#Oven Controlled Crystal

[jilio2clan]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/electromechanical--timing-devices--crystals/abs06-107-32-768khz-t-abracon-7036594

Oven Controlled Crystal, low profile crystal, crystal oscillator frequency

ABS06-107 Series 32.768 kHz ±20 ppm 4 pF -40 to +80 °C SMT Low ESR Crystal

[rssl2vnas]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/electromechanical--timing-devices--oscillators/cb3lv-3c-50m000000-cts-5629860

Resonator timing device manufacturers, Crystals, timing device manufacturers

50MHz ±50ppm 50pF HCMOS/TTL 55% 3.3V 4-Pin SMD Oscillator

[chandupalle]

The global Oven-Controlled Crystal Oscillator (OCXO) Market size is projected to grow from USD 464 million in 2023 to USD 528 million by 2028; it is expected to grow at a CAGR of 2.6% from 2023 to 2028.

[aliengirlnini]

Tkatb headcanons!

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Sol

The type of person tu cut in line

Got that roblox cheat mod

Sometimes he walks around with both hands inside of his pocket to look cool and mysterious but get made fun of instead

Would say something religious when crowe is around just to piss him off while knowing that crowe is an atheist

If he sits on a grass field he literally cannot stop himself from plucking the grass

Crowe

Bite his nails only when he is super anxious

Used to wear glasses in middle school but take them off after a few months cuz he thinks he looks ugly

Got a few light burn scars on his hands because he always forget to wear an oven gloves while baking something

Thinks video game can cause violence

Bought a professional camera to take pictures of himself near an open water area but accidentally knocked the camera down and it fell onto the water like mr. harrington did from that one scene in spiderman far from home

Geo

"ts pmo" on a video of happy family

Watch tv shows drama with a straight face, no emotions whatsoever. He said he doesn't like it but prosesed to watch another episode. (especially those love triangle dynamic when a poor, broke ass girl likes a guy from a rich family and there's always this one bitch that get in the way of their relationship)

Before getting a septum piercing, he was thinking about getting a bridge piercing but changed his mind (it would look really cool if he actually got one)

Always got a lavender scented hand sanitizer with him (his ass would NOT share it with anyone bruh)

Apply medicated oil 24/7 even when he's completely fine

Hyugo

Lost appetite if his food touches eachother. Not in a rice touch the curry way but in a slice of watermelon touches the chips way

Participated in that one clown sighting incident back in 2016

Can't control his mouth and would make fun of everyone and everything but feels guilty asf right after

"Ermm... professor, you forgot about the homework🤓☝" Only if he did his homework but will hate another person who said it when he didn't do his

He likes to spray paint random words and shapes on an abandoned building wall

Deryl

Always pushed people to the ground on accident at the cafeteria because he moves a LOT. Like, his hands and arms doesn't get any breaks

Show people "cursed image" from pinterest everyday and expect them to genuinely laugh

Loves surfboarding

The middle seat in the back of a car is his favorite

He is very easy to scare. Tell him that sonic exe is going to sneak into his house at 3am, he'll shit his pants even if he knows it's not true

Brittney

She has a camcorder/old phone with her everytime and everywhere to record random stuff or generally just blogging

Would ask the group to participate in a dancing trend with her (geo is forced to join)

Collect crystals. Her favorites are rose quartz and agate

DIY queen. Clothes, accessories, room decor, gifts, and much more

Anything red velvet flavoured? She devours them all

Jessie

Her #1 fictional crush is reagan ridley from inside job

Eat seafood boil everyweek with the gang (since it's canon that she loves seafood) + i feel like jess wouldn't like eggs so she gives them to deryl instead (he needs the protein!)

Has lactose intolerant

I just know she has a lot of posters hanging on her walls

Mostly buy organic stuff or food/drink/snacks etc etc with little to no ingredients. Chocolate? She only eat the one with 85% cacao, no sugar, no gluten, no soy ingredients no additives, no artificial shit, no chemicals no anything that is not organic

[syluspeach]

Pairing: Dark!50’s Husband Caleb x Housewife!Reader

Drabble: You step out of line and Caleb punishes you for it

Trigger warning: Spanking as punishment, belt used to bond reader, possessive!caleb, alcohol consumption, misogyny, unstable!caleb, controlling!caleb, 1950s themes

This contains dark subjects that may be upsetting to some readers.

He knew. Of course, he knew. He had eyes everywhere. His spies were nothing but a bunch of rats, scurrying along the streets, keeping tabs on you. You couldn’t go anywhere without someone recognizing you.

Being the wife of the infamous Air Force pilot was not what you thought it would be.

The once-beloved high school sweetheart was turned into a man you could no longer recognize. War and death had turned him into an unrecognizable enigma. He looked the same, but his actions were harsh, words insulting and belittling.

He must be in there somewhere, beneath the colonel outfit and medals. There was no way death had scarred him so.

You tried to focus on cooking the casserole, he would be home soon, but the incident from the grocery store hung heavily on your shoulders. You didn’t mean to bump into Gideon, you were too busy looking at your list before your cart crashed into his wife’s, he just happened to be there.

He spoke to you with such ease, as if you were old friends. You only knew him because of your husband. Their time serving in the Air Force had made them inseparable but then came the wedding, and all of Caleb’s attention was used to make sure you didn’t step out of line.

You had tried to keep your responses simple, ensuring you looked only at his wife, but he made sure to insert himself. You had no option other than to talk to him.

Caleb would find out. He’d find out and he’d make sure to handle you accordingly.

When Caleb’s Lincoln Continental could be heard in the driveway, you panicked. You hurriedly pulled the casserole out of the oven, setting it on the dining room table alongside smoked ham and peach cobbler.

You tugged off your frilly yellow apron, shoving it into a random cabinet. You’d put it away later.

Your wedding band clinked against the crystal glass as you hastily prepped his daily Old Fashioned. Some spilled along your shaky fingers, staining the lovely tablecloth.

Brushing your hair into place with your fingers and fluffing the skirt of your dress, you smiled as Caleb stepped through the door.

“Welcome home, honey!” You beamed the practiced line, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Dinner’s ready.”

Reaching for his coat, you flinched as he removed it himself. He even hung it on one of the hooks. Your kitten heels clicked along the vinyl flooring as you followed him through the house.

“I made a potato casserole tonight. Thought we could try something different! I got it from a woman at the salon the other day. Said her whole family liked it.

He hummed, offering an unenthusiastic, “That’s nice.”

He sat at the head of the table, silverware hitting the porcelain plates, the scraping of the butter knife, irritating your ears.

He was quiet. He’d usually ask how your day went, offering tidbits from his own.

He knew. He knew you had stepped out of line. He knew you had spoken to another man.

You couldn’t enjoy the dinner you had spent so long making. The herbs and spices tasted bland on your tongue. The fats settle heavily in your stomach. Glancing at him, you noticed his drinking glass was empty.

“Oh, you finished your drink! Let me get you another-”

He shoved his seat back.

“No need. I can do it.”

“Honey, you shouldn’t worry about that. I’ll-”

You had tried to stand up, yet his firm hand kept you in place.

“I can do it.”

He disappeared through the kitchen’s threshold. Cabinets opened and closed. You couldn’t eat. Just as you had stood from the table, he reappeared, your apron in hand.

“Care to tell me why your apron was in with the canned goods?”

“Oh, silly me!” You laughed. “I must have put it there by accident. Remember the time I placed the butter in with the dishes? Here, let me take that.”

Your fingers brushed the yellow fabric, but it was taken from you before you could grab it.

“What did you do?”

