#Container Desiccant

[britwrap]

[xpakglobalau]

[xinfudapackaging]

High-density polyethylene bottles with moisture-proof function

During the production, packaging and transportation of pharmaceuticals, maintaining drug quality and stability is crucial. Solid pharmaceutical desiccant, as an important component of HDPE moisture-proof bottles, plays a key role. It is not only a simple additive, but also an important guarantee for maintaining the stability of medicines during storage and preventing moisture, mildew and other…

[yueyimold]

desiccant stoppers mold

China medical mold maker, offer desiccant tube mold, fizz tablet tube mold, effervescent tablet container mold, glucose tablets packaging mold, desiccant stoppers

[trenicat]

I know out-of-universe they probably came up with the whole vacuum desiccation thing because "the ferengi sell their ashes" and "the ferengi sell taxidermied body parts" seemed too gruesome or not scifi enough and it's supposed to be a haha funny capitalism parody

BUT it is interesting how a society in an almost-perpetually rainy environment, whose religion contains prominent water imagery, has funerary customs which emphasize dehydrating the body. Of course part of it has to do with the remains being easier to handle/sell, but there are other ways to achieve that. I feel like it has potential, there could be something about how the ferengi view the body and soul. E.g., maybe in some parts of ferenginar they believe/d that the soul is water, and that removing the water from the body helps the soul reach the divine treasury, and the practice caught on regardless of whether the original belief did

[desiccantpak]

Desiccants mainly deal with the removal of humidity and moisture. Our products work on the principle of Adsorption, prolong the product's shelf life, and are made up of accurate composition and purity.

For more info contact us:--

sales@desiccantpak.com

[sanjeevseo]

Your Guideline for Buying Shipping Container Desiccant Bags

Shipping container desiccant bags are an integrated approach to keeping the goods moisture-proof during transport. However, numerous desiccant bags are available in the market. It can become a daunting task to figure out which one best suit your needs. Here is an in-depth guideline for buying such types of bags and the key characteristics to look for.

Key Characteristics to Look for in Shipping Container Desiccant Bags

There are various factors to look for when determining the right shipping container desiccant bags for your business.

Desiccant Bags Must Have Unmatched Absorption Quality

Desiccant bags for shipping containers make use of an absorbent gel formula to draw humidity from the air. There are various kinds of formulas which impact the absorption speed and capacity of the respective cargo desiccant. For instance, silica gel desiccant bags will absorb 40% of their overall weight. Calcium chloride and clay-made desiccants will absorb 100% of their overall weight. The calcium chloride desiccants are the right choice for different shippers, owing to the international shipping container’s extreme conditions.

What Happens if You Invest in Less Effective Shipping Container Desiccant Bags?

Less effective shipping container desiccant bags cannot withstand much humidity, the condensation cycle’s intense nature. Besides, they will also reach their optimal capacity before the long voyage comes to an end. Keeping a track of these factors is imperative if you are determined to reduce cargo losses. Additionally, you can also save on unnecessary desiccant materials.

So What Does Your Shipping Container Desiccant Bags Absorb?

You know that the absorption capacity can differ amongst desiccant bags. This implies that 1-kilogram calcium chloride desiccant bags are capable of absorbing 3 litres of moisture. Using 10 kilograms of calcium chloride desiccant bags will absorb 30 litres of moisture. Silica gel desiccant bags can absorb only 400 litres of moisture. This means that when you are evaluating how many desiccant bags you need for shipping containers. You need to factorize the absorption capacity.

Check if your Shipping Container Desiccant Bags are Leakproof

Nonetheless, to mention, your shipping container desiccant bags cannot prove their worth if it ends up absorbing moisture and leaking over the goods. leakage wouldn’t only result in expensive damages but would also result in moisture interfering with the condensation cycle. Besides, it will lead to container rain. This implies that you must also analyze the materials used for manufacturing the shipping container desiccant bags. Also, look for leakage signs when unloading the shipping containers.

Choosing the Right Desiccant Bags

As you have seen, not every desiccant bag is made equally. Moreover, there are various things to keep in mind to make sure your goods are stored safely and remain dry. Calcium chloride desiccant bags can absorb around 300% humidity and are just the right solution for your shipping containers. High-absorbent desiccant bags are ideal for cargo that are at risk of extreme dew points, increased moisture, humidity and cargo sweat. The desiccant bags prevents mold and mildew formation besides keeping material corrosion at bay.

How Cargo Desiccant Bags Battle Cargo Transport’s Common Danger?

Cargo transport’s most common danger is ‘container rain’. Container rain is also termed cargo sweat. This happens when the temperature in the shipping container gets to the dew point and forms condensation. The desiccant bags prevents condensation to form on them.

