Today’s lunch consisted of an amalgam of things lying around in my fridge 😂Rice noodles with stir fry vegetables, roasted crispy spicy chickpeas feat. my pretty lousy attempt at an avocado🌹 but hey it’s all #vegan 💓🌱😏
You don’t need to work at getting healthy; health is something you already have if you don’t disturb it.
You may have disturbed your healthy body by overfeeding it, under-exercising it and overstimulating it with toxins or drugs that make it sick, fatigued, jumpy, anxious, depressed, bloated, ornery or an endless list of maladies. You can live a life of self-respect by honoring the temple that houses you. You know what to do. You don’t need another diet, workout manual or personal trainer. Go within, listen to your body and treat it with all of the dignity and love that your self-respect demands.
Pasta Primavera made with roasted vegetables, penne pasta, fresh cherry tomatoes and avocado and nooch.
Today’s lunch!! Rice noodles with avocado, roasted vegetables (carrot, pumpkin, broccoli, mushrooms, red and yellow capsicum, eggplant and red onion) and baked tofu marinated in tomato sauce, soy sauce and misc. spices So delicious 😩😩 Food can be incredibly delicious, fulfilling, nutritious and satiating without animal products, one of the best parts about going vegan is the newfound appreciation you develop for foods and dishes you wouldn’t have considered or given the chance as a non-vegan :)
When I first heard about substituting a freaking cauliflower in place of chicken or beef as a roast, I thought okay as a vegan, I can actually say vegans have gone too far…
Until now. Roasting cauliflower is pretty simple really. Stick it in the oven then eat it, but it’s really about getting the right texture and flavour. When done right, cauliflower is tender and meaty, and you can eat the whole head without feeling sick. This is a beginners guide on how to make the perfect Cauliflower roast.
You’re going to start with a head of cauliflower, washed with the leaves removed. I baked mine in a cast iron skillet, but you can use any baking dish. Be sure to cut the leaves carefully and not too much of the stall or else the head will fall apart.
You’re then going to rub the cauliflower with a garlic dressing. To make it, blend or mash with a mortor and pestal:
5 cloves of garlic 2 tblsp olive oil ½ tsp cayenne ½ tsp sage Salt and pepper to taste I used a pastry brush to ensure all the flavour encasef the cauliflower, but you can use your hands too.
Next, cover with foil and bake for 1 hour at 350 C. After then, remove the foil and bake for an additional 20-30 minutes until golden brown and crispy on top. I served mine with sauteed Brussels sprouts, but this would go well with anything you’d serve with a roast, even just on its own.
Give this a try and get creative with using your vegetables! Try this with teriyaki glaze, or curry flavour, or barbecue, it’s super versatile. Who knew vegetables could be so appealing?
the most important adult life-hack i can possibly share with you guys: roasting vegetables
so when i was a kid i hated vegetables because my parents used to boil them and boiled vegetables are disgusting but i recently discovered that roasting vegetables is the fuckin BOMB and i have a certain recipe that makes them even MORE bomb and it’s as follows
get yer vegetables (i like to use brussles sprouts, broccoli, sweet potato, squash, beets, and lots and lots of KALE but you can use whatever tf you want, like carrots, bell peppers, cauliflower, etc)
cut them into decently small pieces (like half an inch any which way at most. this will help them cook all the way through and become crispy af). also make sure you cut the broccoli or cauliflower (if you’re using it) into small florets.
spread them out on a baking sheet (which you should spread aluminum foil onto for easy clean-up)
make a mixture (depending on how many veggies you’re roasting) of coconut oil, smoked paprika, pepper, salt, and garlic powder. if you happen to have chipotle powder laying around, toss that in too. basically you want to stick it in the microwave and melt the coconut oil. you should have enough to lightly coat every single veggie.
now you’re gonna put your veggies in the oven on a rack decently close to the top at 375 for about 40 minutes. after this time, your veggies should be cooked, but you want them crispy, so you’re going to turn it up to about 450 for 15 more minutes. by this time you’ll have BEAUTIFUL CRISPY DELICIOUS ROASTED VEGGIES
do not substitute the coconut oil. it’s the most important ingredient. unless you hate coconut then i guess you can. but trust me, it’s just… so fucking good.
today I built a shelf for my desk out of old wood - here is a picture of said shelf along with some core 4 partial fractions work 📔 really trying to eat cleaner atm, so today i had quinoa, roasted vegetables, avocado and radishes 🌿
Balsamic and lemon roasted chicken and vegetables.
