#Batch Dryer

[keroneeng]

Batch Ovens

Kerone is a leading manufacturer and supplier of high-quality batch ovens designed for a variety of industrial applications. Our batch ovens are engineered to deliver efficient thermal processing, ensuring uniform heating and optimal energy consumption. With advanced technology and customizable options, our ovens cater to the specific needs of industries such as pharmaceuticals, textiles, and automotive. Committed to excellence, Kerone combines innovative design with durable materials to provide reliable and effective solutions for all your heating requirements. For more detail visit at our website: https://www.kerone.in/

[m00ntunaart]

echo.

[dollsahoy]

Unusually productive day today

wonder if my period's about to start 🙃

[bitegore]

ran out of executive functioning and now i dont want to go get my laundry :/

[midseo]

Electric Ovens, Industrial Ovens, Industrial Batch Oven, Drying Ovens, Haryana, India

https://www.industrialoven.com/profile.html

[datastring]

Batch Fluid Bed Dryers Market Set to Hit $1,593.7 Million by 2035

The global Batch Fluid Bed Dryers market is projected to experience significant growth, rising from $697.6 million in 2024 to $1,593.7 million by 2035. The market is expected to grow at an average annual rate of 10.3% from 2024 to 2035, driven by strong demand across pharmaceutical manufacturing, food processing, chemical processing, and plastics manufacturing industries.

Access detailed report insights here - https://datastringconsulting.com/industry-analysis/batch-fluid-bed-dryers-market-research-report

Key Applications Driving Market Growth

Batch Fluid Bed Dryers play a critical role in several industries due to their ability to provide consistent, efficient, and rapid drying. In the pharmaceutical industry, these dryers are essential for preserving the integrity of sensitive ingredients during the drying process, ensuring higher quality end products. Leading pharmaceutical companies such as Novartis and Pfizer rely on these dryers for their accuracy and reliability, securing a competitive edge in the market.

In the food processing sector, Batch Fluid Bed Dryers are used for their uniform drying capabilities. These dryers help preserve the nutritional value and extend the shelf life of food products. Companies like Nestlé and Kraft Heinz utilize these systems for drying fruits, vegetables, herbs, spices, and coffee beans, benefiting from superior heat transfer and moisture removal.

Technological Advancements and Market Innovation

Technological advancements have significantly impacted the Batch Fluid Bed Dryers market, particularly in pharmaceutical and food processing sectors. Modern fluid bed dryers now offer enhanced efficiency, reduced energy consumption, and improved output quality. These innovations enable superior drying uniformity, moisture removal, and particle size reduction, making them ideal for drying powders and granules.

The integration of automation into these systems has optimized the drying process, ensuring consistent quality output while reducing human error. As a result, the Batch Fluid Bed Dryers market has seen substantial growth, driving productivity improvements, reducing resource wastage, and lowering production costs, which in turn boosts profitability and sustainability.

Industry Leadership and Competitive Landscape

The Batch Fluid Bed Dryers market is highly competitive, with key players such as GEA Group AG, Andritz AG, Bühler Holding AG, Glatt GmbH, FLSmidth & Co. A/S, ThyssenKrupp AG, and SPX Flow Technology Danmark A/S leading the market. These companies are driving innovation by focusing on developing advanced solutions for fluid bed drying technology, customizable dryers, energy-efficient designs, and automation to improve performance and reduce operational costs.

The market’s growth is supported by shifting trends in pharmaceutical manufacturing, the expansion of chemical industries, and continuous technological advancements in fluid bed drying systems. As demand for efficient and precise drying solutions continues to rise, industry players are positioned to capitalize on significant growth opportunities.

Regional Analysis and Market Dynamics

North America remains a dominant player in the Batch Fluid Bed Dryers market, driven by robust industrial growth and technological advancements in drying systems. The pharmaceutical and food processing sectors, in particular, offer substantial opportunities due to their ongoing demand for high-efficiency drying solutions.

Key drivers in the region include stringent regulatory standards focused on quality and safety in production, along with a growing preference for sustainable and energy-efficient equipment. Europe and China are also strong contributors to market growth, with significant demand from local industries and manufacturers focusing on improving productivity and sustainability.

As these regions continue to expand, emerging markets in India, Brazil, and South Africa are expected to become increasingly important, offering new revenue opportunities for manufacturers seeking to diversify their portfolios and expand their total addressable market (TAM).

About DataString Consulting

DataString Consulting offers a comprehensive suite of market research and business intelligence solutions for both B2C and B2B markets. Specializing in bespoke research projects, the firm helps businesses achieve their strategic objectives, whether it’s expanding into new markets, increasing revenue, or addressing industry challenges.

With over 30 years of combined experience, DataString’s leadership team is well-versed in market & business research and strategy advisory across diverse sectors globally. Their expert consultants track high-growth segments within more than 15 industries and 60 sub-industries, providing actionable insights and data-driven strategies to help businesses thrive in competitive markets.

[nilkanthengineeringworks]

Discover the diverse world of concrete batching plants with our comprehensive guide! Explore the different types, including compact, mobile, stationary, and RMC plants, along with essential components like cement silos and rotary dryers.

