that is not wheat but close enough

First Impressions - Peter Parker

Prompt: Y/n Stark is left alone for the weekend as the Avengers are out of town. Her dad decides to send a good friend of his over to spend the day with his daughter although forgets to mention anything to Y/n about it leading her to find an intruder in her kitchen. Not all first impressions are great. 

Words: 5,391

Warnings: Maybe three swear words

Rain kissed the filthy sidewalks of Manhattan in a baptizing fashion. The water droplets rid the city of it’s sin by simply showering over head. Y/n Stark watched the mesmerizing scenery from her bedroom window seat, in awe of the beauty. An old throw blanket was snuggled to her body as she leaded her head on the wood of the sill capturing the view below. The rain picturfully had no effect of the daily life of the city goers as they all continued rushing around, the only change was the addition of umbrellas. Most were black, few clear and a rare bit of yellow. The color of the tarps pulled Y/n in allowing her to calculate the amount of vibrant souls and those unlike the rest.

For the moment being she could see thirty or so dark coverings, three rainbow patterns, one red with black polka dots, a child umbrella resembling a frog, and two summer sky blue umbrellas.

With squinted eyes rain boots were still not visible but that was alright. This was her favorite weather and Y/n Stark had the intention of watching the show all day. Well that was until her stomach growled in agony.

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For @illustraice and her amazing Sun/Moon spirit au? THIS WAS SO RUSHED, BY I wanted to give you something in addition to the writing.

Thank you for all your amazing work. (PLEASE DON’T LISTEN TO EINE KLEINE BY RACHIE. it really hurts with this au.)

It’s entirely a lie that the gods whisper amongst themselves. Behind soft tones and intrepid smiles, he knows what they say about her. About him.

But his golden light conceals too much. He can’t see the truth behind the glaring brightness of his own being.

They say that she’s weak without him. That they’re two halves of a broken whole, and that the moon cannot shine without the sun.

They forget that she is the night sky and all it encompasses. They forget that she holds the stars in her small hands, that she grasps the distant galaxies with her glowing night.

He doesn’t get to see her much. But when he does, the old scars across his back and his chest and the ones that sear in his heart all ache.

Vague memories of bloodless war flit through his mind. Her blue eyes are ever closed in his presence. Her dark gown spilling over like ink around her form.

She is perfection. Everything he is not.

She is not his to have. Her silver heart belongs to a human she once met.

She reaches for a man she knows is no longer living. But her moon shines just for him…for Adrien.

It wanes when the remembrance of war hurts her. It waxes red and full when her anger writhes and pulls at the oceans.

She once was human. Once was on earth long enough to meet a boy with golden hair like wheat and eyes the color of sunlight through leaves. A boy who fought in a revolution with ideals as pure as newly born life wavering under the spring sun.

“Wait for me. Wait for me, my Lady. When it is over, we can see each other again.”

But he never came for her. She’d searched long and hard across the streets of Paris, her form slowly shifting as the constellations on her back faded.

Mortals had so often made wishes on her stars, but she lamented that she cannot do the same as her heart leaked open and her tears doused the corpses that littered the battleground.

It’s been centuries, and her heart still aches.

(As do the old scars that gleam like starlight across her ribs and back, the scars the curl around her legs like sea foam.)

So she waits with a smile that cuts across the dark like her crescent moon, watching the world turn while she waits for a soul to be reborn. Her eyes drift into a sleep, dreams dancing across her sight full of wishes she cannot grant.

It is the strangest thing, he thinks, to make wishes on a flower.

The Earth is such a beautiful balance…one who’s beauty brings with it a sharp regret that he can’t quite recall.

There’s peace in this field of sunflowers that rise like curious sentinels for their king. He feels safe in their shade, hidden from the glare of his own sun.

There’s a little lark that sits on his shoulder, head tilted inquisitively at him. He gives it a gentle smile, and turns back to the flower he holds.

(The local flower spirit…a tiny pink robed girl by the name of Rose…has kindly left him to his devices.)

But he holds not a sunflower, but a delicate dandelion in between his warm hands, and he heaves a breath.

“I want to see her.” He whispers.

He watches the seeds drift away on the sudden breeze. They spiral upwards into the sharply blue sky, a color that distinctly reminds him of the one he adores.

His wish is carried away on the breeze. He hopes the wind spirit cannot hear it. But then again, he wonders if he should have wished on the stars instead.

Maybe then she would have heard the sound of his golden heart reaching across the sky for her.

They meet once more during an eclipse.

He thinks it oddly fitting that the darkest time of existence for him is when he can see her.

She thinks it oddly disquieting that the brightest time of existence for her is when they cross paths.

An eclipse. Solar or lunar, she can’t quite tell yet.

But those familiar tendrils of heat reach out for her. Her hands feel cold and there’s an old timeliness pain that lances through her as he calls her name.

Still, she curls into herself, a full moon who’s silvery light wanes in the face of the golden sun.

Her eyes remain closed, but somehow, her frigid fingers reach across the brief expanse, seeking a warmth they do not want.

“What are you afraid of, Night? Why do you curl away from me?” He calls out, slight irritation causing him to flare red and orange for a moment.

She lets the frost under her shadow creep into her tone…lets the elegance of snow and ice under stars color her answer.

“I don’t love you. I don’t want eternity with you. We may remain friends.”

He’s frustrated. And he can’t catch her glance, because still her eyes are closed against him and the tears well up in his own gaze.

“I understand.” He says quietly, and the rest of the eclipse is spent in silence.

But there’s a gentle smile in her goodbye and he just barely catches the tips of her fingers to press a burning kiss to them.

She opens her eyes the smallest bit, oddly gray in the light of the blue stars that color her gown.

And then they part.
She hears the wish he made on her brightest star.

She can’t grant it.

They think the night needs the day to shine. How wrong they are…it is the day that wholly depends on the night.

It is his golden heart that aches for her. It is his balance that is broken when she disappears and he remains.

Her night sky remains, but there’s a wailing loneliness that makes it seem so much dimmer.

His cries echo across the stars, and his tears become rain.

She hides on Earth, and while her heart aches still, she shifts her dark umbrella higher over her shoulders and lets the tears roll cruelly over it.

She cannot grant his wish when she’s working so hard to grant her own.

