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trashmouth-richie · 2 months

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vitiosus + deliciosus [vicious + delicious🥀] || pt 2 of dulcis ut rosa

emperor geta x reader || things progress for geta + his little gnat || 4k

18+ smut, oral: female receiving, choking, slapping, biting, spanking

pt 1: dulcis ut rosa m🥀 || pt 1 ½: dulex🥀 || pt iii frangere me

You didn’t know what was to come of you after tonight’s rendezvous in Geta’s chambers. You could hardly sleep, your body sore in places you didn’t think were possible, but not in a discomforting way.

The pain was more of an ache, a pulsating want for the time spent in his bed. You daydreamed of his strong hands pressing bruises into your hips, of his mouth hot and wet all over your skin, the bitter tang of your own blood on his lips as he licked the bites better.

Geta was a force to be reckoned with. Dominating both outside and inside of his chambers. All of Rome feared him. A flutter filled your stomach at the mere thought of those dark eyes seamlessly devouring you when you worked up enough courage to look into them. No, you wouldn’t sleep at all tonight.

—

Caracalla carried on the next day pretending the previous night hadn’t happened. As if his miniscule brain shut out what he had done, carrying on with the daily run of nonsense. He smiled like a gleeful infant who had just discovered his toes at the first meal of the day. Gnawing on ripened fruit and leftover pork, he looked like a wild animal.

As if he had vanished with the night, Geta was nowhere to be seen.

During prandium, you asked a woman from your village as casually as you could manage if she had seen the missing Emperor.

Prisca turned up her nose at your question, questioning why you so desperately needed to know. Replying with a tone that matched her own, you very carefully articulated how Caracalla had asked you to find out. Ending the conversation with a clipped lip, reminding Prisca of your status to the Emperors, and hers with the lowest of soldiers ones missing limbs and their gift of sight.

Geta didn’t show for any of the day's events, giving Caracalla a taste of running the empire solo, a smear of greed on his protruding crooked nose. You were the only one to notice his absence and if the entire palace didn’t seem to take note, you’d act the same. Deciding to leave it alone, remembering the virtue in patience, you’d wait until tonight to catch his eyes in yours once again.

The sun seemed to taunt you all day with its beautiful rays, staying longer than it had the day before, never quite ready to go to sleep. The shimmering heat laughing at your dismay as you waited for the moon's powdery face to finally clock in for her shift.

You could hardly stand being in Caracalla’s arms as he held you close to him, his breath stinking of an ungodly amount of wine, making you promise that you would never leave Palatine Hill. Pleading that you’d stay with him forever until his dying day. Agreeing like a dutiful servant, you hoped and prayed that that day would come sooner than later.

—

Geta couldn’t pull himself out of bed the next day. Palace servants came and went, offering to move the drapes, karting in mountainous plates of food, but he had refused everything. Only barking orders to bring as much wine as they could carry.

Drowning himself in rivers of wine, he couldn’t remember a single time since infancy that he felt completely worthless. He was an Emperor for fucks sake. Others may succumb to feelings but not him, never him.

Maidens fell at his feet, begging for his attention. He called the shots, fucked them stupid then tossed them away like scraps. Not once had he let any of them get to a place inside of himself he couldn’t pinpoint.

He couldn’t get away from you. Your scent surrounded him, the jasmine perfume of your hair lingered on his sheets. A subtle hint of sugary sweet honey was still on his skin. He hated himself.

Loathed the love sick pup he had become in the twilight hours as he gazed at the ceiling, still tasting your core on his lips, his rings sticky and coated with it. Unwilling to remove them in fear that the tiny bit that belonged to you, created by him, would wipe away.

His hair was still askew in the same fashion you had rung it around your fingers. Cock hard again remembering the way your body felt in his hands, how that sweet little cunt gripped him tighter than anyone before.

The sheets blushed a crimson that neither of you had noticed that broke from your body. He smirked at the thought of his brother unable to make an untouched woman bleed. Clearly he was less than endowed, his size comparable to that of a dangling beetle.

Geta laid in the stains from the two of you, a complete and utter mess of a man unable to forget the sweet little gnat. No longer buzzing in his ear, but pulling at his mind, suffocating every other thought. The gnat wormed her way down into the cavity of his chest, laying against the pinky ventricles cozying up to the dying organ, coaxing it back to life.

“Cupid’s fool,” he spoke aloud then, as if he confirmed it to nobody but himself, “body and soul.” A small smirk on his lips as his feet swung from his bed heading to the bathing room to wash himself before the moon peaked in the onyx painted sky, and he met you in that corner corridor.

—

You traced the stones down the hall as you walked until the pads of your finger went numb. After not seeing or hearing from Geta all day, you questioned your sanity as you approached your typical spot as you always did night after night for months. Would he even show?

Caracalla was exceptionally gleeful this evening, an odd thing considering most of the time he cried like an infant throwing tantrums like a toddler.

Your heart raced at the possibility of seeing Geta. You’d never taken into account how handsome he was, and now without seeing him for a full day, you found yourself almost missing catching glimpses of him.

He had two looks that he offered to everyone else. Either sheer and utter boredom, fiddling with his rings in a lazy fashion— or his eyes narrowed into slits, nostrils flared and a twitch kissing the corner of his eyelid, that permanent scowl rising on his top lip.

When he entered a room, he demanded attention in just his body language, shoulders square and broad, chin held high and his jaw tight. Generals rose for him, servants leapt out of the way to avoid him until needed. He was a brute of the highest power.

But in the months of meeting him in the darkness, you had gotten to know how Geta operated. What made him tick, the fatigue wearing on his face after stressful days. The crease between his brows when you told him of Caracalla’s movements—studying, brooding.

It gave you a sense of power knowing that you were seeked out by him. Even if only for information and a wet mouth, you could feel it emanating from him to you when he came. It started roughly. But lately it was almost as if it could be intimate at times. And you weren’t sure what that meant. Either way— with Geta, you knew you were safe.

Darkness enveloped you on your blind approach to the infamous corridor. For a second, you thought possibly you were lost, somehow turned around until you heard a throat clear, and the handsome Emperor appeared before you, having been blocking the open window from view.

“Emperor, my apologies for keeping you waiting,” your lips fumbling as you bowed before him at the waist.

A chuckle rumbled from Geta, “you aren’t late, I am simply early,” he said, scratching at his chin, “I’ve been roaming around since the light left.”

“Oh?”

He simply nodded then, twirling a ruby ring around his finger, “…I have received word that Caracalla is becoming more and more delusional. He has increased his staff, begging our mother to supply a general outside of his door while he sleeps— you’ve probably noticed Acacius following him, yes?”

The ruggedly handsome salt and pepper haired soldier flanked the aforementioned Emperor all day, but you never gave it another thought— your mind busy on Geta’s whereabouts.

“I haven’t trusted my brother since we were young boys using sticks as swords, and the older he gets the more his brain stays in our childhood.” He spoke softly then, “it is only a matter of time before your movements after leaving his chambers are tracked… and I can’t have that. This will be our last meeting.”

You nearly shouted in his face, telling him that these nights were the only thing worth being stolen away from your village. Months you have done this and now it is gone because he was… worried? About Caracalla finding out?

Geta pushed off from the wall, standing with his usual confidence—his jaw tight, a strange look on his face. “What Caracalla does not know— is that Acacius has been loyal to me for years, and has been providing me with information about him for nearly as long.”

Your eyebrows crease as you try to unravel the thread he’s woven, and a small smile ticks at the corner of his lips as realization spreads across your face. Mischievous Geta, always a step ahead.

“Join me?”

—

Geta was approached by Acacius when leaving his chambers this evening.

“Emperor,” Acacius announced, bowing his head in honor, “I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”

Geta pulled his chamber door shut waving his hand in dismissal, “nonsense General, whatever it is it must be important for you to seek me out, what is it?”

“This is not easy for me to say.. I feel like a traitor to you. to these walls—”

“Out with it,” Geta pressed, irritated.

“It’s Emperor Caracalla… your excellency, I have been summoned to be posted outside his quarters and provide security for him during the daylight hours.”

Geta rubbed at his chin, a twitch in his eye, “I know you’re not one to joke on a serious matter Acacius, however this seems quite juvenile, even for my brother.”

“I assure you, he has been increasingly suspicious over the last few months, ever since that travel wagon arrived with the Virgines from Valleventus.”

Acacius gave Geta a knowing look, one to convey that he knew what happened in these walls at night once Caracalla’s whore left his chambers.

Geta smiled then, unable to hide it, his face relaxing as he clapped the General on the shoulder, “you are a great confidant, Acacius— I will take this into great consideration.”

—

The two of you strolled the corridors in silence, his knuckles grazing yours, your heart pumping wildly in your chest. You were certain that if the two of you were caught you’d be killed on sight, tossed in a deep grave without a second thought. But with Geta… you couldn’t find yourself to care about any of that. Did he?

You knew you were walking a thin line, and it got thinner the more time you spent with him. But if he was willing to walk it as well, you’d risk it… same as he was

After a few minutes, you broke the silence, “may I…ask you something?”

Geta tilted his head towards you, “yes.”

All day he had been gone, and your curiosity finally got the better of you. “Where were you?”

He smirks and your insides melt, “were you looking for me, little dulex?”

You turn away from his gaze, fumbling with a loose thread on your tolsa, “n-no. Caracalla had asked me.”

A laugh bubbles from his chest, “I am not fond of being lied to, try again.”

Sweat drips from your hairline, “He…well, he inquired about it...”

“Ah, so you were only wondering about my whereabouts when Caracalla finally noticed I was missing?”

“Yes.”

He stopped before a large set of doors and pushed them open revealing a large room, suffocated by darkness. You felt him leave your side to cross the room, and suddenly it illuminated by a candle he had lit. Gently tipping the flame into a massive candelabra, each wick of the candle igniting like a little orb, throwing shadows across the room.

It was one of the many rooms you’d never seen before.

A single staircase wove upwards with great iron detailing to a room above, a desk as large as a wagon was centered in the room, pictures of faces you didn’t recognize flanked the walls, the floors were spread of mosaic tiles: shaped and colored to resemble a salmon colored sunset. An open area let in a small breeze that trickled out into a luscious garden where a fountain could be heard bubbling, brought in by the wind. Luxurious armchairs were tucked into corners.

This room shared the same color of draperies as a room you’ve only been to once before. The dark hues set a mood that belonged to one singular man. This was a private area that even the highest generals weren’t even allowed in. Geta’s study.

He came back towards you, grasping your wrist, his thumb pressing into your beating pulse, his eyes lit like a roaring fire, “last chance, to be honest, were you the one looking for me?”

Hesitating with your breath caught in your throat, you peered into Geta’s seemingly soulless eyes, whispering, “yes,” as a heat rose on your cheeks.

A smirk pulls on his lip, and a dimple you’ve never seen appears, “oh, my puella dulcis,” he purred, shaking his head, those dark eyes hungry as he looked you up and down, “you’re in trouble.”

He pulled you to him, his large hands on your waist leading you further into the room as he walked backwards. “Do you know the pure agony you’ve put me through?”

“Me?”

Geta nods, pushing the straps of your tolsa away from your shoulders, admiring the marks he had left on your skin.

“Yes. You.” he says, rubbing the column of your throat with his thumb. “It is nefarious the hold you have over me. I’ve never felt anything like it. Death would be easier on me. A sword between my ribs to puncture my lungs, the festering boils from a plague, an arrow through my eye— anything and everything would be better than what you do to me.”

His hand clasps tight around your neck, the gasp you let out trapped in your throat.

“So, what am I to do with you? What am I to do with someone who keeps causing me this much trouble? Who risks herself being caught by seeking me out? Who is, dare I say, worried about my well-being?”

He slides his hand up and down the length of your neck, his other stroking your cheek resting his thumb on the crease of your lips.

“I punish my soldiers for much less, and as any great warrior, I shall be fair by keeping all of my subjects to the highest of standards, you unfortunately, are not exempt.”

One minute you’re standing in front of him the next you’re being yanked by your wrist as he stomps towards one of the large chaise lounges, he sits abruptly and pulls you into his lap. He’s hard, the feel of his erection making you whine pathetically.

He holds you by your hips and twists you around, until your face is level with the ground, your ass resting over his knees.

The sound of unbinding thread pops in your ears as Geta rips your tolsa away from you, leaving you bare, your ass on display like a holiday feast.

“I’ve never gazed upon an ass as round and fat as yours, and believe me when I say this my puella dulcis, I will thoroughly enjoy watching it burn in scarlet as it bounces beneath my hand.”

You don’t have a second to comprehend his words before a large ringed hand is slapped hard across your backside, causing you to shriek in surprise and pain.

“Fuck,” Geta spit, “we’ve barely just begun, you should be pissing with glee that I don’t keep my horse whip in my study.” Two more licks rip out and you moan.

