#why not beer yeast.

[generative-adversarial-nitwit]

Beer is just wet bread.

- Chad (2023)

#i was measuring out yeast for bread and talking about instant vs active dry and stxalq was like. #why not beer yeast. #and i was like idk maybe doesn’t taste as good. and then i was like idk why it wouldn’t tho. #main difference between beer and bread is the sugars in beer are extracted into a solution before gettin yeested #beer is just wet bread. #and he was like. wow. you should share that with the world. so i did. youere walcome. #anyway my best guess would be that maybe cultivated beer yeasts are better adapted to barley and just don’t perform very well on wheat #but im mostly pulling that out of my ass. like isn’t the metabolizable sugar just sugar at the end of the day. wouldn’t yeasts be like. #ough…​emergy.. yēst dont caare #there’s almost certainly some autistic person out there making incredible beer yeasted breads and blogging about it #and im going to actually google it now and feel like an idiot. yes chad you smoothbrain of course you can make bread with beer yeast #havent you ever heard of fucking svedish bëeirdinga bröd its been made for centuries by powerful baker grannies in göteborg #whatever. happy friday lm’s ao

[wormtoxin]

i love how absolutely tremulous the distinctions between helpful microbes and parasites or infections are.

#the oil that your pores produce is called sebum #and it doesn't smell naturally but it does smell when bacteria start living in it and breaking it down #these bacteria are called propionibacteria #but they're also the very same bacteria often used to make cheese #which is why rotten sebum has a cheesy smell #a smell you might be familiar with if you've ever worn earrings for a bit too long #of course #a lot of other infections and malodorous wounds have a yeasty smell #because they are yeast infections #and obviously #that's what also makes bread and beer and malt and wine #microbes are so so so so so so so fascinating i am always thinking about them

[fumifooms]

Heyoooo. I wanted to say, I'm sorry about that mean-ass, insulting anon you got a while back. That ask ended up pissing me off so bad I ended up actually reading your Marchil analysis posts. Originally, I was meh and kinda confused when the ship showed up in Ao3 because I didn't see what people liked about it. Reading your posts about how they were narrative foils opened my mind more, and I realized, Oh shit yeah there's a lot of potential in this ship for how these two can develop each other.

Part 2: Marcille and Chilchuck may not have scenes like the infamous bath scene with Farlin, but the concept of someone who's terrified of being alone, the reality of her friends' mortality, a hopeless romantic catching feelings for a repressed, divorced man whose wife left him--okay yeah, I absolutely understand the appeal of this ship. Marcille would be like, Why the fuck is my heart thrumming for this sharp-tongued bitch, and also the terror from falling in love with someone so short-lived Part 3: Either way, love your analysis posts. I am going to be contemplating the potential of Marcille and Chilchuck for a long while. There is something so tragically sweet about it

You get it, you really do… I could list off everything I love about them but I’d be here forever because it’s literally everything and there are so many fun ways to spin it… You’re very right about them being tragically sweet, overall where their arcs meet the most is "Loving is something worth doing even with the risk of loss", and I say risk but really it’s more the inevitable eventuality of it as canon does love to point out. If you want the reward of being loved you must go through the mortifying ordeal of being known. No love however brief is wasted. Let me see you and stay. It’s very much sort of the final boss to their arcs for them to get invested in each other in such a way, to get involved romantically— emotionally with someone knowing what’s coming and that she barely has two decades left with him (who mistreats his health so much he very well could die early), and to shoot your shot for something new with hope in your heart and enough confidence that you’re worth loving. He’s not a prince charming but to her he sort of is, all virtuous husband this reliable dependable Chilchuck that, all "you may be flawed but I’ll still romanticize your qualities and convince you that you and your love for your beloved are something worth fighting for".

What if I was old bread that solidified to be hard as rock and you were like warm soup and by soaking in your presence I softened……… What if you stubbornly grew on me like yeast and it brought out my flavor like beer as I opened up and allowed you in………. What if your hair was golden, the epitome of beauty to me, and my hair turned silver, your worst nightmare……. I think about them a normal amount

#And as always i am working on my marcille & chil arc analysis it’s just taking forever n also my job is ramping up rn… #Ask #Ask was sent on april 8th for the record #Dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #Marchil #it has it all. the halfling and the elf the social expectations the self-inflicted repression… #Like I don’t think there’ll ever be another ship like marchil tbh #Chilchuck tims #marcille donato #The post is so serious now but in tags I can say: ty this sorta ask means a lot to me!! Stays on the mind and makes me feel positive #In good news. We are suffering from our success (happy 60 fics on ao3!!) but we are also winning from our sufferings (hello spite shippers) #For every marchil hate comment a new marchil shipper is made sorry i don’t make the rules #This is a good summary of the ship’s appeal i feel… Non-exhaustive of course but still #Peace and love on planet earth <3 #Fumi rambles

[juniperberries-canisroot]

Why is there no vodka in Skyrim?

Vodka is made from potatoes, which do grow in Skyrim's climate (in game). Yet there's mead, which made from honey, water, grains (Google says hops but let's assume they use wheat to make a more beer like honey mead). Google also says you can add spices and berries to it. There is a juniper berry mead in Helgen after you go back, Vilod's special blend (rip Vilod).

Ale, a beer, which is made from hops, malts, water and yeast, but let's assume they use wheat since wheat is still a grain and common for beer.

Then there's wine, which I'm pretty sure is imported from Cyrodiil since their climate is better for growing stuff like grapes. Sure Skyrim-ians could make wine from snowberries and juniper berries, but we don't really see that. Evette San makes a spiced wine but other than that I think it's safe to assume wine is imported, just like apples. No one seems to mention liking wine and beggars ask for ale or mead, beers.

Yet, there's still no vodka or drinks that contain vodka. Skyrim-ians don't seem to like heavy alcohols like rum, liquor, whiskey, brandy, ect... and seem to prefer 'lighter' alcohols, esp mead since it's mixed with honey. Vodka is a 'light' alcohol and Skyrim does grow potatoes in their climate, so why no vodka?

#welcome to another episode of 'analyzing small weird details' Im your host #Skyrim #Elder Scrolls #Elder Scrolls V #tes #tesv #if I lived in Skyrim I woukd be that one outlier that drinks wine #I dont drink beer and heavy alcohols mess me up #and I dont mean get me drunk I mean somethin else #vodka seems to be the one alcohol my body tolerates now #but theres none in Skyrim so wine it is

[blubushie]

im gonna be real with you i do NOT know what vegemite is what is that

On a literal level, it's yeast extract.

Remember how I said Aussies love beer? In order to make beer you need yeast. It's a whole bloody process, but the gist is that when you're done brewing the beer, you get a bunch of leftover yeast. This is normally completely useless, but in 1902 a German bloke named Justus von Liebig came up with the bright idea of "Wait, instead of wasting the yeast, why don't we just eat it?"

"That's a stupid idea because it tastes terrible and no one would eat it," everyone said, but von Liebig wouldn't be deterred! So he slapped some spices in there for flavouring and bam, edible yet still disgusting yeast extract.

The poms liked this idea and as poms are wont to do, they stole it. Branded it Marmite, and shipped it out to Commonwealth countries around the world.

That worked out all fine and dandy until WWI hit and the poms suddenly found themselves in desperate need to conserve this wonderful (ech) source of Vitamin B. They saved it for the troops only. Most of the breweries were shut down in the war and converted into munitions productions and depots, so for a time Marmite was merely a ghost of the past for civilians.

Until the Aussies came along.

"Oi!" some bloke said to some other bloke, "It's been a year since the war ended. Where's our fuckin' Marmite?" But alas, his longing went unanswered.

So he said fuck all that noise and decided "Well, fuck the poms, we'll make the shit ourselves!"

So they did. Fred Walker, (a M*lburnian, ech) decided to hire a bloke called Cyril Callister to figure out how the fuck the poms made Marmite, and instead make something even better.

And, as Aussies love our beer, he turned to Calton & United Brewery, who happens to be the brewery WHAT MAKES VICTORIA BITTER. (It's a conspiracy, do you understand?) They also make Foster's, but we don't discuss fucking FOSTER'S on this blog.

