#whiskey fungus

[bourbontrend]

Discover the shadowy side of spirit-making! Dive into our article about whiskey fungus - the unseen impact of distilleries. Explore the unique ecosystem thriving on ethanol vapors, the challenges and solutions for communities near distilleries, and why this matters to whiskey lovers and environmentalists alike. Don't miss out on uncovering this intriguing phenomenon!

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

OHG ASK GAME!! to me u r goldenrod, mahogany, ruby and green!! also pink. rainbow of colours <3 LOWKEY rust as well tbh. giving u a fist bunp ur so cool

LMAO CALLINF ME OUT W RUST yeah... maybe so... ur so correct....

BUT ALSO. YES ABSOLUTELY we SHOULD watch a sunset and touch grass and listen to playlists and . WAUGH. exchanging notes with our trigun playlists. big minds. ALSO BITING YOU. >:]

[biglisbonnews]

Whiskey fungus is a real-life Lovecraftian nightmare, only drunker "Whiskey Fungus" sounds like a great name for the absolute worst jam band I can imagine. But apparently it's a real thing that plagues the counties surrounding the Jack Daniels distillery. From The New York Times: The ethanol-fueled fungus known as whiskey fungus has thrived for centuries around distilleries and bakeries. — Read the rest https://boingboing.net/2023/03/04/whiskey-fungus-is-a-real-life-lovecraftian-nightmare-only-drunker.html

[elodieunderglass]

Re: your tags on the fungus and petrochemicals:

Excuse me, bramble wine? That sounds absolutely divine, how lucky you are! I hope you enjoyed it (and that I get to make/taste this one day)

(In reference to this post: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/757191605386084352/oh-heavens-im-sorry-i-dont-remember-this-at I had to apologise for not being especially coherent in my response to an extraordinarily kind and friendly person as I was several days into a group camping, and had touched too much grass to be coherent, setting aside the bramble wine.)

The camping expedition consisted of seven+ families with children who all know each other extremely well and are growing up in a feral pack together that averages about 30 members. The pack forms at the conjunction of any five children, and therefore often exists in multiple places at once; a mini version can be assembled from as few as two of the core families, but when you have seven of the core, the pack becomes its own entity. For example, exhibiting a fascinating reflection of the hunting behavior of ancestral humans, ten of them together once managed to stalk, hunt and bring down a dragon costume performer at a local festival and sit on it in a few seconds when the adults weren’t looking. They had the light of the hunt in their eyes and they were GOING to have that dragon. Anyway this is not conducive to clear and accurate science communication at the best of times, especially since the usual reason that the pack manages to slip the leash is because the grownups are ordering pints.

For this camping expedition there was one family I didn’t know, but they live on a boat and we could vibe. They were the ones who brought the bramble wine. They were the people who sometimes evolve into Whiskey Hamishes. The bramble wine was made from foraged blackberries, and had been stored in a box on the roof of the boat (so essentially: outside) since 2019. The bottles were covered in rotten leaves and spiderwebs. This is not how you usually treat wine. Even home-brew. Even hedgerow. This is a recipe for converting free materials into as much alcohol as possible without interference.

The wine itself was similar to dark port, very heavy and thick, headachy around the edges. The alcohol percentage was estimated in the double digits. It is hard to explain but the dark black-purple color had no red in it. It was like ink.

Then, after coming into your campsite and kicking most of the party around lightly, it kissed you on the mouth one last time with a mouthful of blackberries and wandered off.

I’ve never had a hangover (hobbit liver) but I didn’t spend much time in dalliance with it. a lot of dads were pretty flat the next morning, but, to be completely fair to them, they DID rouse themselves to take the kids swimming in the river, where they (the dads) laid around recovering like beautiful crocodiles. Thus, all they had to do was lie in the cool mud while children rolled over them like puppies.

Bramble wine!

[charnelhouse]

bad people

Gif by @jdmorganz

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!ReaderWordcount: 3kWarnings: rough sex. age gap (tho undefined). violence. oral. blood. joel being a dick. drunk sex. Summary: When it happened, it happened in the dark.

Ten Years Post Outbreak

Boston was dirty. The summer rain had been relentless, liquefying the dirt to unforgiving mud. She’d had enough of rain. Her shirt stuck to her skin, constricting her limbs and soaking her feet. She was lightheaded. She’d had a spoonful of canned peaches earlier, and the sugar smudged her tongue. 

She blinked down at her feet, the sneakers threadbare and soaked. Her eyes flitted to the wood-brown boots beside them. They dwarfed her shoes in comparison.

The man next to her was one she knew. Joel Miller.

He was rough-looking with his weathered skin and dark hair threaded with a bit of silver. He was also handsome, seemingly carved from a shard of rock. Strong. Brutal. 

Hephaestus. 

If he were a God, she’d choose Hephaestus.

The things she did know about him were both second-hand and from afar. He was mean and ruthless. He beat the shit out of a rival smuggler and blinded another. 

Tonight was purely coincidental. The rain was too hard. The soldiers were out in droves due to a recent Firefly attack. Joel had stumbled upon her hideout: a narrow storage closet that smelled like bleach. He’d turned the tiny light on, and she’d snapped like a feral cat. He’d shut it off without apologizing.

