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minyard-05

don't let being born a girl stop you from being the man your father never was

bees-with-swords

"Do you ever dream of land?" The whale asks the tuna.

"No." Says the tuna, "Do you?"

"I have never seen it." Says the whale, "but deep in my body, I remember it."

"Why do you care," says the tuna, "if you will never see it."

"There are bones in my body built to walk through the forests and the mountains." Says the whale.

"They will disappear." Says the tuna, "one day, your body will forget the forests and the mountains."

"Maybe I don't want to forget," Says the whale, "The forests were once my home."

"I have seen the forests." Whispers the salmon, almost to itself.

"Tell me what you have seen," says the whale.

"The forests spawned me." Says the salmon. "They sent me to the ocean to grow. When I am fat with the bounty of the ocean, I will bring it home."

"Why would the forests seek the bounty of the oceans?" Asks the whale. "They have bounty of their own."

"You forget," says the salmon, "That the oceans were once their home."

hearnoweevil

Last year I finally had an excuse to illustrate this simple little Tumblr story I've had bookmarked forever for class.

I hope you like it :]

evergreen-femme

had to share this

wizardshark

In every way this is set up to be a joke like any other short video, it even uses the trope of main character in a wig to represent their mom, but it isn't funny at all. It's just sweet and nice

persianflaw

but on the real though, here is your guide to assyrian rice preparation from your friendly neighborhood assyrian:

start wanting rice. (or, if you are traditional, simply recognize your constant desire for rice.)

measure out two cups of rice. then one more. then two more. then another. this seems fine. you love rice. there is no way that this will backfire on you.

remember that your great-great-uncle’s recipe says it should be soaked overnight.

become consumed with despair.

decide to soak it for half an hour instead, acknowledging that the final product will be inferior and anger your ancestors but will still satisfy your now almost-overwhelming need for rice to be inside your body much faster.

remember that you should have set the water to boil when you soaked the rice. goddammit.

once the water boils, put the rice in until it is half-cooked. the eyeballing or intuitive method is less effective than a timer but that’s how your aunt does it so you feel compelled to meet her standards.

now that the rice has fluffed up, realize how much rice six dry cups really is. holy shit. you’ve fucked up immeasurably.

take a minute to dwell upon your failings.

grease a baking dish with butter. this will never be as elegant as you want it to and your fingers will get greasy, but the slightly shameful, self-indulgent joy of licking your fingers afterwards will make up for it.

pour the rice into the dish. wonder immediately if you actually buttered the dish beforehand and if you’ve just fucked up.

melt approximately one thousand pounds of butter in the microwave and pour it over the rice, pondering your imminent death from rapid-onset arterial clogging. put a small pat of butter on the top to properly gild the lily.

put your pan into the oven, which you have absolutely preheated after your previous lack of foresight. shake the rice once or twice while it bakes to make sure the butter is well distributed. resist the impulse to climb into the oven with the rice. for the last ten minutes, sit next to the oven and count the seconds until it’s done.

remove the dish from the oven. shed a tear or two at the perfection laid before you. if you are dining with others, this is the time to serve the rice while making passive-aggressive statements about how oh no, you don’t need any help, you just made dinner all by yourself, you can serve everyone as well. (this is still fun if done alone, but optional.)

CONSUME THE RICE.

realize that you have eaten half of the dish in one sitting. no matter how much rice you made, this will always happen.

put the leftovers away, if there are any, and enjoy a cup of chai while marveling at the amount of food you have just eaten. if possible, fall asleep in an armchair, sitting up, head tilted slightly back, like a grandpa.

for the rest of the evening, think fondly of how much rice you have in the fridge now and how many meals it will supplement, refusing to acknowledge that you will almost certainly eat the rest of it in a few hours for a midnight meal.

persianflaw

i really played myself with this post huh. every time it gets a note i start wanting rice.

persianflaw

for anyone who wants it, here is my family’s actual recipe for assyrian baked rice:

1lb / approx. 2 ⅓ cups basmati rice (any long-grain rice will do)

3 tbsp salt

8 tbsp / 1 stick butter (you can reduce this if you don’t want to have a heart attack)

Put the rice in a pot and cover it in cold water and salt. Let it soak overnight. (If you don’t have the time to soak it, rinse the rice with cold water until it runs clear.)