[aluminiumwire]

Best Quality Batch Type Dryer Manufacturer in India

We are one of the Best Quality Batch Type Dryer Manufacturer in India and our product is perfect because we made it using good quality raw materials we made all our products in our company and we make our products good. According to other companies, our product is very long-lasting because we made our product by using good quality material with the latest technology. Our need depends on our designing item, range and ensured after deal administration. Address : GROUND FLOOR, KH.NO 74/5, VILLAGE HOLAMBI KHURD, NORTH WEST DELHI, DELHI, 110082

[friendlyneighborhoodshark]

"How to Life" Masterlist

Cleaning and Tidying

Make your bed in the morning. It takes seconds, and it's worth it.

Reset to zero each morning.

Use the UFYH 20/10 system for clearing your shit.

Have a 'drop-zone' box where you dump anything and everything. At the beginning/end of the day, clear it out and put that shit away.

Automate your chores. Have a cleaning schedule and assign 15mins daily to do whatever cleaning tasks are set for that day. Set a timer and do it once the timer is up, finish the task you're on and leave it for the day.

Fold your clothes straight out of the tumble dryer (if you use one), whilst they're still warm. This minimises creases and eliminates the need for ironing.

Clean your footwear regularly and you'll feel like a champ.

Organisation and Productivity

Learn from Eisenhower's Importance/Urgency matrix.

Try out the two-minute rule and the Pomodoro technique.

Use. A. Planner. (Or Google Calendar, if that's more your thing.)

Try bullet journalling.

Keep a notebook/journal/commonplace book to dump your brain contents in on the regular.

Set morning alarms at two-minute intervals rather than five, and stick your alarm on the other side of the room. It's brutal, but it works.

Set three main goals each day, with one of them being your #1 priority. Don't overload your to-do list or you'll hit overload paralysis and procrastinate.

If you're in a slump, however, don't be afraid to put things like "shower" on your to do list - that may be a big enough goal in itself, and that's okay.

Have a physical inbox - a tray, a folder, whatever. If you get a piece of paper, stick it in there and sort through it at the end of the week.

Consider utilising the GTD System, or a variation of it.

Try timeboxing.

Have a morning routine, and guard that quiet time ferociously.

Have a folder for all your important documents and letters, organised by topic (e.g. medical, bank, university, work, identification). At the front of this folder, have a sheet of paper with all the key information written on it, such as your GP's details, your passport details, driving licence details, bank account number, insurance number(s), and so on.

Schedule working time and down time alike, in the balance that works for you.

Money

Have. A. God. Damn. Budget.

Use a money tracker like toshl, mint, or splitwise. Enter all expenses asap! (You will forget, otherwise.)

Have a 'money date' each week, where you sort through your finances from the past seven days and then add it to a spreadsheet. This will help you identify your spending patterns and whether your budget is actually working or not.

Pack your own frickin' lunch like a grown-up and stop buying so many takeaway coffees. Keep snacks in your bag.

Food and Cooking

Know how to cook the basics: a starch, a protein, a vegetable, and a sauce.

Simple, one-pot meals ("a grain, a green, and a bean") are a godsend.

Batch cook and freeze. Make your own 'microwave meals'.

Buy dried goods to save money - rice and beans are a pittance.

Consider Meatless Mondays; it's healthier, cheaper, and more environmentally friendly.

Learn which fruits and vegetables are cheapest at your store, and build a standard weekly menu around those. (Also remember that frozen vegetables are cheap and healthy.)

Learn seasoning combinations. Different seasoning, even with the exact same ingredients, can make a dish seem completely new.

Misc

Have a stock email-writing format.

Want to start running, but find it boring? Try Zombies, Run!.

Keep a goddamn first aid kit and learn how to use it.

Update your CV regularly.

Keep a selection of stamps and standard envelopes for unexpected posting needs. (It happens more regularly than you would think!)

[keroneeng]

Kerone is a leading manufacturer and supplier of batch dryers, which are used in the food processing, chemical, and pharmaceutical industries to effectively remove moisture from a variety of products. To meet a range of manufacturing demands, our batch dryers use the latest innovations to guarantee consistent drying and maximum energy efficiency. As a reliable partner in the drying process, Kerone offers specialized solutions that boost efficiency and preserve product integrity, all while upholding a dedication to quality and innovation. For more detail visit at our website :- https://www.kerone.in/

[evieolo]

Panty Thief

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo x Fem!Reader

Contains: SMUT!!/ Male masturbation / Handjobs / Male!Receiving

“Chris, can you check if my laundry’s done for me?” You call from behind your door, catching his footsteps in the hall. Chris sighs dramatically, his voice loud enough for you to hear, and stops at your door, pushing it open. “Why can’t you do it?” He proclaims, shooting a playful glare your way. He’s dressed in low-cut gray sweats and a plain black t-shirt, carrying a mix of shirts and hoodies, folded messily in his hand.

You stretch your arms out, feigning tiredness. “I don’t want to get up.” You yawn, draping your comforter more over your torso and immersing yourself further in your social media. Chris sighs, realizing since he has to do his laundry he has to get yours out of the washing machine. Begrudgingly, he heads to the laundry room, as if he wasn’t already on his way there.

The smell of fresh laundry fans Chris’ nose as he walks into the dull room, a boring room contradicting the rest of the house, with white walls—no decor, only a window with a drapy shade over it that, on sunny days, beams light into the room, the only exception of furniture being the washer-dryer.

