#palm oil trade

[newwavenewsandentertainment]

The Controversial Sale of Nigeria: Who Sold the Nation to the British for £865,000 in 1899?

In a pivotal moment of history, the late 19th century witnessed a transaction that would reshape the destiny of Nigeria.

[celepeace]

I'm not willing to bend on it but I wish it was less annoying to find fair trade chocolate in the baking aisle. If I don't go to one of those organic overpriced grocery stores it's about a 50/50 shot that they'll have any chocolate chips/baking chocolate bars that are fair trade at all

[seairexim]

An In-Depth Look at Indian Palm Oil Imports in 2024

India, the world's largest importer of edible oils, has a substantial reliance on palm oil imports. As of 2024, the country's demand for palm oil remains steady due to its versatile use in food processing, cosmetics, and even biodiesel production. This article will take a closer look at the Indian palm oil imports,  importers of palm oil in India, why India is so reliant on palm oil, and who the biggest importers of palm oil are.

Overview of Palm Oil in India

India's population, which crossed the 1.4 billion mark in 2023, continues to expand its consumption patterns, making palm oil a critical component of the country's dietary needs. Indian households and industries use palm oil for cooking, frying, and as a base ingredient in various packaged goods, such as margarine, instant noodles, and baked products. Moreover, its non-food applications in soaps, detergents, and personal care products underscore the importance of palm oil across industries.

Why India Imports Palm Oil

Palm oil is favored not only for its versatility but also for its cost-effectiveness. Compared to other edible oils like sunflower oil or soybean oil, palm oil is cheaper, thanks to its high yield per hectare and its cost-efficient production in tropical regions like Indonesia and Malaysia.

Although India does produce some palm oil, the domestic output falls short of the demand. India's climatic conditions are less suited for large-scale palm plantations compared to tropical countries. The country relies on imports to meet about 70% of its total edible oil demand, and palm oil accounts for the bulk of this figure.

Key Sources of Indian Palm Oil Imports

Historically, India's palm oil imports have come primarily from Indonesia and Malaysia. Together, these two nations account for nearly 90% of the global palm oil supply, making them the natural partners for Indian importers. In recent years, however, other players have started emerging on the radar, albeit in smaller capacities.

Indonesia remains India's largest supplier, providing both crude palm oil (CPO) and refined, bleached, and deodorized (RBD) palm oil. Indonesia's vast palm plantations and competitive pricing make it the primary destination for India's importers.

Malaysia, which had been second to Indonesia in recent years, continues to be a vital partner, especially for refined products. Malaysia’s quality and reputation in the international palm oil market make it a preferred source for Indian refiners looking for premium-quality products.

Importers of Palm Oil in India

The structure of the Indian palm oil market is heavily reliant on a network of refiners and traders who act as the importers of palm oil in India. These companies source crude and refined palm oil from international markets and distribute it throughout the country to meet consumer demand. Some of the key players in the Indian market include:

Adani WilmarOne of the biggest names in the edible oil sector, Adani Wilmar is a major importer of palm oil in India. Its flagship brand, "Fortune," is well-known throughout the country, and a significant portion of its products contain palm oil. Adani Wilmar imports crude palm oil, refines it, and distributes it to both retail and industrial sectors.

Ruchi Soya IndustriesPart of the Patanjali Group, Ruchi Soya is another leading player in the Indian edible oil market. The company has a long history of palm oil imports and is known for its "Nutrela" brand. Ruchi Soya imports significant quantities of crude palm oil, processes it in its extensive refining facilities, and markets it across India.

Emami AgrotechKnown for its edible oil brands like "Healthy & Tasty," Emami Agrotech is another major importer of palm oil. The company imports both crude and refined palm oil, and its brands enjoy significant popularity among Indian consumers.

Cargill IndiaAs a subsidiary of the global giant Cargill, the Indian arm of this multinational corporation is also deeply involved in the palm oil trade. Cargill India imports large quantities of palm oil, leveraging its global supply chain network to meet the demands of Indian consumers.

Godrej AgrovetGodrej Agrovet is a key player in the agricultural and food processing sectors. The company not only imports palm oil but also engages in palm cultivation within India, although its production capacity is limited compared to imports. Its brand portfolio includes various edible oils, with palm oil being a key ingredient.

Trends in 2024: Indian Palm Oil Imports

As of 2024, several factors have shaped the Indian palm oil market, influencing the buying patterns of the biggest importers of palm oil:

Government PoliciesThe Indian government has periodically adjusted import duties on edible oils, including palm oil, to protect domestic producers while ensuring affordability for consumers. In 2024, the government continues to balance between reducing duties to curb inflation and protecting local oilseed farmers.

Shifts in Global PricesGlobal palm oil prices fluctuate due to various factors, including production output in Indonesia and Malaysia, labor shortages, and the impact of environmental policies in producing countries. Any increase in global palm oil prices directly impacts the import costs for India, making it essential for Indian importers to monitor international trends closely.

Growing Environmental ConcernsPalm oil production has been criticized for contributing to deforestation and environmental degradation, especially in Southeast Asia. In response, there has been growing demand for sustainably sourced palm oil. Indian importers are increasingly looking to source palm oil from suppliers that adhere to sustainability standards like the Roundtable on Sustainable Palm Oil (RSPO) certification.

Rise of Domestic ProductionWhile India will continue to depend on imports for the foreseeable future, there are efforts underway to boost domestic palm oil production. The Indian government has launched the National Mission on Edible Oils – Oil Palm (NMEO-OP) to reduce import dependence by promoting domestic palm cultivation. However, this is a long-term initiative, and significant results are yet to be seen in 2024.

The Biggest Importers of Palm Oil in 2024

As outlined earlier, companies like Adani Wilmar, Ruchi Soya, Emami Agrotech, Cargill India, and Godrej Agrovet continue to be the biggest importers of palm oil in India. These companies have well-established supply chains, strong relationships with international suppliers, and extensive refining and distribution networks across the country.

These large corporations play a pivotal role in ensuring that India's palm oil demand is met consistently, despite the various challenges that crop up due to global supply chain disruptions or price fluctuations.

Conclusion

In 2024, Indian palm oil imports continue to be essential for the country's food security and economic stability. Companies like Adani Wilmar, Ruchi Soya, Emami Agrotech, Cargill India, and Godrej Agrovet remain the backbone of India's palm oil supply chain, ensuring the availability of this vital product. Although India is working toward self-reliance in palm oil production, it is clear that imports will remain crucial for the foreseeable future. However, if you need a detailed report on the biggest importer of palm oil in India, palm oil import data or global trade data connect with Seair Exim Solutions.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q1. Why does India import so much palm oil?India imports a large quantity of palm oil because its domestic production of edible oils, including palm oil, is insufficient to meet the demand. Palm oil is cost-effective, versatile, and widely used in cooking, food processing, and non-food products, making it a vital import for India.

Q2. Who are the biggest importers of palm oil in India?Some of the biggest importers of palm oil in India include Adani Wilmar, Ruchi Soya Industries, Emami Agrotech, Cargill India, and Godrej Agrovet. These companies import significant amounts of palm oil and distribute it to meet the growing domestic demand.

Q3. Where does India primarily import palm oil from?India primarily imports palm oil from Indonesia and Malaysia, which together account for the vast majority of the global supply. Indonesia is the largest supplier of palm oil to India, followed closely by Malaysia.

Q4. How do global palm oil prices affect Indian palm oil imports?Global palm oil prices directly impact Indian palm oil imports. Fluctuations in production levels, labor shortages, or environmental regulations in palm oil-producing countries can lead to price changes, affecting the cost of imports and consumer prices in India.

Q5. Is India working on reducing its reliance on palm oil imports?Yes, India has launched initiatives like the National Mission on Edible Oils – Oil Palm (NMEO-OP) to boost domestic palm oil production. However, due to the high demand and limited production capacity, India will continue to rely on imports in the near future.

[mectech1]

Mectech Palm Oil Refinery Plant- A Legacy of Innovation and Excellence

Oil processing, often known as refining, is the conversion of crude oil into usable products such as petrol, diesel, kerosene, and other petrochemicals. The refining process consists of multiple essential steps, including separation, conversion, treatment, blending, and other refining processes.

Oil refining is a complicated and energy-intensive process that necessitates advanced equipment and technology. It is an important link in the worldwide energy supply chain, providing fuel for transportation, heating, and electricity generation, as well as raw materials for the petrochemical sector.

Of all the oil refining and processing industries, palm oil refinery is the most important sector as it is a very complex oil and for its production it requires good quality plant.

Palm Oil Refining

Palm oil refining industries are among the world's most important manufacturing sectors, and palm oil has grown to become the world's most traded vegetable oil. Indonesia and Malaysia are the main producers, with exporting enterprises for crude palm oil.

Crude palm oil is derived from palm oil's mesocarp. Extracted Crude Palm oil contains some undesirable contaminants, which must be eliminated partially or fully throughout the palm oil refining process to produce good edible oil with increased stability and keepability.

Palm oil is currently a popular cooking oil in many tropical nations, including South East Asia, Africa, and sections of Brazil. Its popularity is attributed due to its higher heat resistance as compared to any other vegetable oil and also because of its lower cost and good oxidative stability.

Palm's unique and finest quality is that it generates two forms of oil: palm oil and palm kernel oil.

Palm oil is derived from the flesh of the palm fruit, whereas palm kernel oil is extracted from the seeds or kernel of the palm fruit using the palm kernel oil process.

Palm oil is derived from fresh palm fruit flesh through pressing and centrifugation at a palm oil facility. To avoid deterioration of Palm Oil, it must be extracted from fresh palm fruit. As a result, countries that cultivate palm oil remove it to prevent it from deteriorating. The crude palm oil's colour is yellow-red or dark yellow, and its taste is sweet.

The crude palm oil extracted contains undesired contaminants, which hurt the oil's physical appearance, quality, oxidative stability, and shelf life. To eliminate the aforementioned pollutants, the oil is sent to a palm oil refinery plant, where it is refined, bleached, and deodorised. After refining the palm oil, the RBD oil is sent to the fractionation unit to extract palm olein and stearin.

