not combat rations, thats for sure. ive had enough of those for a lifetime.
but my latest food hit has been pretzel bites. pretzels are an awesome food but rarely available fresh when i want to eat them, which is usually when i’ve woken up in the middle of the night. they’re relatively labor-intensive to make, which is good once the insomnia sets in. keeps me busy. plus, pretzels are sweet on the inside, salty on the outside, just like me. except im also salty on the inside. dont listen to steve.
when i make pretzels, it’s by the metric ton, so the recipe i have makes approximately a million of them.probably you will not want this many, because you don’t have thor or steve to help you eat them. or clint. probably you could just shove some into a vaccum cleaner instead, thatd be about the same. so divide the recipe in half or quarters for normal human consumption. take 11 cups of flour, 1 cup of brown sugar, ½ cup of oil and mix. 4 cups of warm water gets 11 teaspoons of yeast and sits for a bit, then goes in the flour mix. then mix it and let it rise for about an hour. the dough should be sticky to the touch and absolutely awful to get out of your metal fingers. while you wait, wander your living area for some poor sucker to rope into helping you, because stage 2 is easier with help. or you can sit down and wonder why you talk yourself into doing things like this. consider your choices. it’s already too late to go back to sleep; youve got dough rising.
get a deep fry pan or sauce pan and fill with about two inches of water. bring it to a rolling boil on the stove and add in three or so tablespoons of baking soda. you really can’t do too much of that, as long as the water’s not getting super cloudy. preheat the oven to 400 degrees. wake steve up and tell him he has to help.
get a couple egg yolks in a bowl with a basting brush, and find some kosher salt or sea salt. grease up a few pans.
flour a surface and roll the dough out until it’s between ½ and ¼ in thick. get your poor unsuspecting minion to cut out bite sized bits. i use an inch and a half circle cookie cutter, but you can use whatever you want, really. tony used a laser cutter last time i let him help, which was…not ideal.
drop the cut outs into the boiling soda water, and let them sit for a few seconds, then fish them out. you can use your robot hand for that, but again, you’ll be getting dough out of it for days. i let them drip dry on a cookie drying sheet, but you could also drop them on a clean dishtowel i guess. you just dont want them to be wet when you put them on the cookie sheet.
they’re not gonna expand a ton, so just stuff em up close to each other on the sheet. paint the tops with egg yolks and sprinkle with salt. pop em in the oven for 10-15 min or until golden brown.
repeat the boiling-and-baking until you want to die, then keep going until you run out of dough. while the last batch is baking, take a half a stick of butter, a quarter cup of flour and make a roux in a saucepan. add two cups of milk and two cups of cheddar cheese, some salt and pepper to taste, and a quarter cup of mustard, give or take. im showing you how much to use with my hands but you cant see it. sorry, i dont really measure stuff most of the time. heat and stir till it’s melty and amazing, and dip pretzels on in there.
by the time you have completed this process and eaten as many pretzel bites as you want–and there will be enough. it’s a dang big recipe–you will want to enter a food coma and sleep forever. or for 70 years or so.
Shortly after the overdose, Bob decided to tell Jack the story of why he really got put in the Stanley Cup as a baby. It was Bob’s way of thanking the cup.
“After I won my first cup,” he told Jack, “I realized I’d achieved my dream, and I had married this amazing woman, but something still felt like it was missing. I wanted to be a father.” He told Jack how he and Alicia had tried to have a baby, but it just wasn’t happening. As the months dragged on with more of the same, they started to get worried.
“And even when you were worrying you’d never truly be happy you managed to win the cup again, yeah? That’s the moral of the story?” Jack snapped. Bob shook his head, reached out to run a hand over Jack’s back, like he could smooth down his son’s frayed nerves.
“Non, non, non, that would be a terrible moral. Actually my stats were worse that year than when I was a rookie. But my team was incredible, and we made it to the cup again. And here’s where the story gets good, you see, because I’d heard all kinds of wild legends through the league about ‘cup magic’ and how sometimes it would grant wishes”
“Or turn you into a fucking penguin,” Jack scoffed.
“Well I was playing for the Canadiens at the time, so I suppose there wasn’t much risk involved, but there was a whole lot of desperate hope.So on my cup day, after everyone else left, I sat down and had a chat with it,” he gestures to the table they’re sitting at. “Right at this kitchen table.”
“Please tell me that’s the only part of this story that happened at this table,” Jack groaned. Bob laughed.
“This story, yes.”
“Papaaaa,” Jack picked up his bowl of cereal and pointedly continued eating without letting his food touch the table.
