#grain processing machines

[swetatiwarib2b]

Maximize Efficiency: Top Grain Processing Machines for Your Business

In the competitive world of grain processing, efficiency is key to staying ahead. Investing in high-quality grain processing machines can streamline operations, increase productivity, and reduce costs. Top machines include grain mills, which efficiently grind wheat, corn, and other cereals, providing consistent results. Cleaners and separators remove impurities, ensuring high-quality end products.

[sona-machinery]

Congratulations to Sri Vinayaka Agro Industries on the grand inauguration of their 6TPH Rice Mill Plant at Telangana! 🌾🎉 We’re proud to be a part of this successful project.

[aryakumari]

How to Establish a Dal Mill Plant to Expand Your Grocery Business?

If you are already running a grocery store and are seeking to expand your product line, establishing a dal mill facility could be a profitable business move. There is a rising demand for processed and packaged dal, as pulses (dal) are a mainstay in many diets globally. If you're thinking about getting into the dal processing or Grain Processing Machines industry, this is a detailed tutorial on how to build a dal mill plant. 

[techdavidib]

Wheat processing machine Online at Best Price | Industrybuying

Grain processing machinery releases nutrients and dietary fibre locked inside the grains, helping you enjoy all the goodness of whole grains in your food.

[westonspharmacyphotodept]

Conceptual series -- Disposable Camera

--

What if, during their first patrol together, Ellie and Dina found a disposable camera in a drawer at the radio station?

For those of you who’ve never experienced the joy of the disposable film camera, they are made of flimsy plastic and contain the cheapest consumer-grade film. They’re designed to take a single type of exposure, with a set shutter speed, aperture and focus, and the best shooting conditions are bright daylight.

Outside of the ideal shooting conditions, you need to activate the flash to yield a usable picture. Red eye is inevitable. The flash is also set to fire at a specific power, so standing either too close or too far from your subject means they’ll either be too bright or too dark.

It’s very difficult to get perfect conditions for every shot, so when you take the film for processing (to Weston’s Pharmacy, of course), the processing machine automatically tries to compensate for pictures that are too dark or too bright. The result is often an extremely crushed dynamic range, and a lot of grain. They look crappy, but that’s part of the fun.

After 25 years in a desk drawer, I like to think that not only would the film have degraded quite a bit, but the housing would have lost some integrity and sprung a leak. This camera has a very slight crack in the housing, which leaks light when the camera is taken out into the daylight.

Typically, there are 24 exposures in one of these cameras, so I have included all 24 pictures that Ellie and Dina took together, including the duds. Some of you may point out that disposable cameras didn’t produce a date stamp in the bottom corner — this is true, however I think it adds to the effect I was going for, and also since we know the canonic date that this patrol happened, I thought it would be a cool detail to include it.

I hope you enjoy!

(Original game photography from The Last Of Us Part II by @westonspharmacyphotodept, created with all manual post-production using no presets, templates, stock or AI).

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Kinkuary ‘23 by wolfpants

Next up in my tour of binds I made for wolf: Kinkuary ‘23 by @wolfpants

When I first reached out to wolf to ask permission to bind their fic, I asked if there was anything in their fic that they wished they had bound. They mentioned their Kinkuary fics but immediately said "oh but that's impractical because it's a whole collection" or something to that effect, which of course I took as a challenge. (Authors, be warned. I will almost certainly bind the thing you say I should not try to bind.)

Anyone who is wisely subscribed to wolf's works on AO3 probably had the same delightful experience as I did throughout February 2023: namely, waking daily to a little notification that there was a small kinky gem awaiting consumption at one's leisure. Wolf writes sex incredibly well: the viscerality and immediacy of it, but also the thoughts and turn-ons and how it lights up each character's brain differently. They have a gift for making me love tropes and kinks I might not ever think to read or write otherwise.

All that being said, I felt slightly weird about being like HERE IS A BOOK OF YOUR KINK THAT SAYS KINK ON THE SPINE so (as wolf has noted) I went all Victorian and made a dust jacket to cover up the bind if wolf ever wants to make it look a lot more innocent than it is.

So many firsts in this one for me: first dust jacket, first index, first collection of fics, first table of contents... It was a blast from start to finish and I learned SO MUCH.

Materials and process chat under the cut.

Materials:

Ye olde wooqu bookcloth off Amazon, HTV vinyl, 24 lb cream letter (wrong grain, forgive me) folios, machine-made endbands, black cardstock end papers.

The dust jacket is probably the only newish thing for me: I did a print using Staples' online service (which probably contributed to my choices because I also use this service for actual work things...) It was a poster print on matte paper.

Process:

This was a pretty straightforward bind but the typeset was full of learning curves. I use InDesign for typesetting and figured out how to set up a TOC and index. Wolf is a GREAT tagger so once I realized I'd either have a seven-page run of front matter listing the tags for each fic, or an index condensing them down, it was a no-brainer. And because wolf is so brilliant with tags, this led to my favorite index entries ever under Draco's listing (see photo.) I also figured out how to use styles to make every story have a header of its title, etc.

The great artwork of Eros is from rawpixel.

The other new thing for me was, of course, the dust jacket. I was disappointed to realize I'd messed up the measurements somehow once I printed, but it was close enough, so I went with it. I tried to rub some beeswax into the cover to help preserve it a bit but not sure it did much. If I were doing it again now, I'd use some Mod Podge matte aerosol fixative.

The dust jacket artwork is from the Smithsonian online collection of vintage seed catalogues. (S/O to my librarian spouse for the tip!) I created the spine matching the style as closely as I could, and then I went to town with silliness for the flaps. (This is probably a downside to having a fic writer also be a binder. I have trouble not writing something when the opportunity presents itself in the course of binding...)

The cover design is, of course, just a whole bunch of cursive X's. I'd hoped to have the title and author be a knockout from that pattern but it proved too hard to weed/read, so I ironed black HTV over the red pattern instead.

This is the only one of the set of four binds that I haven't (yet) bound for myself as a personal copy, but I think I will probably do so at some point! I was running out of black bookcloth at the time, so I prioritized wolf's copy for obvious reasons.

[whyareyouhere66]

Ok im back in my JJ Maybank era 🧎🏻

Could you do a JJ Maybank x male reader with them being in an established relationship, and the pouges (+reader obvs) are having a bonfire party and reader maybe drinks a little more than the others. Everyone is talking and just mingling with each other when out of no where reader comes out with a microphone/mini karaoke machine (?) and starts singing 'That should be me' by Justin Bieber to JJ in front of everyone. Reader being too drunk to remember that they're literally already in a relationship and wants to 'win him over'. And probably ends up with JJ having to pick up reader and dragging him away to get him to stop 'declaring his love' in front of an audience lmao (All light hearted and fluffy ofc <3).

I would like to firstly apologize for such a long wait 😭 this request was sent in before I closed my requests, making it basically one of if not the last one I accepted so felt the need to make it good for you. It’s been in the process of being made for months now, so. It is very much possible you are no longer in said JJ Maybank era but nonetheless I hope you enjoy this Anon despite it not being perfect, and anyone else who is reading. Thank you for the request and anyone reading, enjoy. (It was actually kinda fun to write this when I got into it again)

JJ Maybank x Male! Reader

“Love You Like a (drunk) Love Song”

cw: alcohol, one mention of weed. Possibly a little ooc? I haven’t watched the show in a while. Loosely edited. Silly. Mid ending. Kinda long.

x

The world is spinning.

Just a little bit, though.

Or maybe more.

Hold on.

Bumps and valleys from peoples footprints indent the sand, grains of tiny rocks flying behind their dancing shoes. 

In the middle of the drunk crowds, teenagers stumbling about with bottles in their hands, is you, with your own bottle tucked between curled fingers. Number 3 maybe? You’re not sure anymore.

Through blurry vision, you stumble around with a lopsided grin, drunken laughs falling from it at every bump and nudge. Music pumps through the Boneyard, ringing in your ears from some indie-pop song you don’t know the name of. 

People begin to blur together, just bodies you push through as you and Pope jog through the crowd, whooping with each beat. It’s one of the few moments when Pope’s awkward smile has faded and all that’s left is a stumbling, giggling mess. And of course, sand. Lots of sand. 

Tiny rocks prod at your heels, filling the bottom of your shoes as you run. Your eyes dart to them- the roughed up converse that could probably fall apart at any given moment. Without thinking, you reach for your shoes.