Palm Oil Refinery Plant

Palm oil refining is divided into the sections below:

In most palm oil refining plants, the refining process is a vital stage in the manufacture of edible oils and fats. The finished product's properties that must be monitored include flavour, shelf life, stability, and colour.

Crude vegetable oil can be refined in two ways: physically or chemically. During crude palm oil refining, FFA is removed to obtain a maximum FFA level of 0.1%.

Physical refining typically has a smaller environmental impact than chemical refining.

Bleaching edible oils and fats is an important step in the refining process for crude oils and fat. It does eliminate numerous contaminants, which hurt the physical look and quality of the oil. Generally, the oil is taken to the bleaching section first, and the gums are treated with phosphoric acid so that they may be separated in the pressure leaf filter after bleaching.

During this stage, the adsorptive activity of bleaching earth removes trace metal complexes like iron and copper, colouring pigments, phosphatides, and oxidative products.

This bleached oil is next filtered through industrial filters such as a filter press, a hermetically sealed vertical leaf pressure filter, a plate, or a frame filter.

Mectech's unique bleacher design keeps the bleaching earth in full suspension, resulting in no dead zones and lower utility use. Mectech Bleacher guarantees high-quality oil because the bleaching procedure for crude palm oil is carried out under controlled conditions.

Mectech also excels in supplying facilities for rice bran oil processing refinery in India and abroad. Mectech Rice Bran Oil Extraction Machinery in India and abroad offers the following advantages.

[delphi-shield]

— 「 FLASH FIRE 」

lighter lorenz x reader — 2.8k — mdni summary: it’s reciprocal - lighter helps out with your car, you fuck him in the back seat. everybody wins. content: unprotected sex, forgetting to pull out, creampie, titsucking, hair pulling, brief mention of fisting.

You're running out of excuses.

You had traded favors and supplies for car maintenance for months now. Strictly business, at first, but the aimless teasing had quickly evolved into flirting, and the flirting had rapidly shifted to something more physical. Soon, your car became plagued with all kinds of problems, both real and imagined. Lighter had even let you get away with asking him to change your tail light. He didn’t even seem to realize what you were up to - not at first, anyway.

In reality, Lighter's had you figured out ever since you called him to check your tire pressure. You don't really need his help for most of this stuff, but he puts on a good show when he spreads his tools out in your garage. Your eyes always drift to his biceps when he hefts up the hood of your car. He braces a hand against the side, leans his weight into it, and you're torn between gawking at the way he peers down at the guts of your car, appraising, or the way his ass is squeezed into those jeans, hips cocked, heavy boots tapping against the garage floor.

It usually ended up in the backseat of your car -- or on the hood, or pressed up against the side. You had started stashing condoms in the center console.

“Need me to change your oil?" He offers one day, cutting off the way you're grasping at straws, floundering to keep him on the line. "It's about time."

Was it? You didn't know. You assumed he didn't either, figured he'd show up, check the mileage, and shake his head. Not quite time yet - but that's all right. He already came over, so he can find something else to work on.

But when he rolls up to your place he's got oil and a catch pan in hand. His jacket is discarded on the back of his bike, leaving him squeezed into a white tank top. He pats your arm as he walks by, eyes gleaming behind his sunglasses. Your surprise clearly delights him.

You plop into the back seat while he works, peppering him with offers for his service. Faint guilt swirls in your gut. You hadn't expected him to actually work on your car today. You could pick up his groceries when you ran into town, or help the Sons out with planning for Settlement Days. Each offer was barely considered, dismissed by a muffled ‘nah’.

It turns out the benefits of hooking up with Lighter include free car maintenance.

“You're all set,” Lighter says, slapping his hands against his thighs as he stands. He rounds your car to tower over you where you sit. Your legs swing, hanging off the edge, scuffing against the floor.

You spread your legs for him to step between — force of habit. Can't help but spread ‘em when Lighter steps up like that, when his hands brace against the top of your car and he sways down. He steps between your legs, nudging your knees wider with a powerful thigh.

“How am I going to pay you back?” You sigh dramatically, stifling a giggle. Lighter pretends to think for all of three seconds.

“A kiss?”

“That's all?”

“You're right. Two kisses.”

You grin. You can do better than that. You grab the front of his shirt and tug him down. He ducks past the door, laying you back against the seat. His kiss is languid, smiling against your lips as you laugh. You pull back to take his sunglasses off, noses bumping. You fold them closed and set them in the front seat, half-sitting up to reach.

Lighter takes advantage of the way you stretch, the column of your throat bared to him, ripe for his kisses to darken you skin. He sucks a mark beneath your jaw as you lay back into the seat. His hand slip up your shirt, palms lighting a warm path against your skin.

You roll up off of the seat, tits pressing into his chest. Lighter rolls your shirt up, separating from your neck briefly to fling your shirt outside of the car. His body covers your again, pressing you back to the seat. His scent, earthy and mouthwatering, infused with a tinge of oil and sweat, blankets you as he noses against the hollow of your throat.

You flip open the center console, searching sightlessly for a condom. Lighter works your bra off to paw at your tits, taking a moment to appreciate the weight in his palm before he latches on and sucks. His teeth scrape against your hardened nipple and you keen, back arching, pressing his face deeper into your breasts.

"Fuck - relax. Milk's not gonna come out," you grumble, free hand fisting tightly in his hair.

Lighter moans. He pops off one tit, dropping a sloppy kiss to the valley between your breasts. His knee slides up firmly against your pussy, grinding against you until you catch onto his rhythm and do it yourself. He's got that smug look on his face when he licks up your other, neglected breast, tongue lapping at your skin but lips never sealing around you.

You tug at his hair. Another moan, louder, more whiny. Your clit pulses against the seam of your jeans, and he finally commits to sucking your tits again.

Christ, you've got to find that fucking condom.

You sift through old receipts and miscellaneous bits and bobs blindly, struggling to find that elusive, crinkly little square. Lighter's hands slide down your sides, squeezing the dough of your hips tightly. He flicks the button of your jeans open, drawing his leg back to wiggle your pants halfway down your thighs. He palms your cunt through your panties and whines again, tremulous and pitiful.

"I'm so damn hard," Lighter groans. He drops his forehead against your collar bone, warm breath puffing against your skin. A searing heat blooms in your belly.

“Do you have a condom?” You blurt out. You can’t keep fumbling around like this - you need him now.

Lighter’s hand squeezes you, middle finger trailing against your clothed slit. He keeps one hand stroking your pussy while the other reaches behind him, patting the pockets of his jeans. He swears under his breath. His finger taps just over your clit - using your pussy like a damn fidget.

“I’ll pull out.” That’s his genius solution.

You should say no. You should offer to blow him, or let him fuck your tits, or anything other than the tried and true pull out method, but Lighter dips his fingers beneath your panties, presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and rolls. Sparks ignite in your veins. His finger teases your entrance. He only has to press gently into your before your greedy cunt tries to pull him deeper.

You grit your teeth. The promise of more makes you whine. Fingers won’t be enough. He could take his time finger fucking you open until he could fist you and it still wouldn’t be enough. You need his cock and you need it now.

“Okay,” you breathe out, face warming. You shouldn’t be agreeing to this. Even Lighter seems surprised. He picks his head up from your chest to meet your eyes, brows arched. You melt under his watch, body puddling against the seat. You roll your hips. His thumb stays steady against your clit, lets you roll yourself against his hand.

If he wants to ask if you’re sure, he loses the will when you squeeze around his finger.

He’s got more patience than you. Lighter presses kisses along your jaw, murmuring “okay,” as he slips down your body. He nips at your neck while his finger strokes through your soaked cunt. You try to spread you legs wider, to accommodate the fit of his hips, but your knees are trapped by your jeans, still hanging on for dear life.

You kick your foot and whine, your pants flapping comically. Lighter laughs. He struggles to pull them down further with just one hand.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, shifting awkwardly in the cramped back seat. His chest presses against yours, pinning you down with his weight. In the tight space, it’s impossible to escape his scent, his warmth, the hand toying with your pussy instead of shucking your pants off, winding you up.

You squirm beneath him, barely able to move. His laugh pools from his chest and into your.

“So fun to play with.” His voice is a rumble next to your ear. Your body tenses, skin feeling tight, flushed, stretched thin in anticipation.

“Hurry up,” you whine, jolting your hips up against his. He sucks a breath through his teeth.

It’s a heated blur. His hand withdraws from your pussy. He struggles with his belt long enough for you to wedge a hand between your bodies and try to help. It's finally open, his zipper barely down before you're shoving your hand into his pants to palm him.

He pushes your wrist away gently to pull himself free. The thought of taking him into your mouth makes drool pool in your mouth. You swallows thickly, swollen lips pouting. Eyes on the prize.

“Whatcha want?” Lighter leans back, his back hunched awkwardly in the small space of the back seat. He strokes himself slowly, his eyes fixed on your cunt.

“I want you shut the fuck up and fuck me.”

He taps the head of his dick against your clit, eyes lingering on the way he bounces it off your body, the way your thighs tense. Your struggle to stay still is plain as day in close quarters. Lighter grips the base of his thick cock. He slides himself through your folds, glistening tip nudging against your clit, each pass making you clench around nothing.

“Please,” you whine, smacking your head back against the seat. Your hands grip his biceps, nails biting into his skin.

He doesn't give you a chance to beg again. The fat head of his cock glides snugly into your pussy, the first inch frictionless and squelching. His fat cock catches, the stretch enough to make your breath sutter. Lighter plants a hand by your head, fingers dimpling the cushion. He pulls out, fucking himself deeper.

His forehead drops against your breast, chest near heaving. Lighter's hips stutter - barely restraining the desire to pound you into the carseat.

“You feel so fucking good,” he moans. He grinds into you, thick cock dragging against your walls, each roll of his hips sucking him in deeper and deeper until you can feel him in your stomach.

Your voice is caught in your throat, toes curling, knees pressing in, pussy trying to lock him in. You squeeze around him again and again, pulsing. Lighter bottoms out with one last, powerful roll of his hips, his restraint slipping, shuffling you up against the seats. Your cry out, pushing him back only to tug him closer, his face suffocated in your tits.

His hand slips down your spine, finding the small of your back. He angles your hips up, cock battering perfectly against a spot that has you crying out at each thrust, nails streaking red line against his biceps.