Chris inhales, shamelessly breathing in the fumes of your coconut-scented detergent, a scent he’d grown happily accustomed to after your many years of friendship. In Chris’ mind, you had an excessive amount of clothes. You’re not a messy person if you subtract clothes from the mix; your room is always littered with your latest clothing hauls, mixed but in separate piles from your dirty laundry. When he’d gone down to the laundry room an hour ago your clothes were cycling through the wash; still now you now had one snug load to the side in a circular hamper. The hamper adjoined the running dryer which had a second batch of clothes in it.

He approaches the shaking dryer slowly—there are two minutes left in the cycle—he might as well stay in the room while he waits for yours to finish.

Chris absentmindedly picks up the detergent you use and out of boredom reads the many labels on the bottle, giving up when he reads too many ingredient words with over twenty letters in them; the bottle’s sticky at the top where Chris holds it, he doesn’t realize this until it's slipping out of his fingers. The detergent bottle falls from his hand and spills into the hamper of your clean clothing.

Chris curses silently and snatches the bottle off the haphazard mix of clothes. He sets the bottle atop the drier and inspects the pile, pulling the soiled short on top of the pile off, wincing at the damp stain. He presses a palm to the next shirt down, realizing detergent did seep past the first top. He lets out a dramatic sigh of frustration and pulls the shirt off the top of the pile—discarding it into his basket of dirty laundry, deciding he’ll wash it with his own clothes and return it to you afterward.

He peeks to the pile of your laundry now without your baggy T housing the rest of the apparel. An orange piece catches his attention. It’s his favorite color, plus, he’d never seen you wear this specific shade before. He’s curious.

Chris saunters back to your hamper and pulls the orange bottoms out of the basket. He flushes when he realizes the bottoms are not shorts. They’re panties, peachy orange with a navy frill along the hems.

The man practically freezes in place, the panties were innocently simple—nothing relatively showy but they were his favorite color. There had to be some meaning to that. Right?

Chris runs his wrist along the hem of your bottoms, meshing the fabric of them between his thumbs. The fabric is light and delicate, almost weightless to touch, running his fingers over the hem he feels the jagged texture, so thin it's almost translucent.

He imagines how they’d sit on your hips; flaunt the curve of your ass. The thought of this—of you, shifts the looseness of his pants and he feels a recognizable stiffness arise against the fabric of his boxers.

“Chris?”

You enter the room tauntingly and Chris mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath. He realized he’d look like a pervert in any situation so he quickly bunches your panties in his fist and pockets them.

Your eyes narrow as you realize he neglected your request and didn’t tell you that your laundry was done, “What have you been doing down here for the past ten minutes?” You ask skeptically.

Chris’ features flush red and he sucks his teeth, his mind blank of any witty remarks. He pauses for a second before speaking, “Wishing your laundry would disappear…Okay, but seriously, why do you have so many clothes?” He whines, alleviating the tension he’d created in his mind.

You laugh, opening the dryer that’d just finished its cycle with a ‘click’

“You’re just mad that I have style.” You rebuttal, a wide smile on your face.

“Mhm”

Chris swallows harshly, standing stiffly as he watches you bend down to spoon your clothes out of the dryer. His eyes focus on the curve of your ass, the way you teeter on your knees to reach the clothes in the very back. It’s not soon before he feels harsher tightening in his abdomen.

He mentally curses himself. Asking himself if he seriously got a boner from watching his best friend do laundry.

Chris makes a light grunting noise—his begrudging goodbye—before he leaves the room. You turn your head at the diminishing sound of footsteps. “Chris, I thought you were doing your laundry?” You press, curious as to why he’s leaving so soon.

Chris continues out of the room, only turning his head slightly to respond to you, “I-I’ll do it later.” He stammers, making his way up the stairs making a beeline to his bedroom.

When he reaches his room he’s flustered, his cheeks are red and you’re running through his mind. There are only two things he can think of: your ass and your panties.

Your panties that are in his pocket.

He pulls his fist out of his pocket and holds your undergarments again. The sight of the frill only turns him on further, making his hard-on tent his pants. Chris curses under his breath for the nth time before retreating to his bed, shooing away his self-accusations of him being a ‘pervert’ and deciding to do something about his boner.

He sits on his bed, scooting back against the headboard and shimmies his sweats down, pushing the band of his boxers down to reveal his hardened-cock.

Feathering a hand down to his base, he groans a sigh from the pressure his hand brings. He pumps his length upward, coaxing pre-cum from his angry tip, smearing the drops in liquid down his base as he pumps himself; picturing you as he does so.

He imagines you—bending down for him instead of a washing machine. How your hands would wrap around him, your small hands; small but oh so gentle. And fuck, those panties, he wished he could see them around your hips, how they would flaunt the curve of your ass perfectly. He’d push the cloth to the side and fuck you with them still on.

He palms your pocketed bottoms, pushing them against his cock and thrusting against the fabric, hips roiling into his hand as he moans your name.

“Fuck Y/N, fuck, yeah just like that.” He whimpers, rutting against his hand so desperately he doesn’t realize how his door creaks open.

“Chris, did you take…” you pause, unsure how to ask if he knows where your missing undergarments are, “Uhm - did you take something from my laundry bin?” You question shyly, too embarrassed to blatantly admit you can’t find your favorite panties. Your eyes are down, and you teeter on your heels, until you grow impatient with Chris’ lack of response and look at him.

Your eyes widen, and you yell out a loud “Fuck!”, meekly covering your eyes with your hands and turning away.