There’s someone she needs to find.

Chaol Westfall Post (a.k.a. why the Fandom should stop giving Chaol unnecessary shit)

Let me start off by saying this: It’s cool if Chaol is not your favorite character. If you dislike him, even if it’s for no particular reason at all, it’s fine. Different strokes for different folks and all that. But I do think most of the fandom treats him unfairly, especially since they somehow manage to excuse Aelin and Co.’s shitty actions all the time.

Chaol didn’t accept Aelin, unlike Rowan!

Ya’ll need to stop comparing him with Rowan and going on with that “but he didn’t accept ALL of Aelin!” bullshit. Rowan is Fae. No shit it’d be easier for him to accept Aelin’s Fae side. Seriously, this is such an unfair comparison. Rowan is used to magic. He knows how it works. Also, let’s not forget that Rowan is hundreds of years old so yeah, he’s had time to develop himself, figure out his views and all that.

Chaol is human. He is also young. I mean, didn’t Aelin herself say in HoF that she was nothing but a girl to Rowan? And Chaol is only a couple years older than her. It’s like comparing your grandfather to your boyfriend! (That sounded weird but you get the point, right?)

Anyway, he was taught that magic is this horrible thing. He barely has any experience with it and he doesn’t fully understand it. Dorian has magic and even he doesn’t fully understand it. So of course it was natural for him to struggle with accepting it.

As someone who used to be an incredibly closed-minded, racist, and prejudiced asshole, I understand Chaol. I was raised a Catholic. I live in a predominantly Catholic country. People here are conservative as fuck. Homophobia is common. I’ve seen people make fun of trans folk (saying stuff like “They’re crazy!” or “What a waste of their looks/talent/whatever else!”). And you know, I used to think that way too. Take it from my experience. Changing is HARD in that sort of environment. Hell, one of my best pals during my freshman year of high school was pansexual and still, it wasn’t until college that I was starting to become truly open-minded. Even until now, there are still some things I still struggle accepting completely. But you know what? I try to anyway because I know it’s the right thing to do. It’s why Chaol appeals to me. I’ve been in his shoes. I know his struggles.

Shit like that takes time. The series takes place in a span of what? A year? In which everything was changing so fucking fast for Chaol to keep up with? Give the guy a break.

And did ya’ll forget that bit at the end of QoS where he asks to see her magic? And he says it’s lovely? Does that not count as coming to terms with Aelin’s magic and accepting her or?

But Chaol called her a monster! 

Okay. Consider this for a moment. Remember in CoM, when Chaol had been taken and Celaena went to rescue him? Take a look at this paragraph.

“She was a whirlwind of steel and blood. As he watched her cut through the men as though though they were stalks of wheat in a field, he understood how she had gotten so close to touching Endovier’s wall that day. And at last–after all these months–he saw the lethal predator he’d expected to find in the mines. There was nothing human in her eyes, nothing remotely merciful. It froze his heart.”

Now think. If someone that ruthless had magic. Like a shit ton of power. Wouldn’t you be scared too? I mean, it was difficult enough for people to keep Celaena in check as an assassin. It’d be nearly impossible to do so with Aelin, who apparently is also blessed with powerful magic, being the Heir of Mala or whatever the fuck she is. Chaol had a point. He may not have worded it nicely but he had a point. In EoS, there was literally a line that said “Chaol had warned her about this before” or something like that.

Was he right to call Aelin a monster? Fuck no. I ain’t excusing that. It was a shitty move on his part. But was it understandable? Pretty much.

Also, let’s not forget that unlike us, Chaol had no clue what went down in Wendlyn. He didn’t know what Aelin had gone through and had seen.

But Aelin has had it worse than Chaol! She lost her family and everyone she loved! He has no right to be an ass to her!

Yes, he has no right to be an ass to her. But Aelin has no right to be an ass to him either. Empathizing with Chaol doesn’t mean we’re invalidating Aelin’s hardships. They are two different people. Different backgrounds. Different ways of coping. Different ways of reaction. You can’t expect Chaol to be perfectly okay with losing his best friend and the woman he loved (after she said that whole “I’ll always pick you” speech at the harbor, mind you). He was expecting Celaena to return to him, and when she didn’t, it basically shattered the last shred of hope that he would have something familiar and stable amidst all the change around him.

But Chaol is racist! And prejudiced!

Yo. Your homegirl Aelin was prejudiced against Manon, too. And she had no reason to be? Even Rowan was kinda prejudiced against Manon.

But all Chaol did was blame Aelin for things she couldn’t control!

Well it’s not like she was innocent too. She blamed Chaol for leaving Dorian behind but seriously, what else could he have done? He would have died if he stayed. And then what? Magic wouldn’t be free. Dorian might have died too, since Chaol and Nesryn were the ones who stopped Aelin from killing him. And a whole bunch of other stuff could’ve gone wrong!

Is Chaol perfect? Nope. Like every other character in the series, he has his flaws. He’s done some shitty things. I’m not even going to deny that. But it constantly feels like the fandom puts too much focus on his flaws that they forget about the good things he’s done, too. Like saving Fleetfoot or working with the rebels.

So yeah, again, if Chaol ain’t your fave bro, that’s cool. Perfectly fine. But ya’ll seriously gotta stop those unfair comparisons and double standards. 

A Daughter’s Lament

You could have loved me,
The way my skin was just as brown,
As the amber glow of the sunless city
Where you birthed me.

You could have loved me,
The way the flickering low wattage
Light bulbs always broke beneath my fingers,
You didn’t raise me to be so clumsy hearted.

Though, you could have loved me,
The way oceans sloshed from my tear ducts,
The way singing sounds like crying
If you don’t listen close enough.

You could have loved me.
The way my skin is the same color
Of the drink you love,
My smile just as intoxicating.

You could have loved me,
The way my callused fingers shattered glass
far better than your drunken stumble
danced around rhythmlessly.

You could have loved me,
The sorrow in my voice echoed
in the silence you wanted drowned.
You chose not to listen.

You chose the color of wheat,
A shade of brown I could never be.
I went seeking sunlight,
And you decided not to love me.

You chose broken light switches,
The way starless skies spun,
And 40 watts burned a dingy orange
over bandaged fingertips.

