive?

It was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by his usual empty stare. Still, you did not dare move, not after whatever it was you just saw.

“Can I…?” Ettore gritted his jaw and looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. You didn’t know if he was about to cry or kill you – and you didn’t know which would be worse. He still looked away from you as he continued, “Can I come here again tomorrow? Just to watch.”

You should immediately forbid it. It was wrong, it was a bad idea, and it was just fucking weird. But as the hour chimed on your watches, you realized you couldn’t leave when he looked so desperate, almost sad. And you definitely couldn’t say anything to make that horrible expression worse.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You turned as he looked back at you to shut off the alarm on your watch. Dr. Dibs would be pissed at you, of that, you were sure. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem to matter. Not when his eyes lit up again, not from any light, but with excitement. “If you have nothing better to do, I guess that’s fine.”

The corners of Ettore’s lips quirked up like he would smile, but he quickly corrected it and set his mouth in a straight line. He didn’t want you to know just how excited he was, but you did anyways – he wasn’t a great liar. Tipping his head in an attempt at indifference, he sniffed before speaking. “Yeah, wicked.”

You winced a little at his pathetic attempt to seem cool, but it faded quickly when your watch beeped again. This wasn’t an alarm or the chiming of the hour but a summons. If you didn’t obey it, you knew Dibs would happily use the stupid watch to deliver a steady stream of low-level electric shocks until you did.

She was just as much of a killer as the rest of you – worse than some, if the rumors were right. Why should she have such authority over the rest of you?

It was pointless to question it, and even the beginnings of the line of thought had ruined your mood. So much so that you didn’t say anything else to Ettore before turning away from him and stalking down the hall toward the infirmary.

After you had disappeared around the corner, Ettore took a deep breath, silently congratulating himself on handling that almost like a real person would. Then, he turned in the opposite direction as you. He was due to clean the canteen before dinner. But fuck that. He needed the Box – now.

-

Dibs had been pissed. Not only that you were late to your appointment, but that you were so obviously turned on when you got there. It wasn’t like you could hide it, not when she immediately ordered you into the stirrups and got a front-row seat to your weeping and flushed cunt.

“Have you been using the Box?” she asked, that sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face.

You pursed your lips, looking away. “No.”

Her smile faded, and her eye twitched. “And yet here you are, practically dripping.” She reached for something on her tray, but you couldn’t see what. You had a pretty good guess, anyway. “Well, at least it makes my job easier.”

It had been anything but fucking ‘easy,’ you thought as you cradled your aching abdomen. Under the pretense that you were already wet enough, she had shoved her speculum into you hard and fast – and without lube.

If you thought her tests and procedures had been uncomfortable before… they were downright torturous yesterday. Especially since she conveniently ‘forgot’ to give you any numbing agents or sedatives. And definitely no painkillers.

Not even the sedative you were served with dinner had helped. For the first time since you boarded this godforsaken ship, you hadn’t slept.

Thankfully, you had little work to do in the garden besides waiting for the poppies to drop their petals. But you didn’t want to just wallow in your pain, so you decided to sit at the edge of the bed where your little willow tree resided.

It wasn’t growing very fast, likely because it didn’t have the room it needed or deserved. Still, you were happy with the progress it had made. When the ship first took off, it was little more than a bonsai. Now, it stood a good eight feet tall – the only plant you needed your step stool to tend.

In truth, it didn’t need much tending. Trees never do unless they are very young or something is wrong. But sitting next to it, examining the patterns in its long leaves and tracing lines up its trunk, was spectacularly soothing.

You had never considered harvesting anything from it. Not yet. It was too little still, and you didn’t want to risk damaging it permanently since you couldn’t simply order a new start. But as another pulse of pain surged through your stomach, you found yourself reaching for a lower branch.

All you needed was a small twig to chew on. It was an ancient Egyptian remedy, one that eventually led to the invention of Aspirin. And even if the sedative didn’t help, perhaps something more natural, something you had grown yourself, would.

You had just wrapped a hand around the branch when you felt a large hand close around your shoulder.

Instinct kicked in, and you whirled around, freeing yourself from your attacker’s grasp. Without processing who it was, you threw your arms out, shoving with all your might. “Get the fuck away from me!”

You only recognized Ettore after you had backed into the wall. He had also fallen on his ass and crawled backward on the floor – apparently, you were stronger than you thought. Any amusement at the fact died when you saw the anger burning in those eyes.

It was entirely possible that you just really fucked up.

But your adrenaline, from the pain and the scare he had just given you, was racing too hot and fast to let you consider that possibility.

“What are you doing?” you spat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ettore’s face grew even more furious, if that was even possible. His eyes burned as bright as any fire you had ever seen. It was beautiful and deadly. “You fucking… you said I could come watch you!”

Damn it, you did say that.

But it was before Dr. Dibs had been such a cunt.

And she had only done it because he got you horned up like you were a pathetic high schooler.

“Well, now I changed my fucking mind!” you shouted. If you could stand, you would have. Towering over him and just screaming your heart out would feel so good. But you hurt too much to even entertain the thought. “I don’t want you here – I don’t want you!”

Ettore shattered.

You watched it happen as your venomous words left your lips.

His face fell, his eyes began to water, and even his tattoos seemed to go dull.

At that moment, he was not Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster.

He was just a boy – the both of you were barely more than teenagers when you left Earth – and he was broken.

You broke him.

You looked on in horror as his trembling lips set into a hard line that echoed in his harsh brow, and the tears in his beautiful eyes faded to reveal a primal rage that chilled your blood.

There he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Ettore stood slowly, like a tiger rising from its crouch upon realizing its prey has no escape – that it could play.

But then he looked away from you, sniffed, and moved for the door.

His leaving without doing anything to you should have made you feel overwhelming relief, but it did not. Instead, a great yawning pit of guilt and regret opened in your chest, hurting nearly as much as your wounded core.

You tried to call out to him, take your words back, and apologize, but all that came out was a short yelp of pain. This time, it was accompanied by wetness between your legs – and not the pleasant kind.

As you folded over, burying your face in your knees as you pulled them into your chest, Ettore paused halfway out the door.

He’d heard noises like that before. From other women in pain – pain that he caused. His lip twitched, and his head tilted out of his control, the movement more animal than human.

You were helpless and apparently wounded. This was his chance.

But as he turned to face you, he caught sight of the poppies you so lovingly tended to the day before. With the memory of your soft smile as you cupped a particularly pretty bloom, one that was a deeper pink than the others, he was able to pull back on the reins of that instinct.

Just slightly, but just enough.

“You hurt?” he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded into your legs and lifted your head without meeting his eyes. “I think… I think I’m bleeding.”

Ettore was frozen, his hands flexing, relaxing, and balling into fists as he tried to keep hold of those inner reins. If he was smart, he would leave. Go straight to the Box and fuck himself until this hateful urge was gone. If he was a good person, he would offer his help.

He was not smart. And he was most definitely not a good person.

But something about you and those goddamned poppies woke what little was left of his humanity and made him want to try.

So, he just stood there, staring at your helpless form as he fought a vicious war inside himself.

You watched him. Watched as his eyes flicked over every inch of your body with dizzying speed, as various parts of his body twitched and flexed. You’d never seen anything like it before, except…

The vague memory of a play you went to on a middle school field trip reemerges. Your whole grade was reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and it just happened to coincide with the local community theater’s production of the play.

It wasn’t a good play. Even at twelve, you could tell it was objectively bad. But the man who played Jekyll and Hyde was decent (one of your classmates told you he was their pediatrician), mainly when he performed the ‘transformation.’ You hadn’t been able to look away as he contorted; every movement was desperate, halting, and frantic.

Not unlike how Ettore moved as he watched you.

When he came out of the fog that had settled over his eyes, which Ettore would you get? Did he even have a Jekyll to his Hyde?

You knew you should take the opportunity of his distraction to run. The infirmary would be best, but it would mean seeing Dr. Dibs again. You had no desire to admit that you needed her help. The showers were also an option, but it would allow others to see you in a weakened state. You didn’t want to admit weakness. Besides, Dibs would hear about that as well.

So, even though you knew it was stupid, you decided to take the biggest risk of them all.

“Ettore…?” You called his name softly, unsure of the pronunciation. Whether it was right or wrong, he didn’t seem to mind. He locked eyes with you, and his nostril flared as though he really was a predator and could smell the blood you were now confident was leaking from you. “I need your help.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked like he would run from you. But beyond another twitch of his head, he did not move.

“Please?” you begged. You felt pathetic, but you kind of were, so you tried not to let it bother you too much. “I don’t think I can stand on my own.”