His eyes were cold. The warmth he used to offer was gone, replaced with a cowl that was meant to be used to intimidate others, not his wife.

“Nothing.” Your breathless tone didn’t go unheard.

He stepped towards you, crowding you against the dinner table, the contents shaking as your hip bumped against it.

“Your apron was shoved onto a random shelf, your hair is out of place, and there’s a scuff mark on your right shoe. What’s going on in that confused little mind of yours, birdie?”

You swallowed the saliva that filled your mouth, fingers clutching the tablecloth below you.

“I’m just-just a little flustered.” You caught your breath before continuing. “I wanted to make sure I got the recipe right. What kind of wife would I be if I served you something inedible?”

His fingers grasped your jaw, his eyes burning into yours.

“No. That’s not it, is it?” He whispered. “There’s something you’re not telling me. What did you do?”

“You already know.” You said, slipping from his grasp and into the kitchen.

You needed to put the leftovers away or they’d spoil.

“I want to hear you say it.”

You fluttered about the kitchen. His eyes followed you, burning holes into your flustered skin. When his chest pressed against your back, you froze.

“I gave you an order. I expect you to follow it.” His words were menacing. “Tell me, what did you do?”

“I spoke to another man.”

At the sound of him taking a deep breath, you scurried to the opposite side of the counter.

“Caleb, please! I’m so sorry!” You begged. “It was an accident! I was at the grocery store and I accidentally crashed the cart into his wife’s. I swear-I swear I didn’t want to talk to him! But he kept interjecting! Please, please, please, believe me! I would never go against you! I tried to talk to her only but-”

“I must say, I’m surprised, birdie. I never thought I’d see the day you would deliberately lie to me.” He walked away, standing at the threshold. He was blocking your way out. “Thank you for telling me the truth, but now, we need to deal with the fact that you lied to me.”

The familiar clinking sound of the metal from his belt caught your attention. Looking up, you felt the familiar wave of nausea. His eyes burned into you, refusing to look away.

Your eyes burned from the unshed tears and your bottom lip quivered as fear overtook your mind.

“Caleb, please…please don’t do-”

“It’s too late for tears, birdie. I gave you orders and you decided to ignore them. Now, come here.” He curled his finger at you, the belt dangling from his fist mocking you.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

Caleb’s eyes widened slightly before a scowl appeared. He stepped towards you, causing you you flinch back. You would’ve run away but he knew you better than anyone. Predicting your actions, he grabbed you by the arm, tugging you back over the counter.

You fought him. With all your might you tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge. His form was imposing, carrying the strength you lacked. In the end, your wrists were bound by his belt against your lower back and your cheek laid against the cold granite.

“Caleb, please.”

He didn’t speak, only his heavy breathing could be heard as he flipped your skirt up, exposing your bare bottom.

“So, you can listen.” He commented on the fact that you had forgone panties, one of his many rules. “Guess you like to pick and choose what you want to listen to.”

“Why won’t you listen to me?” You cried as the first spank landed on your rear.

The blood rushing to your ears blocked out all other sounds. You could feel his wide palm leaving harsh marks on your pretty skin. You would be left with the bruises for the coming days, your skin would sting all hours of the day. Tears that fell from your eyes pooled on the heated countertop along with your drool.

When he finally stopped, all you could do was cry. You had a hard time catching your breath, the air coming out in short, rough gasps.

“There there, birdie. Shh, no more crying, yeah? Did so well f’me.” He said as he freed your arms, turning you around, and lifting you onto the counter.

The chill offered your hot skin some relief. Stepping in between your spread thighs, Caleb tucked your face against his chest, his arms coming around you. Yours copied him without a second thought.

You hated how easily your body responded to him, whether it was during sex or moments where he comforted you after punishments. Your reactions were all the same.

With tears causing your eyes to sting, you clung to him, unfazed that you were wrinkling the shirt you had spent so much time ironing. His cheek nuzzled against your head, and his hands splayed across your waist.

“I do this because I love you. You need me to guide you just as much as I need you to keep me sane. You understand that, right?”

Through snot and tears, you replied with a shaky yes.

His arms tightened around you.

“I can’t let you go.” He whispered into your hair. “No matter how much you fight me, no matter how much you hate me, I’ll never let you get away from me. You need me.”

[kvetchlandia]

<Sigh>

It looks like absolutely the worst has come to pass in the United States. It appears Trump will be re-elected and that his cult will control both houses of Congresses. A bigger nightmare is hard to imagine. This result speaks very badly of the American people. I'm not a Democrat, I'm not particularly fond of Harris and her boring, status quo politics. But Trump, the venal, racist, misogynistic, corrupt, multiply convicted felon and serial liar, was known to everyone. His racism is no secret, nor is his sexism. His crudeness is everywhere and his self-interest should really have been apparent to all, since it's been in the press and online constantly for years. Yet in spite of this, it looks like he and his lackeys, toadies and lickspittles will be running this country for the foreseeable future, much to the detriment of everyone on the planet, because the voting majority of the American people chose to either reward those things or to ignore them. And the result? I don't have a crystal ball, but I know what's been promised. Women's right to control their own body? It's gone. Hell, there are members of the Trump Cult who even want to move against birth control and in vitro fertilization. Project 2025? Much of it will be enacted, if not all of it. The courts will be filled with fundamentalists and fanatics who will gut social and consumer protections and force Christian dogma down all of our throats. The environment will be destroyed. And everyone who voted for Trump and for his cult members knew this and chose to vote for them anyway. This is just too much to take.

I'm too depressed to say anything else. When I calm down I'll come back and engage in my usual posting silliness. Well, either that or I'll fucking stick my head in the oven. Oh, don't worry. My oven is electric. All that'll happen is I'll scorch my eyebrows.

[iggyshippingcorner]

okay so the sickfic has spiraled wildly out of control. it's at 2k words right now and i think the final is going to be around 5k... (sigh)

in the meantime! 1k words of Stone cooking that I wrote after baking dessert for an event last weekend. features: domestic stobotnik, some named badniks, and food as love language. mostly canon compliant, takes place sometime in the crab era :3

working at the hardened mass of brown sugar with slightly damp palms. the cheesecake is in the oven, cyan watching it with rapt focus through the glass. he’s refilling the baking supplies in the crab’s kitchen while he waits for the timer to go off. the brown sugar solidified into a brick of molasses while it waited on the counter, and while there are quicker ways to soften the sugar, he’s always preferred this method. small crystals cling to the grooves of his fingers and palms as he kneads at the brick, humming quietly to the music oni plays from her vantage point. a large clump breaks off from the brick, and he rolls it between his palms until it begins to crumple, and he deposits his fresh handful in the waiting jar. 

he dusts his sugar-coated hands off over the sink. a quick rinse to make sure he isn’t leaving crumbs across the whole kitchen. the terracotta disc gets a quick rinse as well, the old clumps of brown sugar clinging to it sloughing off under the spray. he towels it dry, revealing the familiar sparrow with its forked tail and sparse plumage. it goes in the jar, pressed down into the sugar to tamp it flat. with its labelled lid screwed back on, it returns to its designated spot in the cabinet beyond the marzocco. after the brown sugar comes the flour, a hefty glass jar with a bail lid that came from his own apartment. nearly empty. he scrapes out the last two cups and sets them aside, rolling up his sleeves as he wrangles the new bag of flour. 

alpha’s bzzt-brrp! from his perch above the fridge heralds the doctor’s arrival. stone doesn’t turn around so much as he drifts to a more interruptible task and then allows the doctor to step comfortably into his personal space, arms winding around his middle. his chin digs into stone’s clavicle. they don’t speak, not yet, just stand swaying slightly as he sets the kettle to boil and begins perusing their steadily growing tea collection. as much as the doctor despises switching things up, he’s been surprisingly accepting of stone introducing some diversity to his caffeine intake.

there’s clementines in the bowl by the marzocco, and the doctor reaches past stone to snag one. he rewards the snack choice with a silent shift, his elbow squeezing robotnik’s forearm to his ribs more securely. there’s the gentlest rumble of a laugh against his shoulder-blades. he tips his head to one side, curious, but the doctor doesn’t offer any explanation. just leans in and bumps his cheek against stone’s ear, moustache tickling his jaw and lips. 