“Wait-waitwaitwait-“ 

Pope doesnt slow down until your hand is clapped over his shoulder, eyes snapping from the Touron next to him, as suddenly he’s supporting all your weight on one arm.

“What- what are you doing?”

You don’t answer immediately, coming to a stop just outside the crowd of dancers. 

“Sand.”

Pope watches you with a dazed stare, the somewhat distant light from the bonfire all there is to light up his face, casting shadows across his nose and jawline. 

“Deal with it.” He says it like it’s obvious, though doesn’t try to move as you wriggle around to get your shoe off your foot- much harder than it should be. You click your tongue and grunt.

“Gotta sit-“

Like two mangled cats- you and Pope fall to the ground, bracing yourselves on your arms and elbows. Landing right on your ass- you begin to struggle with your shoe once more. Pope groans, brushing sand from his arm and his lap. A mumble falls from his lips, muttering curses at you for bringing him to the ground with you. However, you pay him no mind, tugging the sneaker off your foot, sand draining out through the hole as you flip it upside down. 

The distant reflection of the fire is all you have as you play with the ties of your shoes, shining faintly across the two wobbly figures you and Pope have become. He begins scooping handfuls of sand into his palm, letting it slip through his fingers as he waits for you to finish. For a second, he brings his hand towards your shoe- sand threatening to slip into the sole of your just emptied sneakers. You slap his arm away before he can succeed. 

“That fire is so hot.” Pope complains out of nowhere, wiping his forehead for some imaginary sweat. You twist your head to look at it, palm weakly slapping the bottom of your shoe. 

“Dude, it’s like….” You squint, unsure, “100 feet away. You’re just drunk.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Alcohol doesn’t make you hot.”

At that, you scoff, though it comes through your nose like a snort. “Speak for yourself.”

Pope’s head slowly turns to you, eyes narrowed and mouth popped open like a fish. He looks like he’s trying to jam the logic of that sentence into his brain, but failing. 

“I have no idea what to say to that.” He concludes. 

In all fairness, you only sort of know what you meant by it in the first place. 

The topic quickly loses relevance as you finish dumping your shoes, tugging them back onto your feet and jumping up. He stumbles to join you, and soon enough, you’re at it again. 

Walking through the sand, there’s less people to weave around now that you’re out of the crowd that’s formed around the speakers. Some Kook has jumped on to a log, taking over the mic from the cheap karaoke machine and is currently belting the words to Katy Perry’s “Last Friday Night”- except her version has a drunken slur thrown in with the melody. The sound is…amusing at most, but no one cares enough to complain, watching and some even dancing around her log. 

You and Pope stagger right past it, your arm now slung around his shoulder. 

You both stumble and laugh until you catch a familiar face in the crowd- JJ. 

You grin.

JJ.

The blonde sits on the edge of another log, sitting with a few others around the ring of the bonfire. John B and Kiara are on the log next to him, while other Pogues and the occasional Touron fill in the remaining space. Some redhead leans into Kiara’s shoulder, choking on her own laugh while being completely oblivious to the side eye Kiara gives her in return. Two Pogues pass a blunt back and forth over John B’s shoulder, grinning wickedly when he comments on it.

In Pope’s eyes, he sees the group, and without thinking points his next few steps in that direction. Not you, though. 

Your eyes become still, tuning everyone else out, not even seeing the giggling redhead, or John B’s easy smile. All you see, is JJ.

The crackling fire casts an orange shadow over his features, creating a shadow on his cheekbone, next to his nose. It contrasts perfectly with the blue of his eyes, the usual mischievous glint behind them showing through with his laugh as he makes yet another stupid joke. 

He’s so pretty. 

Dilated eyes follow his every move, the twitch of his smile- and you’re completely oblivious as Pope leaves you behind, moving up towards the group without another thought.

“What’s up, guys.” Pope reaches his hand out for a greeting as he makes it to the group sitting around the fire- JJ’s hand meeting his as their palms “clap” in unison. 

“There he is!” JJ loudly greets, watching the boy make his way to a seat on the log. The others say their own hello’s, as Pope easily molds into the atmosphere of the smaller group. And still, he hasn’t noticed that the your drunk (far more drunk than him, at least) self is still standing in the sand with parted lips and heart eyes. 

Your eyes flicker across his figure again, wishing through alcohol-tainted thoughts that you could capture the sight with a picture. From his nose, to his lips, to the muscles in his shoulders to the wave of his hair falling across his forehead. Your vision is starting to blur around the edges when you stare too long, but you can’t look away just yet. 

‘Is he single?’

Suddenly, you can’t remember anymore. 

Your eyes trace over every feature you can catch with the orange light, hand twitching with an empty warmth. You wonder what it would be like to hold his hand. 

JJ is oblivious to your stare, downing half his cup between conversations as Pope and John B joke about something next to him. In your mind, despite the influences making your thoughts sway back and forth- you come to a conclusion.

‘I should flirt with him…’

A simple task, just a small goal. Anything to make the pretty boy look your way.

However instead of walking up to him like a normal person, you turn around- stumbling to the crowd behind you with nothing but the makes for a headache and a plan. 

Pope, back at the bonfire, whispers into JJ’s ear, “Your boyfriend is drunk as hell, by the way.” 

The blonde seems completely unfazed, shrugging his shoulders and stretching out like a cat, cup teetering in his hand slightly.

“No surprise there,” he responds nonchalantly.

“He gets it from you.”

John B’s words are met with nothing but an eye roll from JJ, and a small grin from Kiara.

“Speaking of- where is he?” Kiara asks, brushing some hair out of her face as she’s finally released from the redhead’s grasp, as the random girl turns to talk to some pogues next to her. This catches everyone else’s attention, Pope speaking up first.

“Oh uh- he was just over-“ he goes to point to where you had stood a minute ago- only to pause when he sees the spot empty. His eyebrows furrow, “…there.” 

The other three turn their heads to follow the point of Pope’s finger, looking around for your missing figure. 

“Uh oh.” John B deadpans, and in seconds JJ is on his feet.

“Where’d he go?” His blue eyes scan the crowd, now searching for you in the mass of sweaty teenagers. 

“He was just there a second ago.”

Kiara stands up, doing the same as JJ. There’s too many bodies huddled in one spot to pick you out easily, everyone still gathered around the speakers, red solo cups littered about. It’s like “Where’s Waldo”, except not really. Her brown eyes shift from group to group, skimming over everyone, when she catches a glimpse of your figure.

“Guys, he’s right there.” she deadpans, now watching you as you seem to be making your way to the center of the crowd.

Her eyebrows furrow, and the others follow her gaze.

“Ok, and…what is he doing?”

No answer can be found, as all 4 now watch as you squeeze through the rowdy teens around you. 

Your mind is caught in a rush. Everything in your surroundings seems to blur, the music turning into a thrumming against your ears as you shove your way to the front. You know what you’re gonna do, impulsive plans fueling every step. All you want is to impress that hot blonde painting back at the campfire, make sure you’re the only one he’s looking at.

You know JJ, you know how he’s quite a magnet for the wandering eye. In your drunken state, you find yourself desperate to be his only focus. 

You make a quick stop at the computer connected to the speaker, changing the song cue, before continuing on your way. Some girl, who you vaguely remember from your science class, is currently barely getting out the words to “Call Me Maybe” through fits of giggles, karaoke microphone seconds from slipping out of her hand. Without a moment of hesitance, you stumble right up to the make-shift stage and reach for the microphone. 

“That’s real nice, Katy,” you murmur, putting your hand on her shoulder as she looks at you slightly confused, her poor rhythm suddenly interrupted, “‘s my turn now.”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, but makes no argument as you nudge her off the stage, stumbling back to her friends who only laugh. The sleek surface of the microphone is slippery on your sweaty palms, but you hold it firmly, spinning around and puffing your chest. 

The log isn’t exactly a perfect stage, but it’s just big enough so you can see through the crowd from a higher angle- and across the way, you catch the gazes of your friends, a variety of expressions on each of their faces. 

Pope has his eyebrows furrowed down in that classic Pope stare, his thoughts loud. “What the fuck”, would be your guess. Kiara seems to have the same thoughts running through her head, but her eyes hold more amusement. John B and JJ both sit here with open mouths. 

You don’t really process any of the confusion in their gazes, though, because the second you meet eyes with the blonde boy, your heart is racing. The beat, begins to play, and you bring the microphone to your lips.

“What the fuck is he doing?” John B asks, but again, no one has an answer. 

“This can’t be real.”

“Oh my god.”