Shipping container desiccant bags can keep products like corrugated boxes, textiles, pet food, auto parts, furniture, and all other items safe from moisture damage. The moisture-absorbing bags are made of non-toxic clay and small volumes of calcium chloride and can absorb 80% of water vapour, thereby proving ideal for transporting different goods.

[cilicant13]

Cargo Container Desiccant | Container Desiccant Suppliers - CILICANT

CILICANT is a quality manufacturer and supplier of reliable container desiccant bags. CILICANT cargo and device protection container desiccant is scientifically created to protect your valuable cargo from damage caused because of moisture.

[buffetlicious]

The Mid-Autumn Festival (中秋节), a Chinese celebratory season observed by many East and Southeast Asians, has begun. Held on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month, which is in the middle of autumn, the festival marks the end of the season’s harvest and is a time to appreciate the moon at its fullest and brightest. Besides feasting eyes on the moon and lanterns of different shapes and sizes, Mooncakes (月饼), a rich pastry with all sorts of fillings, are undoubtedly the main highlight of the festival and are traditionally shared among family and friends.

The Cantonese Mooncake (广式月饼) is the most commonly found traditional mooncake in Singapore. Its fillings consist of lotus seed or red bean paste and usually include one, two or four salted duck egg yolks. Many would also be familiar with the snow skin variant that was created in Hong Kong in the 1960s as a healthier alternative to traditional baked mooncakes. The fillings and a ball of dough are traditionally pressed into a wooden mould, which embosses intricate wordings of the pastry shop’s name or stuffing on top of the pastry.

A mooncake with various flavours such as rich, savoury-sweet and peppery, the Hainanese Mooncake (海南月饼), also known as Su Yan Bing (酥盐饼) is traditionally filled with ingredients such as fried shallots, lard, salt, white pepper, rose-flavoured white sugar, sesame seeds, melon seeds and dried wild tangerine skin peel. The filling is encased in a thin crust made with flour, salt and lard.

The Hakka Mooncake (客家月饼) is also called Yu Gao (月糕) and is a flat, snow-white disc that is typically made with cooked glutinous rice flour and sugar, giving it a crumbly and powdery texture. It is usually embellished with more intricate designs, often with animals and flowers. Although it doesn’t usually contain any fillings, some come with candied winter melon, desiccated coconut and sesame seeds mixed with glutinous rice flour, sugar, margarine and water.

Easily distinguishable by the red stamp of Chinese characters on the top of the crust and its white disc-shaped pastry which resembles a bright moon, the Hokkien Mooncake (福建月饼) consists of a dry and sweet filling that is made of candied winter melon, tangerine peel, melon seeds, sugar, and cooked with lard or peanut oil. A less common type is a savoury version with minced meat filling. Once known as Scholar Cakes (状元糕), they were given to those who took part in the Imperial examinations. Today, it is given as a symbol of good luck to those who are about to sit for their exams.

Many would be familiar with the Teochew Mooncakes (潮州月饼). It has a crispy, spiral-layered crust that crumbles easily. It originated from the Chaoshan (潮汕) area in Guangdong Province and typically consists of yam paste and a salted duck egg yolk. Other traditional versions of the Teochew mooncake are still made by old school bakeries in Singapore. For example, La Bia (朥饼 or lard biscuit), where ‘La’ refers to pork oil, has a thinner, flaky crust with a thick mung bean or red bean filling. There are also alternative fillings including red bean, mung bean or lotus seed paste. There is also a steamed version of the typically baked Teochew mooncake, called La Gao (朥糕). It can either be served plain or with a mung bean filling.

A Snow Skin Mooncake (冰皮月饼) variant was created in Hong Kong in the 1960s as a healthier alternative to traditional baked mooncakes. Similar to mochi, its crust is made of glutinous rice flour and varies in colour, based on the flavours used. And unlike traditional mooncakes, these are best served cold!

Mooncake information and drawings courtesy of Ministry of Culture, Community and Youth.

[teratocrat]

His grip on my shoulder tightened. "We have books here bound in the hides of echidnas, krakens, and beasts so long extinct that those whose studies they are, are for the most part of the opinion that no trace of them survives unfossilized. We have books bound wholly in metals of unknown alloy, and books whose bindings are covered with thickset gems. We have books cased in perfumed woods shipped across the inconceivable gulf between creations - books doubly precious because no one on Urth can read them. "We have books whose papers are matted of plants from which spring curious alkaloids, so that the reader, in turning their pages, is taken unaware by bizarre fantasies and chimeric dreams. Books whose pages are not paper at all, but delicate wafers of white jade, ivory, and shell; books too whose leaves are the desiccated leaves of unknown plants. Books we have also that are not books at all to the eye: scrolls and tablets and recordings on a hundred different substances. There is a cube of crystal here - though I can no longer tell you where - no larger than the ball of your thumb that contains more books than the library itself does. Though a harlot might dangle it from one ear for an ornament, there are not volumes enough in the world to counterweight the other. All these I came to know, and I made safeguarding them my life's devotion."