“back to the grind,” he says, a touch too loud for how close he is. stone squeezes him again just because he can, and then lets him disentangle himself. “ETA?”

stone flicks the oven light on, and they both crouch in front of the glass once cyan shuttles away with a dejected zzzrr. the cheesecake bubbles quietly. stone checks the egg timer. “another hour. hungry?”

“biding my time,” robotnik hums, and waves the orange at him. “curry tonight?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” stone replies, like he wouldn’t carve the moon from the sky with his bare hands if the doctor asked him to. “what were you thinking?” 

“surprise me,” the doctor says, all magnanimous, which stone knows to mean reasonably spicy, and containing either lamb or pork. he graciously allows stone to steal the clementine from his hands, watching impassively as he quickly, efficiently peels it over the sink, and returns the exposed heart of it to his waiting hand. he pops one of the slices into his mouth and when the flesh splits between his teeth, stone has to take a slow, measured inhale. robotnik eyes him, but he just smiles, easy, agreeable. “I’ll send cyan to you when dinner’s ready.”

“sounds good,” the doctor nods, and leans in for an entirely unprompted kiss on the cheek that leaves stone blushing in the artificial sunlight of the crab’s kitchen windows. he shuffles out of the kitchen, peeled clementine in hand. stone watches him leave. cyan beeps eagerly from her post in front of the oven, and it breaks his reverie. 

“alright, alright. let me get in there,” he laughs, grabbing the oven mitts. 

the cheesecake comes out perfect. he has to swat multiple badniks and one robotnik away from it while it cools, and wrestles it into the fridge to chill properly despite more than a few protests (“this is a perfect time to test the liquid nitrogen chamber!”). 

dinner is a quiet affair crammed side by side at the island, legs tangled beneath the counter. the doctor steals more than a few pieces of lamb off his plate, and begrudgingly eats a few extra pieces of bell pepper in exchange. when they finally cut into the cheesecake, stone drinks in the sight of his doctor’s first bite-- the way his eyebrows raise a little, the way he assesses and catalogues consistency, texture, flavour. how his nose scrunches a little and he grins toothily down at his plate in appreciation. 

“excellent again, stone,” he says. such direct and genuine praise calls for a little preening, even if it causes robotnik to smack his arm and nearly send his own slice of cheesecake flying. the doctor snickers as he rights himself on his stool again, and accepts the retaliatory forehead kiss.

they drink tea on the couch afterwards, watching some telenovela while pretending (badly) to not notice the way they gravitate closer and closer, until robotnik’s head is in stone’s lap and both mugs are on the coffee table. stone is trained better than to fall asleep while the doctor provides running commentary on the anarrative arcs at play in the episode, but he would be a liar if he claimed his eyes never drifted shut listening to the familiar cadence of his doctor’s voice filling the warm space between them. his tangents ebb and lull like the waves overhead, their quiet domesticity concealed within the crab, far from the prying eyes of the world.

[chilling-seavey]

Winter Warmers: Day 8 — Holiday Decorating/Baking

↳ Summary: Baking with little ones means your kitchen ends up a disaster. But perhaps there's magic in that.

↳ Word Count: 835

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

Flour dusted the countertops like fresh snow, little handprints dotted through the soft powder in messy stamps. You had tried to clean as you went but with two kids under five, it was nearly impossible to do it all. Besides, you had learned through your first few years of motherhood that often the best memories were the messiest. 

With the scent of vanilla and gingerbread wafting through the air, the kitchen was alive with festive baking and the excited laughter of your children. The kids were standing on a step stool at the island side by side in matching Christmas aprons, your two-year-old daughter desperately insisting she help mix the batter for the next batch of cookies. However, her youthful ungracefulness meant she was more so flinging the batter out of the bowl rather than actually mixing, her face scrunched up in concentration with her tongue poking out the side of her mouth. Beside her, her big brother was icing freshly baked and cooled gingerbread cookies on a sheet. 

As you tried to control your daughter’s attempt at mixing, George tried his best to wipe down some of the counters in the brief moment of the lull in chaos. But then your five-year-old son called out a whiny, “Daddy.”

George glanced over to see the little boy holding up his hands to him with a pout, sticky icing all over his palms and fingers. George didn’t need instruction before walking over and taking the damp cloth to his little sticky fingers to clean the worst of it off. 

With a sweet “thank you”, the little boy turned back to his decorating. 

“It’s looking really good, buddy.” George complimented. 

“That’s you.” your son pointed to one of the gingerbread men donning what looked like an outfit made out of blue icing and a lopsided smiley face made of white icing. 

“Yeah?” George grinned, giving his little back a rub, “It looks just like me!”

You smiled, watching the way George leaned into the moment, his usual clean-and-tidy demeanor relaxing in the face of little flour-dusted fingers and icing-covered cheeks. Suddenly, from beside you, your daughter gave a particularly enthusiastic stir, sending a cloud of sugar and flour all over you. 

She let out a giggling, “Oops.”

“Okay,” you said with a soft chuckle, brushing some flour off her nose before you were reaching to take the wooden spoon from her, “maybe Mommy can finish mixing this one.”

“No!” the toddler yanked the spoon out of your reach, determined to do it herself. 

“Just to finish it up. You already did a wonderful job.” you tried. 

With you busy with your daughter, George reached across the island to grab the jar of festive sprinkles, offering them out to the little boy, “Need any of these?”

The little one gasped excitedly, “Yes!”

George helped him open the lid and passed it over into his small hands, barely able to offer a reminder of ‘pinch and sprinkle’ before your son was dumping half the container onto the tray of cookies. Festive candies and sugar crystals bounced all over the cookie sheet and off the side of the counter to the floor, peppering the entire kitchen. 

“Oh…wow…” George gently guided the now nearly empty sprinkle container out of your son’s hand, “That’s…certainly plenty, that.” 

With the dough fully mixed with only a bit of reluctancy from your daughter over your assistance, you showed her how to take a bit of dough from the bowl and roll it in her hands before setting it on a greased cookie sheet. Her dough balls were a little lumpy and of varying sizes but she was beaming with pride at herself. 

George moved to the oven and bent down to check the batch that had been baking. “These are almost ready,” he said, his voice tinged with anticipation for the sake of the children as he stood up to face them again, “Think we’ll have enough for Santa?”

Your son looked up from his icing escapades with wide eyes, his mouth forming a small ‘o’ as if he’d just remembered the most important part of the holiday. He looked down at the decorated tray in front of him and then the tray being prepped by his little sister beside him before answering insistently, “No, we need more!” 

“Well, good thing we’ve got lots of dough,” you replied, catching George’s knowing smile from across the kitchen. 

Your husband crossed the room to share a quick kiss with you, flour from your daughter’s earlier antics that had coated your apron now smudged across his sweater as he pulled back. His hand gave your hip a squeeze and his other reached up to brush a stray bit of flour off your cheek.