The familiar tune of Justin Bieber starts to flow from the speakers, and Pope slaps a hand over his mouth. This is too good. 

“Everybody’s laughin’ in my mind…”

“We gotta get him off that stage-“ John B starts to stand up, only for a hand to get in his way. It’s JJ’s. 

“Nah bro” he doesn’t dare look away from you, “one more minute.”

A few cheers and shouts come from the front row, the crowd pretty divided between “invested” and “pays no mind”. You continue to sing, your voice wobbly at first, before you start to really get into it. 

“Did you forget all the plans that you made with me? Cause baby I didn’t-“ 

JJ cracks a small grin, looking back at the others as if in confirmation, before turning back, still completely lost as to what you are doing. 

“Cause that should be ME-“

Oh!

“Holding your hand!”

Kiara bursts out laughing. 

“That should be me, making you laugh! That should be me, this is so sad-“

“That’s one way to say it.” John B smirks, earning a prompt nudge from JJ.

You’re shamelessly making eye contact with him, losing your balance on the log as you make up for every crack in your voice with devoted theatrics. He might not make it through this. 

“Y’think we should go get him?” Pope asks, hiding his grin with his fingers. You start to finish up the chorus, completely invested.

The rowdy crowd has become blurry faces, a swarm of bodies dancing around you while you stumble on the log. Halfway through the second verse and it becomes clear you don’t really know most of the words to this song, glancing over to the computer and trying to read the poorly-animated lyrics off the 8 year old YouTube video you found. But finally, the chorus comes back around, and you’re coming in strong again. 

“That should be me, holdin’ your hand-“ you stare into his eyes and thrust your finger into his direction, turning heads.

“Ok we gotta get him off that log.”

“Yep, that’s enough.”

JJ stands up and quickly makes his way to where you stand- or perform, rather. Shoving through the various bodies, he pushes his way to the front, and the whole time you follow his figure with your eyes.

“This is so wrong, I can’t go on-“ you point at him, wobbling on the log, “-till you believe that that should be me, that should be m-“

“Y/n,” JJ stands in front of the log, gesturing for you to join him. You don’t, instead moving your finger to continue to wag it in front of his face. He sighs, looking at the ground to hide his smile. When he looks back up, you’ve launched into a high note that definitely is not in the original recording. 

“-meeeeEeEEEee-“ 

“Oh god,” he mumbles to himself, not entirely sure what to do. You’ve never been this wasted before- and even more, he’s not used to being the designated caretaker friend. The roles are completely switched, yet he’s not even sober! He does the first thing that comes to mind- reaching for you and tugging you into his arms. You fall with a small gasp, dropping the microphone into the sand, slight feedback echoing through the shitty speaker as he literally drags you away from the crowd. 

“What’re you doing-?” you demand, though blushing slightly at how close you now are to his chest. There’s a few snickers and curious remarks within the group behind you, not that you really pay attention. And they quickly go back to their own business anyways, leaving you to be dragged away to the side of the party.

JJ is supporting your body with his, as if you’re injured instead of just wasted, but with your uneven steps and his own tipsiness you both end up just stumbling off. Your arm slung around his shoulder and his hand keeping you close to his side. He’s even prettier up close. 

“Man, how drunk are you, babe?” He asks as you come to a stop, moving to stand in front of you, your hands now on his shoulders. 

This scrambles your mind a little bit. “Man” and “babe” used in the same sentence? Wild. 

“‘M not that drunk.” You retort, eyes peeking up to take in his features once more. You don’t even think about how obvious you’re being- dazed eyes raking over his face, morphing into an expression with so much awe you’d think his face was made up of the stars above. 

He notices the look, just as your eyes not-so-subtly flicker from his eyes to his lips. It makes him flush slightly. 

“Mhm- and that talent show, huh?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone this time, you can tell, “what about that?”

“Why, did you think it was hot?”

JJ’s grin starts to grow, the cogs in his brain turning. Was this really all for him?

“…were you trying to impress me, baby?”

That one sends a small rush of butterflies through the pit of your stomach- not really mixing well with the alcohol. 

You feel as a grin starts to spread on your lips, cheeks hot. 

He called you baby. 

“Maybe. Are you single?”

It’s really ‘no think, just do’ at this point, your thoughts becoming words in a matter of seconds. This visibly catches JJ off guard- that was not where he thought that was going. He pauses, and if you were to look hard enough you could see the throbber of a loading screen on his forehead. 

“What?”

You’re starting to lean into him a little bit, subconsciously. 

“Do you have a boyfriend.” You restate the question, and it all starts to click in his head. The singing, the pointing. 

‘My boyfriend just drunkenly sang Justin Bieber to me as a way of flirting.’

A giant smirk takes over his lips. 

“Wait wait wait,” he starts, looking down for a second, “let me get this straight- you went up there and sang that whole song as a way of…as a way of flirting?” He looks back up at you, finding this whole thing quite humorous. 

“Maybe,” you say again, “did it work?”

JJ cant stop the chuckle that escapes his lips, the laugh rumbling in his throat. You furrow your eyebrows, “what’s so funny-“

He shakes his head, “nothing, nothing, don’t worry about it.” He looks you up and down, a glimmer in his eyes that you notice but can’t name in this moment. But it doesn’t answer your question. 

“JayJayyyyy-“ you groan, and it just makes his smile grow. It becomes clear he’s just gonna play into this. He places his hands on your hip, leaning into you, so now you’re both close enough to smell the alcohol lingering on both of your tongues. He chuckles again, swaying slightly.

“Do I got news for you.” Is all he says, and it’s clear he’s gonna have a field day with this one. 

[doubledeadstudio]

The ROs + Abel and Florentin's opinion on School, Vegetables and Drugs?

School

Crux: The type of guy that was always "too smart" for school and suffered for it. Did exams in Elementary and High School just enough to pass, then had a mental breakdown in college and dropped out. He loves learning but hates the concept of school.

Black: Did well enough that he got into a decent college. His mom pressured him to be a doctor for money, but he hated Pre-med so much he dropped out in his second year and ghosted.

Vincenzo: I think if Vincenzo went to a normal school, he would have liked it. But his old school just left a sour taste in his mouth.

Abel: Overachiever and teacher's pet, kisses everyone in the faculty's ass, deeply unpopular with classmates for being a nerd and a snitch.

Florentin: Absolutely perfect in school and effortless. A highly regarded medical genius.

Vegetables

Crux: He hates eating and hates eating for health reasons even more!!!

Black: He was fine with it when he was alive, but he was more liable to eat disgusting processed stuff like cereals and grains.

Vincenzo, Abel and Florentin are all fine with it.

Abel's liable to mock you for being a fussy little baby for refusing to eat vegetables.

Drugs

Crux: He takes that shit like it's candy, it's very concerning. Very addictive and thrill-seeking personality.

Black: He did a lot of drugs when he was alive, like ecstasy and cocaine. He's never happy so he has to rely on substances to simulate it.

Vincenzo: None, absolutely none. The closest thing is sugar, and he can skip the sweet stuff. It's why he's so fucking crazy.

Abel: Abel's ideal is to be a perfectly well-oiled machine, and he will use any substance to make it happen, stimulants to keep working then weed to calm down etc. He picked up cigarettes to fit in with the other suits during lunch hour. But I actually think he would not be taking them if he had a choice. Abel's more liable to get addicted to sex esp if it's with someone he really likes?

Florentin: With his precarious health condition, he's not going to risk substances that could exacerbate it. He does drink a few cups of coffee everyday so he can keep studying.