Gene Wolfe, Shadow of the Torturer (1980)

[memendoemori]

My stupid ass cat won't eat her stupid food if it is even a little bit old and her hunger strikes are taking years off my life. We now have another new bag of food in a Tupperware container with a desiccant packet in the hope that she will return to her gobbling ways for longer than three weeks

[bonecarversbestie]

The Scenic Route - Elain x Lucien

Chapter 5: The Middle (~4600 words)

Since AO3 has been up and down today, I thought I'd post my chapter in full here as well for anyone who wants to read it. (edit: ao3 is working again if you do want to find it there: The Scenic Route)

CW: this chapter contains very brief depiction of domestic violence between Beron and LoA

ELAIN'S POV

Amarantha’s throne room was exactly as it had been left four years ago: the cracked walls stood steadily, holding the horrors of the past within. Dried blood still stained the marble floor, and two obsidian thrones sat like sentinels on their dais, watching over it all in silence.

Elain felt Lucien’s fingers begin to tremble. She glanced up at him as he surveyed the throne room. He had been there the day Feyre was killed—had probably witnessed the torture and murder of countless other innocents. She wondered what memories still haunted him.

He took a faltering step into the room, pulling her with him. The air inside felt wrong— too heavy, as if it could squeeze the breath from her lungs.

Lucien released her hand and bent to examine something lying on the floor: a bronze mask fashioned after the face of a fox. Feyre had told her that the Fae of the Spring Court had been masked, and this one had an unmistakable air of Lucien about it.

Lucien picked up the mask, weighing it in his hands. He had worn it for nearly fifty years. He stared at the mask in his hands as if reunited with an old friend and sworn enemy.

Elain turned slowly on the spot, taking in the room. A cold weight settled in her stomach as she faced the back wall.

A body hung there—little more than a skeleton now, only enough dried skin and sinew remained to hold it together. It carried the marks of extreme brutality—the bones were twisted at odd angles, and the desiccated skin bore deep gashes. Even in death, the face was contorted in an expression of fear and pain.

It was too small—the fingers and toes too short. The limbs did not have the graceful length characteristic of the Fae. Elain pressed a hand over her lips as bile rose in her throat. This was a human.

Lucien returned to her side, his gaze fixed on the body. “I didn’t realize they had just left her there.” His voice sounded strained.

“Who is she?” Elain asked him, a spark of anger lighting low in her belly for this poor mortal who had been left alone and forgotten to rot for eternity.

Lucien hesitated before he said, “Those are the remains of a woman named Clare Beddor.”

The name crashed into Elain, nearly bringing her to her knees. “No,” she breathed as her body started to shake. “No.”

Elain felt like she was floating toward the opposite wall, toward Clare’s body. Memories danced through Elain’s mind as she stood before her old friend.

Pale sunlight reflected on chocolate brown hair, a charmingly crooked smile, hopeful green eyes, and a nose scattered with freckles. A giggle as Clare looped her arm through Elain’s while they strolled the muddy streets of their village, discussing their meager marriage prospects—speaking of the sons of woodcutters and tradesmen as if they were the scions of dukes and kings.

Clare had stood by them through their poverty, offering Elain and Nesta some sense of normalcy in one of the darkest chapters of their lives.

She fell to her knees at the base of the wall, resting her forehead against the cold stone. Tears stung the backs of her eyes. “We heard that faeries had set fire to their house with the family trapped inside, but Clare was never found.” Elain looked back up at Clare. “She was here all along.” She looked over her shoulder at Lucien. “Why take her?”

“I’m not sure you want to know,” Lucien said, his voice gentle.

Irritation flared in Elain’s belly; she beat a fist against the wall. “Don’t do that to me.” Her voice was cold.

Lucien had been the first person in her life not to shelter or underestimate her. For all his protective tendencies, he had never treated her like she was fragile or incapable. He had always answered her questions. He had agreed to take her on this journey, knowing it would be dangerous.

For a moment, she felt like she was back in Velaris, shielded from important conversations—left in the dark while others were privy to the truth.

“I am tired of being treated like I will break at any moment. I will not.” 