Edit: The reason you want to soak basmati and other aromatic rice before cooking is to preserve more acetylpyrroline, the compound that gives aromatic rice its characteristic scent and flavor. Soaking rice allows the grains to absorb water, which reduces the cooking time, which means less time for the acetylpyrroline to cook off. It’ll still taste pretty good if you can’t do this, but you don’t want “pretty good”, you want mind-blowing, so for that perfect flavor you’ll want to soak your rice overnight. The soaking process also washes away the layer of starch on the outside of the rice, which allows the grains to separate rather than sticking together; this is why you want to rinse your rice thoroughly if you don’t have time to soak it.

Preheat your oven to 325°.

Boil three quarts of water in a separate pot. Once it’s at a fast boil, drain the rice and add it to the water. Boil for 5-7min or until one grain tastes half-cooked, but not soft. Pour the rice into a colander and rinse with cold water.

Edit: This step also helps get rid of any remaining starch on your grains, for perfectly separated rice. If your colander or strainer has large holes, you can put a paper towel/cheesecloth/clean dishcloth on the inside in order to drain your rice. Pour carefully if you’re using a paper towel, though, and put a bowl underneath your colander; I once lost a heartbreaking amount of rice when my paper towel got oversaturated and tore open.

Liberally grease the bottom of your baking pan with some of your butter. Pour the rice on top. Melt the rest of the butter in the microwave and pour on top of the rice.

Bake for 45min. (If you like, cover the rice for part or all of the baking time, but I find it gets less crispy on top if you do this.) Shake the pan a couple times during baking to ensure that the butter distributes throughout the entire dish.

Eat.

Serves four. Can easily be scaled up if needed (or down, but why would you do that?). Best enjoyed with a nice cup of chai.

(cc @raisedbyhyenas )

enchantingruinscandy

reblog for the awesome recipe and to make op want rice (rice is so good. ofc you want rice)

persianflaw

>:(

ink-feathers-and-paper

This post has the power of making EVERYONE crave rice. Not just OP. That sounds amazing. I NEED !!

sentient-tent

This is Tie, she is going to eat all of the notes

sentient-tent

reblog to feed her notes

elodieunderglass

How is she doing this

elizabethtenderlyatomic

I headcanon the Centaurs were last good when Shane was about 7-12 years old. This is when the inevitable “little Shane in Cens pajamas/toque/jersey” photo which reappears when he signs there comes from. Then Shane starts getting serious about his own hockey and the Cens start sucking so he doesn’t go to games any more. The Cens have a decade of darkness where the owner won’t rebuild because he doesn’t want to face no playoff revenues for 5+ years, but he won’t spend enough to make them a contender. No big-ticket UFAs want to sign there, their own UFAs walk for more money elsewhere, they take their RFAs to arbitration over a 200K gap and then act surprised when they request to be traded. The introduction of the salary cap should help, but the owner treats the cap floor as a target while divisional rivals are attempting to squeeze as close to the cap ceiling as possible.

They’re drafting at 10-20 overall these years, and don’t luck into any star players. Eventually they fall backwards into a rebuild in the early 2010s on account of having no good players left. Between 2012 and 2017 they draft Boodram, Dykstra, Holmberg, LaPointe and Young.

Around 2017 exciting things start to happen. The tight-fisted owner dies and his kids, who are progressive and want to spend money on the team, take over. The Cens trade for Chouinard and draft Luca.

The GM is feeling pretty happy that he can actually maybe sign a second-pair man and some veteran scoring help rather than filling out his depth chart on the waiver wire, when his phone rings. Rozanov? Ilya Rozanov? Cup winning, Conn Smythe, Hart, and Rocket Richard winner Ilya Rozanov? Haha, funny prank, whoever you are, but he knows Rozanov’s agent is Mike Sidorov like most of the Russians in the league.

“He changed his representation. Steve, check caller ID. This is Farah Jalali. We were speaking last week about Martin LaPointe.”

Steve checks caller ID and starts hyperventilating. He conferences in his cap expert AGM, Joe, who pulls up his spreadsheets, sweating. Up until last season his job was to hit the cap floor, he’s not used to this. “Full NMC, signing bonuses, whatever he wants,” Steve says. He calls the owners to say he’s maybe in on the biggest UFA not only of the summer, but the decade. They compliment Steve on his great GM-ing (Steve doesn’t know what he did) and green-light offering Ilya the highest salary in the league. Steve and Joe put together an initial offer. Farah gives Steve the second shock of the day by saying that Rozanov is actually in Ottawa for some reason and can meet in person tomorrow. (The NHL still had the ‘legal tampering’ period just before free agency in 2018).