So he took yeast extract, mixed it with TOO MUCH FUCKING SALT, added some celery and onion extract, and bam: breakfast tar! Then he gave his daughter--WHO WAS NAMED SHEILAH--the job of naming the new, better Marmite. And she went "Well, there's veggies in there, innit?" And he just nodded. "Call it vegemite."

AND SO VEGEMITE WAS BORN.

It hit the market in 1923, immediately failed, and in 1928 went under a rebrand of "Parwill" ("Because if Marmite [ma might] then Parwill [pa will]) and this didn't last long--it was changed back to Vegemite in 1935.

In 1925 Fred Walker helped found Kraft, an American company (Kraft cheese, anyone?) So Walker used Kraft's newfound success to promote Vegemite. This... actually worked, surprisingly. In 1939 the British Medical Association officially backed Vegemite as a great source of Vitamin B, and when WWII hit, it was included in civilian rations across the country. By the late 1940s, Vegemite was found in 9/10 Australian homes.

And it stuck. Its billionth jar was sold in 2008, and in 1984 it was the first-ever product to be electronically scanned in an Australian checkout.

We're all happy little Vegemites!

#blu whos #bushman #vegemite #yes im fucking tagging that #true blu #blu chew

[justjams2003]

Blossoms- 14

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Teasing, singing (it is a PotO fanfic so that is to be expected...), mentions of the death of a grandparent, parent issues, talk of patriarchy, alcohol. Tell me if I miss any

Word count: 2,1k

Masterlist

Part 13~Part 14(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Tags: @rclector @jordanmunson3 @ann-vic-9 @ssssssws-world @gryffin-whore

“Mariposa Claremont.” Before I can utter another word, I can see the recognition in his eyes. His face forms into this wide grin, that seems like he could get away with anything. “No way, Claremont?” He chuckles and then takes a big sip of his bear. The foam clings to his top lip and he licks it off, then he hums. Then he holds out his hand for me to shake.  

“Elliott O'Murphy.” My eyes go wide and if my cheeks weren’t already pink from the cold, they are now. “My parents have been like trying to marry you to my older brother for like, forever.” He laughs and shakes his head. I sigh and roll my eyes, just my luck to meet the man I’ve been trying to avoid’s brother. “Please tell me you’re not as obnoxious as he is.” I say, scratching my scalp as I cringe.  

Again he laughs, “Trust me, I feel about him the same as you do. He’s been fed with a silver spoon all his life and he believes the sun shines out of his ass.” He places his hand over his chest to show his sincerity. “And you don’t?” I ask, raising a brow and placing my hands on the pint of beer.  

“Let’s just say I prefer to avoid saying my last name.” I smile at that comment since I relate so much. I then take a sip of the beer. It burns down my throat and leaves a sour taste in my mouth. “Eww, who drinks this?” I say, coughing and sticking out my tongue. He lets out a boisterous laugh which makes that an embarrassed smile slowly creeps onto my face.  

“You’ve never had beer before?” He says, his eyes wide in shock. “No! I don’t usually go into the areas of town where beer is drunk, like this place...” I say, looking around at this dirty pub. Drunkards play dice and a bard sings terribly off tune and people can’t help but glare at him.  

“Ohh, okay, I see, so you’re like Carson. You two fit together perfectly! Too pompous for the peasants of France.” He says dramatically, and I can’t help but gasp and shake my head. “No, nothing like that! It’s just, I’m a lady and don’t take part in such activities as drinking myself stupid.” I say, then directly after taking a sip of my beer, trying to get used to the sour yeast taste.  

He too raises his brow, “Ladies also don’t usually cry in piles of trash at night in the rain.” I just huff at his response, knowing he’s right. After all, my stupid unladylike acts are what got me in this situation in the first place. “How exactly did you end up, you know, crying on a pile of trash?”  

I sigh and lean my head against my hand. “Well, I work at the opera house, chasing the dream!” I say, lifting my beer as if to celebrate what people rarely have the guts to do. “And uh, let’s just say that I really need to learn how to keep my big mouth shut. So I’ve basically kicked myself out of the only place I had to live...”  

We both take a sip from our beer. “Why not go home?” He ask with a shrug and I scoff. “That is exactly what I can’t do! I can’t let my parents know that I basically failed on what I set out to do. That’ll really go to their head and before I know it, I’ll be birthing your nephews.” I pout taking another sip. “Oh yeah and we can’t have that.” Again I just sigh and roll my eyes, I’ve just met him but he so easily plays banjo with my nerves.  

“Why are you here then? Shouldn’t you be... doing whatever it is that your family does?” I ask and he laughs at me having no clue how his family has got their fortune. “Well, you see I was not raised by my pretentious parents and rather by my grandmother. And she refuses to leave France.”  

I can’t help but let my brows furrow. “Why? And your grandfather?” “Well, if you bothered to learn family history or care about someone other than yourself, you’d know he’s dead. And my grandmother was Prima Ballerina at the Opera House. I suppose this is where she feels most home. And I come to visit between working on the shipping ships. Which is what we do, by the way. Transport goods.”  

That’s new. And actually very beautiful. Touching, I wish I had that type of connection with someone in my family. “I do care about others.” I reply back, with a shrug. “I just can’t make them a priority. It’s a difficult world for a young girl like me. Woman will always be put second, I’ll just have to put myself first.”  

“The fact that, that is what you choose to focus on just proves a point.” I just shrug my shoulders. I am kind, yes, I’ll help other’s out if they ask, but I won’t put anyone else above myself. “I-” Right at that moment the bard hits another terrible note. Both Elliott and I cringe at the noise.  

Then he gets a terribly mischievous grin. “You work at the opera house, why don’t you sing us something?” I blush and shake my head. Looking down at the bubbles in my drink. “Oh come onnn, anything can be better than him.” He says, dragging out his words to encourage me. Again I shake my head, but he insists by standing  up, coming to my side of the table and pulling me from my seat.  

“Elliott!” I squeal, being picked up and placing me on my feet. I glare, looking up at him. “I’m gonna go tell him you want a turn.” He says, his cheeky grin growing bigger. “I am begging you not to.” I grab him by his wet coat and he seems to think for a moment before seeming to give up.  

I thought. Until he steps up on the table. “My son John was tall and slim and he’d a leg for ev’ry limb!” And then suddenly, because somehow everyone in the pub knows this song, sings back at him. “But now he’s got no legs at all for he ran a race with a cannon ball! Timmy roo dun da, fadda riddle da!” I’ve got no idea what they’re singing!  

All of them are at least a little tipsy and at most about to piss themselves. But still they sing back with slurred words and a big smile on their faces. They stomp on the floor and slam down their own pints of beer to make a beat for the song they’re singing. It doesn’t seem to need any music, only the drunkan chants. And when they seem to finish their song, their cheer and clap.  

“Another!” Someone yells and Elliott smirks looking down at me, smirking, while I blush bright red. “A song from the lady?!” He calls out and they all cheer. I almost die from shock. “Elliott!” I’ve never met anyone bolder than me and now that I have I can’t seem to keep up.  

He holds out his hand, which no longer has gloves on, urging me on as everyone demands for more. I cave, why not have a little fun? I slip my hand in his, it’s rough, like someone who’s worked hard all their life. But when I’m standing up on the table and all these people are looking up at me, I freeze.  

I look up at Elliott’s stormy grey eyes, who flicker with joy. “I don’t know any songs that they’d like.” He scoffs and groans. “Come on, you must know something!” He encourages and I just sigh. In panic, the only thing I can think of is one of my maids, who would watch me when my mother couldn’t, which was always. She used to sing to me when I would beg and beg to hear some sort of music.  

“Look how the light of the town, the lights of the town are shining now. Tonight I’ll be dancing around. I’m off on the road to Galway now.” Before I know it Elliott is joining me, commanding the bard to play the tune on his flute. Then, the drunken men join me. I mumble over the Irish parts of the song, not that anyone really notices. Elliott takes my hand in his and we dance across the table. His hand is warm. 

I don’t hold back my smile or singing. When I sing and dance there is no control. Just the free flow of movement and music. Who would want to have power of something bigger than yourself? There is no dominating music. There is no mastery and there never will be. Only energy, flowing from you to those around you and back. And anyone who dare tries to command it should be punished for believing they ever could.  