You chose confinement in a solitary sea,
Of frothy brown water, too salty to drink.
And the sound of waves clapping
Against the cliffs from which you hung me.

Duty of Heart

Theme: Royalty
Rating: M


“Are you daft?” The question is asked in a harsh tone, one that Stiles is used to hearing from his father or his instructors, not a random stranger. “What were you thinking, hanging about in the rain like that?”

A small cloth is thrown at his chest while the man storms around the shop, continuing to mutter under his breath about how stupid Stiles must be. When he turns back with a glare, Stiles almost shrinks away from the anger in the man’s eyes. “Were you trying to catch your death?”

Stiles watches him bustle around for a drawn out moment, trying to gather his bearings. He had been minding his own business, enjoying the way that the cool summer rain felt on his skin, when he had been yanked inside the blacksmith shop against his will. If anyone has a right to be angry, it’s him. But the man is acting as if Stiles brutally insulted him. Finally he asks, “Why do you care so much anyway? It was just a little rain, no harm in that.”

He knows that he’s said something wrong when he sees the way that the man reacts. His body freezes, becoming ridged for a moment before he turns around. Where he had been angry and concerned since he pulled Stiles in off of the street, now he regarded him with a completely blank expression. The change has Stiles reeling back. “You’re right.” All emotion has bled from his voice, leaving it a toneless, monotonous drawl. “I shouldn’t have interrupted your fun.” The last word is spat in his direction.

Stiles tried to backtrack. “No, no. I’m sorry. You were kind enough to look out for a random stranger, and I’ve repaid your concern by questioning that. My apologies.”

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anonymous asked:

I really wanted a Scentsy Buddy (a plush with a zipper for scent packs)... but they have a plush supporting Autism speaks. :( My favorite sensory thing is plush things and smells... any ideas?

As far as I’m aware, only sales of that plush contribute towards A$. However, if you don’t want to touch a company that has any connection with A$, I absolutely do not blame you - it’s all about our individual comfort level, and we have the right to feel good about the stim toys we buy.

I do have ideas, though, about DIY alternatives, and @pink-rainbow-sparkles and @thesensorybox have posted on very good alternatives available in Australia and New Zealand.

If you don’t want a weighted plush, the simplest solution is to literally drop essential oils on a plushie/soft toy you already own. Some essential oils like lemongrass are yellow-tinted and will stain; other essential oils, like lavender, tea tree or peppermint, are clear and won’t stain. (I’ve been dropping lavender on my pillow at night, to help me sleep, for four or five years. You wouldn’t know it to look at my pillow or pillow case.) If you want to change the scent, wash the toy and add a new oil. (My pillow case does not smell of lavender after machine washing, and I use fragrance-free laundry powder.)

If you want more info on which essential oils don’t stain, I’ll gladly go through my oil collection and swatch test them for you, but I’ve been dropping lavender oils on my weighted soft toys to refresh their scent and there is absolutely no staining. None. Do use pure essential oils and not oils blended with a carrier oil, though, or else you might make your toy tacky or greasy to touch.

(Note: I have no idea about the stainability of perfume/fragrance oils when dripped on fabric, because I don’t use them. Can anyone advise on this?)

The other options involve using weighted heat bags inside a plush animal case, very similar to the Scentsy toys. These toys are a cover designed to contain a rice or wheat bag that you remove, microwave and then replace, so they’re ideal for the switchable scent pack function.

@thesensorybox wrote this post on how to find them in K-Mart stores; @pink-rainbow-sparkles wrote this post on how they use their unicorn, also from K-Mart. There’s several different ones listed on K-Mart’s website, $9 AUD. Big W, another Australian department store, also has several different kinds, also $9 AUD. The bunny looks really cute!

I checked out Amazon, but I was having trouble finding toys with the removable pouch, since that is part of the function we want here. I’d recommend checking out your local department store. If you’re in the Northern Hemisphere, it may be harder to find these as you’re moving out of cold weather. My local department stores, albeit with less stock, did have them throughout the summer just gone, so I’d consider it worth a look.

If you want the switchable scent pack function, for different scents, you’ll likely need to make or buy packs of a similar size to swatch them out, and either scent those packs with essential oils or fill them with a scented filler (dried herbs, lavender heads) in addition to stuffing or something weighted (rice, seeds, grains, soup mix, dried beans, poly pellets). You can scent rice very easily by tossing it in a container (an old ice-cream tub works well) and adding a few drops of oil, and I’ve scented plastic poly pellets the same way with no problems. I’ve also mixed poly/soft toy stuffing with dried lavender heads with no problems, just by layering: one layer of stuffing, one layer of lavender, etc.

The wheat packs, if you make several, are no different from a bean bag (two tutorials linked on this post). Cut two pieces of fabric the size of the bag inside the toy (usually a rectangle or a square), sew or glue up three edges, fill with scented rice or wheat or weighted pellets (if you’re not going to heat it, it doesn’t matter what you use) and sew or glue closed the fourth edge, making a sealed-shut pocket. Since it goes inside the toy, it doesn’t even have to be neat - just keep your stitches small enough that the inside filler can’t come out. The seams can be as messy as you like!

You can also refresh this pouch with a few drops of essential oil, and because it goes inside the toy, you can even use those oils that stain, as you won’t see the inner pouch.

If you don’t mind rustling plastic, you could even use several ziplock bags to contain the scented filler. I’d recommend using the thinner, cheaper kind, as the smell of the oil will seep through the plastic more easily. (I never find one ziplock bag to contain scent all that well, but the cheaper ones are much worse at it, which is what we want!)

Either way, it’s a little involved if you want to have the multiple scent options. Just dripping a toy with essential oils is the easiest, but it will still involve the purchase of several oils. (This said, oils last a long time and you can use them for scented necklaces, slimes, burning in oil burners, bean bags, personal care, cleaning…) The heat-up pocket plush toy will require sewing or gluing, and the purchase of fabric (or ziplock bags), bag fillers and oils. I can’t find a way that’s less complicated, because I don’t think perfumes and body sprays will last as long as essential oils, in terms of the filler or plush toy holding the scent.

If anyone has any suggestions, or a supplier for something similar that isn’t Scentsy, by all means, suggest away!