He laughs wickedly, his sultry voice shushing you as he rubs his hand over the globe of your ass. “Enjoying this are you? I’ve heard stories from soldiers and even my own father about the whores during their time, how they begged, fucking pleaded to be hit on the ass by a man.”

Geta slaps his hand down hard more and more until you’d lost count. That same scorching feeling in your lower belly and the wetness between your legs just like last night came back, and you moaned.

Humming between your lips, you relished in the ache in your back as you tried to hold yourself up. Trying to wiggle forward so maybe his hand would slip and miss your ass but touch down where you needed him most.

But you didn’t need to ask, Geta laughed through his nose before slipping his thumb through your wet cunt, groaning at the heat of your arousal on his fingers again.

“What a tight fucking cunt you have,” he grunted before rubbing your clit, “ filtjy girl—looks like those legends were true, weren’t they?”

“Please,” you begged, trying to swallow his fingers with your dripping pussy.

Your small pleads tore through him, his cock answering with a twitch as it leaked. He brought you up your throat, holding you in place and moving your hips along the stiff ridge of his length.

Geta sunk his teeth into your bare shoulder as you moaned, “can you feel what you do to me?” he whispered, “the torture you put me through, the hours I spend like this with nothing but you trapped in my head. It’s murderous.”

Purring his name he groans, licking sweat from your neck. “I haven’t had a single hour since the first night we met without having this happening without needing to release myself. Do you think I can be a leader to my people with such indecency? As if I’m a young boy discovering his own body and the feel of his hand again. You’re a snake, filled with poisonous venom to come here and kill me.”

He rips your clothes completely off, wiggling his middle finger against your clit, praising the gods at the angel like whine that whispers from your lips.

“… and like the gnat, the snake has bit me, feasting upon my flesh, constantly hungry. But it is I who is left hungry by your tormenting ways,” he whispers in your ear, licking the shell of it, “and right now, I’m starving.”

Geta hoists you up in his arms, kissing your neck and squeezing your skin wherever he can reach as he walks to the enormous desk full of scrolls. With one mighty hand holding you, he swipes the desk clean, tossing everything that was once organized onto the floor.

He lays you down on the wooden top, your bare back riddling with goosebumps from the cool hard surface. Looking up at him this was the first you’ve seen his face since first entering his study.

His eyes were black, wide and wild, the candle light throwing shadows onto his face making him look monstrous. Like a creature straight from the dark world, one from a story told to children at night to scare them enough to not leave their beds.

Anyone else would run at the sight of such a man. Scream and claw their way from him, but not you. You simply opened your knees wider, showing the dripping wetness to him, what he did to you.

Geta simply watched. Watched and breathed heavily like a predator before leaping to attack his prey. He stared as you sucked a finger into your mouth, he almost flatlined as you brought that spit soaked finger down the length of your body, your nipples pebbling.

He swore he met death when you slipped that glorious finger into your cunt, and gently pumped it in and out.

“This,” you murmured weakly, unable to contain your moans, “is what you do to me.”

He groaned, practically drooling at you laid out before him. You tipped your head back as a small gasp rippled through you. Lifting your shoulders from the desk you looked him in the eyes, “I guess we are both demented, enjoying the torture from eachother.”

“I didn’t want to admit it,” Geta blurted, his dark eyes piercing the night, scaring away the shadows. “All day I wrestled with it, how you could make me quiver like a lovesick boy. I turned away meals, laying in the darkness, surrounded by your bewitching scent.”

“If you’re so hungry,” you whisper seductively, opening your legs wider, your arousal shining in the candlelight as you remove your fingers from inside of yourself, “then by all means, eat.”

Geta didn’t wait another second before pulling you forward by the crook of knees, your welted red ass skirting across the desk. You giggled as he feverishly lowered himself and held your thighs wide, “keep these open for me.”

His tongue was like an eel.

Geta flicked his tongue at a dangerous pace against your clit, groaning into your sex as you whined his name again and again. His licked and sucked your cunt as ravenous as a truly starved man, his moans vibrating your walls, sending your nerve endings into a liquid fired frenzy.

You’d never experienced anyone’s tongue between your legs, but this was better than anything you’d ever imagined, nothing compared to the way your body electrified beneath his hands, his mouth.

Geta’s nose rubbed against your clit as he lapped up your arousal. The burn in your belly seared and unraveled as you screamed out his name, your body rigid and then uncoiling as your muscles spasmed and quaked.

Your hands wrapped in a death grip in his hair, holding him tight to your pussy as you came, Geta encouraging you through the pleasure.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said, admiring the way you leaked and dripped on his desk, “taste so fucking good, this cunt belongs to me,” he breathed.

It was lust and vicious desire emanating from him as he spoke. and you melted at the desperate way you craved him. Grabbing him by the nape of his neck you pressed your lips to his, tasting your arousal on his tongue, you felt drunk

He hauled your weak body up in his arms, murmuring something about wobbly legs. Geta kissed your forehead as he climbed the spiral steps that lead straight into his chambers. His bed was made, but the smell of sex was still lingering from the night before.

Geta laid you down on his massive bed, careful of the marks on your backside from his hand. You watched as he undressed, his arms showing protruding veins like a river in the fallen snow. A deep scar you didn’t recognize before on his torso, identical to the one on his neck. His eyes seemed to look softer, a deep honey simmering, catching the light.

When he spoke it wasn’t with malice it was with truth, “you are mine. Understand? Not Caracalla’s, not anyone else’s, I will slaughter any man who challenges that.”

Your heart races as you stare at him, rising to your knees in front of him, “promise?”

“Meus amor,” Geta speaks, holding your chin with his finger, “that is my veritas, I give you my word.”

You stroked his hair as you pulled him down to the bed on top of you. Pressing his curls back into an unruly position, you admire the handsome Emperor. Your Emperor.

Pressing your lips to his, you pull him deeper, swirling your tongue with his in a frenzied tango. His hips respond to your open legs and his cock slides in with ease, fitting like a sword in a sheath.

“You are a wicked one, my dulcis.” Geta pants in your ear as his hips pick up a butchering rhythm. Your combined breathing is ragged, choked and gasping.

Biting his ear he hisses, but you lick it better, the same as he did to you last night, only a drop of his blood on your tongue as you whisper, “then we are one in the same, destinatum ease, destined to be.”

With that he flips you both over, guiding your hips up and down, forward and back as helps you ride his cock. When you both cum it’s loud, skin slapping skin, your arousal pooling around his cock, his fucked deep inside of you.

Laying in the sweaty, sin stained sheets, you twirl a finger in Geta’s hair, his head laying on your bare chest between your tits, his hand holding your ribs. “Tomorrow I will have the servants change the sheets while I bathe you in my private pool.”

“Is my Geta turning sweet?” you tease, “what will Rome think?”

Turning his head those ravenous eyes were painted in the midnight onyx that they usually were, returning with mischief laced in the irises, a devilish smirk on his lips.

He moved like a serpent, biting your right nipple between his teeth and tugging, causing you to squeal in a pleasured pain that is snuffed out by his large hand around your throat.

“Do not be fooled pretty girl,” the villainous flames flickered again in his eyes, a feral twitch on his lips that made you wet between your legs, “malevolence coats my veins thicker than blood.”

—

latin translation:

vitiosus + deliciosus — vicious + delicious

prandium— lunch

puella dulcis— sweet girl

meus amor— my love

veritas— truth

destinatum ease— destined to be

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kowaiitenshii · 1 year

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[Sunkiller Lullaby Part Two]

Pairing: Darth Vader X Reader

Plot Summary: Accepting your role as Lord Vader’s personal attendant, you take the first steps in learning your new duties, and proving your loyalty to your new master.

Warnings: Canon-level violence. Mentions of death/murder. Descriptions of fear. Corruption. Canon-divergent. Unburnt!Vader. Reader is a former slave. Improper use of the force. Vader is his own warning. Descriptions of mistreatment. AFAB reader, feminine pronouns and descriptions used. 18+ content to come in later chapters.

Words: 4.2k

A/N: First off, thank you so much everyone for all the love on part one! I truly did not think so many people would enjoy it! I appreciate everyone who reblogged and liked, and I cannot wait to continue sharing this story with you. If people continue to enjoy my writing, I will most likely open up for requests/prompts!

Part One HERE

Part II:

To your dismay, you awaken to bright beams of starlight peeking through the sheer inner curtains of your suite.

You blink in confusion as you mull over the contents of the past night’s dream, and lament the fact that it was only that; a dream.

Sighing deeply in disappointment, you slowly rise from bed and dress yourself for the day, deciding on a deep ruby red set of robes. They’re thick and soft as you slide them on, and you decide that red really compliments you.

You are again presented with a decadent breakfast, this time dining on exotic ripened fruits, cured strips of thinly sliced meat, and toasted breads.

When you finish, the friendly droid again kindly leads you to Lord Vader’s private chambers.

As the doors slide open, you nearly jump out of your skin when you find your master awaiting you, staring at the door expectantly as he anticipates your arrival.

Forcing yourself to hold your head high, you saunter into the room as nonchalantly as you can muster. Your hands shake as you approach, and you clench them tightly in an attempt to push down your building nerves.

“Morning, young one.” he greets you coolly, his deep voice resonating through the silence.

“Good morning, My Lord.” you reply calmly, bowing to the Sith Lord.

He gives you an approving nod as you rise, before turning to the large window behind himself, commanding you to join him.

“Come.” he booms simply, and you oblige him. Standing next to him only highlights the size difference between the two of you, seeing as you only reach his shoulder at the highest.

All the lights of the room both overhead and from electric controls shine off of Vader’s helmet and armor, creating almost an aura of light which glints off of him. Your eyes are drawn to the heavy slant of his shoulders with his cape draped over, and the curve of his very evident biceps beneath his thick suit. Your face reddens slightly before you turn to face the window, feeling a measure of shame for looking at a Sith Lord in such a way.

The two of you gaze out at the expanse of stars before you, and you can’t help but marvel at the sight. Being from a small planet and having been enslaved since you were just a young girl, you had never any chance to explore or travel, no matter how badly you may have wanted to.

One of the things that amazes you the most as you stare out into space is the realisation that the stars are colourful.

There are stars of every colour you can imagine, and most of them are planets. Each star glittering across the sky in endless hues, they remind you of the fields of wildflowers that were common on your home-planet.

For a fleeting moment, you imagine lying amongst the stars and wrapping yourself in a blanket made of space itself, before Vader speaks again.

“I have arranged a test for you today.” he asserts, his tone unreadable.

Cocking your head, you glance up at your master, questioning exactly what sort of test he had in mind.

“We need to have the understanding that we can trust in one another if I am to take you on in personal servitude.” He explains, sensing your curiosity.

You can feel yourself go cold as the words sink in. It could be any kind of test, and ice cold pangs of fear grip your heart as you pray you do not fail.

Failure is simply not an option.

The trembling in your fingers only worsens, and to your horror, Vader notices.

He takes one of your quivering hands tightly within his own before placing the other heavy, leather-clad hand over top of yours. His touch is like holding a livewire, like nothing you had ever felt before, and it makes you jolt in your skin.

His gaze albeit masked is fixed upon you as he speaks, the air catching in your throat.

“I can sense your fear, your hurt. Your rage.” he says, a reassuring tone hidden in his distorted voice. “Use them. Do not fear me.” he commands, before dropping your hand like he had never touched it in the first place.

Not fearing him was a hefty task indeed.

You say nothing in response, swallowing thickly and flexing your fingers to rid them of the lingering sensation of his touch.

Just then, the ship begins to descend on a barren planet. The land is desolate, clouds of smoky-coloured dust covering the rough, rocky terrain.

You take deep breaths to steady yourself as the ship lands, still reeling from the touch along with your nerves and their gnashing teeth gnawing at the back of your mind.

As you disembark, you can feel how tightly wound your body is with anticipation. Despite this, you diligently follow your master as he treks along the barren, grey landscape, leading you to a wide clearing in the rocky wasteland.

All around you are boulders and crystals of enormous size, and you figure this must be an Empire-controlled resource planet.

Looking up to the violet sky, you pray to the maker that you make it out of this in one piece.

Vader stops at once, turning to regard you once more as you come to stand before him.

“Before we begin,” he starts “What is your name?” he asks, striking you with the realisation that you had not yet told him, and that he almost certainly already knew it. Truthfully, you had nearly forgotten that you had a name, as more derogatory terms were commonly used to refer to slaves. It is a strange thought that Lord Vader would even care to know it.

“(Y/N).” you answer dutifully.

“(Y/N).” he confirms before speaking again. “As I previously stated, we must be without a shadow of a doubt that we trust in one another. I have brought you here to assess that fact.” he explains, his droning voice reverberating off of the jagged walls of the terrain surrounding you.

Doing your best to maintain your shaken composure, you watch as the Sith Lord strides a few paces away before speaking again once more.