When the song is finished, again everyone cheers. I turn to Elliott, he looks so confident. He’s not afraid to be seen, be perceived. As if he’s never been shamed in his life. Like he’s never had to deal with pressure to be perfect, just to be happy. His broad shoulders are relaxed and his wide smile seems to freeze time.  

“Get of the table, vous deux idiots!” The waitress yells behind us. “Allez Judith, ne sois pas si aigrie. On s'amuse juste un peu!” Elliott replies and I can barely keep up with their quick French. “Are you going to clean the table then?” The waitress asks with a pointed look, crossing her arms.  

Elliott winces, then climbs off, holding his hand out for me too to settle my feet on the floor. “No can do, we’ve got to get going.” He turns to the window, it’s stopped raining, I didn’t even notice. “How much do we owe you?” He asks, pulling out a pouch of money. She sighs and rolls her eyes.  

“5 Francs per piece.” Elliott pulls out the exact amount then they both kind of just stare at me. “Oh! Right.” I feel for my money in the pockets of my dress, until I remember, I left everything back in the Opera House. I wince and look up at my new friend. “I left it all back there...” He just sighs and hands the waitress another five Francs.  

“Now come, grand-maman is already going to be mad at me for bringing a guest without telling her. We don’t want to make her any angrier by being late.” He says, holding the door open for me. “You’re letting me come with?” He nods, “My grand-maman would be furious if she found out I let you sleep in here.”  

I can’t help but chuckle, such a bold man covering in front of his grandmother. I smile at him, “Thank you.” Again he sighs and this time scratches his neck. “You’re not all that bad. Nowhere near as bad as Carson. Almost bearable.” A sweet moment ruined again. “I shouldn’t have told you who I am.” I sigh, once again stepping on his hand to climb up on the horse’s back.  

“Yeah but you did. And I’m really enjoying it to tease you.” Again I sigh and just roll my eyes. It’s so strange. It’s rare for me to talk to a guy at the Palais Garnier. All the maids are women and I share a room with the ballet girls. It’s only Erik and I can’t really joke with him like this. He’s sensitive and rigid at the same time.  

I can’t get through to him and at the same time he takes everything to the heart. He’s so contradicting... But I guess I am too. I say I was raised to be ladylike and then dance on tables singing with drunk men I don’t know. I say I care about other’s, but don’t give Erik a chance to change... But I shouldn’t. He’s being immature. Telling me who I can like and who I can’t.  

“You shouldn’t frown like that.” I scoff, of course he has something to say. “You shouldn’t tell me what to do.” Now it’s his turn to scoff. “Brave of you to say to someone who’s giving you a place to say.” I huff and pout, how is he always right? “You just have to have the last say.” I mumble under my breath. “You’re quick to make assumptions of me.” He sounds almost offended?  

“Am I right?” I ask, peering down at him. He just scoffs and shakes his head. “No, if I’m wrong I’ll admit it. But I rarely am so...” I snipe back at him. “Okay, yeah, such a delight to be around.” I mumble and now he snipes back. “Says the spoiled brat.” “Wow! Alright, I see how it is.”  

The whole way to his grand-maman goes like this. He makes a comment, I retort back, until eventually we both just kind of...laugh about it...? I like seeing him smile, I wouldn’t mind seeing more of his smile...  

If you want to be in the taglist, just ask!

#phantom of the opera #the phantom of the opera #erik destler x reader #erik x reader #erik the phantom #erik destler #erik destler x ofc #erik destler x oc #opera ghost #opera ghost x ofc #opera ghost x reader #blossoms #blossoms justjams2003 #Spotify

[postmodernpagan]

Demon holidays:

Imbolc Eve: Festival of Cheese. Curdling, acid cooking, denaturing proteins. Caseation, conglomeration, congealing. Spoiling, mold, and aging. A time to prepare and begin aging cheese. A time to fuck with Brighid? Something about the Morrigan being the dark side of Brigid. A time to spoil plans and predictions and disrupt carefully planned power structures.

Walpurgisnacht: Power trip night. Feel powerful by doing evil. Spoil crops, do a sadism-masochism. Ego-destroying sex, love through destruction and allowing you to rest and not think. Festival of Lilith. Trampling is key--trample on seeds, ruin seed stock, no more babies. Last night of the Wild Hunt before the Faerie take it over on Beltane.

(Fae and elves are Western European, and sheydim are from a particular area in the ancient Levant. The differences between them are largely cultural, however; they're mostly all environmentally generated land spirits originally, with the occasional dead human who adapted in and is slowly forgetting their previous life over the centuries. Djinn are similar, but are largely elemental beings of fire and air, given their desert environment and lack of consistent life energy to feed from.)

June 21st: meh, bleh, underground, dark and rainy, remembering trauma, hot and icky sweat. The rainy season. Festival of Persephone. We lament her leaving and hope she misses us, cry for her to come back where she's safe.

Lammas Eve: Festival of Beer. Fermentation, yeast, fungi, rot, mold and ergot. Festival of Bast the Drunken. Celebrates the work of women specifically because of association with brewing and the hearth and grain -- tea and bread is a good combination if beer is not an option. Why grain? It's a joke about processing seeds into something useful (babies, delicious carbohydrate food for yeast).

September 21st: The Clerical New Year. Sheydim adopted the ancient Hebrew practice of celebrating the New Year in the fall, but use the solar calendar instead of the lunar calendar for agricultural reasons. A time to clean house, get affairs in order, and set intentions for the coming year. Also time to start preparing for the Wild Hunt.

October 31st: SAMHAINOWEEN BABY! HARVEST PARTY HARVEST SOULS. First night of the Wild Hunt, although places like Detroit increasingly push the date back with early festivities, which is fine with the demons.

December 20th-25th: Odin's birthday. Yeah, five days in labor, he had a really big head. (Which is always cue for someone to shout, "Still does!") Feast of the Caught Game. Not the last day of the Wild Hunt, but the last day of the sport hunting; after this, hunting only out of necessity is encouraged, but only informally enforced (cops won't stop you, your neighbor will).

#demonolatry

[oswednesday]

mom was going out to get yeast and tea, came back with a falling apart table that cost 15 dollars from good will, another case of beer and stuff for her bread and not tea =_= like i dont know why i expected anything else

[banepenis]

Anyone else noticed this?

I really don't quite know how to formulate words to convey what I'm talking about in a way that doesn't make me sound like the most boring, shit-headed navelgazer, but, it's one of those things that, like, it's that nagging tiny bit of confusion that just won't go away, you're like waiting for that moment where you open the fridge door and suddenly just go "OH, I GET IT", but it hasn't arrived yet and it's looking less and less likely that it's ever going to happen, so, might as well send out my thoughts in the vain hope that someone can explain this to me. Still pisses me off just how much of a stupid thing to get this borderline obsessed over this is, but, man, I'm desperate.

So, like, basically everyone is familiar with the varying stages of, like, product placement in various places, and publicity stunts that every corp does from the tiniest startup to the huge giants who get sway in global politics. Like Mr. Peanut dying of septicaemia and then age regressing into a nutlet and then getting over it. The Mountain Dew-centric The Walking Dead episode. That one male BPD movie that was an elaborate commercial for Kraftwerk. The UK bread brand Hovis pivoting into beer and doing the annoying yeast connection and then getting it incorporated into the third season of Succession for all the alcoholism scenes. TF2 crossover items. It shows up in the weirdest ways, and sometimes it's "Char Aznable car" funny, sometimes it's sneaker war crimes. Gut punches and tummy ticklers.

Anyway, uh, I was with a few friends, playing the new Don't Starve Together special event. It's like a, I dunno some sort of "oh people are playing this game again, time to do a welcome back event to keep 'em coming" kind of thing, whatever, it's kind of neat, no weird season pass things just some cool largely aesthetic-only events that you can see if you frot a bush too weird. So like, I'm foraging, kind of just waiting around for everyone else to finish up with their really important thing they're doing, since I'd already finished up my chores like a handsome cherub of a boy boy, and I notice I pick up an item I haven't seen before. Some sort of junk, kind of thing you can probably refine into some basic resource, but I look at it, right? It's a can of Coca Cola. Like, unambiguously. Except, like, it doesn't say Coca Cola on it? Or even like, Coke? It just says "COLA'S" on it. That's weird, like, I heard they got this kind of brand deal, but why would they then just completely fake it for the joke, like McDoneits? And like. It's not uncommon to put references to things in item descriptions, it's cute sometimes. I read over this Coke can's description over and over again and I just can't fucking parse it. It just says, "WITH OR WITHOUT, CAN YOU TAKE IT?" It's some completely bullshit, absurd, over-the-top creepypasta "hyperrealistic blood from the eyes" type wording. Never seen it before.