Lucien swallowed and took a slow step toward her. “Four years ago, Rhysand came to the Spring Court to check on Tamlin’s progress with our curse.” He crouched next to Elain. “To taunt him really. I don’t think anyone expected Tamlin to actually find a human girl to fall in love with, but Rhys found Feyre there with us.” Lucien paused, looking at his hands. “He asked for her name, and she lied. She gave him the name Clare Beddor.’’ 

Elain’s eyes fell slowly shut as he spoke, and her first tears fell from her lashes.

“Rhys reported back to Amarantha. He told her Clare’s name, thinking Feyre had made it up, and Amarantha sent her cronies to fetch Clare in the human lands.” Lucien paused, gritting his teeth. “She tortured Clare before her entire gods-forsaken court, hoping it would break Tamlin to see the woman he loved brutalized. It took days for her body to finally give out.”

Elain stood, overcome by the desire to run far, far away, but there was nowhere to run to. She took a few steps away toward the center of the room. Lucien’s words had fanned the flames of her anger and disgust until it was an all-consuming blaze. 

She started tugging on the fingers of her glove, pulling it off her hand. “Selfish,” she spat, punctuating the word with a slap as she hurled the glove to the floor. She removed the other. “Arrogant.” another slap. “Entitled Fae pricks.” She tore the cloak from her shoulders and cast it away. “Her life was as important as anyone’s.”

“I know.”

“That foul wretch took Clare’s life when she had no right to it.”

Lucien hung his head.

“Our lives are nothing to them but bargaining chips or playthings used for their entertainment and discarded. Forgotten. Left behind to turn to dust while the bodies of fallen fae are honored.”

Our lives, she had said. Though her human life was long gone, she refused to believe that that girl no longer existed—refused to believe she had been drowned in that Cauldron and had not come out.

Human lives were sacred to her for their fleeting nature. She remembered vividly what it was to feel and love so deeply in such a short time. Clare’s precious life had been cut short when Elain’s had been stretched so unnaturally long. The injustice of it bit at her soul.

Elain took the dagger from the sheath at her hip and flung it with all her might toward the opposite wall, where it lodged in the stone. She sent the dagger from her boot after it with an otherwordly scream that reverberated through the stone of the mountain before she collapsed to her hands and knees on the marble floor.

She whipped her head around to look at Lucien. He still knelt beneath Clare’s body. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and a tear had escaped his russet eye.

“Get. Her. Down.” Elain snarled at him, her voice still shaking with fury and grief.

Lucien did not hesitate. He stood and pulled his cloak from his shoulders, laying it flat on the floor at his feet. 

Lucien reached out with his power, gently lifting Clare from the nails that kept her pinned to the wall. He carefully lowered her body to the floor, letting it settle into the soft fur of his cloak.

“I can burn the body if you—”

“No,” Elain cut him off. “No more magic touches her. We will bury her tomorrow morning.”

Lucien did not argue. He wrapped Clare tightly in his cloak, pulling twine from one of his pockets and binding it securely around her ankles, middle, and shoulders.

When he finished, he stood back, returning to Elain’s side. He reached out a hand, hesitating, before resting it on her shoulder.

Elain closed her eyes and bit her lips, holding back her emotion.

“I’m going to take the horses to the livestock quarters. I’ll be back.”

Elain did not acknowledge that he had spoken. She just knelt beside Clare, examining her face. She could just recognize her in the remaining strands of brown hair—dull now, their luster gone—and the slight gap between her front teeth. 

A tear dripped from Elain’s lashes onto Clare’s chest.

~*~

Lucien’s footsteps echoed uncharacteristically loudly through the corridors as he made his way back to the throne room—a warning, Elain realized. A chance for her to compose herself before he returned. She sat back on her heels and wiped her now swollen eyes. 

Lucien stood across the room. He was pulling her daggers from the wall. She hoped he wasn’t angry that she had used his gift in this way. In the moment, she hadn’t even thought about the damage she might have done to them.

He sheathed the daggers in his own belt before crossing to her. He held out a hand to help her to her feet. “We should rest,” he said.

Elain turned and stooped down, gathering Clare’s body against her chest. She was too light—she felt like less than a child in Elain’s arms.

“What are you doing?” Lucien asked her.

“I’m bringing her with us. I won’t leave her here alone.”

Lucien’s expression told her he was not fond of this plan, but he did not fight her. He led the way through a nondescript door on the side of the throne room and down countless winding corridors that took them deeper and deeper into the mountain

Elain began to grow slightly lightheaded. She was taking shallow breaths, trying not to inhale the musty smell of Clare’s body.

At last, Lucien stopped at a door. It looked the same as the hundreds of others they had passed on their descent. It was still slightly ajar, as if the room had been left hastily, and the occupants had not had time to latch it behind them.