“I will test you, as you will test me.” He iterates, now turning towards you and watching you for a moment.

Rooted to the spot, you clench your shaking hands and swallow the lump in your throat, fixing your gaze upon Lord Vader.

You will test him? What could he possibly mean by that?

You watch in thinly veiled terror as he raises his right hand and the ashen earth around you begins to tremble. A large mass of sparkling crystal sizable enough to crush a freighter breaks away from the earth, beginning to levitate.

Stomach in knots and your mind racing, you watch in horror as it rises impossibly high and comes to a stop directly over your head.

In your youth you had heard tales of the Jedi and the Sith, but you had always taken them with a grain of salt. It is then that you come to understand that the stories were true, and the force is more powerful than you could ever have imagined.

Vader’s voice cuts through your frenzied train of thought, snapping you back into the moment.

“Focus on me.” he instructs you, holding the spiked mass of crystals steady above you, pulling it higher.

Although every atom in your body screams at you to run, you know there is no point. Wiping away the fine sweat forming on your brow, you obey your master, fixing your widened eyes upon him.

“Feel your fear.” he commands in a guiding tone. “Feel it, and understand that I will never harm you.”

Dread cuts into your chest like knives, and still you obey. You feel the goosebumps on every inch of your skin, your muscles poised to flee, and the fine tremble running through you in waves.

You look upon Lord Vader who holds your life in his hands so effortlessly. Focusing on the expressionless countenance of his helmet, you envision looking into his eyes and finding unwavering certainty there.

You stand as a statue as the massive crystal drops, time itself seeming to slow, and you don’t so much as blink when Vader catches it just before it hits.

“Very good.” Darth Vader affirms, before reeling back and launching the crystals far off into the distance; the sound of impact only coming as a murmured echo.

Sighing a huge breath of relief, your shoulders and head droop as the tension washes away in waves. When you lift your head, the Sith Lord is in front of you again, this time holding a cylindrical silver and black object in his outstretched right hand, motioning for you to take it.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks as you carefully take it from him, examining the activation switch on the side.

“Yes,” you affirm as you inspect the object with great curiosity. “It is a lightsaber.”

You had seen them in use only once when your planet was under siege, but you had also seen them traded by smugglers a handful of times.

However, you had never held one. The metal is cool to the touch, and it is deceptively heavy in your hands as you marvel at it, turning it over and over in your hands.

“Turn it on.” Vader demands, cutting your observation short. You swallow your nerves, holding the lightsaber in your right hand and placing your thumb over the switch. You jump as you press it, the glowing crimson plasma blade instantly shooting out with a sharp sound.

The glowing saber incandesces between the two of you, red light illuminating Vader’s ominous visage.

“Good. Now off.” he directs, and you obey immediately.

“Now, we test my faith in you.” he states intently, stepping closer and closer until he is merely an arm’s length away, looming expectantly over you.

Stomach tingling and your mind blank, you watch as he harshly grips the wrist of your right hand and presses the unarmed lightsaber against the blinking control panel on his chestplate, the shocking sensation of his touch feeling a million miles away.

Staring at where the hilt of the blade rests against his armor, you have the cold understanding that you could kill him right now.

You could kill him, and yet it would do nothing to change your fate.

It takes a moment to realise he’s staring at you before you look up to meet the blank gaze of his mask. Somehow you can feel it in him, the faith he has in you and the understanding that killing him would not save you.

You’re like that for a moment, staring at each other and listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing before he steps away, and you hand the lightsaber back to him.

“Well done.” he praises as he beckons you to follow. “Come. We are done here.”

You both board Lord Vader’s ship once again, your mind and emotions still reeling from the stress of the situation you just managed to live through as he calmly leads you to his chambers.

“Make yourself comfortable.” he orders as you enter the room, and you waste no time in shrugging off your outermost robe, leaving on your cowl and belted underdress. Plopping wearily onto one of the long couches in the room, you notice that it’s notably firmer than the plush furnishings of your suite, though you were in no place to complain.

Lord Vader stares at you for a moment, and you become bashful at the idea of him looking upon your uncovered skin, before he turns to his place at the large window to watch as the ship takes off.

You wonder if he does anything other than stare out the window in contemplation.

Straightening yourself up, you watch the grey planet fade away as the ship flies, bidding the site of your near-grave a goodbye before looking around the room in which you sit.

Now that you have the chance to really look, you take in your surroundings. To your right, the wall with the door is covered in blinking controls which you can only assume are either used to manipulate aspects of the room or call droids and Imperial personnel. On the far wall opposite where you sit, there is a large open doorway into an illuminated room housing an enormous tank filled with a mysterious blueish liquid, and you wonder what the purpose for it could possibly be.

You don’t see a bed in the room, so you assume that Vader sleeps elsewhere. That is, if he indeed sleeps.

In the left hand corner of the opposite wall, you can see a long white table littered with various parts, mechanisms and tools laid out upon it, and you find it mildly interesting that Darth Vader likes to tinker.

The Sith Lord’s voice cuts through your curious observations like a razor.

“What do you know of the force?” He asks, peering over his shoulder at you.

You’re stunned for a moment before you answer.

“I must admit, Lord Vader, I know very little, as it was forbidden to be taught on my homeworld.” you reply truthfully, caught off guard by the seemingly random question. It was true, the ways of the force were not formally taught as a form of trying to shield the people of your home-planet from the Empire; all you know are the legends and the myths that were told as stories.

Lord Vader nods in acceptance.

“This ship is equipped with an entire library full of knowledge of the force, both light and dark; Jedi and Sith. You are free to utilise it if you so wish.” He offers, but it sounds more like an order.

Feeling as though there’s something he’s not saying, you simply nod.

“Thank you master.” you accept graciously with a soft smile.

He only nods in reply, gaze lingering heavily upon you before he turns away from the window, pacing over to his work bench in the opposite corner from where you sit and taking a seat.

You do not know how long he toils over his machines, nor how long you accompany him in doing so.

The last thing you remember before waking up in your own bed is dozing off on Lord Vader’s couch.

Confused and unaware of how you got back to your suite, you rub the sleep out of your eyes and sit up. As you rise, a gentle knock sounds behind the door.

“Come in!” you call out, clearing your throat and wetting your lips.

The friendly droid enters, bowing to you and chirping its greetings.

“Good evening, Madam! I’m assured you’re ready for your meal?” it asks politely. Smiling softly at the kind droid, you nod.

“Yes, please.”

After all, the stress of the day's activities has left you quite hungry, your stomach growling at the thought of the decadent spreads you’ve been spoiled with.

The droid steps out for a moment, promptly returning with a spread no less extravagant than the others you’ve been lucky enough to enjoy. Tonight, your meal consists of a striking plum-coloured stew, accompanied by an herbed mash of root vegetables, and crusty baked breads still warm from the oven.

As you eat, a curious and humorous thought crosses your mind, and you set down your spoon to ask the droid a question.

“Was it you that carried me all the way back here?” you giggle playfully, finding amusement in the idea of the spindly droid hauling you through the corridors.

“No milady, Lord Vader saw to that himself.” the droid answers dutifully.

Knowing it is incapable of lying, the idea hits you like a train, and you’re struck by it for a moment.

Carrying you to your room seemed like a task that would be uncharacteristically tender, too gentle for Vader to carry out. You can feel the flush that spreads across your cheeks as you come to the understanding that there is still much you do not know about your master.

“Oh, um. Give him my thanks.” you reply quietly, leaving it at that.

“As you wish, Milady.” the droid affirms.

Spending the rest of your meal in contemplative silence, it does you well, nourishing and soothing your tired body.

Before the droid leaves you for the night, you request the books that Lord Vader had mentioned, thinking some studying may help you to understand your master, even if just a small bit more.

It happily delivers them to you, leaving you with a stack of thick and heavy books with weathered bindings.

Elsewhere, Darth Vader paces in his chamber, heavy footsteps echoing around him.

He is quite satisfied with the recent turn of events, knowing surely now that your spirit had not been broken by your life of torment, but that it was bendable.

It was true that you had great fear within you, but your lust for power and your anger was greater. Your suffering had made you fierce, it made you courageous.

The Emperor will be pleased.

Remembering the strength in your expression as you had connected with him while your very life hung in the balance, the absolute, steady faith you had in him; And then the dichotomy of holding your serenely peaceful sleeping body in his arms, your angelic calmness, he feels an unfamiliar flutter in his chest before shaking it off.

Spending the rest of the night flipping through an ancient tome, you are thoroughly intrigued by the stories contained within. They read like fairy tales; tales of heroic bravery, of villainous contempt, of epic battles and galactic love.

They’re enchanting, reminding you of those cherished times as a child when your parents would read to you before putting you to bed.

Well into the late hours of the night, you finally ready yourself for sleep, yawning and stretching as you shrug off your garments.

As you lay out an outfit for the next day, you catch a glimpse of a passing moon. It’s beautiful, a light yellow hue to the pallid monolith as it glows. Moons always reminded you of solitude, your only companion in those quiet hours of the night. As you watch it pass, you silently hope that you dream of your mysterious suitor again.

Your prayers are answered.

Becoming aware of your surroundings, your eyes scan the room around you. It’s a more intimate setting this time, a quaint stone cottage within a verdant forest. There are strange herbs and flowers hung to dry all about the room, leaving it with a floral, green aroma.

Sitting on the floor in front of a warm, crackling fire, your vision finally adjusts to your dimly lit setting, and you spot the one you had wished for standing just within the doorway.

He smiles warmly as your eyes land on him, exposing a row of perfect teeth. You can’t help but to smile back.

Striding out of the shadows, he joins you by the fire, nestling you against his side. His energy is the same and you can feel it just as strongly as before, entrancing and sultry as the fire before you.

You spend a long moment just looking at him, committing every aspect of his features to memory in case you never get the pleasure of seeing him again.

He’s still got that warm smile on his face as he gazes back at you, making your stomach flutter. His hair falls in perfect golden waves on his shoulders, framing his outstandingly handsome features. His eyes are half-lidded, his pupils blown wide as he looks upon you; his full, pink lips parted.

Feeling the heat in your body rising, spreading across your face and tinging the tips of your ears, you look away shyly.

The connection you feel with this man still baffles you, it doesn't make any sense, leaving you confused and questioning whether you can even trust your own emotions.

Though, you suppose dreams don’t have to make any sense.

Reaching over to you, he brushes a tress of hair away from your face to read your expression, pulling your attention back to him.

You blink sheepishly at him through long lashes as he hooks a finger under your chin, turning you to face him fully. Goosebumps form instantly at the contact, your hairs standing on end as a wistful sigh leaves your lips.

He brings your face so close to his own that you can feel his gentle breaths tickling your lips. The air, the energy between you is like a thunderstorm; intense, restless, and exhilarating.

You revel in the way he touches you like something that threatens to break.

The realisation then hits you that this is your first time seeing him unhidden by his cloak. You take your time in taking in all the new details you had missed, noticing a lengthy scar on the right side of his face, running nearly all the way from his hairline to just below his eye.

He slowly curls a strong arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap, never breaking eye contact while doing so. Following his movements obediently, you shift your legs to wrap around his waist as you perch on him; the tips of your noses tickling each other as you adjust yourself.

You want, you crave nothing more than this closeness and contact with him.

After being denied pleasant, consensual human contact for so long, the feeling is intoxicating. It makes your head swim, and your heartbeat race.

Still face to face, you delicately raise your right hand, ghosting the tips of your fingers down the length of his scar, taking great care in case it’s still painful for him. Your fingers buzz and tingle, like nerve endings coming back to life after having fallen asleep.

Lips parting and eyes falling shut at your touch, he presses his forehead against yours.

Your whole body lights up and hums at the sensation, like a static charge. His intense and all-consuming energy surrounds you, threatening to swallow you whole.

And you let it. You let him in.

Holding the doors to your mind open, you begin receiving visions.

Visions of a small boy with tawny hair and bright blue eyes. Visions of the familiar sandy, dual-sunned landscape of Tatooine. Visions of that small boy toiling away in the shop of a cruel junk dealer.

Your eyes fly back open with the newfound understanding that the child was him, that he truly had lived a life like yours.

In this moment, as your heart races and your eyes flit between his, he feels like the person closest to you in the entire world.

He looks back at you with soft eyes. The expression on his face is one that says:

This is me. Do you see it? This is me.

Overwhelmed by the connection, by the painful swelling of your heart in your chest, you let instinct lead rather than logic.

Leaning into him further, you brush your lips just barely over the full curve of his, inviting him to close the distance.

Instantly he relents, capturing your own lips with his, pure passion and intense longing radiating off of him in waves.

As he tangles a large hand in your soft hair, you can feel your heart thumping against your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins. Draping your arms over his sturdy shoulders, the very air around the two of you feels electric, tingling and crackling with released tension. Lips locking over and over, hands everywhere, tongues tasting each other in the heat of your fiery desire, you send a message through your ministrations.

