#precision fermentation

[probablyasocialecologist]

Sourcing food in biotech  factories requires a reorganization of the food system to be highly centralized, arranged into corporate-mediated value chains flowing from industrial processing facilities. To my mind that is exactly the corporate industrial food chain model at the root of so many of our current problems. We don’t want the food system concentrated in the hands of less and bigger corporations. Such a concentrated food system  is unfair,  extractive, easy to monopolize and  very vulnerable to external shocks  - which we are going to see more of in our unfolding century of crisis. Consider which food system is more likely to fall over in the face of climate catastrophe, dictatorship  or cyberattack: - a handful of large electrically dependent food brewers  or a distributed network of millions of small farms and local food relationships  spread across diverse landscapes? Which brings us to Chris’s other central premise in ‘Saying No to a Farm-free Future’ - the one that George does attempt a partial response to. Chris argues that the way to organise food to survive in the face of climate crisis is to withdraw away from the corporate controlled industrial agrifood chain  and attempt instead  to put power back into the distributed local ‘food web’ of small growers, local markets and peasant-type production . This ‘food web’ may sound  ‘backwards’ to modernist global north sensibilities of someone like George but it is what still characterizes much of  the food systems of the global South. It is also better suited to our times of crisis and challenge. Strengthening food webs is not a “one stop” bold  breakthrough. Rather its a distributed social process of ‘muddling through’ together  in diverse and different ways that are at best  agroecological and collective, culturally and ecologically tailored to different geographies. The food web (or ‘agrarian localism’ as Chris terms it) can’t be summed up in one shiny totemic widget. It doesn’t fit  a formulaic  “stop this, go that” campaign binary (“stop eating meet , go plant-based”).   Leaning into the complexities of  local agroecological diverse food webs is maddeningly  unsellable as a soundbite.  George presents agrarian localism as a ‘withdrawal’  but its more in the gesture of “staying with the trouble” - a phrase feminist scholar Donna Harraway so brilliantly coined to dismiss  big, male, over simplistic technocratic solutionists who claim to have the ‘one big answer’ to our global polycrisis. (sound familiar?). Staying with the trouble and leaning into food webs means embracing a messy politics of relationship, nuance, context, complexity and co-learning. It means a single clever journalist sitting in Oxford can’t dream up a cracking saviour formula all by himself in the space of a 2 year book project. . its why (and how) we build movements - to figure this stuff out collectively. So relax - take off the armour - make friends.

[fairfield-research]

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐅𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐈𝐧-𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬, 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐞𝐬 (𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑-𝟐𝟎𝟑𝟎)

The precision fermentation market is poised for exponential growth, with projections indicating a substantial surge from the US$1.7 billion attained in 2022 to an impressive US$18.1 billion by the year 2030. A recent comprehensive analysis reveals that the global market for precision fermentation is anticipated to expand at a remarkable CAGR of 39.7% during the period of 2023 to 2030.

1. Sustainable Food Production Paradigm

The global shift towards sustainable practices in food production is driving the momentum behind precision fermentation. This innovative method offers a more environmentally friendly approach compared to traditional farming methods, addressing concerns regarding resource efficiency, environmental impact, and climate change. Precision fermentation, utilizing microbial processes to produce nutrients and proteins, aligns with consumer demands for ethically and sustainably sourced products.

2. Technological Advancements in Bioprocessing

Continual advancements in bioprocessing technologies are propelling the growth of the precision fermentation market. These advancements, including microbial engineering and enhanced bioprocessing techniques, result in increased scalability, efficiency, and versatility. The ability to create precisely tailored proteins and biomolecules further enhances the market's potential, enabling businesses to remain competitive and responsive to evolving consumer preferences.

3. Increasing Demand for Alternative Proteins

The rising demand for alternative proteins is a significant driver of market expansion. Precision fermentation offers a scalable and sustainable solution to produce proteins such as whey, collagen, and enzymes without relying on traditional agricultural methods. As consumer preferences shift towards plant-based and alternative protein sources, precision fermentation emerges as a vital tool in meeting the demand for high-protein, ethical, and sustainable food products.

4. Major Growth Barriers

Despite its promising outlook, the precision fermentation market faces challenges, including regulatory uncertainties and economic viability concerns. Regulatory complexities often hinder market expansion, delaying product approvals and introducing barriers to entry. Additionally, high initial capital costs and the ongoing struggle to achieve cost parity with traditional production methods present economic obstacles for widespread adoption.

5. Key Trends and Opportunities

The market presents significant opportunities for innovation, particularly in pharmaceutical production and the nutraceutical sector. Precision fermentation's ability to produce complex proteins and bioactive molecules aligns with the growing demand for biopharmaceuticals and functional ingredients. Collaborations and partnerships across industries further drive innovation and market growth, fostering a dynamic and competitive landscape.

6. Regional Frontrunners

North America maintains its leadership position in the precision fermentation market, supported by robust investments in research and development, established biotechnology and food sectors, and a proactive regulatory framework. In contrast, the Asia Pacific region emerges as a rapidly growing market, driven by changing food habits, population growth, and increased emphasis on sustainability.

7. Industry Leaders

Several prominent players lead the global precision fermentation space, including Change Foods, Geltor, Helania Inc., Formo, Eden Brew, Impossible Foods Inc., Melt & Marble, Motif Foodworks, Inc., Mycorena, Nourish Ingredients, and Perfect Day Inc. These companies continue to drive innovation and shape the future of sustainable food production.

For more information: https://www.fairfieldmarketresearch.com/report/precision-fermentation-market

[ananya5400]

Sustainable Growth Opportunities in the Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market

The global precision fermentation ingredients market size is estimated to be valued at USD 2.8 billion in 2023 and is projected to reach USD 36.3 billion by 2030, recording a CAGR of 44.0% by value. Changing consumer preferences towards veganism, increasing protein consumption, and rising investments in innovations are the major factors for market growth. Substantial breakthroughs in the genetic engineering space have enabled the cost-effective and sustainable reprogramming of microorganisms (synthetic biology) through precision fermentation to create a wide range of specialized food protein constituents.

Download PDF Brochure:  https://www.marketsandmarkets.com/pdfdownloadNew.asp?id=30824914

By ingredient type, the whey & casein protein segment accounted for the second largest share.

The burgeoning awareness of animal-free options, veganism, and plant-based lifestyles has driven manufacturers to introduce an array of dairy-free ingredients. In the precision fermentation ingredients market, whey and casein play pivotal roles with versatile applications across industries. Companies like Modern Kitchen, based in the US, utilize precision fermentation-based whey protein from Perfect Day to produce animal-free cream cheese. Brazilian company Up Dairy specializes in precision fermentation to create dairy ingredients, with a focus on whey protein and casein. Up Dairy employs advanced technologies such as Cell Line Development, Host Strain Development, Target Molecule Selection, Bioprocess Design, and Ingredient Optimization. Formo Bio's approach to crafting animal-free cheese through precision fermentation showcases the intersection of traditional practices and innovative technology. By sourcing whey and casein from microorganisms inspired by cow DNA, they tap into both heritage and innovation, providing a sustainable alternative to traditional dairy cheese.

By microbe type, the fungi segment constitutes around one-fourth of the global demand.

Extensive research and development activities in the field of precision fermentation helped food producers in evolving the landscape of animal-free protein alternatives using microbes such as bacteria, yeast, and fungi. One advantage of utilizing fungi metabolic engineering is that their eukaryotic origin allows them to tolerate and functionally express heterologous eukaryotic proteins and enzymes, resulting in proper protein folding and post-translational modifications. Better Meat Co., a US based company, developed a process for biomass protein from the filamentous fungi Neurospora crass In February 2022, VTT Technical Research Centre of Finland developed egg white protein (ovalbumin) from fungi using precision fermentation.

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The Asia Pacific region is projected to grow at the highest CAGR in the precision fermentation ingredients market during the forecast period

The key factors driving the Asia Pacific precision fermentation ingredients market are the rapid urbanization and changing lifestyles that have led to an increased demand for specialized products, such as alternative proteins and sustainable ingredients, which precision fermentation excels in producing. The region's focus on technological advancements and innovation aligns with precision fermentation ingredient's cutting-edge nature, fostering a thriving ecosystem for research and development. Additionally, Consumer willingness to adopt innovative products is evident across countries, extending beyond curiosity to active purchasing intent. Also, investments and expansions in the region drive the growth of the Asia Pacific market.