“Worth the mess?” he murmured softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a fond smile.

“Definitely,” you agreed.

With one more kiss, George then turned back to the children and positioned himself between them, “Alright, little bakers, who’s ready to mix the next batch?”

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[mystra-midnight]

— FOLIE À DEUX | chapter vi

pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen x atreides ! ofc (leiana)

tags: heavy making-out. dry humping. female & male orgasm. tiny bit of breath play.

w/c: 3k.

a/n: i swear these two are horny teenagers that live in my head rent free, causing all kinds of chaos. feyd is very much inspired by how Rora at Sandworm: A Dune Roleplay, writes him. and so this chapter is very much dedicated to @sandwormrp. i hope you all enjoy! <3 <3

This had to be a mockery—there was no other explanation.

Feyd couldn't think of a single reason his uncle would insist on this dinner unless it were to taunt them. Vladimir Harkonnen was not a puzzle to be pieced together; every decision he made was calculated and intentional. And this—this extravagant, indulgent dinner—had a purpose behind it.

He only had to figure out what it was.

He sat across from his uncle, watching the grotesque display of gluttony with a mixture of fascination and revulsion. The Baron ate with obscene pleasure, each chunk of meat passing lips slick with grease, a sheen of fat glistening down the slope of his chin. His manner had no urgency—only the slow, calculated indulgence of a man who had never known hunger.

The table groaned under the weight of excess: roasted meats still steaming, loaves of bread warm and fresh from the oven, and wine the colour of fresh-spilled blood, pooling in crystal goblets like offerings to some deity of gluttony.

Leiana sat beside him, her tension palpable. From the corner of his eye, he caught the subtle flinch in her posture each time cutlery scraped against plates—a sound that needled at her nerves. It slithered beneath her skin like serpents, anxiety threading through her veins as though in search of something unnamed, something unseen.

The silence between them was dreadful, thick with the weight of words left unsaid, each one a blade waiting to be drawn. Leiana did not trust him—Feyd knew that as surely as he knew his name. He, in turn, harboured no faith in his uncle. And the Baron? The Baron trusted no one at all.

Leiana would not look at him.

It made him smirk—a devil's curve to his mouth.

He'd taken something from her, carved away a sliver of innocence when he had pinned her to the wall, his cock between her thighs, her arousal betraying her in silent pleasure. He knew it. Saw it. In the way she now avoided his gaze, and in those rare moments when she did look at him—how her eyes darkened, how colour bloomed high on her cheeks, shame and memory warring beneath her skin.

Leiana had scrubbed herself raw, desperate to wash away the memory of him—of his seed clinging to her like a brand. But it lingered, a haunting that was lovely in its intimacy and frightening in its intensity.

That had been two days ago; still, he had not returned Talitha to her.

Their arrangement was meant to be transactional—he had taken something, and in return, he owed her. It wasn't that he refused to pay his debt, only that he intended to do so on his own terms, in his own time, reminding her with every passing moment who truly held control.

Seconds bled into minutes. They ate in silence—at least, some did. Feyd watched from the corner of his eye as Leiana merely nudged the food on her plate. The Baron's grotesque indulgence had clearly soured her appetite. Feyd could almost hear the ticking in her head, the frantic pacing of her thoughts, and it amused him—until his uncle pushed aside his now-empty plate.

He wiped the remnants of his meal from his lips, and the back of his hand came away greasy. "It's time we discuss the wedding," he declared. Leiana bristled, the scrape of her knife against the plate sharp enough to make Feyd's jaw tighten.

He took a slow sip of his wine, eyes fixed on her as she set her cutlery down with deliberate grace, folding her hands in her lap—poised, composed, the perfect image of nobility. "Very well," she said, her voice smooth, as if she'd been waiting for this moment all along.

Feyd was impressed by her. She allowed only the faintest flicker of emotion to surface before masking it, her expression settling once more into practised poise. There was no denying it—she was her father's daughter, through and through.

"The wedding will be in a ten-day," the Baron said.

Feyd's gaze darkened. Ten days, and he would be a married man. It was a future he had never envisioned for himself—a life bound by vows, by ceremony. He could not picture himself as a dutiful husband any more than he could imagine Leiana in the role of a submissive wife.

And yet, if pressed, he could not deny that he saw her in his future—perhaps not clearly, not comfortably, but there all the same. And that, he thought, was a curious thing indeed.

It felt fated, as if the universe had conspired to place her in his path, to tether their lives in ways he couldn't unravel. And the more he dwelled on the pull he felt toward her—the depth of it, the urgency—the more it unsettled him, made him question whether it was desire alone. . .  or something more insidious.

But then he looked at her—truly looked—and saw her for what she was: stubborn, proud, even now. Especially now. It only made him want her more, his cock twitching within his trousers. She said nothing in response, offered no protest, only lifted her chin and held the Baron's spider-like gaze with defiant stillness. As though she'd been taught—by her mother, no doubt—not to flinch before monsters, not even the kind who made a sport of breaking women and witches alike.

The Baron continued, unconcerned by their opinions and seeking neither. "The ceremony will be first—where you will swear loyalty to each other and then to me." Those words hung heavily in the air—not House Harkonnen, to him, specifically. "There will be a feast where I expect civility from you, nephew."

All eyes turned to Feyd. Leiana's gaze lifted to meet his, green eyes locking with his darker ones, and for a moment—just a moment—he saw it: a flicker of fear, of vulnerability, as if she believed their secret had been exposed. Perhaps it had. His uncle's spies reached across the stars; nothing truly escaped the Baron's notice. But Feyd didn't care. She was to be his wife, and among House Harkonnen, there was no shame in claiming what was already his.

"Of course, Uncle," Feyd replied smoothly. He held his gaze, eyes locked in a silent challenge—one his uncle chose to disregard. For now.

"And the evening," the Baron continued, "will conclude with the bedding ceremony."

"Bedding ceremony?" Leiana spoke, at last, her voice edged with something cold, the corners of her mouth curling downward in displeasure. She had heard of such archaic traditions—barbaric, in her eyes. The bride stripped naked, paraded like a prize, and delivered to the marital bed where men might watch her husband claim her, fuck his seed—and hopefully an heir—into her womb.

"No."

There it was again—that word, flung like a curse.

Feyd tensed, as if her defiance had been aimed at him rather than his uncle. But it was not the word itself that unsettled him. He saw the shift in his uncle's eyes, how they narrowed and darkened, the subtle twitch of his jowls. His uncle was not a man accustomed to refusal. Feyd was unsettled by his own response—how his chest tightened, how his thoughts instinctively turned toward shielding her.

"It is tradition," the Baron said, as though the weight of custom alone could bend her will.

But Leiana didn't flinch. She held his gaze. Her body was taut, every muscle coiled—as though daring him to try. There was steel in her stillness, a quiet refusal that could not be shattered. He could strike her, try to break her, but she would not yield. Her defiance was clear: her body would not become a spectacle for the beasts that marched beneath the Harkonnen banner.

"Not on Caladan," she shot back, her chin lifted in quiet defiance. Leiana was every inch the noble daughter—poised, regal, untouchable. There was pride in her, the kind that dared consequence, that begged to be broken, and Feyd couldn't look away. Something familiar coiled in his blood, heat stirring low as he watched her hold her ground against his uncle.

"A pity for you, then, that we are not on Caladan, Lady Atreides."

"A pity indeed," she replied. "But the fact remains—there will be no bedding ceremony."

"This is not a negotiation."

"Everything is a negotiation, Baron Harkonnen. We need only settle on the price."