I see you. You say with every touch of the lips, every tease of his tongue, every rake of your nails across the soft skin of his abdomen. I see you.

When you finally break the session to suck in greedy gasps of much needed air, he bites onto your bottom lip, prolonging the contact for as long as possible. He clutches you tightly, possessively to his strong body, as if you could be ripped from his arms at any moment; his own chest heaving as he breathes.

He slides a large, rough hand up the small of your back, steadying you as you rest your head on his shoulder for a moment. Pressing a feather light kiss to the petal-soft skin of his throat, your eyes slide shut with great satisfaction.

Credz:

Lightsaber graphic creds: @saradika

Taglist:

@heyitsaloy

@poisonedsultana

@cryptidsrcool

@mayhemories

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seleneblue · 2 years

Text

Winter Fruit (Part 1)

x. Dracula 2020 x. Dracula x Reader x. Explicit x. Summary: A new life, a new chapter, and everything is getting so heated. x. Word count: 630

“What is it that you desire?”

So lush, lovely, and dark. The vampire’s voice is like a fine and deadly syrup. The vowels tickle in your ear like a beautiful, sinister little dance.

The sun slowly dips below the horizon. Plush curtains and lamps with soft amber glows blocked out most of the golden rays, except for one sliver peeking through a far off window. Close enough for you to see the waning sunlight, and far away to do any harm. Soon, the night would bloom with pinholes of stars like silent cosmic guardians flitting over your darkest desires.

The vampire is talking to you.

You reach for an onyx bowl and finger a fresh fig, delaying the inevitable answer Dracula already knew. Days passed—maybe even a week—since you eschewed your old life. Abandoned routines and livelihoods to run head first into his arms with no plan, present or future.

You make eye contact with him and bite into the petal-soft ripened fig instead of answering. You hope it burns him. Just a little bit, enough for some delicious trouble.

Dracula says your name one more time. The urge to say Yes, Daddy pulsates in your throat.

You eat the rest of the fig. “Mm, you.”

In Dracula’s chambers the fireplace is full of blue and orange tipped flames. Something else in you is already burning, it’s mossy and ancient. Carnality lives in your mouth.

If only he would fully taste it.

Everything around you both is an embrace and a spell. Wreaths of dried pomegranates and lamb’s ear (fairy treasures, Dracula tells you), candle sconces, and portraits of beautiful women and men long gone adorn the flocked velvet wallpaper. The room is warm and the heat pools inside your belly in wild anticipation of his mouth, his such sharp teeth.

In this arid, forest-tinged museum is where new art will be made—Dracula’s worship of you.

+++

Dracula is upon you before you take a new breath. The scent of you is intoxicating, like a lush forbidden fruit. The rising heat makes you both hunger.

“What is it that you desire?” he asks again.

At this moment, you study his hands. How close they are to your neck, how large they are against your skin. His fingers trace lines at your clavicles, the other hand reaching to your breast and teases your nipples.

You gasp. Dracula continues.

“Yesterday, you asked me to rip your dress off into shreds,” he says into your ear. “And you rode my thigh.”

Dracula nips at your neck. Teasing, so much teasing. You moan and his eyes turn red. “The day before that, I worshiped your slit again and again.” You grin, remembering the delicious forced orgasms, quivering in a pile of sticky sweat with pinpricks of blood glistening at your throat.

Dracula shivers with arousal. “You are beautiful, my dove,” he says.

He bites you hard, leaves a trickle of blood on your neck and chest in his destructive wake. Sighing, you try to muster the words of your desire. “Tell me,” he commands.

The small puncture marks on your neck ache with pleasure. Your lips feel warm, pulsating at the prospect of his kisses, and even more pleasure. Languid thoughts race through your head, if he could take you fully. If Dracula could make you truly his.

Dracula lazily pinches your nipples again, your body keeps heating up. The wet space between your thighs throbs. “I want you,” you say. “All of you—completely inside me.”

He straddles you and that sickly divine scent of mythology and dark pomegranates fills your nose. You’re ready to take him, to be filled up with his hard hot sex. You’re ready to be a bride.

“You wish is my command,” Dracula says. “My bride.”

Part 2 (Coming soon, hopefully by the end of this week.)

#dracula 2020 #fan fiction #fandom #vampire fanfic #vampire fanfiction #dark academia #dracula bbc #count dracula #dracula fanfiction #claes bang #dracula x reader #fanfic #brides of dracula

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songofthesibyl · 1 year

Text

The Oak and the Holly

A Tamlin POV of chapter 25 of A Court of Thorns and Roses—the Solstice Chapter

It was coming. It had been waxing, steadily, since her arrival. From those whom she could not see, arching necks, whispering, tittering laughter. Bright sparks in the hollowness of eyes, sunk deep beneath masks, for forty-nine years. He had seen it, when she had not. Not visible, not yet. It was still so dark, and so cold, the changes invisible, glamoured, as they were, as he was. No changes at all. The sun only ever rose so high, the air only so warm, flowers never gave way to fruits. And yet, changes all the same. He had gone, often, back to the border. And watched, though time ticked, always in his head, much more than it ever had before, much more than it was ever meant to. Nothing changed here, for five hundred years. Even after Amarantha had taken it for her own. Claimed it, claimed him. Still, it had not changed. The power a halo over his head, golden and glowing. But the sighing of the willow was more plaintive, and less mournful, these weeks. And then so relaxed he had slept, so peacefully, by Feyre’s side. The air was sweet still, wisteria hung like grapes, aprons were heavy with stalks of rhubarb, visions of sweet sauces, juicy and red, weeping over sticky sweetness and puffs of cream and meringue, apple blossoms floating on her tongue.

He had never been so still. Never in his life. Perhaps on a night, with blood on his hands, staring at darkness. Yes, then. The moment stopping time, turning the world, but slightly, off its axis, but the magic righting it, restoring forests of bluebells singing, a faint ripple of a starlit pool. That was all. And then time had started again, the world had lit with gold on his skin, in his eyes, crowning him, forever. Ever-renewed, ever-opening, ever-ripening. Ever-increase. For centuries.

And then a great stillness in his heart. Warmth down his throat, then cold, everywhere. Only the faintest hint of what had been red, and multi-chambered, and pulsing. Yet only a moment, and as the curse took hold, it did not feel so strange. It felt no different at all. And he had realized it, then. How similar, his heart. How cold he had grown. And how still.

He had gone every day to the border. When he had sent his sentries, when he had not. To know it was out there, waiting. Every day, drawing closer. Time ticking away, every day, to the end of it. The sound of it ever present, to replace the beating he no longer heard, no longer felt, in his heart.

The coldness in him.

He had felt it everywhere, and he had gone to the border, where they were waiting, her monsters, and blood on his hands. And the raw flesh of Andras against the frozen earth, and the nakedness of the forest, and the cold in him. Every day, since Feyre had come. But with the surety, with the inevitability of the human world, it came. In fits and starts, and not seen at first, but it rose higher, just a bit, every day, warmer, then the frost returning, capricious and cruel, unpredictable, yes—but not what rose above, higher still, every day. And he watched, and he felt a warmth on him unlike any other, he had let it warm him, exposed thick skin, longer and longer each day, until it penetrated, until it almost reached, further and further, and waxing, higher and higher, until what was inside matched what was outside, and he looked outside, and the human world finally, reflected his. Spring had come.

And they all felt it, they all knew, around him, though he did not see, though he did not know. They had whispered, lips to ears, and sparks in their eyes, and smiles widening like the moon.

The sun would rise soon. And with it, the lie revealed. Because everything would stop again, light suspended in the sky, for one moment, before descending, finally, forever. It was already happening, wings torn from the body, a head in the garden, and blood drip-dripping down, a reminder that Rhysand was here. Everywhere increase, everywhere the sun, but all around, everywhere, at the edges, this shadow looming. He was so close. If he knew, if he knew. If he saw. But the night would be so short, hardly a night at all, it would retreat in the face of the sun. He would stand as the sun stood, in place, triumphant, and no trace of a shadow would remain.

And then.

Every time he had tried to tell her, to even think of speaking the words, in all those months, his throat burned, and dried up, and his breath was taken from him, as if an invisible hand gripped him, as if he were a puppet, at the hands of a daemati. And yet to the border, and the proof of it. He looked at winter woods forever in his room, the sun only ever so high, but on the other side, it was the last day of spring.

He shifted at the sight of it, the inky night watercolors leaking, lightening to red, pink, orange, and yellow. And he finally shook the night off.

Safe, for now. Soon the sun would stop in the sky, and it would be the shortest night.

He tramped along the earth, heavy-footed, close, but as the sun rose, he felt it raising him up, inevitably, against his will, against claws digging in, and the fur dragging the ground, willing time to stop, not wanting the lightness, not wanting to let it into his heart, the warmth, and the light, warming the stone surrounding all he was. Ever since he became High Lord.

It had fit him, really. The moment everything had stopped. He had mourned his mother, and burned the wings, and had wished peace for them, and for his court. Not for himself, ever, but—this stillness, it was a comfort. Everything was in place. He had not wanted it, but it was a fitting punishment, and he accepted it, in that way. The halo above his head, the jewels in his eyes, were chains, and the manor a prison, the echoes of violence always there, as it was on his hands, now. Others had seen it, not him. They had known better. He was not cut out for this. But they could see, not just his waxing power—but that he’d be a good soldier. He would take his orders, he would perform his duty. Hands wanting to grip a bow, not to pull back, not to take life as Feyre had been forced to, but gently, gently, upon the strings. A caress. No. It was a mask, they knew better, they knew what he was, truly, underneath. What he was good at, what his hands were for. What he had been doing all night, echoes of the severed head that had been the reminder. Killing Amarantha’s monsters, one after the other, all night, and now, and forever.

Yet he could still feel Feyre’s lips crushed against his hand. The sting of it, and what had bloomed there. What had taken root.

He breathed in the land, he felt the connection, and yet this lightness, this thinning of skin, of wanting her to, the smoothing of callouses, of the shedding of fur, and fangs, and claws. He had seen it in her too, felt it.

No, no.

It had been easier, he had been able to live with it, with himself, gain his own sense of peace. He had tried to get away, but he had been pulled back to the beating bloody heart of it all the same, had been given his orders, and the male, the High Lord he was meant to be, covered his hands from the first day.

The first thing he had done as high lord was kill. It marked him, forever. Unable to cry out, unable to resist. He had done his duty, done what he was trained for. His whole life. Even now, even Calan Mai, however much the shame and regret ate at him, however much he had tried to brush it off the next day, rudely, horribly, as always. It would enter him, it would work its will, he felt it. She would kiss him, gently, and he would not be used to the touch, only the clawing at him, and the claiming, and he would return it, he would recoil for its softness, and the claws would come out, of their own accord.

He could only be thankful she was human. That there was no possibility of their being mates, however much a part of him was pained at that. Because it would be so much worse. It was already worse, now. He had wondered, if it would be better, easier, if he did not return the love the human female might have for him. If she would indeed manage to love him at all. But if she did, if she would. He wondered what would have been worse, for her, for him. For him to only feel the guilt, and shame, at using a human in this way. Or for him to love her back. To love her even if she didn’t love him at all.

And now he knew, and this was worse. It was so much worse. Not for him, he didn’t matter. But for her. Hours upon hours, fighting monsters, but it was not Rhysand, it was not even the curse, though of course it was that—but it was him. It all stemmed from him, all came from him. He had not wanted it, but it was in his blood, and he had been chosen, and because of him, it would continue. He was the bow, he was the knife, he was the weapon. And he had gained some peace from this. It was what he knew, what he had been trained in, all that was valued in him. And he had used it, to protect his people, his lands, and that was enough. It was all he was, it was everything, and at least he was not hurting anyone unnecessarily. If he took his orders, if he kept still.

But there had always been this thing in him that was greedy. That wanted more. After he had become High Lord, he had hidden himself away, encased himself in his new beast form, as his heart was now in stone. And then Lucien had come over the border to his court, bloody, devastated, a pleading look in his eyes. He had done what he was good at, he had fulfilled his function. And that would have been it, but he could not help it. And Lucien wouldn’t leave him alone. And the good feeling he got, to allow himself that. And how his court had come alive, and Lucien’s laughter. Oh, when he had laughed for the first time again. He wanted that.

When he had made Feyre laugh.

Joy, and peace, and rest.

He had made his court into something—nothing ambitious, he did not care for that, he had none in him. But the sighing of the trees, and this respite, and the celebrations, and the wheel of the year. If it were not a lie, he would take them in, every child who looked from the other side of the wall, desperately, as Lucien had. As so many had, in the past forty-nine years. But the shadows at the edges.