Ettore’s brows furrowed at that, and his lips went from a near-sneer to a determined frown. Then, with a lumbering gait, he approached you in only a few steps, holding a hand out in front of him for you to take.

You stared at his hand for a moment, admiring the elegant length of his fingers. And then you realized: he was shaking.

It was subtle, but it was there.

Tilting your head, you looked up at his face. Apart from the slight widening of his eyes, it was again set in passivity. But what was more peculiar than his trembling or his expression was the fact that he was steadfastly refusing to look at you.

Indeed, those blue eyes were set on the softly swaying leaves of your willow, tracking their movement like the tree would attack him if he looked away.

You were so used to his eyes on you. Was it wrong that you wanted it back?

Before you could ponder the answer, you raised an arm to take his hand. He squeezed your fingers painfully as he helped you onto your feet.

The pain surged again as you stood, causing your knees to buckle the second Ettore let go of your hand. You stumbled, falling against his chest.

It was no more than instinct that had him wrapping his long arms around your shoulders and waist to catch you. An instinct that his brain was yelling at him to abandon you and let you fall.

It was too dangerous to touch you, to feel your soft skin as his hand accidentally slipped into the side of your overalls – why the fuck were the sides so low when your shirt was so short?

At the sensation of your hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, he let out an involuntary groan as he tightened his grip on you.

He had to get away. Now. As fast as possible. He didn’t want to hurt you. He really didn’t. But his blood was singing with desire, more intoxicating than any liquor or drug. Keeping his fingers from digging into your flesh possessively was almost painful, and he was so, so hard.

The reins were slipping…

You felt it, his hard length pressed into your stomach as you brought your hands to his chest to steady yourself.

You should push him away again. Slap him. Yell at him. Kick him as hard as you could right on that hard, impressively long length.

But you did none of it.

“I need to get to my worktable,” you whispered, “there’s a medkit there. And…”

You looked into his eyes, watching them dilate even further as you finished your request. “I’ll need help getting out of my overalls.”

That blue you were so entranced by was all but gone. Ettore looked like a man possessed, his breathing heavy and heaving as he lowered his chin to look into your eyes.

There was no way he heard you correctly. You knew what he was, what he had done. And you were smart, so much smarter than him. Far too smart to ever ask someone like him to take off your clothes. Even if it were to help you with an injury – an injury he still couldn’t see.

But then your eyes squeezed shut, and you fell forward to bury your face in his shoulder as you moaned in pain.

And then…

Then your right hand moved up his chest to wrap around his neck. Not to choke or hurt, but just to hold.

He expected your hands to be rough from working in the garden all day, but they weren’t. No, your fingers were unfairly, unbearably soft as they swept across his bare skin, coming to rest against the tattoo on the side of his neck.

When was the last time anyone touched him like this – tenderly and without fear? It had been years, even before he was put on this doomed ship.

Ettore almost came just from that simple touch.

More intense than even the extraordinary pleasure was the feeling of near calm that washed over him. It soothed the pain he felt in every muscle and quieted the violent, primal urges roaring within his chest. They weren’t gone, but they were further away.

It made it easier to take the reins.

“The worktable…” he breathed as his grip on you relaxed slightly. He still held you firm enough to keep you standing, but you no longer worried you would bruise.

You pulled away slightly, noting the way he whimpered and winced like a scolded puppy as you slowly removed your hand from around his neck. “Yes.”

He nodded frantically, sniffing and taking a few deep breaths. As if he needed to prepare himself for the short walk to the table. Then, moving with a slowness that suggested the motion took all his concentration, he lowered his arm from your shoulders.

When Ettore turned to the worktable, even with his other arm still around your waist, you felt a rush of unwelcome cold. Even when you were still clothed and the garden was kept at a balmy temperature.

He walked slowly. Perhaps you would have thought it was out of concern for you and your pain, but you knew by now that this was hard for him.

Indeed, when he pulled away after you were leaned against the table, a faint sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow. His breathing was still rapid, and his eyes were glassy, as if he were several shots in.

“Ettore?” When he met your eyes again, you looked down at the buttons on your shoulders holding your overalls up. He followed your gaze and made a choking sound when he realized what you meant. “If I let go of the table, I think I’ll fall.”

It wasn’t just his hands shaking now, but all of him. So much so that you couldn’t tell whether he was nodding or just shaking that badly.

Either way, he reached for the first button on your left shoulder. It took him a few tries, but he got it done. The strap fell, and one side of the overalls slumped, revealing the tight white shirt beneath that left very little to the imagination.

Ettore growled.

What the fuck? Humans don’t growl. At least, you had never heard it.

And yet he did.

A flicker of fear started in your chest, and you chose to focus on that rather than the bloom of something else lower within you.

He began to reach a hand, tense and shaking, towards your breast. But inches away, you caught his wrist. You had to lean further against the table not to fall, but you weren’t letting go.

“The other button, please.” Though you spoke quietly, the command was clear.

You only released his arm when he looked into your eyes and confirmed with a twitch of his lip that he heard you. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times before finally going for the other button.

It took him even longer to get this one undone. But at least he didn’t growl again when the other half of the overall’s torso fell limp around your waist. His eyes did linger on your breasts, but you let it happen.

You had great tits. And he deserved a little reward for helping you, didn’t he?

So, you let him have a few seconds to just stare. As long as he didn’t try to touch again. Because you didn’t want that, right?

Ettore’s gaze fell further, to where the overalls were just barely hanging onto your waist. You said you were bleeding, but he still hadn’t seen it. So just where was your injury?

His cock twitched, and he was sure you could see it through the thin scrub pants he was forced to wear as he realized what would happen next. “You need ‘em all the way off, eh?” He hated how weak and shaky his voice sounded, but he supposed it was better than growling. You hadn’t reacted well to that. “Do you need me to…?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed. Of course, you knew you should say something about burying your spade in his chest if he tried anything. But the fact that he was asking, rather than just ripping the garment off, made you feel almost safe in having him do this. Almost.

You would feel even better about it if you couldn’t see his dick straining against his pants and twitching almost as much as he was.

C'est la vie, you supposed. Though that probably applied more to something trivial, like your school’s football team losing a game they should have won, than you being forced to ask a serial rapist and murderer to take off your pants. But close enough.

You shivered when he lowered his hands to your waist, causing him to pull back slightly. “It’s fine,” you assured him. “Keep going. I’m fine.”

Ettore nodded and fixed his eyes on the bottom drawer of the table as he took the thin fabric of the overalls between his fingers and started pulling them down. Really, he could have just nudged them, and they would have fallen to the floor. But he kept them in his grip as he lowered himself into a kneeling position.

He never once looked at you. Not at your ankles, or your legs, or the apex of your thighs – which were covered with more blood than you expected.

Damn it.

You considered what to do next as Ettore remained on the floor, carefully slipping the overalls over your feet. A difficult task when he refused to look at what he was doing.

By the time he finished, and you felt very much like Donald Duck – shirt, shoes, but no pants – you knew what you had to ask.

It was the stupidest thing you’d ever done.

“As long as you’re down there,” you said, your joking tone flatter than you intended, “the medkit’s in the drawer just to your left. Can you grab it and… and help me onto the table?”

Ettore didn’t reply but yanked the drawer open and grabbed the medkit. After tossing it on the table, he rose. Then, still not looking at you, he wrapped his arms around you again – one around your waist, the other around your upper thighs – and lifted you onto the table.

God, you felt so good in his arms. You were the perfect size, like you were made for him to hold. Warm and soft and… wet?

His eyes shot to the arm that had been wrapped around your legs. And both of you looked on in horror as you realized it was now covered in blood – your blood.

For the first time, you saw a look of disgust come over Ettore’s face.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, voice breaking as tears of embarrassment began to fall. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, Ettore simply stalked over to the utility sink a few feet from the worktable and slammed the faucet on. He didn’t wait for the water to heat before shoving his arm under it.

You watched in humiliation, fumbling to lower your panties as he grabbed the soap and began to scrub. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, ripping open the medkit to find a packet of gauze you could press between your legs. “Ettore, I’m so sorry!”

He shook his head as he scrubbed harder and harder, until his skin burned from more than the searingly hot water. You were bleeding, you were hurt, and all he had been thinking about was how much he’d like to fuck you.

It had never stopped him before, not with any of the other girls. He had never minded having their blood on him. He savored it, actually. But it had been him who made them bleed. You…

“Who?” he growled, stilling his scrubbing but keeping the arm under the water. The burning distracted him from the desire to find someone to hurt. Because he needed to hurt someone. Badly. Preferably whoever did this to you, but he wasn’t picky.