Instead, he glanced down at her, frowning, and for a split second, she thought he was going to murder her for the shelter. Instead, he tugged a large plastic bottle of brown liquid from his pack and offered it. 

Whiskey–she guessed. A homegrown brew that might make her temporarily blind. The good stuff. 

Wordlessly, she took it. The terms were met. You can share this space with me. She would have said yes regardless.

Joel sat beside her, and after she swallowed enough to burn her lungs, he accepted the whiskey again.

***

When it happened, it happened in the dark. 

They barely spoke. Instead, they passed the bottle back and forth. Both of them were loose with it. The whiskey warmed her belly, making everything somewhat bearable. Her vision became edged with gauzy sweeps of color–finger painting in the dim light. The world was bathed in butter, gold, and temporary numbness.

Thirty minutes had passed when she finally spoke. “Great weather we’re having.”

He paused, the plastic crinkling in his hand, the rim scraping against his chin. He smiled briefly.

“Used to like the rain,” he replied. “But now?” He shook his head, and she noticed the raw cut of his jaw, his patchy beard. He was someone who had worked too long in the sun, and yet she found him unbearably attractive. Rugged. A hot coal pulsing fire, and she was desperate to get warm. 

She thought of fungus. She thought of it growing in this narrow room with its perfect conditions. Humidity. Wooly heat. A petri dish. She could become it–become the sick and she could rot into the wall with Joel sitting silently beside her. She’d swell with a patchwork of pretty colors: blister-red, jaundice-green, bile-orange. 

Jesus. She was maudlin. She was drunk. 

The rain fell harder, pelting the walls of the building. She knew things were hanging on by spit and glue. She knew everything could–would–collapse eventually. No more clean-cut grass. No more distinct roads. No more potted flowers. 

Joel turned his head, his dark gaze landing on her face. The irises shimmered like a sun-drenched black top. He had somber eyes. Expressive for once. Doe-like. He stared at her as if it was the first time he actually was actually seeing her. 

She wondered if he went through life avoiding the periphery. There was only the direct line in front of him. When he came into this closet, he shoved the bottle forward and only saw her hand accept it.

He blinked at her sluggishly, his pink lips parting beneath his mustache. There was a flicker of recognition.

“You ran with Luke, right?”

Surprised, she nodded. Joel had remembered her.

Luke. Gorgeous Luke, who was the very picture of a homecoming king. A movie star. Corn-fed. Blonde hair, white teeth, and sea-glass green eyes. He had been full of hope, and there had been a time when Joel and his brother, Tommy, had worked with them. She’d stuck to the corners. Watched. Observed. Frightened out of her mind because she didn’t understand how to live anymore—how to function, barter, or be content. Luke had done it all, protected her to the best of his ability.

“You’ve gotta take a deep breath, baby,” Luke had ordered, shrouding her face between his dry, clean hands. “You adapt. You live. That’s it.”

“Good guy,” Joel offered, somewhat awkwardly. Everyone knew what had happened to Luke. She’d been surprised that many people cared at the time. The Apocalypse had occurred, but the community still gave a shit over the handsome jock with the diplomatic smile.

She huffed a laugh, and he frowned.

“He was an idiot,” she hissed–very resentful even if it had been three years. He’d left her here. 

There’d been so much blood—eggplant purple pouring out of Luke as he gurgled for her. 

Joel pushed the bottle into her hand, his knuckles brushing her palm. She took a pull and didn’t wince. “He still operated as if the rules hadn’t changed. He didn’t understand that you have to be a bad person to survive here. He trusted too easily. Far too empathetic for his own good.” She scowled as she knocked her head against the wall. It throbbed–spots of white sprouting across her vision like a fungus–

“Hey,” Joel said, leaning into her. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

She could smell the honey-burn of whiskey on his tongue, in his beard. There was also the press of wet dog, sweat, and body odor. She was used to that. She was used to the smell of unwashed humans. Those were good scents because they didn’t carry that mildewy stench of fungi. A water-logged basement. A moss-covered stone at the edge of a pond.

She inhaled and found Joel’s hair brushed in smoke. Cigarette ash. He was closer to her, his denim sleeve rasping her bare arm. 

“You’re shivering,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

It happened within a second. An unspoken decision erupting like a metallic click of a lighter.

She was lonely—so lonely and she wanted to burn. Perhaps, he did too.

His eyes found hers, his lids heavy, and his cheeks flushed. She wasn’t sure if she moved first or he did, but she knew they didn’t kiss. He jerked to the side last minute, his mouth scraping down the side of her cheek.

He encouraged her to lie down, his chest against her breasts as he petted her hips, the outside of her thigh. He was heavy, breathing hard as he buried his face into her neck.

“Lift your hips,” he murmured as he popped the button on her jeans and rucked them down to her knees with his nose still rooted against her jaw. 

They fucked fully clothed on the filthy, cement floor. 