“Oh for God’s sake, Jack, this table has been cleaned many times since, put your food down for a bit, I’m trying to have a moment with you here.”
“Alright, alright, fine.” Jack obediently set the bowl aside and faced his father.
“As I was saying…” Bob cleared his throat. “I talked to the cup. I told it I didn’t care if I ever won it again. All I wanted was a son. If it would give me that, I promised, I wouldn’t ask to win so much as a faceoff for the rest of my life. And I promised that I would love my son - that I would love you - unconditionally, more than anything in the world.”
“And you won a fuckton more awards anyway.”
“But,” Bob countered, “I didn’t win the cup again until after you were born when I was with the Pens. And so when your mother brought you onto the ice to see me, I wanted us to put you in the cup, but it wasn’t supposed to pass along some kind of hockey magic and ensure the Zimmermann dynasty or whatever the fuck ESPN likes to say, alright? We did it as a thank you. We wanted the cup to see what a beautiful baby we had, and to feel how incredibly loved you were.” Bob ran a hand over Jack’s newly-cropped hair, feeling the strands against his palm, almost as soft as when he used to sit next to Bob in his high chair smashing banana all over the tray. “I kept my promise too,” Bob said. “I love you. Unconditionally. More than anything in the world. And your mother and I just want to help you be happy, whatever that looks like.” He smiled warmly at his son, letting all the pride he usually kept a lid on to keep from embarrassing Jack bubble up to the surface. Jack looked down at his hands.
“How can you not be disappointed? Look at me.” Jack’s shoulders hunched in, shrinking him down, and Bob pressed his hand between Jack’s shoulder blades, rubbing circles in the way that always used to put him right to sleep as a child.
“I will always be proud of you, hockey or no. Because you know what?” Jack chanced a glance up at his father’s face and was held by his earnest expression. “Winning the Stanley Cup isn’t even in my top hundred favorite memories anymore. All of my best memories are with you and your mother.” Jack didn’t say anything in response, and Bob was learning when to give him space to process, so he stood up, bending back down to kiss his son’s forehead as he snagged the now-soggy bowl of raisin bran from in front of him.
It took a few days for Bob to get a real response from Jack, and in the meantime he just left everything to percolate. And then one night, Bob just couldn’t seem to fall asleep. His knee wasn’t quite hurting, but it was on that edge where it just didn’t feel settled, and Alicia had been snoring, and at the back of his head he could feel some kind of humming, like he could feel the tense air in Jack’s room. He’d gotten himself all worked up mulling that last one over until he had to get out of bed. He stood in front of Jack’s bedroom door, looking at the light peeking out from below the doorjamb for minutes, listening to the sounds of floorboards creaking occasionally, pages rustling, a keyboard clacking. After he’d gotten enough of the sounds of Jack just existing on the other side of the door to calm his racing heart, he went to the living room.
He settled into the couch with a box of crackers and a nature documentary when he heard footsteps creaking on the stairs. At first, he was expecting Alicia coming to call him back to bed, but the footfalls were too loud for her. Bob tried not to look surprised when Jack rounded the corner, keeping his eyes carefully trained on Animal Planet. He held up the crackers in greeting.
“Joining your old man for a midnight snack, eh?”
“Oh. Um, sure.” Jack padded over to the couch and made himself comfortable next to Bob, pulling down the afghan from the back of the sofa. They stare at the TV in silence for a long while before Jack speaks up again, quietly. “Papa?”
“So…what exactly was better than winning the cup?”
got through the day with only 3 hours of sleep since i managed to finish my major at 3am : ) aannnnnnnd i submitted my first major project of the year and i gotta admit i am well pleased with the outcome of it all *cries tears of joy* ,when i went in for the portfolio review/feedback with the markers i have never been more overwhelmed by their comments like that was probably the best feedback i could have ever received. they really liked my work and the way its presented and im just so full of joy because they acknowledged the amount of effort i put through it all and im so :’ )
after it was finished i treated myself to some honeydew milk tea with herbal jelly and pearls because i deserved it and here is a snippet of my may weekly layout c:
Here’s some things I wish someone told me when I was first starting out
You’re gonna find a lot of sources that are Wiccan. So if you don’t want to follow Wicca, it might be harder to find things that talk from a non- Wiccan perspective. This is not the only perspective. I encourage you even if you are wanting to follow Wicca to seek out specifically non-Wiccan sources to get a different view point. (nothing against Wicca here; I just think it’s healthy to get differing opinions)
It’s still witchcraft even if it doesn’t look like what books/Internets witchcraft looks like. Remember that:
Everyone has a different way of doing things and your craft will never ever be the same as anyone else’s.