ETA: @ninjacacti says,

a good scent thing that isn’t oils are tea bags! they never stain and last a super long time I have a little pocket I’ve sewn on teddy bear that sits in my bed with a tea bag in it and it works great! if you can’t sew or just don’t like it you can get Velcro or just glue

Oh, very cool thought! It’d be so easy to remove and replace different tea bags from the heat bag soft toys! Thank you!

ETA the second: @2hon5 says,

Also, if you don’t have the spoons or motor function to sew or glue your own bean/rice bags, you can use those little zipper wallets. Just make sure the zipper is entirely plastic (no metal) if you’re going to microwave it. If you can’t find one like that, you can always use a sock and fill it up, tie it off, microwave it, and put it in the plushie.

I bow before your genius. Seriously. Very, very good suggestions. Especially the sock one, because that’s so simple and accessible. Thank you.          

I always thought you’d come back
arms open
waiting for me to jump up
and cling to the flesh on your neck.
I can see it now
you’re standing in a field,
the sun’s setting behind you
but it’s not blinding
your silhouette looks too perfect,
like a painting,
like a dream
I don’t wake up yet
I keep walking
the wheat grazing my legs.
I feel the breeze as it blows through my hair
it’s the perfect temperature, just sitting on my skin

(like you used to when we were curled up in bed,
your fingers tracing the small hairs on my arms
starting from my wrist all the way up to my shoulder.)

I finally get to you
as if I’ve been walking my whole life
destined to stand a foot away.
(almost there, but still not close enough)
I can hear your breaths
so faint it blends into the wind
like a little whistle,
it takes me back to when you held me in your arms as you slept.
I never realized all the little things I missed.

we’re standing in this wheat field,
the Suns making my eyes gold, I can tell by the way you’re looking at me
you see this sparkle in my eye
and wonder what happened,
why it ever disappeared.
it only feels like we’ve been standing there for a few seconds
or maybe hours
I can’t tell.
all I can think about is your hand
all I can think about is you moving it just a few inches
reaching out for mine

then all of a sudden the Suns practically gone,
the moon has started its turn in the sky and is just behind me
your eyes drift
locked on its white crescent
you only see her

(I always thought you’d come back.
come back from this dream youre in
where you love the sun,
but no matter what you’ll always belong to the moon.
I always thought some day
the sparkle in my golden eyes would be enough)

in the dream it’s too dark to see anything except her.
you’re looking at me
but still her body is balancing on my eyes
dancing as they shift back and forth,
swimming as tears start to form.

(I’ve always been waiting
waiting for her to sleep so I can be reborn,
so you can see my eyes change from brown to gold,
so you can feel my warmth.
I’ve always been waiting for excuses
to be enough for you
I wonder when I realized I never was
I wonder how long I pretended I never knew.)

—  “you may be sunshine darling but we both know the moon has my heart” // August 27, 2016
Eatin’ Seeds

by  Saṃsāran

Our main source of food these days is seeds. Seeds include peas, corn, beans, rice, nuts, soy, and, of course, grains. Grains are grass seeds. It is doubtful that mankind ate many seeds aside from nuts in our early days. Seeds require considerable processing to be made edible. Some are even poisonous unless they are properly treated with chemicals. 

Seeds are good food because they contain food intended for the sprouting plant. Most seeds have a husk, the hard outer shell (bran), the nut (endosperm), the part containing the nutrition and the germ which is the plant embryo. To eat most seeds the husk must be mechanically broken and removed. Then the nut part of the seed must be either milled into flour and baked, boiled or fried.

So for ten thousand years mankind ate bread or porridge and this was how we got our grain food. It wasn’t until 100 years ago that John Harvey Kellogg an eccentric doctor figured out that you could mill the grain, roll it, extrude it, mix it with malt and then serve it with milk and sugar for breakfast. This was the first new method  of eatin’ seeds mankind had come up with since the last ice age and it provided an all new market for the vast tracts of grain being planted in the American midwest.

Fun Fact: Wheat is the most common grain with rice coming in a close second. Wheat grew wild in one place in the world in what we now call the Middle East present day Iraq at the headwaters of the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. This is where civilization started. Oddly enough this is also the one place where the Bible locates Eden. Genesis 2:10 –14  Eden means “well watered” in Aramaic. Myth based on some dimly remembered fact?

Harvest Witch Headcanons

I love Harvest Witches. I love them to bits, though I loathe how they seem to be missing a lot of lore. There’s gobs of potential there! Until Blizzard starts cranking out info, though, here’s some thoughts I shared with @king-kankor on witches and what makes sense to me.

I suppose I should preface this by stating that I see harvest witches as a little bit more than just magical farmers who can hear cryptic messages on the wind. In my mind, the Old Ways encompass a fair bit more, given that humans used to originally be shamanistic. However, harvest witches were also driven underground at some point, though why this happened is never directly stated. So to me, harvest witches exist in a delicate state of duality–one where they ensure bountiful harvests and hunts for the communities they watch over, as well as dabble in darker practices (after all, there has to be a reason they were nearly hunted into extinction).

I see harvest witchcraft as capable of being broken down by region; the more well-known farm witches would have played a vastly different role than, say… A woodland witch, and as such I feel like their studies and practices would affect this. That’s not to say, however, a farm witch COULDN’T be all for curses and faeries rather than healing and tending crops! But in general, given that witches have always struck me as extremely practical (if a bit eccentric), that their roles in their community/region would play a huge part in what they practice.

So brace yourselves! There’s an incredibly long post ahead, but I encourage anyone and everyone to reblog this with the addition of their own headcanons, too! I’d love to see what you guys imagine for your witches.

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Vegan teriyaki seitan with noodles

As a person who follows a ridiculous number of vegan food bloggers for someone who is neither a master chef nor a vegan, I’ve been reading a lot about seitan recently. Made from wheat gluten, it’s a meat substitute that more closely resembles the texture of meat than tofu, and contains lots of protein while being soy free. I found it at a grocery store that stocks a lot of asian ingredients. Also look for it at a health food store. You can also make it at home if you’re feeling especially adventurous.  A package for me cost $3, and had enough to feed me, my boyfriend, and lots of leftovers. I’m a vegetarian and loved it, but my omnivore boyfriend possibly loved it even more than me!