She pushed his jeans under his ass as he gripped his cock and smeared it against the lips of her cunt. It was clumsy and desperate, but it felt good. Everything felt good. She had to bite his shoulder when he finally breached her. He moved too quickly, sinking to the hilt as her body tried to accommodate his girth. He’d broken her in, forced her to mold to his size, and she found herself fisting his hair, biting his neck.

“You’re good,” he hummed as he slowly began to saw his hips. “Fuckin’ great, sweetheart.”

The drag of his cock sizzled her insides and spread her apart. He pinned her down and buried her with his full weight. She felt safe—blanketed by him and all of his denim.

Every thrust forced her spine up the wet floor. Her knees dug into his ribs, her ankle wrapped around the back of his calve. He smelled like a soaked garden. Soil. A brushfire. Wood. His nails were dirty, and she arched when he dug them into her waist. 

He ground against her in a way that made the wiry hairs at his groin stimulate her, his pelvic bone rubbing her clit. She climaxed a little too quickly. Embarrassingly quickly. It had been so long since Luke and Joel was big. The pain was welcome. The ache of him. She clenched around him, tightened to a knot as she cried out into his hair. His curls were caught in her breath, his beard burning her skin. 

Afterward, he stood, tucking his soft cock, shiny with her, into his jeans. The near-empty bottle of whiskey rolled against her leg. He attempted a smile that was more of a glower and shook his head a bit to clear it before backpedaling out the door.

***

It ended up working out—forced proximity. 

He needed a second hand, and anyone else found him scary. He seemed taken aback when she offered her help, perhaps surprised at her forwardness. 

We fucked. That’s it. 

But–he accepted her, begrudgingly pulling her into his plans. She was a tiny island in a sea of several. Her group had been Luke, and the others within it had done what they did to him. She’d killed them for that—no more group.

He gave her the couch in his small place. Tommy was in and out. Ships in the night, she supposed, though she didn’t know what had broken between them.

Most of the time, Joel ignored her. He seemed unable to look her in the eye, which she found hilarious. Her ego had long been snuffed out, but she couldn’t help the pinch of hurt at Joel’s coldness.

You’ve been inside me. C’mon. 

He gave her orders. She watched his back. He was someone who would know of her existence if she died. 

Would he care? She doubted it.

But he’d know she’d been there. Breathing. Alive. 

***

One midnight, Joel returned to the apartment, pissed off. She hated waiting for him, being left behind. She’d rather be out there and with him.

Luke had died alone. He’d told her to stay put, and he’d gone out and died. 

Joel had stumbled toward the couch in the dark. Forgetting she was there, he’d crashed into her, and she’d yelped. 

“Fuck,” he growled, shoving a hand through his curls. “What the hell!?”

“It’s my bed,” she murmured, and it seemed to douse his fire. He blinked at her, the moonlight turning the edges of his face silver. 

“I don’t understand,” she continued, voice a little thick with frustration. “If you don’t want me here–”

“Lie back.”

He went to his knees, hands moving under her ass and pulling it forward. He cupped it and lifted her pelvis. Shorts gone. Joel’s skin was cold from the outdoors, and he hitched her knees over his shoulders. His hair tickled her skin. He covered her cunt with his mouth and drank from her. He devoured without a hint of shame because she could hear herself on his tongue. The wet mess of her pussy. The room rang with her whimpers, and when she tried to silence them with her hand, he growled like an animal–a beast. 

Afterward, he stood up mechanically, before stalking back to his room. He left her with her shorts around her ankles, her cunt tender and soaked.

He hadn’t even wiped his lips.

***

She learned from him—what he had become. He was selfish and drowning in the bloodlust that rippled under his skin like a parasite. She got it. She found it stimulating. His philosophy of kill or be killed. His ego stroked with every fight he caused or fatal situation he inevitably won. 

Two months in, she watched him put a bullet in a newbie smuggler who had sold him pills made from chalk and sugar. 

He turned around, grabbed her hard by the back of the neck and shoved her up against a wall. He dragged her pants under her ass as he fiddled with his belt. After a distressing second, he pushed himself into her. No spit. No preparation at all. It was dry enough to hurt them both, but she still moaned. He gagged her with his palm as he fisted her hair. He fucked her in short, brutal strokes. Thump...thump….thump against the plaster wall. An even, steady rhythm. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t speak either. Just grunts. Just feral, low noises from the back of his throat. 

“Joel,” she gasped, and he pinned her with his hips. He withdrew until only the tip remained before plunging back inside her like he could fuck her guts. Maybe, he wanted to. Maybe, he wanted to punish her and remind her:

I’m a bad person. I’m the kind of person who survives in a world like this. Isn’t that what you want?

***

“How old are you?” Joel asked out of the blue; his brows knitted together in concern. 

It was a little late for that. The air between them spiked before becoming sour and viscous as jelly. He pulled his shoulders back, his expression twisting into something hesitant and concerned. 

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, wondering if she should lie for his benefit. Finally, she told him, and he grimaced. The age difference wasn’t that obscene. It wasn’t unheard of or ugly. There weren’t many people left to begin with. She’d seen him kill. He knew what she had done to avenge Luke.

Joel rubbed the scar across her belly. "Was this from the woods? After Luke?"