So I like, look it up, boolean my DuckDuckGo searches, safe search off just in case, and it, like, takes me to just the regular old Coke website. On the front page, where they've got their current events and whatnot usually, it's just this huge diatribe about this new, "healing, feedback-responsive" re-branding effort they're doing? Which, first of all, makes no fucking sense. Like, the Pepsi UNIVERSE thing, where that one guy just went cummy about that peculiar and homely sphere, was unfathomable, but there was something comprehensible about it. And the time that the 7-Up Insurgency Split-off company made weird new flavors in celebration of their new creative freedoms like "CHERRY HELL" and "BLUE PINEAPPLE" and "CANDLEJACK SAUCE" and "TOP SHOT NASTY", a little unsettling, sure, but there have been weirder things. Like binky-inspired Victims of Communism merch you can buy to support your favorite loser and go sucksuck. "COLA'S" is just someone pretending to be excited the product, and they made it the new name of their whole company.

Whatever, I think, you know, I really don't care about what they do with their canned beverages and their skins, I won't be hocking any more or less loogies into strangers' cans while they're distracted by my long and awesome length, it really doesn't affect me. But nobody else is talking about this. It's, like, right on the website. I asked my friends, who I was gaming with in our TeamSpeak 3 polycule server (I'm not a part of any of that but like I'm cool so I get the member's pass) and they said they hadn't seen the item, so when they get back from chewing the cud I give it to them, and they pass it around like a biscuit, and they go "huh, weird". Completely reasonable reaction, the one I wish I could have had. I tell them this is apparently just the new great venture for Coke. They call me a retard, and it harms me a lot more than I made obvious because like, whatever, who cares? And I like, log onto my computer, and I send them screenshots of the Coke website. They call me a dumbass, it's fake, which humor man X account did I get this one from, when did I make this, dude we were gone for like five minutes what's your issue, you're pushing this way too hard. So I give them the link. They see it and then they go "okay". EUREKA! THANK GOD THEY UNDERSTOOD ME! WHAT WOULD I FOR MORE HAPPY!! But they kind of just leave it at that, they don't have much of an opinion about shit. That's why I'm not in the polycule, you know? Because I care.

Cut to the next day, we're not gaming anymore, I turned off your computer, I'm waking up from my new nightmare where no matter what I do I just can't stop that rat fuck Marley & Me from dying. I'm on my plane to my job at the biggest train on the country, I'm the one they let drive the train because I'm frequently the one so savant enough to track which button I have to push or lever I have to tug like a senior's pud to make the fuel squirt, the wheels whirl, the tracks widen, my fingers happen, the house on the other end of the house, and the pessengers hear my voice so I can tell them about the foods available at every station we'll be stopping at. Obviously I start my day at a train station, one of the ones at the very end, where the train is sheathed. First shift isn't until 20 minutes from now, so I'm just waddling around like a detective, get to see the guys who get paid to salivate on the walls so all the posters stick. Say hey, how're you doing, quite the weather to have, right? Yeah yeah, they say, kind of brushing me off like I'm a wasp but I slick back my wet hair and take it so cool. See the posters they're currently lubing up with tongue and buds.

It's a Coca Cola poster. An "old" one. Just completely normal. It's got "HAVE A COKE WITH THRUPPENCE" on it, like the good old days. I can hardly contain my anger. So I grab this guy by theHey guys does anyone have any recollection of this one TV show were it was, like, it wasn't Too Many Cooks, it was about these two guys where one of them was really, really huge, and the other one was about as tiny as a regular old thumbtack. I don't remember a damn thing about any of it, I'm pretty sure they just fucked around with recipes? Like one of them made a huge loaf of cake and the other one made a tiny little slab of cake instead, because he's approximately the size of a man if he were scaled exactly proportionately down to about two inches with like a ray gun or something. Heh. So like these chefs were, I think one of them could fly? I'm pretty sure it was the big guy who could fly and the small one could hop into one of his folds and travel around the world, helping people solve their cooking conundrums wherever they may end up. I don't think any of the lore of the show was all that well established in the show, they had too much action to get out of the way, it really sometimes did feel like they just, HAPPENED to show up at the place where someone gummed up their grandma's special recipe cup of spum. It really wouldn't surprise me if these charlatans were responsible for cursing all of these cooking appliances so they could engage in heroic deeds to spread their fame and famous, they really did seem like opportunists. Pinstripe personified. A real barberslop quartet.

At last, it's whatever, I'm completely spent, it's like, every single day for months and months goes like this, nobody's believing me, acting like I'm some kind of guy who cried hello, telling me like my information is at war because I'm conspiring about something stupid, it's just another day in the life of a monosexual. I'm getting the plane home and I have my check in hand, with all of those sweet, sweet dollars in my hands, the sweat from my palms is making the ink run but that's how I like it, give those thankless fuckheads at the bank something to challenge themselves with during their workday, I see them, always on my phone, looking at TEXTS, useing YOUBE. Yutube I mean. God, what would you do without me. You're kind of weird for ordering oinge juice with ice though, by the way. And your hair is dripping into my food. So, anyway, as I was saying, cokes just tugging my rump all the time with this shit. I don't wanna start going ME ME ME about everything but I'm fucking APPARENTLY the only guy in the world who knows anything about this, even though it's RIGHT FUCKING THEIR, and the COLA COMPANY, who is basicly like your teacher if you've lived in America, is just changing itself so weirdly and not even the lowest common denominator social meteor jokester is willing to go "uh, THIS just happened" about it. I can't fucking stand it, man! You can't just, do this to a guy. I'm fucking sick to my stomash. God. Oh, yeah, hey, waiter, any idea how long my mancakes will arrive? "Did I say pancakes", is that what you said? Yeah, that's what I said. Boing. Right, where was I, what are we here for... ah yeah, so like, I heard this Formula 1 thing is going well. Is that like a new thing? It seems really cool, nothing way cooler than a bunch of latex clad dudes sucking as fast as they can in big lead chambers of invisible fire. You think I could get into that? Like, I got my license when I was younger, zero points on it, I think there's no way that they can just refuse a guy fWait hold on what was that I said earli

[captainnait]

~More Incorrect Quotes~

Guy, walking into Bob and Nate’s bedroom in the middle of the night: I had a bad dream. Bob: What was it about? Nate: No, don’t ask them that! Bob: Why not? Nate: Cause he’ll answer!

~~~

Bob: *chokes on something* Buzz: Jeez, Bob, don't die on us. Bob: Don't tell me what to do, I'll die whenever the hell I want!

~~~

Nate: I just heard Schmitty call the dog a “fucking liar” because he barked like someone was at the door and no one was there.

~~~

Schmitty: Hey guys, I’m making french toast sticks in the oven. I’m gonna take a quick nap, so wake me up in 5 minutes to flip them over. *5 minutes later* Bob: Schmitty it’s been 5 minutes, time to flip your sticks. Schmitty: snnnzzzz... Bob: SCHMITTY YOUR STICKS!

~~~

Guy: I don't like bugs. Cookie, are you even listening to me? Cookie: I seem to have misplaced my ant farm. Guy, at Buzz: BUUUUUUUUUUUUUZZ!

~~~

*The Squad is at Home Depot* Bob: *Fell in the cacti display while wandering around the garden section* Cookie: *Shitting in the display toilets* Guy: *Tokyo Drifting one of those flatbed carts down the aisles* Schmitty: *Stealing paint chips for aesthetic purposes* Nate: *Just wanted some goddamn lightbulbs and everyone ruined it* Buzz: *In the car, sleeping*

~~~

Guy: *coughs blood* Cookie: Don't die, Guy! Guy: Don't tell me what to do!

~~~

Guy: I'm gonna need a human skull but you can't ask why. Schmitty: Only if you also don't ask why. Schmitty: *pulls four pristine human skulls out of their bag* Guy: ... Guy, grabbing a skull: This one will do.