[shrutirathi226]

Unlocking the Potential of Precision Fermentation Ingredients in Alternative Proteins

Introduction to Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market

The Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market focuses on the production of specialized ingredients using precision fermentation, a process that leverages microbial hosts to produce specific compounds, such as proteins, enzymes, or flavors, with high precision and efficiency. This market is rapidly growing due to the increasing demand for sustainable and alternative food sources, particularly in the plant-based and lab-grown food industries. Precision fermentation offers the potential for cleaner, more sustainable production methods compared to traditional agriculture, attracting significant interest from food manufacturers, biotech companies, and investors. Key sectors include food, pharmaceuticals, and biotechnology, driving innovation and market expansion.

Market overview

The Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market is Valued USD 3.01Million in 2022 and projected to reach USD 37.13 Million by 203, growing at a CAGR of CAGR of 43.2 During the Forecast period of 2024–2032.This rapid growth is driven by increasing consumer demand for sustainable and alternative proteins, advancements in biotechnology, and the rising adoption of precision fermentation in the food and beverage industry.

Access Full Report : https://www.marketdigits.com/checkout/1065?lic=s

Major Classifications are as follows:

By Microbe

Yeast

Algae

Fungi

Bacteria

By Ingredients

Whey & Casein Protein

Egg White

Collagen Protein

Heme Protein

Enzymes

Others

By End Use Industry

Food & Beverages

Meat & seafood

Dairy alternatives

Egg alternatives

Others

Pharmaceutical

Cosmetics

Others

Key Region/Countries are Classified as Follows: ◘ North America (United States, Canada, and Mexico) ◘ Europe (Germany, France, UK, Russia, and Italy) ◘ Asia-Pacific (China, Japan, Korea, India, and Southeast Asia) ◘ South America (Brazil, Argentina, Colombia, etc.) ◘ The Middle East and Africa (Saudi Arabia, UAE, Egypt, Nigeria, and South Africa)

Major players in Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market:

Perfect Day — A pioneer in precision fermentation, known for producing animal-free dairy proteins.

Ginkgo Bioworks — A leading biotechnology company that engineers custom microorganisms for various industries, including food and agriculture.

Clara Foods — Specializes in creating egg proteins through precision fermentation, offering sustainable alternatives to traditional eggs.

Triton Algae Innovations — Focuses on developing algae-based ingredients using precision fermentation techniques.

Market challenges in Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market:

High Production Costs: Precision fermentation Ingredients Market is a cutting-edge technology that often involves high initial costs for research, development, and scaling production. These costs can make the final products more expensive than traditional alternatives, posing a barrier to widespread adoption.

Regulatory Hurdles: The regulatory environment for novel food ingredients can be complex and varies by region. Gaining approval from regulatory bodies like the FDA or EFSA can be time-consuming and costly, slowing the market entry of new products.

Competition from Traditional and Alternative Proteins: The market faces competition not only from traditional animal-based proteins but also from plant-based and other alternative proteins, which may be more established and cost-effective.

Market opportunities in Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market:

Sustainable Food Production: As global demand for sustainable and ethical food sources increases, precision fermentation offers a way to produce high-quality proteins, enzymes, and other ingredients with a lower environmental footprint compared to traditional agriculture and animal farming.

Alternative Proteins: The rising popularity of plant-based diets and the need for alternative protein sources create opportunities for precision fermentation ingredients market to supply key ingredients, such as dairy and egg proteins, without the need for animal farming.

Customization and Innovation: Precision fermentation Ingredients Market allows for the creation of highly specific and customizable ingredients, opening the door for innovations in food products tailored to specific nutritional needs, dietary preferences, or sensory profiles.

Future trends in Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market:

Increased Investment in R&D: As the technology matures, there will be greater investment in research and development to enhance production efficiency, reduce costs, and expand the range of fermentable ingredients.

Expansion of Product Applications: Precision fermentation will increasingly be used to produce a wider variety of ingredients beyond proteins, including flavors, colors, and functional additives, as well as in sectors like pharmaceuticals and cosmetics.

Integration with Other Technologies: The convergence of Precision fermentation Ingredients Market with other technologies, such as artificial intelligence and machine learning, will optimize fermentation processes, improve strain development, and accelerate innovation.

Conclusion:

The Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market is poised for remarkable growth, driven by advances in biotechnology, rising consumer demand for sustainable and alternative proteins, and the expanding range of applications. Despite challenges such as high production costs and regulatory hurdles, the sector’s potential for innovation and environmental impact offers substantial opportunities. Future trends point to increased investment in research and development, integration with emerging technologies, and broader market acceptance. As the technology matures and global awareness grows, precision fermentation is set to play a pivotal role in shaping the future of food production and sustainable ingredient solutions.

[supriyab]

The global precision fermentation ingredients market size is estimated to be valued at USD 2.8 billion in 2023 and is projected to reach USD 36.3 billion by 2030, recording a CAGR of 44.0% by value.

[mariasont]

GLUE MYSELF SHUT

it starts with ice on your tongue and ends with spencer trying not to picture what else his mouth might be good at

pairings: spencer reid x shy!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, not explicit smut but it's suggestive, post prison spencer, fem reader, fluff, reader has an oral fixation, talk of alcohol, alcohol consumption (wine), spencer having some semi super-naughty thoughts, he’s obsessed with her lips, he’s so down bad it’s not even funny. except it is. i find it hilarious. i feel like the ending was weird but i stared at it for like 6 business days and couldn’t figure out how to fix it so #word wc: 1.6k request: here

The autonomic nervous system, when overengaged, compulsively chases external release valves. Little, repetitive distractions employed to dissipate internal pressure. Cognitive behavior theory identifies these as primitive anxiety-management strategies. Lip-biting, skin-picking, hair-twisting.

For you, the chosen method consists of timed intervals involving ice cubes, precisely fourteen minutes apart. Pinching it between cautious fingertips, rolling it contemplatively, savoring the brief burst of cold against skin.

He watches, a reluctant voyeur to the slow meltwater streams trickling along your fingers in mercury rivulets, until finally disappearing past parted lips. His eyes shutter sideways, hurriedly silencing the part of his brain that longs to quantify the thaw rate versus thermal conduction properties of ice on the surface of your tongue.

You’re studying a painting in the corner of the restaurant — abstract oils bleeding into one another in nebulous fashion behind Emily’s shoulder. Spencer finds himself studying you, an equally abstract form of art. You’re a fan of art. He’s seen your tendency to pause at gallery plaques, eyes tracing curatorial notes while your fingers twitch involuntarily, as though fighting the impulse to physically touch the described textures.

He isn’t much different at this moment. 

You’re never exacting, never critical of the things you see. You’re easy to please in the purest sense, content to absorb shapes and colors simply because they exist, acknowledging beautiful things without demanding it prove itself worthy.

It makes him wonder, morbidly, if you’re easy to please in other ways. 

Do you make noises when someone kisses you properly? Would your thighs tremble if they whispered how lovely you were, over and over again? Could you come from just a few well-placed touches?

He knows how polymers behave under heat. He wants to know if you’re the same.

He shouldn’t be indulging these thoughts. He’s repeated the admonition several times already, a silent internal chant that does nothing to stem the tide because here you are, unknowingly feeding it.

Your lips gleam with condensation, a lone droplet suspended just above your mouth, a tiny, inadvertent physics demonstration awaiting disruption.

His thumb tingles impulsively, a raw, tactile curiosity urging him to test the exact point at which tension collapses, to feel moisture yield to pressure.

He blinks hard, almost violently, screwing his eyelids shut in an effort to sever the treacherous visual connection tethering him precariously to your mouth. His gaze then drops like ballast to the nearest neutral object — his plate, where a roasted carrot glares back up at him with bland contempt.

Spencer coughs into a closed fist, a pathetic smokescreen for the heat scalding up his throat, licking at his ears like flame-starved oxygen.