You didn’t want to tell him, not when you recognized that look in his eyes. It meant violence – retribution. You had seen that same look in your eyes when you watched the recap of your trial from your cell, and your lawyer was telling the jury, in excruciating detail, why you had killed your victim.

For a moment, you thought about trying to pass it off as you just being on your period. But he wouldn’t buy it. Not after what you’d already told him. Besides, all the women on the ship were synced, and your periods were still two weeks away.

Finally fed up with your silence, Ettore shut off the water and turned back to you, not bothering to dry his arms. He just prowled back to you, standing between your spread legs as he stared deep into your eyes without a glance at your mostly exposed cunt. You turned away, not wanting to face the darkness in his eyes, but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Who?”

You bit your lip and fought to get free of his grip, but to no avail. Knowing then that it was hopeless, you locked eyes with him again as you said simply, “Dibs.”

He growled again, not with hunger, but with rage.

And then he turned away.

He would hurt her, you realized. He would kill her.

You weren’t opposed to the idea, but you were opposed to what would come next. What the other prisoners would do to Ettore afterward. And perhaps you as well, since he would do it for you.

Before you knew it, your hand had shot out to grab his shirt, and he froze.

“Don’t,” you pled. When you tugged on his shirt to draw him back to you, he only resisted for a moment before coming back toward you. “It was just her punishment. I’ll be fine. She wouldn’t… damage me permanently. She needs me intact for her experiments. I promise, she was just being a cunt.”

Ettore cocked his head and pursed his lips like he would argue, but you couldn’t have that. So, you lifted the gauze from between your legs to show him how the blood flow had already stemmed somewhat.

“See? It’s already getting better.” But your weak, reassuring smile fell when you realized what you had just done.

He realized at the same time, and he could not stop his eyes from dropping to what you just made visible to him.

His erection had begun to flag while he cleaned your blood from his arm, but there was no stopping it now. Not when he had a full view of what he had been dreaming of for weeks.

Just like the rest of you, your pussy was so pretty. He wanted to kiss it, stroke it, fuck it. His blood hummed with the desire, and he barely stopped himself from diving forward. He closed his fingers around yours where they bunched the front of his shirt. The feeling of your skin against his was his salvation, an anchor to his humanity.

Not you, he told himself.

Not you, who didn’t look at him in fear or disgust. At least, not entirely.

Not you, the only person since his mother died to touch him with anything other than aggression.

Not you, who had trusted him, even knowing what he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

“Please.” His plea was hardly more than a breath. Pathetic. “Please, let me go.”

For even with your touch, he was losing his grip on the reins. If he stayed here one second longer, he would do something he really didn’t want to do. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

You could see how much danger you were in, but you did not let go. No, you tightened your grip on his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your forehead rested against his.

Finally, you could look into those eyes and remember the sky back home as you had wanted to for so long.

But the sky wasn’t enough.

You wanted him.

You knew you couldn’t have him fully, couldn’t do what you really wanted. Not when you were injured like this.

Still, you brought your other hand to his chest, feeling him shiver as your fingers traveled lower and lower. Finally, you rest your palm against his length through his scrubs, feeling a sense of satisfaction when his hips cant slightly forward into your grip.

He didn’t have to say anything for you to know he wanted this as much as you do. But, of course, he did. When was the last time a woman touched him there, let alone willingly? The thought should have disgusted you, but it didn’t.

Perhaps you were just as much of a monster as he was,

“Dibs will punish us if she finds out we did this,” you whispered, your lips mere inches away from his. “But I don’t really care, do you?”

Ettore shook his head, his eyes burning like the fires of hell, where you both belonged. He was so close to breaking, losing himself, losing control. He was little more than an animal following the primal instinct to mate.

But letting you take control – and you were undoubtedly in control now – made it easier. For once, it wasn’t him who had to pull back on the reins. Not when he gave them to you.

He nodded vigorously. He wanted you. He didn’t care that he didn’t deserve it. And he didn’t care that you were probably just as monstrous as he was. He just wanted you.

You smiled, pressing a single kiss to the corner of his lips before sliding your hand past the waistbands of his scrubs and boxers and taking hold of him.

He immediately let out a pitiful cry as his stomach tightened, and he had to concentrate so hard not to come before you had even begun to move your hand. It was only made worse when you giggled at his struggle. The sound was sweet and light and utterly infuriating.

Needing to shut you up, Ettore brought his hands back around your waist as he tugged you to the table’s edge. He leaned forward to kiss you, but you pushed against him, holding him back. Then, tensing, he grunted, a low, throaty sound and a begging.

“I know,” you whispered, mock sympathy barely disguising your amusement. “I know what you want. Believe me, I want it to.” You laughed again as you began to pump him slowly, collecting the precum on his tip with every stroke to ease your movements. “You can kiss me another time. Right now, I just want to look at you. Is that okay?”

His hands tensed around your waist, and for a few seconds, he looked like he would let that animal loose and lunge at you. Like he would kiss you with all the pent-up frustrations of an entire life spent unwanted.

But he stopped, looking from where your hand disappeared below his pants to your eyes. And he nodded. Not a small, weak movement, but a firm, final motion.

He would allow it.

He would allow you to do whatever you wanted.

You smiled broadly, and again, he had to hold back his release. He wanted this to last forever.

At last, you released Ettore’s shirt from where you had bunched it with your offhand, raising it to his neck. You traced each line of his maze-like tattoo as you sped your movements, savoring each wince and whine he let out. Cataloging each reaction to figure out, without him having to say a word, exactly what he liked best.

And what you liked best. You were particularly fond of how his eyes would squeeze shut, and his mouth would fall open each time you grazed your thumb over his leaking head, following a short trail up and down his slit.

It was such a mesmerizing sight that you brought your hand up from his neck to touch his face. Every movement of one hand was echoed by the other as you explored each feature.

The severe line of his jaw. His large chin. The sharp cheekbones and flat brow. His long, elegant nose. The pink plush of his lips, from which he let out such tantalizing moans and whimpers.

Once you had taken in every inch of his face, you cupped his jaw in your left hand to feel it work as you sped the ministrations of your right hand. His eyes squeezed even further shut, and he grunted like an animal. But you didn’t stop. You only went faster and faster.

“Are you nearly finished?” you asked teasingly.

Ettore cracked open his eyes, looking from your taunting smile to your hand, working him so skillfully, then back to you. He moaned almost inaudibly, and that animalistic hunger returned to his eyes. He had been locked in a cage for too long, and now you had set him free.

“Yes,” he moaned, almost too quiet to hear.

You brought your thumb to rest against his lower lip, smiling at the feeling of his increasingly frantic breath against her.

For so long, you had feared this man. And now he was reduced to putty in your hands.

With a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, you pressed your thumb further into his lip and let your other hand slow, ignoring his protestations. “Before I let you finish,” you said, your voice tauntingly innocent, “I need you to answer a question for me. Can you do that?”

Ettore’s body jerked wildly as he desperately tried to regain some of the friction you had just deprived him of, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

He knew he would do anything you asked him to then.

If you asked him to jump? He’d ask how high.

If you demanded he get down on his knees and beg? He’d do so happily.

If you told him to throw himself out of the airlock? He wouldn’t hesitate.

Compared to what he would do, what you actually asked of him seemed so simple.

“Fine…” he gasps, tightening his grip on your waist as though you would pull away. “What is it?”

You smirked, savoring that dark look in his eyes. How could you ever have been scared of it?

Then you squeezed his pulsing cock, just past the point of pleasure, to emphasize the power you held over him.

And, of course, he loved it. Groaning as his head toppled over into your shoulder. You carded your hand through his short hair as you whispered in his ear, “What feels better, my hand or the Box?”

Any pain, any embarrassment at being so pathetically at your beck and call, or any emotion other than his desire for you faded at the question. All that mattered was you and your perfect touch.

It felt wonderful even when you tugged on his hair quite hard to make him face you again. The answer was written on his face, in every piece of the complete, utter joy he felt in every inch of him, but especially where your skin met his.

“You,” he said, the word like a prayer. “You.”

Your responding smile was wicked, and you almost went back on your promise not to kiss him. But you resisted and began pumping his cock at a breakneck pace, brushing each sweet spot with every stroke and letting your pinky graze against his balls each time you came to his base.

It takes every ounce of what little restraint Ettore had to not scream at the overwhelming bliss. It was so much, too much. It was everything.