The people posting about what witchcraft they’ve done are most of the time showing a perfected version of it. You are just starting out. You should not hold yourself up to the standards of people who have had more time and practice.
It’s actually good that it doesn’t look like anyone else’s because that means that it’s entirely your own.
I know it can feel very daunting first getting involved in witchcraft because there is so much to learn. Trust me, you cannot learn everything, and that is okay.
Take things step by step. Find something that really excites you. For example, say you are really interested in deity worship. Focus on just that first. Research different deities and meditate on the ones that interest you. Once you feel like you’ve learned enough (you don’t have to be an expert by any means, just to a point where you feel like you have your foot in the door) then you can move on to something else. You don’t have to do it this way, but I found it helped me narrow things down.
The idea that “if you don’t know what your doing with witchcraft it can backfire” is a myth. Don’t be afraid to explore, learn new things. That being said, I wouldn’t recommend doing anything outside your skill level either. Maybe save the big deal curses for when you have a good grasp on them. Listen to your intuition on this one, if you feel like something you’re doing is too much for you, don’t do it right away, but work your way up. Don’t give up on it, either. Like I said, if you feel like you don’t have the ability to do something, get to a point where you do.
You will have thoughts like “this won’t work” “you’re being stupid” “it’s just some *conventionally useless item*, that can’t do ANYTHING” this is okay. Any intrusive thoughts that tell you it’s not going to work are fine, especially if you are mentally ill. It does not mean your magic looses it’s power because you had an intrusive thought. Yes, the best way to make your magic work is to believe it will work, but intrusive thoughts will not automatically stop the magic from working. Just try your best to overcome them, whatever technique you have for that will work fine. I always use my inner voice to talk back to my intrusive thoughts and say something like “What? That doesn’t even make sense! You’re being ridiculous, random voice in my head that has no attachment to me.” and try to ignore it. Your mental illness does not make you a less powerful of a witch, remember that.
You are much more powerful than you realize. Own this. Be empowered by it.
You don’t have to have a whole bunch of extravagant altars and read your tarot cards and meditate every day to be considered a ‘real’ witch. You do magic without even realizing it sometimes. It’s sometimes hard to do anything big because of busy schedules/low spoons/being closeted or whatever. Try and incorporate little things in your daily routine. I did this by Stirring my tea clockwise and focusing on the cup, while repeating “this tea will improve my day” in my head. It works great for practicing putting your intent in things, focusing your energy, and it can even work if you live in an unfriendly witch household! Get creative with the little things you can do everyday. And even if you can’t do those things sometimes, don’t worry about it!
Be very careful about cultural appropriation in your practice. It can get very dicey as to what is offensive to include in your practice and what is not. I can tell you straight up right now that anything taken from a Native American culture is not okay to incorporate in your practice. A very popular thing that’s taken from Native American culture is smudging. Don’t smudge. There are many alternatives to this. That being said, some things are ok to take from other cultures because those cultures aren’t practiced by living people/are part of a culture or religion that is open to outsiders taking it. Don’t bat yourself up for doing something then finding out it was offensive, because when you recognize it then take necessary steps to fix it, that’s you growing as a person and is a positive change. If you aren’t sure if what your doing is cultural appropriation, ask yourself:
Is what I’m doing practiced by a group of people today? if yes, you’re in the danger zone, but it does not necessarily mean it is appropriation
Is the religion that it comes from a closed or open religion? (this means is it ok for outsiders, people who do not follow the religion, to practice it. example-Judaism=closed, wicca=open) If closed, it’s probably appropriation.
Am I apart of a race that has a history of oppressing this group of people? If yes, you might want to be cautious about it.
If it is deity related- Do the deities in question give me permission? if no, then definitely do not do it.
What would a person from that religion/culture think if they saw me doing this? If they would not like it, it might not be okay.
Is this from my heritage/ancestral background? Don’t worry too much if the answer is no but you passed most of the other questions, This one is mostly because if you grew up in a Jewish/Catholic/Muslim/other closed religion household, wanting to incorporate that in your practice is ok.
You do not have to be religious to practice witchcraft. Your craft can exclude deity work of any kind.
Don’t be afraid to ask what you feel are stupid questions. If your really scared, google is a very handy tool and most blogs have that anon option for a reason. :p
Mmk, spoons are low. Feel free to add any advice you think I’m missing. I really hope this helps someone!
"Being Fuckable Does Not Mean Being Date-able." [Dylan O’brien] Pt. 1
THANK YOU FOR 1k FOLLOWERS GUYS!!!!