With determined resolve, he refocuses, or at least pretends to, zeroing in on Rossi’s dramatic discourse about the fermentation processes and barrel chemistry. Wine science, he assures himself, is safe, dry, deeply unsexy. Unlike you. Unlike the mental imagery of your mouth encircled around other, less work-appropriate things.

These team dinners are, in most cases, a slow bleed. A sensory minefield dressed in linen napkins and over-loud laughter. Spencer doesn’t resent the company, he loves them, every single one, but the sound never stops, the social current too nonlinear to keep up with.

Noise and light and movement pile upon each other until his nervous system blinks seven different shades of red.

So yeah, usually, he counts minutes and builds exit strategies.

But tonight, that never happens. There’s no grit behind his eyes, no anticipatory urge for flight. Instead, there’s only a strange sense of equilibrium and the certainty that it begins and ends with you.

Every shy laugh you offer at Morgan’s jokes, every awkward tuck of your hair behind your ear when attention veers too close to you, every furtive glance his way like you’re reassuring yourself he hasn’t dematerialized between breaths.

He notices it all. Worse, he likes it. Relishes it in a way that feels almost parasitic when he dares to think about it too long.

You inch closer, lowering your voice to be aimed at him. “Do you think Rossi would be crushed if he found out I genuinely can’t taste the difference between this and, like, Welch’s?”

Spencer bites back an immediate grin, angling himself toward you until the barest fraction of space remains between your shoulders.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“So that’s a yes, then?”

“Pretty much.” He slides his glass your way. “Here, try this one. Rossi said it’s supposed to have subtle oak notes. I think that’s just the polite way of saying it doesn’t feel like lighter fluid.”

You accept his glass, fingertips brushing his as you take it. 

Spencer’s eyes cling to your mouth as you sip, lips parting over the same place his touched, sealing over it perfectly like you were made to erase him and replace him in one motion. 

When you pull back, the wine stains your lips in a dark, sultry crimson. He imagines pressing his mouth to yours until the color smears, until it becomes something new altogether — a hue birthed from shared breaths and synchronized heartbeats. He wonders what saturation your mouth would take on if it were shaped around his name.

Spencer recognizes that he might be one errant breath away from ruin.

There are other people here, he reminds himself. Polite company. His colleagues, no less, who are presumably not here to watch him experience this kind of deranged attention he’s directing toward you. He’s certain he must be blushing, overheating, or having a close, conversational strow. Each scenario feels equally plausible, equally shameful, equally likely to leave him socially incapacitated.

You tilt your head, eyebrows raised in patient confusion. Three long, interminable seconds crawl by before Spencer realizes you’re awaiting a response.

Shit.

“What?” he blurts, louder than intended.

“I said I don’t think I have the palate for this one. Kind of tastes like overpriced raisins.”

Spencer bobs his head eagerly. “Right. Yeah. No, I — agree.”

Your smile is soft but searching as you seem to follow his thought process and come up short. Spencer’s heart kicks harder in his chest. He fumbles for normalcy and overshoots.

“The raisin flavor, it’s probably residual sugar. Or the grape variety, certain grapes naturally have that characteristic. Sometimes they’re intentionally allowed to over ripen, concentrating sugars. Could also be oxidation. Or, possibly, microbial spoilage, though that sounds bad, it’s usually done on purpose, beneficial spoilage. Controlled spoilage.”

“What kind of grapes do they use for that, then?” Your voice is tentative, uncertain, as though worried the question might sound overly simplistic.

It’s not. It’s absolutely fine, ideal, even. Except Spencer’s concentration evaporates instantly when your tongue flicks gently across your lower lip, leaving behind a glossy sheen.

Suddenly, grapes don’t exist. Language doesn’t exist. Spencer himself might barely exist.

“Usually Muscat or Zinfandel,” he manages at last, “They, uh, leave them on the vine longer to intensify sweetness.”

You laugh under your breath, pushing the stem of the glass back toward him. “Makes sense, though I might not be the best judge. My mom used to say that anything that didn’t taste like peach schnapps wasn’t worth the bottle.”

Spencer’s mouth opens, poised to respond, but your hand is already in motion, fingers dipping into your glass for another cube of ice. He watches as your thumb gently glides over its edges. Checking for symmetry, perhaps. You bring it to your mouth and he doesn’t blink, can’t. There’s a fleeting glimpse of pink tongue against transparent ice, the slight hollowing of your cheeks.

All sentence structure evaporates, replaced by a pounding rush of blood to his temples and other less cooperative places. 

“That’s…” he rasps, then clears his throat. “That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“Your um. Your mom’s schnapps rule.”

“Oh.” You cock your head. “I always thought it was kinda trashy.”

“It’s not,” he says, too fast. “I’ve heard worse opinions about alcohol.”

“Yeah?” Your purse your lips and the ice shifts, creating a temporary distortion in the shape of your cheek. “Like what?”

Spencer watches the dent smooth out, watches how the overhead lights refract across your skin — warmer along the apple of your cheek, cooler where it softens into shadow near your jaw. A perfect gradient, like a masterwork in motion. A living chiaroscuro. Oil paintings where the subject glows not because of the paint, but because of its depth was coaxed out by patient and loving hands.

He wonders who has painted you in that light.

You mentioned your mother and he wants to know more. What was she like? Did she nurture your curiosity, or did she scold it? Was she tender, or tired? Did she sing while she cooked? Did she let you cry, or did she rush to clean it up? 

And your father, was he there? Was he gentle? Did he hug you with both arms, or with silence? Did he make you feel small in the way children should, protected, or in the way they shouldn’t, invisible?

Spencer hopes, deeply, that they were kind. That you were someone’s favorite part of the day. That you grew up held, not just housed.

He doesn’t think you’re seeing anyone romantically. Not seriously. He suspects he’d know, suspects there’d be signs. Someone waiting at the door. A name that surfaces too often. 

But you probably have been with people before. Respectful ones, preferably.

“Like how some people can’t tell the difference between a five-hundred-dollar Bordeaux and… grape juice,” he finally says, quirking a brow. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Not everyone’s tongue works quite as well as yours, Doctor Reid.” 

Spencer sees the instant when your brain catches up with your words, cheeks flooding with heat, eyes widening incrementally, mouth parting in a mortified ‘O’.

“I mean — not like that.” You quickly stumble forward, hands fluttering uselessly in your lap, voice pitched high. “Refined taste buds. Taste buds, I meant, not… not tongue in any other context.”

Your expression is a fascinating disaster, eyebrows drawn tight, lips flattened into a line like you’re hoping the pressure alone might rewind time and vacuum every syllable back into your throat.

Meanwhile, Spencer’s imagination flickers to life, promptly supplying him with an intensely distracting scenario involving precisely how well his tongue works when applied directly to you.

“Right. Taste buds,” he echoes, voice two octaves higher than usual. “I knew what you meant.”

Except he hadn’t, not immediately. His heartbeat already sprinting ahead of him, generously pumping oxygen to regions he’d strongly prefer remain switched off. He briefly considers explaining the basis of verbal slips — the Freudian slip theory, perhaps — but decides against it. 

Better to pretend that his mind hasn’t already replayed your words more times than strictly necessary.

One day he’ll show you.

shy reader is part of a stand-alone series! you can read more here!