"Shit— shit," he pants, face buried into the junction of your neck, hips pinning you to the seat.

Lighter’s hips rabbit into you, fucking you hard and quick, lost in the feel of your gummy walls.

“Never going back to fucking condoms,” Lighter puffs out. Every thrust presses him against your clit. Tears prick at your eyes. Your mind blanks. You babble something incoherent in response. Your hand wedges between your body, rubbing frantically against your clit. “Feels so good. Not gonna last– fuck!”

Your dripping pussy has him in a vice grip, spasming as his hips drive into you again, again, again. Stars explode behind your eyes, fingertips clenching, chest too tight. His hips pin your hand against your clit. He doesn't draw back fully again, drags his fat cock hard and languid against the same spot over and over until all that tension unspools and the warmth spills over into your veins, onto his cock, coating your seats.

Lighter fucks you through it, voice pitching higher as his thrusts get sloppier, more desperate. He grumbles promises into your skin – gonna buy your birth control, baby, don't make me squeeze into a condom again, you feel too fucking good, holy shit, fuck, cumming—

You're already half-way to bonelessness, riding out the current of pleasure churns in you, when he floods your pussy with his cum. Spurt after spurt of his thick seed splatters against your walls. Your stomach flutters, eyes glazed.

Lighter's hips pump and sputter, staggered and stuttering, fucking his cum deeper into you. He leans his weight against you fully, muscled body pressing the breath from you. You don't know how you could be closer than this but you crave it, crave him, need more, need this to be unending.

Gradually, his hips slow. He comes down from his high, the whine in his voice pitching back to gravel. His cheek rests against your shoulder, hands flexing against your skin. You pet his hair idly, eyes shut, soaking in the bliss and the closeness.

His cock softens in your puffy walls, but his muscles tense with a sudden realization.

“Shit– I'm sorry,” he says in a rush, picking his head up to look at you. You only hum, confused, barely cracking an eye open. “I– inside. I didn't mean to–”

Oh. Ohh, fuck.

You swear quietly beneath your breath. Your teeth catch your lip, worrying it for a moment ��� but as fucked out as you are, brain still melted, it's difficult to muster panic.

You stroke his hair firmer, trying to urge him to lay back against you. His strength is evident in that moment when he resists your pull. The restraint in his touch is clear - and the threat of his strength has your aching clit twinging painfully. You were going to have to unpack that later.

“Lighter - it's fine,” you say. “I'll go to town later.”

“I'll drive you.” His tone brooks no argument. He pulls himself away from you, and the cold prickles against your flushed skin. You can't help but feel lost when he pulls himself out of you, pussy throbbing for the stretch of his cock - missing him already.

He tucks himself into his pants again, not bothering to zip back up. He bends, the curve of his tight ass on display. You sigh dreamily - nearly forget to react when he tosses you your discarded shirt back.

Lighter holds up a finger, chest still heaving and flushed, fluffy hair matted to his forehead with swear. He disappears from view, rattling around in your garage out of sight, before he comes back with a rag in hand.

"We should do this in a bed," you say, accepting the rag Lighter passes you. You inspect it carefully. No oil, no dirt - good enough for you.

"I think I can get a truck for an evening."

"What? No," You laugh. "Like a bed bed. With pillows, and blankets."

Lighter keeps his back turned to you, arms pausing mid-stretch. He rolls his shoulder, fluffs his hair - takes his sweet time turning back to face you.

Your stomach churns. Fuck. That was too much too quick. Sure, he just came inside you, but you were going to scare him off like this. He wasn't going to help you air up your tires ever again, much less fuck you–

"I can put pillows and blankets in a truck bed," he points out.

You huff a laugh, shaking your head. “I guess that's better than nothing.”

Lighter's lips quirk into a smile. He ducks back into the car, tapping your hip. You scoot back to make room for him. He lifts his arm, expecting you to curl up against his side.

“I'll drive you out for the sunset.”

“The sunset?” You repeat skeptically. You hadn't expected something so… sweet.

Lighter shrugs you closer. He tugs at a lock of your hair, teasing.

“Or for stargazing,” he counters, a hint of desperation sneaking in, cracking past his suave performance. “Whichever.”

You study him for a moment. He feels so unguarded in this moment, without the vestiges of the champion. He's just Lighter in this moment - just the man who fucked your brains out in the back of your car, who was at your beck and call for every stupid excuse you could conjure up just to see him.

“Both,” you decide. You nestle your cheek against his shoulder, eyes slipping shut. “If we stay long enough, we can do both.”

A guaranteed, precious few hours with him all to yourself. Your stomach squirms. You blame it on the feeling of his cum slipping out of you, pretend that your affection isn't burning you up from the inside.

Lighter shifts to kiss he crown of your head. His hand trails a lazy path against your arm, fingers warm, comfortable against your skin, his touch so different from the way he had pressed against you moments before.

One of these days you were going to get this man into a proper goddamn bed, but you'd settle for malapropisms until the time came.

[isenkus]

My entire being craves for more boob guy nagumo

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ warnings for mature content, minors do not interact. nipple play, implied masturbation, nagumo being the unserious bastard he is, implied mommy kink at the end. nagumo loves ur tits.

boob guy!nagumo, who always finds comfort in your plopping his head on your chest after a long day of assassin work. you can hear him sigh dreamily as he pushes his head even further into your chest.

boob guy!nagumo, who insists on applying your body creams and oils on you, only to carefully caress your breasts and leave the rest of your body unattended. you have to remind him he has to finish what he started, and he happily obliges.

boob guy!nagumo, who is in love with how sensitive your nipples are. whether it’s pinching, licking, or suckling, nagumo is a jack of all trades. there’s been a few times where you catch him drooling as his fingers play with your nipples while he palms himself through his pants, and when he decides to cum on your tits, it’s one of the hottest sights you’ve ever seen.

boob guy!nagumo, who loves fucking you in front of a mirror, just to see your tits bounce as he thrusts himself in and out. he loves missionary, cowgirl, you name it, as long as he has those pretty tits on sight, he’s content.

boob guy!nagumo, who loves your breasts no matter how they look. if you have stretch marks, he likes to trace them with his fingers after sex, or even when he and you are facing each other in bed before sleeping. it’s his way of saying he likes them, and he’s mentioned they suit you before. if one is bigger than the other, he loves that too. whether they’re saggy, perky, uneven—nagumo doesn’t care. he will always give them the attention they deserve.

boob guy!nagumo, who loves leaving bruises all over your breasts. he’s always leaving little love marks which have you avoiding low cut tops for a week minimum, and when you do wear them inside your home, he’s always saying hi to his little reminders of love.

boob guy!nagumo, who has names for your breasts. going with what i said before, he says hi every now and then, and loves retracing the spots where he’s left hickies, saying “there’s my favorite princesses!” and yes, one time the hickies he left were his initials. if it weren’t for your protests, he would’ve had it as his phone wallpaper. (jokes on you, he does have it. he changes it when you’re around, though.)

boob guy!nagumo, who has a collection of pictures of the many artworks he has done on your chest. if you allow him to, he’ll tattoo a small design on your underboob, that’s for his eyes only. he’ll melt if you let him tattoo his name on you (he’s hinted at this for a million times, and hopes you say yes.)

boob guy!nagumo, who loves to get himself off on your tits. the way his face contorts from pleasure is angelic, and the desperate whines that escape his lips have definitely made for awkward interactions with your neighbors. perhaps, there’s been a time where the name mommy was thrown around. if you ask him about it, though, he’ll deflect and act as if it never happened.

sakadays taglist open, suggestions open (check my rules pleek), rbs appreciated?!

[kitasuno]

after-shower hair-care | boyfriend!wriothesley x fem!reader

wriothesley blowdries your hair after you take a shower. (he's hopelessly in love with you).

(´• ω •`) ♡ the only fem pronoun in here is 'ma'am' <3

you sit between wriothesley’s knees, head slumping into his lap as he cards his fingers through your hair. the blow dryer is warm and so are his hands as he dries the damp strands, fingers gentle as he massages oil onto your scalp. you’re drifting in and out of sleep, stirring slightly when you feel his hands move to caress the curve of your cheek. 

“my turn, babe.”

you shuffle, turning to face him, vaguely noticing that he’s tied your hair up in a claw clip. 

“wrio…” you mumble, pressing your cheek against his thigh. “m’ tired. later.”

“nuh-uh,” he says, eyebrow raised. “i want my hair done too.” 

you wrap your arms around his waist, eyes shut. he smells like your peach body wash. 

“but you’re so comfy.” 

you can’t see the smile on wriothesley’s lips as he puts his arms on each of your shoulders and shakes. 

“wriothesley!” you exclaim, his laugh contagious as you brace your hands on his knees. slightly dizzy, you look up at him as his body shakes from laughter, eyes gleaming. his hair is still damp from the shower, a towel around his neck as he holds a blow dryer in his hands. it doesn’t help that he’s not wearing a shirt, either. “you-” 

a blast of hot air in your face. your mouth drops as wriothesley turns the blow dryer on max, turning the heat down after he remembers your complaints about how hot the blow dryer gets. 

“don’t go falling asleep on me, pretty.” he says, tilting your chin up. “or i’ll blow dry your cute face.”

“wrio-” 

he cuts your words off with his lips, ever so gentle as he kisses your complaints away. he pulls away and your dizziness is back. 

“i’m gonna get you back.” you pout, getting up to trade places with him on the bed. “i’ll show you what these fists taste like.” 

“yes, ma'am.” wriothesley salutes. you groan. 

“oh god.” you look down at him as he sits on the carpet between your legs, his legs crossed lazily as he bats his eyelashes up at you. he hands you the blow dryer. “you were into that, weren’t you!” 

“i’m into you.” wriothesley corrects. he’s incredibly smug. you hide behind your palm as you blush, biting the inside of your cheek as his hands gently remove any obstructions from your face. “let me see your pret-”

you turn the blow dryer on max. 

“oh, i like you.” wriothesley says in between his laughter, turning so that you can focus your attention on his hair. “love you, actually.” he corrects. 

