food team

feelingsinwinter  asked:

I hope this prompt will talk to someone because I had it for sometimes and I still love it so much! I hope you'll like it too! So Coulson: "Babe, what'd the little paper in your cookie say?" Clint: *muffled chewing noises* "The little what in my cookie?". Honestly, you can redo the dialog but the idea in itself is just great and perfect. I wish you to have fun!

The fuck is this? Clint signed frantically, reaching across the table for his plastic glass of water with a lemon wedge in it. His tablemates, the rest of Strike Team Delta, were probably laughing at him, but it didn’t matter, because the mission was over and Clint had taken out his ‘aids, and if anyone wanted to talk to him, they could fucking sign. He was tired, he had a headache, and he’d just taken a bite of something that wasn’t quite recognizable as food.

Clint didn’t quite spit out the mouthful of food he’d taken; entirely too much red pepper sauce over a deep fried chicken nugget. Clint had been to China, and this was nothing at all like Chinese food.

Chinese-American take-out. That was Rollins, who at least knew enough sign language to get the point across, even if his finger-spelling of Chinese was stilted and labored.

“It’s crap,” Clint said, finishing his mouthful and speaking out loud for the sake of the three other agents on the team who did not know sign language. Clint was pretty sure Rumlow knew enough to get by, even if the man would never lower himself to use it. Rumlow liked it when Clint stared at his mouth, trying to get the gist of the conversation. Once Clint had realized that little morsel, he’d spent most missions with eyes on Nat, who could at least be counted on to make sure he’d gotten the entire plan.

“Here,” Nat said, using her chopsticks to flick a pile of brown noodles onto his plate. “You’ll like that better.”

The mission, at least, had gone well, Clint thought. He took a bite of Nat’s noodle stuff, dripping with dark sauce and mixed with slivers of vegetables that Clint knew for a fucking fact did not grow in China. “What is this?” He held up something that looked like Hank Pym had gone wild on an ear of corn. Where was the bok-choy? The kai-lan? Clint hated broccoli. He pushed the greens to one side. He wasn’t eating that.

Phil Coulson said something behind Clint’s head and Clint whipped around, but his mouth had stopped moving by the time Clint had eyes on. “Sorry, got exactly none of that,” Clint said.

Phil sat down, his own plate crowded with little steamed buns, and those, at least, looked familiar. Dim Sum. “It’s baby corn,” Phil said.

“You’ve never ate Chinese before?” Rumlow asked.

One of the biggest problems with being deaf, Clint thought, was that people communicated so much with tone of voice and inflection. Things that Clint was missing out on. Even with his ‘aids in, he didn’t always hear the subtle stresses, so he had to make do with other things, like body language. There was something… lewd in Rumlow’s question, the way his head tilted, the– oh, ick. Clint connected the dots; Rumlow was hinting that Clint may (or may not) have performed oral on someone of Asian descent. Rollins was laughing and he made a triangle with his index fingers and thumbs, sticking his tongue into the open spot. Which might have been funny – Clint was no stranger to making sexually charged jokes, except Rollins tipped his makeshift vagina sideways, turning a crude remark into a racist one.

Clint decided the better part of not having to kick ass for a second time today was to ignore them both.

“‘Zat boazi?” Clint jabbed at Phil’s little bun with his chopsticks.

“Crab ragoon,” Phil said. “Decidedly not authentic. I’m pretty sure that cheese is still a novelty dish in mainland China. You’ll like it. And these are pork buns. Not quite what you’re used to but… just pretend it’s not Chinese.”

“Ain’t Chinese,” Clint said, but he took one anyway. He knew he was being a hypocrite, because this was as Chinese as pizza was Italian. On the other hand, Clint didn’t order pizza when they were in Italy. Pizza was an American speciality.

The little pork buns weren’t too bad, he decided, and Phil rather tolerantly let Clint eat off his plate, stealing egg rolls from Rollins, instead.

No seed buns? Clint gestured when Rumlow threw him a little wrapped cookie. Rumlow ignored him. That was okay. Clint was pretty sure Rumlow didn’t know what lotus seed paste was, anyway.

Clint popped the little hat-shaped cookie out of its plastic wrapper and stuck the whole thing in his mouth.


It was a crime against humanity when cookies were gross. This one was dry, crumbly, and didn’t taste like much of anything. Brittle dough and vanilla, mostly.

“What’s your fortune?” Phil asked, flicking a tiny strip of of paper between his fingers.

Luck is the residue of hard work,” Nat said, reading off her own piece of paper.

“My what?” Clint blinked.

“The little piece of paper inside your cookie,” Phil said.

“There’s a piece of paper inside the cookie?” Clint fished around inside his mouth with a finger. Well, if there was, he’d swallowed it.

Stuck with it now, Rollins signed, then added, unless you puke it back up.

“It’s the myth,” Phil said. “Well, there’s a couple of them. The first one is, if you eat the cookie, you’re accepting the fortune. The other one is to tack the words ‘in bed’ on the end of your fortune.” He handed Clint the little strip of paper.

Whatever you do, do it with great enthusiasm.