This was what it had led to. He looked at the line below Lucien’s mask as he approached. Not just retaliation, but a warning, a message. A branding, a marking. As he had been marked by her, centuries before, Hybern always at the edges. Always reminding him. This was what he had inherited. That was how he had been chosen. Killers, tyrants, slave owners. His legacy. If Feyre stayed with him, it would be the same, the grasping, the branding, the owning. She would suffer in silence as his mother had, and he would take his place in the bloodline. He had to keep them at a distance, it was better that way, for what was coming, for what had been coming since he was born. Ever increase, but finally, finally, the sun would hit its peak, and then the light would retreat, forever.

But their laughter.

Lucien looked at him warily with the one eye that was still flesh.

“I’m fine,” Tamlin answered his silent question.

“She’s been worried.”

Yes. She cared what happened to him. “Where is she?”

“Getting ready.”

He looked to the horizon. Late afternoon already. He had been practicing for hours. His hands drawing the bow. And the release. All of a sudden, the sounds, the colors, filled in around him. Merry-making, and excitement. Music, and laughter. And real.

“If she wears something other than a tunic and pants it’ll be a miracle.” Lucien paused. “You aren’t wearing your baldric tonight, are you? I imagine it would be difficult to play with it on.”

He sighed, not in the mood for his jokes. “No, Lucien, I’m not.”

Lucien looked him over, his voice becoming deeper. “Can’t we have one day, Tam.”

No. Not even that.

“He doesn’t know,” he went on.

Tamlin had spent all night looking for him, only traces of monsters she had left, more and more, as a reminder. But there had been no sign of Rhysand.

“He was there. He could have seen.”

“But he didn’t.”

No. Because if he had, it would already be over. The shadows, gathering.

“Feyre feels it, you know. It’s obvious, to everyone. I don’t think even you could be blind to it.”

Five days. Five days.

Lucien attempted a smile. There was a spark in his eye that Tamlin knew well.

“I don’t know how it happened.”

Tamlin felt the corners of his mouth go up in anticipation at the tone in his voice, at his look. He walked got up and walked with him, towards the manor. To her.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What?”

“Interesting choice of words.”

He only glanced sidelong at him.

“Just, how the two most humorless people in Prythian managed to find each other.”

He rolled his eyes.

“She’s made a few jokes.” Since she had started to relax. Since she had started to become comfortable.

“And you?”

“I—“

“Unless you deciding to break down her door in your beast form when you first met her was your idea of a joke.”

He crossed his arms as they walked through the doors, Lucien’s laughter echoing through the halls.

“Keep going and I’ll chuck you into another pool.”

Lucien said nothing, only laughed harder. The sound of it. He had not laughed so freely, so loudly, in these halls in a long time.

“She’s changed things,” Lucien said. “Changed you.”

“She’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“Not…this.”

He looked at him wryly. “Is this the eloquent speech that charmed a hunter of fae?”

“Oh, well, what is a beast to one with a fox’s tongue?”

Lucien smirked. “You could shape shift into one. Have a fox’s tongue for yourself.”

“I don’t think even at my full power I would be able to manage that.”

“Perhaps not.”

He could never manage to play the games other High Lord’s sons had been taught to play. Only with his tongue held could he continue to lie to her.

“She really is the one.”

Tamlin looked at him, shaking his head of his thoughts. But Lucien was no longer looking at him. Tamlin followed his gaze.

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien whistled, “you look positively fae.”

The ticking of time stopped for a moment, and there was the phantom of his own heart within the stone trying, desperately, to beat. All of it, the past six months of increase, shining, resplendent, before him. More glowing, more beautiful, than any fae. Not forced, not forever in stasis, not a facade. The crown of daisies, forget-me-nots, and musk-mallow more fitting, more regal than his own, which dimmed in comparison. Her skin glowing not from something fixed upon it, but from within, from someone given the time, and space to heal, to become themselves, with joy, and peace and rest. He could still smell the paint on her.

“You look lovely,” he finally said.

She stood at her full height as she reached the floor, affecting disinterest. He realized he hadn’t stopped smiling at her.

“I’m surprised I’m even allowed to participate tonight.”

“Unfortunately for you and your neck,” Lucien said, “tonight’s just a party.”

“Do you lie awake at night to come up with all of your witty replies for the following day?”

The fox’s tongue. He laughed, despite himself, his body working against his mind, going towards her, offering her his arm.

“He’s right,” he told her. Oh, the warmth when she accepted his arm. The feeling of her, solid on the ground, a healthy roundness to her face. The blue dress moving over her curves, increasing steadily, with the light. “Solstice celebrates when the sun outshines the night. As the longest day of the year, it’s a time when everyone can take down their hair and simply enjoy being a faerie—not High Fae or faerie, just us, and nothing else.”

“So there’s singing and dancing and excessive drinking,” Lucien said, coming up behind them to join at Feyre’s other side. “And dallying.”

That grin, again. Just one day. Couldn’t they have just one. Tamlin felt he could, that he could almost break free, by himself, just for the nearness of her, for her heart, that beat so fiercely for them both, for his that had never beat so strongly, even before the curse. He held her more tightly, to feel the pulse of it, that Midsummer magic, even in Spring, that would free him, finally. She wouldn’t need to say it. Just feel it. The warmth, and him, and the pulse that called to her, desperately, pleading, speaking what his tongue could not, even before it was cursed. So loudly, he could hardly hear the music, and the crowds, as they approached, her light outshining the already weakened dark, and the decorations, and the bodies all around, that he growled at, out of instinct, as he let go of her, as their eyes were upon her.

Desperate. Pleading. As he let go of her, as the spell was broken, in the silence that resumed he could hear the crowd.

“I’m going to go get some food,” she called out to him, smiling, barely stepping on the earth. He nodded to her, suddenly feeling very separate from everything.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid,” Lucien said.

“Like you did on Calan Mai?”

He smirked. “If we’re talking about doing stupid things on Calan Mai—“

“I wasn’t in control.”

“And being a dick after?”

“…I apologized.”

“Yes. You did.”

Sparks in his eye, embers from the bonfires all around, as he stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“I do.”

Lucien looked to where Feyre waited in line with the others. She was almost indistinguishable from them now.

“You’re so close. Don’t screw this up.”

He winced. “She’s not…she isn’t some pawn that I’m—“

“No, I—I mean that’s true, too. It is coming. But that’s not what I meant. I mean—don’t screw this up, Tam.”

Lucien searched his eyes, the gold seeing through him, to make sure he understood his meaning. But Tamlin could only see the line down to his chin.

He nodded his head, indicating Feyre. “I thought you were going to look after her.”

Lucien sighed. “She’s already taken so much from you. Don’t let her take this.”

“But it’s a lie, all of this, it—“

“The way Feyre looked at you? The way you looked at her? The people here, tonight? This is real. Feyre doesn’t know…everything, but she knows there is danger. And everyone else.” He tapped his mask. “Every day they look in the mirror. But she doesn’t get to take this.”

He smiled slightly. “Go.”

“Ok, but I better hear you playing.”

“You will.”

Lucien gave him a playful, affectionate look as he walked away.

A daemati. They could take it from him. Take joy, and love. Everything he felt and was. He did not deserve this happiness. And he knew it was, and he felt it. It was so much better, when one didn’t know. He had always stopped before, when he had felt the first stirrings. He had shut himself up, and it had worked. But this time was different. It was the curse, he could not afford to stop—but it was not that, really, it was him. It was his greediness, his clutching. His grip on her arm, his growl of warning. When one knew, when one realized, then there was the fear, and the grasping, and the possessiveness. It was too dangerous, he could not let himself. But he could not help it, he wanted it. Wanted her, but he would take, he was not in control, this grasping, and her nearness, and her lifeblood, and the inside matched the outside, and it was not a lie, he loved her, he loved her. And it would destroy her. It would destroy her. And he could not let it.

In this realization, time stopped. For him, and her, until the light left forever, and the shadows came to claim him, and the oak gave way to the holly, and the night would only get longer, until the sun descended forever.

Just one night. He wanted it. Wanted her. He was wrong to. But one night. Couldn’t he have one night. That she could put down her bow, and he could take up his, and play only, only for her.

He walked noiselessly, lightly, in his fae form, and took his place amongst the others, and felt the echo of her heart in his. No one took note. He was no one, and when he played, he would forget himself. But when he remembered, time would start again, and would tick down, five, four, three, two, one. He couldn’t stop it any longer. He wanted to let go. But he was afraid. He was afraid.

@tamlinweek2023 Day Three: Possessive

#tamlinweek2023 #tamlin #acotar

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journeythroughjourneytothewest · 1 year

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Chapter 5 Recap: Disrupting the Peach Festival, the Great Sage steals elixir; With revolt in Heaven, many gods would seize the fiend.

NOTE: Due to me being away from my computer in the following days, I decided to post this chapter recap early. Keep that in mind as you decide whether or not to read on. I will still do my best to post everything people may submit on the "official" meeting this upcoming Sunday!

---

We are now in a chapter that covers some of the Monkey King’s most infamous pre-journey actions! It begins with a reminder “that the Great Sage, after all, was a monkey monster; in truth, he had no knowledge of his title or rank, nor did he care for the size of his salary.” Furthermore, as his every need was taken care of, his “sole concern was to eat three meals a day and to sleep soundly at night.” Yet in addition to these more “animal,” indeed lazy activities, we also learn that Sun Wukong is making friends and forming alliances all across Heaven. This continues for some time until one day, while the Jade Emperor is holding court, the Daoist immortal Xu Jingyang suggests that since the Great Sage “has no duties” and “has become quite chummy” with various deities “regardless of whether they are his superiors or subordinates,” and that this situation “may lead to roguery,” he should be given something to do. Taking this advice, the Jade Emperor sends for Sun Wukong and assigns him as the temporary caretaker for the Garden of Immortal Peaches. The Great Sage is “delighted” at this news, again bowing deeply to the Jade Emperor in thanks.

Unable to restrain himself “from rushing immediately into the Garden of Immortal Peaches,” Sun Wukong soon meets both the garden’s local spirit and those assigned to attend to the garden’s upkeep. He’s also greeted with the sight of beautiful, heavy fruit, and is further informed that it both takes thousands of years for the peaches to ripen and that but a taste can turn a mortal into an immortal.

For some time Sun Wukong diligently inspects the peach trees and stops visiting his friends or taking other trips. Yet one day, noticing that some of the peaches from the oldest trees have ripened, he manages to trick his attendants into leaving him alone so that he can eat as much of the immortal fruit as he wants. He does this every two or three days until the Lady Queen Mother decides to hold a banquet for the Grand Festival of Immortal Peaches, and sends out seven Immortal Maidens to pick fruit for the festival. They do gather a few basketfuls of peaches, but find that the ripe peaches from the oldest trees all gone, as the Monkey King had devoured them all. Accidently startling Sun Wukong from a peach-induced slumber, the monkey confronts the Seven Immortal Maidens for having “the gall to steal my peaches,” and through this learns both of the Grand Festival of Immortal Peaches, as well as the fact that he likely wasn’t invited.

Angered at this, Sun Wukong uses magic to immobilize the Seven Immortal Maidens and flies off to “do a little detection to find out whether he’s invited or not.” On his way to the Jasper Pool where the festival was to take place, the monkey runs into the Great Immortal of Naked Feet, and tricks the immortal to go elsewhere while he took on the Immortal of Naked Feet’s form. Reaching the treasure chamber where the festival is to be held, the disguised Monkey King find a cornucopia of hundreds of delicacies in exquisite dishes. He’s also immediately tempted by the scent of freshly made wine, and using his body outside the body technique changes a few of his hairs into “many sleep-inducing insects, which puts those in charge of the alcohol to sleep. Sun Wukong is then free to indulge in both food and wine, which he does so until he’s thoroughly drunk.

Realizing that he’d be in a lot of trouble if caught, the Great Sage stumbles around, hoping to get home but becoming completely lost. This drunken wandering brings him to the Tushita Palace, where Laozi lives. Deciding in his inebriated state that now would be the perfect time to visit this high immortal, the Monkey King pushes his way in, but finds that both Laozi and his attendants are nowhere to be found. What Sun Wukong does find, however, is five gourds filled with finished immortal elixir, which is in fact “the greatest treasure of immortals.” The Great Sage proceeds to eat all of the “like friend beans.”

The “effect of the elixir…dispelled that of the wine,” and Sun Wukong realizes, to put it academically, that he’s in far deeper shit than he was before. Knowing that “it’ll be difficult to preserve my life” if he’s discovered, the monkey decides that “I’ll go back to the Region Below to be a king,” and promptly returns to Flower-Fruit Mountain. After Sun Wukong is chided by his “little ones” for being gone so long without visiting, the yaoguai are delighted to hear of the mischief the Monkey King got into for not being invited to the Grand Festival of Immortal Peaches (although Sun Wukong does not mention his theft of the peaches from the oldest trees). After trying coconut wine and finding that it tastes “just awful” compared to heavenly wine, the Monkey King goes back to heaven to steal jour large bottles of the divine alcohol to give to his monkeys so that they too might gain even more immortality.