“love you too.” you say, ruffling the black and gray strands of his hair. he places a kiss on your knee. you pause before kissing the crown of his head. 

you continue blow drying his hair, towling the strands occasionally. wriothesley’s thankful you’re so focused on his hair that you don’t notice how warm his face has gotten, nor his crimson red cheeks as he blushes into his palm.

[probablyasocialecologist]

It is important to note the centrality in this story of the capitalist structure of the corporation: that strange legal fiction made real, the ultimate fetish. Born to facilitate the risky colonial and later slave-taking ventures of the rising European bourgeoisie, this strange, monstrous entity, which exists purely to generate profit for shareholders, was afforded legal personhood long before most of the world’s inhabitants were recognized as fully human by European law. By the time of the Punitive Expedition, the palm oil trade was dominated by (for the time) large corporate interests capable of not only generating significant capital and retaining talented traders and managers but also hiring private military forces and powerful lobbyists. Shares in these companies were part of the ebb and flow of investment in Liverpool and London, where a rising capitalist class benefitted without even having to concern themselves with the conditions under which the oil that was the source of their wealth was produced.

Max Haiven, Palm Oil: The Grease of Empire

[lorelune]

oh to be alhaitham and kaveh's third roommate. less of a stray, more of a tax-paying citizen of sumeru city who mellows the two of them out. mediates by your nature.

you listen to kaveh's rants and ravings, let him show you his blueprints and new inspirations, and inspire him in kind with casual beauties you bring him. a padisarah in full bloom you found by the market. a seashell, found on the shores of yazahada pool, carried in from the ocean by the rivers current.

you sit quiet with alhaitham. you pet his hair after long days, lean against his side during the kinder ones. he likes when you read over his shoulder or have your nose in your own book. you start keeping a book of crossword puzzles on the coffee table, topped with a black ink pen, and you'll ask alhaitham to do one with you when the mood strikes.

(nsfw)

you cow them both into being a bit more... reasonable with one and other. they're oil and water, sun and moon, sky and sea. you remind alhaitham that antagonizing kaveh with staunch logic isn't the best way to resolve a conflict. you remind kaveh that not everything he feels is a personal slight is intended to be taken in such a way.

you are the jar that hold the oil and water. the star bed that carries the sun and moon. solid earth that keeps the sky tethered and the sea close.

alhaitham takes your recommendation for books seriously-- dives into fiction at your request. his assistant at the akademiya catches him reading what could only be called a "smut novel" between meetings. kaveh drags you into the study and kisses you breathless on the comfy chaise lounge in the corner, pushing you into the cushions and telling you sweetly-- "stay just like that." sketches you. paints you. memorizes the contours and curves of you.

when you tumble into bed, it's a dance.

kaveh maps out the curves of you with soft, long-fingered hands. leaves scratches and opened-mouthed kisses in his wake. kaveh wants to feel you. the rush of heat that comes when he sucks a bruise into your neck. the breath that rushes from your lungs when you let out a pretty keen.

alhaitham wants to know you. wants to learn you in the most intimate way. he wants to know the best angles to crook his finger inside you, the positions that make your eyes roll back in your skull. there's something about rendering you-- someone so horribly intentional, kind, present-- into a puddle, at his hand, that alhaitham quietly adores. shows you, more than tells you. you never leave bed without a limp, or a drooling web of slick and spunk stickying your thighs.

you drag them close. glut yourself on them. watch starry eyes when they kiss, whimper at the way they both go weak for teasing. you spit in your palms and tug at them both, watch with a split smile when kaveh has to duck his head into alhaitham's neck. overcome with just a little touch.

it's all reciprocal. you trade teeth marks (and in alhaitham's case, chomps) and have a schedule for who cooks dinner each night. you link arms with kaveh on the way to the market and steal sips of alhaithams tea before bed. you all attempt to steal the duvet during the night, so you propose to invest in another to keep folded at the end of your shared mattress.

you're grateful, to have fallen into step with them

[noirscript]

the lion's claim, pt. 3

PAIRING: King Callixto x Servant Reader

Warning/s: Yandere. Not-so-detailed Smut. Nothing else. 🫠

Description: After a fleeting taste of freedom, you were traded between kings—claimed, but never freed.

Note: This has around 10k words in it. Will divide it into parts. We're still here. See you next week... 🫠

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar

The tension from the encounter lingered even after Callixto had pulled away, his parting words hanging in the air like a noose. Home.

You swallowed hard, pressing your palm against the cool marble pillar behind you, grounding yourself as you tried to steady the erratic rhythm of your pulse. The room was still, silent, save for the faint rustle of the heavy curtains as Callixto moved toward them.

Your body felt impossibly warm despite the chill of the evening air. His closeness had left behind something unseen, something you couldn’t shake.

You inhaled slowly, bracing yourself. “And where will I be staying for the night, Your Majesty?”

His footsteps halted just short of the curtains, his posture composed but rigid. He did not turn, but his voice carried across the room with effortless authority.

“Here.”

You stiffened.

He gestured subtly to the adjoining chamber—the private quarters prepared for his stay in Aurelian’s palace. The room beyond was dimly lit, the large bed draped in heavy silks, a basin of steaming water set near the hearth. Aurelian had been a gracious host, it seemed.

You wet your lips. “Your Majesty, surely—”

“Are you incapable of sleeping under the same roof as me?” he asked, finally turning his head just enough for you to catch the gleam of his golden eyes.

You swallowed. “That is not what I—”

“I have no intention of touching you,” he said, voice calm, controlled. “Not tonight.”

You didn’t miss the implication.

Your stomach twisted, but you knew better than to argue. Not here. Not when there was no real choice.

Slowly, deliberately, you stepped past him into the chamber.

The air inside was warm from the roaring fire, the scent of burning wood mingling with the faint trace of lavender oil—another courtesy from Aurelian’s attendants, no doubt. You stood stiffly near the center of the room, your fingers twitching at your sides.

Callixto entered after you, his movements slow, methodical. He did not look at you immediately. Instead, he removed his cloak, draping it over the back of the nearest chair before undoing the clasps at his sleeves. His rings caught the firelight as he rolled his cuffs to his elbows, revealing the lean, corded muscle of his forearms.

You tried not to watch.

Tried not to let yourself feel seen.

But then—

His gaze lifted.

And he did see you.

Not in the way Aurelian had, with amusement and indulgence, but with something deeper, heavier. His golden eyes swept over you—not as a ruler inspecting his prize, but as a man seeing the marks of time and distance on the thing he had been denied for too long.

And then, they drifted lower.

The fabric of your dress clung to your frame, and despite the layers, there was no mistaking the soft, unmistakable swell beneath it.

His expression did not change.

But something in the room did.

The air thickened, the weight of his silence pressing into your skin.

Your fingers curled against your palms, but you refused to look away.

It was Callixto who moved first.

Slowly—too slowly—he stepped closer, his boots soundless against the thick rug beneath him. He did not reach for you, did not demand anything. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before.

“How long?”

You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly too dry. “Nearly six months.”

A pause.

A breath.

And then—

His fingers twitched.

You barely saw the movement, but it was there—subtle, restrained, like a man resisting the urge to reach for something just beyond his grasp.

His eyes flickered, darkening at the edges. “You should undress,” he said, the words slow, deliberate.

A rush of heat flooded your cheeks. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You need to bathe. Or do you intend to lie awake in discomfort?”

You hesitated.

He was right, of course. The journey had left your body stiff and aching, and though you had grown used to ignoring your own exhaustion, your child had not.

Still, something about the way he said it, the way his gaze lingered on you—calculating, knowing—sent a prickle of unease up your spine.

“I can do it myself,” you murmured.

“I am aware.”

But he did not leave.

He stepped back just enough to give you space, his gaze still fixed on you.

Waiting.

You inhaled sharply before turning away, moving toward the basin of steaming water near the fire. The small table beside it held a neatly folded robe, along with a vial of oil and a comb.

Aurelian’s attendants had been thorough.

With careful fingers, you began undoing the ties of your dress. The fabric loosened, slipping from your shoulders, pooling at your feet in soft folds. The warmth of the fire licked at your exposed skin, but the awareness of Callixto’s presence was far worse.

You did not turn.

But you knew he was watching.

The sound of his breath, controlled and measured, was the only indication of his restraint.

You stepped into the basin, the water lapping at your thighs as you lowered yourself in. The heat soothed your aching muscles, the weight of the day melting into the steam.

And yet—

Your body remained tense, your mind far too aware of the golden gaze still lingering behind you.

Then, finally—

A rustle of fabric. The quiet creak of a chair.

Callixto had sat down.

Not beside you. Not looming over you.

But watching.

You closed your eyes, exhaling slowly. “I thought you said you had no intention of touching me tonight.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, low and amused—

“I don’t.”

You opened your eyes, shifting just enough to glance over your shoulder.

Callixto sat in the chair near the fire, his posture relaxed, but his gaze—his gaze was anything but.

His golden eyes, unreadable yet unrelenting, swept over your bare shoulders, the curve of your back, the way the water rippled around the swell of your stomach.

And then, softly—

“But that does not mean I will look away.”

A shiver curled down your spine, despite the warmth of the water.

You turned back to the basin, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Callixto did not move.

Did not speak again.

But the weight of his gaze remained.

Unyielding. Unforgiving.

And you knew, with absolute certainty—

That this would not be the last time he watched.

The steam curled around you like a veil, shielding everything but the weight of Callixto’s gaze.

You should have been used to the way he looked at you—like something his, like something inevitable—but this was different. He was not just looking. He was seeing.

The bare expanse of your back. The delicate curve of your shoulder. The water lapping at your stomach, rippling with every measured breath.

You swallowed, staring at the reflection of the fire against the surface of the water, willing yourself to ignore him. To ignore the way the heat prickled at your skin, not just from the bath but from the unwavering presence behind you.

For a moment, there was only the quiet crackling of the fire.

Then—

“Turn around.”

Your fingers gripped the edge of the basin.

His voice had been soft, but there was nothing gentle about the command.

You inhaled, steadying yourself. “I won’t entertain whatever this is, Your Majesty.”

A slow exhale. The creak of leather as he shifted in his seat. “This,” he murmured, “is me looking at what is mine.”

A shiver coiled down your spine, unbidden and unwelcome.

Your grip tightened. “I do not belong to you.”

Silence.