But what finally pushed him over the edge was you leaning in again to whisper against his cheek, “Just wait until you feel my cunt, Ettore.”

There was a sharp gasp, a guttural cry, a whimper, and a grunt, and then he was spent. Thank God his boxers were thick, or there would have been a very obvious stain at the front of his scrubs.

Ettore whimpered again as he looked into your eyes again, unsure what this meant or what would happen next. He was so drunk on his release that words failed him, or else he no doubt would have said something stupid and ruined his chances of actually getting to experience what you had promised just before he came.

You removed your right hand from his pants, wrapping it around his neck like the left, soothingly stroking the peach fuzz at the base of his skull as he came down from his high.

There was a new look in those blue eyes. Not hungry, not animalistic. Not angry or predatory. No, it was almost reverent.

Who would have ever thought that Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster, was capable of a look like that?

You parted your lips and leaned ever so slightly into him. “Thank you,” you whispered against his lips. “For letting me just watch. I think… after giving me that, you deserve a treat, don’t you?”

Ettore didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He could only stare at you as pleading vulnerability crept over his face. The look of a puppy begging for a treat.

Then, he nodded, his only pleading answer.

You ran a hand through his hair again, making him wait just a moment more. “Kiss me, Ettore.” His eyes went wide at the command. “Kiss me the way you really want to.”

His throat bobbed, and he nodded again, still holding your gaze. Then, before you could even take a breath, he pounced.

Ettore’s lips were hot on yours as he kissed you deeper and more passionately than you’d ever been kissed before. It took only a moment before it felt like your souls were melding together for how close he held you. He did not relent until you were both struggling for breath.

Even then, he kept his lips pressed against yours as though he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the sound sending tingles up your spine.

You just sat there, smiling against him for a moment, wishing you could have taken him inside you. Perhaps you were fine now, and if he could get hard again, you could…

But then your watches both beeped the hour. He’d been there an hour. Someone was bound to notice he wasn’t scrubbing the halls soon.

So, you reluctantly pushed him away, heart clenching as he weakly fought to hang on to you. “I want to come back,” he whined.

You didn’t reply as you dressed again, your pain mostly gone, and pulled a clean rag out of another worktable drawer for him to clean himself. As you went to shut the drawer, an idea sparked in your mind. You grabbed another rag and ran to the sink, bunching the cloth as you moved.

Ettore looked on in confusion as you shoved the rag down and down into the drain until you couldn’t reach it anymore. But then realization set in, and he grinned wickedly.

You turned to him and returned the smile. “I think I may need to call maintenance tomorrow.”

[kenobster]

Bribe me sempai

[link to original post for context]

bahahahhaha, be BRIBED:

The attacks after point rain swept Obi-Wan’s face, armor, robes in fine grains of Geonosian sand—sand that could come right off with a few good wipes, always leaving the cloth dirtier than the man.  In a desert, water is a luxury. Obi-Wan ensured that every active soldier on Geonosis received enough water for hydration as well as a nightly spongebath, and he and Cody were no exceptions. But it was always their eyes on the requisition requests, their eyes on the remaining supplies, their eyes on the casualty reports whenever the medics ran out of clean gauze and resorted to soil-stained cloth. For he and Cody, hydration and sponge baths were luxuries, too. They made a contest out of it—in using the fewest drops from their canteens to dampen the least dusty sections of their sleeves. Afterward, they sat together and took turns nursing the mud out of each other’s sweat-damp hair.  When the war is over, Cody once said, I think I’ll find the sandiest rock out there. Buy a couple of sandwraps and a good healthy dewback. Set up camp somewhere out there. In love with the weather that much, are you? Beats getting drenched in rain. Because that was Kamino—a desert of saltwater dunes as blue as the sweltering sky that Obi-Wan stands under now.  Tatooine sand isn’t like the sand of Geonosis. Sponge baths leave only crusty caked-up rings around the ankles, wrists, and neck. Hosing things down clogs up equipment with thick layers of mud. Even the atmosphere—heavy and dry—peels flakes of skin from hardened, calloused knuckles.  The sandiest rock in the galaxy, here, beneath his feet, and Obi-Wan wishes there’d been an ending to the war, purely so that his Commander could have seen it.

Thank you for the vote and the fun time!! XD

Note: I'll be doing the corresponding Obikin drabbles and the drabbles for other ships after the poll concludes.

[joemueller2376]

The Definitive Manual for Mastering Perfectly Tender Rice with Your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker

When it comes to cooking rice, precision and consistency are key. The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is designed to deliver perfectly tender rice every time, thanks to its advanced features and user-friendly design.

Why Choose the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker?

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is not just a rice cooker; it is a versatile kitchen appliance designed to meet a variety of cooking needs. With its Fuzzy Logic Technology, it adjusts cooking parameters to ensure perfect results every time.

Features of the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker

8 Cooking Functions: White Rice, Quick Cook, Brown Rice, Mixed Grain, Slow Cook, Porridge, Cake, and Egg.

LCD Display: Easy-to-read display for intuitive operation.

Fuzzy Logic Technology: Automatically adjusts cooking time and temperature.

24-Hour Delay Timer: Plan your meals in advance.

Auto Keep Warm: Keeps your rice warm until you are ready to serve.

Non-Stick Inner Pot: Easy to clean and maintain.

Getting Started with Your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker

Before you begin cooking, it is important to familiarize yourself with the different components of your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker. This includes the inner pot, the LCD display, and the various cooking functions available.

"The Toshiba Small Rice Cooker, with a capacity for 3 cups uncooked rice, is designed for convenience and versatility. It features an LCD display with 8 cooking functions, including options for white rice, brown rice, mixed grain, quick cook, slow cook, porridge, cake, and egg. Utilizing Fuzzy Logic Technology, it adjusts cooking time and temperature for perfect results. The 24-hour delay timer and auto keep warm function ensure your rice is ready when you are. Its non-stick inner pot makes cleaning easy, and the cooker comes with a rice ladle, spoon, and measuring cup. Ideal for small families or individuals, it offers a compact and efficient solution for a variety of cooking needs." - Product Introduction

Step-by-Step Guide to Cooking Perfect Rice

Measure the Rice: Use the measuring cup provided to measure the desired amount of rice.

Rinse the Rice: Rinse the rice under cold water until the water runs clear.

Add Water: Add the appropriate amount of water to the inner pot. The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker typically has water level markings inside the pot to guide you.

Select the Cooking Function: Choose the appropriate cooking function on the LCD display. For example, select "White Rice" for regular white rice.

Start Cooking: Press the start button to begin cooking. The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker will automatically adjust the cooking time and temperature.

Let it Rest: Once the cooking cycle is complete, let the rice rest for a few minutes before opening the lid.

Fluff and Serve: Use the rice ladle to fluff the rice before serving.

Additional Cooking Functions

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is equipped with multiple cooking functions that allow you to prepare a variety of dishes. Here are some of the additional functions you can explore:

Quick Cook: Ideal for when you are in a hurry and need to cook rice quickly.

Brown Rice: Perfect for cooking brown rice, which requires a longer cooking time.

Mixed Grain: Great for cooking mixed grains such as quinoa and barley.

Slow Cook: Use this function to slow cook stews and soups.

Porridge: Make delicious porridge for breakfast.

Cake: Yes, you can even bake cakes in your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker!

Egg: Cook perfect eggs every time.

Maintenance and Cleaning

Proper maintenance and cleaning of your TOSHIBA Rice Cooker will ensure its longevity and optimal performance. Here are some tips:

Unplug the Cooker: Always unplug the rice cooker before cleaning.

Remove the Inner Pot: Take out the non-stick inner pot and wash it with warm soapy water. Avoid using abrasive cleaners.

Wipe the Exterior: Use a damp cloth to wipe the exterior of the rice cooker.

Clean the Lid: Remove and clean the lid if it is detachable. Otherwise, wipe it with a damp cloth.

Dry Thoroughly: Ensure all parts are completely dry before reassembling the rice cooker.

Customer Reviews

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker has received numerous positive reviews from customers who appreciate its versatility and ease of use. Here are some highlights:

"I love my Toshiba Rice Cooker! It makes perfect rice every time, and the additional cooking functions are a great bonus." - Customer Review

"The Fuzzy Logic Technology really makes a difference. My rice comes out perfectly cooked, and I love the convenience of the 24-hour delay timer." - Customer Review

Where to Buy

You can purchase the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker from various online retailers. For more information and to buy, visit the product page on Amazon.

Conclusion

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is a versatile and reliable kitchen appliance that makes cooking rice and other dishes a breeze. With its advanced features and user-friendly design, it is an excellent addition to any kitchen.