It wouldn't matter whether he agreed or not—not truly. His loyalists could force themselves on her, tear away silk and dignity alike, bruise her flesh, and claim her not as a bride but as an example. Or rather, they could try.

Leiana was no helpless girl fumbling with half-learned tricks. With a single command, she could make them fall upon their own blades, tear out their tongues, or offer their manhood to the desert vultures before a single hand touched her skin.

She would not break. She would make them bleed for the attempt.

A heavy silence settled over the room, thick and suffocating. Even the walls were holding their breath. "Six men," he offered gruffly, as though paring down the number somehow made it more palatable—a lesser cruelty than a hall of leering witnesses. Again, the pause stretched. The room remained frozen, suspended in the delicate moment.

"One," she said firmly.

"Six," he repeated. "And they won't touch you at the feast."

"One. And none of them will lay a hand on me."

"Six," he insisted. "And they'll wait inside the bedchamber."

"One, Baron Harkonnen," she said, her voice cold steel. "One man of your choosing to witness the consummation. Feyd will be the only one permitted to touch me—or I swear, every child he fucks into my womb will wither and die, as though my body were a grave. You'll have no heir. Neither of you will."

Her words cut deep, striking at a dangerous subject long whispered through the halls of the Imperium. The Baron had never taken a wife or a lover, and he had never sired a successor. The rumours were legion, vile, and persistent, painting him not merely as a tyrant but as something far more monstrous.

Feyd caught the faint twitch at the corner of his uncle's mouth—as subtle as it was ominous. The Baron's emotions bled through him like poison in water: fury, humiliation, a hunger for vengeance. There was no admiration for her defiance, no trace of amusement in her audacity, only the cold, calculated urge to silence her, to crush what dared to rise.

But Feyd? He felt something entirely different stir within him. Heat. Hunger. Arousal.

He was used to submission. To fear. People shrank beneath the shadow of his uncle—and his own. But not her. Leiana stood there, bartering the terms of her body as though this marriage had been her choice, as though she hadn't been cornered into it.

And fuck, if that wasn't arousing.

He had known strength all his life—sharp, brutal, unforgiving. Blood and bone, iron and flame. But she. . . she had tasted pain only briefly, and yet she wore it like armour when it mattered, without letting it strip the softness from her heart. And that—that fascinated him.

"You should retire for the evening," the Baron said, and it was not a suggestion.

Feyd watched her rise, her movements steeped in the quiet grace of victory. She wore it well. Feyd watched her with a predator's focus, something possessive curling in his gut as she turned and swept from the room like a queen leaving court.

He let the silence stretch, just long enough for the weight of his uncle's gaze to shift and settle—inevitably—on him.

"You would do well to tame her, nephew. And quickly." The words were mild, but the meaning beneath them was unmistakable—break her, and do it swiftly. Brutally, if need be. And yet. . . wasn't that exactly what she expected of them?

"Of course, uncle."

He had already risen, striding from the room. Her anger carried her swiftly, but he caught her with ease, seizing her by the upper arm—his grip rough enough to promise bruises. Leiana twisted, trying to tear herself free, but he dragged her through a nearby doorway and into a side corridor.

With a shove, he forced her into an alcove, her back hitting the wall hard enough to send a shiver of pain up her spine. The last light of the setting sun spilled through the high windows, casting long shadows across them as silence surged in to replace their footsteps.

Before she could speak, his mouth was on hers, swallowing the protest from her lips before it ever found life. His hunger surged, insatiable—molten and aching, sweet as honey yet burning just the same. The taste of her only stoked the fire in his blood. Feyd braced for resistance, for her hands to push him away—only to find none.

And that, more than anything, caught him off guard.

She pulled him closer, fingers clutching at him with urgency until not even air could slip between them. He let out a low breath of amusement, the memory of their first kiss flickering through his mind—the fire of it, the tension. He remembered how she had tried to pull away, how instinct had warred with desire—only for her body to betray her, how she'd pressed her body into his as if she'd been made for him. 

As if submission had been woven into her bones, waiting for him to claim it.

He chased her mouth with his teeth, enjoying the breathy gasp she gave in response. His hands slid down to the curve of her backside, fingers digging in possessively, hard enough to leave marks. 

"You'll never speak to him like that again—not unless I'm present," he growled between heated kisses, swallowing the soft, broken sighs that slipped from her mouth like morning dew.

She made a sound—half protest, half defiance—but he silenced it with his tongue, deepening the kiss until thought itself blurred. His hands fisted the fabric of her dress, dragging it up around her hips before sliding to the back of her thighs, lifting her easily, curling her legs around his waist. He rutted against her, cock hard and straining beneath the layers between them, a shudder running down his spine at the maddening heat of her pressed against him.

He ached to have her naked beneath him, to feel the slick heat of her without layers in the way—her softness, wet and wanting, pressed flush against him, wrapped around him. She parted her lips to speak, but he caught her mouth in a deeper kiss, fierce and consuming, a wordless command: don't speak.

"Feyd—" his name escaped her in a breathless whisper, "stop— someone might— they'll hear—"

Each word was broken by a kiss—desperate, laced with hunger, hers, his, it didn't matter—wet, breathless kisses that left strands of spit glistening between them every time he pulled away. He pressed her harder into the wall, enticed by the way her hips rolled against him, meeting his rhythm with shameless urgency. The friction of her body against his, even through their clothes, made his cock throb.

"You will behave. Do you hear me?" he snarled, black teeth flashing before he dipped his head to her neck and sank them into the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her throat. The feel of her against him was exquisite—restless, writhing, as if the press of his body was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

She was wet—he could smell it. Her arousal was thick in the air, flooding for him. He pictured it, her cunt slick and eager, too unaccustomed to the sharp edge of pleasure—how pain only made the sweetness burn hotter.

He sank his teeth deeper into her neck, savouring the way it forced a cry from her lips—just loud enough to humiliate, to thrill. When he pulled back, he admired the bloom of colour beneath her skin, the faint rise of a bruise already forming in the shape of his teeth.

Then she grabbed him, fingers clutching his jaw as she dragged his mouth back to hers, kissing him. He answered with a growl, devouring her lips like a challenge, grinding against her until her panties were ruined, her arousal soaked through, leaving a glisten across the dark fabric of his trousers.

"He'll have you killed—unless I'm there to protect you." It sounded absurd, even to his own ears. Her sharp tongue alone wasn't the only reason people would want her dead. She was a storm wrapped in silk, and storms made enemies.

"You. Are. Mine."

Each word was punctuated by a hard thrust of his hips, the coarse fabric of his trousers dragging against her soaked cunt, pulling a sharp breath from her lips as pleasure and frustration tangled inside her.

Heat surged up his spine, like flames licking along each rib, threatening to consume him.

"Do this for me, wife," he murmured darkly, "and I'll let you cum."

She let out a soft whine, the sound slipping past her lips before she could catch it—mortified by the need in it. Then his hand was at her throat, pressing her back against the wall, his grip firm enough to make her dizzy. Her fingers scrambled for his wrist, nails digging into his skin, eyes wide—caught between submission and resistance.

"Fey—"

"You offered me your submission," he interrupted, pulling just out of reach, denying her the kiss she so clearly craved. His voice was low, dangerous. "So give it to me—now. Or I'll leave you here, alone to finish what you started. And I won't touch you again until our wedding night."

His words cut like a double-edged blade—punishment in one breath, promise in the next. He was giving her a way out. He would leave her untouched if she chose it, her innocence preserved. But somehow, he doubted that was what she truly wanted.