And then—

“You carry my child,” he said, voice dark and low, his words curling around you like a brand. “What part of you, exactly, do you think is still yours alone?”

Your breath caught.

Slowly, cautiously, you turned your head just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

Callixto sat where he had before, posture relaxed, one arm resting against the chair’s armrest. But his golden eyes—they burned. The flickering light of the fire danced across his sharp features, casting deep shadows beneath his lashes, along the line of his jaw.

His gaze did not waver.

And he did not look at your face.

His focus remained lower—on the gentle curve of your stomach, barely visible beneath the rippling water.

The sight of it—the quiet confirmation of what he already knew—drew something out of him that you could not name.

Something raw. Something possessive.

Your pulse pounded in your throat. “Say what you want, but you cannot claim something just because it exists, Callixto.”

His gaze lifted, meeting yours.

“Can’t I?”

Your stomach twisted.

You turned away quickly, as if that alone would sever whatever thread he had just tightened around you. The warm water felt suffocating now, the heat of the room too thick, too heavy.

You reached for the vial of oil beside the basin, pouring a few drops into your palm, focusing on the familiar motion—rubbing the fragrant liquid into your skin, letting the scent of lavender and chamomile soothe the pounding in your head.

But even then—

You could still feel him.

Watching.

Waiting.

You had never felt more exposed, more vulnerable than you did now. Not when he had taken you from your home, not when you had first stepped into his court.

Because then, you had been fighting.

And now—

Now, you weren’t sure what you were doing anymore.

After a long, unbearable silence, Callixto finally moved.

Not toward you. Not away.

Just enough that the chair creaked beneath him, just enough that you knew he was still there.

Still watching.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again.

“You will leave the water before it cools.”

Another order.

You exhaled sharply. “Is there anything else you’d like to dictate, Your Majesty?”

A pause.

Then—

“Yes.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see him from the corner of your eye. “And what would that be?”

Callixto leaned forward, his elbows resting against his knees, his gaze never leaving you.

“When we return,” he said, voice quiet but certain, “you will sleep in my chambers.”

Your chest tightened.

“I will not—”

He cut you off. “You will.”

The finality of it left no room for argument.

You clenched your jaw. “And if I refuse?”

His golden eyes gleamed, dark and unreadable.

“You won’t.”

The certainty in his voice sent a shudder through you, the weight of his claim sinking into your bones.

You hated that he was right.

Hated that no matter how much you resisted, you knew—

There was no escaping him.

Not now.

Not ever.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The warmth of the bath had done little to soothe your nerves. If anything, the moment you stepped out of the water and into the cool air of the chamber, the weight of Callixto’s presence became even more unbearable.

He had not moved from his chair, had not looked away, had not once wavered in his silent possession of this moment. The robe left for you was soft, luxurious, but it felt too thin, too insubstantial under his gaze. Still, you wrapped it around yourself as tightly as possible, knotting the sash with firm fingers before forcing yourself to face him.

His golden eyes traced the lingering dampness of your skin, the way the fabric clung to the softened curve of your body. He did not reach for you, but his desire was evident, coiled tight beneath the surface, waiting.

Callixto exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, before rising to his feet. The firelight cast long shadows across his frame, sharpening the defined lines of his shoulders and chest. He had long since discarded his outer tunic, leaving only the soft linen of his undershirt clinging to his form. You tried not to watch, tried not to feel seen, but the moment his gaze lifted, you knew there was no avoiding it.

“Come,” he murmured.

You stiffened. “I can sleep elsewhere—”

“Come.”

It was not a demand laced with cruelty. It was something worse—a certainty, a promise.

You hesitated before stepping forward. The space between you and Callixto disappeared too quickly, and before you could pull away, his hand found your waist, his palm pressing warm and steady against the curve of your body. You stiffened, not in fear, not in resistance, but in something else entirely.

Something unexpected.

Something dangerous.

The press of his fingers, the solid warmth of him so close—it was unbearable. Not because you did not want it, but because you did.

Your breath caught as his other hand found the tie of your robe, tugging it just enough to loosen the knot. He did not remove it completely, only enough for his palm to slide against your stomach, for his fingers to brush over the soft skin stretched taut over the child you carried.

His child.

Callixto’s jaw clenched, his fingers flexing as he took in the sight of you up close—the reality of your body now, changed, swollen with him. His expression did not shift, but something in the room did.

The air thickened, the weight of his silence pressing into your skin. Your fingers curled against your palms, but you refused to look away. It was Callixto who moved first. Slowly—too slowly—he sank to his knees before you.

Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching at your sides as you stared down at him. He pressed his forehead against the curve of your belly, his hands smoothing over the swell of it, thumbs tracing slow, reverent circles.

Something inside you cracked.

You had spent months resisting him, months carrying the weight of his absence, of your own fear, of the unknown. But now, as his warmth seeped into your skin, as the steady weight of his hands pressed against your body, something inside you gave.

You barely registered the moment he rose to his feet, lifting you effortlessly before carrying you to the bed. The sheets were cool against your skin, but the moment he lay beside you, pulling you into the circle of his arms, the heat of him consumed you.

And then—something else took hold.

A slow, smoldering ache curled low in your belly, deep and primal, something that had been dormant for too long. You shifted, pressing your thighs together, but the movement only made it worse.

Callixto inhaled sharply, his grip on you tightening. You had not meant to move against him. But you had. And now—he knew.

His breath fanned against your throat, his hands steady on your waist, unmoving. Waiting.

Your body was no longer your own. It had recognized him, accepted him. And it wanted.

Your breath came faster, your skin too warm, too sensitive. The feel of his fingers splayed against your stomach, the slow rise and fall of his chest against your back—it was too much. Your hips shifted again, this time deliberately.

Callixto’s fingers dug into your skin. His breath stuttered against your neck, but still, he did not move, did not take.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Callixto…”

A shudder ran through him.

His lips ghosted over the edge of your jaw, not quite a kiss, not quite a restraint. “Say it again,” he murmured.

Your stomach tightened. You turned in his hold just enough to meet his gaze. His golden eyes burned with restraint, dark and desperate, something waiting.

You had spent so long resisting him.

And now, you weren’t sure if you could anymore.

So, you said it again.

“Callixto.”

And then, the last of his control snapped.

The shift was immediate, as if the name alone had unlocked something inside him.

Callixto moved before you could think, before you could second-guess the inevitability of this moment. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other splayed over your hip, anchoring you beneath him. His breath, warm and uneven, fanned against your lips as he hovered close, his golden eyes dark with something that had been held back for far too long.

You should have pulled away.

You should have.

But when his lips finally brushed yours—soft, slow, almost reverent—you found yourself arching into him instead.

The first kiss was careful, restrained, but the second—gods—the second was devastating. He kissed you like a man who had been starving, like he had been denied something that was his, and now that he had it, he would not let go.

His fingers tightened in your hair as he deepened the kiss, and your body responded before your mind could catch up. A slow, desperate heat curled through you, blooming from the ache that had been lingering at the edge of your awareness for weeks.

Your hands moved, sliding up his arms, over the firm muscle of his shoulders. He was solid, warm, familiar. Your body knew him.

Callixto groaned low in his throat as you shifted, pressing closer. His grip on your hip flexed, fingers pressing into your skin as if reminding himself that you were real, that you were his.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough with barely restrained need. “Your body knows exactly where it belongs.”

Your breath hitched as his hand slid down, tracing the curve of your belly before settling on your thigh, his thumb brushing over sensitive skin. It was maddening—the slow, deliberate way he touched you, like he was relearning every inch of you, like he was rediscovering something that had never truly been lost.

A small sound escaped you, something between frustration and desperation, and Callixto laughed—a deep, low sound that sent heat curling through your spine.

“Impatient?” he mused, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I thought you wanted to resist me a little longer.”

You hated that he was right. Hated that every ounce of resolve you had spent months building was unraveling beneath his touch. But the worst part?

You didn’t want to fight it anymore.

Not tonight.

Not with him pressed against you like this, his body solid and warm, his hands on you like he had never stopped touching you, like he never would stop.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging him back to you. “Shut up, Callixto,” you whispered against his lips.

His golden eyes darkened, his breath catching, and then—

Then, he ruined you.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The morning sun had barely begun to crest over the horizon when you sat at the small writing desk near the window, your fingers hovering over the parchment. The ink on your quill threatened to drip onto the pristine page, a silent reflection of the hesitation tightening in your chest.

You had been awake for hours.

Or perhaps, you had never truly slept.

Callixto’s warmth still lingered against your skin, his presence overwhelming even in sleep. The remnants of last night were written into your body—the aching satisfaction, the way he had held you afterward, possessive even in rest, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if to prevent even the thought of escape.

But now, as the dawn broke and reality settled in, you knew there was one last thing you had to do before leaving Aurelian’s palace behind.

Your fingers tightened around the quill. Then, slowly, deliberately, you began to write.

✾

To the one who once stood at my doorstep,

I do not know what you have become in these halls, nor do I know if you are still the woman I met in the rain. But if there is any part of you that remains, then I leave you with only this—

May the gods grant you the strength to endure. And if not… then may they grant you a way out.

I hope you never need this letter. But if you do, then I hope it is not too late.

May fortune favor you, and may you never forget that once, for even a moment, you were free.

—Yours in fleeting kindness

✾

You stared at the words, your heartbeat steady but slow, as if your body understood the weight of this more than your mind did.

There was no certainty that she would ever see it. No guarantee that she would even care.

But you had done what you could.

Folding the parchment carefully, you sealed it, running your fingers over the smooth wax before tucking it into the folds of your robe.

It had to reach her.

And there was only one man who could ensure that.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The kitchen was already alive with movement, the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat curling into the air. The warmth of the ovens chased away the lingering chill of morning, wrapping around you like something almost safe.

You found him near the hearth, arms crossed, barking orders at a younger cook who looked seconds away from dropping the tray he was carrying. The head chef had not noticed you yet, too occupied with ensuring that his staff did not make a mess of his kitchen.

When you finally stepped forward, he turned, brows already furrowed. “You again? Shouldn’t you be off riding into the sunset with your king?”

You exhaled sharply, handing him the folded parchment. “Give this to her.”

He eyed it, unimpressed. “You assume I deliver messages now?”