[cowboyjen68]

For someone who wants to work on a farm, do you have any suggestions? Most farm jobs seem to be part time summer work, which I have done, but I’m wondering if it’s possible to do it full time and pay the bills, as I love working with animals and working outside.

Farm work is often seasonal until you gain some background in the mechanics of planting, animal care and probably knowledge of machine and equipment upkeep.

Check into feed stores, feed mills, large year round operations like dairy farms or pig farms. They run through All seasons and often need laborers.

You might have to work several part time jobs at first. In my experience Farmers hire those who prove themselves valuable.

I work for a full time farm/agri amusement park (haunted houses, corn maze, pumpkins, flowers etc) and while some parts of the year are full time (spring, summer, fall) winter is quiet once we’ve stored everything away for the season.

Check into Apple orchards, pumpkins farms and others that serve a client base and learn as much as you can. Ask to be taught various tasks. I drive a tractor pulling a hay rack, mow, care for animals, much pens, help put up hay, work a cash register, weed flowers and empty garbage. All this came about because I knew how to make kettle corn.

Any job you take learn all you can. Feed stores need a cashier, grain processors need someone who can keep records, animals poop (a lot) so being okay with clean up is a valuable trait.

It is possible to be s full time farm hand. Winter time means maintenance and cleaning but it might take some time and skill building.

Check with your local State Extension office about jobs, job training and ideas.

[reno2005]

4th Cup

Summary: reader is a freelance mercenary who falls for the new customer(Leon) at the cafe they frequent. [fluff]

Leon(RE4) x GN!Reader

Note: I really love the casual outfit / There's no violence or action / First-person

Word count: 1564

Bored.

I sat at the booth in a small tidy coffee shop in a quiet city staring at my phone laying in the middle of the table. My contact hadn’t text back since last night and I was fearing another client had gotten cold feet. It was typical in the line of work I made for myself. One mention of “freelance mercenary” and people either took it as a joke or were too scared to talk again. Needless to say, my social life was usually about as empty as my client list.

“I guess that preorder will have to wait.” I said out loud to myself, thinking of the figure I had my eyes set on as the waitress poured more coffee in what was probably my third cup, or I was hoping it was only the third.

“Don’t worry I’m sure it won’t sell out. Besides at least you can still pay your bills?” The waitress, Diana, smiled at me with a face that said “especially your coffee, right?”

“Don’t I already pay you to sit here on a weekly basis?” I playfully jabbed.

“Oh, you’re no fun.” She smiled back and knocked on the table. “Hope you get a catch this week, coffees on the house.”

Diana walked back behind the counter and started cleaning the froth and milk off of the equipment.

“Yeah, the only thing I’m catching this week is bills…” I said to myself as I started to kill my coffee, ready to give up and leave. I was halfway through my drink when I saw him walk in from behind the cup on my lips. He was wearing a blue flight jacket, sleeves slid up to his elbows as much as he could over his muscular forearms, though he didn’t seem like a pilot and wore it more for fashion. His jeans were so tight you could see the shape of his legs. Obviously, whatever this guy did for a living made him the most fit person I’d seen since I moved here years ago.

With every step he took, my heartbeat quickened. His mere presence was magnetic, drawing me in like a helpless victim. “Blonde, blue eyes…” I whispered to myself making a mental note as I stared at his hair. It was like a Japanese idol walked into the building. I watched as he ordered his drink—a cappuccino with a sprinkle of charisma, I imagined. Our eyes met for an instant as he turned to walk out, and in that fleeting moment, I felt Cupid’s arrow.

I got up and rushed over to the order counter. “Did he give a name? It was an advanced order, right?” I asked frantically.

“Oh no I had it ready for him.” Diana answered before she turned to face me. “I think he’s new to town, he just started coming in a few days ago. Always orders the cappuccino and sits at the window booth until he rushes out. Must have been late for something today…”

“What time? What days?” I asked, desperation spilling from my voice.

“Please don’t stalk my customer, he actually pays me.” Diana sarcastically joked.

“I’m not- “I stopped and l at her sternly although I knew she was joking.

“Okay okay, sorry.” She chuckled at me. “You might want to puff up your chest from 1 to 3pm every day lovebird. But he doesn’t seem like the talkative type. Just sits and stares out the window.”

“Might have to move some appointments but okay… thanks!” I rushed out as I heard Diana yell out “Good luck!” from behind though I couldn’t tell if it was sarcastic or not.

The rest of the week consisted of me sitting at my regular booth trying my best to blend in and spy on the new customer for anything I could use to my advantage. I took her words with a grain of salt but everything Diana said was spot on, same time, same table, same drink. He’d look out the window as the sun shone down on his face and his beautiful blonde hair. “Wish my hair looked that good anytime…” I grumbled to myself looking at his lazily combed hair. It was like he didn’t even try and yet he exuded such an eye-catching aura. Small pangs of worry washed over me anytime I saw someone checking him out.

“Just introduce yourself already.” Diana caught me off guard and broke my gaze.

“But… I don’t know… should I even bother him? He looks so comfortable. So serene.” I couldn’t help but get lost in the adonis again.

“you’re not going to win him over just sitting here. C’mon I’ve never seen you like this before.” Diana gave me a pat on the back before walking behind the counter.

With my newfound confidence borne from Diana’s encouragement, I mustered the courage to approach him. I sauntered over to him and mustered my most charming smile.

"Hey," I casually greeted, trying not to lose my cool. "Mind if I join you?"

He glanced up, his eyebrow arched inquisitively. Then, after a moment's consideration, he nodded.

"Not at all," he replied nonchalantly as he went back to staring out the window.

"Great!"

I sat down across from him, trying to act like I wasn't fazed by his indifference. I looked back at Diana who shot me a thumbs up. "So, what's your name?" I asked.

He gave me another glance and answered as he looked out at the bustling street. “Leon.”

A few moments passed in silence. I looked out the window, wondering what caught his attention so much every day, seemed the same to me or maybe I’ve just been here too long. I needed to get his attention either way, couldn’t risk fucking this up.

"So, how do you like the coffee here?" I asked, trying to break the deep silence.

"It's decent," he said, taking a sip.

I sighed. This was going nowhere fast and the silence was starting to kill what little courage I had mustered up. Accepting defeat, I stood up. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Leon" I said, trying not to show my disappointment. "I'll leave you alone now."

"Wait." He said, finally breaking his gaze from the window.

I stopped, turning back towards him. "Yes?"

"You know, it's rude to leave someone hanging like that," he said, finally making eye contact. His gaze pierced into my heart, it was so serious, cool, and sexy. My heart started to beat like crazy.

"Oh, um, sorry." I sat back down, fidgeting with my hands.

"You seem nervous," he commented, noticing said hands.

"Well, you're kind of intimidating." I said in the nicest way I could with a nervous laugh.

He chuckled. "I get that a lot. But I assure you, I don’t bite."

"Yeah, sure." I said with pouting lips, trying to be cute and funny.

He sighed. "I'm sorry if I'm coming off as aloof. I’m just not really into small talk anymore."

"Well, why did you agree to sit with me then?" I asked, confused.

"Because you seem like an interesting person," he admitted.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah, and you're kind of cute, too." He took another sip.

My face turned bright red. "W-what?" I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This Prince Charming was calling me cute. Me.

"You're blushing," he teased.

"Am not." I said with a face as red as a tomato.

Leon chuckled. "Relax, I'm just teasing you.” He took another sip. “But it’s true.”

I was speechless. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. It seemed I wasn’t the only one hit with an arrow.

“So, what do you do besides watch me from across the Café?” Leon joked as he changed the subject and brought my attention back. Though I was surprised he had even noticed.

“How’d you-? Uhm I’m freelance….” I said hesitantly, afraid my job title would ruin this chance too.

“Artist?”

“Mercenary” I cringed a little inside, ready for it all to crumble away.

“I guess I was right about you being interesting.” Leon smiled, as if he was proud he guessed right.

"And you?" I said, surprised that he hadn’t left the tip and ran off the second the word left my mouth.

"Oh, I'm just an agent," he said, before taking another sip.

"An agent, huh? That's awesome." Images of movies stars and singers flashed in my head. Of course he was, he had the look.

"Yep. It pays the bills." He said, not elaborating any further.

We continued chatting, and I was surprised to find that we had a lot in common. And, despite his frosty exterior, he was actually pretty funny. As we talked, I found myself falling for him more and more. He was intelligent, charming, and just plain cool. Suddenly, the spell was broken.