"You should see the other guys."

Joel grinned in a way that was so deliciously impressed. Smug. "Oh," he said, curling with glee. "Oh-I did. Had no idea a little thing like you could even think of such things."

She leaned forward, her lips hovering over his own. His hands found her ass and he encouraged her down until he was half-way inside her. He was all blood - unforgivably hard and he split her down the middle. She loved it.

"I lost my mind for a second," she revealed, deliberately flexing the walls of her pussy. He grunted and became slightly cross-eyed. "You know...” she continued. "If it had happened to you? I might have done the same."

"If I had been Luke?"

"If you had been Luke."

Suddenly, he grabbed her hard and shoved her down, impaling her on his cock until he couldn't drive further. He was in her throat--her lungs. Joel. "I wouldn't be Luke," he argued huskily as he snapped into her - once - twice. He smacked her ass and the sound rocketed through the room. "I'm a bad guy, remember?"

She tried to laugh, but it tumbled out of her like a whimper. "Still," she said between the continuous, punishing stabs of his cock. "Still--I'd avenge you."

She held her hand out, and he took it. He could wrap his whole fist around hers and she’d disappear.

“Don’t worry so much,” she warned. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

Of course, he was already well-worn. She bet he was lined and edged even before the infection. He was a constant overthinker. She knew he’d been a carpenter, but the rest was a wash—all diluted gray mass of nothin’. His life before was not something he gave her.

“Why are we holdin’ hands again?”

She lifted her shoulders, gaze wandering away from his pointed stare. “Just consoling you now that you’ve realized you’re a dirty old man.”

He squeezed until her bones trembled before rolling his eyes in a disarmingly young way. “You need to watch that mouth of yours.”

***

Joel was swollen with a fever. She touched his forehead, dragging her fingertips across his cheekbone. She traced a letter and then her name. He leaned into it, lips parting as his whiskey-damp breath brushed her skin. 

“You’re not doing too well,” she observed. His bare shoulders bulged from the edge of the blanket, and his lashes fluttered. His mouth curled as he tried to shift against the thin mattress.

“S’fine,” he slurred. 

She swallowed a scream. She wanted to burst. She could do nothing for him but wait. Hope it was a virus. Hope it was a plain old illness that had to tire itself out. 

“Let me go to the other side of town,” she murmured. “I’ll find you meds. I’m sure I can.”

His eyes snapped open at that. He attempted to sit up before groaning. “Don’t–don’t–you fuckin’ dare.” He said her name softly as he melted back into the mattress. Coughing. Moaning. “Do not go.”

He pushed his head into her lap in the blurred daze of his fever. She swept his hair away from his face, combing his fingers through his damp curls. 

If he got worse, she’d go. She’d have to. 

The next day, the fever dropped a point. Joel couldn’t fall asleep, instead trembling in the bed, sweating rivulets of sickness. 

She played him Lee Hazlewood. Your Sweet Love. She played it on repeat. It rocked him somewhat, and with her imagination, she turned the popcorned ceiling into stars and a twilight sky. 

Joel curled into her. “You smell nice,” he sighed. He held her closer, demanding warmth even though his skin was oven-hot.

In the morning, his fingers wandered down between her legs. He touched her, stroked her until she shook in his sweat-sodden sheets. The intimacy killed her. It was too much and not enough.

***

She worked one of the body disposal shifts and cut her hand on some glass. The wind was painfully cold, and the blood that bubbled up from the gash felt like hot tea. She studied it, somewhat enraptured by its brightness of it. It turned the dirty snow at her feet maroon.

She heard her name. It was muffled, and then it was louder, familiar, and seared with frustration. Joel. He gripped her hard by the arms, twisting her around. Joel handled fear terribly. Terror could only be molded into anger for him. Violence. 

He shook her. “Where have you been? I waited an hour.”

She lifted her hand to show him. She still could be childish. She wondered if she had stopped maturing after the world had ended. 

His eyes slowly crept from her face to her hand. “How?”

“Some glass,” she shrugged.

“Is—are—-,” He trailed off, audibly swallowing.

She found it off-putting. Joel was usually so collected. 

“If I were infected—they would have shot me,” she reminded him, and he sagged an inch. Of course. Of course. How silly of me. 

He rearranged his expression so that it was his usual gruff stoniness. 

“You’re freezing,” he accused as if she could help it. Boston winter. Not enough layers.

We thought the cold would stomp out the infection–the bacteria–the fungus. 

“It’s fine–”

Wordlessly, Joel wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hauling her into the heat of his chest. Surprised, she gripped the fabric of his shirt as he forced his jacket around the both of them. The sky was blue-black, and the snow clung to her hair and scalp. It coated his coffee-brown hair in powdered sugar.

She pressed her face into his sternum, nuzzling her nose into the space between his pecs. 

“Let me see your hand,” he urged. 

She gave it to him, still dripping and tender. She needed a bandage. Of course, FEDRA tested her, but they wouldn’t waste a single strip of gauze.

She heard Joel curse them under his breath before cradling her hand, fingertips barely nudging the injury. He dropped his head and kissed the vulnerable space between her thumb and index finger, and when he pulled away, there was the faintest trace of her blood on his chin.