Lucien did not enter but instead stood in the doorway looking in. He waved his hand, lighting the fire and faelights, illuminating a spacious sitting room. It was appointed with overstuffed furniture, all upholstered in deep red and gold velvet and arranged around a large, ornately carved fireplace.

There were hallways leading off to the left and right. Lucien led her down the one on the right and opened the first door, revealing a bedroom bedecked in deep orange and copper trappings.

Elain waited in the doorway. Lucien nodded at the bundle in her arms and patted the comforter. “For her.”

Understanding, Elain carried Clare into the room and arranged her on the bed.

When she stepped back, Lucien took her hand and pulled her toward the door. She let him, following him back into the sitting room. He stopped by the fireplace. Elain released his hand and sat on the rug before the fire, staring blankly into the flames.

Lucien disappeared down the hall again. When he returned, he was carrying two apples and a loaf of bread.

“Where did you find that?” 

“My brother Rory was notorious for hoarding food in his room when we were younger. Seems some things don’t change. He puts charms on them to keep them fresh.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Lucien pushed an apple into her hands anyway. Elain stared at it with no intention to take a bite. Lucien picked at a chunk of bread beside her.

He pulled the fox mask from his pocket and stared at it.

“Seems like a strange choice. To curse an entire court to wear masks.”

Lucien exhaled heavily. “Ah, well, I guess that aspect of the curse was because of me. To cover this,”he said, gesturing to the left side of his face, to the brutal scars there that tracked from his forehead down to his jawline. They were cast in sharp relief by the flickering light of the fire.

Elain just stared at him, waiting for him to continue. 

“Tamlin was furious with Amarantha for doing it, so she called us all Under the Mountain for a ball to ‘make amends.’ We were encouraged to wear the masks so that I could hide my…disfigurement.” Lucien sighed heavily, turning his face away from her. “Then she bound them to our faces permanently until someone came along to break our curse.”

“Feyre.” 

Lucien nodded once.

“It was Amarantha who took your eye, then?”

“She plucked it out with a fingernail.” He said, lip curling at the memory. Elain could feel the pain and rage and injustice of it burning in her chest.

“Why?”

Lucien barked a mirthless laugh. “Because I can’t keep my fucking mouth shut.” His face became serious. “I mouthed off, and she took my eye as punishment for my insolence. It was a fairly clean job, actually. The rest of the scars were an afterthought—a suggestion from my father.”

“What?” Elain asked, horrified.

“After she took the eye, she held it there, skewered on a fingernail, taunting me. Beron, who had enjoyed the spectacle immensely, leaned in and suggested that to drive home my punishment, she should destroy my face—that in doing so, she would snuff out my arrogance and insubordination.”

Elain’s heart was pounding. “What kind of father could do that to his own son?”

Lucien didn’t respond, but his face twisted into an expression of disgust as he stared at the mask in his hand, at the firelight glinting on the surface of the metal. He traced a finger over the carved lines of the fox’s face.

“Unless—” Elain hesitated, but her suspicions had become too strong to ignore. She pressed on. “Unless he isn’t.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped to hers. “Unless he isn’t what?

“Your father,” Elain whispered, barely loud enough to be heard over the crackling of the fire.

Lucien’s face went pale, and Elain knew instinctively that she was right.

“What would make you think that?”

“You don’t look like your brothers,” She began. 

Lucien picked at the ends of his long red hair, where it fell over his shoulders. 

“It’s not just about your hair or appearance,” she said. “It’s your whole being. You are cut from a different cloth.” 

Lucien’s breathing had picked up, and Elain could hear his heart racing in his chest.

“You make and break wards as easy as breathing—ones that should be nearly impossible, like getting us into this place.” Elain continued, gesturing around her. She inched closer to him on the rug. “And that day you woke up glowing, it was not firelight that burned beneath your skin, but daylight.”

Another face presented itself before her mind’s eye: a beautiful face with warm brown skin, high cheekbones, and an angular nose. Helion Spellcleaver. 

She had met him on Starfall and was struck by a sense of familiarity that she could not explain. Understanding snapped into place now. 

Lucien’s eyes were burning into her. 

“Beron knows? Is that why he did it?”

Lucien gritted his teeth. “He wanted to lessen my resemblance to Helion, yes. And…I think he wanted to punish my mother by destroying the last remaining memento of her true love.”

It didn’t work, Elain thought as she studied Lucien’s face. It was far from destroyed. She had never seen a more beautiful face among humans or Fae. He was captivating, and his scars only added to his feral beauty.

“You said this secret puts more lives at risk than just your own. You meant her. Your mother.”