  • 1 package seitan
  • fresh or frozen veggies (I used: 1 small red pepper, 1 small onion, a handful of sliced button mushrooms, 1 shredded kale leaf, but use whatever you’ve got on hand!)
  • olive oil
  • Teriyaki sauce
  • noodles (I used pho rice noodles)
  • avocado (optional)
  1. Start by placing the seitan in some sort of bowl, dish, or zip lock bag to marinate. I used a dish large enough for the seitan to sit in one layer, and enough teriyaki to cover the bottom of the dish about a quarter of an inch. Mix the seitan around in order to coat it in the sauce. Do this periodically as it’s marinating.
  2. Next, cook up your veggies in a pan with some olive oil on a low-medium heat (about 4 on the scale of 1 to 10). Add things that take longer to cook first (like onions and red pepper). Add a little water to the pan if things start to stick. 
  3. After about 10 minutes, add in the seitan and the sauce. Let it heat for another five minutes or so. While that’s cooking, boil your noodles. (The noodles I used only take two minutes in boiling water, so check your package instructions beforehand to make sure you time the noodles to be done when the seitan/veggies are.)

Serve in a bowl, mixing around the seitan/veg to coat the noodles with the teriyaki sauce. Garnish with sliced avocado or whatever else your heart desires!

(Tip: I used my leftover seitan/veg mixture the next morning with two fried eggs and some sour creme for a savoury (non vegan) breakfast. Also could be great on a sandwich, or served with rice!)

anonymous asked:

Headcanon? Sometimes when Dipper and Mabel argue Dipper shape-shifts into her to make her mad and picks his nose and such

Mabel sauntered in to the kitchen with a little more swing to her hips than usual, sliding her feet across the tile until she’s practically wedged herself between Henry and the counter. The counter that still showcased a very unimpressive display of half-finished turkey sandwiches for lunch (one without cheese, Acacia had been adamant about not having cheese on hers today for some reason).

“Can I help you?” Henry chuckled, shimmying a bit to one side so he could drop a leaf of lettuce on one slice of bread, careful not to make a mess of things - but it was difficult to maneuver like this with his wife suddenly so insistent on making herself the center of his attention.

“Oh, Henry~” Mabel sighed, voice dropping to a playfully low purr as her arms slid across his shoulders. With a tilt to her head, she may have fluttered her eyelashes in a way Henry was certain he hadn’t seen her do before - and they had kids. “Put the cold cuts down for a second, won’t you?”

A nervous laugh this time, hazel eyes flickering over to the threshold of the living room where he last saw the kids playing with Nerf guns just a handful of minutes ago. They weren’t there anymore, probably outside now that he couldn’t hear their squeals of laughter, but still.

"Mabes, honey, the kids are gonna be fussy if they don’t get their lunch soon. Can I get a rain check on, uh… whatever it is you’re doing?” Yeah, like he didn’t know. His ears still burned like a teenager’s though, so close enough.

Mabel giggled, all airy and feminine and flirty. “C’mere then, let me just give you a little preview…”

Warm hands found the back of his neck, and she pulled him down, lips almost, almost touching the shell of his ear as she spoke. Henry gulped audibly, heart thudding loudly in his chest as he unbiddingly gripped a slice of whole wheat bread into a useless crumple in one hand. Mabel was just being so unusually sultry today that he didn’t even notice the strange change in her voice until-

Sometimes I pick my nose and wipe my boogers on your side of the bed when you aren’t looking.”

It’s a grand total of seven seconds before Henry straightens up and looks down at Mabel, eyes wide with confusion and -

His wife stares at him with a deadpan expression for a moment, before she tremors once, twice, three times before snorting and breaking face, trembling like she’s about to explode into laughter that might end up giving her a six-pack.

That wasn’t his wife’s voice.

By the time Henry’s brain starts back up again, Mabel’s running across the kitchen with a squirt-gun full of holy water and letting out a murderous screech capable of raising the dead. His brother-in-law rather ungracefully detaches from him, cackling like a madman (oh god it’s so weird hearing his voice coming from Mabel’s body) just in time to get away from his rampaging twin.

Leaving Henry to stand in front of six unfinished turkey sandwiches and wonder what the hell just happened.

oh so that’s what a date is then

“Now what?”


At the time, Tommy had thought, smooth, but now, half-way between the restaurant and their apartment, he wasn’t so sure. It was just, this was a date. Like an actual, date, date, and he hadn’t been on one of those, well, ever. Not that he hadn’t dated, because of course he had. He’d dated quite a few girls, women, in his life-time, but this was different. This was dinner, a movie, and a very slim possibility of actually getting laid after. If, he’d been back in high school, it definitely wouldn’t have been worth a single pound out of his wallet. Yet, here he was, with a restaurant booked, his entire week’s paycheck in tow, and Madeline beside him. She was close too, like hand brushing against his, every time they walked, kind of close and it was enough to make him glad he couldn’t find his gloves. Not that it was too cold… for late February, it was surprisingly quite comfortable. Tommy, had even decided to for-go his coat, instead settling on a cream (well, it had been labelled wheat) coloured sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans, that he’d actually bought for their date tonight. Yes, Tommy, for the first time in his life, had actually planned something that didn’t involve a packet of condoms, for a girl.

“I hope you like, Indian? Oh wait…, of course you do.” He winked, his usual teasing humor, beginning to slip back through. Not that it hadn’t been there in the week leading up to their date, because it definitely had, but when Madeline had stepped out ‘ready’ for their date, well… there just hadn’t been a whole lot of material to work with. Instead, he’d settled with a rather awkward, “now, that looks like something you’d actually want to grab first, if this place went up in smoke.” Which, okay, probably wasn’t the best thing to say to her on their first date, but, what? He was still getting use to this whole complimenting her thing. Besides, everything he really wanted to say to her, seemed to always get trapped somewhere between his throat and stomach, anyway. If anything, she should be glad, he was still speaking to her at all. “You think, Lionel’s forgiven me, yet? I mean, that new washer was pretty fancy.” Not that he needed to know, where Tommy had got it from or anything. Hint: it hadn’t exactly been legal. With a smile, Tommy, decided it was now or never, and grabbed her hand between his own. “Fuck, this is weird, right?” Yet, he didn’t let go and even, squeezed her hand again, letting her know he wasn’t planning on it either. “Also, we don’t have to rush over to the cinema after dinner, I’ve already bought the tickets. I think you’re going to like it… a lot.” Tommy, had looked through Madeline’s collection of movies and come to the conclusion that something ‘romantic’ would be a good decision, so in the end he settled with a Syfy. No way, was he sitting and actually watching a movie with her. Not when he could be making out with her instead anyway.

