healthy evening snack

8

Daisy Johnson And Junk/Comfort Food

#birthdayfordaisy2 - Day 2: headcanons

It didn’t become about affection until later. At first it was about rebellion - some of the nuns said candy was the devil’s invention, and the other nuns let them be because it was bad for you anyway. There was truly a black market of Mars bars and nerd ropes and warheads in the dorms. Daisy learned to think of junk food as a gesture of friendship, passed between bunk bed when the lights went out. Her favorite was Gummi mini burgers, she liked sour candy.

It was also about luxuries: the first time Daisy had candy and permission to eat as much chocolate as she wanted was with foster parents. Foster parents had amazing snacks, super fancy - well, at first, because rich people don’t want older kids so as Daisy grew up and kept being returned to St Agnes over and over the quality of the snacks at home decreased. Cheap candy is still delicious, though.

Indulgence and longing; Daisy began to realize food meant nourishment and people who love you will nourish you. 

It’s easy to eat trash when she is living her van, but you know? it’s also very comforting. Like giving herself a little prize for getting through the day. Those were the years of living day by day, not much time to plan for meals beyond counting on the cute waitress at her favorite café giving her yesterday’s cookies for breakfast without charging.

Daisy is actually surprised she made it past 25, what with the amount of Funyuns consumed during long nights of hacking and inconvenient timezones. Even to this day sometimes junk food has the taste of loneliness for her, even when she’s with other people, it just doesn’t go away.

A whole language: food to comfort her, to woo her, to bribe her. Daisy never trusted words, not since she was thirteen, but she trusted people who would feed you, who would selflessly give up their food or drink for you, people who want to share a meal with you, people who know you well enough to buy something you like. Food can have all sorts of meanings. Above all it’s about connection for her.

Food, like nothing else, has the capacity to evoke memories of solace, of being cared for, most of all memories of people’s kindness. People are just amazing, Daisy thinks, loving and generous. From being told about Bobbi’s stashes like it’s a state secret, to Coulson trying heartbreakingly hard with the grilled cheese, the Little Debbie snack cakes that she didn’t have the chance to try, to Jemma’s flavorless but well-meaning healthy snacks, even something simple like Mack heating up some leftovers for her after a mission because Daisy was too tired to move, Mack having to literally put the plate on her lap. 

It’s a double-edged sword, this strong association with food. Some memories are too bittersweet: the complicated smell of popcorn, and the sad taste of the cheap Chinese takeaway she once shared with Trip, and how she can’t think of ice cream without remembering that one happy moment she spent with a father who doesn’t recognize her anymore. 

Daisy always promises herself she will learn to cook, one day, when she has time - when Hydra or xenophobes or murder robots give her a break. Not just because she wants to eat healthier, but because she wants to learn to take care of the people she loves in these ways that mean something to her.

tommy-kitty  asked:

Fall LazyTown Prompt: Kids carving pumpkins and then saving the seeds after Sportacus gives out advice to bake them into some healthy snacks! Maybe even the kids sharing some to Robbie. c;

Ziggy is me in this fic XD Thanks for the fall-tastic prompt! 

Ziggy made a face at the pile of pumpkin guts beside Trixie’s pumpkin. “That stuff smells funny. Why can’t we just throw it away?”

“I think it’s cool!” Trixie picked up some of the pumpkin insides and said in a low voice, “Braaaaainssss.” She squished the guts in her fists, letting the glop ooze through her fingers.

“Trixie, that’s gross!”

“I can’t help it, I’m a zombiiiiie!” 

“Ew! Don’t eat it!”

The other kids laughed. Sportacus, who was carving up the pumpkins so the kids could make Jack O’ Lanterns, chuckled as well. He put down the knife and wiped his hands on a towel. “The guts can look gross but the seeds are delicious.”

Trixie held out her hands, which were still covered in pumpkin guts with oval seeds poking out, “Really?”

“Yes! They are very good for you if you roast them.”