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[kashverse]

pizza is one of those rare, beautiful things in the world that transcends culture, language, and personal differences. it is the unifying force. a humble creation of the italians that has somehow become a staple in every corner of the world. and yet, how one enjoys pizza reveals everything about them.

nanami, for instance, takes pizza-making with the same level of precision as he does everything else in life. only authentic italian recipes will do. and only if an actual italian man is narrating them. no exceptions. if the video starts and he detects even a hint of an american accent, it is closed immediately. he has a whole folder of videos titled "approved italian pizza sources." he swears one day, after malaysia, he will visit italy, and only then will he consider himself worthy of making pizza from scratch. until then, he follows the instructions exactly as given. measured ingredients, proper dough resting time, optimal oven temperature. he makes a pizza so perfect, so textbook, that you think the ghost of an italian nonna might appear just to pat him on the shoulder in approval.

geto, on the other hand, has already been to italy. he has eaten pizza the proper way. you ask him when he went? don't. how he went? irrelevant. who he went with? silence. the point is, he just did. and because of this, he knows the best way to make it. you don’t argue with him when he takes charge in the kitchen, casually kneading the dough like he’s done it a hundred times before. he does that thing where he stretches it mid-air with a flick of his wrist, and somehow, it actually works. the pizza comes out of the oven looking gorgeous. perfect ratio of sauce to cheese, slightly charred in all the right places. he watches you take a bite, smug. "good, right?" yeah, okay. fine. it’s perfect.

then there’s gojo. the moment you mention wanting pizza, he does not go to the kitchen. he does not google recipes. he does not even consider ordering takeout. instead, he immediately picks up his phone and dials an italian chef he met last year. "ciao, my man! emergency pizza situation at my penthouse. come through!" and because gojo is gojo, within the hour, a professional chef is in his kitchen, flour dusting every surface, ingredients being tossed expertly, and you are watching a pizza be made with such precision and love that when you finally take a bite, you nearly ascend. it’s so good you think you could never eat anything else ever again. gojo leans back, grinning. "only the best for my baby." you don’t even have the energy to roll your eyes.

toji, on the other hand, has only ever known one type of pizza: the microwaved, supermarket kind. the ones that come in sad little plastic trays, always a bit soggy no matter how long you heat them. so when you, in the most basic way possible, decide to make a pizza—store-bought base, bottled tomato sauce, pre-shredded cheese—you don’t think much of it. but when toji takes his first bite, you’d think you just handed him the world. he chews slowly, staring at the slice like it holds the meaning of life. "you made this?" he asks, almost reverent. and now? now, every time he feels sad, this is what he asks for. congratulations. you have accidentally become his emotional support pizzeria.

choso loves pizza. he sees it as the ultimate family food. something to be shared, something that brings people together. so, naturally, he is dedicated to it. he doesn’t just want to eat pizza. he wants to understand it. where is the best place to get it? how do you make it properly? what’s the difference between neapolitan and sicilian? at some point, he starts throwing around terms like "00 flour" and "fermentation time". he has fully embraced his inner italian. you walk into the kitchen one day, and he’s watching a youtube video entirely in italian. does he speak italian? no. does that stop him? also no.

then there’s sukuna. sukuna does not cut pizza into slices. he does not eat it like a normal person. no, he picks up the entire thing and just starts biting into it like a disc like it’s a giant cracker. no hesitation. just straight-up animal behavior. you stare at him in horror, but he doesn’t care. at least he’s enjoying it.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: On Food

A compilation of notes on how to describe food in writing.

How to Describe Food: Flavour & Texture

1. Write about the flavour.

Rich -> full, heavier foods. Often used to describe foods containing cream (e.g., potatoes & garlic, soup, and chocolate cake).

Bland -> has little or no flavour.

Bitter -> a tart, sharp, and sometimes harsh flavour (e.g., coffee).

Citrusy -> a bright flavour (e.g., lemons, limes, oranges, and other citrus fruits).

Fresh -> a light and crisp taste. Often used to describe produce or herbs. (e.g., apples, lettuce, cucumbers, carrots, etc. Or bakery items like breads, muffins, etc.)

Fruity -> any taste reminiscent of sweet fruit flavours (e.g., grapes, blueberries, peaches, etc.).

Smoky -> a taste reminiscent of the smell of smoke (e.g., BBQ).

Sour -> a biting, tangy, tart flavour (e.g., lemons, Sour Patch Kids, and other sour candies).

Sweet -> a sugary flavour (e.g., candies, ice creams, desserts, etc.).

Zesty -> a fresh, vivid, or invigorating flavour (e.g., tacos, Italian pasta salad, etc.).

2. Write about the texture:

Mushy -> soft, but in an unpleasant way (e.g., if you cook vegetables too long, they’ll get mushy).

Tough and chewy -> are similar. Both describe foods which are difficult to eat because you have to chew them for a long time (e.g., meat can be tough or chewy, especially if it’s cooked too long and it gets dry).

Tender -> similar to ‘soft’, but it’s mostly used to describe meat which is cooked well, so it’s soft and juicy.

Crunchy -> food that makes a lot of noise when you’re eating them (e.g., dry food – like potato chips, or hard cookies – can be crunchy).

Words to Describe Different Flavours

For rich, spicy, or savoury flavours. The following words represent complex, spicy, or flavourful seasonings and dishes: buttery, caramelized, peppery, piquant, salty, sapid, saporous, savoury, smoky, spicy.

For sweet or fresh flavours. These descriptors characterize fresh or sugary dishes: ambrosial, bittersweet, bright, fruity, honeyed, minty, nectarous, saccharine, sharp-tasting, sweet, syrupy, treacly, zesty.

For subtle flavours. Some dishes are on the milder side. You can use one of these words to describe the taste: bland, mellow, tasteless.

For sour flavours. A sour or complex taste can be challenging to articulate. Here are some descriptive words to help: astringent, briny, citrusy, fermented, sour, tart, vinegary.

For hard or crunchy textures. Use these words to describe a crispy or chewy texture: broiled, caramelized, crusty, flaky, leathery, sizzling, thick, thin, toasted, toothsome.

For soft or fluid textures. These words can help you describe drinks, desserts, or other soft items: crumbly, doughy, fizzy, gooey, juicy, luscious, mashed, mushy, rubbery, runny, simmered, smothered, spongy, sticky, tender, velvety, waxy.

For the smell of food. Here are common food adjectives you can use to describe smells: acrid, astringent, bright, citrusy, fermented, heady, honeyed, minty, nutty, peppery, pungent, rancid, rotten, smoky, sour, vinegary.

Tips for Describing Food in Writing

Be specific. There are a lot of food words that are vague or general, like “delicious,” “yummy,” “succulent,” “delectable,” “mouth-watering,” or “finger-licking.” Avoid these overused phrases. Focus on the food's particular flavour, texture, or smell to make your writing more evocative and precise. Rather than describing a soup as “tasty” or “scrumptious,” try more specific words like “buttery,” “chunky,” or “minty.”

Consider your purpose. Decide if your goal is to explain a culinary experience or make the food sound appetizing. A clear understanding of your intention and target audience can help you shape your writing to be the most compelling.

Evoke all the senses. While you lean heavily on taste to describe food, remember to explore the texture, smell, sight, and sound of a dining experience as well. Including sensory language that incorporates the other senses creates a more robust experience for readers.

Sometimes less is more. Food writing is most effective when it’s focused, allowing readers to zero in on the essential details of the dish. If you include too many descriptors or attach multiple adjectives to each noun, you can overwhelm or confuse readers.

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ 100 Sensory Words

If these writing notes helped with your poem/story, please tag me. Or leave a link in the replies. I'd love to read them! Writing Resources PDFs

[aventurineswife]

Okay, but how Jiaoqiu is going to be with someone who enjoys spicy food and is very VERY tolerant to it? Like, they have little to no reaction to the dishes where one bite is enough to cause even toughest to ask for water, meanwhile they just: "Hm... Not bad, could add more spice though." *Adds extra spice*

Spice Is the Soul of Life

Summary: While preparing a fiery stew of your own creation, you share an intimate and playful moment with Jiaoqiu. As the two of you challenge each other’s tolerance for heat, the shared experience sparks a deeper connection, revealing mutual admiration and kindling an unexpected bond.

Tags: Jiaoqiu x Reader, Cooking, Slow Burn Romance, Playful Banter, Spice Tolerance Challenge, Tender Moments, Found Family.

Warnings: Descriptions of spicy food and intense heat (potentially triggering for readers sensitive to food or spice-related content), Light suggestive undertones of romance.

A/N: this lowkey sounds like me ngl...���‍♀️

The aroma of freshly simmering chili paste wafted through the air as you stirred a bubbling pot of stew, the crimson liquid glistening ominously. It was a dish of your own creation, a concoction so fiery that even the most daring food connoisseurs would hesitate to try it. Yet, to you, it was comfort food, a beloved indulgence that reminded you of home.

Behind you, Jiaoqiu’s soft voice broke the silence. “That scent… Sichuan peppercorns, dried ghost peppers, and…” He tilted his head slightly, his fox ears twitching. “A hint of fermented chili bean paste, isn’t it? Quite the combination.”