Klaroweek: Royal AU

Anonymous said: For day 6 of Klaroweek, Klaus as a king and Caroline as the lady engaged to his rival please ?

I know you asked for the AU day, but pretty much I’ve been writing an AU week. Also, I’m just going to apologize for the dragons. Sort of apologize for the dragons. lynyrdwrites here you go.

Ambassador Caroline Forbes was fifteen feet from her carriage when the world rumbled. Her carriage shook on its wheels, and she hesitated. Glancing about the wide courtyard, she nearly stumbled at what had been the open gate.

There was a dragon blocking her exit.

She stared at it, the rich ebony scales gleaming in the early morning light. The dragon turned its head and one giant, golden eye larger than her body watched her from a narrow pupil. The scent of ash and heat filled the air as the dragon yawned. Large, gleaming teeth the color of bone were on full display.

The courtyard was frozen.

Beyond that serpentine head was a body that could reach sixty feet, depending on age. Impressive. Beautiful. Dangerous.

“Kol likes to show off.”

The low, accented voice cut into the silence and it was only years of diplomatic training that kept her shoulders from tightening. Kept her from bolting for the carriage that clearly wouldn’t be leaving regardless.

“He’s beautiful,” Caroline said without turning her head. “Is there a particular reason he’s blocking my departure?”

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throne of glass meme ∟Massacre in the Warehouse [2/2 scenes]

She was a whirlwind of steel and blood. As he watched her cut through the men like they were stalks of wheat in a field, he understood how she had gotten so close to touching Endovier’s wall that day. And at last—after all these months—he saw the lethal predator he’d expected to find in the mines. There was nothing human in her eyes, nothing remotely merciful. It froze his heart.


“Enough! Put down your weapons,” he told the guard.

The guard faltered, but Celaena’s swords remained at the ready. The old man took one step toward Celaena. “Enough! We have enough enemies as it is! There are worse things out there to face!”

Celaena slowly turned to him, her face splattered with blood and eyes blazing bright. “No, there aren’t,” she said. “Because I’m here now.”

(Crown of Midnight, p. 219-221)

Baker's Dozen (Robin/Regina, PG 13, Ch 2/13)

(Need to catch up? Week One.)


Monday is Columbus Day.

Forbidden Fruit closes at noon.

Regina has been there since four - she gave the girls the day off, imagining business would be slow and she could hack it alone for six hours of back-and-forth. Even after the debacle that was Friday morning. She came in an hour early to compensate, to make sure there was enough product to live up to their Baked Fresh Daily promise in the case of an unexpected rush and to pre-bake a bit for Tuesday. Tuesdays they sell bread - glossy, golden challah; thick, chewy honey wheat; tangy sourdough. Dinner rolls, and crusty baguettes. The once-a-week rarity creates a bump in demand, and Regina can recognize several faces that come in only on Tuesdays, just for bread. She doesn’t want to disappoint, but closing for the afternoon cuts into her usual prep time.

She will not stay a minute past 12:30, though. Not today. Henry is off school, and Regina has promised she will spend the day with him - an easy commitment to make, considering she sometimes sees him much less than she’d like. She misses mornings, regrets that she is nearly never there to fix him breakfast and make sure he brushes his teeth and walk him to school. She has his late afternoons and his evenings, has an hour before lights out every single night when she hauls herself up onto his loft bed and curls up with him, reads to him from the book du jour. Right now, it’s the Harry Potter series, and he’s obsessed.


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anonymous asked:

After Oliver left for Queen Manor in a rush and Sara was busy having a heart to heart with her sisters, Diggle took it upon himself to take a loopy Felicity back to her apartment to insure she got there all in one piece.

She was quiet on the drive back to her apartment, still wearing Oliver’s blue dress shirt, buttoned loosely around her shoulders like a cape. Diggle had draped his coat around her as well to protect her modesty.

They rode the elevator to her floor, Felicity leaning slightly against his shoulder as the digital number above the doors slowly climbed, and Digg could tell by the sharpening of her gaze that the oxycodone was beginning to wear off.

He fingered the bottle of pills in his pocket, deciding he’d give her another with a glass of water once he got her settled, and send her to sleep it off. He had thoughts about spending the night on her couch, just in case she needed help with something or tore her stitches in the middle of the night; this was Felicity’s first gunshot wound, and it made him a little overprotective, he had to admit.

They made it into her apartment and Felicity wandered into her kitchen, flipping the light with her left hand and standing in front of the fridge, squinting at the closed door like she was trying to view its contents with x-ray vision.

Huffing a breathy chuckle through his nose, John scooted past her to her sink, pulling a glass from a cabinet and filling it with water. “Felicity, you hungry? Now might be a good time to get a little something on your stomach.”

She grumbled low in her throat, then sighed. “Don’t know what I want. All I have in there is leftover Chinese and week-old Italian takeout.”

Digg glanced around her counter and spotted a loaf of bread; checking the date, he asked, “How about some toast? While it’s in the toaster, I can clean those stitches one more time, see if you did any more bleeding.” She rolled an evil eye at him, and he tucked away a smile, sure now the drugs were wearing thin and the pain was making her grumpy, if clearer-headed. “And after your toast, you can have another ‘aspirin.’”

Felicity sighed long-sufferingly and nodded, awkwardly shrugging out of his coat. He hurriedly took it from her, then gestured her to one of the bar stools grouped around her center island. She hopped up and he made quick, utilitarian work of the few closed buttons of the blue shirt, backing off as she gripped its front with her left hand and pulled it down just enough to reveal her right shoulder.

Diggle turned away, swiftly got two slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster, and retrieved the first-aid kit he knew lived under Felicity’s kitchen sink.

Plunking the plastic box—significantly larger than the one she’d owned at the beginning of last summer—onto the island counter, he dug inside for a handful of gauze swabs, some clean bandaging and tape, and a packet of alcoholic disinfectant wipes.