“So weird,” she said. “So alive.”

His brow furrowed. She might be a little light-headed.

Yes. Yes. Hot-feverish blood meant her heart was pulsing, thumping with life just like Joel. His anger. His pain. What he does to her in the dark. 

“C’mere,” She grasped his face between her hands. Unshaven. Prickly. Her blood. On tiptoe, she claimed his mouth, and he accepted, even demanded more.

[113timesasecond]

An hour later, his blood warm with drink, he heated up a bowl of real rice and fake beans—yeast and fungus could mimic anything if you had enough whiskey first—opened the door of his hole, and ate dinner looking out at the traffic gently curving by. [...] The blue ceiling glowed in its reflected light, unchanging, static, reassuring. A sparrow fluttered down the tunnel, hovering in a way that Havelock assured him they couldn't on Earth. Miller threw it a fake bean.

—Leviathan Wakes, by James S. A. Corey

[daddy-dins-girl]

Pedro Boys - "Zombie Apocalypse Team"

this might be my favourite one yet... keep reading for headcanons!

related posts: Pedro Boys "During a Fire Emergency" Pedro Boys "Nice Argument. Unfortunately," Pedro Boys "Don't Fuck This Up" Pedro Boys "Dad(dy) Matrix" Pedro Boys & Stabbing Pedro Boys "Lawful/Neutral/Chaotic" Pedro Boys "Feral/Sad/Angelic" Pedro Boys Respond to "I love you." Pedro Boys "Character Tropes" Pedro Boys "Gay/Depressed/Horny on Main" Pedro Boys "Dad/THOT/Bastard" Pedro Boys "bring some Coke to the party" Pedro Boys "I Want a Baby" Pedro Boys "As Babysitters" Pedro Boys "As McDonald's Dads" Pedro Boys "in a horror movie" Pedro Boys "Cinnamon Rolls" Pedro Boys "5 Kids, 3 Chairs" Pedro Boys "Playing Monopoly"

Headcanons under the cut!

Leader - Dave York. Simply put, Dave wouldn’t allow anyone else to be in charge of him, regardless if they’d be better suited for it. Some of the others follow him out of fear, others simply because they'd just prefer not to be in charge.

Brawler - Joel Miller. The muscle. Not so great with his words, much better with his fists.

Weapons Expert - Din Djarin. A bonafide space cowboy, this man has it all. Blasters, rifles, flamethrower, jet pack. Evaporating infected before they even see him coming.

Brains - Marcus Moreno. Truly the Team Leader, but he lets Dave hold the title. He has the mutual respect of everyone, is level headed and the glue that holds the whole group together. He advises Dave, but in a way that makes Dave think they’re his own ideas. Marcus doesn't need to take any credit, he just wants everyone to be safe.

Medic - Frankie "Catfish" Morales. He’s no doctor, but he's had enough basic field medical training in his military days to at least be able to patch everyone up better than anyone else on the team. He’d prefer to be the Vehicle Expert but sadly, modes of transportation in the apocalypse are hard to come by.

Moral Support - Marcus Pike. Always looking at the bright side of the apocalypse. He likes to joke “when life hands you cordyceps, make mushroom tetrazzini”.

Scientist - Ezra. Not exactly Einstein, but he knows what berries and plants are safe and which to avoid during long treks through the wilderness. He’s proven himself useful more so than not. Mostly he keeps Dieter from accidentally un-aliving himself.

Risk taker - Max Phillips. Loud and outspoken, Max's mouth is always getting the group into trouble. Good luck to any infected that tries to turn him though, his ego is so big its like a thick candy shell around the vulnerable parts of his brain.

Stealthy - Oberyn Martell. Forget sniping infected from 100 yards away, this man simply sneaks up behind them and with some flourishing footwork they're on the ground with any sharp object he could get his hands on slicing through the flesh of their throat. He's also stealthy in the way he manages to slip into the others' sleeping bags without them evening realizing at the time that they want him to, but that's a headcanon for another post...

Dumbass - Dieter Bravo. It's not that he wants to die, it's just that he seems to occasionally forget that he can't just eat the fungus as if it came in a Ziplock bag that he use to pay 40 bucks a pop for.

Badass - Javier Peña. This man just continuously takes down infected as if they might actually come to an end. He knows that as quickly as he takes down one colony, four more spring up, but he's stubborn and refuses to stop trying, regardless of how tired he is of it all.

Mascot - Javi Gutierrez. He is babygirl. To be protected at all costs.

Distraction - Jack "Whiskey" Daniels. A real root-tootin, gun-blazin cowboy. Jack never needs to be asked twice to go put on a spectacle in the middle of an open field, gathering all the attention so the rest of the group can flank all sides under brush cover. He seems to have nine lives too, narrowly escaping death more times than any other. And he can handle his own. He argued for the spot of Weapons Expert but ultimately was swayed when he realized being the distraction actually meant being the center of attention.

Stereotype - Pero Tovar. One look at this man screams "if anyone was going to survive a zombie apocalypse, it's him"

Sacrifice - Dio. Look, it was his idea. The weird part was that nobody even asked him to.