Chris then notices your presence, his jaw drops and his cheeks burn bright red. He tries to shuffle under his comforter, but it's to no avail; he’s sitting on top of it.

You continue to conceal your vision with your hands, only peeking through a small crack at his face until you realize where your panties are. Wet and bunched up in his hand. Your mouth falls slightly ajar in surprise, and you stop hindering your vision.

“Chris, were you jerking off to my underwear?” You ask wide-eyed.

Unsure of what to say, Chris simply nods out a quiet “yes.”

Chris stays silent. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows harshly. “Are you going to stand in my doorway like that for the rest of your life?”

You take this as an invitation to join him in his bed, sauntering to the bed’s foot, and kneeling yourself onto the mattress, crawling over his sprawled-out legs and leaving your hand dangerously close to his hard-on.

“Can I?” You hum, meeting his eyes. He nods eagerly, watching you intently. “If I had known you were this big I would’ve done this a long time ago,” you coo, feathering a hand down to his needy tip and running a thumb over in a circular motion. With this, Chris leans back and lets out an opened-mouth moan.

“Fuck Y/N,” He sighs, lazily running a hand through his hair as you start moving your hand down his shaft. Running your palm up and down and squeezing gently once you reach the tip.

“Wanna suck you off, baby.” You hum, pressing a kiss to his tip. Chris shivers at the contact, groaning at the sloppy peck, “Please.” He whines.

You puff your cheeks out, readying yourself for his size and kitten lick his tip before wrapping your lips around him, sinking your head down slightly to test the waters before speeding up a bit, filling the room with sounds of erotic spit and Chris’ loud groans.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Chris moans, knotting his hands in your hair and pushing your head down further every time you bob down. The sound of your lewd gagging nears Chris’ orgasm.

Looking at you sets him over the edge, the way your back arches towards him, to get easier access to him, how tears prod your waterline every time his dick hits your throat, the hums you let out as he knots your hair tighter and tighter.

His dick twitches in your mouth, signaling to you his upcoming release, and before you can get a breath through your nose, he's rutting his hips into you, pushing your head down to his base, breathing heavily, as his cum sloppily trickles into your mouth.

He holds your head down sternly as he comes down from his high, pushing you down against his base. When he releases his grip on your hair, you pull back, chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Holy shit.” Chris mumbles, threading his fingers through his hair. You straighten your spine, positioning yourself back in a sitting position on your knees and meet eye level with Chris.

He smirks when you meet his eyes. Your face is red, and your throat is sore from the way his tip bruised your pharynx. Chris watches intently as you wipe his dripping cum off the corners of your mouth with the back of your wrist. “Where’d you learn how to suck dick like that?” He heaves, a playful undertone to his words.

“I dabble,” You smile, shrugging off his question as you give him a crooked smile.

Chris pauses for a second, opening and closing his mouth twice before he actually speaks, “Why’d we do that?” He asks, pinching his eyes shut in embarrassment.

You sense his awkwardness and scoot closer to him, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. “Chris, this doesn’t have to change things between us; best friends fuck all the time.” You say, delicately pressing a kiss to his jaw.

Chris meets your eyes, pulling his boxers back on to leave him less exposed. “You can’t call me your best friend after sucking the life out of my dick.” He laughs.

Meeting his gaze you fold your arms in your lap, “If I shouldn’t call you my best friend, what should I call you?”

“How about boyfriend?” He winks, shifting off the bed and heading for the shower stopping to toss you your dampened panties. “Can you wear these for me tomorrow?”

[achilles-rage]

thinking about older neighbour!john price hearing you knock on his door one october night, just barely audible over the sound of heavy rain hitting his roof and windows, and the thunder and lightning in the distance.

MDNI 18+ Only!

he ushers you inside quickly, seeing that you're already slightly damp from walking across your lawn and to his front door. he notices you shivering, a blanket thrown around your shoulders, and puts an arm around you as he leads you to sit on a stool in his kitchen while he makes you some tea.

"i’m sorry. the power's been out all day, and my house is freezing. i saw your lights still on, and i just thought-" you begin to say apologetically, but he cuts you off with a tut, shaking his head.

"don't apologize. you're always welcome here. you can stay the night, if you want. the generator's still got a ton of juice." he tells you gruffly, sliding your mug across the counter and leaning across from you, his elbows propping himself up. you thank him softly as you pick up the tea, letting it warm up your hands, but not taking a sip yet.

"you're freezing. why don't we go sit on the couch? i've got the fireplace going, it'll warm you up in no time." you nod, smiling softly as you stand up. he smiles when you immediately turn and walk to his living room. he loves how comfortable you are in his space.

he thinks he won the jackpot when he moved in next door to you, this soft, sweet thing that was quick to introduce herself and bring him a fresh batch of cookies as a welcome to the neighbourhood.

pretty soon, after he insisted that there was no reason for you to pay someone else, you began asking him for help with things around your house. and in return, you brought him sweets. but, he always thought the best reward was seeing you plush tummy hidden by the fabric of your clothes, or a sliver of your thighs when you wore short dresses, or when you would wear lower cut shirts that gave him the perfect view of your soft tits.

you take a seat on the couch, immediately crossing your legs and wrapping the blanket tighter around you. he stands in front of you and holds out his hands, gesturing to the blanket. you raise your brow, giving him a confused look. he gently tugs it off of you, and silently makes his way to his laundry room, putting your blanket in the dryer, before coming back. he grabs you a different blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over your shoulders, muttering a soft "that's better" before he sits down beside you.