Steve stares out of his office window at a suburban mall and a car dealership, thinks of the lack of championship banners in the rafters of his arena, and thinks Rozanov can’t possibly want to sign here, he’s using them as leverage for whatever team he really wants to sign with. He has a lie-down in a conference room for ten minutes and drinks some Gatorade, then leaves his wife a voicemail to say he’ll be working late and rounds up the rest of his AGMs to put together a sales pitch. The only dissenting voice is the AGM who’s also the Director of Player Development who says the rebuild is only half cooked, their forward depth sucks, they have no centres. “What position does Rozanov play, point guard?” Steve snaps. “Focus, Brian, we can’t just pass this up. It’s probably not going to happen anyway.”

Steve knows Ilya’s reputation on and off the ice, but he turns up wearing cargo shorts and a plaid shirt looking like he’s just been fishing at the cottage like a good old Canadian kid. (He’s wearing a tank top underneath and at one point his collar slips to show a fresh hickey on his collarbone, so he clearly hasn't lost his rumoured knack for finding company).

Steve is used to pitching Ottawa to thirty-six year-olds who are looking for a retirement contract and good schools for the kids. He feels like he's mentioned their great young players and how amazing it would be to revitalize hockey in Ottawa three times already.

He brings up endorsements. Even a small Canadian market has opportunities there.

"Maybe I'll steal Hollaner's energy drink one," Rozanov says. "The one where he looked like wet cat in the adverts."

"Ha ha," Steve says. "Yes, you'd be able to continue your rivalry!"

Rozanov grins.

Steve debriefs with his AGMs afterwards. "i don't think it was a complete disaster," he says.

"He was weirdly enthusiatic, but non-specific," one of the AGMs says.

Farah calls back. Rozanov wants to sign! With them! In Ottawa! Steve takes his wife out to dinner and champagne on the evening of July 2nd after it's all done.

Rozanov's first year in Ottawa goes ok. They don't make the playoffs, but they're in the running well into the spring. The next year Ilya gets an injury early on that he probably comes back from too soon, when he's healthy Bood gets injured, Chouinard is stressed because his wife's having a difficult pregnancy, and so on. Back down they go to the bottom of the standings. Steve wonders when he'll be fired.

Year 3. They're firmly in a playoff spot at the trade deadline. Steve mostly stands pat because he made his big addition earlier in the year by getting Barrett for a bag of pucks.

Steve's in his office, reading an article speculating why Hollander hasn't extended in Montreal yet, when an intern runs in, makes spluttering noises and shoves a phone in his face. It's a video of Rozanov and Hollander, and they're.....Steve now understands why Rozanov signed.

He waves off the intern and runs into Joe's office. Joe has six spreadsheets up on his monitors and is also scribbling furiously on a notepad. "Joe, what does our cap space projection look like for this summer?" Steve asks. Joe shows him the result of his calculations. It probably won't be enough, Steve thinks.

"We should consider...flexibility," he says, wiping sweat from his forehead. "In case of...eventualities." He doesn't dare say it out loud.

The intern comes to say that Roger Crowell's office is on the phone for Steve, so he needs to go and deal with the current crisis. He's definitely going to need to have a lie-down after this.

sillyfroggremlin

watching/rewatching a show when you already have an established favorite character is great because every time they come on screen it's like

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

depsidase

bellabs-dream-lab

St. Mystere, Folsense, and Future London :)

pmd9toybox

forestgreenivy-deactivated20250

Touch starved… but it’s for a cool autumn breeze.

foldingfittedsheets

101flavoursofweird

Desmond: Plotting my revenge against Targent and the Azran is hard work, but I can rest easier knowing my younger brother is safe with a nice family and far away from all of this madness! :)

Hershel: *Fighting for his life in Azran ruins, losing his best friend, and having to leave his hometown, all while Targent keep tabs on him*

Desmond: My poor brother… Well, at least he can have a fresh start at university—

Hershel: *Proceeds to study archeology, begins a relationship with a scientist who perishes in a lab explosion, nearly loses his life when he investigates her death*

Desmond: Can he just… not risk his life, for five minutes?

Hershel: *Starts assisting Scotland Yard with cases, sleeps in his office and skips meals, gains a Targent spy as an assistant, shows up in a town being wrecked by a giant spectre—*

Descole: THAT’S IT. If he insists on gambling away the life I gave him, then I might as well threaten him MYSELF!