You turned to see him standing in the doorway of your shared kitchen, leaning lightly against the wall. Despite his blindness, his eyes, half-hidden beneath his lashes, seemed to glow in the dim light. His presence was both calming and commanding, a blend of healer’s warmth and strategist’s precision.

“You caught all that just by smell?” you asked, impressed.

“Of course,” he replied with a soft chuckle. “A refined palate starts with a refined nose. Though I must admit, the intensity of your spices makes it quite easy to identify.” He tapped his chin lightly and made his way toward the counter, his movements fluid despite his lack of sight.

“You say that as if you couldn’t handle it,” you teased, placing a bowl of the stew before him.

Jiaoqiu’s lips curved into a sly smile as he took a seat. “I’m not one to back down from a culinary challenge, especially one involving spice. Let me be the judge of its ferocity.”

You raised an eyebrow, handing him a spoon. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

With a graceful motion, Jiaoqiu took a spoonful of the stew, blowing gently on it before tasting. For a moment, he paused, his expression unreadable. Then, a slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.

“Rich, layered, and delightfully numbing,” he murmured, savoring the heat that spread across his tongue. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Really?” you asked, surprised. “Most people would be scrambling for a glass of water by now.”

Jiaoqiu chuckled softly, his bushy tail swishing behind him. “Did you forget who you’re speaking to? I was raised in the Alchemy Commission. We specialize in potions that burn as they heal. My tolerance for spice is… considerable.”

Your eyes lit up with a mischievous glint. “Oh? In that case…” You reached for the jar of extra chili oil and added a generous dollop to his bowl. “Let’s see how considerable it really is.”

Jiaoqiu’s laughter was warm and unrestrained as he stirred the added spice into his stew. “You’re a bold one, aren’t you? Very well, I accept your challenge.”

As he took another bite, you watched closely, expecting even the slightest sign of discomfort. Instead, Jiaoqiu’s expression remained serene, though a faint flush rose to his cheeks.

“Hm,” he mused, setting his spoon down. “Not bad… but I think it could use a touch more Sichuan peppercorns to balance the bitterness of the ghost peppers.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I assure you, I’m not,” he replied, his tone light but sincere. “In fact…” He reached for the peppercorn jar and added a sprinkle to his bowl, stirring it with practiced ease. “There. Now it’s perfect.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I’ve met my match.”

Jiaoqiu smiled. “And I, mine. It’s rare to find someone who shares my appreciation for spice, let alone someone who can surpass me in resilience.” He paused, his expression softening. “It’s… refreshing.”

You felt warmth rise in your chest, one that had nothing to do with the spice. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” he said simply, his voice carrying a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

The two of you continued to share the fiery stew, the spice creating a shared experience that seemed to burn away any barriers between you. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the kitchen and the heat of the dish, you felt a deeper connection forming—a bond as enduring and intense as the flames you both so loved.

As the evening wore on, Jiaoqiu leaned back with a contented sigh. “You know,” he said, his tone contemplative, “spice is much like life. It burns, it numbs, but it also awakens. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been drawn to it.”

You nodded, understanding his sentiment. “And sometimes, the hotter it gets, the more alive you feel.”

He turned his head toward you. “Exactly. And with someone like you by my side… I think I’m ready to face whatever heat life throws at me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Careful, Jiaoqiu. You might make me think you’re a romantic under all that wisdom.”

He chuckled, his laughter as warm and comforting as the stew you’d shared. “Perhaps I am. Or perhaps… I’ve simply found someone worth sharing my fire with.”

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“The Stillness Between Waves”

Crosshair x Reader

Pabu, post-series finale.

⸻

Pabu was alive in a way Crosshair didn’t trust.

It didn’t hum with ships overhead. It didn’t reek of oil and war. It didn’t echo with the weight of command or the thrum of tension beneath every breath. It just… was.

Seagulls circled the docks at dawn, squawking like idiots. Kids yelled, feet slapping on sandstone. The trees rustled in an offbeat rhythm that never stopped, and the air always smelled of sea salt, grilled fish, and ripe fruit fermenting in the heat.

He hated it.

Except he didn’t.

⸻

The people here didn’t stare at his missing hand. They didn’t ask if he’d lost it saving someone or killing someone. They just noticed, nodded, and shifted baskets or tools so he could carry them with his off hand.

He still hadn’t told them his name.

You were the first person to say it out loud.

“You don’t look like a Crosshair,” you said, half-laughing, barefoot on the edge of a weatherworn dock. “You look like someone who’s trying very hard not to care what anyone thinks, but secretly cares a lot.”

He gave you a long, unimpressed stare. “You talk too much.”

“And you sulk too much.”

That got a smirk out of him.

⸻

Your home sat along the middle tier of Pabu, tucked between wild flowering vines and one of the best views of the ocean. You’d lived there your whole life—grew up learning tide patterns, storm warnings, how to fish with traps and nets and patience.

You never once said “thank you for your service” or asked what Crosshair had done in the war.

You just asked if he wanted to help you set crab traps or throw stones into the water.

Sometimes, when the wind died down, you sat beside him on the cliff paths and told him stories. Not important ones. Just the kind that reminded him the world was still turning. That people still existed without orders.

One night, after a heavy rain, you gave him a glass bottle.

It had been washed up on the beach—inside, a note: “If you’re reading this, you’re alive. And that’s enough.”

“Found it when I was sixteen,” you said. “Kept it. Never opened it until this year. Figured I’d give it to someone who needed it more.”

He held it in his one hand for a long moment. The glass was warm from your touch. The note inside felt… real.

“…Thanks.”

You smiled. “Was that hard?”

“Extremely.”

⸻

He hadn’t gotten a prosthetic yet. Couldn’t bring himself to.

The scarred stump still ached when the air pressure shifted. Sometimes he looked at it and imagined the rifle he used to hold. The precise balance of metal and bone. The impossible stillness.

Now, he shook from time to time. Not from pain. From stillness.

He didn’t tell you that.

But you saw it anyway.

“Everyone here’s missing something,” you said, gently, one night beneath the low firelight. “Some people just hide it better.”

He didn’t answer.

So you leaned your shoulder against his.

Just… stayed there.

No pressure. No performance.

He stayed too.

⸻

It wasn’t until days later—when he instinctively caught your elbow as you slipped on a mossy stone, one arm wrapped around you to steady your fall—that something cracked open.

You looked up at him, breathless and close.

“You always this chivalrous?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “Just with you.”

And for once, he didn’t pull away.

⸻

The knock came softly. Not the kind meant to wake someone—just a hesitant brush of knuckles against wood. As if whoever stood behind your door wasn’t sure they should be there.

You were already awake.

Pabu was quiet at night—so quiet, sometimes it felt like the island held its breath while the sea whispered to the cliffs. You liked that silence. Usually. But not tonight.

Tonight, something in you itched.

You opened the door barefoot, hair tangled from tossing in bed, lantern in hand.

And there he was.

Crosshair.

Bare-chested in loose sleep pants and boots, as if he’d thrown on the first things he could grab. No weapon. No cloak. No sharpness in his eyes—just shadows.

You blinked, taken off guard. “Crosshair?”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t look at you, either.

He was staring past your shoulder, jaw tight, that missing hand hanging stiff at his side like he forgot it wasn’t still whole.

You lowered the lantern a little. Let the soft light reach him without pressing too close. “You okay?”

Silence.

You could hear his breath—too fast, like he’d been running or trying not to.

He shifted. Like he was about to speak.

Instead, he shook his head.

And still didn’t leave.

So, you stepped back. Just one step. Just enough.

“…Come in.”

He hovered in your doorway for a second longer. A soldier waiting for permission.

Then finally—finally—he moved.

The door closed with a soft click, and the weight of him filled your small space like a storm.

He didn’t sit. Didn’t talk.

Just stood there, arms at his sides, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

You crossed the room, pulled a blanket from the couch, and held it out—not with pity. With choice.

“Take it or leave it.”

His eyes flicked to you then.

A flicker of something… human. Something wounded.

He took it.

You sat on the floor by the open window, letting the sea breeze move through the warm room, and waited. Not for a story. Just for him.

Eventually, he joined you. Knees drawn up, the blanket over his shoulders, that haunted look still tucked behind every line of his face.