you talk to him in a quiet voice for a while, the only other sounds being the harsh sound of rain hitting his house, and the soft crackle of the fire burning in his fireplace. he tries so hard to be good, to keep his eyes on your face rather than trailing down your body. even though you’re covered by a blanket, it doesn’t stop him from imagining how you’d look under him, how you’d feel when he stretched you out around him, how you’d feel coming on his cock.

he suddenly gets an idea, and stands up, telling you he’s going to make some more tea. you try to protest, but he doesn’t want to hear a peep. you still look so cold, he lies, and he wants to make sure you don’t catch a cold. isn’t that sweet?

rather than going to the kitchen, however, he goes to check on his generator. he shuts it off quickly, grinning as he’s enveloped in darkness. he makes his way back to the living room with a battery powered lantern just in time to hear your sweet little voice call for him. you’re such a soft little thing, and if everything goes according to plan, you’ll be bouncing on his lap by the end of the night.

“it’s okay, sweetheart. i’m here. generator must’ve run outta gas. we can get closer to the fire if you want, it’ll keep us plenty warn.” he tells you in a smooth voice, grinning when he sees you look over at the fire and nod slowly.

he clears his throat as he moves to sit in front of the fire, leaning back against the couch. he pats the spot beside him, urging you to come sit with him.

once you’re beside him, you offer some of your blanket to him. he’s not cold. not at all. but what kind of man would he be to turn down such an inviting offer? it’s almost as if that gesture proves to him that you want him too, that although you came to his house in search of warmth, you were looking for him to warm you up, not his heater.

he’s sure that’s what sparked his newfound confidence, and soon enough, your clothes are discarded on the carpet beside you, and his cock is slowly stretching out your dripping hole.

“that’s it, sweetheart. let me hear you.” he growls quietly, eyes trained on your face contorted in pleasure. you whimper softly, moving yourself on his cock in a way that makes you see stars. while one of his hands helps guide you up and down on his thick cock, the other circles your puffy clit. he wants more than anything to watch you come apart for him, and right now, he’s holding back from coming too early.

he smirks when he hears the loud mewl escape your lips and you start to move in uneven bounces, shuddering on top of him. he moves his fingers in circles around your clit even faster, groaning at the sight of you tilting your head back in ecstasy.

“you gonna cum for me, sweetheart? you wanna cum on my cock?” he asks you roughly. he can feel himself twitching inside of you, and he knows he’s close, he just hopes you’re as close as he is. you nod your head vigorously, and the only sound you’re able to make is a high pitched whine, although he’s sure he can hear “please, john” between your incoherent babbling.

“cum for me, baby. let go for me.” he whispers, and after a few more seconds, something inside you snaps. your body goes rigid as you feel yourself coming on him, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you throw your head back. this sight is all it takes for him to let go as well. he cums with a loud grunt, followed by a moan as he feels himself filling you to the brim.

you bite your lip hard when you feel his seed against your velvety walls, and you slow your hips to a stop as you try to catch your breath, his cock still buried to the hilt.

the rest of the night consists of him pulling you into his arms and refusing to let you go. you lay on the carpet in front of the fire, being lulled to sleep by his steady breathing on your neck, and you’re sure john price will never be “just your neighbour” ever again.

likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33

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[the-kr8tor]

Cardamom + Epsom Salts with BDAS Hobie ❣️!! where reader is teaching Hobie to cook something in the boat or vice versa !!

have a lovely dayyy <3

AHHHH BDAS HOBIE!! Thank you for requesting! I hope you love it! 💕

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food, BDAS! Reader and Hobie, pirate AU, pirate captain! Hobie, set in my series 'Between the Devil and the Sea' (mild spoilers ahead), fluff!

Navigation

One year celebration 🎉

You try to remember what Finn taught you before, making hardtack isn't as easy as you thought it would be, especially that you have to keep your station as dry as a bone for the biscuit to turn, well, into a hardtack. It's called that for a reason. You hate the stuff, it's hard against your teeth, and it crumbles like rocks in your mouth. And it barely tastes like anything. But alas, it's necessary to survive the journey. Regular bread gets wet and rotten real quick while out in the open sea. Wet and rotten food invites disease on the ship, and as the ship's medic, and contrary to popular belief— you don't want that.

You'd rather wash a thousand dirty dishes than roll a dozen of the hardtack dough. Your palms are getting starchy and dryer than James’ elbow in the summer as you cut the last of the circular pieces and place them inside the oven. The ship's oven is small and compact, so baking in small batches is necessary. You clearly don't want to burn this ship down just like the last one.

Wiping your brow, you huff while leaning against the flour covered counter as the heat of the oven wafts over your whole form. You'd leave the heat of the kitchen but you really don't want to leave the fire unsupervised. Especially when Yuri has taken a liking to calling you ‘firestarter’ whenever she's not trying to flirt her way into Lyla’s pants.

The kitchen door swings open, hinges squeaking out someone's arrival. You look over your shoulder, seeing no other than the captain of the blood sail pirates himself.

Hobie whistles out a low tune, shamelessly roaming his eyes all over your flour covered form. Even in your starchy apron, and hair covered in a smattering of white powder, he looks at you like you're still wearing the finest gown in the whole country.