[glass--beach]

hi do you like ok computer (1997)

because i really just don't get it (especially as the second-best album of all time) but i reeeally want to & i respect your opinion on that a lot

yea that album kinda changed the course of my life lol. wall of text incoming

first - don’t let rym or aoty or whatever tell you what’s good and what isn’t, everybody’s got their own taste & criticisms that go against the grain are very important!! i will say anything that’s that consistently highly rated across different websites & publications is probably undeniably significant and worth listening to. whether listening feels like discovering a new favorite or sitting through a history lesson is where taste comes in. it’s important to interrogate the canon too as there is an enormous amount of implicit bias in what even gets in front of critics and in the metrics they grade music by. review aggregate sites have democratized this process a bit & all the good and bad of democracy has come with that lol.

so, the album gets praised for a couple of reasons - its innovative production, its commentary on the historical zeitgeist, and the pop appeal of much of the songwriting.

production - the album makes heavy use of cutting edge effects units, digital editing, computer trackers, sampling, and even features little bits of voice synthesis. most of it is stuff that had existed in music before radiohead, artists like aphex twin (and much of the rest of warp records’ 90s catalog) and bjork were ahead of the curve in a lot of the aesthetic aspects of okc and had influenced radiohead a lot, which is even more evident on their followup kid a. radiohead was not breaking new ground in using these sounds, but they were among the first to put it all in a rock context, taking cues from the weirder cuts on the beatles’ white album, the experimental “krautrock” band can, and miles davis’ classic jazz fusion album bitches brew.

context - radiohead had grown up during the decline of much of the social democratic programs that had helped to facilitate the education and performing careers of much of their early influences such as joy division and the smiths. by the time okc was being written they had lived through the austerity of the thatcher era, the fall of the soviet union, and now were watching the labour party turn increasingly neoliberal under tony blair. there was a general sentiment in the west that the progress of history had slowed or even stopped in favor of the neoliberal order. at the same time, tech was booming and computers were starting to find their way into more aspects of daily life. the album imagines a boring dystopia, where machines are rabidly advancing but humans are stuck in stasis. a major connecting theme is infrastructure - the airbag through which thom yorke is “born again,” the “cracks in the pavement,” the family politics that separate romeo and juliet in exit music, the mechanical voice of fitter happier giving contradictory directions for maintaining the status quo. even the escapist fantasy of no surprises comes in the form of carbon monoxide. and then, the record ends with the “ding” of an appliance that has completed its task.

songwriting - the band’s previous album the bends really is a pop masterpiece. i recommend it to anybody who wants to get into radiohead but doesn’t vibe with their later work. okc expands that compositional style through, for one thing, the more apparent influence of classical music on tracks like paranoid android or the Chopin homage exit music; let down even features polymetric layering characteristic of Steve Reich. it also features some songs that are too good to even need to push the envelope much, like karma police or one of my favorites, no surprises, which seems to reference the beach boys’ wouldn’t it be nice or the velvet underground’s sunday morning.

to be honest, i like okc mostly because it really spoke to me at a formative time in my life, when i was like 15 and felt heavily disconnected from the world around me. the album deals with those feelings in a very different context but it’s a feeling many people can relate to for many different reasons - i was closeted in a conservative culture, not a depressed british rock star lol. it also was an excellent gateway into many of the bands’ influences, who are also favorites of mine now. most people who love the album don’t really go as deep as i like to with understanding it, but maybe what i said here will give you something else to listen for, idk. maybe you just gave me an excuse to infodump about an album i love lol :)

[futurefamousdeadmusician]

You Have a Deal

Author's note; Hey all, this is my first run at publishing my writing, hope someone likes it and let me know what you think! I have done some mild PB plot alterations to fit my story better.

Summary; When the Shelby family is under attack from the Changrettas the youngest sibling, Lillian, makes a deal with a distant business partner to ensure the safety of her loved ones.

Content warnings; mild spoilers.

The air of the afternoon was cold this day. Impenetrable grey covered the sky above Birmingham and pressed an awful feeling into Lillian. Her gaze down at the cobblestone, she made her way through the lively Calver Lane until she reached her destination, Solomon’s Mill. She looked up at the building and thought once again of her reasons for coming. No one had known she was here, and she liked it that way. With her family under siege and fair reasoning long gone from the Shelby family, she decided that it was her who needed to devise a plan. A way out. A way through. She moved through the final steps until she reached the door of the old brick building. Built sometime in the 1820’s she could tell Solomon’s Mill was a long standing business on the outskirts of the city. A staple of Birmingham that lasted through the most disheartening economic conditions. Owned and founded by the Solomon’s family after they immigrated to England. Nothing shook this old place; not guns, not violence, not the bloody communists. Always there and always of interest to the Peaky Blinders. They were cordial, if not cooperative at times. Now, Lillian relied on that mutual respect to hold steady when she pushed open the large barn-style doors. 

The air sweeping from the factory carried the sent of the fresh grain being processed through the large, rusted machinery. The shadows of the quick moving men bustling around danced at her feet as she walked through the threshold and made her way to a small room attached to right wood slat wall. Rapping three times on the fragile wooden frame a younger man looked up from his desk and cocked an eyebrow to Lillian. 

“Ye’,” he said quickly, barely parting his lips to speak. 

Slowly, calmly, with the utmost care to appear collected in her appearance, she spoke, “ I’m here to see Mister Solomons.” 

Eyeing her up and down, the nameless man gradually stood from his seat and addressed her more directly than before. He stood not much taller than the young Shelby. Short curls held close to his head and a tattered apron hung off his thin frame. 

“And what’s yer’ order of business?” he questioned. 

“I believe that to be a private matter.” 

He walked around his desk and Lillian did her best not to release the stern eye contact she held on him since her arrival. A lesson from Tommy she knew well, for when you look into the eyes of another man it is much harder to lie; and much harder to kill. 

“Open the purse.” He spoke flatly, unblinking. 

She dropped the small purse defiantly onto the wood-back chair in front of her. She flipped open the small titanium latch and took a small step back to allow the gaunt man his inspection uninterrupted. He drew a pencil from behind his ear and flicked through her things, like they were dirty. Like they were not worthy to be touched by the human hand. Without a word, he looked once again into the dark eyes of the woman before him and peaked over he shoulder into the doorway leading back to the vast factory floor. 

“Come with me,” he ordered in the same flat tone. 

Picking up her bag, Lillian followed him as he walked quickly out into the large room and maneuvered through the men and machines working in impeccable rhythm. She willed herself to keep pace with the small man, heels echoing through the loud space and causing men to turn their heads both in amusement and strict curiosity. Once her escort reached the back most offices of the mill he cracked open the door and spoke softly in a language Lillian did not recognize. After a few exchanges the man stepped to the motioned for Ms. Shelby to enter the small, dark closet. 

There, Mr. Solomons sat at an old oak desk, leaned far back in his seat with the amusement of a child lingering on his bearded face. 

“Ahhh Lillian,” he spoke loudly, “to what do I owe this enormous pleasure.”

“Mr. Solomons.” A brief pause as Lillian sat herself slowly on the chair paced strangely close to the overbearing desk. “There are a few matters I wish to discuss with you and I preferred them to be in person.” 

“Ah sweetheart, and what might that be. Did the new sweets parlor open up just past Harding, is that it?” He bellowed with laughter and Lillians eyes remained engrained in his skull. She always thought back to the words of her older brother in moments of this gravity. 

“Don’t look away from them - the men who wish to kill you - it only gives them time to make that decision.” 

Once the fitful bits of laughs subsided and the ringing from the old slat walls hushed away, Lillian spoke in the same calm tone she had mastered years earlier. 

“I believe I have something you want.” 

Another astonished chucked escaped the burly man. 

“And what would that be?” 

A cold breeze moved through the room. It never occurred to Lillian why men of such power chose to have a room so small to reside in. When her family had the means, they awarded themselves luxury. But Alfie, he hid away in this small closet. Maybe it made himself feel bigger in some way. 

“Brooklyn.” 

“The fuck you mean ‘Brooklyn’,” 

“Brooklyn. New York. Chicago. Shit maybe Boston by the time we are done.” 

The boss moved up farther in his seat. He readjusted his head to the side, believing that he may have heard the young girl wrong. 

“Love, what the fuck are you on about? Did you brother send you.” 

Almost too quickly she responded, “I came on my own accord.” She didn’t like always falling under the wing of her family; Tommy in particular. While the Shelby name came with certain privileges bestowed upon her at birth, she valued her identity. So long she had relied on Thomas to protect the family. Now, with the looming threat of the Italian’s hanging over like a dark cloud, she was on her final idea to pull her family through to safety. 

“Shelby company limited has taken a special interest in the American liquor market. We feel that it would be in your interest, as well as ours, if we cooperated on this matter. Together, we both have much to gain,” she continued, finally regaining her full composer. 

“Ye’ and why would I want business in America? What’s the fuckin’ catch?” Solomons pressed. 

“The Changretta family has made advances against my family. We are now using this opportunity to move into the American market while they are occupied here. This is a quite unique chance to collaborate with our American acquaintance without the influence of the Italians. With your power, as well as ours, I think that we could quite a fitting sum.” For the first time, Lillian broke her gaze away, reaching into her purse to exhume a cigarette before flashing her eyes back to Alfie. He leaned back in his chair, the creak of the old wood breaking the frigid silence. He gaze slowly moved back and forth over the ceiling while his hands rested behind his head. 