“She will read it if it comes from you.”

A pause.

Then, begrudgingly, he took the letter, tucking it into the pocket of his apron with a muttered curse. “Tch. Fine. But if I get thrown in the dungeons for this, I’ll be haunting your ass.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “I’ll take my chances.”

His expression softened just slightly, though he still huffed. “Hurry up and go. The last thing I need is more trouble in my kitchen.”

You hesitated. Then, quieter, “Thank you.”

He grunted, already turning back to his work. “Don’t thank me yet, girl. You’re still leaving one hell of a mess behind.”

You said nothing as you stepped back, letting the sounds of the kitchen swallow you whole.

By the time you reached the courtyard, Callixto was already waiting.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

The carriage rocked steadily, the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the road filling the silence between you. The drawn curtains plunged the space into near darkness, save for the dim flicker of the lantern swaying gently from the ceiling. The enclosed space felt suffocating, thick with something unspoken—something his.

You could not see Callixto, but you could feel him.

He had not spoken since the gates of Aurelian’s kingdom had disappeared behind you, but his presence consumed every breath you took. You had spent months away from him, months thinking you had escaped, months believing there was still a choice left to make.

You had been wrong.

Your fingers curled against your lap. “I left something behind.”

A pause. Then, low and unreadable, “What was it?”

“A letter.”

Another pause, this one heavier. “For whom?”

You inhaled. “For her.”

The carriage hit a small rut in the road, rocking slightly, but Callixto remained utterly still. You could not see his reaction, but the weight of it settled in the dark, stretching thick between you.

You forced yourself to continue. “I had to. She deserved to know—”

“I know exactly what she was to you.”

His voice was quiet, but there was nothing soft about it.

The carriage swayed again, and you heard the slow creak of leather as he shifted. Not forward. Not reaching for you. But something about the movement sent a sharp awareness through your spine.

You swallowed. “I only meant—”

“You meant to remind her that you still care,” he murmured, his voice slow, measured. “That you still think of her.”

A long silence.

Then, after a breath, he exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You would have done the same for anyone, wouldn’t you?”

Your fingers clenched in your lap. “I don’t know.”

A quiet hum. “Yes, you do.”

Something about the certainty in his voice left no room for denial.

The seat beneath him creaked again, another slow shift, but this time, he did not stop himself.

You sucked in a breath as the darkness around you moved—a sudden shift in the air, a presence pressing forward.

Before you could react, before you could shrink away, Callixto was there.

The warmth of his body enveloped you before his hands ever touched you, a suffocating heat in the chilled space of the carriage. And then, just as you began to draw back, his hands found your waist, slow but unrelenting, fingers curling over the soft swell of your stomach.

You stiffened. “Callixto—”

“You think kindness is something that will protect you,” he murmured against your ear, his lips ghosting over your skin. “That it will save you. That if you leave enough of it behind, it will matter.”

Your breath stuttered.

His hands flexed against you. “But kindness will not save you from me.”

The words were spoken softly, a whisper in the dark, but they slammed into you harder than any cruelty ever could.

Your pulse thrummed wildly beneath your skin, your body betraying you as his grip tightened, drawing you flush against him.

“You may have left a letter behind,” he murmured, his breath fanning against your jaw, “but you will not leave anything else.”

One of his hands left your waist, rising to your throat, not squeezing, not restraining—just resting. His thumb brushed over your pulse, slow and deliberate, as if feeling the rapid beat beneath it.

“Not your words.” His fingers traced along the column of your throat. “Not your body.” A slow slide down, over your stomach, pressing possessively over the swell of his child. “And certainly not this.”

The finality in his voice left no room for argument.

This was not a threat.

It was a vow.

You exhaled, unsteady. “And if I tried?”

The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip tightened, slow and unyielding.

“You won’t.”

No rage. No cruelty.

Just absolute, unwavering certainty.

The carriage rocked forward, the road stretching endlessly ahead.

And in the suffocating dark, his arms wrapped around you, holding you firm, keeping you still.

This was only the first night.

There were still six more before you reached his kingdom.

Six nights where there would be no escape. No reprieve from his presence. No moment where you were not his.

As the road stretched long into the unknown, you realized the truth—the journey itself was just another cage.

One that you had already stepped into.

And one that you would never leave.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @kthehoeforfictionalmen @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz

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[lullaby-lilies]

Flowers {Elrond x Reader}

Fandom: Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power

Rating: General

Pairing: Elrond x human!Reader

Collection: Verses in Starlight

Summary: Amid the scent of crushed flowers and healing herbs, You and Elrond share a quiet moment of unspoken understanding.

Note: Naturally, I made you human because that adds just a little something to this whole interaction. Oh, it helps that I made you a healer.

Flowers

The scent of crushed petals lingered on your fingertips as you worked, grinding herbs into a fine paste beneath your mortar and pestle. The Elves of Lindon preferred remedies of light and air—infusions that barely brushed the senses, subtle enough to feel like starlight on the skin. But you were human, and your remedies were rooted in the earth, steeped in the weight of seasons and the scent of crushed flowers.

You hummed to yourself as you worked, low and absentminded, your hair slipping over your shoulder with each movement. The small stone chamber where you prepared your medicines was tucked away near the healing halls, its windows open to the sea breeze. You had gathered the flowers yourself that morning—pale elanor blossoms and deep violet sprigs of athelas, their fragrances mingling in the warm air.

"Your hands are stained green," came a voice from the doorway.

You startled slightly, glancing up to see Elrond leaning against the frame, his expression touched with quiet amusement. He was dressed simply today, his robes absent their usual formal embroidery, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. It made him seem softer, less like a diplomat and more like the scholar he had once been.

You flexed your fingers, eyeing the streaks of color left by the crushed herbs. "The cost of working with living things," you said, wiping your palms absently on a cloth. "Would you rather me heal with a wave of my hand, like your kind?"

Elrond chuckled, stepping closer. "You mistake us, Y/N. Even we must learn the ways of healing. And it is not only through light and song that we do so." His gaze flickered over the flowers spread before you, something unreadable in his eyes. "These—where did you find them?"

"The meadows beyond the harbor," you answered, watching him as he lifted one of the elanor blossoms, turning it between his fingers. "I have seen the Elves use them in tinctures, but I find they work better crushed into a poultice. The warmth of the skin releases their oils faster."

"A very mortal approach," Elrond mused, but there was no condescension in his voice, only quiet curiosity. He studied the bloom for a moment longer before tucking it into the folds of his sleeve, as though it were a token to be kept.

You tilted your head. "You have an eye for flowers, my lord."

His lips twitched at the title. "And you have a talent for making a humble healer feel as though she stands among the great loremasters of our time."

You grinned at that, brushing a stray hair from your face. "Perhaps you should sit and let me lecture you, then. There is much you could learn from a human’s way of healing."

Elrond did not answer immediately. Instead, he reached for another flower—this one still full, unwilted by your hands. He held it out to you, and when you did not take it, he set it gently beside your mortar.

"A lesson for a lesson, then," he said. "You teach me the ways of your craft, and I shall teach you something in return."

There was something warm in his voice, something steady, something that made your chest tighten in a way you had not expected. You swallowed, willing away the heat that threatened to rise to your face.

"A fair trade," you said at last, glancing down at the flower he had left for you.

And when you looked up again, Elrond was still watching you, his gaze unreadable, but lingering all the same.

[strawberrystepmom]

gojo x f!reader. cw: food mentions and suggestive theming. he refers to reader as sunshine.

this is a bit of a love language exploration. reader’s giving love language is acts of service (😔 never beating those allegations) and gojo’s is giving physical touch with a dose of words of affirmation. wc 1.3k

divider thanks to @/cafekitsune

There are times when the simple daily acts of taking care of Satoru feel like the sole thing you were put on earth to do.

Not in the fashion of the maids he was raised by, tutting over his wrinkled yukatas and forcing him to eat the slimy natto he’d swallow through a pout with eyes as watery as the oceans that color them, but as if you’re the well from which his energy springs. He wouldn’t think about little things like slowing down to eat, rest, drink, and enjoy without someone there to remind him to do it. The curse and blessing of being as close to otherworldly as one can be without entering the uncanny valley.

This realization came to you long before you admitted to anyone that you were enamored with him. Back when you were a pair of bratty teenagers and you’d only ever seen him munch on konpeito with a hand wrapped around a bottle of melon soda to wash the scratchy sugar crystals down. You were appalled at how little he cared about himself (you didn’t take excellent care of yourself either in those days, judgmental one…) but you took it upon yourself to start taking better care of yourself and him by proxy in the process. A small act of compassion for a friend would never hurt, you reasoned easily at 17.

At that point, your role was merely sharing bentos or onigiri you made for yourself with him, trading a bite of your tuna filled rice for a sip of his soda - the indirect kiss aspect of this ritual made him giddy for more years than he’d like to admit aloud - or some of the star shaped sugar crystals in his palm that he’d toss between your lips and teeth when you’d open your mouth wide enough to catch them.

(You’d stick your tongue out far enough to allow him to watch the sugar melt away and turn into a colorful splotch. His big eyes, animated as ever, widened further with each bright green and orange spot that appeared and washed away in a flash. This little ritual is also how both of you learned to French kiss but that’s a memory to reminisce upon another morning.)

The two of you experienced some terrible things your first year and his second year of high school. A certain part of you felt bad for how unapproachable and closed off he seemed after Suguru’s departure and you know now that the acts of kindness had a larger impact than intended. A stray cat that gets fed always returns, after all.

He keeps returning. You thank the stars above morning, noon, and night.

Now, caring for him is as steady and effortless as the click, click, click of the knob thay controls the flow of gas on your stove as a flame ignites beneath your rectangle shaped tamagoyaki pan. Oil sizzles and the sound of it mingles with the shower running across the apartment and Gojo’s singing that is somehow louder than both of these happenings.

No wonder the neighbors hate you.

Whatever off key song he has come up with at least makes you giggle while pouring enough egg into the pan to start the process of making breakfast. Some days you are both too busy to sit down and share these moments but you still make sure he eats, a bento always tucked into his bag that matches the one in yours. Thankfully you are both off today so you get to enjoy the process rather than rush through it.

“It smells amazing.”