“I had a dream,” he said. Voice low. Raw.

You didn’t interrupt.

“They left me,” he added. “I was… screaming. And no one turned around.”

You watched his hand. The one hand. Clenching.

“I couldn’t even hold my rifle. Couldn’t fight back. I just stood there. Worthless.”

“That wasn’t real,” you said gently.

His jaw flexed. “Felt real.”

You leaned back against the wall, eyes half-lidded. “Sometimes the past grabs you like that. Won’t let go until you rip it out by the roots.”

He looked at you. Noticed the way you weren’t looking at him—but near him. Close enough he could speak. Far enough he didn’t feel cornered.

“…Why’d I come here?”

You tilted your head toward him.

“Because you didn’t want to be alone.”

Silence again.

Then softer—softer than you thought he could manage—he said, “You make it easier. Breathing.”

You smiled, small and true.

“Then stay.”

And he did.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t sleep.

Just sat beside you while the tide rolled in, and the lantern flickered low, and—for the first time in a long, long time—he let himself rest.

Not as a soldier. Not as a weapon.

Just a man.

Bruised. Tired. Still here.

And maybe—just maybe—he didn’t have to survive it alone.

⸻

The scent of eggs and something burning pulled you gently from sleep.

You blinked against the golden light spilling through your window, warmth already seeping into the room. Birds chirped somewhere up in the palms. The sea whispered low and lazy outside.

And in your tiny kitchen—Crosshair.

He stood shirtless, the thin blanket you’d given him still draped over his shoulders, bunched awkwardly at the elbows as he tried to manage a small pan one-handed.

You sat up slowly, watching him fumble with the spatula in his off hand. Every motion was too stiff, too careful, like he was trying not to admit how difficult this actually was.

There was a tiny line between his brows. Concentration. Frustration.

A hiss of oil popped.

He flinched.

You slid off the bed quietly and crossed the room barefoot.

“…Need help?”

“No,” he said instantly—too fast.

You smiled, stepping closer anyway. “You sure? Because your eggs look like they’re losing a war.”

He didn’t glance over. “I’m adapting.”

Your voice was soft now, near his shoulder. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I’m not.”

He was. But you didn’t push.

Instead, you reached past him to turn the heat down a little. Let your fingers brush his wrist—not enough to startle. Just enough to say I’m here.

He didn’t pull away.

That felt like something.

You leaned in, your voice like the morning breeze, warm and teasing. “For the record… it smells better than it looks.”

He gave a low snort. “I’ll keep that in mind, chef.”

And that’s when you did it.

You stepped in close, reached up gently—and kissed his cheek.

Just a press of lips. Soft. Unrushed. Not asking anything from him.

He went completely still.

You could feel the tension in him coil tight—but not in fear. Not anger. Just something… undone.

You pulled back slowly, eyes searching his face. “Thank you,” you said, voice barely a whisper. “For being here.”

His gaze dropped to you. Quiet. Intense. Like he was trying to make sense of you.

“…Didn’t think I’d want to stay,” he admitted, voice hoarse.

“And now?”

Crosshair looked down at the half-burnt eggs. The soft light catching the curve of your cheek. Your hand still barely brushing his.

“…Still don’t.”

A pause.

“But I think I will.”

[noirscript]

02; the withering

Pairing: Yandere!Botanist x Reader Description: You thought you were just pulling away, reclaiming your space—but to Elijah, your silence was a symptom, your distance a sickness. And now, as the world withers around you, he offers the only cure: himself. Warning/s: Yandere | Emotional Abuse | Psychological Manipulation | Gaslighting | Isolation | Implied Stalking | Codependency | Unhealthy Relationship | Coercion Note/s: Enjoy reading! Let me know what you think about this one. Oh. Also, I'll be posting the next chapters of sanctum on my ko-fi in advance while updating the holy week special on a daily basis.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar | Dark Roast 50% Off

The first time you meet Elijah, your hands are buried in dirt and your hair sticks to your forehead under the heat of an early summer sun. The community garden is smaller than you imagined—two raised beds, a few vertical trellises, and a compost bin that smells like fermented greens. You’re there because you wanted something wholesome. Something grounding. Something real.

He doesn’t say much at first.

You glance over, catching him crouched by the snap peas, methodically checking their growth. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing pale forearms speckled with soil. A pair of glasses slide down the bridge of his nose, and his hair is slightly too long, curling at the nape. You can’t help staring when he gently touches one of the vines, his thumb brushing along its fragile tendrils like he’s afraid to bruise it.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low and smooth, like soil soaked in rain.

“You’re digging too shallow. The roots will struggle.”

You blink, startled. “Oh. Sorry—I haven’t really done this before.”

He tilts his head, eyes soft but scrutinizing. “No need to apologize. You’re just new.”

He shifts closer and takes the trowel from your hand, demonstrating the motion with slow, deliberate precision. “Think of the plant like a child. It won’t thrive unless it feels safe. You have to give it enough depth to breathe, but not so deep that it drowns.”

You’re a little embarrassed at how seriously he takes it, but something about the way he talks—the reverence, the quiet care—it draws you in.

Over the next few weeks, he keeps his distance. But he always watches. Always helps when you’re struggling. The first time he smiles at something you say, you feel like you’ve coaxed a sunflower to bloom in winter.

“Elijah’s like a Victorian ghost,” your friend Lila jokes one evening when you meet for coffee. “Are you sure he’s real?”

“He’s… interesting,” you admit. “I think he just takes time to warm up.”

Nathan, your other friend, raises a brow. “He’s hot in that tortured poet way. Just don’t let him convince you that sadness is sexy.”

“He’s not sad,” you say, a little more defensively than intended. “He’s thoughtful. He talks about plants like they’re people.”

Lila sips her drink. “Okay, but does he talk to people like they’re plants?”

You laugh with them then. But a part of you remembers the way he’d touched your wrist last weekend, gently turning your hand over to examine a burn you hadn’t even realized you’d gotten from the kettle.

“You need tending,” he’d murmured. “You bloom better under the right care.”

You hadn’t known what to say, so you just smiled.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

Your visits to the garden become regular. Every Saturday morning, sometimes Sunday afternoons. Elijah’s always there before you, already working. You bring him iced tea once. He accepts it with a quiet nod, then takes exactly one sip before going back to trimming a stubborn vine.

It’s not romantic. Not yet. But there’s a rhythm to it. You talk about your week. He listens without judgment. Sometimes he says strange things—asks you what kind of soil you think your heart would grow best in. Wonders aloud if your sadness feels more like drought or frost.

But he’s never cruel. Never impatient.

Until you stop showing up.

It isn’t intentional. Work gets busy. You’re offered a freelance project and you start seeing someone new—briefly. Elijah texts you once: Missed you today. Then again, two days later: The lilies drooped without you.

You don’t respond.

Lila invites you to a birthday dinner, and Nathan brings his newest situationship. You sip wine and listen to them complain about dating apps and flaky coworkers and overpriced rent.

“So, have you seen your ghost gardener lately?” Nathan teases. “Or did he finally return to the soil?”

You hesitate, twirling your glass. “He texted a couple times, but I’ve been swamped.”

Lila leans in. “You ghosted him, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to.” You laugh. “I just got caught up in things.”

“You should probably clear the air,” she says. “Guys like that? The quiet ones? They internalize everything. He’ll think it’s his fault.”

You glance down at your phone. No new messages.

Later that night, as you unlock your apartment door, you pause.

There’s a package on your welcome mat. Wrapped in plain brown paper and twine. Inside: your basil plant. The one Elijah helped you grow. Its leaves are shriveled. The soil is cracked and dry.

There’s no note. Just the plant. Dead.

You bring it inside anyway. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

But the next morning, your heater breaks.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

It starts slow.

Lila stops responding to your texts. Nathan leaves your messages on read. You think they’re just busy—until your name is quietly removed from the group chat. Your landlord claims your rent was late, even though you paid early. Your emails to HR vanish into the void. Your favorite café closes down without notice.

You tell yourself it’s all coincidence.

But when you return to the garden one cold, gray Sunday, Elijah is there—waiting.

“You look paler,” he says, setting down a watering can. “Thinner.”