Meanwhile, the Seven Immortal Maidens are released from Sun Wukong’s immobilization spell only after an entire day has passed. They immediately report what happened to them to the Queen Mother, who is then joined by the divine wine makers, Laozi, other heavenly officials, and the Great Immortal of Naked Feet in declaring the Monkey King’s various crimes. A now furious Jade Emperor then orders multiple military gods and “a hundred thousand celestial soldiers” to “set up eighteen sets of cosmic net, to journey to the Region Below, to encircle completely the Flower-Fruit Mountain, and to capture the rogue and bring him to justice.” The Nine Luminaries are the first ordered to go into battle, and, arriving to the Water Curtain Cave and finding “a troop of monkeys…prancing about playfully,” they announce that Sun Wukong has been told me must surrender or else “all of you will be executed.”

Sun Wukong, still sharing the stolen Heavenly wine, is nonchalant about this announcement at first. When the Nine Luminaries break down the door and are about to fight their way in, however, the Monkey King grows angry and swiftly orders the yaoguai under him to take up battle formation. Plunging into battle himself, the Great Sage swiftly beats back the Nine Luminaries, and undaunted by the Jade Emperor’s decree that he must submit at once or have his family and allies slaughtered, fights with them until they are exhausted and forced to flee. The conflict then escalates into a “all-out battle” between Heaven and yaoguai which lasts all day. At the end of it, the monster kings of seventy-two caves and the One-Horn Demon King are all captured, but all the monkey yaoguai escape thanks to Sun Wukong’s battle prowess. The Monkey King isn’t distressed by the loss of his non-monkey allies, but he does decide that he will capture some of Heaven’s generals “so that our comrades may be avenged.”

How the war may proceed next is something that will have to be left to the next chapter.

#jtjttw submission #jtjttw chapter recap #xiyouji #journey to the west #jttw #jttw reading group #jttw book club

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deathlessathanasia · 1 year

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"The aphrodisiac symbolism of the golden apples is deployed between two extremes: on the one hand, the coercive violence of the gift that cannot be shunned, on the other, the courteous suitor's offer of a present that his intended seems freely able to accept or refuse. It is important to review the symbolic contexts of the apples within this spectrum, given the bonds of deception that unite Atalanta and Aphrodite at the crossroads of hunting and marriage.

There are two contrasting traditions as to their origin. In the one Ovid's narrative follows, Aphrodite herself picked them in the center of the island of Cyprus on her estate at Tamasos in the middle of which rustle the golden boughs of a resplendent tree. According to the other, the fruit come from the Garden of the Hesperides. But the sameness of the fruit cancels the geographical difference. For the only tree that Aphrodite nurtured at Cyprus is the pomegranate (Punica Granatum), the fruit tree that a whole tradition associates with Hera's orchard and through it with the Garden inhabited by the daughters of Atlas. In her sanctuary at Argos, Hera in state holds a scepter in one hand and a pomegranate in the other, a fruit from the tree that is said to grow only for her, the mistress of legitimate marriage. In fact, at the time of her marriage to Zeus, Who made her the unbending guardian of the conjugal bed, Hera received from Earth, who came with the other gods to give wedding gifts to the new bride, the golden fruit that thenceforth would shine in the garden of the gods beneath the protective gaze of the Hesperides, the Virgins of the ends of the earth.

Lest there be any misunderstanding, the fruit of the pomegranate tree, which pleases Aphrodite no less than Hera, is only another name for the "apple" in the fable. The Greek word for "apple" (melon) designates every kind of round fruit resembling an apple, and consequently, it is used not only for the fruit of the apple tree but for the pomegranate and the quince, which was known to the Greeks as the "Cydonian apple". In the domain of marriage, where Aphrodite's power accommodates Hera's, sparkling round fruits--quince, pomegranates, and apples--are used in various ways in gestures and ritual practices. In one of his poems, Ibykos of Rhegium evokes happy love and the untouched garden of the Virgins where pomegranates and apples of Cydon ripen. They are picked at wedding time, as is shown by the tablets of Lokroi: two young women are filling baskets placed at the foot of a tree whose branches are covered with round fruit. An attentive examination of different examples of the same scene has made it possible to recognize on the tree an alternation of pomegranates, quince, and plain apples.

These fruits are offered to the young couple and sometimes thrown at the wedding procession; for instance, the cart that bears Helen and Menelaos is covered with myrtle branches and apples of Cydon. They know other uses as well. Freshly picked fruit are poured into the bride's garment, or a young woman accompanying the bride and groom holds a fruit between two fingers and presents it to them. At Athens, the ritual gesture was even sanctioned by the Solonic code, which enjoins the bride to munch an apple of Cydon before crossing the threshold of the bridal chamber. Plutarch's exegesis may attribute to Solon the wisdom of thus assuring that the bride has a clean mouth and sweet-smelling breath, but Persephone's experience in Hades is doubtless more revealing as to the symbolism of the fruit the bride eats. The gods have decided to return her daughter to Demeter. Hades then must assent, but before letting Persephone join her bereaved mother, he gives her a fruit to eat. It is a pomegranate seed. Henceforth, Persephone will have to spend part of the year in the land of the dead, for she has become the wife of Hades. Persephone will tell her mother that her host did her violence by forcing her to eat a sugary sweet food, when actually the only compulsion inflicted upon her was that of the gift she received from Hades' hand without knowing it. To be sure, there is deception in his way of offering the young woman her nuptial fruit: Hades glances round, he acts in stealth. But the essential point is that in the marriage ceremony the offering of a round fruit, be it quince or pomegranate, ritually consecrates the marital union. Persephone's misadventure provides proof of the gesture's effectiveness."

- Dionysos Slain by Marcel Detienne

#fruits #plants #ancient greece #greek mythology #apple #pomegranate #quince #aphrodite #hera #persephone #marriage.#quotes #excerpts

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maps-to-elsewhere · 21 days

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Worldbuilding: Ecology

The strata are host to a consistent gradient of temperature running from the inhospitably hot and dry within its innermost depths, to wet and, ultimately, interstellar cold at its outermost reaches. Between these extremes, currents of convection carry air between the inner, hotter depths to the outer, cooler reaches, resulting in strong winds and heavy humidity where the currents meet.

Bereft of seasons, different areas are defined by near-constant climates of varying extremes according to their place within its structure. Where they are least active, heavy mists obscure even its largest chambers with some being of such vast size that they house their own weather systems.

In the absence of naturalistic development is, instead, a genetic confluence which clings like mould in the hot, wet environs of convection. Tenacious enough to thrive where all else is barren, a surprising diversity of form can be found between the great extremes that pass for climate.

Through the passage of unnumbered aeons, the life and death of this precipitance have deposited sediments in places where convection is largely relaxed, resulting in a relatively shallow blanket of soil. Where these sediments have built up enough, the sheer pressure of layer upon layer has produced deposits of rock that have been exposed and shaped over time by the motion of wind and water.

That material which finds its way back into the depths is subjected to increasing heat and pressure before being gathered once more into the cyclical mechanisms therein and ejected back to the cooler upper reaches. So expelled, this chemical-rich slurry is subjected to atmospheric plasma fields, the resultant prebiotic ooze complexifying to add its own motive force and biological material to this endless process.

In its own way, an invasive facsimile of ecology has sprung up abundantly, both flora and fauna, to populate the alien spaces. Its motion has gone on to reshape these contents, contributing countless bodies to the cycle, adding richness and unpredictability where none was.

A curious transitive quality exists between many flora and fauna, as juveniles alternate between instars, both vegetative and animal, developing from a larval floral phase before emerging upon the ripening of fruiting bodies into adult fauna or, in the reverse, moulting into sessile, vegetative maturity. Others eschew such metamorphic cycles to, instead, rely on interactions between sexes exhibiting animal and vegetative qualities between them, forming a symbiosis in which the animal sex consumes and is pollinated by the vegetative sex or else fertilised and fed through sporulation via droppings.

FAUNA

Having evolved under conditions of 2x gravity, animals have developed stronger hearts and lungs, with leaner, denser musculature, higher muscular irrigation and thicker, hollow bones actuated via internal hydraulics. Most complex animals are small but very strong, commonly crawling, aquatic and semi-aquatic arthropoids, with both exoskeletons and many-limbed designs being by far the most successful adaptations universally.

Relying on denser oxygen, larger animals tend to have extremely slow, efficient metabolism, many ambush predators exist and ruminants are common, but those that do not are very active, flying animals are rare and even smaller. Ruminants were the first sapient species, an abundance of ready prey incentivising the dietary diversity offered by active hunting and, eventually, farming and the preparation of calorie-dense fare which subsequently aided brain development.

The most common fauna mainly consists of a complex, but not very diverse community of largely colonial cyanobacteria, algae, fungi and microorganisms alongside a handful of simpler vermiform creatures similar to worms, sponges, and jellyfish. Fewer in number, large fauna ranges in diversity from the docility of bovine analogues to the savage predation of dangerous carnivores, insects, avians and so on, many of which are hunted or otherwise cultivated for food and materials.

In environs where light skews toward ultraviolet and infra-red, what little there is being obscured by thick atmosphere, tones of yellow, green and blue are simply imperceivable. Eyes are often large, faceted or multitudinous, seeing mainly infrared light while both plants and animals rely on pigments that operate primarily in the infrared portion of the electromagnetic spectrum.

Bioluminescence is common in creatures that do rely on sight and also often in plants that they feed upon, with many taking up the mechanism through ingestion of certain carrier species. Indeed, this is the primary source of visible light extant in the environment, a distinction around which many iterations of life cluster or else use as signifiers of prey.

