i SIMPLY love YOUR DragonFormers! They are so unique and I love how they aren't all European Dragons! Also, I know you made a picture of the other Autobots as Dragons but heck if I can find them, so I'm sorry if this is a stupid question, but I can't remember what the other 'bots are in great detail, anyways, is there an Asian Lung (dragon) in your Dragonformers world?
Thank you! XD Its been a long time since I last drew dragons, but I’m glad you like them anyway! Here’s the rest of them, they’re all under the Dragonformers tag! :D –> 1 | 2 | 3
Anyway if anyone’s gonna be a 龙 its gotta be Drift lol.
This blog has grown so quickly and I’m honestly so flattered that people like it so much…! I worry sometimes that I don’t upload frequently enough to this blog, which is a tad irritating because I adore running it <3 It makes me so happy and everyone’s asks and replies are so nice and…
(Recipe from They Draw And Cook by Nate Padavick and Salli Swindell)
Serving Size: ¾ cup
Calories (full recipe): 1402
Calories (one serving): 280
1 pound (500 grams) chicken (I used breasts, but you can also use thighs/ drumsticks)
½ cup fat free yogurt
¼ cup skim milk
½ cup olive oil, divided into two equal parts
¼ cup soy sauce
3 tablespoons garam masala
3 cloves garlic
2 thumbs ginger
Salt and pepper to taste
Cut and wash the chicken (if necessary).
Mix the yogurt, milk, soy sauce, ¼ cup of the olive oil, garam masala, garlic, ginger, salt, and pepper in a bowl. Add the chicken, cover, and marinate for between 10 minutes and 2 hours. The larger your chicken pieces are, the longer you should marinate it.
Heat the remaining ¼ cup olive oil on the stove. Use a slotted spoon to add the chicken to the pan, and cook until the marinade is browned and the chicken is cooked through.
(A continuation from yesterday, for those who wanted one.)
Marinette froze. Chat Noir pulled away from her, shaking.
“Ohhh… O-Okay… I-I um, yeah… I can explain—no, I can’t,” he
babbled, stepping back further and looking extreme nervous. “I—umm, I’m so
sorry, I don’t know what—”
“Your body just moved?” Marinette finished for him, her
voice strangely calm, considering how much she was screaming inside. He kissed her! HE’D KISSED HER!! Chat
“I—um, yeah—gah, that sounds like such an awful excuse,” he
said, grabbing his hair and stepping away from her further. “I’m sorry. I’m so
sorry and it’ll never happen again and I’m just gonna leave now and never come
“Wait, Chat!” she cried as he turned to go. Before he could
leap out of her bedroom, she grabbed his tail and pulled him to a stop. He
slumped, his head hanging.
“We are both hyped up on adrenaline and near-death
experiences,” she said, determined not to make him feel completely awkward
about what had just happened. “I think we’re allowed a bye on this one.”
Chat paused for a moment and gave a short, helpless laugh.
“Oh God, princess, please don’t give me a bye,” he begged.
She let his tail go, confused. “Why not?” she asked.
He slowly turned to face her, guilt and humor warring on his
face before he covered it again with his hand.
“Because I—,” he stopped and took a deep breath. “There’s a
part of me that wants to do it again,” he whispered, his blush visible underneath
his hand. Marinette felt her own face heat up in response.
To be honest, she wasn’t completely against the idea. It had
felt good, no matter that it was obvious that neither of them knew what they
were doing, or that neither of them had dared to move, or that he wasn’t the
boy she truly wanted to kiss…. Chat was a wonderful person in his own right,
but he wanted Ladybug. And she wanted Adrien. This was insane.
“I’m sorry, please don’t hate me,” Chat babbled again,
misreading the look on her face. “I know you’re in love with A-Ad—someone else.
And I am too—Ladybug, I mean! I’m in love with Ladybug! I’m not in love with
Adrien, that would be super weird and—”
Marinette burst out laughing.
“—and now you’re laughing at me and you must think I’m like,
the sickest weirdo ever, to go around and kiss girls when I already—”
“Chat,” she interrupted, grinning at him. “This is why I
said we needed the bye.”
So I’m in my food truck, and I’m slinging Korean Fried Chicken banh mis at anyone with $18 and an interest in Pan-Asian fusion cooking, and this guy says to me: bet you wouldn’t cook that bit of chicken.