You didn’t hear him shut off the shower, too busy pouring and positioning egg to notice wet footsteps across the floor and heading directly toward you. A towel is slung carelessly over his hips and you giggle when he drapes himself over your shoulder, his hands dangling down the front of you. Shifting your face, you meet his with a smile and pretend to frown when water droplets fall out of his hair and onto your shirt.

“Whatever happened to good morning?”

He looks up at you from the corner of his eye and then feigns a bright idea coming into his head, shaking it and making more droplets fall on you at the same time. Giggling, you try to simultaneously monitor your eggs and him at the same time.

“You’re so right, how could I forget!” He clears his throat dramatically and stands up, hands wrapping around your waist. He bends to whisper in your ear. “Good morning, sunshine.”

You glance up at him with a too fond smile. When did you become so soft? You’re no better than the sugar that used to melt on your tongue, more than charmed by his sweet words and tender touches. It may be written all over your face but you do your best to hide it, raising your brows and sighing dramatically.

“That’s better.”

Clicking off the heat and shooing him as much as you possibly can, you pull the hot pan off of the stove and deposit your eggs onto a cutting board. Even a few seconds of time apart makes Satoru antsy so he’s by your side long before you can miss him, an arm draped around your shoulder and a hand on his hip.

“Thank you for doing this. I know the sun makes you hiss before 10 so it means a lot.”

Rolling your eyes, you slice the tamagoyaki and he hums his approval immediately. Steam wafts through the air and you have to admit that it’s making your mouth water, too.

“You’re the only person I’d do it for,” you mutter under your breath and he laughs, leaning to kiss your cheek. “You’re a liar. You’d do this for anyone who needed it.”

You continue slicing and he removes his hand from his hip, reaching to grab one of the already cooling slices off of the cutting board and stuffing it into his mouth. It’s still too hot and whatever he was going to say next is lost completely when he burns his tongue. He breathes through his mouth for a second to cool the eggs down the rest of the way and you groan.

“Mouth closed. You’re an adult, I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

Now that it has been sufficiently cooled down, he chews the mouthful and swallows. He knows you’re joking so there’s no hurt feelings, just a cheeky grin and a dramatic eye roll.

“I was going to say, before your breakfast tried to murder me, that I’m grateful you do it for me and not just because we live together.”

The way he beams down at you is all the thanks you need, his smile as big as he is, but the words make you squirm. You’ve never been good at accepting praise or compliments no matter the amount of them you’ve been given.

“Yeah, yeah. I did it willingly when I was just your late night call too, I know.” He scoffs and shakes his head, reaching for another piece of egg. You slap his hand away playfully. “You’ve never been just a late night call to me, you know that.”

This is true and you lean into his side, aware again that he’s naked except for that damn towel. Wrapping your arm around his waist, you tickle his side and he whines.

“Go get dressed. I’m feeding you natto this morning.”

Satoru Gojo, alleged grown man, whines again. Loudly, childishly, pathetically. You giggle at his dramatics and slump when he puts most of his weight on your shoulder, drooping.

“Really?” He asks and you shake your head. “No, we’re having salmon. Go get dressed.”

He shakes his hips and the towel wrapped around them threatens to fall right in the kitchen and you tap his side with a coy smile.

“Goooooo,” you urge. “The sooner you do the sooner we can eat and then our day can really begin.”

Raising your eyebrows suggestively, he picks up on your meaning immediately and holds the knot of the towel against him while he hurries to your room to pull on some sweatpants. They’re his favorite for easy access and he’s more than prepared to give you his thanks in the form of as many orgasms as you want as soon as you’ve both fueled up.

[diamondwerewolf]

"Good Night, AZed."

Short, somewhat suggestive mini-fic. AZ is in charge of leading himself, a small party of pokemon, and a new travel companion up a mountain still gripped by winter. They've stopped for the night, with intentions of continuing on in the morning.

I haven't written anything super involved in a while, so apologies if I'm rusty or there's any mistakes. Thanks for reading if you do! Enjoy.

______________________________________________________________ The sharp whistle of the wind shook the thatch outside their camp. AZ had stuck his head out of the opening for only a moment to spot the moon, but that was more than enough time for frozen air to claim the tip of his nose and cheeks. He rubbed them, trying to banish the icy bite and restore precious heat from his gloved palm. As he retreated inside, he tightly drew the door closed, and glanced over shoulder at the company situating herself behind him.

AZ, as he started to discover, knew now that Kiss had a particular bedtime routine. He gave her as much space as the cramped burrow would allow without interrupting her ritual. The sound of her brush treading her hair tangled with the wind, and filled the comfortable silence between them. 

AZ grunted and made himself busy while he waited. He needed to make hot water for his canteen before they slept. Awkwardly, he hunched down beneath the dusty wooden beams of their buried hut, and offered his torkoal more firewood. It perked its head up, stretched somewhat in its corner, and took the pieces in cracking, splintering bites. Its mouth grew bright and swirled with warping waves of heat. AZ would have patted the Pokémon fondly if it weren’t so busy keeping them warm. He wished it goodnight, and it dozed off again while he took to boiling some water on the top of its shell. 

With the canteen filled and steaming, and bits of fallen bark swept from their bedding, all AZ had to do was wait on his…companion., He turned somewhat to watch her again. 

Kiss had stopped brushing her hair. The black and red tresses were neatly oiled and braided thickly into two. A compact mirror was in hand while she rubbed some sort of fragrant cream beneath her eyes. Soon enough that treatment was snapped closed, and she was opening another strange, expensive container from her smallest travel pack.  Her habits weren’t unfamiliar, but they were foreign to him. Still, he had to honor her determination to continue following them no matter where they were. AZ knew well that she was out of her natural habitat. 

Kiss was a fashionable, posh woman, a beautician of many trades, and most importantly, -not- an outdoorsman. She quite liked her domestic comforts and neat living in pompous Lumiose, but was accepting the inconveniences and grit of his way of living. Wherever he was going, she wanted to be there and see it, too…despite all the ample opportunities to encounter dirt, cuts and scrapes, and rough weather. 

Kiss unzipped and pulled down some of her winter clothes, exposing her neck and the beginning of her bosom. A new smell mingled with the heat in the air, rich and sharp and relaxing like cinnamon. Her long , polished nails dimpled and gently scored her freshly oiled shoulders as she slathered the sweet liquid in. 

AZ’s eyes skirted away, trying desperately to find something interesting in the nooks and crannies of the inner roof. To retain any gentlemanliness he had left, he lowered himself down to the sleeping bags with hot canteen in hand, folded in absurdly long legs, and curled up on his side. He and his travel companion were closer than they’d ever been, but not intimate enough to warrant the rudeness of his drool. 

Several clicks, a spritz, and a few zippings later, she was finally ready to join him on the bedding.

“Is there…something up there?” Kiss followed AZ’s line of sight up above them. Neck craned, light concern made her forehead crease.

He snapped out of his concentration. “N-No,” AZ squashed his embarrassment and relaxed “Nothing is there. I’m in my mind, is all.” 

Kiss’ face softened. Her tiredness met halfway with her smile, both showing up in her eyes. The red hue could have taken on a glow. Her gaze was pulsing coal and smoldering, like the belly of his Pokémon slumbering not too far away. The way she tended to look at him always made him pleasantly nauseous…

“Are you worried we wasted time?” Kiss drew herself under cover facing him, but wasn’t satisfied enough with being near his side to stop there. She drew in closer than usual, huddling to his chest where he’d propped the canteen. 

“We won’t be here long enough for the flowers to bloom, no?” She wedged her cold fingers somewhere near his armpit, relishing in more decadent heat. 

They were here for his floette. After long, agonizing years of searching, she appeared to him again. That itself was two or three years ago. They were traveling by foot these days to hidden flower beds. They were ones he had started and nurtured by himself, hoping to coax her out of hiding decades ago.  He was eager to see if  Floette had seen them in her own travels, or would approve of them if they were new to her little eyes. This was the fourth field of blooms for the start of the season, though normally by this time the valley wasn’t still wrought with frost. 

Wasted time…? He thought about that a little longer than he would have liked, but AZ answered. 

“No time has been wasted,” his heart was starting to pound in his ears. He had just gotten used to company, but her open affection would still take some time to adjust to. Once her fingers were sufficiently heated, that sneaky hand of hers, accompanied by her arm, stretched itself over broad shoulder and lazily hooked around his neck. She seized his nape, nails scratching through messy hair and leaving his skin tingling. 

He intended to swallow his soft groan, but it escaped him before he could even consider. It just encouraged her to keep massaging his scalp. He didn’t have to see her smile to tell she was pleased by his response. It was positively oozing from her aura. 

What was he saying? 

“No time has been wasted,” AZ began again. “We can return another time. I’m happy you’ve seen what lies here.” Before they left, she told him she’d never seen the mountains. Witnessing her reaction to the mighty visage, the wild frosted Pokémon, and the tower of evergreens, made their journey here more than worth it. It reminded him that the wilderness wasn’t ordinary to everyone. 

“No flowers…” Kiss tutted her tongue thoughtfully. “So you’ll take us to the hot spring instead?” He did mention one being around here. It would be a desperately needed reprieve from the cold, and her own reward for doing something she thought she’d never do. A mineral soak to restore the moisture the weather stole from her sounded divine. 

He had melted into her, only half a step away from jigging his thigh like the happiest mutt. Did she really expect him to hold a proper conversation while practically in control of his mind…? Her petting had breached the band of his beanie, the scratching audible beneath the pilled fabric. AZ didn’t recall being this reprehensibly simple. 

“AZed?” She knew exactly what she was doing. Kiss’ face was so close to his that he could feel her breath, and her smugness on his cupid’s bow. He could only grunt back in distracted agreement, expecting her to claim his lips. Her heady cinnamon scent and the tangy root she’d used to brush her teeth filled his nose. Unexpectedly, she peeled back his scarf, and kissed his neck instead. “Kissmira.” AZ barked. He didn’t like to use such a tone with a grown woman, but she was being so very naughty!