Lucien nodded solemnly. “She would be killed in an instant if word got out, which is why you can never tell a soul, Elain. Not even Nesta or Feyre, and especially not those wraiths that follow you everywhere.” She reached out a hand, placing it over the mask in his hands. 

“I won’t, Lucien. I’ll take it to my grave.”

Lucien flinched at the last word but nodded. “Thank you.”

“But if you are Helion’s son, you are heir to his court. Does he even know?”

Lucien leaned his head back thoughtfully. “I’ve often wondered about that, but I don’t think that he does. And perhaps it is better. I’ve never wanted a crown.”

“Why not?”

“I have never sought power over others. I govern only myself.”

It was a pity, Elain thought as she returned her gaze to the flames. It seemed to her that a ruler like Lucien was precisely what this land—these people—needed. Someone kind. Someone fair. Someone who would prioritize doing what was right over achieving his own ends.

If Lucien was to be High Lord, what did that make her? The Fae put so much stock in mating bonds even if they weren’t accepted. 

If she was honest, she wasn’t sure she wanted a crown either. She still wasn’t sure where she belonged or what she wanted to do with this strange second life that had been forced upon her. But thinking of Clare’s desiccated face and her broken body, Elain knew she wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Lucien threw the mask onto the fire. It blazed white hot under his gaze, and the bronze melted into a puddle at the bottom of the fireplace. Lucien leaned back on his hands, and the fire died down until it was little more than glowing embers.

~*~

Lucien led Elain down the hallway to the left, pausing to smell the air as if he were trying to pick up a scent that had long since faded. He stopped at the last door on the left and pushed it open.

Beyond it was a cavernous and warmly lit bedroom draped in deep forest green and gold. “My mother’s room,” he said, gesturing inside. She walked past him and set her bag at the foot of the bed. “Not your own?” 

Lucien was leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed. “I did not stay in this suite. My room was hardly nicer than Feyre’s cell. I wasn’t meant to feel comfortable here like the rest of my dear family.” He spat out the last word as if it were bitter on his tongue.

Lucien pushed out of the doorway. “I’ll be just across the hall,” he said, gesturing behind himself with a thumb.

“Oh,” Elain said, trying to hide her disappointment and apprehension. “Okay.” 

She did not stop him as he left, though her body screamed at her to do so. “Lucien?” she called just as he had opened the door across the way.

He turned to look at her. 

“What is her name?” Elain asked, looking around at the room.

“Helene.” He said, his voice soft and laced with sorrow. 

“How long has it been since you saw her?”

“I’ve caught glimpses over the years, but it has been three centuries since I have hugged my mother.”

Elain felt the heartbreak and longing from his end of the bond, and she sent a warm caress down it that she hoped would be soothing. She felt a flicker of gratitude in return.

When Elain said nothing else, he turned and stepped into his room, closing the door behind himself.

Elain sat on the edge of Helene’s bed. This room felt friendlier—softer than any of the others they’d visited Under the Mountain, but she still was not happy to be here alone.

She and Lucien had not shared a bed since that first night in the Winter Court, and she had not slept as well since that night either, but this was the first time they’d slept in separate rooms since they’d stayed in Marina and Zephyr’s farmhouse. This place was not nearly as welcoming.

She lay in bed tossing and turning, mind racing. A half-hour passed before she threw the covers off herself and slipped out of bed. She crossed the room to her door and yanked it open to find Lucien standing just outside, hand raised as if about to knock. He was wearing only his sleep pants and a pair of half-moon spectacles.

Elain blinked in shock for a moment, taking in the smooth, sculpted planes of his chest and the ridges of his abdominals. 

Lucien cleared his throat pointedly, and Elain snapped her attention back to his face. “I couldn’t sleep,” he announced. 

“Neither could I.” She whispered. She noticed in his left hand he carried a book. She reached for it, and he handed it to her. It was Winter’s Embrace. “You stole it?” she asked him incredulously, whacking him on the shoulder with the book. 

Lucien’s face was less than contrite as he grinned. “You seemed unable to put it down. I was curious.” He said, strutting past her into the room. He looked back over his shoulder to say, “And I was right. It is salacious.”

Elain glared at Lucien’s back. “Stealing is wrong, you know,” she chastised, fully aware that she still had one of his shirts squirreled away amongst her belongings. But Lucien, unabashed, just rolled his eyes with a grin as he climbed into her bed.

Elain sighed and followed, sliding under the covers beside him.

She grabbed Lucien’s arm, tugging him toward the center of the bed. He moved closer, and she rested her head against his shoulder. He snaked his arm around her back, pulling her flush against his side.

