#fermentations

[aouchlab]

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AMINIOTIC BOTANICAL SKIN

BIOMATERIAL 2022

[an-established-butt-dent]

Soooooo after the new details that have been revealed about Veilguard, how do we all imagine a Solavellan reunion is going down? Trapped in the fade together? Lighthouse makeout sessions? A very sad mural dedicated to his Vhenan? My brain is infested with new headcanons.

[egophiliac]

hiii im sure you’ve answered this before but in regards to your twst x Pokémon, how do you choose which Pokémon go give to the cast?? really curious since your choices are unique :O

unique in a good way, I hope? 😅 (jk jk I haven't come across too many pokemon AUs, so I was going in without preconceptions, I guess!) I was sorta aiming somewhere between doing, like, a full AU with internal consistency and everything, and just picking entirely based on theme/character, so maybe that's why! basically I just set some arbitrary rules (no legendaries/no repeats/evo stages based on year) and then went on ~vibes~. a couple were also suggestions (thank you guys!) and last-minute decisions, so it was a bit of a delightful mess of ideas!

my one regret is that I should have given Riddle a Togedemaru after all. ...you know what, he can have one now, why not

[mercurialparamnesia]

Jason, surprisingly, isn’t the most quiet person during sex. To the point where you have to cover his mouth to quiet him down. It’s only a little pathetic.

-🧀

if y'all are interested i could drop some spicy audios that i associate with him o.o

firmly of the belief that jason is loud and sees no need to hide any noises from you, sex is incredibly intimate for you two and is based in a lot of trust so for the most part you can just laugh off any mistakes or mishaps.

any noise you can think of is coming from this man's mouth. he'll moan, whimper, whine, grunt, sigh, and even babble lovingly for you. "feel so good... so- so good" and "fuck, i love you... all of you" are both decent common

personally at least i like to believe that after especially intense orgasms he'll giggle a little and get a little bashful, practically going boneless against the bed or couch under him.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

A farrier and her son were closing down the forge late at night, when the sound of hooves approached from up the road. They looked out across the yard and watched, with growing discomfort, how a hooded figure on a blood bay horse came riding towards them. Steed and rider halted at the gate, and the farrier hesitantly lifted her hand as the stranger spoke, in a voice as searing as fire:

“I am expected in the next town and my horse needs shodding.”

Neither master nor apprentice dared to lift up their eyes.

“Yes, sir,” the farrier answered and the figure dismounted.

The bay was a formidable animal, but it followed its master’s orders. The farrier worked the metal while her son worked the forge and she shaped the horseshoes exactly to the horse’s feet. But when it came to the shoeing, the nails that her son put in her hand were barely half the length of what was needed. She held them, and hesitated, and nailed the irons in place.

“What is your fee?” the stranger asked, once more taking the reigns of his steed.

“No fee, my lord,” the farrier replied. “An honour to serve you.”

The hooded rider went away and mother and son stayed behind, too frightened to speak. But barely had they gathered their courage and turned their backs to the road, or a second rider approached them.

He too was hooded, and his horse was black as night.

“One of my fellows went before me and I follow where he goes,” the rider spoke with a voice as dry as the cracked earth. “But my horse needs shodding.”

Once again the farrier worked the metal while her son worked the forge, one again she affixed the horseshoes with nails too short by half. She would take no fee for their labour, and the stranger rode off into the night.

No sooner had the sound of pounding hooves faded from their hearing, or a third set of hooves could be heard coming nearer.

This rider rode a white horse and his words dripped with the thickness of his voice.

“My horse needs shodding, for two of my fellows have gone before me and where they go I am close at hand.”

Barely a word was spoken. They shod the stranger's horse exactly like the others, and watched him gallop away. Then the farrier took her son’s hand, stood in the yard, and waited.

Slowly, at a steady pace, a fourth figure came down the road and halted at their gate. His hood and cloak were black, he carried a scythe at his side, and sat astride a pale horse.

“Three of my fellows have gone down this road, and whatever their destination they choose must be my own. If I am to go where they are going, my horse will need shoeing.”

“Of course, sir,” the farrier replied, but her son spoke up:

“But must you?”

The figure bowed his cowled head and cosigned his horse to the farrier’s care.

Again she carefully trimmed the hooves, again she expertly shaped the horseshoes, but when her son handed her the nails she shook her head. He faltered and she shook her head again. He gave her the proper nails and they finished their work.

“Thank you,” the stranger nodded. “What is your fee?”

“Whatever you deem our services are worth, my lord.”

The stranger held his horse by the reigns and for a long time he looked thoughtfully down the road where the three had gone before him. Then he looked at the mother and son, standing stiffly side by side.