~~~

Guy: *eating a cinnamon roll* Nate: Cannibalism. Guy: *confused chewing noises*

~~~

Cookie: Today at 7 am, Guy poured a Monster energy drink in his coffee, said "I'm going to die" and drank the whole thing. Buzz: I watched Guy brew his coffee with Monster instead of water. Three cups in two hours. I think he ascended into the astral realm. Schmitty: The survivability of the human race never fails to amaze me.

~~~

Buzz: Why do you act like we’re three year olds? Schmitty, exasperated: WHY?!? Schmitty points at Cookie: YOU TRIED TO HYJACK A CAR! Schmitty points at Guy: YOU NEARLY JUMPED 20 FEET OFF A CARPARK! Schmitty points at Buzz: AND YOU ATE MULTIPLE DRIED LEAVES AND ROCKS OFF THE GROUND! Schmitty: AND YOU ASK ME WHY????

~~~

Bob, texting group chat: What flavour of ice cream do you guys want? I’m at the store so be quick! Schmitty: Moose Tracks is good! Guy: What the fuck is that!? Schmitty: *Gasp* How dare you insult moo- Guy: No. No no not that. What the hell. Why do you spell flavor like flavour. It’s like you have flavor but then this guy shows up and is like “Oui Oui Would you like chocolate flaVOUR or vanilla flaVOUR. Bob and Schmitty: what? Guy: I don’t get it why add the EXTRA u when it’s PERFECTLY FINE AS IT IS!? Bob: You done now? Guy: Yeah ok. Bob and Schmitty: ... Guy: ...Can I have the Mint Chocolate chip flavour?

~~~

Bob: What do we say when making bread? Cookie, glumly: That's the dough rising. Bob: And what do we NOT say? Guy, sadly: That's the yeast fucking.

~~~

Cookie: *shoves their hand in the slot of a toaster* Bob: … Cookie: …I get confused sometimes. Bob: Me too.

~~~

Bob: My life is a mess. Buzz: Bob relax, go get a beer. Bob: I don’t want a beer. Buzz: Who said it was for you?

~~~

Buzz: Hey Schmitty, check out this funny .GIF I found! Schmitty: It’s pronounced “jif”. Buzz: Huh? Schmitty: “Dot jif”, like the peanut butter. The creator said so. Buzz: That’s dumb, it’s Graphics Interchange Format. Schmitty: The P in .JPEG stands for “photographic”, but I bet you don’t say “J-pheg”. Buzz: “P” on its own isn’t pronounced like “F”, that’s totally different! Schmitty: It’s exactly the same! Buzz: Name one word that starts with “G” pronounced like “J”. Schmitty: Gentrification. Buzz: Shoot, should have thought of that. I was just in San Francisco. Schmitty: For your logic to be consistent, you’d have to say “skuh-bah” (scuba) or “lah-seer” (laser)! Buzz: Yeah? Well, you’d have to say “J-pej”! Buzz: …Wait, “laser” is an acronym? Schmitty: Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation. Buzz: Huh. Didn’t know that. Buzz: You’re still wrong, though. Schmitty: You just hate me because I’m right. Buzz: I just hate you in general. Schmitty: You mean in “geh-neral”? Buzz: Ugh, I’m “joing” to kill you!

~~~

Nate: Hey, can we stay in your dorm tonight? Schmitty: Why? Nate: Guy fiddled with an ouija board and cursed ours. Bob: Buzz doesn't know how to banish spirits, so he just throws salt at them and yells "DOES THIS LOOK LIKE A HOTEL TO YOU?!"

~~~

Cop: Can you describe the person who stabbed you? 

Nate: Lithe, spirited, outgoing, and not afraid to speak their mind. They were a raw sexual force and they knew it. They were a dandelion fluff on a summer day, gone in an instant, leaving you with nothing but a memory of their touch and the faint taste of strawberries on your lips. 

Cop: …Great, we have a motive, but we still need a description.

~~~

Cookie: We've got to find a way to cut down our expenses. What can we live without? Guy: Bob, probably.

1:21 pm, 4/23/2024

I swear these get better and better with each one 😭

(Especially the last one. Dear god. I just— 💥)

#ydkj headcanons #(still not sure if i should use the main tag or not so I'll continue going with the headcanons one hehe)

[birdofdawning]

The Woman From the Sea

The beginning is here; the previous part is here.

9. Marriage

The Lighthouse Keeper wakes up to the smell of warm baking and is momentarily back in her childhood and her grandmother’s tiny basement apartment on East 6th Street. She holds on to the comfort of the memory for as long as she can, until she can’t ignore her brain asking But how?

When the Lighthouse Keeper staggers into the Common Room she finds Dottie sitting on the window seat reading another mystery novel.

“I can smell bread?” she asks.

“Yes!” says Dottie, sitting up. “I wanted you to have a proper lunch (well, breakfast technically, because you’re literally breaking your fast) so I made some tomato soup and bread. But you didn’t have any yeast so I made soda bread. I used a can of beer as the fermenting agent — I hope you weren’t saving it, but it was over a year old and in the back of the cupboard. And I used a little of the frozen butter to thicken the milk. I tried to be frugal.” She wrings her hands, and searches the Lighthouse Keeper’s face for her reaction. “I hope that was...”

The Lighthouse Keeper rubs her eyes with her palms. “No, that’s fine. The beer was still around because it wasn’t that great. And I only had one left, and once you drink one you kinda want to keep going, you know?”

“The alcohol stimulates certain of the neurons in your dorsomedial striatum, specifically the dopamine receptors that rewards behavior.”

“You know, I had wondered if it was that,” says the Lighthouse Keeper. “But then I thought, is that crazy?”

“Oh no!” confirms Dottie earnestly, “a recent study published in the Journal of Neuroscience found that mice—”

“Well, I know I’m relieved,” interrupts the Lighthouse Keeper. “You must tell me more SOME OTHER TIME,” she says hurriedly as Dottie opens her mouth again. “Right now I just want to eat.”

Sitting at the tiny kitchen table the Lighthouse Keeper is served a bowl of hot soup. “Are those chives?” she says, frowning, “Where on earth—?”

“There were some outside,” says Dottie as she places a plate of warm bread on the table. “In the old garden?”

“What?” The Lighthouse Keeper takes a mouthful of soup and her eyes widen. “Oh my god! Dottie, this is amazing! How on earth… where did you get… how did this come from the rubbish in the cupboards?”

Dottie appears to shiver with the praise. “Oh, tomato soup isn’t very hard. And you had the basics – largely many, many cans of tomatoes. Though the vinegar is past its expiry date, Jane: it is double-fermented, and it tasted fine so I felt it was safe to use, but you should replace it soon.”

“Is that… Dottie, is there cream in this? It can’t be cream!?” Her eyes suddenly narrow as she says “Dottie, where did you get the cream.”

“As I said, I thickened the milk with some butter, for the fat content, and used a little potassium bitartrate as the thickening agent. It’s nothing like proper cream but I’m pleased how well it worked.”

“No’ my potassium bitartrate!” says the Lighthouse Keeper with her mouth full, “I was savin’ that special!” and Dottie freezes with a look of horror. “Uh, so that was a joke,” she says, swallowing. “Dottie, I don’t even know what potassium bitartrate is, so I don’t think I’ll miss it.”

Dottie blinks at her. “Crème of Tatar,” she explains. “Oh, I see. Yes, you stated the opposite of what you meant for the humorous impact.” She nods several times, pleased with herself, and the Lighthouse Keeper relaxes and wonders if nobody in Dottie's life ever takes the time to joke around with her, and why not.

Dottie rambles on. “The bread really ought to be buttered too, to add to the richness,” she says looking down at the plate, brow creased at the omission, “but I didn’t want to use too much. You only have the one block.”

“S’fine,” the Lighthouse Keeper waves her concerns away with a hand as she takes a thick slice of soda bread. “Oh! Oh, this is…” she gestures inarticulately with her mouth full and Dottie smiles happily.

