lunch!!!!!!

Lunch today was good even though my avocados weren’t ready. 🙃 (I have three waiting for me!) I found some nutritional yeast at a health food store in Fuengirola yesterday so I used some in our sautéed veggies for a change! I seasoned them with 2 T nutritional yeast, 1 t each oregano, thyme, and paprika, along with 3-4 scoops of tomato paste. Delicious! 😋 For next week’s video I was thinking of showing you how I make my lunch bowls, showing you how I cook the veggies and rice without oil. What do you think? 💛

Before |  SLBP {Saizo & Yukimura}

A/N - because I wonder what they were like as teenagers, and I feel like Saizo probably had a pretty hard edge until Yukimura’s RELENTLESS SUNSHINE just wore him down to the exasperated-with-the-world ninja we know and love today, and I also feel like getting there probably involved both of them getting their heads knocked around a bit along the way.

 “You just—he just…he’s…” At fourteen, Yukimura was mostly wild limbs and wide eyes in a face that hadn’t quite lost the shape of childhood to growth.

“Dead.” Four years his senior, Saizo sounded bored, wiping the blade that had claimed the deed on a cloth as he continued down the path. Yukimura realized he was being left behind, and shoved the short sword he hadn’t had a chance to use back in its scabbard, scampering to catch up. Saizo looked lazily over his shoulder, and continued, flat, “The word you are looking for is dead.”

The sudden flush felt dry and hot on his cheeks. “I know what ‘dead’ is.”

“Do you, now.”

“Shut up.”

He wasn’t sure he heard it or not, the mocking whisper of as my little lord commands, but real or imagined, it made him bristle nonetheless. It made him uneasy, the total indifference, and the silence. It bothered him. He didn’t really know why. He knew Saizo was only being silent now because he’d told him to be, and somehow that made it worse. The swift rush of annoyance, unease, was unfamiliar, and sat sour in his flipped stomach, and he found himself mumbling, “He probably had a family.”

Saizo didn’t say anything.

“You know?” Yukimura could keep up now, and wondered if the pace had been adjusted to his or not.

“Dead’s dead.” He sounded tired, in a way Yukimura didn’t understand. So he pressed, trying to.

“Maybe a wife or somethin’.” He was frustrated, though he didn’t want to be, thinking of silence and open-eyed bodies falling backwards.

There was something like a laugh from the shinobi, but it had a cold, careless edge that hurt when it hit, uncoiling something in Yukimura’s stomach that had learned about honor and death and how they mattered. “She’s a widow now.” And then, with hard smile like a knife’s edge, he turned, words lazy and vulgar as a snake’s yawn, and they prickled across Yukimura’s skin in a threatening promise he didn’t understand but knew, “Want to know what happens to most little widows, when their men are killed?”

Yukimura was on him before the words were finished forming, knocking Saizo hard into the dirt and nearly rolling them both over with the force of it. Surprise and bulk gave him the advantage, even half-grown, but he was inexperienced still, and Saizo was not. In a few furious, moments, Saizo had him pinned in the grass, grip hard and bruising, and they were both scraped, filthy and breathing hard.

“Are we done now, little lord?” The snarl wounded like sin, the brush of a cold wind and hardly any louder.

He’d done it, Yukimura realized. He’d actually made Saizo mad.

It elated him, rioting into a grin, and the brief flash of confusion in copper-flecked eyes gave him enough of an opening to free his fist and shove it back at the face framed in silver. Saizo dodged, but Yukimura was on him again, elbows and fists clawing for advantage he never quite managed to wrestle back. He was stronger, even now, but Saizo was smarter, and waited him out until his limbs were weak as water, and when they were, there was a blade pressed to his throat.

Yukimura stared at it, more interested than worried, and glanced up its length to the older teen holding it. The uncompromised smile stayed with glee when he saw simmering heat in place of disinterested ice.

Saizo looked away first.

He looked…tired, again, Yukimura decided, but there was an honesty to his exasperation that felt real, and the shinobi felt so often like smoke slipping through his fingers that the solidity was welcomed with careless joy. The blade vanished, to where, Yukimura didn’t know, but he was already eagerly tugging on the torn, bloody fabric hanging off of the other boy’s shoulder, speaking around the bloodied lip that matched the brilliant bruise starting to form on Saizo’s cheek, “Hey, hey! Teach me that! You gotta teach me that, will you?”

The expression of dismay openly deepened, and then was wiped blank. “No.” Saizo sighed, and leaned over, twirling what had been discarded in his fingers before offering it, hilt-first. “Don’t drop your sword in a fight.” A pause, and then muttered, just low enough for Yukimura to know it was meant to be heard, “Idiot.”

With a smile as bright as the sun, the younger boy snatched back his weapon in delight. He stretched, wincing as it pulled something sore, then licked his lip and tasted copper with salt. “I’m hungry.”

Saizo was already standing, walking down the path again. “You always are.”

Yukimura scrambled up and followed. “Yeah, but I EARNED it this time.”

He thought he saw it. Brief as a flash in shadow, wry and troubled but there nonetheless, on lips that usually strayed little from slightly annoyed. “Maybe.” But whatever he’d seen was forgotten at the roll of Saizo’s fingers, and what was there—

“Hey! That’s my coin purse.”

“Of course.” There it was again, faint but ferocious even though the words were mild as a breeze. Not…quite friendly. Not yet. But it would be, Yukimura knew. He’d won that, he knew it, even if Saizo didn’t yet and that was okay. “You’re buying, aren’t you?”

It was worth it, the teen figured. Probably. He grinned, stretching once more to throw his hands behind his head, beaming up into the sunshine and vaguely accepting that his nose was bleeding now, too. “Yeah, okay.”

More of Lee’s rambles (or click the link in my profile description)

My brother’s feverish and last night he dreamed he was at a friend’s house for a party and Joe Biden and Paul Ryan were there. He lingered near them because he thought their presence was weird, but all they did was talk about politics. Then some Wii player shouted because someone had just won, and Biden and Ryan said “Ok, that qualifies as a noise complaint” and called the army.

“It was a pretty big number you sent me,” Lucio calls, knuckles swiping his chin. “You sure you weren’t trying to pay me for this too?”

Ogundimu turns to Lucio, smirking.

“I would never have needed to pay you to have you, Lucio. Remember that and know that it is true.”

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