“How dare you,” She snapped back, but it was void of any seriousness. “Who do you think you are? Using my whole first name…” She tried to match his sternness and furrowed brow, but couldn’t manage to do it around her laughter. “Awful woman.” AZ’s sigh left him in steaming puffs. He had started to sweat. He turned onto his back, and she let him go.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want her in that way. Oh, he absolutely did, but now was not the time to beckon or erect any of his dormant natures. If they started something now, he didn’t trust he’d have the self control to…

He pinched the long bridge of his nose and cut the cord on even imagining where she intended to take such a kiss. She would have to forgive him for being old fashioned.

“You adore me.” She was still snickering, rivaling the most bemused of mightyena. Kiss relaxed again, letting him know she understood. She wished him goodnight properly, leaving her sweet balm behind on his lower lip.

“Good Night, AZed.” 

[balkanradfem]

So, I've been reading 'Seeds of Hope' by Jane Goodall, because I am curious to what other people are saying about plants, and this book truly delivered. I've been introduced to some past plant drama in the world and that was incredible lore that should have been taught in history.

Apparently, when people first discovered tulips, they were so intensely valuable and popular, that people would trade huge amounts of money, diamonds, or even acres of land, for just one bulb. People were pre-paying for bulbs that didn't even exist yet, they would pre-order bulbs that are not yet even made. One servant ate a bulb thinking it was an onion and he got jail time for it. And I mean they're all correct, tulips just are that good.

There was also a lot of, much sadder drama about orchids; I didn't know this, but they originally grow very high up in the trees, and people were competing for discovering new and rare species. These rare and exotic species would then be displayed in rich people's gardens. Because they became so valuable, poachers would go trough the forests and take almost all of the orchids in there, making them near extinct in nature. This was resolved by orchid gardeners carefully growing them, multiplying and sharing to the point where they were sold commercially, which lessened their value on the black market, so there was no need to pillage them from the forests anymore. Growing rare plants is protection of them!

The book goes on to talk about botanic gardens, herbariums, and the value of collecting and archiving plant material, which is then showing us the effects of climate change, and stores valuable information about what is happening to the plants. It made me want to start a herbarium for sure, I'm always stressed about the loss of local plants, and it's happening more and more as green areas are cleared out.

The book touches upon plants that people have found harmful, such as plants that people make drugs out of; she clears it out to us that these plants are sacred to the native people who grew up with them, and creating drugs from them is in fact, abuse of these plants, and offensive to the communities who hold them sacred, and use them in appropriate doses as medicine. The book talks a lot about plant medicine! Apparently the pharmacy companies have been learning the knowledge about medicinal plants from native people who knew how to use plant medicine, and then the pharmacy would make medicine from those same plants, and profit off of it, without giving any credit or profit to the communities they got this knowledge from, which is not great. But then the demand for this medicine would go so high, they would go and gather all, or almost all medicinal plants from the areas where native people lived, devastating their medical supplies and natural habitats. Book goes on to question the ethics of acquiring medicine in this way, and never informing people where it came from, or what was sacrifices in order for the world to have it.

Similar things happened with valuable crops that are grown in native areas; once the demand for these crops grew, big monocrop fields were established, damaging the land and the local ecosystem, killing millions of animals who lived there, and sometimes forcing people or children into modern slavery, in order to grow them. Coffee, cocoa beans, vanilla beans, palm oil; they've been described as specifically devastating for the communities and the environment. But the book doesn't condemn these foods at all, instead the author goes on to describe, what has been done to improve this. Instead of monocrops, which are devastating for the environment, people are now taught to grow fruit trees in the same fields as coffee, which makes the coffee plants healthier and stronger, and creates and environment where some plants and animals can thrive. I personally don't believe you should have only 2 or 3 plants in a big area, I think you need about 3 millions, but it's a progress from monocrops.

The author describes finding and helping the local farmers who found ways to healthy, natural and non-damaging growing of these plants, and she helped them sell it! She also encourages buying organic food because it helps if the demand for non-monocrop food is growing.

Now there's a section of the book standing strongly against GMO foods, and for some reason I never heard any arguments against gmo, I didn't understand much about the harm coming from them, so I was very curious to hear this. The author explained how 47 million dollars was spent just for lobbying for GMO, which explains why all my information on gmo was positive, and I remember hearing it was 'the best way to reduce world hunger', but the world hunger is still a problem, so it obviously did not succeed. But now I have a better understanding of what it is.

GMO foods were specifically developed to have pesticides inside of them, so they'd be poisonous to pests, but not to people eating them. The research on whether they're poisonous to animals showed that the animals who ate them long term, had their inner organs irritated, enlarged, stomach infections, and had higher risk of cancer. So it was not proven to be safe, but it ended up in the stores anyway; the author says that about 70% of food in american supermarkets has unlabelled gmo, which is scary to think about. She also explains that this is the reason so many people in america are now trying to grow food at home, they don't want to be poisoned by pesticides.

GMO foods were specifically designed to support monocrops, and to protect them pests; this worked out in creating more and more bugs that are resistant to the pesticides, and farmers have reported the appearance of 'superbugs', which are resistant to any kind of pesticide. There's now also 'superweeds', which are resistant to herbicide. The industry is trying to develop new pesticides and new herbicides, in order to counter these new problems, but it is obvious that they're only sinking deeper and deeper; monocrops are unsustainable. Poisoning the earth and the plants, and even the seeds, is not going to lead to the end of world hunger. Farmers are often ending up losing their entire farms due to new bugs that are now thriving because all of their competition has been eliminated by pesticides, they're now the only bug and they can eat up the entire crop easily.

The other problem of GMO crops is that they're spreading their seeds and mixing with the natural crops, making them into GMO crops as well. According to the author the canola crops has already been lost, now all canola existing is genetically modified.

I'm dissatisfied with this knowledge, but it's better to know and be aware rather than to be in the dark. The author suggests designing living spaces that have gardens in them, and encouraging local community to garden, as well as planting city gardens, where food would grow for everyone. She goes on to describe the efforts of universities and cities who already had built their own living gardens in order to support the community, and how it worked to create a more beautiful, life-sustaining, happier place. She even explained how having local gardens makes the crime rate lower.

I loved this book, it had the environment awareness that can only be compared to Greta Thunberg's book, it described trees and plants so lovingly, and the connection people have with them. It showed me there's so many people fighting to save the forests and grasslands and native plants, and it's an effort that will make a big difference to how we get to live on this planet in the future.

[whencyclopedia]

Sugar & the Rise of the Plantation System

From a humble beginning as a sweet treat grown in gardens, sugar cane cultivation became an economic powerhouse, and the growing demand for sugar stimulated the colonization of the New World by European powers, brought slavery to the forefront, and fostered brutal revolutions and wars.

The geographic center of sugar cane cultivation shifted gradually across the world over a span of 3,000 years from India to Persia, along the Mediterranean to the islands near the coast of Africa and then the Americas, before shifting back across the globe to Indonesia. A whole new kind of agriculture was invented to produce sugar – the so-called Plantation System. In it, colonists planted large acreages of single crops which could be shipped long distances and sold at a profit in Europe. To maximize the productivity and profitability of these plantations, slaves or indentured servants were imported to maintain and harvest the labor-intensive crops. Sugar cane was the first to be grown in this system, but many others followed including coffee, cotton, cocoa, tobacco, tea, rubber, and most recently oil palm.

Beginnings of Sugar Cultivation

There is no archeological record of when and where humans first began growing sugar cane as a crop, but it most likely occurred about 10,000 years ago in what is now New Guinea. The species domesticated was Saccharum robustum found in dense stands along rivers. The people in New Guinea were among the most inventive agriculturalists the world has known. They domesticated a broad range of local plant species including not only sugar cane but also taro, bananas, yam, and breadfruit.

The cultivation of sugar cane moved steadily eastward across the Pacific, spreading to the adjacent Solomon Islands, the New Hebrides, New Caledonia, and ultimately to Polynesia. Cultivation of sugar cane also moved westward into continental Asia, Indonesia, the Philippines, and then Northern India. During this advancement, S. officinarum ("nobel canes") hybridized with a local wild species called S. spontaneum to produce a hybrid, S. sinense ("thin canes"). These hybrids were less sweet and not as robust as pure S. officinarum but were hardier and could be grown much more successfully in subtropical mainlands.

Sugar cane was for eons just chewed as a sweet treat, and it was not until about 3,000 years ago that people in India first began squeezing the canes and producing sugar (Gopal, 1964). For a long time, the Indian people kept the whole process of sugar-making a closely guarded secret, resulting in rich profits through trade across the subcontinent. This all changed when Darius I (r. 522-486 BCE), ruler of the Persian Achaemenid Empire, invaded India in 510 BCE. The victors took the technology back to Persia and began producing their own sugar. By the 11th century CE, sugar constituted a significant portion of the trade between the East and Europe. Sugar manufacturing continued in Persia for nearly a thousand years, under a revolving set of rulers, until the Mongol invasions of the 13th century destroyed the industry.

Continue reading...

[ptseti]

Opobo is a historical town in Rivers State, Nigeria, filled with rich culture, heritage, and a fascinating story. Founded in 1870 by the legendary King Jaja of Opobo, it emerged as a major trading hub during the era of the Atlantic slave trade and later became a center for palm oil trade.

King Jaja’s vision turned Opobo into a powerful city-state, controlling trade routes and flourishing as a maritime and economic force.

However in this modern age the people have suffered stagnancy for a long time due to the swampiness of their area and the absence of a good road network to ensure movement within and outside the region. However, times have changed, and development has come to the kingdom. The Opobo Ring Road project is part of the road infrastructural projects simultaneously going on in the state. The road project is a sign of rapid development, economic growth, and connectivity between other regions of the state and inversely to other states. The sand filling/land reform of 20 hectares of land was the first sign of this development. The aim is to eradicate the problem caused by the swampy nature of the area which negatively affects construction and connectivity. The project which extends more than 3km is a single carriageway with 3 bridge crossings, connecting it with other communities. The Opobo Ring Road project is set to improve transportation within the area. Movement of goods and people would no longer be a nightmare as there’ll be easy flexibility and it will save enough time for other businesses. This will ensure that people can migrate within and outside the state without experiencing the congestion of major areas in the city. Also, this will bring the unification and interaction of people within and outside the state through tourism, commerce, and industry toward economic prosperity.

opobo #riversstate #kingjaja #tourism #history #nigeria #acient

4h