Senses that don't rely on light are common, ie chemoreception, electroreception, thermoception, magnetoreception or echolocation, among others. This is especially true in the deep places and lifeseas, as what little light does exist does not reach more than 50 metres (164 feet) beneath any significant liquid body.

~~~

A distinction is made between typical animals, biomechanical amalgams of cultured flesh and cybernetic grafts left over from the Eugenics Wars and creatures which behave like organisms but have none of the attributes associated with life as we know it. Such rampant genetic mutants are collectively called fae, feral transgenic monsters which show radical signs of having been engineered and do not typically find a niche in the natural ecosystem, forcing many settlements to rely on hunting or maintain barriers to corral less dangerous types.

Despite their volatile nature, breeding populations do persist for many of these and all fae are far more hardy and long-lived than their natural counterparts with rumours that some remarkable specimens have persisted since the war. Such resilience has allowed many singular types to range beyond the usual territories preferred by mundane creatures where they grow enormous in their solitude, meeting only to breed.

Although largely inedible, many such monsters are actively hunted, as their scavenged meats and vital fluids are fantastic sources of rare chemical and toxic substances. Their bones are also more resilient than those of mundane creatures, being rich deposits of what little metal can be found within the strange environs.

ABORGANISMS

It is widely understood that the ecology which has taken hold across Zin, from which civilisation arose and upon which its peoples rely is anomalous in itself, an invasive force of nature at odds with the dominant underlying foundations. Dangerous as organic life can be, far more unsettling are strange, even alien things of unknown origin which are speculated to be some manner of animate environmental precipitate, pseudo-living abstraction with a penchant for bloody murder.

No consensus exists as to how these creatures arise, or even if they are creatures at all and not some poorly understood mechanism or similar phenomenon produced naturally within the depths. Further, while similarities are common enough that loose associations are accepted, no two examples are truly alike, but even those who are not actively hostile remain deadly merely by proximity.

Many are the reports of ambulatory geometries which float in eerie silence, only to spring open like a trap to engulf the unwary, or shadows and mists that follow travellers at a distance, peering at the periphery of vision, only to dart out of sight when observed. Roving colours sing with choirs of disembodied voices, enticing the unwary who vanish without a trace, hissing masses of blade-like growths slither along ceilings and up walls while figures in the distance call out with the voices of friends.

Despite their unsettling, and often dangerous, presence, many of these phenomena have been found to produce a range of useful materials which can be harvested and refined. Many chemical, mineral and, most notably, metals otherwise lacking a presence in the environs can instead be collected from, either directly or indirectly, aborganisms.

SLEEP

Originally defined by metabolic rhythms in early microorganisms, the rise of plant life further refined this through the intervals by which early plants rested between periods of UV flares and carbon dioxide intake. The complexification of animal life ultimately came to be defined by movements between the active, wet areas where the atmospheric plasma field is in active flux and quieter, drier regions where they were able to escape predation, rest and rear young.

Sapient species refined this to its current reckoning as they began to cluster within regions on the edges of this dichotomy that experience a temperate mix of the two extremes. Accordingly, many animals and plants are synchronised to changing weather patterns, being dry-active or wet-active while others rely on the activities of predators and prey.

The uniform twilight within the environs has likewise resulted in the evolution of varying types of overlapping, nonlinear cycles of rhythmically co-ordinated biological processes across species, largely untethered from a reliance on ambient light levels. Particularly are the cycles of sleeping and waking adapted along the line of required sleep rather than time or light-locked sleep, which have grown to encompass variations of polyphasic and unihemispheric cycles, states of reduced activity called “torpor”.

In social and herd animals, these have been marked by refinements in the form of staggered cycles, where certain subsets of the population remain awake to watch over the sleepers, and an accelerated achievement of REM phases. Exertion is another factor, exhibited most sharply in predators and other solitary animals, which exhibit an instinct to seek out hidden or darker areas in order to find security from the pressures of local competition.

Within encultured species, the above has found expression in widespread habits of mindfulness and meditation across peoples and social organisation to match and encourage certain expressions of restfulness. In the modern day, this has come to be expressed in the standard around which most of society has been ordered, consisting of six-hour periods of wakefulness interspersed with half-hour periods of rest.

FLORA

Due to the constraints of gravity, plants are more often low to the ground and many crawl and cling across surfaces, independent of any substrate, but those that do not tend to be hardy outliers or rely on buttressing growth patterns that see individuals grow together into networked structures or otherwise form dense congregations. As the environs are cast in perpetual twilight, this lack of illumination renders photosynthesis a less effective means for most plant life to survive, rendering the majority black or deep purple, bioluminescence is common and forms a basis for symbiotic photosynthesis.

Most plants are purple, with more and broader structures dedicated to light absorption if they photosynthesise at all, but leaves are most often long, thin fronds. Some ignore the entire visible spectrum or only use some red light via chlorophyll in addition to the infrared light, leading to white or bright blue-green-metallic vegetation, respectively.

This kind of reflectiveness allows for greater survivability, concordant with regular flares within the atmospheric plasma field and subsequent UV spikes. Other plants can detect UV spikes and react accordingly, rolling up, burrowing, using the sudden influx of light for reproduction or springing up rapidly after flares as others do after fires.

Plants that would otherwise wither within the constant gloom subsist upon a process of thermosynthesis, converting heat energy rather than light into chemical energy and nearly all obtain nutrients and water from the very air. Many larger plants draw energy from electrical storms prevalent throughout atmospheric plasma fields, passing it throughout their root systems and metallic deposits to other plants in their community, discharging excess through their branches.

Certain groups of flora have shown a predilection for extracting minerals and metals from what passes for soil and rock, which is stored within iridescent sap in concentrations purer than can otherwise be found in solid deposits. Acting as a sort of botanical mine, these metallurgical forests are cultivated as accumulators and their sap harvested even as the fruiting bodies of more edible fare and other staple crops.

The most successful flora, by far, are those which subsist in parasitical union with other life, clinging to fauna or aggressively choking out and subsisting upon other flora, exerting such influence over dense, intractable regions around lifeseas. In their presence, other plant life is largely protected by their parasitical influence, allowing them to thrive within the lush, predatory interiors of these areas, the vast wetlands at the edges of which served as the cradles of civilisation.

#creative writing #worldbuilding #writeblr #core #elsewhere #ecology

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lets-get-treetarded-in-here · 29 days

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Waste forces within him, and a desert all around, this man stood still on his way across a silent terrace, and saw for a moment, lying in the wilderness before him, a mirage of honourable ambition, self-denial, and perseverance. In the fair city of this vision, there were airy galleries from which the loves and graces looked upon him, gardens in which the fruits of life hung ripening, waters of Hope that sparkled in his sight. A moment, and it was gone. Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, he threw himself down in his clothes on a neglected bed, and its pillow was wet with wasted tears. Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their directed exercise, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away

#dickens

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blueiceindia · 1 month

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mechaircompany · 7 days

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How Ripening Chambers and Cold Rooms Ensure Banana Freshness

The integration of ripening chambers and cold rooms is crucial in maintaining the quality and taste of bananas from harvest to consumption. This seamless transition between ripening and storage not only boosts supply chain efficiency but also significantly reduces food waste and fulfils consumer demands for high-quality produce.

Banana Ripening and Storage

Ripening chambers play a vital role in accelerating the ripening process by controlling temperature, humidity and ethylene levels while preserving the fruit’s quality. Cold rooms, on the other hand, are essential for extending the shelf life of bananas and preventing premature spoilage.

Bananas are ideal for long-term storage due to their ethylene gas emissions, which speed up maturation. When stored while still green, bananas can last for 6-7 weeks. However, they cannot be directly marketed from storage. To achieve the desired yellow colour, bananas are treated with ethylene in controlled environments, which converts chlorophyll to a yellow pigment in 6-8 days, depending on the temperature.

In a ripening room, bananas typically transition from green to yellow in 4-6 days, gaining sweetness and flavour.

Challenges in Banana Storage

Bananas are susceptible to various diseases and injuries during storage, including Anthracnose, Blackrot, Chilling Injury, Fruit Spot and Rhizopus Rot. Both green and ripe bananas can bruise easily, so careful handling at each stage is crucial to minimise damage and maintain market value.

Temperature and Humidity

Temperature and humidity are pivotal in the ripening process. The ideal temperature for ripening bananas is between 18-25°C, with humidity levels maintained at 85-95%. These conditions facilitate the enzyme activity that converts starches into sugars, enhancing the bananas' sweetness and flavour.

Proper ventilation and air circulation are essential in ripening chambers and cold rooms to ensure even ripening and storage conditions. Adequate airflow helps distribute ethylene evenly in ripening chambers and maintains consistent temperature and humidity levels in cold rooms, thereby optimising fruit quality and freshness.

Impact of Cold Rooms on Nutritional Value

Cold rooms use refrigeration systems to maintain a stable temperature, preventing spoilage due to temperature fluctuations. When well-maintained, cold rooms do not significantly impact the nutritional value of bananas. Instead, they help retain essential nutrients by preserving fruit freshness.

Benefits of Ripening Chamber

Ripening chambers can be customised to meet the specific ripening requirements and storage preferences of different banana varieties, optimising the quality and process for each type. Modern ripening and cold storage facilities often feature energy-efficient designs that reduce overall energy consumption and environmental impact.

Key Benefits include:

Enhanced control over the ripening process, providing flexibility in timing.

Uniform ripening, resulting in a more consistent product.

Faster ripening, saving time and reducing costs.

Mechair’s Banana Cold Rooms As a client-centric organisation, Mechair specialises in manufacturing and exporting high-quality banana ripening machines. These machines are crafted using tested materials and adhere to industry standards, ensuring precise functionality. Highly demanded for their accuracy, Mechair’s banana ripening machines come in various specifications to meet client needs. For more information, visit our website: https://mechair.in/

#Banana cold room #Banana cold room vadodara #Banana cold room in India

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thefvrious · 4 months

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@ghostsxagain sent -> [QUIVER] Damon's voice quivers with emotion as he bares his heart to Joel.

Damon is like the toughest coconut to crack, his shell thick and sturdy — impenetrable. It's not that Joel is digging, either, he lets it be... lets the fruit ripen before wedging in slow, purposeful. Over time, with the right amount of pressure, Damon cracks and everything comes bursting forth threatening to swallow him down. But Joel is there. Joel is a buoy among an ocean of Damon's own creation, there to keep the other man afloat as he spills and spills.

It's small at first, but, like tugging a thread, it all unravels, and Damon relays the ugliness he's endured, the absolute chaos that has molded him into the man he is today — surly and scarred and broken. He had thought he was beyond repair, but here Joel sat with all million and one pieces ready to put in the time and effort it took to reassemble Damon into something this side of happy.

Joel's never seen such emotion, and it reaches right to the root of him, taking hold there. Instinctively, he puts a hand on Damon — just the simple gesture of his palm resting on Damon's thigh — and looks at him with affection. But Damon's dark eyes are shining, a half a world away. He's in some sort of trance as he lays himself out, cracking his bones open to the marrow — his heart open up to its chambers — and asking Joel if he still likes what he sees inside.

The answer is yes. Always yes.

"Damon." Joel says, like saying it will bring Damon back around to him. "We're gonna make it right."

#joel kane ~ thread #joel x damon #ghostsxagain

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namansharma0950 · 5 months

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Ethylene: From Cracking Open the Basics to Shaping Our World

From the plastic bottles you use every day to the antifreeze in your car and even the soft fabric of your pajamas, a surprising common thread exists: Ethylene. This essential molecule, with the chemical formula C2H4, forms the backbone of countless products we use every day. In this blog, we'll uncover the secrets of Ethylene, how it's made, and its surprising impact on our modern world. We'll even explore some of the exciting ways it might be used in the future. Get ready to dive into the world of the most significant industrial organic compound around!

Introduction

Ethylene, a colorless gas with a hint of fruitiness, is a major player in the industrial world. Through a process called steam cracking, manufacturers turn ethane and naphtha (petroleum liquids) into valuable chemicals, including ethylene. This process involves intense heat (around 750°C) to break down the hydrocarbons. Ethylene itself is flammable, but it's the foundation for numerous essential chemicals. From polyethylene (the plastic in many everyday items) to ethylene oxide (used in antifreeze) and even ingredients for PVC and polystyrene, ethylene is a versatile building block. Interestingly, this same gas also helps speed up fruit ripening in large-scale agriculture. Polyethylene production currently dominates ethylene use, but its applications extend to refrigeration and even fuel gas for industrial cutting and welding.

Manufacturing Processes

Ethylene, a very common organic compound, is essential for the petrochemical industry. Made from various oil-based materials in factories that use high-temperature steam, it serves as the starting point for many other important chemicals.

Cracking and quenching

Cracking and quenching are fundamental processes in ethylene production. Initially, an ethane-propane blend undergoes high-temperature cracking in furnaces, yielding ethylene, propylene, and additional byproducts. To halt undesirable reactions and byproduct formation, the resultant stream is swiftly cooled in a water-based quench. Downstream, a decanter removes heavies, condensed dilution steam, tar, and coke, ensuring product purity. The cracked gas is then guided to compression and separation stages, enabling the isolation of ethylene and propylene for further refinement and utilization. These sequential steps are integral to the efficient production of ethylene, a cornerstone chemical in numerous industrial applications.

Compression and drying

Compression and drying are crucial stages in gas processing. The cracked gas undergoes compression across five stages, ensuring optimal pressure levels for subsequent processing. Following the third compression stage, caustic soda and water washes in a caustic scrubber effectively eliminate carbon dioxide and sulfur impurities from the cracked gas stream. Subsequently, the compressed gas is cooled and subjected to molecular sieves for drying, effectively removing residual water content. This meticulous drying process ensures the purity and quality of the gas, preparing it for further refinement and utilization in various industrial applications.