“I’ve been stressed.”

He nods, like that explains everything. “I noticed the apartment building next to yours has mold in the foundation. Black mold. Very dangerous.”

You freeze. “How do you know that?”

“I keep up with things.”

He hands you a cup of tea—your favorite blend. You take it without thinking, hands trembling slightly.

“I didn’t mean to ghost you,” you say. “I just needed space.”

He watches you over the rim of his glasses. “Space is a myth. Even the stars are drawn to gravity.”

“Elijah—”

He touches your wrist. Not forcefully. Just enough to stop your words.

“I let you go,” he murmurs. “I let you wilt.”

“You’re not responsible for me.”

He tilts his head. “Then why are you here?”

You don’t have an answer.

You sip the tea. It’s warm. Soothing.

But the aftertaste is bitter.

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

You start seeing him more.

Because when he’s around, things work. Your electricity stays on. Your fridge hums. The walls don’t creak at night. The outside world feels far away—muted, distant. You stop trying to reach Lila. Your calls never connect.

One night, Elijah brings soup. You haven’t eaten all day.

He sets the bowl on the counter, then steps closer. “You look tired.”

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

He frowns, brushing a thumb beneath your eye. “Insomnia is a symptom. Lack of care. Dehydration. Depletion.”

“Of what?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just hands you the spoon.

Later, when you try to call Nathan, your phone screen glitches. The number says disconnected.

You turn to Elijah, who’s watching from the doorway, calm and unreadable.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” you whisper.

He steps forward, places his palm over your chest like he’s testing the pulse of a root system. “You’re not dying. You’re just malnourished.”

“I feel like I’m disappearing.”

“No,” he says, with that same quiet reverence from the garden. “You’re just being… repotted.”

• ─────⋅☾ ☽⋅───── •

The worst part isn’t that he keeps you.

It’s that you let him.

Because when he holds you, you’re warm. When he murmurs to you in the dark, you forget what loneliness feels like. He tells you that you’re doing better. That you’re stabilizing. That your eyes are brighter now, and your spirit more rooted.

He brings you a mirror one morning, tilts it toward you.

“See?” he says softly. “No more drooping. No more decay.”

You stare at your reflection. Skin paler than you remember. Cheeks hollow. Lips dry. But your eyes—yes. They shine. Not with life, but with devotion.

He touches your chin. “You needed pruning. That’s all. Just a little guidance.”

“I… don’t remember who I was before.”

“You were starving,” he says. “And no one noticed but me.”

You start to cry.

He pulls you into his arms.

“There, there,” he whispers. “Don’t cry. You’ll waste water.”

You clutch him tightly, because you’re afraid.

Afraid that without his hands, you’ll collapse.

Afraid that he’s right.

That all along, you were just a flower planted in the wrong garden.

And now… you’re home.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya

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[supriyab]

Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market Growth Opportunities by 2030

The precision fermentation ingredients market size is estimated to be valued at USD 2.8 billion in 2023 and is projected to reach USD 36.3 billion by 2030, recording a CAGR of 44.0% in terms of value The demand for precision fermentation ingredients is increasing due to the increasing demand for plant-based alternative products worldwide.

The expanding business has offered lucrative business opportunities to the players who are operating in the market segments. For instance, in May 2023, Geltor introduces CAVIANCE™, a vegan type of Il collagen polypeptide offering remarkable skin rejuvenating benefits. This innovative product stimulates six different types of collagens, exhibits potent antioxidant properties, and aids in wound healing. Other key players, like MycoTechnology, established a “groundbreaking” collaborative venture with Oman Investment Authority (OIA) to produce mushroom-based protein using locally cultivated dates. This joint venture will be named Vital Foods Technologies LLC. The overall precision fermentation ingredients market is classified as a competitive market, with the top five key players, namely Geltor (US), Perfect Day, Inc. (US), The Every Co. (US), Impossible Foods Inc. (US), Motif FoodWorks, and Inc. . (US), occupying 25–50% of the market share.

Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market Drivers: Growing adoption of vegan as well as meat-free lifestyles

According to research conducted by The Hartman Group, the landscape of the North American precision fermentation ingredients market is poised for a transformative shift Around 40% of U.S. adults, over 90 million individuals, are ready to embrace precision fermentation products, projected to reach 132 million consumers by 2027. Younger generations are receptive due to environmental concerns and sustainability, with the second most influential factor being the positive impact on the environment. This aligns with their preference for sustainable consumption. The link between precision fermentation and sustainability, including reduced greenhouse gas emissions, natural farming, and sustainable packaging, offers innovation potential. Millennials and Gen Z are willing to pay up to 10% more for such products. This technology serves as a catalyst for a more sustainable and technologically advanced market landscape shaped by evolving consumer preferences and environmental consciousness. This trend invariably is supporting the precision fermentation ingredients market growth.

Restraints: Higher manufacturing costs associated with the production of ingredients utilizing precision fermentation ingredients

Demand for microbe-based precision fermented proteins or fats has gained momentum lately due to the increasing demand for animal-free products by the rising vegan population. In addition, precision fermentation provides several benefits: it reduces land and water usage, greenhouse gas emissions, and health problems associated with animal-based products. However, higher manufacturing costs have acted as a major restraint for the industry to scale up. Specific growth media for microorganisms, large-scale fermenters, and specialized purification processes combine to increase the production cost exponentially. Also, the risk of yield failure or contamination is high, as microorganisms need a stable and sterile environment for growth.

Download PDF Brochure: https://www.marketsandmarkets.com/pdfdownloadNew.asp?id=30824914

By food & beverage application, the egg alternatives segment is projected to grow with the second-highest CAGR in the precision fermentation ingredients market during the forecast period.

The rising inclination toward vegan food has led manufacturers to introduce a variety of egg alternatives. Precision fermentation derived egg alternatives find use in baking, cooking, and food formulation. Every Company introduced an egg protein called ClearEgg via precision fermentation in collaboration with Pressed Juicery in November 2021. In April 2021, the company increased its production capacity of egg alternatives further. In 2022, Shiru streamlined animal-free egg prototype creation using AI and machine learning. This innovative method accelerated the replication of egg properties within a plant-based framework.

North America holds the highest market share during the forecast period.

North America remained the largest market for precision fermentation ingredients due to increasing consumer awareness, consumption of healthy food ingredients, the veganism trend, etc. The landscape of North American precision fermentation ingredients market is poised for a transformative shift; around 40% of U.S. adults, over 90 million individuals, are ready to embrace precision fermentation products, projected to reach 132 million consumers by 2027 (The Hartman Group). Younger generations are receptive due to environmental concerns and sustainability, with the second most influential factor being the positive impact on the environment. This aligns with their preference for sustainable consumption. The link between precision fermentation ingredients and sustainability, including reduced greenhouse gas emissions, natural farming, and sustainable packaging, offers innovation potential. Millennials and Gen Z are willing to pay up to 10% more for such products. This technology serves as a catalyst for a more sustainable and technologically advanced market landscape shaped by evolving consumer preferences and environmental consciousness.

Top Companies in the Precision Fermentation Ingredients Market

Key players in this market include Geltor (US), Perfect Day, Inc. (US), The Every Co. (US), Impossible Foods Inc. (US), Motif FoodWorks, Inc. . (US), Formo (Germany), Eden Brew (Australia), Mycorena (Sweden), Change Foods (US), and MycoTechnology (US).

[ladyviserra]

Tasting the Ripeness of Wine

pairing: cersei lannister x redwyne!female!reader

summary: Cersei invited you to her chambers, to be her cupbearer and to hear more about the Arbor wine she so much adores

The atmosphere was warm with candlelight, perfumed with beeswax. Cersei Lannister reclined on her cushioned chair in a gown of crimson velvet so deep it looked black in the shadow of the darkness. Gold lion clasps fastened her sleeves, and a torque of rubies burned at her throat.

You stood still as a statue, hands folded before her. Your gown was vinework trim of burgundy and gold, modest, proper. No jewels. Only a hairpin of polished mother-of-pearl in the shape of a grape cluster.