First Dead - Eddie. It's just facts. In a long line of Pedro Boys deaths, someone had to be first.

Reply or reblog with your own headcanons, I'd love to hear them :)

[renegadeknight]

listen I know nothing about making bread or whiskey but I can throw shade at Neil all day (also hi! thank you for the mini baking lesson on the other thread ❤)

like @consultingzoologist mentioned, those first few years were probably chaos and a lot of people (me lol) might not even realize which foods might be a risk so... some natural trial and error there

but my dark inclination is to assume FEDRA did some sort of uh testing to determine what level of/which fungus was safe to consume

and to your horrifying question, I'd love to think no but I also often think about the potential for some people to see the outbreak as some sort of religious thing and well they have that whole eat the body drink the blood of christ thing so

Serious question do you think they still eat mushrooms in the TLOU world?

[m00nsbaby]

Pedro Pascal STOLE my GIRLFRIEND!

Marc Spector x F!Reader.

This is literally just a post from reddit that I saw and made me think of jealous Marc lol.

SPKTR:

It all started when we watched "Kingsman: The golden circle." I was interested for the plot and Colin Firth but she found Whiskey to be so much better than Harry Hart. Yes, the traitor cowboy was hotter to her than the badass Kingsman Agent Harry Hart. She said girls always found villains hotter than heroes, I was making a huge fuss over it. Okay, true but it's Colin Firth for God's sake! Days later, I catch her watching "Kingsman: The golden circle." again and says she really wasn't paying attention to the plot and wanted to understand it better. The "plot" to her was Pedro Pascal and his "seductive voice." I didn't get the big appeal when Firth was right there, but whatever, you do you. We usually watch movies when she comes over and she insists on picking the movie one day, I say "Fine, as long as is not Kingsman" thinking her obsession was only caused because of that movie. She puts on this action movie called "Triple frontier." Cool, I love action movies and then PEDRO PASCAL SHOWS UP. I'm sensing a pattern but I quietly observe her reactions when he's on screen. She's giggling, blushing, kicking her feet, the whole shebang whenever he appears and she absolutely loses it during that scene when he speaks spanish and she repeats over and over "I would have folded" NO SHAME. Like, hello? Your boyfriend is right HERE! It takes me a minute to notice she's REPEATING the scene and squealing like a school girl. Her whole face is red by this point and she's just rolling on the bed giggling excitedly, it doesn't end there, though. She starts watching Narcos JUST for Pedro Pascal. It's one thing to watch a movie for an actor but a 3 season show is downright INSANE. She soon forgets I exist and replaces the photo widgets she had of me with Pedro Pascal. That's when she crossed a line. Simping over Pascal I understand but he DOESN'T get to REPLACE ME on her phone like that. Then The Last of Us comes out and never hear the end of it. My girlfriend is a books/movies person and she's never had any interest in videogames but now that "her man", as she's been referring to him for the past week is starring in this NINE EPISODE series about a fungus pandemic, she just HAS to see it. She says it's a good way to catch up on the videogame but we all know the real reason. But fine, we see it and she's so excited the entire time. Seriously, I've never seen him so happy before. So now I'm an idiot who's indulged his girlfriend's obsession with Pedro Pascal for too long and now I'm second to him. But it doesn't end there because WHY WOULD IT END THERE why did nobody warn me about the amount of thirst traps in this series?? Her jaw drop seeing him get aggresive, the words are on the tip of her tongue, I can practically hear her say how much she wants him, so I lean over and whisper in the pettiest tone I could muster "Just fuck him." She gets embarrased and starts giggling nervously while hitting my arm softly saying "Babe, no! What? No" but by her tone it was SO OBVIOUS she was saying "I would if I could." Anyway, we all know Colin Firth is better so count your days Pedro Pascal.

sorry for tagging you in this lol

Mk's tag list :)@ninebluehearts @icreatedthisat317am @onefinnedwonder-fm @shousha133

I couldn't find the original post but here's where I saw it lol <3! https://www.tiktok.com/@requestedreads/video/7279590034729291054?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7179670435260827141

[bourbontrend]

Discover the hidden tensions shaking the foundations of Kentucky! 🥃 The bourbon industry faces off against local communities in a saga filled with legal wrangles, tax turmoil, and the mysterious whiskey fungus. Dive into the full story of how heritage clashes with modernity in the heart of Bourbon Country. Don't miss this eye-opening read! #BourbonIndustryBattle

[friendlyheartless]

"You will..." Negro Toadstool asked with teary eyes. "Thank you!" He said hugging him.

"Hey there. Are you a heartless?" The nobody reached out to pet the heartless.

(Marxiia @ any heartless)

"Yes. Yes, I am. I am Negro Toadstool, a Black Fungus and one of the Heartless Rebels who um... rebelled against Xehanort's Heartless, and Maleficent long ago." The Black Fungus spoke as he squeaked getting pet.

@x-whiskeylullaby-x

[subsequentibis]

2, 7, 9 and 10 for laz, sal and john?

wooo let's put this one under a cut!