This is probably the last request I’ll ever do. And it’s from a long time ago. Sorry. Requests kind of give me writers block because of the certain plot that has to go with it so forgive me if I never got to yours, but enjoy this last one because after this I will just write what comes to mind! MY BOX IS STILL OPEN FOR COMMENTS OR QUESTIONS THOUGH!!!
anon: Heyyy buddy I think you writing is amazing could you do one where the reader is drunk and at a party Dylan had to take her home and she accidentally tells him that she likes him then the morning after he confronts her about it.
My eyes were very focused on my ipad settled below my chin. Laying on my stomach, I felt my shoulders begin to cramp. I grabbed my ipad and laid my back on the pillows trying to desperately finish the story before I start to get ready for my plans later. I had a guilty pleasure, it was reading dirty stories, Dylan somehow never teased me about it, but from time to time he did laugh a little.
“Are you reading smut again?” Dylan’s voice rang through my ears. I forgot he was beside me now curiously looking over to see what I was doing.
“Yes and?” He put his hands up in defense as his eyebrows worked their way closer to each other.
“Nothing Rachel Green.”
“Shut up Joey.” I said responding to his ‘Friends’ reference, the episode where Joey found out Rachel was reading a dirty book. My eyes scanned the paragraphs as I was trying to get back to where I was, “How come you read smut when you literally can get sex whenever you can, “
My attention was very much now on him already knowing what was coming. His eyes wandered and paused directly at my lips. It’s like he realized his stare was starting to affect me that he tilted his eyes back to mine.
“Uh, what I mean is that I’ve seen you do it.” He explained in order for me to not interpret it wrong.
Was he serious? Well because Dylan, you are my best friend, and when I read these books I picture you in them with me but I know fucking your best friend would be weird for you.
That’s what I should of said, but instead the words jumbled up into,
“Because it’s entertaining to see the climax and story of the couple right before they fuck, and even staying for the resolution after.” I stated, not even bothering to look at him any longer with the intent of wanting to jump every bone of his body as I kept reading further.
I could see his hands intertwining together as both of them were playing around with each other between his legs. His eyes kept directing at me as if waiting for me to answer sincerely.
“Okay because I have needs Dylan! Did you really want me to say that I get horny a lot?” I rolled my eyes as his smile plastered pure satisfaction after I fezzed up.
“But horny of what? Just go have sex? There’s something you’re not telling me here.” He paused.
“Better yet, just fuck me.” he shrugged. He always flirted as a joke so casually and it irritated the hell out of me.
For us, saying, ‘fuck me’ is a regular one on one jokingly flirting with each other thing. We always joke sexually but lately it was becoming hard for me to just act like I didn’t want him to pound into me. I had it bad for my ‘best friend’.
These love stories with smut in them focused on two things I wanted most, Dylan’s affection and his- well, dick. I didn’t want to be just friends anymore, I wanted something real with him. I read the cliche wattpad books with the plot of best friends falling for each other, pathetic in my situation, believe me, I know.
“No.” I rolled my eyes for the second time hinting at him to stop and wasn’t in the mood for casual jokes.
“You wouldn’t fuck me?” His hand went over his chest pretending to be insulted. I was getting really sick of this, I was ready to snap. He wanted to play? Alright Let’s play.
I pressed the button on the corner of my ipad for it to rest, I could feel stare behind me as he watched me place it on the night stand. All the attention was on him now,
“You know, what? I wouldn’t mind doing something right now. And since you keep interrupting me..” His curious eyes followed my actions.
“Let’s have sex.” I could of sworn that if he had water right now he would spit it right out. His eyes were left in shock to what I had just mentioned which caused me to smirk. I never responded to his jokes, I usually just laughed or rolled my eyes, but it was annoying me now. He needed to learn a lesson.
After several rapid blinks he managed to let out a stutter, “I- do you like me?” A huge smile on his face suddenly appeared, His hand started to caress my cheek. Did he think I was joking?
His question caught me by surprise so I stepped back a little. I was terribly afraid of his rejection. If he didn’t feel the same way, everything would be ruined.
“What? No!” I laughed it off, “Dylan, I said I would fuck you, because let’s admit it, you are hot. But an emotional attachment? Hell no. You’re my best friend?” That is not what I wanted to say at all, but I did not want to be humiliated. His face dropped and went back to a careless expression, his eyes turned darker and they broke contact with mine as his hand extracted from my face.
“Being fuck-able does not mean being date-able.” I leaned forward as I made my way across him. My legs were now snaking around his waist as he was sitting down gasping at my every movement as I sat down on him quickly.