He held out a thin hand and gave them each a single coin, one just like the other, before mounting his horse, and turning back in the direction from which he had come, riding at the same unhurried pace.

The farrier and her son watched him until he was out of sight and out of hearing. They stood there, until dawn broke, and the dark was chased away. Only then did they did they dare to lock the gate and go to the house, where the rest of family still slept soundly.

The two coins were placed in salt and buried underneath the doorstep. And for as long as that house stood, no one who was born under its roof was carried out of it before their time.

[fuckingrecipes]

Making wine

1) gather fruit like grape or plum that has a visible yeast bloom on it

2) smash whole fruit with fist. Yes, without washing. You don’t want to wash off those wild yeasts. Yes you can leave the seeds/pit

3) stuff smashed fruit into a reasonably sterile container, with a cloth lid to stop spiders and flies from falling in. You can also sterilize a big pickle jar with boiling water and just lightly place the lid on top.

4) top up with distilled (Not Tap Water, which contains chlorine and stuff that kills yeast) water till the mash kinda floats a bit, and add a big dollop of honey, or other sugar source.

5) wait 12-30 hours, while looking for bubbles formation to show yeast is going crazy

6) mop up the sticky foam that bubbled up from your wild yeasts processing the FUCK outta those fruits. Turning fruit sugar into alcohol and CO2 gas

7) after three days, get tired of cleaning up sticky foam overflow residue every morning and night, and scoop out most of the solids

8) after 8 days of fermenting, see bubbles slow down, sediments start to settle, and move liquids to a carboy with a water-air lock.

9) continue to allow fermentation until bubbles stop forming.

10) if it smells awesome, drink and bottle that shit. If it ever starts to smell rancid; toss it.

Congrats, you’ve participated in a traditional brewing art that humans have been doing since 7,000 BC. Like, bronze-age human delights.

If anyone tries to tell you that winemaking is hard, ignore their opinion.

It’s hard to make specific flavors, specific alcohol percentages, and specific appearances. Yeasts present on fruit skins wanna make wine so bad they look stupid.

If you want your wine to be shelf stable and not keep it in the fridge all the time, you gotta measure it’s specific gravity and do a little math conversion. If it’s too low, toss some vodka in there to make a “fortified” wine. Extra alcohol = protection from going bad.

[theappalachianhomestead]

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[riverdeities]

you should eat more fermented products

[justalittleficsideblog]

Can I touch your wings..?

Asking to touch / see their wings with Mammon, Lucifer, and Diavolo! i feel like these would be kinda sensitive but not rlly?

Lucifer

you had both been working in his office, you were simply trying to work through your homework without the brothers interfering (as they usually did). Your most recent subject involved the anatomy and biology of demons.

reading through the various lists of wings and their differences, you realized Lucifer's wings were a bit odd compared to the others in the textbook. most were bat or insect-like. Glancing up, you spoke.

"Hey... Lucifer, could I see your wings a minute?"

eyes immediately lifting to meet yours he grunts

"and why.. pray tell?"

fumbling over yourself you flip your textbook over to show him what you were studying. "Yours don't look anything like these! I just wanted to get a better view of them. Pleaseee, it's for my assignment."

rolling his eyes, he stood from his chair and dropped his jacket onto his desk, back facing you. in a blink, they appeared, black feathers swooshing around you.

they were enormous, gorgeous even, the pure slate colored feather tips gently drifting across the floor. you had assumed he had gorgeous angel wings, and that they looked similar to what was in front of you. which made you wonder...

reaching a hand out, your fingertips brushed the spot the wings met his back. before you knew it, he whirled in front of you, grabbing your wrist that was touching his wings.

you staggered back at his reaction, trying to pull free from his grip.

"Don't" he released you as you fell back into the chair, gaping up at him.

"luci... they're incredible! I- I didn't know they were so sensitive, my bad."

he left you to your studies, but you were completely breathless... wanting to touch them in full again.

meanwhile, as lucifer struck out of his office, his heart was erratic in his chest. the feeling of your hands gently stroking his feathers caused him to bristle, no one had ever dare to touch his wings before you...

Mammon

 Somehow you and Mammon had ended up binge watching nature documentaries as he made an offhand comment about not knowing much about humans and their animals.

So, you had picked one about flying animals and now, the narrator was explaining the different types of wings and how each fits the species and their needs perfectly.

Eyeing the male next to you, you thought about his own wings.

“hey… Mammon?” you murmured, causing his head to turn towards you as he raised an eyebrow in question. “I mean… can you show me your wings? I kinda want to compare them to what I’ve seen in the human realm.”