2. Why does your oc look the way they do? What are your reasons for their appearance?

sal is pretty heavily inspired by most of the tall gangly awkward sweaty weirdo scientist/researcher characters i recall fondly from a lot of media i liked growing up, plus hair that's fun to draw and that mimics the fungus's tendril shapes. she started out looking fairly different as my vtm character, but then i fell a little in love with dev patel (and this was also when i was still drawing her as a man) so she ended up closer to his look in david copperfield. purple is a color that doesn't exist much in nature, or so i've heard, so it can have a mystical/spooky/unnatural feeling to it, especially i think a kind of paler ghostly purple, which is why i chose it for her sweater. similarly i gave her grey eyes because i feel like they give off a slightly unusual or unnatural vibe while also being very beautiful. she gets a turtleneck because i gave her my fear of/discomfort with having my neck touched to an extreme degree, she doesn't even like feeling the wind on it. the rest of her clothes are brown/dark tones to give her an earthy and grounded feel. i'm not very good at thinking of outfits so i made her like a cartoon character that only has one set of clothing but just gave her sensory issues so she has a whole wardrobe of nearly identical sweaters, pants, and jackets for comfort. originally i was going to have the fungus able to chameleon-esque shift color so it would be mimicking her hand and eye almost exactly except for almost imperceptible lines where the tendrils meet, but i ended up not liking that idea so much and gave her gloves & a glass eye to hide the bits that she loses over the course of the story. she's long and spindly because i tend to think of her hunched up and curling in on herself, like she's always felt just a little bit too big and is trying to compensate for it, and also because that's very fun to draw.

lazarus is pretty heavily inspired by john constantine, sam vimes, columbo, hellboy, any cigar/cigarette-chomping long coat-wearing detective or investigator with a dry sense of humor. he's gone through a couple versions actually, he was my character in several different ttrpgs until i settled on him as a detective npc for an urban shadows campaign i ran and that really nailed down a lot for him looks and attitude-wise. grey raincoat to help him blend in a little more with the city, i like to think he could lean against a concrete wall and almost disappear. big stompy boots or heeled shoes because he's short as hell and wants to look taller. red as an accent color for blood/fire/etc. actually i debated red eyes as well for a bit and finally settled on orange because, of all things, pilferingapples drew bahorel with these really lovely orangey whiskey colored eyes and that always struck me as gorgeous. i just cranked up the orange to make them obviously not natural and as a connection to lava. he's a bit of wish fulfillment for me as a trans man - short but with a broader build, fairly strong shoulders and hips but a bit of stomach to fill out between so he's not really hourglass-y at all. hairy all over, big obvious top surgery scars that will get an update to probably look like flames or claw marks soon, and covered in interesting scars. i always wanted to come up with a story behind all of them but i only ever figured out ones for two, one on his knee and the brand on his chest that ties him to his demonic patron. he had a shitty tiny ponytail for a long time because i love getting my hair just long enough to have a tiny shitty ponytail, but his hair started getting longer over time and now i like him with long hair. cringefail facial hair. he cannot grow a mustache to save his life but that's not gonna stop him.

ok so john. john was originally a hotel podcast oc, as in like i had this idea that the owner might have once been a human guy and got yoinked and twisted to fit the hotel's needs. so john was just my design for the owner but a little more saturated, like he goes semi-greyscale when he gets got. i ditched the turquoise bolo tie when i decided i wanted him in underbelly and i'm trying to fill his wardrobe out a little more with clothes that a divorced dad trying to find his feet again after a painful break up might pick for 'fun'. where laz was my wish fulfillment as a trans man back in college, when i was barely beginning to believe i could possibly be genderweird, john is my wish fulfillment as a trans man now. tall, beefy, hairy, big shaggy sideburns. he's got less thought put into him than the others because he's not been around as long, give him a few years to mature in the soup and i'm sure he'll develop.

7. Does your oc have any notable skills or good personality traits? Why did you give them those traits? Why do they exist in-universe?

see prev answer for sal!

lazarus is somewhat similar to sal in that he's quick to pick up on tiny details, but i would call him more street smart than book smart. i wanted the two of them to have a bit of a battle of the minds going on, not quite like death note levels but more like your average columbo episode. laz is in total control of himself at pretty much all times, as well - he is driven primarily by anger, but he's had enough time to figure out how to use anger instead of being used by it. sometimes he loses control but it's rare. he has a good relationship with a lot of people in the underbelly, he makes a point to help out where he can and engages in a lot of favor-swapping. i really want him to be a pillar of the community sort of guy, someone really intensely invested in the space they've helped to build because he's been aimless and wandering in the past and it's no way to live. he's a bit world weary and can come across as cynical, but deep down even if he doesn't believe in the inherent goodness of man, he thinks man can be dragged kicking and screaming towards some kind of goodness.

john is a good natured and good hearted kind of guy, despite his flaws he has a fairly strong sense of right and wrong and he's really fiercely loyal and protective of his loved ones. frankly see that one post that's like 'character that's submissive in the way a guard dog is submissive'. he's lost people and relationships in the past for various reasons so when he finds something that sticks he's desperate to keep them close and safe and intact.