"Oh, shit," he cursed, glancing at his watch. "I'm going to be late."

"For what?"

“The job calls.”

He stood up, taking his jacket and coffee. "It was nice talking to you."

"Likewise," I said, unable to hide the disappointment in my voice.

"Don't worry, we'll meet again." He said reassuringly.

"Really?" I said hopeful.

He smiled. "I'll make sure of it."

With that, he left, leaving me alone with my coffee. As I watched him walk away, I felt a mixture of emotions. Happiness, infatuation, and a strange sense of hope.

[punisheddonjuan]

God, it feels so nice to not have the kitchen cluttered with all of my roommate's brewing and distilling equipment. There had been this 50L jug of homemade grain alcohol just sitting in that back right corner these last four years; it was a bitch to move, so I often just didn't. I can actually clean in that corner again. The table is usable again (the chairs less so, I do not recommend using them, the whole set was $30 and I'm not even sure if it was worth that), and the shelf has been cleared of all useless garbage and suspect foodstuffs.

Now I just need to get on the building manager about getting the dishwasher replaced.

I'm very tired now and close to collapse. It was a good day though, I got a lot of things organized and prepared for later.

[elizabethquinn3815]

Experience Culinary Perfection: The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker

When it comes to achieving perfect rice every time, the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker stands out as a top choice for both individuals and families. This versatile kitchen appliance offers a range of features designed to make cooking not only easier but also more enjoyable.

Why Choose the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker?

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is not just any ordinary rice cooker. It is equipped with Fuzzy Logic Technology that automatically adjusts the cooking parameters to ensure perfect results every time. Whether you are cooking white rice, brown rice, or mixed grains, this rice cooker has got you covered.

Key Features of the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker

LCD Display: The intuitive LCD display makes it easy to select your desired cooking function.

8 Cooking Functions: Enjoy a variety of cooking options including White Rice, Quick Cook, Brown Rice, Mixed Grain, Slow Cook, Porridge, Cake, and Egg.

Fuzzy Logic Technology: Adjusts cooking time and temperature for optimal results.

24-Hour Delay Timer: Set your cooking time up to 24 hours in advance.

Auto Keep Warm: Keeps your rice warm until you are ready to serve.

Non-Stick Inner Pot: Easy to clean and prevents rice from sticking.

"The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is designed for individuals or families seeking a versatile cooking solution. It features 8 cooking functions including White Rice, Quick Cook, Brown Rice, Mixed Grain, Slow Cook, Porridge, Cake, and Egg, making it more than just a rice cooker." - Toshiba Brand Introduction

Perfect for Small Families and Individuals

The TOSHIBA Small Rice Cooker is ideal for small families or individuals. With a capacity for 3 cups of uncooked rice, it is perfect for preparing meals without any wastage. The compact design also makes it easy to store in your kitchen.

Product Specifications

Capacity: 3 cups of uncooked rice

Dimensions: Compact and space-saving

Weight: Lightweight for easy handling

Power: Energy-efficient

Additional Benefits

One of the standout features of the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is its versatility. Not only can you cook a variety of rice types, but you can also prepare other dishes such as porridge, cakes, and even eggs. The slow cook function allows you to make stews and soups, making this appliance a true multi-tasker in the kitchen.

Easy to Use and Clean

The TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is designed with user convenience in mind. The LCD display is straightforward and easy to navigate, allowing you to select your desired cooking function with ease. The non-stick inner pot ensures that cleaning up is a breeze, saving you time and effort.

Safety Features

Safety is a top priority with the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker. It comes with a detachable power cord and an automatic shut-off feature to prevent overheating. These safety measures provide peace of mind, especially for busy households.

Customer Reviews

Customers who have purchased the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker have praised its performance and versatility. Many have highlighted the convenience of the 24-hour delay timer and the auto keep warm function, which ensures that their rice is always ready when they are.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is a must-have kitchen appliance for anyone who loves cooking and enjoys perfectly cooked rice. Its advanced features, ease of use, and versatility make it a valuable addition to any kitchen. Whether you are a cooking enthusiast or just looking for a reliable rice cooker, the TOSHIBA Rice Cooker is an excellent choice.

Related Products

TOSHIBA Small Rice Cooker 3 Cup Uncooked – LCD Display with 8 Cooking Functions, Fuzzy Logic Technology, 24-Hr Delay Timer and Auto Keep Warm, Non-Stick Inner Pot, White

Product Images

[hasufin]

For All Seasons

Yesterday, I opted to start propagating my basil plants. I only bought two, you see (I don't start from seed because cats and indoor gardening are a bad combination). Basil propagates well - you cut a few stems of the plant off, strip most of the leaves, and put it in water. The stems will grow roots and after a week or two you plant those, let them grow into full plants, and by the end of summer those two plants are a fuckton of basil.

Now, you'll note the part where you're stripping basil leaves? This yields, well, basil leaves. I mostly have basil to make pesto, but I do use it for other stuff. Not, however, two or so cups at a time which is what I get when I go a-propagating. But I don't like to waste food, so... well, I either freeze it or - as I did this time - I put them in the food dehydrator (shoutout to @antarctica-starts-here, @fera-angelus, and their other partner for the gift which I use an awful lot).

There's a certain longitudinal aspect to all this. I bought basil plants in spring (and would have started them from seed even earlier if that were practical) with the intent to propagate them so that by late summer I have enough basil to make a year's worth of pesto which I will freeze. Along the way I am also preserving leaves in order to use for other purposes. I'm trimming and drying my other herbs along the way, too.

What I'm contemplating is, historically this would be an entire lifestyle. I would be constantly engaging in this cycle of planning, maintaining, harvesting, and preserving. It would be multiple cycles which feed into one another and define my entire life.

The first part to recognize is, prior to the 20th century, a successful society had only about 50% of its population engaged in food production. In the 17th century, if you passed 100 people on the street, there were another 100 people too busy farming, hunting, or fishing to be walking around in some city. And that's what a successful society was like. Less successful ones could have as much as 90% of their population engaged in food production. That means food was one of the most valuable commodities. You did not want to waste it, ever. It pretty much always made sense to do stuff to prevent food waste and increase food production. And many of our foodstuffs have their origin in preventing waste.

So let's go back to our farmer.

Well, let me go a bit forward. Modern farms tend to be monocultures: enormous properties with hundreds of acres of corn or wheat or soy; some specialize in fruits or vegetables; or they do specifically livestock for example. They're mostly just a few things. (this is not to say all modern farms are like this; I'm simply referring to the majority). These tend to be very big, or at least larger than historical farms, they are specialists, and they are operated by relatively few people. The yield per person is considerable, but they do not produce a sufficient variety of food to live off of - try to eat nothing but corn and you WILL die. By virtue of their size, farmers who are not engaged directly in tending their crop spend their time otherwise maintaining the equipment or property: mending fences, working on the all-important tractor, &c.

Historically, farms were much more varied but also smaller, and of course with less equipment and more people. The variety is significant, though. You don't want to be growing Just One Thing. Farms were at least partially self-sufficient: you're growing the grains, fruits, and vegetables to feed everyone on the farm and have enough left over to sell in order to pay whatever taxes, and buy whatever you needed.

This approach meant you tried to have crops which grew and were harvested throughout the year: you didn't want to be trying to harvest all your soybeans while the crows are picking clean the corn, after all. And some of this could be astoundingly deterministic: there's a cultivar of corn which was grown specifically because it ripens before a particular beetle's breeding season and thus the crop is not ruined.

We're told that being a farmer was a lot of work. But we're seldom given a view of what that means. We get a vague notion of plowing and harvesting, but what comes in between?

It's plowing a different field to grow a different crop. Weeding the first field so that crop grows well. Harvesting herbs and drying them. Harvesting vegetables and pickling them. Hunting for meat and smoking it.

You're constantly planning for your next few steps. You get fruit pies when fruits are in season. You enjoy a tomato pie because you have tomatoes in abundance and you'd damned well better use them lest they rot. You throw the kitchen scraps to the pigs, who get nice and fat, and once they're big enough you slaughter them. You've got your chickens, and if a hen stops laying eggs, you roast it; if the rooster is too old you have coq au vin and get a new rooster.

It's a constant juggling act to make sure everything is used, because failing to turn the compost heap one year means less potatoes the next year and that means grumbling stomachs the next winter. The question of "What's for dinner?" doesn't mean "What do I feel like having" nor "What do I want to make?" but rather "What can I make with the food which exists right now?"

[slaughtervoid]

HOW TO MAKE MACARONS

you’ll start by preparing your equipment.