He shuffles awkwardly between himself, turning his head away, “the hell would’ja wanna do that for? You’ve seen them plenty.” You huffed at his reply and grabbed his shoulders, turning his face towards you. Blinking up at him, you gave your best puppy dog eyes.

He squirmed away from you, “uGH, fine! Just… turn around!”

Happily scooching back, you felt a slight breeze as his wings popped out. Glancing at them, you stared in awe as you came closer, looking over the white, bony structure connected by a thin, black membrane that seemed almost translucent the more you looked at it.

You reached out a hand, fingertips brushing along the sharp edges. You felt Mammon shiver beneath your touch, his face becoming flushed as your gentle touch. Were they sensitive? You thought, bringing your hand to wrap around where it connected into his back.

He jolted, wings disappearing as he spun around to face you, sweat starting to slick his brow as he brought up his wrist to cover his mouth. “Alright! That’s enough, you can’t just poke and prod wherever ya please!”

You laughed, short and soft as he became more and more uncomfortable beneath your gaze. Settling back down to the couch, you continued on with the show.

Unbeknownst to you, Mammon was on fire, the spot where his wings met his back was on fire from your touch. He hadn’t realized how sensitive to your touch he was… but he couldn’t say he was complaining.

Diavolo

You had been playing some games with the lord of devildom, entertaining him with games, books, and more about different folklore and fantasy that humans were interested in. He was particularly interested in one of the mini board characters, a dragon to be specific.

“Indeed, it does look rather defiant, does it not?” he asked you. Nodding in reply, you grabbed the mini figurine from him and turned it around to study it. you took particular notice of it’s wings, the hook looking incredibly similar to the ones on someone’s wings…

“Hey, Diavolo? Could I see your wings for a minute?”

Eyes widening, he tilted his head at your request, looking at how you were contemplating the tiny statue in front of you. Did you mean to compare his wings to this…. Tiny clay thing? He smiled and the next thing you knew, Diavolo was in his demon form.

He turned around and rolled his shoulders back, stretching his wingspan to it’s full length. Your mouth dropped open. Fanned out in front of you, were the largest wings you had ever seen. The muscles and membrane that stretched between the structures of all four wings were nothing but impressive. You looked at the changing colors between the membrane, noticing tiny glistening cells that made up the brunt of it.

“Holy shit…” you murmured. To be honest, his wings very well could have been the inspiration of dragons. They looked incredibly strong… you reached out a hand instinctively to touch the …horn? On the top of his wing.

Diavolo laughed at your expression of awe and desire to touch his wings. No one had ever been bold enough to try and touch them, even Barbatos knew better than to brush past them. But you… were so delicate and curious about them. He assumed you thought they were the stuff of legends.

“Are they to your liking?” he flapped his wings, causing a gust of wind to overtake you. Blinking up at him you responded, “They are… something out of a fairytale, Dia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so…” you were at a loss for words, extending your hand towards the middle of his back, your fingertips brushing along his wingspan.

In a blink, he was towering over you, his wings cocooning you closer to him as you braced your hands against his chest.

“Oh! I- uh… I’m sorry,” you squirmed, backing into his wings. He laughed, transforming back to his casual clothes from before in a blink. He enjoyed teasing you, but you couldn’t ignore the glint in his eyes the way he turned towards you after you touched his skin.

“Well… shall we continue where we left off?” Diavolo gestured to the games laid out in front of him. You nodded, a bit spaced out by the whole ordeal.

“Dia, I have to admit, your wings are magnificent.” Glancing down back towards your book, you laughed as you plunged back onto the couch.

Unaware of his gaze, Diavolo felt an immense pride at the idea of you admiring him. He didn’t consider himself insecure by any means, but he felt his chest flutter at your words… and your touch, he felt his blood scream when you had touched them.

“Well you know… you can see my wings anytime you like.”

[fiovske]

my entire kingdom for 60s fem-presenting aziracrow pls pls pls

[itsdefinitely]

fun times

[aouchlab]

undefined

SUGAR ORGANS

BIOMATERIALS UNDER THE MICROSCOPE

[faeriekit]

Snowdrift Sanctuary

a phic phight fill for sapphireshield (who isn't on tumblr)

“Is this alright?” Phantom asked quietly, blunt human face pressed into the ruff of his new coat.

There was nothing wrong, but that wasn’t the issue; the human needed reassurance, and reassurance Frostbite could provide.

“Of course,” Frostbite agreed easily, if gently. “Neuschnee made it for you. It was always intended to be yours.”

Humans tended to be sensory-seeking. With no fur of their own, and sensitive skin and hands, they had the ability to physically feel more through touch than his people could. The paw of Frostbite’s remaining arm was tough, callused from work and combat; but the human could swab his face across the ruff and sleeves of his coat and receive textural information that was entirely alien to the yeti mind.