Separation

• After drying, the cracked gas goes through a special chamber (cold box) to remove hydrogen and other small, light hydrocarbons. This process is designed to take out these unwanted elements without losing much of the valuable ethylene.

• At this stage, the condensed substances from the cooling process are directed into a sequence of separation columns. Initially, in the first column known as the demethanizer, methane is separated at the top and utilized further within the cold box, while the lower portion is directed into a second column, the deethanizer.

• The upper portion of the deethanizer, primarily containing ethylene and ethane, is sent through an acetylene converter before undergoing fractionation in the C2-splitter. Within this column, lighter components are removed from the overheads and returned to the compression system, while ethylene suitable for polymer-grade applications is extracted as a side stream. Ethane from the bottom of the C2-splitter is recycled back to the cracking furnaces.

• The lower portion of the deethanizer is channeled into a depropanizer, which separates out C3 (propylene fractionation tower/distillation tower) components in the overheads. This overhead stream is subjected to catalytic hydrotreatment to remove methyl acetylene and propadiene before being directed to the C3-splitter. Within this column, lighter components are extracted from the overheads and recycled to the compressors, while propylene suitable for polymer-grade applications is extracted as a side stream. Propane from the bottom of the C3-splitter is recycled back to the cracking furnaces, while a C4+ stream is obtained from the bottom of the depropanizer.

Technologies used by Major Players

Lummus Technology

• The raw materials utilized in the production of ethylene by Lummus Technologies encompass a variety of hydrocarbons, such as ethane, propane, butane, naphtha, kerosene, diesel, gasoils, or hydrocracked vacuum gasoils.

• Initially, a mixture of fresh feed and recycled ethane and propane undergoes thermal cracking with steam in pyrolysis furnaces. The resulting gas is progressively cooled through steam generation and direct contact with oil and/or water.

• Subsequently, the effluent undergoes compression in a three-stage centrifugal compressor, followed by the removal of acid gases using amine solution and/or caustic soda. Dehydration of the gases is achieved using a molecular sieve. Product recovery is carried out under cryogenic conditions in refrigerated fractionation systems.

• Acetylene compounds undergo hydrogenation in catalyst systems, and hydrogen is purified through Pressure Swing Adsorption (PSA) or methanation.

• Polymer-grade ethylene and propylene are obtained via highly integrated super-fractionation towers aimed at minimizing energy consumption. Simultaneously, mixed C4 products and pyrolysis gasoline are coproduced and recovered. The C4s can serve as feed for an OCT or CPT unit, facilitating the production of propylene, butene-1, or hexene-1. A unified mixed refrigeration system fulfills all refrigeration needs. Essential utilities like steam, cooling water, and fuel are fully integrated to optimize overall efficiency.

• An additional feature involves potentially integrating a gas turbine generator with the pyrolysis furnaces to generate electrical power and extra super-high-pressure steam. The hot exhaust gases from the turbine are directed back to the furnaces to provide hot combustion air.

Applications of Ethylene

Ethylene, a crucial building block in chemical manufacturing, plays a pivotal role in the production of various essential compounds. One prominent application is in the synthesis of Polyethylene, a versatile plastic widely used in packaging, construction, and other industries. Additionally, Ethylene Oxide, valued for its role as a sterilizing agent and in the manufacture of ethylene glycol, finds extensive use in the medical and automotive sectors. Ethylene Dichloride serves as a precursor in the production of vinyl chloride, a key ingredient in the manufacturing of PVC pipes and other products. Ethylene Benzene is utilized in the synthesis of styrene, employed in the production of plastics, rubber, and resins. These and other derivatives highlight the diverse applications of ethylene across various industrial sectors.

1. Polyethylene

Polyethylene, a ubiquitous plastic, finds extensive application in diverse industries. Its versatility makes it a preferred choice for food packaging, ensuring the preservation and safety of food products. Additionally, it is utilized in the production of bottles, providing lightweight and durable containers for beverages, household products, and personal care items. Polyethylene's flexibility and strength make it ideal for manufacturing bags, facilitating storage, transportation, and disposal of goods. Its widespread use in these applications underscores its importance in modern society, contributing to convenience, efficiency, and safety in various aspects of daily life.

2. Ethylene dichloride (EDC)

Ethylene dichloride (EDC), recognized for its lead scavenging properties, is a common additive in leaded fuels, effectively reducing engine knocking and enhancing combustion efficiency. Beyond its role in fuel formulations, EDC has found diverse industrial applications. It served as an extraction solvent, facilitating the separation of desired compounds in various processes. Moreover, its solvency properties made it suitable for textile cleaning and metal degreasing applications. EDC's inclusion in certain adhesives contributed to their adhesive strength and durability.

3. Ethylene Benzene

Ethylbenzene serves as a fundamental precursor in the synthesis of styrene and synthetic polymers, playing a pivotal role in various industrial processes. Widely recognized as a solvent, it facilitates the dissolution of substances in applications ranging from paints and inks to carpet glues and varnishes. Additionally, ethylbenzene finds utility as a constituent of asphalt and naphtha, contributing to their formulation and performance characteristics. Its presence in synthetic rubber and fuels underscores its versatility across multiple sectors. Moreover, ethylbenzene is incorporated into tobacco products and insecticides, adding to its diverse range of applications. It also serves as a component in automotive and aviation fuels, enhancing their combustion properties.

4. Food & Beverages

Ethylene provided in cylinders are employed to regulate the ripening of fruits, particularly bananas, with a concentration of a few ppm being utilized in warehouse atmospheres.

Market Outlook

The driving force behind the global Ethylene market is its use in making Polyethylene plastic. No wonder it's everywhere, from food packaging and grocery bags to toys, cable insulation, and even household items like squeeze bottles. There are different types of Polyethylene, with two major players being LDPE (Low-Density) and HDPE (High-Density). Interestingly, HDPE goes a step further – it's also used to create other plastics like PET (Polyethylene Terephthalate), commonly found in water bottles, food containers, and packaging. But Ethylene's uses extend beyond plastics. It's also a key ingredient in producing Ethylene Oxide, a precursor for chemicals like ethanol amines and monoethylene glycol, further boosting the demand for Ethylene.

Ethylene Major Global Players

Significant players in the Global Ethylene market are Sinopec, LyondellBasell, DowDupont, Exxon Mobil Corporation, INEOS, Chevron Phillips, Braskem, Zhejiang Petrochemical, PTT Global Chemical, Formosa Plastics Group (Formosa Petrochemical Corp.), PetroChina, Arabian Petrochemical Company, Yeochun NCC Co. Ltd., Royal Dutch Shell, Kavian Petrochemical, and Others.

Conclusion:

Ethylene is a colorless gas with a distinctive fruity odor. Widely utilized in agriculture, ethylene expedites the ripening of fruits such as tomatoes, bananas, and mangoes. Moreover, ethylene serves as a vital precursor in chemical synthesis, contributing to the production of Polyethylene, Ethylene Oxide, Ethylene Dichloride, and Ethylene Benzene. Additionally, it finds application as a refrigerant in petrochemical industries and as a fuel gas for welding and cutting processes. The global ethylene market is forecasted to witness substantial growth, primarily driven by increasing demand for ethylene as a feedstock in chemical manufacturing, particularly for Polyethylene, renowned for its durability, flexibility, and lightweight nature, essential for food and beverage packaging and various other industries. This anticipated market expansion reflects the continuous evolution of ethylene-based products and their pivotal role in meeting diverse industrial needs, paving the way for innovation and growth opportunities in the chemical sector.

#Ethylene

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danisaflowers · 5 months

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Maximizing Shelf-Life: Tips for Preserving Bulk Carnations.

Ever looked at a grocery store bouquet of carnations and envisioned their vibrant beauty gracing your home, only to be met with the silent scream of "How long will these ACTUALLY last?!" We've all been there.

Carnations, despite their undeniable charm, can sometimes seem like fleeting bursts of color. But fear not! With a few simple tricks, you can transform those carnation cuttings into long-lasting stunners.

Here's the thing: carnations, unlike their prima donna flower cousins, are actually trooper blooms. With proper care, they can grace your home for a good two to three weeks – that's some serious bang for your buck! So, let's dive into the handbook of carnation preservation and banish wilting woes forever!

Step 1: The Snip Savvy

It all starts with the snip. When choosing your carnations, target the ones with firm, unopened buds. These haven't reached their peak bloom yet, giving you more shelf-life to play with. Using sharp shears or pruners, make a clean, diagonal cut about an inch below the flower head. This angled cut gives the stem more surface area to absorb life-giving water.

Step 2: The Stem Strip

Now, this might sound a little unusual, but trust the process! Strip off the lower leaves on the stem. Why? These submerged leaves become breeding grounds for bacteria in the water, hastening wilt. Plus, removing them allows the stem to focus its energy on nourishing the beautiful bloom up top.

Step 3: The Cleansing Cauldron (Well, Vase Actually!)

Give your vase a good scrub with warm, soapy water. This gets rid of any sneaky bacteria that might be lurking, waiting to pounce on your unsuspecting carnations. Fill the vase with cool or lukewarm water – carnations aren't big fans of a hot tub! Here's the magic ingredient: add a few drops of clear soda or a commercial floral preservative to the water. The sugar in the soda (or the nutrients in the preservative) gives the blooms a much-needed energy boost.

Step 4: The Chilling Chamber

This might surprise you, but bulk carnations love a good snooze! Before arranging them in the vase, give the stems a fresh cut and place them in a deep container filled with cool water for an hour or so. This rehydrates the stems after their journey from farm to florist to you.

Step 5: Placement is Paramount

Now comes the fun part – arranging your carnations! But remember, placement is key for longevity. Keep your vibrant beauties away from direct sunlight and heat sources like vents or fireplaces. They also don't appreciate the company of ripening fruits, which emit ethylene gas that can shorten their lifespan.

Step 6: The Superpower Splash

Here's the ultimate shelf-life secret weapon: every few days, give your bulk carnations a "superpower splash." Recut the stems (at an angle, of course!), remove any wilting blooms, and replace the vase water with fresh, cool water mixed with your trusty clear soda or floral preservative. This keeps the water supply clean and gives the blooms a vital energy boost.

The Final Words

If you notice a carnation drooping its head in defeat, don't despair! Here's a quick trick to revive it. Fill a bowl with water and submerge the stem up to the flower head for 30 minutes to an hour. This will help the bloom rehydrate and perk back up. By following these simple steps, you'll be a carnation connoisseur in no time. So, the next time you see a bunch of those beauties at the store, don't be intimidated! With a little TLC, you can transform them into long-lasting displays of floral magic.

#roses in bulk #Wholesale roses

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tripuramegafoodpark · 7 months

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Sikaria Mega Foodpark: Pioneering Excellence in Food Processing

Nestled in the vibrant city of Agartala, Tripura, Sikaria Mega Foodpark Private Limited (SMFPL) stands as a beacon of innovation and progress in the food processing industry. Established in 2011 under the visionary leadership of Smt. Usha Deviji Sikaria and Managing Director Sri Soonu Sikaria ji, SMFPL operates as a Special Purpose Vehicle (SPV) under the Ministry of Food Processing Industries, Government of India.

Empowering Agriculture, Transforming Communities

SMFPL's journey is deeply rooted in its mission to empower farmers and revolutionize agricultural practices. Through strategic partnerships with the Government of India and the State Government of Tripura, SMFPL provides farmers with access to cutting-edge infrastructure and facilities. By minimizing post-harvest losses and streamlining the supply chain, SMFPL catalyzes economic growth and fosters sustainable development in the region.

Legacy of Innovation

The legacy of Late Sri Bajranglalji Sikaria, the esteemed patriarch of Sikaria Group, serves as the guiding light for SMFPL's pursuit of excellence. Since its inception in 1980, Sikaria Group has been at the forefront of innovation, spearheading diverse initiatives in construction, real estate, logistics, tourism, and jute. Under the stewardship of his five sons, Sikaria Group has expanded its horizons, driving progress across different sectors and states.

State-of-the-Art Facilities

At the heart of SMFPL's operations lies its flagship venture, the Tripura Mega Food Park, strategically located in Agartala City. Boasting the largest cold storage facilities in the region, with temperatures ranging from (minus) 25°C to (plus) 7°C and capacities from 10 MT to 850 MT, SMFPL ensures the preservation of perishable goods with utmost precision. Additionally, its covered warehousing spaces, spanning from 3000 sq.ft. to 20000 sq.ft., offer unparalleled flexibility and scalability, catering to diverse storage needs.

Dedicated to Sustainability

SMFPL is committed to environmental sustainability and resource efficiency. Through the implementation of eco-friendly practices and the adoption of renewable energy solutions, SMFPL minimizes its carbon footprint while maximizing operational efficiency. By prioritizing sustainability, SMFPL aims to set new standards for responsible business practices in the food processing industry.

Looking to the Future

As SMFPL continues to innovate and expand its footprint, its commitment to excellence remains unwavering. With a relentless focus on sustainability, efficiency, and community development, SMFPL is poised to lead the charge in transforming India's food processing landscape, one milestone at a time.

Covered Warehouse Rental Service

Product specification

Product/goods details: covered warehouse

Capacity/size of storage: as per requirement

Number of year in business: 13

Condition: as per rule

Warranty: as per rule

Surface finish: finish

Product Description:

Discover unparalleled flexibility with our covered warehouse storage solution. Tailored to your capacity needs, our system adapts effortlessly. Adjustable shelving, modular racks, and smart layout options ensure optimal space utilization. Streamline operations and maximize efficiency with a warehouse solution designed to evolve with your unique requirements.

RIPENING CHAMBERS STORAGE RENTAL SERVICES

Product/Goods Details:- Ripening Chambers

Capacity/Size of Storage:- as per requirement

Number of Years In Business:- 13

Condition :- as per rule

Warranty:- as per rule

Product Description

optimal fruit ripening with our customizable chambers. Tailored to your needs, our chambers offer precise temperature and humidity control. Whether for bananas, avocados, or other fruits, our scalable capacity ensures efficient ripening. Experience a solution that adapts to your produce requirements, promoting freshness and quality every time.

Open Warehouse rental service

Product Specification

Product/goods details: Open warehouse

Capacity/size of storage: as per requirement

Number of year in business: 13

Condition: as per rule

Warranty: as per rule

Surface finish: finish

Product Description:

Experience superior adaptability in open warehouse storage. Tailored to your capacity needs, our solution optimizes space seamlessly. From expansive shelving to flexible layouts, it effortlessly caters to your unique requirements. Elevate efficiency and organization with our open warehouse capacity solution.

COLD STORAGE RENTAL SERVICES

Product/Goods Details:- cold storage

Capacity/Size of Storage:- as per requirement

Number of Years In Business:- 13

Condition :- as per rule

Warranty:- as per rule

Product Description

Discover tailored cold storage solutions with flexible capacity options to meet your specific needs. Our state-of-the-art facilities ensure precise temperature control, safeguarding perishable goods. Whether you require short-term or long-term storage, our customizable spaces provide reliability and efficiency, offering a seamless solution for businesses prioritizing the preservation of temperature-sensitive inventory