“Power,” he began. “Your power and my power,” almost as if he was explaining the concept to a child. “Where is your brother at, Lillian?” 

“He is attending to other business in Bristol.” Lillian, as a principle, didn’t like lying. But, as a Shelby, it came as naturally as breathing. 

“Where is Arthur?”

“Overseeing the tracks.” A puff of smoke escaped from her lips following her statement. 

“Then who in the fuck sent you?” His anger showed. Frustration. Questioning. He was half expecting one of Tommy’s men to appear from behind the doorframe and put a bullet between his eyes, finally revealing this to be an elaborate set up orchestrated by the young woman before him and her devilish relatives. But the bullet never flew and Lillian sat motionless in his chair waiting to respond. 

“I come as a representative of the Shelby Company Limited with a legitimate proposal for enterprise cooperation.” 

“And why should I trust the lot of you? Bunch of gypsy crooks.”

She sat once again, silent, patient, and held his gaze for just a moment to long. Leaning forward, she put the stiff out in a small crystal bowl on the corner of Mr. Solomon’s desk. She retrieved her handbag from her feet and pulled out a small, white envelope. After tossing it lightly on the desk in front of the bearded man she returned to her natural position in the chair, arms crossed, the Shelby, deadpan expression returning to her features. Alfie pulled his spectacles onto the bridge of his nose from the chair laced around his neck. He collected the envelope and carefully took out the ivory card within. A black handprint stained the cover. Mr. Solomons didn’t need to examine the paper any further and flicked up his eyes to meet Lillian’s once again. 

“Every one of us got one.” 

“I see.”

“If the Shelby family dies, your possibilities of every entering the American market get buried with us. Or burned rather…” she trailed on, looking off to the side, examining the bookshelf behind him. “You know, Gypsy things.” 

Alfie released a deeply held sigh and placed the card down back onto the desk with more care than the original owner did. Somewhere, deep down, he held grace for the young woman before him. He recognized that she was a result of her surroundings. Born into the small, violent hole that is Small Heath as a Shelby and since her birth has survived through the forces of her family and her gritty resilience. He new she wanted out. She loved her family, that was her weakness, but she longed to see the hills of the Netherlands and the cathedrals of Austria and the new bustling cities of America. To do this though, she must survive.

“I would need a more formal manner of proposal, numbers and such,” he explained still keeping that condescending tone. But Lillian already began to sit up straighter in anticipation carful not to let this emotion overtake her. “But tentatively, I believe we can work something out.”

A small smirk graced across her lips as she extended her hand. “Very well, Mr. Solomons, I’ll have my associates reach out to your tomorrow.” With that, she was on her feet, quickly remembering to pick up the dreadful letter she had pulled out moments ago. Carful in her movements she walked slowly out of office and shut the door behind her, leaving Alfie sitting in silence, wondering what he had just agreed to. He held much respect for Thomas and therefor placed some onto his younger counterpart. 

Lillian exited the factory and began down the darkening street until she was able to hail an oncoming cab. 

“Watery Lane, please,” she said quietly to the driver who nodded at her instructions. She was eager to meet with Aunt Polly and tell her of her plan of action knowing the elder Shelby would be much more receptive to this idea. Her only fear was Thomas, but that would have to wait. She just hoped that she had done the right thing. 

[swetatiwarib2b]

Before You Launch Your Flour Milling Business, Here Are 6 Crucial Considerations

Starting a grain processing business required high quality grain processing machines meticulous preparation and attention to detail, from market research to supply chain management. Partnering with a reputable grain processing plant manufacturer, such as Flourtech, helps streamline the process by providing high-quality machinery and skilled support.

[sona-machinery]

Thank you for visiting Sona Machinery's stall at the 28th International Rice Grain Pro-Tech Expo in Jabalpur! 🌾✨ Your interest in our Rice Mill & Grain Processing Machinery made the event a remarkable success. For more details, visit www.sonamachinery.com or call +91 9599002201.

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

My "Batter" Half

A/N: Written for @tsukimefuku's foodies and goodies challenge. Coming out of a bit of a writing slump with everything going on atm, so I hope this doesn't disappoint.

Pairing: Nanami x Fem! Reader (Desi reader coded)

Rating: E, safe, fluffy, cute

Word Count: 897

Nanami sits on one of the barstools at your kitchen’s island watching you bustle around getting all the grains the recipe called for. 

“Sweetie, I only asked if it was possible sometime this week. You don’t have to make it for me right away.” 

You shush him, pushing your hair out of the way as you measure the Sona Masoori rice, flat rice, and fenugreek, throwing them all into a large baking bowl and hefting the bowl towards the sink, adding in enough water so that a thin layer covered all of it. You cover the bowl with saran wrap and place it away on the countertop. 

There was no question that you loved cooking for Nanami, but something in you glowed when he asked for South Indian food. There was a regular rotation in what the pair of you cooked but when he asked for masala dosa, you melted inside, all of your senses kicking into high gear to feed him what he craved. It was comfort food for you growing up, and it meant the world to you that he had grown to love it too. 

He knew the effort it took, an almost 2-day process just to make the batter, so he didn’t normally ask for it. The first step was done, letting the grains ferment overnight in water. You wash your hands and join him at the island. 

“It’s no trouble at all Kento. Anything for you.” You rest your head against his shoulder, a soft sigh emanating from him as he puts an arm around you. “Hopefully it’ll be all nice and soft tomorrow. Then I’ll run it through the grinder to make the batter and it’ll have to sit overnight in the oven, so don’t plan on baking anything tomorrow.”

He chuckles, the soft vibrations felt against your hair. “Roger that. But you still didn’t have to get started so immediately.”

“You rarely ask for anything. I couldn’t resist.” You press a kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go to bed.”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The next day morning, you check the bowl, pleased to see all the components have fluffed up and taken in as much water as they could. You begin to set up the little grinder that would change the grains into batter, carefully placing the rod mechanism attached to two 5-pound stones into the apparatus. Once in place, you switch it on, and carefully begin adding the grain mixture in between the two stones, adding water to help it along and adjust the thickness. Once all the rice has been put into the contraption, you sit and wait, watching the batter form, checking it for smoothness and ensuring the grain wasn’t clustering into lumps. 

You salt the mixture well and then cover it again with saran wrap, then place it inside the oven, where the added humidity would help the batter thicken and rise, making for the fluffiest dosas. 

Kento wanders downstairs, ready for work in a crisp shirt and tie, eyes taking in the scene in the kitchen. “Someone was up early today,” he observes as you start disassembling the grinding machine. You give him a pleased smile and carefully set the heavy stones back into the box they belonged in. 

“Had to. The earlier I start the process, the quicker it’ll ferment. Who knows, maybe even by tonight if we get lucky.”

Nanami smiles tenderly and pulls you into a hug. “Whenever honey. I’m just glad you took the time to make it.”

You kiss him tenderly before he leaves for work.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The day has finally arrived. You check the oven and almost giggle from the delight of seeing the fluffy batter resting in the large bowl. It was ready.

As Nanami slept in, a rare luxury he could only afford on weekends, you begin prepping the dosa filling, throwing the potatoes into a pressure cooker, while chopping onions into half-circles. Once the pressure cooker whistles 3 times, you take it off the flame, waiting for it to cool, before mashing the potatoes. Deftly, you heat the oil in a large wok, tossing in mustard seeds, green chilies, and black lentils for tempering. Once they start to sizzle, you throw a few curry leaves on top, the pleasant crackle bringing a smile to your lips.

The onions and potatoes are tossed into the wok and mixed with a pinch of turmeric, and some cilantro. A fragrant scent fills the kitchen as you set it aside and get ready to make the dosa. A ladle dipped into the fluffy batter, then spread thinly on a greased pan, going in concentric circles from the middle until it starts to heat up and harden, becoming crisp. You scoop some of the onion potato filling and place it in the center, allowing the dosa to harden a little longer before folding it in half and placing it on a plate. 

You’re about to start the second one when Nanami wanders into the kitchen, still in his pajamas. 

“My nose woke me up,” he says good-naturedly, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

You sigh contentedly, laying down the batter for the next one as Nanami breaks off a piece of dosa and tucks into the filling. He chews and swallows, savoring the spice.

“Delicious,” he whispers, and your heart swells with joy, his appreciation the only thing you needed. 