Carefully peeling away the gauze pad covering her wound, Diggle glanced up to see Felicity watching his fingers work. She caught him looking and blinked at him. Smiling reassuringly, he glanced to see the old gauze spotted with blood and pulled it free, setting it aside to trash when he was finished. “You okay, Felicity?”

She watched him and nodded, then frowned a little droopily. “I was better before the drugs started to wear off.” His eyebrows went up, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid, Digg, I knew they weren’t aspirin.”

He chuckled, opening a wipe and gently dabbing her stitches with it, carefully cleaning the blood that had begun to crust and dry around them.

He glanced back at her, and the seriousness in her face made his hands momentarily pause as she said, “Just like I know you weren’t asking if I was okay because I got shot.”

John exhaled quietly from his nose but waited patiently for her to answer the question, now that she acknowledged it.

“I like Sara,” she began. “She’s… nice.” Her voice went small. “I like people who are nice to me.” She blinked, coming back from whatever faraway place her mind had flitted to. “She’s just also really beautiful, and smart, and cool, and… like you guys. She’s strong. And all the rest, too. It just… felt like I was losing my spot, because someone better was around now.”

Diggle shook his head, lips pursing. “Sara’s not better than you, Felicity. Just different. Your spot’s not up for grabs, to anyone.”

Felicity groaned a little, head falling to one side. “I know. I know.” She sighed. “But it’s hard, to not feel like it anyways.” She went quiet for a moment, and Digg, sensing she wasn’t quite done, waited. “I told Oliver… about my dad.”

Diggle’s fingers stopped again, in the middle of replacing the gauze pad on the front of her shoulder. He turned his head to look at Felicity, taking in her profile, expression melancholy. “Because of the thing with Thea?”

She nodded. “I hesitated. Telling him. Because I was scared, Moira said he’d hate me for being the one to tell him, and I can’t… I can’t lose him.”

Digg nodded, encouraging her to keep going; telling her he understood. He knew, since she told him the rough sketch of her childhood drama this past summer, that she had issues with abandonment.

“And then Sara came, and… Digg, I didn’t tell you everything. About my dad.”

Diggle pulled back a little in surprise; not that there was more to the story, but that she seemed to feel guilty and apprehensive, now, letting him in on it. “Felicity, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

She nodded, then shook her head. “No, I—I just… need somebody to understand. Because I know how I looked today. Like a stupid, insecure little jealous girl.” Digg opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again when she continued in a rush, “But that’s not it, that’s not—not why I felt… threatened, by Sara.”

“Hey.” Digg reached out and put two fingers under Felicity’s chin, drawing her face up to look at him. “Just tell me, Felicity. You know I’m not going to think badly of you for it. I already don’t.”

She just looked so sad, so lost. “I tracked my dad down, when I was 17.”

That had not been what John had been expecting to hear. He blinked, dropping his hand from her face. “I always kinda wondered if you might’ve. I figure, nobody could hide from you, not if you really wanted to find them.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I did. Want to find him. Things with Mom were… not good, then. And I thought, even if Dad left, maybe he just didn’t come back because of Mom, maybe if I found him I could—could go live with him, or something, instead.” She dropped her gaze, staring at her fingers as they twisted a button on Oliver’s shirt round and round. “But he didn’t just leave Mom. He left me. He… didn’t want me.” She inhaled, shaky. “He told me, the night he left, that he’d come back for me. That I’d always be his little girl.”

She looked up at him, her face emptying, settling into tired, resigned lines of old acceptance. “He lied, Digg. He was never coming back for me, and I didn’t—I didn’t matter.

“He replaced us. My Mom and me. He has another wife, and three kids.” Her eyes dropped, chin still up. “The oldest is a boy. A year younger than me. My half-brother. Their other two kids are adopted.” Her lips twisted, a bitter curl that had no business calling itself a smile. “He discarded me so thoroughly from his life that he had no problem going through the lengthy and expensive adoption process, twice. Emma and Isolde. His little girls.”

John inhaled sharply; that, that cut. And it very much illuminated a lot of what Felicity had been feeling and the way she’d been reacting over the last couple of days. “Felicity, I’m sorry.”

She shrugged her left shoulder, chewing on the inside of her bottom lip. “I check on them, sometimes. They’re doing really well.” Her voice got thick, and she swallowed hard. “My dad’s doing… really, really well. Without me.”

Diggle didn’t stop to think, he just stepped forward and gently brought his arms around Felicity, carefully avoiding her right shoulder, his other hand coming behind her head to draw her face to rest against his chest.  She let him, and for a moment he just held her and laid his cheek atop her head, fingers stroking down her mess of a ponytail. He made a mental note to offer to brush it out for her before she went to bed; she’d probably need the help.

Sniffling, she drew back some moments later, and he let her, stepping backward and giving her space. Behind him, the bread popped free of the toaster, a perfect golden-brown.

"Don’t tell Oliver,” Felicity asked, hushed. “I don’t want him to know. Not now.”

Digg just looked at her, and nodded. “Anything you want, Felicity.”

She met his eyes, mouth pulling up on one side, soft and grateful. “Right now I think I want some toast, with peach preserves. And then another ‘aspirin’, or two.”

Diggle chuckled, turning towards the fridge. “Anything you want, Felicty.”

Facebook’s Memories thing reminded me about this. Happened a year ago today and, sadly, this man still comes in and is STILL this annoying. Yay. I work at a local sandwich shop.

Today was a great day. Let me set the scene for you. It’s close to closing and an old dude comes in. He orders a turkey sandwich. “Can you put that on one slice of bread, instead of two?”

“Sir… The sandwiches normally come on a roll. It’s all one piece. Do you want sliced bread?”

“Yes, whole wheat.”

“Sir, we don’t have whole wheat sliced bread. I can give you Multigrain though.”

So he orders tomatos, lettuce, dijian must, and swiss on the sandwich. That’s fine, it’s whatever. “Actually, make that a large.”

“Sir, I don’t have enough turkey for a large sandwich.”

“But I want a large.”

So I change tactics. “A large wouldn’t fit on one slice of bread.”

“Then make it two. Put provolone on that one.”

So I’m just whatever, I’ll make a fake large and deal with the bullshit later if they call to complain. I repeat his order to him, and a girl was just like “oh, Dijian mustard and swiss, fancy.”