Elain dropped the book into his lap and tapped the cover. “Read to me.”

“Really?”

Elain nodded and settled in a little deeper, breathing in his scent. It had become so familiar to her now—like home. Lucien began to read, his voice deep and sure. His words caressed her mind until she drifted to sleep.

~*~

Elain was standing in a large glass atrium built around an ancient tree. The gnarled and twisted trunk was nearly ten feet wide, and the light from the glass ceiling above filtered down red through the ruby leaves. Carved into the ancient bark was a throne of leaves and ivy. 

The High Lord of Autumn sat upon the throne, staring at her with a nasty, victorious grin on his cruel face. 

And then she was in a dark room. She felt only rough stone and straw beneath her, but gentle hands stroked her hair, her face. Somewhere far away she heard soft humming. 

And then she was in what she thought might be a greenhouse. Her vision was blurred, but she saw Lucien there, tending a strange assortment of plants. The figure turned to face her, and it was not Lucien, but a woman—a female—with kind russet eyes and long wine-red hair. She was grinding something in a mortar and pestle—a poultice of some kind. 

The High Lord appeared like lightning, and Elain saw a pale hand flash out, striking the woman across the face. She fell to her knees and the High Lord grabbed Elain by the back of her neck, and she was once again thrust into darkness.

~*~

Elain woke the next morning in pitch darkness. The room had no windows, no light. She was still reeling from the violence of her dream but shook it from her mind as she remembered Clare. She would bury her today. 

She dug her fingers into the skin of Lucien’s chest. She heard a soft sniff as he awoke and lit the fire.

They dressed and packed their things in silence. Lucien held out a hand for her bag, taking it with him on his trek to the livestock pens to retrieve the horses.

Elain entered the bedroom where Clare lay. She gently lifted the too-small bundle that was all that remained of her friend into her arms. She met Lucien and the horses in the main corridor, and they began their procession upward, out of Amarantha’s palace of atrocities.

Elain led the way, with Lucien following a few paces behind. She felt gentle tugs in her chest when they encountered twists and forks in the corridors, as Lucien guided her using the bond.

At last, they reached another cave—a Door. This one was shorter and wider, and Elain could see bright morning light on the other side.

They emerged into a lush meadow surrounded by snowcapped mountains. In the heart sat a crystal clear lake. 

Lucien dropped the horses’ reins, leaving them to graze, and untied two shovels from Juniper’s saddle. He must have taken them from the livestock pens. Elain walked the perimeter of the lake, Lucien following silently behind until she found a patch of earth atop a small knoll overlooking the lake.

Elain gently set down Clare’s body, and Lucien handed her a shovel. Taking the other in his own hands, they began digging until the hole was so deep that even Lucien could barely see out of it. 

He helped Elain out of the grave and she passed Clare’s body down to him. He laid it gently on the bed of earth, arranging the hood of his cloak around her face. Lucien pressed his fingers to his lips and extended them toward Clare—a gesture of farewell to the honored dead.

Lucien heaved himself out of the grave and came to kneel next to Elain.

“She was one of our only friends in a time when we had so little hope. So little joy. She never thought less of us or pitied us. And we were not there when she needed us most.”

“There was nothing you could have done. You would have met the same fate if you had tried.”

“Maybe I should have.”

“No,” he breathed, squeezing her hand.

“She deserved a happier ending than the one she got.”

“On that, we can agree.” Lucien took up his shovel again, and when Elain nodded to him, he began filling the grave.

Clare had been a light in the darkness, a true beacon of humanity. She watched through vision blurred by tears as Clare’s body became obscured and was consumed by the earth.

When the grave was filled, Lucien stabbed his shovel into the ground where a headstone should lie. He burned Clare’s name into the handle in neat letters. Elain buried her fingers in the freshly turned mound of soil, letting her tears fall freely into it. She sent her power into the ground. It came so easily now. A vast assortment of wildflowers and new grass sprouted beneath her hands. 

She saw the air shimmering around her and looked at Lucien. “Only friends may enter,” he explained, and Elain nodded, her face crumpling again. “Thank you,” she mouthed, unable to voice the words.

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and then walked halfway down the knoll and sat in the grass facing the lake, leaving her to sit with Clare until her tears had dried up. 

Elain wondered where Clare was now. What she had felt at the end. Elain remembered the warm embrace of death as it had held her in the depths of the Cauldron. She had been dragged back, given a second chance. There is someone waiting for you. That ancient voice had said.

She turned to look at Lucien. Patiently waiting, as he always had been. Part of her worried that she had made him wait too long.