She was grinding against him with desperate need, like a slut in heat. She'd already tasted pleasure at his hands—his mouth, his cock, his release slick on her soft, aching cunt. And he knew. Could tell by the way she clung to him, moved against him, that she wanted more.

"Please," she whispered, face burning.

"Please, what?" he taunted, voice low and curling with dark amusement. "Are you going to be a good girl now—behave for your husband?"

A beat of silence. He felt the soft swallow beneath his fingers, then the faintest nod. Her answer came in a breathless whisper: "Yes."

He rewarded her with a kiss—fierce, unrelenting, claiming every sound she made as though it belonged to him alone. His hands slid to her hips, gripping them firmly as he pressed her harder into the wall, grinding against her with slow, deliberate need. The coarse fabric of his Harkonnen-cut trousers dragged over her slick heat, each movement drawing a tremble from her body, feeding the fire between them.

She tried to turn her face, to shy away from him as an orgasm overtook her—but he didn't let her. His hand locked around her throat again, pinning her to the wall, forcing her to meet his eyes as her body writhed against his, legs tight around his waist.

He wanted to see it—all of it. The flush of her cheeks, the haze in her eyes, the way she unravelled just for him. She looked drugged on pleasure, helpless beneath it, and it thrilled him.

He kissed her through it, devouring the breathless gasps of his name, drinking down every tremble like it was his due. She clutched at him, desperate—and he held her there, claimed her with every drag of his lips, every grind of his hips until there was no space left between them.

And when her thoughts began to return—when the first flicker of shame crossed her face—he smiled. Not in mockery, but in triumph. That look, that panic, that delicious vulnerability. . . it belonged to him now. Just like the rest of her.

"So fucking pretty when you cum," he murmured, his forehead pressed gently to hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet that followed.

—interested in being tagged in future chapters? send me a message!

Tag list:

@nextlevelstupidity @xxxkat3xxx @peggyao3 @littlewormgrant @psycheetamore

[terresdebrume]

Messrs Payne and Rowland's Adventuring Agency pt 11

Crystal's up and coming sorcadin abilities are thoroughly offended

They meet up with Mr. Payne in the late afternoon. By then, the plaza is back to its normal traffic and bustle, and Crystal barely even gets a glimpse of the whipping post on a raised platform at the very back, just in front of the City House. She's not sure if she's imagining the blood on it. Either way, Charles gives her a light push when he feels her linger, and Crystal is glad for that. Staring at that thing until she cries wouldn't help anyone, least of all her.

They make their way past the plaza quickly, progressing to the university entrance in good time and waiting only a few minutes for Mr. Payne to appear while Charles chitchats with the guard on duty. The sun is beating down hard on Crystal's neck, and her armor feels a lot like an oven at the moment, but when she goes to ask if they can wait in the shaded courtyard, Charles looks like he's just remembered something and turns to the guard:

"By the way, Micken, you're good with faces right?"

"I do okay," the guard replies with a so so gesture. "Why?"

"My friend Crystal here is having a bit of a hard time remembering her life. Have you ever seen her before?"

Micken gives Crystal a considering look before he shakes his head.

"Don't think so, but she looks kinda young for the university. Try some of the schools?"

"Mmh. We'll look into that. Thanks, mate," Charles says with a genial smile. Then he turns to the courtyard and waves. "Mr. Payne. Successful research, I presume?"

"Very," Mr. Payne says, gesturing for Crystal to follow as he and Charles fall into step together, headed towards the place where they intend to procure horses. "I was able to negotiate for a water breathing spell and a way to control the water around us. If young Rebecca is indeed near the coast, it should make the task of retrieving her much easier."

"What if she's not alone?" Crystal asks as they come into view of the inn. "She's pretty young, do you really think she spontaneously walked a day, maybe a day and a half to the coast?"

"Most likely not," Mr. Payne says with a shake if his head. "Whatever it is, however, Mr. Rowland will be the one to deal with it for the most part. I know very little battle magic."

"You've been in this business for almost twenty years and you don't know any offensive spells?" Crystal asks, incredulous.

"I know some offensive spells," Mr. Payne says in a haughty voice. "I simply happen to specialize in abjuration enchantments."

"How do you defend yourself?" Crystal insists, still shocked.

"That would be Mr. Rowland's job," Mr. Payne says, immediately followed by Charles reappearing with a smile:

"I head my name?"

[chandupalle]

[148 Pages Report] The OCXO market is projected to grow from USD 464 million in 2023 to USD 528 million by 2028; it is expected to grow at a CAGR of 2.6% from 2023 to 2028.

[caterpillar-the-magnet]

Magnetism

Powers [all are products of magnetism]

. Magnetic momentum control (moves objects) . Magneto-static potential (magnetic charge) . Magnetic flow (moves material) . Magnetism-induced electric current (electricity) . Magneto-saturate repulsion (concussive force) . Magnetic marking (magnetic writing) . Magneto-influx thermo-regulation (heat control) . Magnetic compression energy containment (imprisonment) . Unstable magneto-conductivity rupturing (explosions) . Magnetism-induced gravity suppression (zero gravity) . Magnetic percussion (bulletproof aura) . Magnetic Newtonian-force dispersal (wind blade) . Magnetic ionisation (radiation poisoning) . Magneto-atomic charge manipulation (elemental transformation) . Photo-magnetic wave arching (laser bending) . Hydro-magnetic bond shifting (water state changing) . Psycho-magnetic stress suppression (mental clarity) . Ether-magnetic energy manipulation (power over ghosts) . Manna control (magical energy dominance) . Maji momentum control (curse control) . Novatic mastery (power over stars) . Info-horizon mastery (power over dark matter) . Alpha, beta and gamma radiation control (nuclear power) . Light spectrum manipulation (visual illusions) . Radio wave control (telecommunication hacking) . Microwave synchronising (the power of a microwave oven) . Electric current arching (bend lightning) . Carbon and silicon manipulation (no-one is safe) . Hydro-oxide bond manipulation (acidity regulation) . Nitrogen manipulation (don't live in an inhabitable environment) . Gallium state manipulation (gallium fluidity control) . Non-Newtonian state manipulation (can manipulate maize) . Plasma state manipulation (turns fire and lasers off) . Fire arching (fire bending) . Exothermic reaction ignition (fire generation) . Kryomagnetic energy control (sucks the life out of the room) . Crystal formation manipulation (jewels to rock and vice versa) . Magmatic flow control (tectonic %@$#ery) . Phosphoro-reactivity control (jetpack and firework control) . Magnesium permeation control (make boom bigger boom) . Hydrogen density control (summons the demon core) . Oxygen folding (ultraviolet control) . Monoatomic state manipulation (heavy metal control) . Material corporality control (phase through object) . Energy signal masking (untraceable) . Thermobaric cataclysm induction (smash rocks) . Fissure fibro-momentum control (knit wounds) . Time-flow rate warping (speed up and slow down time) . Higgs field control (reality warping / dimensional travel) . Magneto-gravitational weight control (crushing) . Sub-field atomic arrangement (shrinking) . Nuclear fission exponent (a nuclear blast) . Degloving (watch the uncensored music video to Rock DJ) . DNA manipulation (change someone's DNA) . Protein bond disassembly (flesh to soup) . Chloro-bond dissemination (bones to soup) . Magneto-potential signature repositioning (teleportation) . Psycho-magnetic signature broadcasting (cloning)

-

Weaknesses [all side effects of overuse of magnetic powers]