PART ONE: SETTING UP.

get out your metal bowl. get out your mixer, your whipping attachment, your spatula, all those little cute prep bowls you got for mise en place and never used. your kitchen scale, your baking sheets, your silicone mats, your piping bag and tip.

here’s what you’re going to do: you’re going to make them forget. every fat that has ever touched them, you’ll wipe away. of course, they’re clean, but this is the trick- they can be cleaner. using white vinegar and a rag or paper towel, give the surface of all your implements a quick wipe. a common pitfall avoided, simple as that.

don’t you wish you knew how to do that for yourself? don’t you wish it was that simple? i wish it was that simple.

PART TWO: MEASURING.

your kitchen scale is your best friend! it’s so much easier to be precise with a friend like this. certainly, you can succeed with volume measurement, but don’t you want to be careful?

here is what you need-

one hundred five grams of almond flour. one hundred five grams of powdered sugar. one hundred grams egg white. one hundred grams granulated sugar. if you have difficulty with dependably whipping egg whites to stiff peaks, one fourth teaspoon cream of tartar.

for this recipe, i’ll be making lavender macarons. isn’t that nice? my mother is allergic. to follow along, measure out one tablespoon of culinary grade lavender.

now we turn to our secret helper, the food processor. for a macaron of the right texture, you’ll want the finest ground almond flour you can get, but it’s so hard to find the fineness you truly need. the easiest solution is to toss that almond flour into a food processor for a minute, and then it will be as fine as you need it to be.

add the powdered sugar to the food processor, too, why don’t you, and get them mixed together while you’re at it. if you’re using lavender, pulse that lavender to a fine dust in a spice grinder or separate in the food processor, then add that to the mix as well.

when i was younger, my best friend lived down the road. we loved each other so much. i’ve met him again now that i’m older. terribly allergic to nuts, now, developed suddenly. i missed him so much. i still miss him. i always will.

sift the almond flour, powdered sugar and lavender mixture through a fine mesh to remove any large fragments. discard the chaff. set aside.

PART THREE: PREPARING THE BATTER.

the technique used in this recipe is called a swiss meringue. it can be used in all kinds of applications, and it’s a handy technique to learn. my mother taught me to cook and to bake; not professionally, just at a basic level. she taught myself and my sister so well that we both had fractions mastered before beginning school! i wish she had taught me more. i wish she had never sent me to school. i wish i had never grown up. to start, add about an inch of water to a small saucepan and bring it to just a simmer on your stovetop.

put your egg whites and granulated sugar into a clean glass or metal bowl, one that rests nicely on the small saucepan without touching the water below. if it suits well and won’t touch the water, you can use the bowl from your stand mixer. as soon as you set it on the pan, start whisking, and don’t stop! your goal is simply for the sugar to dissolve. you can check this by touching the mixture with your fingertips and rubbing them together- do you still feel grains of sugar? i always hate this step. i hate the stickiness of the syrup and the perceived uncleanliness of the raw egg. it makes my skin crawl to touch it, and i keep a towel nearby to wipe my fingers on as soon as i can.

once your sugar is dissolved, you’ll pour the mixture into the bowl of your stand mixer and begin to whip the egg whites. start by mixing on low for half a minute or so; then, if desired, add your cream of tartar, and increase to medium for a minute or two. once it’s white and beginning to promise fluffiness, raise to medium-high or high and whisk until stiff peaks are formed. the best way to know is to watch. the whites will become glossy, the whisk will form streaks. some advise that the middle of the whisk will seem to start to fill. go slowly, at first- it hurts nothing to stop and check every so often. once you’ve done it a few times, you’ll just be able to tell, kind of, when you’re getting there.

i was never good at understanding that, the idea that “you’ll just know”. how could i know unless i knew the signs? how obvious should the change be? will it come to me easily, or will i be left behind?

the ideal stiff peak, when you lift your whisk from the whites, will shoot straight up, possibly with a slight bend to the tip.

remember those dry ingredients we sifted together earlier? now you’ll sift through that fine mesh again, this time directly into the whipped whites. you can do this in your mixer bowl or a different bowl, whichever works best for you. some people find it easiest to add their dry ingredients in two or three batches, mixing in between; i add mine all at once, and it seems to work fine.

to start, you’ll fold your dry ingredients into the egg whites. using a J-shaped gesture, bring your spatula slowly through the center and turn, then turn your bowl (as much as ninety degrees, as little as twenty- up to you!) and repeat. once everything is evenly incorporated, it’s time for the macaronage.

for me, this is the most effort that goes into making macarons. my arm aches by the time i’m done. don’t worry, it’s unlikely yours will! it’s also the step i love most, because it’s home to a display of unusual tenderness.

i work slowly. i work very slowly, in fact, intentionally, a sort of moving meditation that pains me somewhat to perform.

to macaronage, you will very gently and slowly press the batter up against the side of the bowl in deliberate strokes, turning the bowl as you work, so that once you’ve completed a rotation you’ve formed a flower pattern, each petal the width of your spatula. after each macaronage repetition, tenderly gather all of your batter back to the center of the bowl and start anew.

slowly, so slowly, your batter will become looser and looser, shinier and sleeker. it will fall from the spatula in flowing ribbons. when pulled up the side of the bowl, it will relax faster each time, easing back down more quickly. test often; don’t overmix! when your batter is ready, you’ll let the batter fall from your spatula in a smooth stream, leisurely and without interruption, effortless, forming several figure eights before it breaks.

it’s like a massage. i wish someone would macaronage me. i wish someone would treat me with tenderness and care.

pour your batter into a piping bag fitted with a half-inch round tip.

PART FOUR: PIPING.

you may use templates to pipe your macarons, or you may freehand them. i’ve tried both and i’m never happy. i’m never happy with anything. to pipe, place your piping bag ninety degrees half an inch or so over the center of the template and softly squeeze for about three to five seconds, then release and swiftly pull the bag up with a slight twist. it takes time to master this! your just-piped macaron shell should be well within the borders of the template if you intend for the finished product to be the size of the marked circle.

once you’ve piped as many as will be on the tray, set your piping bag aside and firmly bang the trays against the counter, a few times each. you’ll notice your macarons expand to fill the circles.

here is what i always forget: now you’ll walk away. by this time, typically i’ll be thinking i should preheat the oven, but it’s unnecessary. you have to wait. you have to be good. you have to be patient. set the trays aside. depending on the humidity, you’ll need to let them sit anywhere from twenty minutes to an hour.

i don’t know what to do with myself in this time. i should, by now. i should be able to fill time, i should remember how the recipe goes, but i’m always startled and dismayed to remember my distraction comes with a built-in lull. sometimes i work on other things, like a filling. sometimes i just sit. sometimes i just sit and think. sometimes i sit and think about things i shouldn’t. sometimes i think about things i shouldn’t.

when your macarons are ready, they’ll have a “skin” of sorts. when you gingerly touch the top of one, it should feel dry and not at all tacky. at this point, preheat your oven to 300º F.

PART FIVE: BAKING.

it may take slight trial and error to find the exact perfect cooking time for your oven. mine takes thirteen minutes; yours may take ten, or fifteen. if you try to move a macaron, it should feel neither jiggly nor crisp, merely stand firm, if delicate. a well-baked macaron will separate satisfyingly easily from silicone or parchment once cooled. i am not like a well-baked macaron as far as separation goes.

let your macaron shells cool fully before proceeding with any filling. they’ll keep for a few days in airtight containers at room temperature, longer in the fridge, and wonderfully for months in the freezer.