Frostbite would have to ensure that the boy had gloves. It would be a shame if his hypersensitive hands were made damaged by the cold.

“...But,” the boy tried, and to his credit, his concern was sympathetic. “Wouldn’t someone else need the fur? Like, even if you have your own fur…wouldn’ it make a good blanket? Or…something…?”

Petting, for humans, thankfully, seemed to work exactly as it did for his kin. Sure, Frostbite had to be more gentle with his claws, but combing through and smoothing down the human’s black spot of hair was more than enough for the endorphins to kick in. Oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin would require further study, but the base understanding of hormones were easy to understand: skin on skin contact equalled a well-adjusted human adolescent.

Phantom’s eyes drooped. Frostbite smiled to himself. The sight was identical to Salju’s cubs settling down before a nap.

“We are not low on resources,” Frostbite soothed, half-purring. It was an immature noise, but conducive to soothing distressed young. “We are not hungry. We are prosperous, and require little; as an adept living with our people, we would be remiss not to provide for you.”

…The human’s nose crinkled.

“It is our job to give you things so that you do not fade,” Frostbite clarified.

Phantom’s face flushed a warm red. The adolescent’s half-human biology was fascinating.

And, true, it would probably be easier to care for Phantom if he remained in his ghostly form all the time, but it would be unfair and dangerous for his long-term development to force him to do so. Phantom was a half-human, and deserved to spend time adjusting to all of his forms. Neuschnee had already begun working on the human’s boots; soon he would no longer be confined only to Frostbite’s warmed residence. With a thick hood and gloves to cover his extremities, Frostbite had little doubt that the human would soon be wrestling with (gentle) age-mates, practicing his English with his sister’s pilfered human texts, and learning how to control his snow.

Phantom was very small. He was very delicate, and there was an instinct in Frostbite that continued to worry that handling him wrong might snap the human in half. A yeti at Phantom’s height would still be a very young cub, and yet twice as sturdy and twice as broad.

Still, he was a bright, kind being, and… Frostbite sighed. And he had no understanding of why the human’s parents had rejected him for his current state.

And, certainly, his human sister had tried to explain it to him, bundled in three coats and her red nose weeping in the cold as she begged for his sanctuary. The prospect was merely mind-boggling to him. Young were rare and precious. Their natures were never guaranteed. What was the use of rejecting a cub you had spent a decade raising?

…Frostbite exhaled carefully out his nose. It was not his job to understand their attitude. It was only his role to act in their place until the half-human came of age.

“You don’t have to,” Phantom muttered, face a curious shade of red. Having red internal fluids made for interesting displays of emotion. “I…I can work it off, or…”

Frostbite continued petting the human. The human did not continue speaking.

“Or,” Frostbite continued kindly, “You may join Pritla, Nieve and I, and assist us in devouring a nice, cold, glacier shark. We buried it last season, so it is no longer toxic to digest outright.”

Phantom snorted out a laugh. Yes, there would be human-appropriate food available for him, but Frostbite was not joking about the shark. Now that the toxins had drained into the soil for months, he was happy to take his turn ripping huge chunks of flesh with his teeth for an evening meal. And, who knows; perhaps the enrichment value of consuming a fermented shark with one's bare hand would pique Phantom’s interest in other traditional foods?

“Will there be silverware?” Phantom asked, teasing. He accepted Frostbite’s proffered hug, engaging in sensory-seeking activity in the same way he had with his new coat. Frostbite was ecstatic.

“Of course not,” Frostbite rumbled, more than pleased. “Use of weaponry during mealtimes is explicitly cheating. Now, are you comfortable defending your plate from younger cubs, or should I shield you with my body?”

Frostbite might not have felt prepared to care for Phantom, but raising a half-human would undoubtedly be a fascinating experience.

Besides; unlike mortal parents, the burden of keeping Phantom alive was already largely moot.

[cryptidwithacopiccollection]

He got hit by another car

[necrotic-nephilim]

Tim's unternet suit really is the most glaringly obvious hero worship/crush for Dick thing he ever has. in the unternet, where Tim's subconscious creates what he is. that's the suit his brain comes up with? something so clearly derivative of Nightwing? down to the *finger stripes*?

red robin #19

this is gay as hell. the reason Tim can't wear this soul irl is bc the first thing he would do is jerk off in it. and he couldn't handle the embarrassment of Dick seeing how similar it is. if DC ever made this Tim's official suit the first thing they would have to do is make Tim and Dick fuck in it. i'm so close to writing that fic i won't lie.

[zegalba]

Takato Yamamoto: Fermentation of a Hermaphrodite (2008)