“I’m so glad you liked it. And I honestly was very sparing. There’s still half of the beer left if you want it—”

The Lighthouse Keeper waves the suggestion aside. “No, let’s have bread again tomorrow. While I’ve got you around I might as well take advantage.” Dottie looks down blushing, and the Lighthouse Keeper, who is absolutely not remembering her guest’s face upon discovering the trunk in the bedroom, quickly carries on “… of your prowess in the kitchen! Is what I want to take advantage of! Because you sure are… good at that. Yes, ma'am!” She determinedly concentrates her attention on her meal but after a moment the silence makes her look up again.

Dottie is leaning forward slightly, her usual open, earnest expression replaced with a look of cool professional focus. She is examining the Lighthouse Keeper’s bare hands. And the Lighthouse Keeper realises that she has left her fingerless gloves on her bedside table with her watch and her keys.

She clears her throat and pulls her long sleeves up over her palms, looking back down at her bowl. After a moment Dottie gets up to boil the kettle. 

Later the Lighthouse Keeper is stretched out on the couch half-reading some thing but mostly listening to Dottie as she sits at the bookshelf looking for her next novel. It’s nice having someone else here, she realizes. Better than she would have guessed a week ago.

“The problem is I remember so many of these Christies, and it never feels the same if you know how the puzzle fits together as you start. Don’t you think? And she’s not someone I read for the writing.” Dottie chats away happily as she pulls paperbacks out to look over their synopses. “Jane, why do you only have paperbacks?”

“Lighter to bring over,” says the Lighthouse Keeper lazily. “And I get most of ’em secondhand for a few dollars each, so I’m not fussed if they stay here.”

“What are these: Murder Out of Turn. Death Takes a Bow. Jane, what are these ‘North’ mysteries like?”

“’Mr and Mrs North’. They’re good. Old American whodunnits, with a married couple as the detectives. Although there’s a cop friend of theirs in it too. And the husband is just this ordinary guy, right? But the wife, she seems to be this dizzy quirky little thing; like, the comedy relief. But she’s the one who solves each of the mysteries. Because she sees things from such a different point of view to everyone, and inconsistencies really bother her.”

Dottie has turned Death Takes a Bow over and is reading the back. “I like the idea of a couple who solve mysteries together. It sounds like it would be cute, but without detracting from keeping the puzzle foremost.”

The Lighthouse Keeper sits up a little and turns her head on the arm rest to look directly at her guest. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Not getting bogged down in the ‘will they, won’t they’ or the sex or whatever. You married, Dot?”

She says it without any change in intonation, as if it was a causal inquiry. But they both know it’s not and the silence that follows seems to fill the room as loudly as the wind outside. Dottie is still staring at the back of the paperback but her eyes are unseeing and her neck is flushed. After a moment the Lighthouse keeper slides back down onto the couch and listens as Dottie begins to put books back on the shelf. Staring up at the ceiling she begins to make some conjectures.

#The Woman From the Sea #rizzoli and isles #maura isles #jane rizzoli #Jane is a lighthouse keeper #fanfic AU #My chemistry is shaky but I can cook #I think Jane would say 'murder mystery' not 'whodunnit'? but I like whodunnit

[mulderwearingglasses]

The gunmen convince Mulder to come out to their neighborhood dive bar one rare Friday night, and Mulder convinces Scully to join.

The bar is packed. It’s nearing midnight. Their sticky table is full of too many drained beer bottles. The air is thick with Eaux De Dive Bar -- the smell of yeast, cigarettes and old wood. Lights are dim. Everyone is sweaty, and no one cares.

Mulder and Scully feel loose, warm and, miraculously, good. They feel good. Like two young people with sweet, simple lives out drinking beer with their friends. 

They’ve been arguing over the lyrics of “We Will Rock You” which finished playing easily 20 minutes ago.

“Mulder, why would he kick the cat?” Scully said, exasperated and enamored.

“Why would he kick a can?!” Mulder responded in kind.

“Kicking the can is at least a thing!” Scully cried. “Kicking the can down the road!”

“Well, kicking a cat is also a thing. I should know, I’ve kicked my fair share,” Mulder teased.

At that, Scully laughed and leaned into him in their booth, pretending to swat at him while placing her hands against his chest.

Suppressing a smirk at their blatant flirtation despite repeated promises that they’re “just friends,” Langley took a big slug of whatever awful beer was the cheapest that night.

A recognizable synth booms through the bar’s speakers and Mulder’s face lights up.

He stands, extending his hand to his partner.

She looks up at him, eyes fuzzy, and shoots him a mega-watt smile.

“Mulder, what are you doing?” she says.

“C’mon, Scully,” he says, offering his hand again. “This is our song.”

Her eyebrows raise playfully.

“It is?” she says, incredulously.

“Uhhuh,” he tells her.

She puts her hand in his, and he pulls her up.

“I didn’t know we had a song,” Scully says as the intro fades and the words begin. Mulder leads her to the packed dance floor and they squeeze in, bodies close, wiggling to the beat.

“Ha! It's poetry in motion She turned her tender eyes to me As deep as any ocean As sweet as any harmonyMm, but she blinded me with science”

At this, Mulder points to Scully, picks up her hands and puts them over his eyes. She giggles as they continue dancing close.

“(She blinded me with science!) And failed me in biology, yeahHuh-huh When I'm dancing close to her (Blinding me with science, science) (Science!) I can smell the chemicals (Blinding me with science, science) (Science!)”

They dance to the rest of the song and learn each other are both surprisingly fun dancers. They spin each other around, frame their faces with their hands a la “vogue” and laugh and make silly expressions back and forth.

When the song ends, Mulder pulls Scully close and whispers, his beer breath hot and tickling her ear, “Thanks for blinding me with science, G-woman.”

“Thanks for letting me know we have a song,” she whispers back before tugging Mulder back to their booth where the gunmen stared at their “just friends” friends with eyes that said “are you shitting me?” and head shakes that said “If these two don’t end up under the covers together soon, the world will implode.”

#txf #xfiles #the xfiles #x files #txf fanfic #txf fan fiction #xfiles fan fiction #MSR #Fox Mulder #Dana Scully #she blinded me with science #Thomas Dolby

[boissonsaumiel]

Brewing Experiment: ❝Butterscotch❞ Oatmeal ❝Stout❞

Ever since I discovered that rice wine starter can saccharify (convert into sugar) more than just rice, I've been wanting to test it out on other starchy foods I previously assumed to be unfermentable with the equipment I have at my disposal.

Recipe:

2lb oat flour (87% Correction: 73% carbohydrate)

1lb maca powder (70% carbohydrate)

0.8lb molasses (75% carbohydrate)

11 cups Teeccino brand Chaga Ashwagandha Butterscotch Cream Mushroom Herbal "Coffee"

2 shanghai yeast balls (rice wine starter )

I probably didn't need to add that 2nd yeast ball.

I got concerned when there were no bubbles after 12 hrs and then went out to see a movie and came back to a (thankfully minor) mess on my hands when some of it foamed out the top. It had settled back down by the time I got back. I only lost 120g of must.

I wanted to use a grain as my base to make something beer-like. I can't do anything with gluten, for medical reasons, so I picked oat flour as my main carbohydrate source after seeing Jesse from the Still It youtube channel make a vodka by fermenting rolled oats with a rice wine starter (he used Yellow Label Angel Yeast) and then distilling it in one of his videos.

For my secondary carbohydrate source, I found this unused bag of maca powder at the back of my pantry. I think I originally planned to use in a brownie recipe, because it has a butterscotch-like flavor to it that goes nicely with chocolate, but I hate baking so it just ended up just sitting on the shelf ages. It has a lower starch content than oat flour, which is why I didn’t want to use it as my primary carbohydrate source.

If the microorganisms in the rice wine starter can successfully saccharify all that starch, I should get about 2.2 lbs of fermentable sugar out of this.

The 1lb of molasses, which I plan to wait a couple weeks before adding, will contribute another 0.75lb of sugar, so ~3lbs fermentable sugar in total.