Nanami masterlist | JJK Masterlist

Stars divider by @/ saradika. Support banner by @/ cafekitsune

@estarlias @daswanj @whatshernameis @byul9158 @mirrors-musings @Mangiswig

@that-goth-bisexual @connorsui @jadedjane @darkstarlight82 @soft--cherry @galactict3a @hunnie-lily

[yermes]

PAC: do you even like yourself? Lets talk about itt 🫖

Disclaimer: please take what I say with a grain of salt and not as the gospel. I just want to share some ideas of practicing and giving advice using the medium as often as I can with school, work, and my own personal studies and practice. I have a july tarot challenge planned! And if I get some brain cells to rub together I will make a podcast EP on secret teachings of the ages! Liking and sharing does a lot 🥰

Socials: TipJar | Follow me!| Podcast

Pick a meme

1 2 3

The cards

Doctor Falke 🦇 

You’re seeking wisdom and in that pursuit you have actually fallen from grace. For while you are actively seeking knowledge for knowledge sake you left other aspects in your life to deteriorate.

III of cups 🎨 

Emotions are spilling out of you like I took a small needle and just stabbed a water balloon hella. You like being social, you like giving parts of yourself away. But after you care and provide for others do you even like yourself? Once you’re done doing things and helping people for that small spect of serotonin do you even like who is left standing?

IV of cups 🍵 

You realized you are exceptionally hard on yourself and you are taking steps to better yourself as a person (yay) you are in the process of personal revolution.

Extras:

Story/vent:

Summer term started and while the ask me event is over my asks are always open, i am planning more fun things bc I love interacting with you all!

Love,

Germ 🩷🫶🫖

[plor-bindery]

Bound: Under Giant Mountains by wolfpants

The delightful, evocative, and thoughtful Under Giant Mountains by @wolfpants is up next in my tour of wolf’s fic I bound. This landscape of this fic is soaring: mountains and dragons and wilderness. But at the same time, its subject matter is as small and carefully contained as Harry's postwar pain. This is a Harry who is struggling, and struggling to even admit he's struggling. At the risk of spoiling anything, the way wolf writes Harry's breakdown and surrender is so, so soft and sweet and real. I love a Harry who confronts any danger head-on except the danger of what's going on inside him.

(Fun fact: this fic was posted while I was in the midst of writing Polar Night/Midnight Sun and I was like OH GOOD WOLF HAS DONE THE DRACO IN NORWAY THING AND DONE IT BETTER THAN I COULD, I CAN STOP WRITING NOW but of course, I didn't stop; I let wolf's words inspire me onwards, and this is another reason why I love fandom: the overlapping of writerly worlds, the echoes and resonances we experience as creators and fans.)

For this bind, I chose a relatively simple aesthetic, but couldn't resist inserting little tiny dragons as scene breaks.

More process and materials talk under the cut.

Materials: This was my first go at making bookcloth! I had purchased a little remainder scrap of forest green cotton at the fabric store and only noticed after ironing it out and laminating it to the tissue that there were stripes of sun damage on the creases of the cloth, sigh. I had to start over. I used mulberry tissue but some of the fibres are palpable through the cloth, which I am not wild about. Still -- homemade bookcloth! Fun!

Text block is printed on 24 lb cream letter cut down to a quarto bind, and is actually the first bind I did where my grain direction was correct. (I know, I know...) Sewn on two linen tapes with waxed linen thread.

Endbands (which I neglected to photograph, apparently) are machine made.

End papers are just scrapbook paper, nothing special.

The decoration is gold HTV. Hoo boy. More on that shortly.

Process: My first quarto bind! First bookcloth making! First bind with the grain direction correct! So many firsts!

That being said, there was nothing particularly special about this bind's process. My biggest struggle (which is visible) was the gold HTV. I think I've since cracked the code more on how to apply larger bits of HTV without making marks in it (short version: higher heat, less pressure, more patience) but I was still struggling here, as you can see. That being said, I do love the sort of hobbity vibe of the rune-ish font and the dragon/mountain.

I made myself a copy of this as a test first, and the HTV is even more messed up on that. :| Also, I realized when reading it afterwards, I fucked up the page order in one signature. This is fixed (god, I hope it's fixed) in wolf's copy.

Signature length is a tricky thing with case binding/sewn binding in general. I wound up needing a bunch of blank pages at the back of the typeset so I did something I have since done in other binds: added a "selected praise for" section where I copy/pasted AO3 comments into the text block like literary reviews. I love this so much: the juxtaposition of the formal literary trope with the squee and all-caps and hype of fandom commenters. I am not the first to do this, of course, but you'll see it appear again in future binds from me for sure. (And of course I put my own comment first. OF COURSE I did. Binder's privilege!)

[adelaidedrubman]

[ CLEANSE ]  our muses have sex in the bathtub from this prompt list + faith/jenna

notes: *scrambles in on the literal last day of pride month with the faithjen fic i swore i would post before its end* omg hiiiiiiiii hi hii. requested so long ago i won’t leave anyone on the hook for it even by my timeliness standards but. it’s here  wordcount: 4k (almost) even  warnings: NSFW, naturally. soapy boobs and thigh riding and all. bliss and cult stuff mentioned in passing. undertones of passive aggressiveness, less than healthy relationship dynamics, and emotional repression. local woman won’t just tell her girlfriend she smells like shit and she misses her but needs her alone time after work. faith smells like shit trutherism implied. (maybe to the point of unsanitary warning, but not really.) probably chemistry inaccuracies even with the intentional vagueness. prose over dialogue heavy. editing is not my strong suit, nor is conciseness

Jenna didn’t mind the smell of bliss, really. 

At any stage in the production process. 

A floral perfume heavied by its own decay, as the leaves dried. Fruit rotting and baking beneath unforgiving sunlight. 

Antiseptic saturated air that stung Jenna’s nostrils with its chemical burn on the most gentle, tentative inhale as plant matter dissolved. A bite deepened by the dry, earthy crackle of burning leaves, the heavy stench of gas coughed and spit from bunsen burners ignited by unsure, newly trained hands. 

A subtle brine beneath it all as the product was poured and stirred into vats of preservatives to be stowed away, like sea air that had soured. 

She didn’t mind the smell. She really didn’t. If anything she liked it. 

It meant things were rolling along successfully, after all. She particularly liked when she could pick up a note of each individual scent at once. Smoothly blending together, yet as distinct upon inspection as the stages of the process itself. A sign her lab was becoming a well oiled machine. 

No, she didn’t mind the smell of bliss. 

She did, just a bit, mind that it clung. 

That it settled heavy into every fiber of her hair and clothing to follow her. That it managed to find her nose no matter how tightly sealed her mask, the creeping knowledge lurking in the back of her mind that it surely seeped into the soft pink tissue of her lungs as well. 

She sighed at the thought, peeling off the last of her clothing and dropping it into the hamper — one built just for her, and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a biohazard container, with its plastic lining and sealed lid. 

And it might as well be, she thought, soles of her feet adjusting to the lightly glossed grain of the hardwood as she slipped out of her shoes and stepped towards the bathtub. 

Not that she minded that either. 

The mere fact that she had a proper, safety proofed bin to dump her potentially contaminated clothing in was a stark improvement from her former research lab days. As was the fact her laundry would ultimately be left to someone else at the conclusion of her long work day, taken care of by one of the Project members assigned to do their part by washing and returning her clothes. (And far be it for her as a neutral observer to question the group’s organization of labor.) 

Jenna rolled and cracked her neck as she tugged at elastic band and allowed her hair to fall freely, trailing fingers along ends dried and frayed from exposure to the harsh chemical smoke. Another reminder of the unavoidable damage Bliss production did to her body. (But what kind of scientist would she be, if she wasn’t willing to put her own body on the line as readily as anyone else’s?) 

She brushed a hand through her curls, then brought the fingers to her nose, inhaling the lingering scent of latex and disinfectant. She glanced down at her palm, tracing eyes along the powdery residue settled in its creases. 

Very much like her old research lab days, in the way it wore on her body. 

But better in every other sense, really. 

Better in that she was making real progress with her work, not jammed up with red tape. In that her journey from work to home was a short stroll down the hall of the Conversatory’s manor rather than just shy of an hour’s worth of bumper to bumper traffic to creep along all of ten miles. That her home had a deep clawfoot tub to soak the day away in, as opposed to the tiny shower stall of her old studio apartment. 

Yes, superior by every measure she could conceive, she assured herself as she turned the knob of the faucet, mixing a blend of bath oils into the water as steam rose. 