Simply take a large oven tray and drizzle with olive or coconut oil before chopping a selection of veggies (Iused bell peppers, carrots, mushrooms, red onions and cherry plum tomatoes) and throwing them into the tray.
Next, add your chicken (I used organic, skinless thigh fillets) and mix everything together with your hands so it’s coated in the oil. Wash your hands thoroughly.
Drizzle over some balsamic vinegar and squeeze in some lemon juice, then sprinkle over some dried oregano and a few dried chilli flakes.
Put into the oven at 190 Celsius for about 30 mins, or when the chicken is cooked through and the vegetables are becoming crisps and a tiny bit charred around the edges in places. I stir once during this time, to make sure everything cooks evenly.
The tomatoes ‘melt’ into a lovely sauce with the balsamic vinegar, lemon juice and the oil and this also keeps the chicken nice and moist.
You can also add chopped new potatoes in with the chicken and veggies to make a complete meal in a tray-bake! I preferred to leave them out here, because I wanted to serve some portions with rice and others with noodles or potato wedges.
Roasted Vegetable & Grilled Chicken Salad with Honey Balsamic Vinaigrette
This salad is so versatile because you can use any roasted vegetables you want. Perfect with and without chicken. Also, it’s vegan/vegetarian/Whole30 compliant without the chicken and goat cheese and just as flavorful.
Ingredients for Salad
2 large beefsteak tomatoes, sliced
2-3 zucchini, chopped into medium sized cubes
Seasoning blend for roasting: 3 tbsp kosher salt, 3 tbsp black pepper, 2 tbsp granulated onion & garlic, 1 ½ tbsp dried oregano and rosemary (or fresh if you prefer).
Both my fridge und fruit stack are empty which means I’ll be home for the weekend and the entire next week 🎉
Had an exam today and will be giving myself a little break before the next ones are coming 🙈
Trying not to look too far into the future and enjoy the upcoming days with my family and friends 😌
Request Summary: Could I request a one shot where Bucky and reader have been together for ages, and the reader has been coping with buckys nightmares and talking down the soldier when he turns into him, but she becomes exhausted doing that and working, and Bucky and Steve think it’s a good idea to hire someone else to deal with buckys nightmares, not realising that it will hurt readers feelings and makes her think Bucky doesn’t want her anymore, She try’s to leave him and tells him she will help train the new person to deal with the soldier, and she packs her bags when Sam finds her In her room, and then goes to tell bucky and it ends all fluffy please if that made any sense
A/n: Thank you @melconnor2007 for the wonderful request. I hope you enjoy it! Also the longest thing I’ve ever written.
Warnings: Angst, Fluff, a little violence from a nightmare, swearing.
“Bucky,” you gasp out, feeling the metal fingers tighten
around your throat, the wall harsh and rough against your back. “Buck, it’s me, it’s ok, you’re safe,” you
wheeze. Looking into his crisp blue
eyes, you don’t see anything of the man that you love, you only see the thing
that he hates.
They leave the car in town, rent bikes to explore the landscape, their bags fastened on the bicycle racks.They’re in awe of the vastness of the wonderful countryside all around them as they cycle along an earthy but even path, green meadows, trees of all shapes and sizes, fields of crops and flowers and a lake in viewing distance. Magnus reaches out a hand towards Alec who’s next to him and a moment later their hands are entwined and they’re smiling, their chests filled with overwhelming content.They arrive at a farm, are offered the nicest, fresh food they ever tasted and a room so quaint and lovely it didn’t take them a minute to decide to stay here. The bed is kingsized and Magnus bounces as Alec pushes him onto it, the look of surprise on Magnus’ face making Alec laugh before he covers his boyfriend’s body with his own, their giggles lighting up the house, until nothing but the sound of kisses can be heard - if one eavesdrop at their door.
Summary – An
ordinary Friday night at work leads you to cross paths with your true mate, but
will it lead to your lasting happiness or total devastation?
Word Count – 6,230
Warnings – A/B/O
dynamics, angst, depression, brief mention of the attempted sexual assault from first part of the story
A/N – The second
part of my first A/B/O story. Again, I
don’t write smut, but even glossing over the smutty aspects, heats, ruts,
knotting, and claiming bites are all present in the story. If you’re not familiar with A/B/O, check out
this post detailing Kitten’s A/B/O Rules; that will give you a great starting point to understand
Please let me know what you
think! I would love some feedback!