He points inside the truck and suddenly I notice a raw drumstick that can’t have come from a chicken. It’s massive. It’s the size of an acoustic guitar.
“That’s not for sale,” I tell him.
He pulls out his wallet and shows me a wad of bills with the bit of paper from the bank still wrapped around it. The bit of paper says $500.
I want the chicken, he says.
So right now I’m thinking of how my dog’s got an abcess and how I’m hurting for the cash for the vet bill, real bad, so I take his money and slide it down the front of my pants just in case he tries anything. Then I pick up the drumstick and carry it over to the batter station, but it’s too heavy! I can’t hold it! I drop it and there’s a wet thud as chicken fat coats the floor. I try and keep my balance, but it’s no good. I slip and fall head first into the batter. As I try and stand up the batter bowl stays on my head like a hat and drips down, evenly coating the rest of my body. I can’t see shit, and next thing I know? I’m in the deep fryer.
I can feel the batter crisping up, and just as my skin starts to sizzle I manage to pull myself out of it and dive through the food truck window. I’m just running blindly here, and as I go the batter’s hardening. After a while it seizes up altogether.
When I wake up I’m in a lab surrounded by scientists. They tell me that I was found on the side of the road surrounded by pigeons who were trying to eat me. We saved your life, they say.
“Where am I?” I ask them. There’s an awkward pause.
There’s someone you should meet, one of them says.
The door opens and the guy who wanted to buy the big drumstick walks in. I’m so relieved to see a familiar face I start crying. He snaps his fingers and a doctor rushes to my side and dabs my tears away with a beautiful silk handkerchief.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
He smiles and tells me about how he’s a fried chicken millionaire who’s never been blessed with children and now his days are coming to an end and he needs someone to take over his empire. No one has ever tried to cook the big chicken before, he tells me.
“You’re pretty young,” I tell him. “You might still be able to have children.” It’s true. He looks like he’s 21.
He shakes his head sorrowfully.
“In that case, I accept,” I tell him. “I’d be honoured to be the new chicken millionaire.”
He shakes his head again and tells me they already found someone who managed to cook the big chicken properly, without falling over like a stupid asshole and nearly dying from pigeons and having to get medical treatment.
But I can tell you, he says, we’ve been looking for a new mascot, and we think your character of Crispy Guy is exactly what we’re after. Focus groups love it. I love it. Pigeons love it. All the doctors start laughing when he says that.
“What do I get?” I ask.
He tells me it’s an internship-level position, so it’s unpaid, but valuable experience and I get batter and cooking oil supplied. I have to use my own truck.
It’s not a great deal, but I’m in no position to negotiate.
“I’ll take it,” I tell him. I go to shake his hand but he’s already gone. Mascots don’t touch the boss, one of the doctors says.
It makes sense, and anyway: my hands are still completely encased in batter! I probably would have made his shirt cuffs greasy. And who would want a mascot that made things greasy? I probably would have been fired then and there.
“Thanks, amigo,” I tell the doctor, but he’s gone too. I’m all alone now. I pick up a 5-litre bottle of batter from the storeroom and head back to my truck to practise.
Ravenclaw: Won’t stop talking about that one
documentary they watched that one time, will only eat the French fries, impressed
with the pop selection (but still only drinks Dr. Pepper), chooses the optimal
booth for view and privacy, goes into
play-place to help but ends up laughing hysterically at the stuck Gryffindor
Gryffindor: Orders 500 chicken nuggets and will fight
anyone who tries to take one, gets stuck in the play-place slide and has to be
rescued, helps the Slytherin by offering to go in after rogue kids instead, gets
stuck again when they go in
Slytherin: Orders two combo meals because they know
the Hufflepuff will get cranky later, is the one to actually rescue the
Gryffindor, gets roped in by other parents to get their kids out of the play-place too but Slytherin is too polite to
say no, is grateful when Gryffindor offers to help
Hufflepuff: Orders a happy meal only for the toy, is
playing in the ball pit with 75 other kids, has a burger in one hand and is
fending off kids with the other, keeps shouting at the Ravenclaw “Watch this!”
and then does a cannonball into the ball pit, gets cranky, eats Slytherin’s extra combo