. Psycho-magnetic energy feedback (overstimulation) . Memory loss (Alzheimer's disease) . Over-stimulated brain function (epilepsy) . Nervous system dissemination (feebleness) . Psycho-magnetic energy withdrawal (brain freeze) . Cognition loop false stop (brain fog) . Identity disconnection (dissociative fugue) . Amygdala-specific coma (irrational fearlessness) . Pain-reaction loop discharge (thermo-sensory numbness) . Frontal lobe function suppression (zombie mode) . Adrenal chemical-potential overload (blind rage) . Lacto-reactive function collapse (cramps) . Lipo-function instability (pyrexic paralysis) . Spasmodic-induction self-perpetuation (muscle spasms) . Circulatory introstate induction (collapsed lungs) . Plexo-complex desynchronisation (erratic heart rhythm) . Follicle-wave electro-sensory neutrality (vertigo) . Canular rhythm regulation (tooth ache) . Olfactory static traversal blockade (no sense of smell) . Testosteronal-construction disintegration (withering) . Dendral-knotting friction lactation (scurvy) . Carto-seminate lubrication displacement (arthritis) . Osmoidal-salinate disparity (jaundice) . Symbiotic negotiation breakdown (auto-immune disease) . Hyperactive defence network runaway (allergic reaction) . Cock virus fungal-network reorganisation (shingles)

[iamarealkat]

SECOND COURSE - KITCHEN

(or at least the main parts i recognized)

mads mikkelsen and lydia hearst for "euroman", april 2010 by kenneth willardt.

1. GE Monogram 36" Rangetop

First up, the rangetop. Unlike a cooktop, which sets into a pre-cut space in a counter or island, a rangetop overflows the sides and extends beyond the boundaries of the counter with front-facing knobs. This unit in particular is the GE Monogram 36" Rangetop (ZGU366NPSS), with an MSRP of $3400, reversible grates, and six 18,000 BTU power boil burners.

2. 30" GE Monogram Tri-Zone Counter Depth Integrated Refrigerator

Next, a dual installation of 30" GE Monogram Tri-Zone Counter-Depth Integrated Refrigerators (ZIC30GNHIl, shown with optional custom panels for seamless appearance). With an MSRP of $6999 each, these units are made more shallow, known in the industry as counter-depth, to integrate properly with standard cabinetry. Featuring fridge, freezer, and convertible middle-drawer climate zones, this unit has a capacity of 14.09 cu. ft. overall, per unit. It has two separate sealed systems for constant temperature control, and uses the first HFC-Free refrigerant, which has a lower global-warming impact.

3. 30" GE Monogram European Convection Double Wall Oven

A 30" GE Monogram European Convection Double Wall Oven (ZET2SHSS). An MSRP of $5300, with two 5.0 cu. ft. capacity oven cavities. With easy-to-clean all-glass interior door panels, both self-clean and steam-clean options, ten-pass baking elements, and two True European Convection ovens, these units boast convection bake and roast features with closed-door broiling as to not overheat a kitchen, and a built-in temperature probe for perfectly cooked roasts. It also offers a proof mode to assist dough-rising for avid bakers, convection conversion as to not overcook standard recipes, can be monitored remotely with use of a smart phone and GE's WiFi Connect app, and is programmable in both Celsius and Fahrenheit.

4. GE Monogram 240v Built In Oven with Advantium Speedcook Technology

Behold, the GE Monogram 240v Built In Oven with Advantium Speedcook Technology (ZSC2201JSS).

This bad chicken has an MSRP of $3200 and has settings for Speedcook, microwave, convection, and warming. What the hell is Speedcook? It's a combination of microwaves and convection, delivering results up to eight times faster than conventional cooking, and without the need for pre-heating. This thing can reheat, microwave, toast, brown, bake, and gently warm to your heart's content, and has the ability to remember custom recipes.

5. 30" GE Monogram Warming Drawer

Next up, the 30" GE Monogram Warming Drawer (ZW9000SJSS). With an MSRP of $1600, this drawer has a 1.9 cu. ft. capacity, and has variable temperature settings of anything from 75*F to 230*F, and humidity controls from crisp to moist. Gross. It also has a half-rack so you can store more on the inside, and has ball-bearing glides so it pulls out and closes smoothly while making that soothing whoosh noise.

6. 24" GE Monogram Undercabinet Wine Reserve

We also have the 24" GE Monogram Undercabinet Wine Reserve (ZDWR240HBS). With a cool MSRP of $2000, undercabinet wine refrigerators are notoriously tricky because of their front-facing venting needs. If you suffocate refrigerators, even small ones, (like humans) they die.

This fridge features cooling settings suitable to red or white wines, full-extension sliding racks with both horizontal and vertical storage, and has a capacity of 5.5 cu. ft, or 57 bottles.

Hannibal also, apparently, does not believe in dishwashers-panel-ready, drawer-style or otherwise.

What he does believe in? Is coffee, apparently:

7. Royal Paris Vacuum Balancing Coffee Siphon by Royal Coffee Maker

This, dear Fannibals, is a Royal Paris Vacuum Balancing Coffee Siphon, specifically noted by Bryan Fuller to be crafted by Royal Coffee Maker.

Handmade by artisans with affordable materials such as genuine Baccarat Crystal, malachite, copper, obsidian, azurite, and plating of silver and 24k gold, these start at the low, low price of approximately $15,500.

Hannibal's model is the Royal Classic finished in silver, on a Piano Black base. It is, perhaps surprisingly or unsurprisingly, the most tasteful and least ostentatious of all available models.

This brings the approximate total of all Hannibal's kitchen appliances, plus or minus a few of the minor ones, to $45,000.

8. Additionally in his stolen borrowed home in Florence: La Cornue 43" CornuFé Range

In 1908, in the heart of Paris, Albert Dupuy ignited the flame of elite cuisine. It was there that Dupuy premiered the world's first convection oven. At the time, most ovens were mere flat-topped cavities that held racks suspended over a fire. The majority of people simply considered cooking to be heating food to eat. But Dupuy pondered: "What does it really mean to cook?" He developed his oven with a vaulted ceiling to usher heat around the food, rather than trapping it to burn beneath. To enable optimum precision, the oven drew upon the city gas lines that were winding their way to homes and street lamps throughout the City of Light. Dupuy christened the oven La Cornue after the French term cornue - the system for refining the gas that warmed the new creation.

Each range is made by hand and the labor is intensive. Each worker is a specialist, understanding the greater goal.

However they are not just craftsmen, but companions to each range along its journey from inception to crated final product. They are experts in steel, copper and brass, inspired by great design, working as a team to create an inspired tradition.

True excellence can only be achieved when every step in the process is in pursuit of perfection.

For over 100 years, La Cornue has continued to build upon Albert's initial convection innovation and they've expanded the designs and introduced new styles. As a result, the name La Cornue is supposed to represent a renowned spirit.

Hannibal's version runs about $10,000.

[miharuki]

𝔉𝔞𝔫𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔯 day 2

𝔜𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝕭𝖆𝖐𝔢𝖗

It was early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, but Haruto was already at the small oven in the bakery, the dough in his hands taking shape with precision and care. He was the best baker in town. Everyone talked about the delicacy of his pastries, the unmatched flavors, and the irresistible aroma that filled the streets. But the secret to Haruto's success wasn't in perfect recipes. No, the passion he poured into every sweet was dedicated to one person: (name), his senpai.

Haruto had been obsessed with her ever since their eyes first met, when she walked into the bakery weeks ago. Her eyes sparkled, her soft voice sent shivers down his spine, and from that moment on, he made sure she received something special every time she came by. But she had no idea how much he loved her. She didn't know that he watched her with a fervor bordering on madness.