The old man goes “And provalone on the other one. I have another personality, gotta make sure they’re all happy.”


As I’m about to ring him out, he pulls out a busted phone held together by hair ties. I KID YOU NOT, HAIR TIES. He goes “Do you want anything, Martha?” This leads to a whole new conversation, in which he orders a small tuna. Then he had a convo with ‘Martha’ about what chips and sodas he likes.

He brings up a Sarsaparilla. “Does this have caffeine?” I know root beer doesn’t, but I wasn’t sure about Sas. So I say “Sir, I’m not sure. But, because of my heart condition, I’ve learned that most dark sodas have caffine in them.”

So he tries to read the label. Then looks to me. “I’d ask you, but your heart condition wouldn’t let you read it.” I’m just like ????? But I let it slide.

He turns to the two girls who’d been waiting to order and asked them to read it. The younger one tells him that it doesn’t say if it does. So I pipe up again. “Sir, they may not have to list if it does, since it doesn’t cross state lines.” Cause some laws are dumb like that.

His brilliant response was “It’s a law, so they have to. Laws are laws.”

Then he turns to the girls again and goes “Can I have your numbers? If it keeps me up at night, I want to blame you.” The girls just laughed like /ha ha ha… I hope it was a joke./

I just kept my head down and made his sandwiches. If he calls to complain on Monday, and they yell at me, I’ll happily accept it. I did what I could.

And this was just /one/ of my wonderful customers today.

100 Words: The Counter (Ichabbie Blurb #29)

So I think someone said something about Abbie sitting on a counter. And someone else mentioned that Crane should feed Abbie with his fingers. @likesleepybunnies, I think that was you? Lol Thanks for the inspiration. I wrote a thing now. I’m such trash for it. :)

Abbie walked into the kitchen. Crane smilled at her as she passed him to sit on the edge of the counter. With his back toward her, he sung a song she didn’t recognize. He intrigued her; she couldn’t help but want to watch what he did. He chopped onions and carrots. Scooped them up to put them into the chicken and rice on the stove. He chopped more veggies, sprinkled seasoning into the pot, and stirred. It smelled amazing. He wanted to make her dinner. She let him. She wasn’t completely herself yet, but getting there. She laughed, opened up a little bit more. He didn’t push her. He waited, did little things for her, like the laundry, cleaning, cooking. She missed him and didn’t mind him taking care of the house, taking care of her.

She enjoyed the quickness of his fingers, the movement of his back and shoulder blades beneath his shirt. She bit her lip as her eyes traveled to his butt. Nice. She crossed and swung her ankles. Crane was sexy when he cooked.

He finally faced her. “Dinner will be served shortly, Leftenant.”

She nodded. “Can I taste?”

He scooped some chicken and rice on the stirring spoon. Blew it before he held it out to her.

“Careful. It may still be hot.”

It was kind of spicy. “Good. Can you cut me a piece of the bread you made?”

“As you wish.”

He placed the spoon on the cutting board, sliced a piece of whole wheat bread, and dipped it into the chicken and rice broth. He held it to her lips. She took half a bite. Then finished the rest, wrapping her lips around his thumb and finger.

Her legs parted, circled behind Crane’s waist. He was close enough for her to pull him toward her. Her hands ran up his chest, through his hair. She kissed him while his arms circled her waist. He gripped her thighs as their tongues played together. He kissed her neck. She squeezed her legs tighter around him, moaned.

“Crane, the stove.”

He sighed, hurried to switch everything off. They went back into their position. He stopped kissing her for a minute to look at her. He touched her cheek, wanting to make sure this was what she wanted right now. She hadn’t been back long and still dealt with the trauma of being in the Catacombs. Was she ready for this? She was with Crane. She’d be ready for anything if he was next to her. She nodded.

“Lay down, Abbie.”

When she did, he slid her pants and underwear off, got to his knees. He placed her legs around his neck and held her waist. As she felt his lips and tongue, she gasped and arched her back. Her fingernails scrapped against the counter top.


Lebanon, 8 May 2014


The conflict in Syria continues to impact the humanitarian situation resulting in significant humanitarian needs.  

Access to basic needs including food, water, electricity and medical supplies has been interrupted in areas witnessing armed activities. A growing number of main breadwinners have become unemployed and soaring food and fuel prices across the country have also exacerbated the situation. In response, WFP – in partnership with the Syrian Arab Red Crescent (SARC) and 23 other local organizations– is providing monthly food assistance to close to 3 million Syrians and will scale up to feed 4 million people by October. Food rations contain rice, bulgur, pasta, dried and canned pulses, oil, tomato paste, salt and sugar and are enough for one month. With serious bread shortages across the country, in April WFP also started the distribution of wheat flour providing 5 kilograms of flour per person per month. WFP uses over 700 trucks a month to dispatch food to hundreds of distribution points across the country, as well as delivering other goods for the humanitarian community.  

Hundreds of thousands of families have fled the violence in their country and have taken refuge in Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, Turkey and Egypt. Humanitarian needs assessments in these countries showed that food is a top priority and WFP is responding to refugees’ needs with food distributions and innovative food vouchers.


Photo 1

A Syrian refugee at a counter in a local shop in Zahle in the Bekaa. He bought raw chicken and meat using WFP’s electronic card. With this system, refugees can buy fresh produce not normally included in food parcels.

Photo 2


Syrian refugee mother in her thirties, feeding bread to her baby daughter in the Bekaa where WFP helps Syrian refugees meet their food needs through the innovative E-card system. . “We wait for the electronic cards impatiently every month” says Zeinab.


Photo 3

Fatima, a Syrian refugee mother, in her twenties with her daughter and her niece at the door of their tent in an informal tented settlement in Saadnayel town in the Bekaa. Fatima receives WFP E-cards that are automatically loaded unto the card on a monthly basis, allowing Her to take care of her family.


 Photo 4

A 60 year old Syrian refugee woman with her grandson in front of their tent in a tented settlement in Saadnayel town in the Bekaa.


 Photo 5

“Securing food and paying the rental cost of the land for our tents are our priority needs,” Mohamad, a Syrian refugee told WFP officials during a meeting aimed at soliciting their feedback about WFP’s assistance programme and the impact of the electronic cards on refugees’ lives.


All photos: WFP/Laure Chadraoui