food bored eat

Petty opinion time:  for all the times the Night Court’s food is brought up, it is super boring white people food. If SJM had to completely appropriate ME culture for the Night Court, she could have at least had them eating ME food instead of boiled chicken and green beans.

anonymous asked:

Director Sanvers prompt: one of them is recovering from knee surgery and is also v unlikely to sit still etc so the others try and take their mind off it in ways including but not limited to googly eyes on the knee and blanket forts

Well this doesn’t seem targeted straight for @onefootone at all, does it?


As many times as Agent Danvers had taken a hit and kept on trucking, Dr. Hamilton had warned her that the damage was only compounding, that things would only get worse as she got older, that things were no longer healing like they had fresh out of grad school and eventually something would break that could not be fixed. Dr. Hamilton was hopeful that the surgery went well, that Alex would be back on her feet soon enough, but she was still confined to at least a weekend of bed rest, several weeks of leave, and, at bare minimum, eight weeks of physical therapy before she could even be considered for fitness trials to get back in the field.

The worst part though, was that her knee hadn’t torn during some daring rescue of her idiot Kryptonian sister or the adopted little brother with horrible taste in women, or even a motorcycle accident, no, Alex Danvers, professional badass, tore her ACL at the NCSPCA Puppy Run when she was tackled by an excitable Newfoundland.

Dangerous hadn’t looked so cute since the Sawyer took a pipe to an Infernian.

She hadn’t even been home for three hours before the boredom set in, not that anyone was surprised. Anyone being the unfortunate Lucy Lane and Maggie Sawyer, purveyors of distractions and babysitters of injured girlfriends.

“I don’t need a babysitter.”

Lucy snorted. “You literally just tried to walk to the kitchen without your crutches.”

“It’s like five feet from the couch.”

“Hamilton said bedrest, Danvers, you’re lucky we haven’t handcuffed you to the headboard.”

“I’d be luckier if you did.”

“Ha! You’d be whining even more, Danvers, be real.” Maggie laughed. “You’d be all pretty and tied down and you aren’t cleared for anything fun.”

Alex threw her head back against the couch, letting her neck curve over the back so Maggie, in the kitchen, could sort of be in her range of vision again. “Please, Sawyer, you two have proven time and again we can have plenty of fun when I can’t move.”

Maggie walked back over and dropped a plate of food gently in Alex’s lap, giving her a kiss to the forehead before settling in next to Lucy. “Be that as it may, the answer is no. Not until the stitches aren’t at risk of tearing.”

“Even then, you’re definitely getting tied down,” Lucy promised. “I wouldn’t want you undoing all of Hamilton’s hard work.”

“You’re no fun.”

Lucy reached up to twirl a lock of Maggie’s hair, smiling devilishly at her injured girlfriend, almost purring as she said, “Oh you know that’s not true.”

“But I’m bored.”

“Eat your food.”

“Eating is boring.”

“That’s not what you before.”

“Eating food is boring.”

“Read your weird science journals.”

“The new one hasn’t come yet.”

“Turn on Netflix.”

“TV is boring.”

Maggie watched the two smartest women she knew argue like kindergartners, They were both ridiculous. And they would continue to be ridiculous, she knew, until they found something appropriately distracting. She got up from the couch, first stopping by the bed to grab pillows and blankets, dumping them by the still arguing children, before hitting up the linen closet for all of the spare pillows and blankets Alex kept in what was quickly becoming their apartment. From the utility closet she grabbed the ladder that James had gotten her as a joke (so you can reach the top shelf in the kitchen, Sawyer) because he was an asshole just like the rest of her friends, and that was set up near Alex’s side of the couch. She pulled the lamp off the end table and stacked a dining chair on top, shoving a throw pillow in between its legs for stability.

Her girlfriends had stopped arguing, instead watching Maggie move Alex’s furniture around like Legos, content to watch her work. When Maggie was sure the chair wasn’t going to fall, she took another two chairs to stack behind the couch, one inverted over the other. Only then did she move for the comforter, thankful for yet another reason that Alex had such a ridiculously large bed, because it never worked quite right when the blankets weren’t long enough. Very carefully, she draped one end over the edge of the ladder, tying a corner around it and securing the knot with a hair tie. Then, she paced carefully around the back of the couch, dragging the blanket over the stacked chairs, to the far end of the couch. Over the top of that chair, there was just enough to secure that end to the leg of the end table.

Her girlfriends’ heads barely had clearance, but Maggie was satisfied the construction of her little love tent. Next came the mountains of pillows, some shoved from the ground to just under Alex’s massive knee brace, her leg suspended on the coffee table. Others, she tucked around her girlfriends, saving a few for herself.

“Maggie, what are you doing?” asked Alex.

“Entertaining you.”

“Well it’s entertaining to watch at any rate, but what is the plan here?” continued Lucy.

Maggie rolled her eyes, still roaming around the apartment. In the coat closet she found the box of kids’ art supplies that she regularly used to entertain the younger Danvers on bad days, complete with coloring books, glitter, and googly eyes. That too, joined the couch party, as did the remote. Maggie turned on Netflix and set phasers to gay (this week that meant Wynonna Earp).

Finally content with her work, she once again settled in between her favorite girls, box of art supplies in her lap. “While Danvers finishes her food and takes her pills, we’re going to watch some un-apologetically queer Supernatural. And then we’re going to color, because if you two are going to act like you’re five we might as well relive the fun parts.”

Alex grinned. “Pillow forts and coloring?”

Maggie nodded decisively, “Yes. And if you’re good maybe we’ll try fingerpainting in a few days.”

Lucy snickered, “Hamilton has to clear her first.”

Maggie smacked a coloring book into Lucy’s hands, “Shut up and color, Lane.”

It wouldn’t last forever, but it would last until the painkillers kicked in. And maybe Lucy and Alex would fall asleep to the dulcet tones of hell reclaiming its own, and maybe they may have found themselves with googly eyes stuck to their closed eyelids. There was a chance that photographic proof may have been sent to the Space Fam, and possibly posted to Maggie’s Instagram.

But for now, Alex was happily asleep with a coloring book held loose in her hands, Lucy’s head was pillowed in Maggie’s lap, and she could finally watch a healthy queer relationship where nobody dies and her girlfriends can’t talk through all the good parts.

I beat myself up a lot for being really picky, which indeed I am, but I’m at the Border Cafe in Harvard Square eating food that a) is all touching, b) is spicy with visible chunks of jalapeño, c) contains meat, and d) has ingredients that cannot immediately be identified upon looking at it, all things I would not have touched with a 10-foot-pole 6 or 7 years ago. It could be worse