“What’s wrong? Tired of all the sexual jokes?” My lips whispered into to his ear. “Cause I am.” I said lower, “You should put them to the test.” Just as I was about to lean a tad bit close to his lips, his hands grabbed my chin and stopped me.
“Can you just drop it? I get it, I got a taste of my own medicine.” He grabbed my arms in a careful way but shoved me softly off him. He was heading out of my door, as he turned around not even looking at me, suddenly he had such interest in his phone. It’s what he does when he’s mad or annoyed. He avoids eye contact with me and goes on his phone/
“Don’t forget we planned a night out today, I’ll come by at eight.”
And with that he rushed out of my house leaving me utter shock. What was with the sudden attitude? His cold answers really started to made me wonder if I made him uncomfortable with my reaction. He has rejected to fuck me? Of course I wasn’t going though with it but he left before I finished.
It stung so bad. As if I wasn’t good enough to have sex with? My ego was getting to me but I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed of this whole situation. He thought he got a taste of his own medicine? He hasn’t seen the half of it. He wasn’t getting away with embarrassing me that easy.
Four hours later passed and It was almost eight. I made sure to look extra tonight, cause I was an extra bitch. The knocks on the door soon startled me. He came twenty minutes later than he said but I was okay with it.
He was moody again. He stood a few more seconds at the door, “are we leaving?” still typing on his phone.
“Yes, i just need to get my purse and put on lipstick. Are you just gonna stand there and wait?” His eyes shot up and once he got a hold of the sight, he stared up and down at me. I was wearing a short black tight dress as my black heels complimented it. My hair was straightened, and I hardly straighten it. I go more for the curls usually. My make up was the same yet I added wing eyeliner.
He gasped for about ten seconds as he moved his hand up on down his lip. “Why are you wearing that?” He quickly rushed to my couch as he grabbed a cushion and somehow put it on his lap. He was fidgeting a bit, a normal person wouldn’t notice but I just paid too much attention.
“I’m going to try to get fucked tonight, you’re right. I shouldn’t be reading things about it I should just go get the real thing.” I replied coldly.
“You know I was kidding about that. Read all the porn you want.” He winked playfully.
“Cute.” I laughed mockingly. His expression turned cold again as he rolled his eyes. “Fine. Um I’m going to wait in the car.”
“Kay.” This time I didn’t bother to look back as he left to his car. His annoying mood swings were getting on my nerves.
When we got to the club, Dylan’s grip was hesitant, as if he didn’t want to let me go and enjoy myself. “Let’s go dance!” His eyes landed on my dress again, “ Yeah let’s not. Let’s go get a drink or two first.” His grip was still on my waist.
I could see his protective side coming out, and it was irritating to say the least. “Fine.” I fake smiled to show him I was annoyed.
Six shots later, it was finally kicking in. I was already heading to the dance floor, I could tell Dylan was watching from a far. His eyes rolled so far back every time he saw me interact with a guy, it was ridiculous.
It didn’t take long before he saw I was a little too drunk that I couldn’t keep up with my feet. “Alright, we should go now.” He gently intertwined my arm with his as he took us to the exit.
“Dylan! I was about to get some tonight, now they’re going to think you’re like my boyfriend and not want to talk to me!”
“Good.” He lead us towards his car. “How much did you drink?” I asked as we both got inside.
“I drank other beverages, I’m the designated driver remember.” He said harshly. I didn’t say one word to him the whole ride home, but I could tell we were going to his since it was closer. He was being so rude that every time he spoke, my heart ached a bit more.
The silence wasn’t awkward, he knew when something was bugging me so he just doesn’t add to it.
When the car stopped at his house I was afraid of facing him because there was a tear that escaped my eye and I swiped it quickly off. if I said anything he would still notice because of my shaky voice.
“Y/N.” His voice said from a distance but I blocked it out as I kept looking down at my shoes.
“Hey Y/N. Are you crying?” Dylan scooted closer as he cupped my cheeks.
“You’ve been so distant this whole day after I made a move on you. I mean I get it, we’re best friends and you’d never go for more than that. You’d never love me the way I love you, but the fact that you don’t see me as a desirable person? It’s worse than punching me in the face.”
I felt my sadness overcome me as my sleepiness mixed with it. My eyes started to close as my tears still kept streaming out.
“And it hurts Dylan.” I managed to say in my sad, sleepy voice. “It hurts so much because I want to be your everything, and seeing you that disgusted of me just teared me.” And sleep soon consumed my brain I was out with my as the water droplets from my eyes barely started to dry. Guess crying yourself to sleep is a real thing?
Dylan however was very much awake. He was speechless, and he was positive I wasn’t going to remember a thing in the morning.