PART SIX: FILLING.

fillings are the difficult part for me.

you’d think, certainly, that the strenuously detailed work of the macaron shells would be the thing, but it’s not. i’m nearly always successful in the difficult work of preparing delicate, demanding shells, and then when i make ganache i have a breakdown.

maybe i’m just tired, by that point. i’m tired now. i’m tired all the time.

today, i’m making white chocolate and lavender ganache to go with my lavender shells.

you will need two hundred fifty grams of white chocolate (very nice white chocolate, not cheap stuff), two tablespoons of lavender, and ninety milliliters of heavy cream.

i have made this filling far more times than the lavender shells to accompany. it seems like every time i try, the chocolate curdles, or i add food coloring badly and it turns an unsightly brownish gray, or i oversteep the lavender and make it bitter. why is this the part where i stumble? why do i fail at the easiest parts? why am i better at something demanding and unforgiving than the part that should be simple?

add the heavy cream and lavender to a pot, and heat to just barely a simmer. let it sit for a minute, but not too long. pour the heavy cream through a strainer into the chocolate, and let sit for two to five minutes. with a whisk, gently stir the mixture until smooth. if the chocolate isn’t quite melted, microwave for ten seconds at a time, mixing in between, until the ganache is fully smooth.

set aside to cool. it should be ready in about an hour.

why do i make macarons? why is this the work i can do? why does it make me feel like i want to cry, but never actually make me cry? why can’t i cry?

pipe your ganache onto one shell, top with another, and you’re done! i like to use a fluted piping tip- it’s an easy way to make them look fancy. macarons are actually at their best in texture and flavor when they’ve sat in the fridge for a day or so. with age comes beauty!

the finished macarons are always beautiful, delicious, and technically impressive. i never feel like i’ve actually done something worthy of praise. there’s a hollowness in me that swallows up compliments and makes them disappear. i am lonely and looking for something in my kitchen. i don’t know what it is. i dream about being in the kitchen, barefoot, cracking eggs and letting yolks fall to the floor. our chickens have nearly stopped laying. what will i do when they die? when i fail them, and they die? i’ll have to buy my eggs at the store. i’ll have to go out to the store, with all the strangers around me, and grab my carton from the big cold hollow fridge in the big cold hollow store filled with people i don’t know. all looking at me. all knowing what is wrong with me. all knowing about the big cold hollow thing in me. they know that i’m not taking very good care of the chickens. they know that i’m too tired to clean as much as i should.

the best thing about macarons is that they freeze great and thaw quickly. my favorite way to store and serve macarons is to keep them in the freezer and put out what i’ll serve on the counter about a half an hour to an hour before they’ll be served.

i don’t like to go out and have those strangers look at me. i like to stay at home, in my kitchen, making macarons. i like to whip my egg whites to perfect, shiny peaks. i like to be barefoot on my kitchen floor, which is clean, mostly, or in my yard, on the grass, the plush grass, and i cannot be barefoot in the store.

i wish i could always stay at home. i wish i could just make macarons. i wish that was all i had to do, all day forever. i wish i was still learning to bake with my mother. i wish somebody would teach me to bake again. i wish i could stop.

[random-iz-stuff]

Invader Zim Deathmatch:

FINAL ROUND!

MS BITTERS VS GAZ MEMBRANE!

The rules are as follows:

1. We’re assuming that both participants actively want and are willing to kill each other unless actively specified otherwise (for example: Chammy Wamboo).

2. The fight must be one on one so no outside help is allowed, but prep time is allowed.

3. The rule for prep time is that if one contestant gets prep time, the other contestant gets an equal amount of prep time as well.

[Masterpost]

Information about both contestants (who they are, powers and abilities, etc) can be found under the cut.

Contestant Stats:

Ms Bitters:

“Not originally from Invader Zim”

Appearances:

Ms Bitters appears in many different episodes, to the point where I won’t list them all

Powers and abilities:

Shadowmancy (Ms Bitters has shown to be able to move through and materialize from shadows)

Shapeshifting/Extreme Flexibility (Ms Bitters has been shown to move and bend in unnatural ways, twisting around and moving almost like a snake. Whether this is due to shapeshifting or Ms Bitters simply being incredibly flexible is unknown)

Fear (Ms Bitters terrifies just about everyone she interacts with, so the physiological effects of this in combat should definitely be taken into consideration)

[Possible] Bug communication? (If skoolchildren theories are to be believed, Ms Bitters may be able to communicate with bugs, being one herself. However, this is only a theory, no matter how much evidence there may be to support it, so take this power with a grain of salt)

[Weakness] Sunlight (Ms Bitters needs to wear a hooded cloak whenever she’s outside, and it’s heavily implied that she’ll burn up and possibly even die if exposed to direct sunlight)

Fun Fact:

Before Invader Zim was made, Ms Bitters appeared in the Squee! Comics also made by Jhonen Vasquez.

Ms Bitters is also shown to play favourites with her students, seemingly treating Zita the best out of all her students and treating Dib the worst.

Gaz:

“Supreme Gamer”

Appearances:

Gaz appears in many, many episodes and comic issues, so I’m not going to list them

Powers and abilities:

Enhanced strength (like her brother, Gaz shows feats of incredible strength (most likely because she’s a genetically modified clone), including but not limited to being able to throw Dib clean through a wall)

Enhanced agility and stamina (also like her brother, Gaz has enhanced agility and stamina, with the most notable example of this being her climbing up the side of an over 50 story building in the rain without equipment)

Fear (similar to Ms Bitters’ fear ability, Gaz is able to scare most people with threats of extreme violence. Unlike Ms Bitters however, it’s been shown that this ability has limits, with people like Zim showing no fear towards any of her threats. Gaz’s ability to cause fear doesn’t appear to work on anyone that already believes themselves to be on par with or stronger than her and people that are simply too egotistical or arrogant to care, making it a weaker version of Ms Bitters’ fear causing, which works on seemingly everyone)

Intelligence (Gaz is one of the smartest humans in the show, being one of the only people able to see through Zim’s disguise. She also shows skill with engineering and invention, being able to make her own machines (like the robot toys that guard her room) and fix alien technology, not unlike her brother’s skills with tech)

[Mostly Unusable] Gaming (although this seems like it shouldn’t affect anything, Gaz’s gaming skills are an advantage. The reason for this is that a lot of alien technology (mostly vehicles) use controls that are very similar to video game controls, meaning that Gaz can use alien vehicles extremely effectively. Sadly, Gaz doesn’t have any alien technology to use)

Fun Fact:

Despite evidence in the show pointing towards the contrary, Jhonen Vasquez has confirmed that Gaz has no magic or supernatural abilities and that she is simply "someone you don't want to anger". This is why I don’t list any supernatural abilities in her Powers and Abilities section.

[seancosy]

I saw ur post in the solarpunk tag and! I think we can do better! I think nobody should have to work ever, because how do we pick who's exempt? who's making that decision? the only way I can think for it to be fair is if the person themself gets to make that decision.

bc like the system you're describing isn't hypothetical and as someone who's gone through a nightmare of uncaring bureaucracy just to be allowed not to work due to disability I can say it doesn't work and definitely doesn't feel like a utopia!

I don't follow you and not gonna come back to this so do with it what you want but yeah something to consider I guess

Points I agree with:

People should have the ability to self-determine their capacity to work, and should not be expected to work if they are unable to.

External parties should not be deciding who is able or unable to work.

Points I disagree with:

"Nobody should have to work ever"

I may be misunderstanding you, but... life is work. Someone needs to drive trains, design functional sewerage systems, deliver babies, rescue people from burning buildings, grow rice, implement grain shipping logistics, change diapers, develop vaccines, wash clothes, teach children to read, sterilise surgical equipment, provide counselling to antisocial or dangerous people, cook food for the elderly, insert urinary catheters, repair potholes in roads, pick up rubbish, code the software that checks pressure in dam walls, etc.

None of the above jobs are particularly sexy. Very few people would dream of performing any of these roles when they are growing up. But the work is necessary to maintain a functional society. What links these jobs is that they are meaningful. They help. They improve society. People can find purpose and fulfillment in these tasks because they know they are helping society, even if indirectly.

There are so many jobs in our current society that do not provide a benefit to anyone other than a select few capitalists. If we restructured to become more 'solarpunk' (which I interpret as more communist and likely more anarchist than current societies), these capitalist jobs wouldn't exist, and we wouldn't miss them. Merchant bankers, advertising executives, influencers, soldiers, funko-pop factory workers (I have a personal dislike for these products; such an overt waste of materials and for literally no benefit! people often don't even take them out of their packets?!?!), mortgage brokers, the list goes on.

If we redirected the people working in these capitalist jobs towards roles that directly help society.... everyone would work a lot less, but society would function just as effectively, if not more so. There would be fewer jobs, and more people to do them. There would be more chance to rest and enjoy leisure time. And yes, some people would probably be able to never work at all, if they chose to. But if the work is meaningful, I genuinely believe most people would want to work, and I don't think it's unreasonable to expect people to do something meaningful for others even for just a few hours a week (clean the dishes at the cafeteria or babysit your friend's kids). But no, I don't think people's work contributions should be monitored or quantified at all, unless it's to tell people to rest when they are overworked. People should work of their own volition. And of course those with disabilities or any other factors that prevent them from working safely shouldn't need to work if they are unable or unwilling.

An interesting book that portrays a world that is anarcho-communist is The Dispossessed, by Ursula K LeGuin. It details the struggle between the need for work VS personal freedom exceptionally well.

(Original post linked below)