Of course fermentation can’t happen without water. Instead of plain water, I’m steeping herbal “coffee.” However many cups it takes to fill up my carboy. I’m using Teeccino “Chaga Ashwagandha Butterscotch Cream Mushroom Herbal Coffee.” I mostly chose that tea for the color. It has a mild sweet earthy flavor.

#home brewing #wine making #beer making #I think this technically qualifies as a beer #since it's made with grains as the primary source of fermentable sugar #No.112423

[kimmimaru]

I would like to make it known that in all these videos of non-British people trying Marmite that they are usually eating it wrong. Anyone who slathers it on like chocolate spread is doing it wrong. It is very strong, you don’t want a thick layer on your bread/crumpet/whatever. Really, its a bad idea. All you need is plenty of butter and a thin layer. I mean, yeah it’s an acquired taste I’ll admit but if you’re going to try something, don’t make it so there’s no chance at all you or whoever’s tasting it will hate it. Also, it’s kind of mean because it’s really bloody strong. (The whole advert for Marmite is literally you either love or you hate it, which is very true. As far as I know there’s very few people who will sort of like it. It’s one or the other) It’s yeast extract, essentially what’s left over from brewing beer. It’s very salty and it is NOT chocolate, don’t let anyone fool you. (this post is made in a very light-hearted way, just so people know. So don’t get at me about it) Also like...there are other countries with similar products out there. Not entirely sure why Marmite gets all the flack lol.

[plisuu]

10 People you want to know more about!

Thanks to @tea42 for the tag :)

Tagging: @hawkeshep | @grimelven | @mclavellan | @thewastelandwriter | @thedastrash | @imperatrixvini | @illusivesoul | @glowing-blue-feathermage | @morganlefaye79 | @barbex | And anyone else, really :) No pressure though!

Favorite color: Green. Deep, rich, dark hunter green. And lavender!

Favorite food: All of them? Is a Taco Bell Crunchwrap Supreme an acceptable answer?

Song stuck in your head: You Are My Sunshine - The Dead South Cover, and also always anything by Stromae. Or System of a Down. I love a lot of music!

Last thing you googled: Synonyms for “resentment.” Gotta get this fic written somehow lol

Time: Do you have the time, to listen to me whine? Uhh, 3pm PST.

Dream Trip: I would like to go lay in a deep redwood forest and become a pile of damp moss. Sans mosquitoes, of course. I’m not a big traveler but I do love national parks, I’d like to see them all!

Last book you read: The Princess Bride by William Goldman. I read it for a Children’s Literature class I’m in!

Last book you enjoyed reading: Well, let’s put it this way. I don’t like books, I love books. If I don’t love it, I don’t swallow finish it. But my favorite book as of late has been Coraline by Neil Gaiman. 

Last book you hated reading: Hm. The last thing I can recall hating that wasn’t an academic writing has got to be the Cassandra Claire Mortal Instruments series. I had to stop halfway through, I just couldn’t do it!

Favorite thing to cook/bake: I love baking soda bread and beer breads because I hate yeast. I make a killer green apple/leek/fennel soup in the winter too. Sign me up for stews, please don’t ask me to make chicken in any form unless you like eating Styrofoam. 

Favorite craft to do in your spare time: Craft? I like to hardscape terrariums and build keyboards, do those count? My friends joke that my hobby is collecting hobbies, and I have adult money now which means I have an office full of any craft supplies you could imagine. 

Most niche dislike: Thin socks. Why even bother at that point? What do they do for you??? If your shoes need thin socks you need better shoes or just wear sandals! A close second would have to be those glass water bottles. Useless! I just break them!

Opinion on circuses now and in history: I’ve never been to a circus in my life and everything I know about them comes from the classic Disney film Dumbo, so without googling them I have to say they seem sad and kinda messed up. 

Do you have a sense of direction and if not what is the worst way you ever got lost: I’d I rank approximately 3/10 on the sense of direction scale, but I am a meticulous planner so I’ve managed to not get lost ever by not going places I don’t plan for. (Though I walked circles for 20 minutes in a shopping mall once because I swore I knew where a store was... Turns out they had closed months before. Whoops.)

#tag meme #hums 'getting to know you' from the king and i #i love these

[trans-girl-nausicaa]

OAKBOUGH: A CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE STORY.

CHAPTER 13

Read the rest of the story:

LOCATION: SANDS OF THE MOJAVE BASE NUMBER X

>Teach Paul how to make beer. 

That morning, you and Paul head to the canteen together. 

“Today is pretty special,” says Paul. “We got an egg shipment.”

“Egg shipment?” you ask. 

“Well, that is, a shipment of eggs.”

You nod, as if you understand what’s special about that. 

The breakfast is French toast, made with cheap fluffy white bread.

It’s pretty good, especially with jam. 

“Where do your ingredients come from?” you ask Paul. 

“Oh, uh… Well, most of it is… locally-grown. I can’t say any more than that.”

“You don’t steal it, do you?”

Paul laughs. “No, we did not pull off a daring Egg Heist.”

“So, you get a lot of ingredients and products from local farms…”

“You sound like you have something on your mind, Mulligan.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking… You could probably get some hops and barley, right?” 

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, If you have the time… You already make sourdough bread. Making beer really isn’t that much more difficult than that. There’s a little bit of specialized equipment you need, but you can basically just set it up and let it ferment in your basement and you’d be good to go. In a few months, if you wanted, you could have… Paul’s Sandy Pilsner. Depending on how much hops you want to add, of course…”

Paul raises his eyebrows. “Hmm! You know, I bet we could save a lot of money, yeah…”

“You use money? As socialists?”

“Mulligan. We don’t have a socialist country yet. We still have to send people to costco and get crates of-”

You laugh.

“Yes, yes, of course you use money. I was just joking,” you say. 

“Internally, everyone’s a professional revolutionary. No need for money. But when we have to get certain types of supplies, well… The Dollar still hasn’t been dethroned,” says Paul.

“So you don’t get paid?”

“No need. The organization provides everything I need. We have a very dedicated logistics team.”

“Why do you all call it an ‘organization’ and not an ‘army?’ That’s basically what you guys are.”

“Well… Yeah, for now, functionally we are just an army. But that’s not the end goal. We want to transform society, not just stay an army waging a war forever. It’s just like our ‘community garden.’ Small now, but we will build until we revolutionize our economic system. But we have to fight before we can rebuild. As a wise man once said, ‘Political power grows out of the barrel of a gun.’”

You’re thinking about fermentation cycles. 

“So… in order to get supplies and ingredients and stuff, you, what, fill out a requisition form or something?”

Paul rolls his eyes. “Ugh… I guess you could call it that.”

“So, if you want, I could write up a list of the supplies you’d need to start a batch of beer.”

Paul nods excitedly. 

“You’d do that? Yeah that would save me a lot of time! Please, be my guest!”

“I’m already your guest,” you smirk. 

Paul scoffs. “Oh, that one was terrible.”

The two of you laugh regardless. 

Back at the visitors center, you scrawl away at a list of ingredients and equipment. 

You mention the function and purpose of each of the pieces of equipment as you write them. 

“One of the most important things is to pre-emptively sterilize all the equipment and containers you’re using, because stray bacteria can totally ruin the fermentation. You only want the bacteria that you are going to be introducing, that is, brewer’s yeast, to flourish. 

Paul nods. “Just like with bread!”

“Yes. Though the process of beer fermentation takes much longer, so it’s much more vulnerable to foreign bacteria.”

Paul nods excitedly. 

“I’m putting a copy of Brett’s Beer Brewing for Beginners on the list. Hopefully you guys can pick up some books?”

“Yes,” says Paul. “Books aren’t hard to get. Though good taste is harder to come by. People keep requesting these dreadfully trashy romance novels. I’ll still have to explain this project to the logistics team though.”

You and Paul end up hammering out a loose plan for a medium-sized brewing operation. The basement of the storehouse and the canteen are usually too full to accommodate more than they already have, so Paul volunteers the basement of the visitors center. It has gone practically unused for over a year. 

You wonder if you’ll ever get to taste Paul’s beer.

How long are you going to stay here?

When you leave, will you ever be able to come back?

Are you really going to be able to stop DARPA’s Domino Particle experiments?

Paul notices the thoughtful expression on your face. 

“Something wrong?”

You shake your head. 