As he worked, his thoughts were entirely on her. Today, he was preparing something special. A strawberry cake delicately covered with vanilla cream and adorned with crystallized rose petals. Everything had to be perfect, just like (name). She always stopped by the bakery on her way home, and he made sure there was something reserved for her, something made especially for her.

Every move Haruto made was calculated. He knew her routine by heart—her schedule, the places she frequented. (Name) never noticed that he discreetly followed her, ensuring no one else got too close, making sure she was always safe—under his watchful eyes. But his senpai never noticed the intensity of his gaze from behind the counter.

That day, he prepared a special box for her. Inside, the strawberry cake was wrapped with a red ribbon that he had tied himself. The sweet, subtle scent of cream mixed with the fresh smell of strawberries was intoxicating. Before closing the box, Haruto slipped a small note beneath the cake:

"For my sweet senpai, my inspiration. I hope the taste reminds you of me… just as you're always in my thoughts."

When (name) walked into the bakery, Haruto's heart raced. Her gentle, carefree smile was all he needed to feel the world stop. He handed her the box with a controlled smile, struggling to hide the euphoria coursing through him.

"Oh, how beautiful! Thank you, Haruto!" she said, not noticing the tremor in his voice. The soft touch of her fingers when she took the box almost made him lose control.

As she left through the door, he stood still, watching until her silhouette disappeared on the horizon. But Haruto knew this wouldn't be the end. He would always be there, ready to make more sweets, ready to eliminate anyone who dared to get too close. Every cake, every loaf of bread, every pie was a silent declaration of his sick love, and no one would take (name) away from him.

After all, Haruto’s love was sweet… but also dangerous.

And for (name), he would do anything. Even if she didn't know that yet.

Masterlist Fanfictober

[misoplays]

Jambon-beurre

Bonjour, tombler!

Still on our brunch series with Nanami, today we're cooking the classic French and butter sandwich, also known as jambon-beurre. The dish we're cooking today is actually divided into two cc recipes by @oni28: baguette cc recipe can be downloaded here, and jambon-beurre cc recipe can be downloaded here. The recipes need Oni's Recipe Pack Mod which is updated regularly on their Patreon page.

The baguette made by this creator can be eaten as a meal or used as an ingredient for jambon-beurre. Even though The Sims 4™ logic makes ingredients appear automatically when you make a recipe, today Nanami decided to bake her baguette from scratch.

I love taking pan shots from Nanami's kitchen. Some elements including the top counters are from @tudtuds's BSCO Kitchen set which I think match very well with the base game counters (I think it's base game? Definitely need to check again).

Everyone in the family seemed to be challenging the inner trad wife by making their bread from scratch, Nanami included. To begin, prepare all-purpose flour, water, yeast and salt. Mix the ingredients and let the yeast do it work for about 10 minutes, followed by 3 stretches and fold over a period of 90 minutes (honestly I'm already lost here, goodbye). Let the dough ferment in the fridge for another 8-10 hours.

One important thing in making your own baguette is the baking stone. A heavy duty baking stone won't crack easily and will promote a better oven spring for the baguette. Preheat the oven to 500F or 260C with the baking stone positioned in the upper rack and a small pan with hot water and a rolled kitchen towel on the lower rack. The towel helps control steam release.

After scoring your baguette, slide them off with the parchment paper onto the hot baking stone. Using a water spray bottle, spray some in the sides of the oven to boost the steam. Bake for about 15 minutes, remove the water pan, and bake for another 15 minutes at 450F (232C) until deep golden brown.

If I were as successful as Nanami in baking baguette, I'd make that smug face too. Alas, 100% of what I wrote above is just a rewrite from the recipes I googled.

Now, onto the jambon-beurre. Jambon-beurre or parisien is the simplest combo of baguette topped by slightly salted French butter and spiced Parisian ham (also known as jambon de Paris). Yet, finding a great jambon-beurre is harder and harder to find. Pictured above, Nanami sliced each baguette in half length-wise.

Next, the butter and the ham. A good European butter makes the best choice, as it has a much higher fat content and less water compared to American butter. If you're unable to find European butter, pick a salted butter or sprinkle a few salt crystal over the unsalted butter. For the ham, using jambon de Paris or any unsmoked, wet-cured ham with juicy texture. The last part -- arguably also the easiest, is to combine everything together!

We've seen one of Nanami's twins in the previous post, but here's both of them eating jambon beurre together: Sean in a blue overall and Kieran in a light purple shirt. Sean loves to be carried but Kieran hates it, and they look so alike that Nanami sometimes mistakenly carried Kieran only for him to throw tantrum. The joy of the terrible threes, doubled.

Last picture featuring full serving of baguette, full serving of jambon-beurre, and a single serving of jambon-beurre. 'Til next post, dag dag!

P.S. Bonjour means "hello" in French.

P.S.S. Detailed information about baguette is taken from this article, while detailed information about jambon-beurre is taken from this article and this article.

[teslainnovation]

THE FUTURE OF KITCHEN APPLIANCES DUBAI PRECEDES

THE FUTURE OF KITCHEN APPLIANCES DUBAI PRECEDES

Manually handling an entire kitchen is not what you need for your 2024. Electronic home appliances have been around since the 20th century, being stuck washing dishes or cleaning bigger appliances with no versatile options, after so many decades, is just outdated.

So here’s what you need to learn about the future of kitchen appliances Dubai has to offer.

Freestanding Cookers

Traditional dishes sometimes need traditional gas cookers but if you want to save energy, space and time Tesla Freestanding cookers are a must-try! 

They consist of a smooth surfaced black enamelled cavity which is easy-to-clean. Glass panel over at the bottom with removable door plate, minimum energy consumption with Tesla’s Energy Class ovens. 

Fast cooking and auto-cut off to ensure your safety, with turbo grill oven and simple ignition.

Induction Cookers

Tesla Induction cookers feature touch sensors for everyday convenience while cooking.

Bringing safety and sophisticated dark design together with Black Crystal glass and safety features such as auto shut-down after a minute and overheating protection system.

Efficient cooking with 8 different power levels easily adjustable for all kinds of cooking needs.

Citrus Juicers

Health comes first, and nothing is healthier than a fresh glass of homemade juice. Here’s a juicer that makes it easy, fast and convenient to make your own vitamin drinks.

Featuring dust protection, just plug in and choose your citrus fruit, and two-direction twist is automatically activated once pressure is applied, no need for buttons.

Make your immune system stronger with various sizes of drinks, two different sized cones to squeeze all kinds of citruses. 

Electric Kettles

Tesla kettles with a capacity of 1.7 L make warm drinks, boiling water for tea, instant coffee or other beverages fast, safe, energy saving and clean. 

With 2200W of power with easy-to-open and handle devices that helps keep track of the water quantity is super simple yet highly useful.

Auto Cut-off when the temperature reaches 100 °C, with Strix kettle control manufactured to exceed 12.000 cycles of normal operation as well as comply with all international standards.

Air Fryers

The air fryer uses 360° hot air circulation to cook healthier fried food as compared to the alternative of conventional frying. Easy to control temperature levels (60 – 200°C) and cooking time with 12 preset programs, or customization.

It is fast, with crispy and delicious results, and can manage a good quantity at once due to the large basket, enough food for a whole family. And the basket and baking tray are dishwasher-safe.

Automatic turn off, preheat, periodic notification for food “turn-over”, easy to clean, with non-stick coating and other quality of life features. It has overheating protection, and will also automatically shut down if the pot is removed.

And now you know how to remodel your kitchen with one of the most innovative and trendy kitchen appliances Dubai offers and never stress over time management or physical labour with Tesla electronic home appliances.