blossom in ribcage


Originally posted by superfandomsunited

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Words: 1056

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of blood, sweetness, Dean being funny

Summary: Sam walks in on the reader and later says something on his mind

      It had been a long day, a long hunt, and she was ready to collapse into bed. She unlocked the motel room door, followed by Sam and Dean. She was covered in mud and grime as well as blood (thankfully it wasn’t hers) and all she wanted was to take a shower and go to bed.

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Bound By Blood: Part One

a Miraculous Ldaybug Mafia au just for you! Special thanks to @corinnamariedrawsstuff, my tumblr wife, because she always lets me bounce ideas off her :)

She had gotten her first tattoo when she was fourteen, it was of a small ladybug; a simple red circle with three black dots on her right wrist. The ladybug was the well-known symbol of the Dupain-Cheng Clan, a Chinese mafia that was rising in numbers and power. After a year, she received another tattoo… a phoenix on her left ribcage; reminding her how she would always rise again when she fell. On her seventeenth birthday, she got the words ‘fuck you’ written in Chinese on her left wrist, that was just because she wanted it. On her graduation day, she had her first back tattoo… it was a traditional dragon, it followed along her spine perfectly. It was her zodiac, it was to show the start of a new reign of command.

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Retrograde (1/?)

A/N: Okay, this is the most important fic I’ve ever written I would say. I’m so excited to see how this goes and I know exactly how it’s ending and everything and I plan on updating it once/twice a week dependent on how much university work I have etc. Anyway, enough is enough, here is my CHAPTERED FIC!!! I’ve worked so hard on this holy shit.

Title: Retrograde

Genre: Romance/Angst/Comfort

Description: Dan is involved in an accident that leads to major consequences…he wakes up with amnesia. The good news, he still remembers Phil. The bad news? He thinks it’s 2009, that he’s only 18 years old and that Phil Lester is just the YouTuber he obsesses over behind his laptop screen who doesn’t know he exists. Together, they help Dan rediscover who he’s become and watch him fall in love with Phil all over again.


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Arrow Fic: Just Another Wednesday

As requested, here is a sequel to last week’s prompt fic featuring Felicity’s days of the week underwear. This was supposed to be short and sweet, but it kinda got away from me, oops! There’s a teensy bit of almost-but-not-really angst at the beginning (because why let them have regular reunion sex when I can make them try to have reunion sex around Oliver’s injuries?) and a little hurt/comfort, but it’s mostly just fun, fluffy sexytimes. [Rating: Explicit]

Felicity squirms in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs for what has to be the millionth time in the last hour.

She really does not like going commando. Not when she’s supposed to be working, anyway. It just feels … wrong. And distracting. Very, very distracting.

Damn Oliver and his underwear thievery. He needs to get back here, pronto, so she can get them back from him. And also for other reasons that are best not thought about while she is trying to work and also not wearing underwear.

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❝Assassin Greed.❞

Originally posted by youneedtostrut

Ship: Winter Soldier/Reader

Word Count:

Violence, light smut 

A/N: I’m not totally happy with this but I did like quite a few parts of it so I figured why not post it? It’s the first thing I’ve written in a while that wasn’t Equinox, take it easy on me okay.   

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anonymous asked:

Fic prompt for Solavellan - Frilly cakes and love bites.

Their latest visitor from Val Royeaux brings with her a chef.

It’s not the strangest thing Ellana has witnessed, as far as comforts-of-home go, and Orlesians in particular are peculiar about bringing with them everything under the sun for their extended stay at Skyhold. One had brought his own mattress once, imagining their lodgings not up to par, and most bring their own wine – not as gifts, but as a substitute to the Fereldan ale usually served at the Inquisitor’s table. For Orlesians it’s a mild insult – milder than the chef, anyhow, but at Josephine’s behest no one but the head cook (who couldn’t be wrangled into obedience for the Empress herself, Ellana knows) voices their complaints openly, and so she’d spared precious little thought to the occupancy of the Skyhold kitchens.

Until one day, when inspiration strikes at the smell of pastry dough wafting out into the hall.

She lingers in the doorway, watching the kitchen hands scurry to and fro, and if anyone thinks her arrival odd they don’t mention it, but the chef lifts his eyes from where he’s kneading the dough, intrigue written across his face, and unlike most Orlesians in Ellana’s acquaintance, seemingly unperturbed by displaying his expressions openly.

“Madame Inquisitor?” he asks, but does not stop in his task, hands quick and practised in their movements, and she remembers a wistful voice, so often speaking of a past long lost but for once made bright with newness. The memory stands out in her mind, the taste of it sweet on her tongue, before she wraps it in words and offers it up.

“Can you make frilly cakes?”

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Let your liquor infused kisses intoxicate me so much, make me see stars. I feel galaxies growing across my lips, let them drip into my mouth and blossom in my ribcage because all i ever wanted to be
was your universe.
—  2:32pm

silksieve  asked:

24, 37, or 47 Solavellan!

tender; defy; crave

Still she searched, and dreamed, and waited, for a way to change the Dread Wolf’s heart.

convergence : solavellan

It defies common sense, her continued attempts at seeking him out.

She grasps for him in her dreams, lone hand reaching, grappling with shadows too thick to be real. A cloak to hide his passing, when he departs upon her waking. She’s never fast enough, and she knows he keeps his distance for a reason, but she can’t help the bitterness that follows the thought, that he should allow himself the sight of her but nothing else, and that he should not grant her the same privilege. It’s a craving deep in her bones, not just to get a glimpse, but to touch him; to ensure that he’s still flesh and bone, that he still breathes and walks and lives, even when he’s resigned himself to a hollow, lonely death.

She takes to studying the Fade, to better understand the world she walks in her dreams. She becomes more alert, less prone to lose herself in the ever-changing scenery, the paths that tilt and split with the smallest inkling of a thought. She learns to find her footing, to step with surety where she used to stumble.

A younger, less burdened heart might have leapt when her attempts finally yield results, but she has known deceit, and is no longer so easily fooled.

“You let me find you.” But her accusation loses some of its bite, with the hope that trembles in every word.

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