It had been one hell
of a night; your heat hitting early, then the jerk at the bar, then the best
sex you’d ever had, only to be followed by your new alpha – and true mate –
telling you that claiming you had been a mistake. You felt the first twinges of your next wave
of heat coming and hoped they would hurry, and that Sam was just feeling
nervous at having claimed a stranger and having second thoughts. Surely, he knew as well as you did that the
two of you were true mates, and he’d come around and be the alpha you’d always
After grabbing some clothes and other things from your
apartment that you couldn’t live without, Dean drove the three of you to a
local motel. You could tell that both
men could smell your next round of heat coming on, and Dean made a quick exit
when you got back to their motel room, muttering something about getting
another room and “leaving you to it.”
Nervously, you sat down on the edge of the bed, not even sure if Sam was
actually going to help you through the rest of your heat.
It was something he had done since he was small– smiley-face suns and stick figures– but he had kept going. He had learned cross-hatching and shadowing; depth, perspective, and color; patience.
Until age ten, until the letter, Dean had drawn himself a suit of shining armor, a dragon to slay. He had drawn aliens and ray guns and wings. They were adventures that he wanted but that he could not have.
When he first arrived at Hogwarts, he drew Nearly Headless Nick’s stiff collar in his notebook margins. He tried to capture the flick of sparks off Flitwick’s wand, Seamus’s singed eyebrows at supper, the owls swooping overhead.
He had never been away from home before for more than an overnight. He drew the gentle curl of his mother’s hair, gilded in sunlight. He had learned how to draw the shine and to pick out colors and bright glare on matte paper by drawing imagined plate armor. But he drew the light on his father’s (stepfather’s) (father’s) crooked glasses, his sister’s sparkly nail polish when they held hands crossing the roads. There were things he missed that he could not have.
Dean hid the sketches under his bed and showed Seamus his little comics about Snape’s greasy hair instead.
In the war, Dean holed up in hollows and friendly attics and Muggle pubs. He drew Umbridge the Toad, noseless Voldy confused by the last dozen plus years of wizardly pop culture, the Ministry of Magic with its fingers stuffed in its stuffy ears.
He drew Snape as Headmaster, his sneer easy after seven years of notebook margin practice. Dean drew the Dark Mark over London’s skyline and he left his work nailed up around Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Godric’s Hollow. He signed his name. He had things he wanted to say.
There were long days when he didn’t talk to anyone– walking old fields and long roads, sleeping in haystacks. There were long weeks when he only talked to strangers– passersby, shop owners, sympathizers, snatchers who he traded curses with.
He drew the Gryffindor Common Room, hearths all ablaze. He listened to Lee Jordan’s radio show on the crackling airwaves. He drew his little sisters, who had gone to France with his mother and father. He drew faces from the darkened boys’ dormitory– Harry’s long bangs hiding his scar, Neville practicing his dance moves for the Yule Ball, Ron asleep with his head on his thick Weasley sweater, Seamus grinning at him over a three a.m. game of cards.
Seamus had taught him Exploding Snap. Dean had taught him poker, gin rummy, go fish. Dean sketched in Seamus’s eyebrows as curling bits of smoke, laughed, and pulled his blanket tighter around his shoulders in the sympathizers’ basement where he was spending the night. There were things he wanted that he could not have.
When the snatchers caught him near Hogsmeade, they took his knapsack. They took his sneakers, his wand, his spare cloak. They burned his notebooks in the hearth of Malfoy Manor before they led him down cold stairs and left him in the dark.
It was a long few months where he saw no sunlight except for a few precious moments where the sun hit the high, angled windows just right.
Ollivander and Griphook were already there in the dark. Luna came later. Blonde hair in a tattered cloud, one earring missing, she thanked the Death Eater for holding the prison door open at her and drifted inside. Dean, for all they would remain friends for the rest of their lives, was never quite sure how much of Luna was just Luna screwing with people.
It was a long few months– Dean got them to give him some paper and pens eventually. Luna made papier-mâché earrings. Ollivander napped six hours a day and they all piled him high with their extra coats and blankets and socks. Dean sat for quiet hours with Griphook, drawing his wife as Griphook grumbled “what an ugly face– so full and smooth. My wife’s a beauty, you better draw her as such.” Dean sketched in a jagged cheekbone, a crooked chin and Griphook almost smiled.
When Dobby got them out, Dean had pages and pages stuffed in his pockets, clenched in his hands. He carried them out with him, into sea air.