It was its own small bit of chemistry: mixing a concoction that would soothe and moisturize without settling into greasy film, building a sweet and potent perfume that didn’t too closely resemble the honeysuckle nectar of Bliss flowers. 

And a particularly pleasant application of the science, warmth of the water melting the tension from her muscles as she slipped into the tub. 

She sank down, dipped her head back to submerge, splashed water over her face before rising to sit again, droplets trickling down her back. 

She rinsed, repeated the motion. 

A creak of rusted hinges crying out in complaint cut through the soft sloshing of bath water to draw Jenna’s attention towards the opening door, joined by a gentle hum in a slow searching rise and fall, as if attempting to find harmony with the metallic screech. 

Jenna tilted her head to better view her intruder, identity well known to her before her cheek ever pressed against cool porcelain. 

Faith continued humming under her breath, smoothing out the tune with the settling of the door back into its frame at the gentle press of her fingertips, padding footsteps weaving left and right in something of a half dance on her path towards the tub. 

It was Faith’s own way of slowly washing off the day, Jenna thought with an amused smile, the gradual easing out of the public persona into something more organic and relaxed — and no less captivating. 

Faith’s song bubbled into a laugh (muted, not rising with the pitch it did around others) as she bent at the waist to hover over the tub. Jenna met her with a low, flat hum of her own and a wordless nod of acknowledgement. 

Faith held the silence, reaching a hand out to drop dried flower petals to float atop the water. Not Bliss flowers — a collection from their private gardens. A smattering of primroses and poppies. She was well aware of Jenna’s stance on compartmentalizing. That Bliss, however pleasant, was business, the very business she was washing herself of at the end of her shift. 

Basket emptied and set aside, Faith smoothed her skirt to prop herself seated at the edge of the tub. She leaned down to skim her fingers along the water — crowding Jenna’s senses with the syrupy perfume of Bliss that clung to her as she did. A more natural, softer version of the scent, lacking the sharp chemical notes, but familiar enough to wind the tension of work back into Jenna’s muscles nonetheless. 

“You shouldn’t,” Jenna said plainly, gesturing with her eyes to the fingertips cutting ripples through bathwater. “Touch the water directly,” she clarified. “Because of the chemical residue, that is. Miniscule risk of harm, but not absent.” 

Faith pulled back, blinked slowly. Then dropped her head with eyes closed, corners of her mouth stretching outward to allow a full and bright ringing laugh to spill from rosy lips.  

A bit of residue, Jenna thought. 

“From the Bliss, Jenna?”

A nod. “And every ingredient that goes into its production,” she answered, stretching her arms to rest along the sides of the tub. “It’s less dangerous than the sum of its parts, in ways.” 

“There’s nothing I could possibly fear,” Faith dismissed, propping herself on her hands and lifting to spin on the porcelain ledge, draping her legs over the width of the tub with heels propped on the opposite side. “Not from the Bliss. Not from being near you.” 

Jenna sighed, lifting her hand to trail damp, quickly pruning fingertips along the length of the woman’s leg in subtle acquiescence, feeling the small scrapes and caked dirt texturing the skin, signs she’d spent the day hard at work herself. 

It was its own form of exposure risk Faith faced. Working with the end product. Being in the public eye. One Jenna couldn’t as easily mitigate with rigid safety protocol. 

“It’s not about feeling fear or not,” Jenna countered, straightening her spine to sit more upright. Closer, she could smell past the perfume of Bliss to the subtle musk of sunbaked sweat. “It’s a… practical risk analysis. Strict probability.” 

Faith giggled, softening again, but with a practiced dismissiveness all the same. 

“Is that really all you can think about?” Faith questioned, now dipping a foot into the bathwater, flakes of dirt dissolving from the calloused skin to float alongside the petals as she rolled her ankle to stir. “Let’s be more practical by saving time and bathing together, then.” 

“Practical doesn’t always mean efficient,” she answered plainly. “Again, the risk of —” 

Her words were cut off by a sudden splash from Faith dropping her feet to the base of the tub, pulling her dress over her head in the same fluid motion.

Ah. So it was that kind of soft prodding suggestion, the kind Faith gave to signal a foregone conclusion — a particularly unavoidable one, it seemed, given she apparently hadn’t been wearing any underwear beneath her dress.

Jenna sighed. 

“I don’t anticipate it will actually make things faster, either,” Jenna offered, affectionately placing hands at the backs of Faith’s legs to steady her nonetheless. “I think if anything it will lengthen the time we spend —”

“I hope it does,” Faith interrupted, settling atop Jenna’s lap. “I wish this moment could stretch on for eternity,” she said, wrapping arms around Jenna’s neck. “I wish it could last long enough to make up for every second that I’ve missed you.”

With that Faith leaned forward to close the remaining distance — a firm, steady pressure until she was seemingly satisfied Jenna’s lips would remain still, then melting into something more fluid and delicate. 

“I have missed you, Jenna,” Faith parted ever so slightly to whisper against her lips. “I miss you, when we have to spend so much time apart.” 

Well. As far as Jenna was concerned that was as good a qualitative factor for consideration as any, enough for her to stop bothering with explanations in favor of brushing aside the lightly misted curtain of blonde hair to kiss along Faith’s neck, subtle saltiness of dried and rewetted sweat clinging to her tongue. 

But her nose nudging against golden locks also jostled loose a fresh perfume of honeysuckle, thickened by dewdrops of bathwater splashed onto her hair. 

A pleasant smell, but not conducive to the head space Jenna sought — one temporarily, clinically insulated from the Bliss. 

Jenna reached past Faith to lift the handheld showerhead from its brass mount, raking fingers along Faith’s scalp and her head to tilt back with a dreamily defeated sigh, “Well, we should at least be productive about it then, shouldn’t we?”

Faith’s fingers did not seem particularly set on productivity as they stirred to trace the curves of Jenna’s body, brushing featherlight along the dip of her collarbone and down to caress her chest, then seeming to disappear and reappear to tease along her thighs. 

It would be better, to not have to rush it, Jenna thought to herself as she willed her own hands to work lathering shampoo into blonde hair rather than reach towards the places she truly longed to touch. 

She didn’t like to rush anything with Faith. 

She liked to sit with the sensations, savor each unique ache and dizzying jolt of pleasure she stirred inside her. She wished she could do so then and there, forget anything else to spend the rest of the evening basking in her. 

But with the lurking nuisance of a rigid schedule tugging demandingly at her attention, Jenna reluctantly kept her attention focused on bundling a bar of soap into a washcloth to methodically slide along Faith’s body, despite the shiver fingers brushing far too lightly along her inner thigh brought in turn.

Until delicate phantom touch congealed into a more solid pressure, fingers involuntarily squeezing down on the nipple they’d been teasing as Faith tensed and shuddered with Jenna bringing the showerhead’s stream evenly between her legs. 

“Mm,” Jenna intoned in something between an observant hum and an aroused moan. “Enjoying that, are we?” 

Jenna paused just a single heartbeat longer to savor Faith’s shaky sigh of affirmation before angling the showerhead away to rinse the suds clinging to splayed legs instead, then shift upward to continue washing away sticky sweet Bliss to dilute in pooling water. 

Faith shot her an indignant look that in turn quickly faded into pleading, slant of her brow rising to soften its furrow. 

“I was enjoying it,” she answered, an extra breathy huff accompanying the soft ring of her words that Jenna knew meant angry warning no matter how sweetly it was dressed up, the sharp chemical bite beneath the perfume. 

Yes, she recognized it just as easily as she recognized the punishing intent buried in the teasing slide of her fingers, staying spaced at such distance so as to avoid pressing against the places she ached most. 

It was what first attracted Jenna to Faith, that too gentle conniving, as candied as it was calculated. It would be ungrateful, hypocritical to allow herself to feel frustration — to feel anything but admiration — for it now. 

“Well, I certainly don’t intend to keep you from enjoying yourself,” Jenna replied calmly, bending forward to just barely grind herself against Faith’s teasing hand as she set aside the showerhead and squeezed a glob of shampoo into her palm. “But unfortunately I can’t be of much assistance at the moment.”

“But don’t you want to make me feel good?” Faith questioned, pressing a line of kisses to the ridge of Jenna’s jaw, threading the fingers of her free hand into Jenna’s hair. “Don’t you want to —”

“If I only had the time,” Jenna answered, briefly intertwining their fingers in the tangle of her curls as she worked in shampoo. “But I certainly won’t be offended if you use the opportunity to take care of yourself, while we’re together. I’d quite welcome it.” 