The sun was high overhead when she stood and walked down the hill to join him. She sat in the grass beside him and rested her head on his shoulder. They did not speak, but he turned and placed a soft, slow kiss atop her head before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Where are we?”

“Just over the border of the Dawn Court.”

They picked at their remaining scraps of food in silence before collecting their horses and continuing their ride northward. 

Elain took one last look back at Clare’s grave and couldn’t help feeling that she was leaving a very human piece of herself behind with her.

[xinfudapackaging]

Introduction of desiccant for blood sugar test paper container

Introduction of desiccant for blood sugar test paper container

Blood sugar test strips are disposable consumables for daily blood sugar testing of diabetics. Its components contain enzyme reagents, so the moisture resistance of blood sugar test paper buckets is relatively high. In order to ensure the desiccant in the internal environment, there will be a desiccant on the lid of the package. The type of desiccant is mainly silica gel, molecular sieve or an…

[yueyimold]

compression spring cover mold

China medical mold maker, offer compression spring cover mold, medicine pill container bottle mold, moisture proof lid mold, desiccant children safe cap mold

[alwaysteammikaelson]

Sweet Sacrifice

Warnings: Violence, Abuse,

Summary: Klaus Mikaelson killed a man named Derrick's wife decades ago. Derrick captures Klaus and locks him in a spelled bunker, Derrick's daughter Y/N is forced to help contain Klaus but develops feelings for him.

Pairing: Reader X Klaus mikaelson.

Klaus growled as his captor, Derrick, lashed out again. The spelled chains burned his wrists, draining his power. He was weak from days without blood, unable to heal from Derrick’s torture.

Derrick sneered at the hybrid. "You monsters took everything from me," he spat. "Now I'll make you suffer as I have."

Decades ago, Klaus had killed Derrick's wife in a fit of rage. Now Derrick sought revenge through cruelty, keeping the hybrid locked in this bunker to mete out sadistic punishment.

Y/N, Derrick's daughter, watched in horror as her father tortured Klaus. Derrick had forced her to help contain the hybrid, threatening to kill her if she didn't obey. She brought Klaus blood and witnessed the increasing depravity of Derrick's revenge.

Klaus met Y/N's eyes, seeing her fear and shame. He didn't blame her for Derrick's madness. Y/N couldn't help but feel for the hybrid, trapped and suffering at her father's hands.

Derrick noticed their exchanged glance. "You care for this beast?" he thundered. Y/N cowered as Derrick turned his fury on her. "He killed your mother, or have you forgotten?"

Derrick backhanded Y/N so hard she fell. Klaus strained against his chains, rage and hate billowing through him. "Touch her again and you die," he snarled.

Derrick laughed mirthlessly. "You are in no position to threaten me." He unsheathed a knife, stalking toward Klaus. "Time to up my game, I think."

Derrick spent hours carving up Klaus, reveling in his screams. Y/N sobbed, unable to block out the hybrid's agony. She knew she had to save him from her father's madness.

When Derrick finally left them, Klaus sagged in his chains - broken but not defeated. Y/N rushed to his side, offering blood to heal his mutilated flesh. "I'm getting you out of here," she whispered.

Klaus gazed at her, stunned by her bravery and kindness. "You must come with me," he rasped. "Your father will kill you for this."

Y/N steeled herself and unchained Klaus. He was too weakened to stand, but the bonds that constrained his power fell away. "Derrick plans to desiccate you till you're mummified," Y/N revealed. "I won't let that happen."

Klaus's eyes glowed yellow with rage at the thought. Y/N helped him up and together they fled into the night before Derrick returned.

They hid for days as Klaus healed and regained his strength. His brush with true death had left an indelible mark - but Y/N's selflessness gave him reason to go on. She had saved him in every way a person could be saved. In return, he gave her the freedom she had never known under Derrick's control.

Derrick hunted them relentlessly. When he tracked them down, Klaus was ready. His fury at Derrick's cruelty knew no bounds.

"You wanted a monster?" Klaus taunted. "Here I am." He tore Derrick apart slowly, savoring every scream. Y/N watched without pity as the father who had made her life hell got what he deserved.

With Derrick dead, they were finally free of his shadow. Klaus cradled Y/N's face, seeing the scars left by her father's abuse. "No more, sweetheart. You need fear nothing now."

Y/N smiled through her tears, covering his hands with her own. Their shared pain had bound them together with hoops of steel, but their revenge and liberation at last allowed hope to surface from the darkness.

Though born of violence, their love held an abiding tenderness. They had given each other the gift of freedom and found redemption in each other's arms. The bunker of their torment now lay behind them, remaining of another life. Surviving Derrick's sadism against all odds, they stepped out of the shadows he had made and into the light.