“I didn't know it snowed in ‘ere.” He says with a chuckle, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“You're a bit late to the party, captain.” You tilt your head, brow raised.

“I know, lovie, we needed to change course when the wind turned.” He moves, boots thumping against the floorboards as he makes his way over to you. His arms are already open, ready to receive you.

You immediately fall in front of him, arms wrapped around him and face snuggled on the crook of his neck. He pats your damp back, not minding the sweat covered blouse as his palms rest over your back. Whispering apologies, his voice almost lulls you to sleep, add that with the soft rocking of the ship, you're sure you were about to fall into a deep slumber until he kisses the side of your face generously.

“How about we open a window, let the night air in, hm?”

“No, the biscuits need a dry environment.” You yawn against his neck, earning a chuckle from the captain.

“Alright,” he dances you gently to the sound of the crackling fire. “You hungry? ‘m thinkin’ of makin’ somethin’ since we ate hours ago.”

“Please, anything but hardtack.” You lean up, chin resting on his clavicle as you frown at the prospect of eating a sailor's biscuits this late into the night. His hands knead at your dry aching palms.

“Nah, I won't torture you, scuttlebutt.” Chuckling, he cups each of your cheeks lovingly. “I promise, once we get some new crew in ‘ere, you won't be doin' anymore hardtack in the future.”

You sniff the air, it reminds you of the scent from a bakery in a town you used to live in. “Good, but I do like the cooking, just not this part.” Chuckling, you pucker up for a kiss, and he takes the message, kissing you gently but with a hint of hunger in every peck. This man clearly missed you even when you were just below deck.

With a longing sigh, he kisses the corner of your lips for good measure before fully leaning away. “How does a simple soup sound, hm? Some eggs and cream might help with starvation.”

“Sounds like you're trying to get rid of the perishables before it rots.” You smile, running your knuckles all over the scruff on the back of his head.

“That to.” He laughs against your lips before smooching the smile off of your face. “And,” he grabs you suddenly on your waist, lifting you up over the counter as he plants you right on the warm marble. “you get to sit pretty for me, for moral support.”

You immediately shake your head with a soft smile. “No, absolutely not, I'll help you.” Your hands are on his shoulders, trying to slide down whilst he prevents you with a lopsided smile and hands gripping your hips. “Is that a captain's order?”

His brows furrowed, “no—” you hop down, already grabbing the jar of cream from the iced barrel. “I jus’ wanted you to rest, lovie.”

“I know,” you place your palm on his chest, reaching to grab his chin and press a kiss on his lips. “But I want to help, how about you sit and look pretty for once, hm?”

He grins. “You callin’ me pretty, scuttlebutt?”

“The prettiest captain there is.” You coo, shaking his chin gently in between your fingers. He huffs shyly, pouting at your words. “Now, teach me how to make this amazing soup of yours.”

“‘Course, don't want you blowin’ us all up.”

“That was one time!”

With another kiss to your forehead, he grabs an apron and ties it behind his back effortlessly. You would've helped him just to have an excuse to embrace him, but it seems that he was showing off with that one handed move. Rolling your eyes, you pay attention to his clear instruction. Don't cover the pot, stir generously while he cracks the eggs expertly on the counter. The whole recipe is easy enough as he eyeballs all the spices, adding more to taste as the pot bubbles and the scent of savoury soup wafts around the kitchen and replacing the smell of flour.

“Where'd you learn that?”

“There was a cook at one of the orphanages we were at.” Hobie smiles fondly as he chops up a slice of ham. “Taught me all the easy ones, said that it'll come in handy. Gave me all the tips to not starve out there.”

“And it did come in handy, now you're teaching it to me so I don't starve.” You poke his side then half hug him.

“I can't have my favourite medic sleep while hungry, innit? ‘sides, we're lucky, we have ham now.” He drops all the pieces of meat on the pot. It's not a generous amount of course, on the account of the fact that the whole crew needs to eat too. He notices your stare as you stir the soup. “I can add more if you want.”

“Nope, I'm good, Hobie. This is just a snack.”

He can't help but smile with a fond faraway look in his grey eyes. “Our little secret then.”

You turn to him, all smiles and affection rolling off of your body as you gently hold his cheek. “I'll add it to our list of secrets.”

[sevenop]

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: And The GRAMMY Goes To…

A/N: And even though you may be incredibly comfortable with Billy in every possible way, singing is kind of taboo. You've never sung in Bill's presence due to your shyness, but everything changes when you're so absorbed in the music in your headphones while cleaning that you don't notice her return. And you sing. Singing her songs, dressed head to toe in her stuff. Eilish goes crazy.

You're always looking forward to being alone. No, not that your feelings for Eilish are a theatrical sham, absolutely and categorically not. It's just that singing next to the seven-time winner of the prestigious Grammy Music Awards is pure suicide for your sense of confidence, despite all the mind-blowing love you have for O'Connell herself. "Made worse" by cohabitation, because living with a girl who has great taste in music and who has music playing literally twenty-four by seven in her house is a factor that clearly doesn't make it any easier to hide your little secret. So yes, you do look forward to being alone, even though you feel genuinely sad when Billie isn't around.

Literally a month has passed since the last time, and you're thanking all the gods when Eilish suddenly calls up the label to sort out some sort of issue with the promo that has started. With the recent release of third album, it's almost impossible to hold back the smile at the moment of forgiveness: the excitement is still bubbling in your blood, reinforced by the realization that you can sing your new favorite songs at the top of your lungs without any embarrassment.