“I want you to make me feel good,” Faith amended in sing-song, finding something between arguing with Jenna and expanding on her own statement as she worked her fingers faster, still without allowing them to make proper contact. “I want —”

“A compromise, then?” Jenna replied, sliding her right leg beneath Faith’s so that she straddled the left. “Go ahead,” she said with a flex of her hips to grind upward, coaxing Faith to meet the pace. “Use me as you’d like.”

Faith gave a pouty humph of complaint, breaking into a sharp intake of breath as Jenna placed the hand not busied with working in conditioner at Faith’s hip to guide her along the length of her thigh, angling her knee upward so that the blonde slid down her leg. 

“J-Jenna,” she gasped, loosening the hand in Jenna’s hair to grasp the ledge of the tub, other hand flexing to curl just barely inside Jenna with the same tense of her body. 

Jenna answered with no more than a vague hum, leaning back against cool porcelain to sturdy herself as Faith rocked against her, admiring how drawn out, soft strides slowly exploring the friction offered by Jenna’s thigh gradually grew shorter, more forceful and snappy. 

The rate of the heavy breaths falling against the crook of Jenna’s neck followed a similar pattern, and she indulged herself a moment to slide a thumb along the gentle dip beneath Faith’s lips to feel the heat as she lifted the washcloth to her neck. 

And blessedly, the strokes of Faith’s hand kept pace, giving Jenna just enough stimulation for pleasure to crest in the backdrop as she dutifully continued the task of washing herself. 

A task that was no longer completely unassisted — Faith’s spare hand reached to join Jenna’s as she dragged her washcloth down to her chest, idly caressing and rolling a nipple beneath the now deeply shriveled pads of her fingers, just enough teasing pressure to make warmth flush along Jenna’s skin, mirrored in the hot pitch of Faith’s cheek pressed against hers. 

The water itself felt set to boil — logically, it should have long past grown tepid during their luxuriating soak, but as it sloshed and licked its way up Jenna’s ribs from the force of Faith’s movement it brought nothing but delicious heat she so desperately wanted to sink down into. 

“How much — mm, how much longer, Jenna?” Faith panted out in a plea as melodic as it was breathless, as impatient as it was gentle. “Before you can pay attention to me?” 

“There’s never a moment you don’t hold my attention,” Jenna cooed with a kiss to Faith’s shoulder. “I promise it will be undivided very soon.”

She punctuated the statement by submerging her washcloth to brush between her thighs, taking the opportunity to cover Faith’s hand with her own, guiding it to quicken, increase force. 

Jenna allowed herself one more impractical indulgence — turning and craning her neck to brush her lips against Faith’s as she hiked her free leg to prop atop the tub’s ledge. 

And she admittedly drew out the task of running the washcloth along the length of her leg for longer than was strictly necessary, savoring the gentle vibration of Faith’s eager moans against her mouth, the way the angle drew her tighter around lithe fingers, made her cling to the pleasure from their strokes. 

And the warmth of the water soothed away any tension threatening to settle into her muscles as they clenched harder, the delicate, fluid movement of Faith’s fingers quickly conducting the symphony towards an inevitable crescendo. 

Still, it took more effort than it should have to lower her leg back into the water, pull away from their kiss. 

“I only have one part left to wash, love,” Jenna whispered, ragged and low. “Do you need me to finish things up for you, so I can have my leg back?” 

There was an ‘mmhm’ hummed against Jenna’s jaw as lips kissed up towards the apples of her cheeks. 

“Go on and say it, then. Tell me, in that lovely voice of yours,” Jenna used her last bit of calm patience to press, pulling back to admire the sight of her lover — face flushed to match the primroses petals floating in the water and clinging to her skin, bare chest heaving. “Tell me what you’d like from me.” 

“I want you to touch me,” she said in layers of dreamy sighs like spun sugar melting in the water. She angled her hips towards Jenna as if to direct her attention, gentle suggestion finally sharpening itself into a proper demand. “I want you to make me cum. Now.” 

It was all Jenna needed to appease, bringing her thumb to Faith’s clit without delay and brush aside damp, wispy blonde curls to stroke. 

The perfectly calculated angle at perfectly calculated pressure, the familiar contours of swollen flesh she used to gauge just how near she was to the edge, the expected burn in the expected places of her flexing arm as muscle memory did its work. 

Down to a science.  

Pink flush painting itself in brighter blotches on Faith’s face before crawling down to spread along the slight curve of her chest, the damp glisten of her brow that was fresh beading of sweat rather than bathwater, the telltale ripple of muscles at her middle in racing buildup as the jerks of her hips grew more erratic, the increase of the subtle drumming of her pulse in the the wrists resting atop Jenna’s collarbones as nails dug into her shoulder. 

And there it was — a last gentle coaxing of Jenna’s exacting touch, all it took for her lover to find that long sought release with a surrendering toss back of her head and drawn out gasp, faint twitches of her finish barely detectable reverberating against Jenna’s leg as she rode it out. 

And with the rush of the accomplishment, Jenna felt the need she’d allowed to fall to the backdrop quickly reassert itself, snatching the reins of her rational senses to drive her to grind determinedly against the hand between her legs, the fingers inside her slowly returning to life to resume a light, unsteady stroke, climax weakened tremble only increasing the thrill.

A thrill so strong that pushing herself to her own finish was just as easily done — a well-timed snap forward and downward drag of her hips, the last spark she needed to saturate every hungry nerve ending into overload. 

Her ears burned and whooshed with the sudden rush of blood, so full with pressure it felt as if she’d dipped her head back to submerge in water. It faded, slowly, the heat in her chest flaring to a cool rush of relief as she came down. 

As Jenna began grounding herself back into her body, she found the tightness had eased from her muscles entirely, tension worked away more thoroughly than the longest and most relaxing of soaks in a hot tub could ever grant her. 

Which was quite fortuitous, because with no more internal heat to dominate her senses, she could feel just how much the bathwater had chilled since they had abandoned the pretense of cleaning up. 

A final pleased sigh fell past Jenna’s lips as she shifted the leg Faith straddled to slide beneath her so that she rested between them, giving her final unwashed limb a quick, lazy wipe with the washcloth tightly wadded in her fist, followed by a hurried splash to rinse before she stretched the leg forward and used a toe to pull the plug from the drain. 

Then one last strain of her limbs to reach for the towel hung to the side, pulling Faith in closer as she wrapped it around them. 

“Consider me thoroughly corrected,” Jenna broke the comfortable silence to muse as she pulled slightly back, pressing her forehead against Faith’s. “You proved your point about the value of bathing together.” 

She trailed her gaze down to the subtle, satisfied smile curving along Faith’s lips as she brought the towel to drape over the blonde’s head. 

“Oxytocin, dopamine, norepinephrine,” Jenna recited as she rubbed terry cloth against blonde locks. “And a steady stream of serotonin in the comedown,” she mused, sitting back to blot gently at her own curls. “All chemicals released in the body from orgasm. And that greatly benefit the human brain — improving mood, cognition, and productivity. An efficient use of time, in the end, all things considered.” 

“And is that all?” Faith pressed, the furrow of her brow in would-be hurt betrayed by the delighted twinkle in green eyes. “What about the closeness it brings us? The human connection?” she offered. “Don’t you think there’s something more, something deeper to it than just chemicals?” 

“I failed to state a crucial axiom,” Jenna replied apologetically, lifting Faith’s hand from atop her shoulder and holding it between them. “There’s nothing deeper in the world to me.” 

She brought the hand to her lips, pressing a kiss just above the knuckles. 

“And I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to raise my oxytocin levels as effectively as you.” 

Faith shook her head as if in tired resignation, but Jenna caught the soft upward curve at the corners of her mouth in understanding, vanishing from her field of vision in the same heartbeat as she pulled Jenna back into her, tangling their limbs together and reclining. 

Such a brilliant woman, so perceptive. Such a privilege, to catch those glimpses of incisive, profound understanding she would carefully dress up as she moved through the day with eyes on her, pretense slowly washed away as the world faded to nothing but they two. 

Enough of a marvel that she felt justified in allowing herself to linger, to let the minutes tick away lazing with Faith snuggled at her side. 

Because there really was no one who raised her oxytocin levels quite as effectively. 

No one she’d rather have her brain rewired to facilitate enduring social bonding with, no one she’d rather anoint with every indication of adoring commitment in present sociocultural practice. 

“I love you too, Jenna.” 

More than anything, there was no one she’d rather wash the day off with.