“My dad and I used to do that!” Stephanie said. She looked at the others, “I can teach you his special recipe!”

Pixel eyed the four pumpkins Sportacus had yet to scoop out, “It looks like we’ll have a lot of seeds to use. That’s a good idea!”

“You’re not going to use my seeds!” Stingy declared, “I want to use my own recipe!”

“We’ll have to pick out the seeds first,” Stephanie pointed out, ignoring Stingy, “I’ll got get a bowl we can put them in.”

As she ran off, Ziggy frowned at the new pile of pumpkin insides Sportacus was making. He looked a little green, “I-I think I’m going to help Sportacus. You guys can pick out the seeds without me, r-right?”

In the end, Trixie helped Sportacus scoop out the other pumpkins. Ziggy “scared off” any crows that came by to snag a pumpkin seed while the other three sorted the seeds from the guts. The bowl was nearly full by the time they were done.

The afternoon was spent carving or painting the Jack O’ Lanterns under Sportacus’ supervision. As the sun began to set, Stingy declared that he was going home to roast his seeds. The other kids went to Stephanie’s house. 

Stephanie showed Trixie, Ziggy, and Pixel how to wash and dry the seeds. They mixed together the spices her dad used and played games while the seeds cooked in the oven. By the end of the night, the four of them had a good amount of slightly spicy pumpkin seeds.

“I wonder how Stingy made his?” Pixel wondered, popping a handful of seeds into his mouth.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out. The next morning, Stingy walked into town with his head held high. The other four, and Sportacus, watched him pass the basketball court. 

“Where are you going, Stingy?” Ziggy asked.

Stingy held up a small bag, “I made too many cinnamon sugar pumpkin seeds so I’m going to give some of my seeds to Robbie.”

Sportacus grinned, “That’s a great idea, Stingy! I’m sure he will love them.”

“Of course he will,” Stingy said, turning his back on the group, “They’re a gift from me.”

anonymous asked:

Omg that nightmare one was soooo good!!! Can you please do more batdad stuff with damian??

I really love writing Batdad guys. Like I really love it. Anyway, sorry for the delay in answering this, I wanted to pick something really good and was having trouble coming up with a good idea, then my dad and I sat down to watch a stupid movie and bam! I had an idea. 

For those who are curious the nightmare one can be read here

Enjoy


The manor was quiet this late at night. It was a still kind of quiet that usually settled Bruce, but tonight something felt off.

He decided to make one last round of the manor before going to bed himself, and stopped by each of his son’s rooms, checking in on them with a quick, silent glance, so he wouldn’t wake them. Dick was there, taking a break from his globetrotting for a few nights. Jason’s room was empty, but Bruce expected that, the Red Hood had left in the direction of his own apartment at the end of patrol that night. Tim was asleep in his bed, having been too tired to return to his own place. Duke’s light was still on, and through the door Bruce could hear the sound of pages ruffling.

He saved Damian’s room for last. His youngest’s door was closed, and the moment Bruce laid his hand on the knob he felt a twinge of panic in his chest, the sense that not all was well doubled as he stood there outside his son’s room.

He flung the door open and found the room still, silent, and completely unoccupied. Damian wasn’t in the room. He hadn’t been there for a long time. Alfred kept the cobwebs from setting in, and the dust from ever sticking, but the room was unused. It had been since that rainy night.

Then he was seeing it happen again, seeing his son broken and run through on the order of his own mother. Murdered by the woman Bruce had once thought he could love. Her laughter filled his ears, bitter, and almost joyful. Words came next, baiting him, telling him of how he’d failed, how this was his fault, how he’d never have the chance to see his son grow up.

He squeezed his eyes shut against it, and clamped his hands over his ears as if either attempt would stop the assault, would change the fact that his son was gone.

And then he was awake, panting, sweating, and more exhausted than he’d been when he’d fallen into bed hours ago. He pushed his hair back and stilled his breathing with deep even breaths. A nightmare, it had only been a nightmare.

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