"Are you up to something?" - the blue seas opposite look at you with warmth, and the smile on your face is beautiful mirrored on her face. Billie has always been perceptive and empathetic.

"Nothing but cleaning."

"Am I allowed to start being jealous of my dirty clothes yet?" - Eilish quirks an eyebrow upward skeptically, but the smile never leaves her face. - "I've never seen people so excited about cleaning."

A gentle kiss on aquophore-covered lips, a whisper in her ear asking for a quick return and you are beyond suspicion - the obsidian-black Dodge is riding, leaving you alone with your only devoted accomplice in the face of Shark. The phone screen flashes a green Spotify icon almost instantly. Your time has come!

×××

"Come on, boy! Sing along with me!"

And even if you don't hear the dog barking in the noise of the music that beats in ear headphones, him contented muzzle and actively wagging tail are more than eloquent. Having bravely dealt with dirty things, you suddenly found that you temporary have nothing to wear, so you borrowed the first oversize shorts and a colorful T-shirt from Eilish's wardrobe. Next tasks - dusting, loading the first batch of washed clothes into the dryer, and mopping the floors, what are you doing now. The last item on your makeshift list. Euphorically singing the last track, playing the third album for the second time, you release your playlist into free swimming, controlled only by Spotify algorithms. After a couple of trucks, you hear a familiar rhythmic thrill and a languid exhale - "Oxytocin". So good.

Shark hurriedly runs somewhere, but you don't pay it any mind, only intercepting the mop handle like a microphone stand.

×××

"My girl, I'm home!"

It's the only thing Billie says before she stands frozen at the doorway to the living room. Her hand intercepts the car keys she'd been coquettishly twirling on her index finger at the last moment, for the sudden sight before her is far more coquettish and startling. Shark barks happily, running up to her, causing Billie to shush the pet with a hasty shush. Her hands immediately fumble for her cell phone in her shorts pocket - it's a sin not to capture at least a few seconds.

"Cause as long as you're still breathing, don't you even think of leaving," you sing languidly, almost touching the handle of the improvised microphone with your lips.

Billie only swallows, realizing the hot knot between her legs tightening the longer she watches your performance. In her eyes are hungry blue flames, ready to lick you from head to toe. The impulse to strip you of her own clothes, so insanely appropriate for you but interfering with her contemplation now, is interrupted by a clever idea. Her phone dives back into her pocket. A few hurried steps outside of your attention and she's already at the rack of numerous statuettes, a few more and you almost gasp at the last words of the song, seeing the weighty Grammy statue right in front of you, clasped in her hand, followed by the feeling of Eilish pressing against your back. Insanely close. Insanely hot. Your hands grip the phone shakily, poking at 'stop' and the mop promptly sheds to the floor, hitting audibly. You've been caught red-handed.

"I think this is rightfully yours, girl," Billie whispers and grins deftly into your ear, interlocking your fingers on the cold gold of the gramophone.

"Billie, I-"

"Shh, you better tell me how long it's been since I've known about this," her tongue makes a hot stroke on the curl of your ear, biting down gently on the lobe, catching your ragged exhale with pleasure, - "How many concerts have I missed already, Y/n?"

You're at a loss, not knowing what to say. Eilish's hands, tugging at the edges of her own T-shirt, which you're wearing, don't seem to be helping you concentrate. Oh yeah, add to that the fear that you might drop Grammy on the floor right now if she continues.

"I... I can't exactly say, I do this whenever... when you're not around, I'm sorry."

Eilish's hands only lead higher, up to your chest, placing a hickey on your neck with some mysterious throaty purr and licking it off immediately, burning you with her heated breath. You reflexively give her more access.

"Wow, how much did I miss," - the bite on your collarbone, your new quiet moan, - "Can I count on a private concert?".

The three tattooed fairies on her left arm flicker, barely releasing your gaze downward - the knot on her your shorts immediately comes undone, giving her easy access.

"Sing to me, Y/n. Sing all my songs."

And you sing. Only for her. In bedroom, mixed lyrics with moans.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon 2 Prompt #4

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Teen

Prompt: Pre-relationship, Dabi gets hit with a quirk that makes him cry and Shigaraki is very into it from @oh-deerio

Contents: Quirk mishap, Dacryphilia, undernegotiated kink

The scuffle with the dregs of the Yakuza as they travel around trying to find a new place to put down their roots is annoying, but not really that big of a deal. None of the Yakuza grunts who escaped the attack on their base have been particularly difficult for them to deal with and this batch hasn't been either. 

He just isn't all that thrilled when he catches a stray quirk shot from Toga's fight and is suddenly stumbling with pain radiating out from beneath his eyes and moving upwards, a red mist starting to cloud his vision. He throws out his hand and makes sure to turn the guy to ash before she gets in close again to take care of him, and that clears the warehouse. 

"Watch where you're directing shots, brat," He snaps in her direction. His breath hitches slightly when the words finish and he realizes, with embarrassment flooding his skin, that he's crying. That the red and ache are the bloody tears he has now instead of anything more normal. 

"Sorry, Dabi-- Oh, what's wrong? Did it hurt?" Toga gets up in his face, and he puts his entire palm over hers as he tries to wipe away the tears from his face with his other. But he's still crying. He can't make himself stop. 