Ollivander made them replacement wands with old hands and tools transfigured from driftwood and beach glass. Dean walked out to the water while he worked and watched the waves mumble along the stones.
His sisters were somewhere on safer shores, his mother’s hair all gilded with sun, his father’s spectacles shining. Dean had told them he couldn’t go with them, he couldn’t run.
“They called you Gryffindor,” his sister Ella had said. “Not stupid.” Little Jenny had been crying and so had his father. His mother had packed him a bag full of clean socks. The snatchers had tossed it in a ditch somewhere outside Hogsmeade.
Dean and Luna left Ollivander and Griphook at Shell Cottage and then they went to Hogwarts.
In the years that followed, Dean would draw the war. There were things he didn’t want to forget. There were things he wanted to dredge up from the sludge and splatter down on paper, hoping maybe to keep them from circling his head at night, wanting attention.
He drew the protective dome that rose up over Hogwarts, the candles in the Great Hall, Cho Chang’s face lit up from an Expelliarmus– tried to capture light, tie it down to the page. Dean had killed three people in the war– snatchers, Death Eaters on Hogwarts grounds– and he drew their faces over and over when he couldn’t sleep. He drew Neville’s face (tired, kind), Ginny’s glare, Luna’s gentle, distracted smile.
Dean didn’t draw the first glimpse he’d had of Seamus after the capture, the escape, the night he and Luna set foot on Hogwarts ground. It wasn’t something he could draw. Dean didn’t remember the light on his hair, his cloak sweeping over stone, new muscles, new scars, new inches of height–
Dean remembered standing in the Room of Requirement with old classmates and new students moving around him, both his fists curled tight into the back of Seamus’s robes, both of Seamus’s tight on his arms. He remembered the heartbeat thudding up the column of Seamus’s throat, where Dean’s forehead was pressed close. He remembered not wanting to let go. He remembered letting go.
Dean remembered coming back into the Great Hall after the battle and looking at the dead– at Fred Weasley, whose crackling voice he had heard on so many late cold nights; Nymphadora Tonks, who he just barely remembered from first year; Remus Lupin, who had made him feel smart in class; Lavender Brown, who Dean had danced with at the Yule Ball– but not Seamus. He didn’t see Seamus there. He was sick and guilty with gladness.
Dean didn’t draw the dead, after. Dennis Creevey made a book of his brother Colin’s photos. Dean sat down with a blank page, a good pen, and tried to draw Fred’s grin. There were things here he didn’t want to forget. He scribbled through half-done smirks and tangles of unruly hair he just couldn’t get right. He tossed the botched pages in the fire and, after a long moment staring at his fireplace and seeing the hearth of Malfoy Manor, Dean put his pen away.
After the war, Dean went on camping trips with Luna, watched her look for creatures that might or might not exist. They skewered meatballs and chopped vegetables and roasted them over fires.
After the war, Dean went over to have tea and jam at Griphook’s. He recognized his wife when Griselda Griphook opened the door and grinned up at him. His tattered old sketch was framed and hung in the front hallway. There are some things that survive the dark, that escape into the sea air, that come home.
When Dean went with the Gryffindor gang to go cheer for Ginny Weasley’s Quidditch games, Lee Jordan commentated in the stands, sending George over into fits of laughter, red hair shaking into his eyes. There were days when no one expected an echo of that laugh, when no one flinched at the absence– less and less rare as the years went on. Ginny flew, twisting into tricks that she’d taught herself on her brothers’ stolen brooms. They cheered.
Ollivander’s hands were old. All of him was old. Dean showed up for an unplanned visit one day and found him in the back, gathering up the phoenix feathers his shaking hands had knocked to the floor. Dean helped him gather them up, sat him down, then brushed the plumes out gently and laid them out on the work table. By the time he was done, Dean had a job.
Seamus was trying to learn how to cook and it was going about as well as spellwork ever had for him. “Dean could just draw your eyebrows on,” Ella told him sweetly when he and Seamus visited Dean’s family for dinner.
When Dean came home from Ollivander’s, the whole flat smelled like smoke. The windows were thrown open to let the sunlight and cold air in, so Dean didn’t unwind his scarf.
Seamus sat on the floor by the coffee table, eating Chinese food out of a take-out container with a fork. He looked up, his fingers greasy, his winter coat bundled tight, his shaggy hair gilded with sun.
“Hey,” said Dean. “Stay there,” said Dean and went to find a notebook, digging in his pocket for a pen.