9. In a group dynamic, what kind of role does the oc usually fill? Are they a worry wart? A troublemaker? The straight man?

sal is the worrier for sure and the one who goes home early because she's not having fun. laz is the one you think is the straight man until a third act subversion and then he's either covered in other people's blood or has challenged the biggest guy in the bar to a drinking contest that he will win and then make out with said guy. john is the designated driver.

10. What is your favorite trait regarding your oc?

i love sal's cowardice. it's really meaningful and special to me how little she wants to do with anything happening to her and how she figures out how to deal with it anyway and succeed while never really getting over how much she wants to just go home and get in bed.

my favorite lazarus trait is his anger, because i love a character who lets their rage bubble and boil under the surface while appearing completely calm until they just explode, but like a controlled demolition.

i love john's ability to adapt. when he ends up in the underbelly it's not long at all before he's got a stable job & a place to live & people who call him friend because he just goes with the flow and makes it work. yeah he's got goat eyes and horns and he sleeps on a pile of hay now bc he's too big for his bed most nights but hey, could be worse!

[noneofthisisreal]

Ethanol vapour released through porous whiskey barrels during the ageing of bourbon might bring a smile in the heavens – the fumes are known as the “angel’s share” – but it can mean misery for local mortals. A strain of black whiskey fungus feeds on the alcoholic gases, coating neighbourhoods around distilleries with a stubborn mouldy crust.

[sethshead]

This is what we call a negative externality. People not party to any contracts with Jack Daniel’s are still forced to pay for the damage caused by the actions of Jack Daniel’s. Preventing this, or forcing Jack Daniels to pay for mitigation, is why we have regulation. Put in these terms, you’d think even a libertarian could agree in principle. But libertarians don’t care about what the powerful do, only what the government does to rein in the abuses of the powerful.

[callmeanxietygirl]

"This fungus now is on steroids." A dark growth, fed by alcohol vapors from barrels of aging Jack Daniel’s whiskey, has coated homes, cars, patio furniture and road signs in a sooty crust in Lincoln County, Tennessee, residents said. “If you take your fingernail and run your fingernail down our tree branch, it will just coat the tip of your finger,” one resident said. “It’s just disgusting.”

Read more: https://nyti.ms/3IHiiBn

So it begins

[rosiewalks]

2024 Dolly Year in Review

Things I did in dolly land this year: - Joined Memoa and some doll discords - Tried out shortform video (I don't really like making it) - Photographed every doll in my collection - Tried out a new printing service in Vistaprint; I'm very pleased with their note cards and post cards - Designed and mailed "dolliday" cards - Did piercings for both MH and RH - Commissioned hair dyes for Saffron, Gilly, Ophelia, and jr Jade - Did some small repainting: added freckles, redid lips, detailed shoes - Worked on storage organization and optimization - Finished Lagoona's bacta tank - Participated in Funguary & Mermay - Matched dolls to books I read

Dolls Acquired: 21 1-4 from Target: SH Berrie; Tweens Haribo & Cora; CR Cleo 5-10 from Ebay: GOML Leyla, Spring Pearl, & Minouk; OMG Ace; G3 Venus & Monster Fest Frankie 11-13 from IG/Discord: Jr Poppy; Creepro Ghoulia; Tweens Jenny 14-15 from Marketplace/Thrift: Mermaze Morra; Bratz Jade 16-21 were gifts: Wednesday; SH Nicole; MH Skelita; RH Sunny & Luna; Doll Leaves Ida March February of this year, I resolved to buy dolls only from the secondary market, to reduce impulse spending as well as cut down on the amount of waste and bad labor practices I was supporting by buying new. Very proud that I stuck to that -- the only doll I bought new from a store after March was Core Refresh Cleo.

Dolls sold/gifted I don't keep as good of track of this but I will in 2025!

Collection stats See collection page

There will be a companion post in the new year, talking about my goals & plans in dolly land for 2025

Top 3 favorite dolls

[cut for length; picture-heavy after cut]

🦇Lala 🦇

My little chronic illness buddy

🌼Ophelia🌼

Now that Mia dyed her hair, I like her so much.

🌿Venus🌿

I love it that she can sit in my cup holder, without flying out when I go around a curve.

Top 13 favorite photos, in no particular order 13 in honor of Monster High

Lala in her chair and by the pool, above

Kaylee for Dolliday Card 2024

Genevieve with my stepmother's mums

Wednesday in the graveyard, early morning

Also Wednesday

Poppy Jr. , custom dye by Mia with freckles and lip repaint by me

Whiskey at Longwood Gardens, my favorite place in the world

From my Mermay story

Sweet zombie Kaylee with the azaleas

Poor little fairy Twyla being parasitized by icing sugar fungus

Make sure to keep your vampire gf well hydrated, or she'll come for your jugular.

Frankie says it's time to go. Lala says it's time to snack.

Top 5 dolls as books Note this is not my top 5 favorite books from the year, just the ones where I really liked the doll styled as the cover.

Look I just really like photographing Lala, okay? May your holiday dolliday season be full of light and joy, and may the new year bring you serenity and rest.