((you don't have to do all these, I am just insane XD) "You don't have to do ALL these, I'm just insane."
“You don’t have to do ALL these, I’m just insane.”
Marinette, Alya and Nino stopped dead in their tracks. They exchanged looks before proceeding with what they were doing. Adrien was sitting silently at the table in the Dupain-Cheng household while his 3 friends were working. Fifteen minutes later he found himself being almost drowned in food.
“Blanquette de Veau?” Marinette offered shoving a pot in his face.
“Entrée , first, Mari, you heathen.” Alya complained and then he had a bowl shoved in his face. “Soupe à L'oignon?”
Marinette pushed Alya aside. “Sole Meunière?” she extended a plate towards Adrien, but before he could reach to take it, Nino appeared in front of him.
“Hachis Parmentier, bro?”
“Fuck off, DJ, he needs Pan-seared Foie Gras !” Alya dragged Nino away by the collar.
“Shut up with your ‘my mother is a five stars chef’ bullshit, Alya.” Marinette appeared again before him. “ Bouillabaisse?”
Alya used her hip to nudge Marinette, as she also presented him with a plate. “ Cod Accras?”
Nino appeared, pushing both girls on either side and presenting Adrien two huge plates. “Tagine? Couscous?”
Marinette hissed and also placed a plate in front of him. “Boeuf Bourguignon?”
Alya appeared on Nino’s other side with a large bowl. “Tartiflette?”
What happened next will shock you. Adrien fainted.
“I think we overwhelmed him with love and care.”
“And delicious food he was probably not allowed to eat.”
“That must be it.”
Who would have guessed that would happen when all Adrien did was ask for a snack?
Oddly fitting for my current mentality, though I tried to instill as much hope and good feeling as I could there at the end to keep it from dragging too far. Apologies for the wait.
It’s a rare sunny day when Bond finds himself sitting in the single armchair in his flat, nursing a glass of something strong and feeling desperately sorry for himself.
M’s–Mallory’s–letter sits on the floor, discarded minutes or hours ago. Bond’s lost track of time, but he knows it has passed. The shadows on the floor have moved, and this is far from his first drink. He can see the smudges of his own fingerprints against the glass, right there next to the residue left by his lips all of the way around the rim.
He’s not at the bottom of the bottle–nowhere near, in fact–but he’s going to try to get there. He’s got nothing else to do. Nowhere else to go. His jacket’s still in a heap on the floor by the door, though he hasn’t managed to do more with his shirt than unbutton it a bit near the top. His belt’s too tight and he can feel his socks digging into his legs and christ, he just wants to stop feeling anything at all.
so *shudders* fluff prompt: Cat takes Kara to Paris and Kara eats too many pastries and has thousands of photos from around the city and Cat only has like 5 photos most of them are of Kara
This is a little longer than expected but there’s no angst at all, just fluff. Enjoy ♥
SOUS LE CIEL DE PARIS
She arrives in the city of light as the sun is starting to rise on the horizon.
The dark skyline is slowly beginning to brighten into lighter shades of blue and there’s even the faintest glimpse of some orange rays showing behind the skyscrapers. The sparkling lights of the French capital are still bright and strong but then, one by one, they fade away to welcome the rising day.
She softly lands on the top balcony of a private town house, atop the Montmartre hill, and she leans against the railing to soak in the ambiance.
It smells like freshly baked pastries and morning dew, with a hint of something floral. It’s intoxicating, really, and she breathes the unique scent of the city at 5AM. She sees the lights go off on the Eiffel Tower and the Iron Lady is, for a moment, barely visible in the darkness of the night. Then, the early morning light hits the monument, chasing the shadows away, and the iron is bathing in blue, pink and orange as the sky slowly turns into something of a painting.
“You’re late, Supergirl. Or early, it depends on how we look at it.”
She was so engrossed in the beautiful scene unfolding in front of her, she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, nor did she hears the strong and steady heartbeat she’s usually so focused on.
She smiles but doesn’t answer. She’s overwhelmed by Paris and she can’t bring herself to talk, it would break the moment. Instead, she simply moves to allow Cat to come between her and the railing of the balcony before putting her arms around the other woman’s waist, resting her chin on Cat’s shoulder so she can still admire the awakening of the French Capital.
Cat seems to understand because she doesn’t say anything.
1) Pour te payer un costard, tu travailleras.
2) Hollande, tu trahiras.
3) Ta blanquette de veau, tu mangeras.
4) Ton sourire colgate, tu perfectionneras.
5) Les rumeurs, tu démentiras.
6) Comme une girouette, tu tourneras.
7) La colère de Taubira, tu déclencheras.
8) Ton programme tu cacheras, mais un jour, ton grand projet, tu dévoileras.
9) Les oeufs de poule, sur ton front, comme couronne d'épines, tu accueilleras.
10) Au ciel, tes bras, tu lèveras.
For @icecreamforpresident “
Heeey can I request a Zen x Reader (married already :D) thing something really fluffy please :D I don’t know what I want in detail but something cozy maybe spending the day at home on a weekend while it ’s raining or something like that and lots of fluff pretty please :3″
A/N: I think I took the fluff part too seriously. Like. Wow. This is a lot of fluff that probably is really unrealistic. Oh well, hope you enjoy!
Heavy drops of water slashed at the windows while the winds banged branches against the walls of the apartment you shared with Zen. Your E/C orbs reflected the lightning that followed huge roars of thunder. Needless to say, the weather was not that wonderful.
You and Zen had plans this weekend. He would take you to a nice garden and you would dine on the rooftop of your favorite restaurant. He would push you on a swing like you were children, and you would lay in the field with him and look at all the stars. Oh, how beautiful the stars were. He told you his most personal secrets under the stars. He wanted to make up for working so hard lately on a new project. Of course, you didn’t mind. You had to admit, though, you were missing his company. This weekend was your escape from the loneliness, but the weather said otherwise.
After Julia Faulkner who wrote a poem after Matthew Olzmann
A beginning of wolves chasing, nipping at our calves, licking the blood from our ankles. Your sweaty hand in mine, waiting for the doors to swing open in a French kitchen like a movie scene, and the waiters to topple their platters and spill red wine onto a heiress’ dress. A beginning of stone bridges, of green-bellied crickets. We steal tubs of ice cream and shaved chocolate, pull splinters from our palms for weeks. Bears and squirrels and crows in the backyard, pecking at the rows and rows of corn. Hiding in the wheat, waiting for god like a dinner date, praying that dusk won’t find us this deep in the mid-west. Later, it is Seattle or San Diego, something slippery and wet on our tongues, ice cubes made of Kool Aid or sugar water, mosquitoes forever swarming my neck and your wrists, and we push down the seats in the car and pull smooth marbles from our mouths and say things like Cuisses de Grenouille and Blanquette de Veau, imagining these things, dancing frog legs and blankets of veal, creamy white sauce ribboned over like silk. A beginning of toothpicks, of a thousand cut mouths, of silence canyon deep, clouds of gold dust, burnt skin pink as lemonade. I could never tell if you were smiling or just baring your teeth.