"It doesn't hurt!" He says quickly. "I just can't make it stop." 

"Jesus Christ, dude," Spinner says, "Are your eyes melting? Fuck do we even have any first-aid stuff anymore?" 

"I'm not hurt, gecko. His quirk just must make people cry. I don't have tear ducts anymore, this is what they do instead." He tells the rest of the group. 

"Well that is inconvenient," Mister says, moving up to his side and producing a marble. He extracts a box of tissues from it and Dabi takes it so he can stop just smearing the blood around on his face. "But hopefully it should wear off soon. If not, Toga might be giving you a transfusion." 

"Loot the bodies," Shigaraki barks, his tone sharper than Dabi has heard it in weeks, "And let's move. We don't want to still be here if anyone heard the commotion and comes to check it out." Dabi's almost grateful that he doesn't bother to baby him. He isn't sad, isn't hurting, he just needs for all of them to move on until this quirk fades. 

///

They end up getting enough yen off of the bodies to be able to do their favorite trick to extend their funds. Twice makes two doubles of the largest notes they get off of the bodies and then they send Mister to get the bills made into a larger note elsewhere, Twos doubles them again, and they manage to come away enough yen to actually find a little motel out of the way to share a room for the night. Most of them will be on the dirty floor, but it's better than sleeping in an abandoned building and they can actually shower and even wash their clothes in the tub. Dabi is fine being made into a personal dryer, because when the others are clean, Shig sends them back out to go get them some real food too which he absolutely needs after using his quirk so liberally earlier. He can't go because he's too noticeable, and he would definitely get even more given that he is still crying intermittently three hours after the fight. 

Fine by him, they have an outlet and he plants himself right by it to charge his phone as Shig sits on the bed, his nails biting into his neck as he charges his game while they wait for the others to return. Shigaraki hasn't spoken a word directly to him since before the fight, and even now he is sitting on the edge of the bed, fully turned away from him, like he's desperately trying to pretend that he left with the others. Normally, Dabi would be perfectly happy to just exist quietly in the other's space, but given how weird Shigaraki has been since this quirk hit him, he can't leave well enough alone. He stands up and cracks his neck, letting the tears trickle down his cheeks as he moves over to the other side of the room to put his face right in Duster's. 

"So what's wrong with you, nerd? Scared of a little blood? Guess turning people into dust leaves a different kind of mess." He gives him a loose, shit-eating smile as red eyes catch on the tears slipping over his cheeks before they move up to his own. 

Dabi isn't expecting there to be so much... heat in those eyes when the lock on him. "I don't mind the blood, Dabi." He says in that strangely intense way he speaks sometimes that makes Dabi's skin prickle. 

"Sure you don't." He says, rolling his eyes and straightening up because he can feel the tears getting to his chin and he doesn't want to ruin his shirt. He moves to grab a fresh tissue to clean them up, but he isn't expecting Shigaraki to stand from the bed like a cobra uncoiling to strike. Dabi takes a jerky step back, sparks flicking up from his skin and making his whole body ache after how much he's already used his quirk today, instinctively wanting to get out of Shigaraki's space to keep him from being able to use his deadly quirk on him. 

But the room is small and Shigaraki had been on the far side of the bed, leaving Dabi stumbling back, his spine hitting the wall hard a split second before Shigaraki's forearm is braced beside his head and he has two fingers grinding into his chest to keep him in place. The threat is slightly mitigated because the other man doesn't look angry and he has his other three fingers tucked completely into his palm so there isn't any chance of him slipping. 

"I don't," Shigaraki says, his voice a low rumble that Dabi has never heard out of him before, "Have a problem with blood. My problem," he moves his fingers up Dabi's chest to his chin, dropping his middle finger so he can catch his chin between his thumb and forefinger instead, thumb swiping through the bloody tears that were about to drip. "Is that I really like to make pretty little brats like you cry when I put them in their place, and you're very distracting like this, firefly." 

The amount of whiplash that Dabi receives in all of five seconds as he is made to confront the fact that: 1. Shigaraki has a crying fetish. 2. Shigaraki is not a bumbling virgin. 3. And Shigaraki is a top, which might actually break his brain. It, in fact, breaks it so badly that Dabi's immediate defense mechanism kicks in. 

"Oh yeah? Whatchya gonna do about that, boss?" 

Which, he may realize about half a second after the words are off of his tongue, could constitute as 'asking for it'. Certainly doesn't make it seem like it's out of nowhere when Shigaraki holds his chin tight so he can bring their lips together in a rough kiss that absolutely steals Dabi's breath before his other hand is catching the edge of his coat in four fingers and the scrawny fuck is proving he's got more muscle than Dabi thought he did by hauling him around and pushing him back down on the bed. 

"Red for stop, Dabi. Otherwise all I want to hear out of you are sobs." Shigaraki speaks as he pulls on his sleep gloves. 

Dabi really hopes he's not blushing as the other man climbs down on the bed with him, caging him in against the mattress. "The door--" He was looking for a way to dig himself out of this hole without showing how inexperienced he is with a hookup when the person actually wants him without either of them being plastered, but Shigaraki doesn't miss a beat. 

"No one's going to walk in, firefly. They're gonna be able to hear you crying and begging for more from halfway down the hall." 

He is going to completely blame it on the quirk when those words make his skin hot and a soft, needy sob slips out of his throat as Tomura leans down so he can lick away a track of his tears with a growl. 

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