You have been summoned by Cersei. A quite unusal invite, considering you are Margaery's cousin and as of recent, also her lady-in-waiting. Being close as you are, you knew Cersei wasn't fond of your cousin. But, that was the whole point. She wanted something from you. And she is going to put you in a position in which she will be able to drag it out.

“A cupbearer’s task is simple,” said Cersei, voicing your task, voice like silk brushed against steel. “You pour, you listen, and if I’m generous, you may even speak.”

“As you command, Your Grace.” You bowed simply, moving with graceful precision, taking the decanter from the polished sideboard. Cersei let you pour, the golden wine catching light as it flowed into the lion-carved goblet. The wine was of your house, which has bulit it's wealth on the Arbor Reds and Golds.

You were very familiar with it, often serving as an unoffical cupbearer to your father, uncle, grandfather and grandmother when you were acting too childlish and whiny. It would a punishment which you would have to endure instead of playing or messing about.

“A fine hand,” Cersei commented, her piercing emeralds tracing your hands. “Tell me, Y/n, how fares your cousin in King’s Landing? ” She swirled her wine smoothly.

“She is well,” you replied carefully. “Gracious, as ever. The people love her.”

Cersei sipped. Of course they do, she thought bitterly. “Graciousness is a weak weapon.” She turned to the side, letting herself sink deeper into her chair. “Does she complain of the court? Does she long for Highgarden’s gardens?”

“Lady Margaery keeps such thoughts to herself.” Your tone was level, but respectful. You knew this wouldn’t please her.

Cersei watched you through the rim of the goblet. You have been warned of her. Of what she will try to get from you. “Too well trained to speak against your family. Hm.”

When no further answer came, Cersei leaned forward. “Then drink.”

You blinked. “Your Grace?”

“If you’re to pour Arbor Gold in my presence, I expect you to know it. It’s of your house. Drink.” You hesitated, for only a flicker, a pause at the edge of obedience and then poured a second goblet and took a sip.

“Well?” Cersei asked, her eyes sharply focused on you. “Speak of it. Tell me what your house has taught you.”

You straightened. “The vintage is from the eastern slope vineyards of the Arbor, year 284. The grapes are sun-swollen, harvested late. Fermented in golden-oak casks, aged in dry cellars beneath Old Redwyne Hall. A mellow sweetness first, then the minerality, what the vintners call the tongue’s edge.”

“And what would a girl like you know of a tongue’s edge?” Cersei murmured, setting her goblet down with a soft click. Your lips parted, but no words jousting out.

“Come now,” Cersei went on, rising. She moved like a cat, silent, regal. “I asked you about tasting. The first step is a sip. And the second?”

You swallowed. “You hold it on the tongue. And...you roll it.”

Cersei stepped close, and with deliberate slowness, she reached for your goblet. Your fingers brushed, shivering at the touch. “Show me.” A breath passed between you as you progressed her words, nodding obediently.

You lifted the cup again, tilting your head back just enough to let the wine touch your lips. You closed your eyes, held it, then rolled it with expert care, lips parted slightly. Your throat moved as you swallowed. The queen’s gazed crossed over your features, taking in all the expressions you made, all the movements of lips and throat.

Cersei’s voice was low, calculated. “And now? What do you taste?”

You opened your eyes, seeing the queen in your closeness. “Ripe stonefruit. Summer heat.”

The wine hadn’t dulled the edge in Cersei’s voice, if anything, it had sharpened it. She circled around you, like a lion circling something smaller, gentler. Still holding the her goblet, she took another sip and let it sit on her tongue before swallowing slowly, deliberately.

You stood frozen, your cheeks flushed, seeing her follow your words.

Cersei’s gaze slid down her, noticing the your stare.“It’s not just the tongue, is it? One must use every sense to appreciate a true vintage. The scent. The body. The warmth.”

She stepped closer again, until only a hand’s span separated them. “ You must taste it on someone else’s lips.”

Her goblet was passed between you, then slowly, Cersei set it aside. She lifted a single finger to the your chin, tilting your head up.

“Tell me, Y/n,” she said, voice soft but dangerous, “how would your cousin react if she knew you were in the queen dowager’s chambers, alone, after dark, wine on your breath and my hand on your skin?”

Your opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came. Her lashes fluttered. “She… she trusts me.”

“Foolish girl. Trust has no place in court.”

Cersei’s hand slid from your chin to her jaw, then tucked a loose curl behind your ear. Her fingers lingered, moved lower, to the delicate pearl-grape pin nestled in your hair.

She plucked it free, as you gasped. With the hairpin still in hand, she leaned in and kissed you. Not sweet. Not soft. A claiming.

You made a sound, a surprise, but you didn’t wish to protest. You didn’t know what to do, should you pull her close as you wanted to, or would it be too bold. The kiss deepened, heat blooming, like wine being poured into the heavy flames. She was aggressively meddling your lips together. It excited you, non surprisingly. Cersei was insanely appealing, and any girl would have prayed for the looks she had. But now you didn’t want her looks to be yours, you only wanted whatever this was, whatever she was going to give you, you were going to accept.

When Cersei finally pulled back, she did so slowly, watching the dazed flush on the your cheeks light up.

“I can still feel the wine in my mouth as if I drank it directly out of your mouth.” She turned away as if bored. “I’ll call for you again. For another tasting.”

“And next time…” she said without looking back, “…you’ll bring a rarer vintage.”

[from-thedeskof]

I’m not quite sure when it happened. Maybe it was my Venus in Gemini. Maybe it was my need. Ignored, then fermented, until it broke open like rotten fruit falling from a tree in summer.

This is how I deal with people: I flay them open and read what’s inside. Patterns, projections, pathologies. So let’s do it to me. Take me apart. Judge me beyond comprehension.

When did I become someone who would abandon her dreams for a nightmare dressed in intimacy? Was it because he was perfect for me on paper? Or because I was deluded enough to believe compatibility was the same as connection?

Sure, we liked the same music. Sure, his proclivities mirrored mine so precisely it made my skin vibrate. Sure, his need rivaled mine and met me on the battlefield of longing and desire.

I’d already made a myth out of us. I told him he was desire and destiny wrapped up in a temptation too great to manage. His fire burned through my good sense. I welcomed it like a pyromaniac. I let it destroy me, not caring about the rubble left behind.

What he really did was destroy the perfect container of Self that I had been holding shut for years. He was loss, love, grief, sex, and everything in between. He was quiet. He was my reckoning.

What he unlocked was the painful reality that life itself had not been real for some time. That a piece of me had been locked up, and letting her out caused a kind of chaos I never expected. Not the kind that changed my day-to-day, but the kind that created an inner turmoil that begged to be medicated the only way I could. Here, now, with a cold glass of white wine in an airport lounge.

Making eyes at a brown-eyed stranger who looked like you but didn’t have Lake Michigan in his eyes. This unending ache made even more extreme by your absence. The hole inside my soul now desperate to be filled with hands around my neck, a need to be savored, destroyed, to serve a Master who might let me forget for a moment what I did and who I became.

The fight for primacy, a bloodlust-filled war-torn country between the woman I am and the woman who wants to be degraded, used, abused, then cherished like a prized auction piece at Christie’s. The woman who would make eyes at a stranger in this airport lounge, take his cock in my mouth and give him head that would make his poor twentysomething girlfriend wet with her own desire to be me, to have what I am, to be able to do what I do.

He wears sweats in public for crying out loud! He’s not the object of desire, I am!

I wonder who let her chaos out. Maybe it’s because my eardrums are bursting with songs I listened to as I came for you or because my blood has become half white wine and I hadn’t had a drink in six months before my life fell apart or maybe it’s because his jawline could cut glass and my standards are dropped so low to take anyone who looks at me with a bit of hunger.

I crave their hunger because I’ve been starved. Starved! There isn’t possibly enough that he—or anyone—could do to make me whole again. Ten years of being fractured and fissured along my foundation. I am no longer Woman, I am Shell with deep need to be filled.

The love of my life is just one mile and three blocks away? The industry titan on the other side of the country, who can’t control himself around the idea of me? This fucking stranger on the other side of the lounge. I don’t care, I’ll give it all away. Fill me! Use me! Destroy me!

Rescue me from myself, or abandon me to the sweet pain of being called “Good girl” by a man who will never see me for who I am.