Paul doesn’t have any answers to these questions. 

Nobody knows what the future holds. 

The two of you walk back to the visitors center. 

“All in all, visitor liaison is a pretty light job most of the time,” Paul says. “I get a lot of time to myself. Hence the sourdough. So I’m looking forward to the beer brewing project.”

You nod, still a bit lost in thought. 

Kevin is waiting inside the visitors center.

“Hiiiii~!” says Paul, waving energetically, seeming just as excited as if he hadn’t seen his boyfriend in days, instead of having seen him yesterday. 

Kevin chuckles and picks up Paul in a bear hug, spinning him around. 

After Kevin sets Paul down, Paul turns to you. “Mulligan,” he says, fluttering his eyelashes, “Can you please watch the door for me? There aren’t scheduled to be any visitors today, but in case someone does show up, just come knock on my door, okay?”

“Sure,” you shrug. 

“Okaycoolthankyou!” says Paul. He jumps onto Kevin’s back, and Kevin carries him up the stairs to the second floor, where Paul’s bedroom is. 

You sit down on a couch and dawdle for a while, staring out the window. Dust blows in the wind. 

And then: A knock. 

You get up and walk to the door. 

You open it, and you are eye-to-eye with a tan woman wearing a blue romper and a large straw sunhat. Your face is reflected in her large sunglasses. She has a large black backpack slung over her shoulders. 

“Mulligan!” she says, louder than you expected. 

For a second you don’t recognize her, and then she takes off her sunglasses and you realize she is Bunny Paulson.

“Bunny,” you say. “How’s it going?”

“Yes! I succeeded!”

You blink a couple times. 

“Sorry, that’s not the question I thought you’d ask,” she says. 

“What question did you think I’d ask? Something about hacking DARPA?” you say. 

“Yes, well, I thought you would ask, ‘Bunny, did you successfully retrieve the information about the Domino Particle experiments,’ and I’d say ‘Yes, I succeeded!’ and you’d say, ‘Wow, so you hacked into DARPA’s servers?’ and I’d tell you how it was really hard but not as hard as I thought it would be. But this conversation is not going how I thought it would. Dang it, I had responses prepared and figured out, and now it’s all different-y.” 

Bunny wrings her hands. 

“Why don’t you come in and I’ll make some tea and you can tell me all about it,” you offer. 

Bunny nods. “Okay? Yes! New plan, let’s do that.”

You let Bunny into the waiting room. She walks in and looks around. 

“Why are there so many couches in here? There is a weird number of couches in here,” she says. 

“I guess because it’s a waiting room,” you say. 

“It doesn’t look like a waiting room. It looks like a living room that had a rounding error. Where’s Paul? I was told he was the visitor liaison. I’m a visitor, and he’s not liaising.”

“He’s upstairs, with his boyfriend,” you say. 

“BOYFRIEND?!” she shrieks.

“Uh…”

“WHEN DID LIL’ PAULIE GET A BOYFRIEND?!”

“I don’t know?” you say.

“PAULIE!” she yells at the ceiling. 

You hear a loud thud above you. 

A moment later, Paul Paulson is jogging down the stairs. His brown hair is tousled and his tan skin is glistening with sweat. 

“Jesus christ, Bunny,” says Paul. 

“Jesus christ, Paul!” says Bunny. “What the heck have you been up to? You got a BOYFRIEND?”

“…Yes?” says Paul. “I’m an adult, I can have a boyfriend if I want to.”

“Last time I saw you, you were-!” 

“21. Which is still an adult.”

“But you didn’t have had a boyfriend yet!! So this is, like, a cause for celebration! A cause célèbre!” 

“That’s not what ‘cause célèbre’ means,” says Paul. 

Kevin walks down the stairs after Paul. “Hey babe, who’s this?” he says, putting his arm around Paul’s shoulders. 

“YOUR BOYFRIEND IS HUGE!” says Bunny, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. 

“Heh, I guess I am pretty big,” chuckles Kevin. 

“This, regrettably, is my sister, Bunny.” says Paul. “Bunny, this is my boyfriend, Kevin. Be nice or he’ll squish you.”

“No! I bet he won’t! I bet he only does that to YOU!” says Bunny. 

Kevin and Bunny laugh. Paul puts his head in his hands. 

You sidle out of the waiting room and into the kitchen to turn on the electric kettle. 

You put some chamomile tea buds into a teapot. You think that this group needs some amount of calming influence. 

Once the water has boiled, you fill the teapot. You take the pot and four teacups into the parlor, all the while hearing bickering and bantering from the waiting room. 

You are tempted to wait a bit longer and just start drinking tea yourself, but altruism prevails and you return to the waiting room. 

Paul is holding his shirt up and Bunny is looking at his bare chest. 

“Yeah, that’s where they made the incisions,” Paul says. 

“COOL,” says Bunny, poking at his surgical scars. 

“Hey guys, I have some tea steeping in the other room,” you announce. 

“Excellent,” says Bunny. “It’s been a long drive and we have much to discuss.”

The four of you sit down around the plain wood table in the parlor. 

You pour four cups of tea, and the scent of chamomile wafts over you. 

Bunny places a black laptop onto the table and opens it. 

“As soon as I got this information, I drove straight here,” she says, navigating through her computer with the touchpad. 

“First of all, yes, what you told me is true. The Domino Particle is real, and it IS the true cause of Human Displacement. While this is scientifically significant, what’s more important is this: DARPA isn’t just performing elementary tests. They’ve moved on to weapons development.”

“I suspected as much,” says Paul. 

You feel your stomach twist up. So then, what was done to you… and Wasp Ghelsig… and the other victims… It was all done by the US government. 

“Why subject random people to this?” you ask, your heart cold. 

Bunny sighs. “They… They know what’s possible with the Displacement effect of Domino Particles. But… There aren’t any records of human testing. Animals, yes, but no humans. I think that the effects on humans were unintentional.”

“Unintentional?! So what the fuck were they doing?!” 

“Range testing,” says Bunny. 

“What?”

“DARPA set up a massive Domino Particle emitter on the aircraft carrier USS Henry Ford. They fired it westward several times while it was sailing in the Atlantic. It’s all documented… Some of the researchers were concerned about collateral damage, but they participated with the tests anyway. What must have happened to you, Mulligan, is that you were hit by a Domino particle beam and ‘pushed’ into the physical space of Wasp Ghelsig, which destroyed their physical body and altered their causal history.”

You sip your tea with shaking hands. 

Paul puts a hand on your shoulder. Kevin peers at you with soulful brown eyes, full of concern. 

“I’m okay,” you say, quietly. 

“Do they have any other particle emitters?” you ask. 

“Just the one,” says Bunny. “A three billion dollar life-destroyer. This technology is unknown to other nations, is not restricted by the nuclear test ban treaty, and has incredible potential. Awful potential. We’re not just talking about using Domino Particles for assassinations and kidnappings, this could be scaled up. We’re talking about a technology that could be used to vaporize entire cities, with no countermeasures.” 

“It’s gotta be destroyed,” says Kevin. “I saw a lot of horrible weapons when I was in the Army. Used some too. But this…” He shakes his head. 

“This is…” starts Paul. “This is it. This is what I needed. I can present the information to S.O.T.M. leadership, and we can launch an operation.”

“Paul, are you sure?” says Kevin.

“We have proof,” says Paul. 

“No, I mean… Would you be heading back into combat?”

“Yes,” says Paul, his eyes firm. He grabs Kevin by the hand. “If we do this together, I’ll be okay.”

“I don’t support that,” says Bunny. “I want to strike a blow against the US military as much as anyone, but I don’t want to be responsible for the S.O.T.M. gaining more power.”

“Power?” says Paul. “It’s not about power. It’s about trying to prevent something horrible from being released into the world.”

“The S.O.T.M. are not grifters,” says Kevin. “We’re a revolutionary organization waging ‘People’s War.’ We actually accomplish revolutionary goals, instead of sitting around and saying the right words.”

Bunny sighs. “I don’t know if that’s true or just rhetoric. Mulligan, what do you think? You were actually hit with Domino Particles. Should we present these findings to S.O.T.M leadership?”

#choose your own adventure #VOTE PLEASE #OAKBOUGH