In bed. Phil added the sign when Clint got to the end of the ‘fortune.’

Clint looked back at the fortune, then at Phil. Eat your fuckin’ cookie, babe.

anonymous asked:

IM SO EXCITED FOR SEASON THREE ANYWAYS I wanted to ask, so the ship Rebecca x Josh is canonically known as Bunch of Chans, I was wondering if there are any other "official" ship names (either in-universe or the fandom) (examples of my favs: Rebecca Bunch x Nathaniel Plimpton or Darryl Whitefeather x White Josh)

Personally, on this blog, I use foods. Team boba, tacos, coffee creamer, etc. for Rebecca’s potential disasters. Whitejoshfeather. I’ve seen Halencia. Honestly I don’t pay too much to “official” just you do you, baby. Whatever makes you happy.

Originally posted by bunchofbloom


Season 2 hc: Everyone grows attached to Yuuri in Russia and Victor has some Regrets ™

Or: my excuse to draw domestic Russian family + Yuuri

lily taking james out on a muggle date and james being Embarrassing™   

You want fries with that?

So in our party we don’t have a healer so our Sorcerer specializes in spells that buff the party or crowd control the enemy. However, the way the spells work can sometimes mess with a plan, so we got to talking about what spells he has access to.

Fighter: So I’ve seen you cast Grease a lot. And you have orb of acid for damage.

Sorcerer: Yep and I also have Enlarge Person but I haven’t gotten a good chance to use it yet.

Monk OOC: wait, so this guy just goes around spewing grease and acid and making people bigger? You have all the powers of an average McDonald’s !

The party lost their shit while the Sorcerer didn’t look amused.

*A few months and a few levels up later*

Sorcerer OOC: Since those Drow are all standing together, I’m gonna cast Evard’s Black Tentacles!

Monk: Busting out the McDonalds secret menu, are we?

Party loses their shit and the Sorcerer spite-greases the monk.

OMGCP is canonically magic in subtle ways.  

Sure, there are the ghosts, and Johnson breaks the fourth wall.  No one questions those (except Ransom, who holds firm to ghosts not being real).

But there are other, small pieces of magic tucked in.  The quarter that stops perfectly in the crack in the floorboards.  The pies that always come out just the way Bitty wants them to no matter how much time he has in the Haus kitchen.  And unless something is wrong, unless the mood is disturbed, Bitty never drops one of them.  The way leaves always cling to Nursey, like he’s static charged, or like the wind and the earth are drawn to him.  The way the Haus’ roof always seems to hold exactly as much weight as it needs to, even when it shouldn’t be structurally sound enough to hold the weight of four or five hockey boys and their much smaller manager.  A little bit of love in the jam that makes Jack warm and happy and calm when he’s going through his pre-game ritual, a feeling he notices most when it was jam he got from Bitty.

There are things that none of them understand but that they accept, because everyday magic is more literal than figurative at Samwell.

theauraking  asked:

So it seems Clint and Steve both seem to be a bit lacking? Yeah lacking in intelligence. But who's done the dumbest thing since being thawed out

i am not even gonna consider this question, because if i start thinking through all the stupid nonsense clint and steve get up to i will hurl myself out a window purely in self defense. 

none of the avengers should ever spend time together. separately, theyre reckless to the point of idiocy; together, they fight crime. and cause massive amounts of property damage, and have reduced several psychologists to tears. it wasnt pretty.

but you know, fate of the world and all that nonsense. 

(to be fair to them, none of the avengers are stupid. they just get sucked into each others bad-decision vortexes)

in the interests of preserving that most blessed of coping methods, denial, i will only consider what steve and clint have gotten up to in the past two weeks. 

which still gives me a horrifying wealth of options.

dumbest thing steve has done? accepted clint’s challenge to a spicy-food-eating contest. captain triangle torso has enhanced senses. he takes his NORMAL food underseasoned, because his taste buds are extra-sensitive, and he took a spiciness challenge from clint, who spent his developmental years eating literally anything. last week i watched him pour pineapple juice into his hot chocolate. it was terrifying. i have seen clint drench jalapenos in ghost pepper sauce and eat them.  i have seen him put chocolate on pizza. there is nothing that man will not eat. 


steve got one bite in to one of clint’s ghost pepper chicken wings and his whole face swelled up and turned red. he kept eating. his eyes and nose were running. he got three bites in and was leaking from his whole face. he looked like he was gonna die. he drank a gallon of milk and was in bed for over a day. his fancy supermojo can fight off toxins but not ghost peppers, apparently. he said it was the most painful thing he’d ever felt, the supersoldier easy bake experience included. 

clint finished his bucket of ghost pepper hot wings and played mario kart for three hours. which is what he usually does on wednesdays. 

dumbest thing clint has done lately? “borrowed” natashas favorite dagger set. her vengence was swift, brutal, and left clint sans eyebrows and with tony’s goatee drawn in sharpie, refreshed nightly for a week. talk about shame.

she is a ruthless woman.

as to which of these was stupider? i honestly cant say, and thinking about it makes me regret so many decisions. 

so many. when did my life become this nonsense