forgotten bottom

anonymous asked:

please please make it into a series!!

i’ve opened up the floodgates, haven’t i? don’t worry though, i love you guys! :)

anyway, here, have some (really) minific

It’s after a long day at work, so full of ‘she’s’, and ‘hers’, and ‘ma’ams’ that Alex feels about ready to claw out of their skin, when they find the binder sitting half forgotten at the bottom of their bag, slipped in that morning along with Alex’s outfit for date night tonight. Alex hadn’t actually been planning on wearing it, not really, because they had to change in the DEO locker rooms and as much as it hurt, Alex was nowhere near ready to be that out yet. But after a day like today?

It’s a white half binder, it could pass as a sports bra to a casual glance, and the area Alex is in is mostly empty. If they don’t act like it’s a big deal, it’s unlikely anyone will even notice. Very, very unlikely anyone will realize what they are seeing, if they do notice. Alex takes the chance.

The binder gets stuck around Alex’s shoulder blades and they do their best to suppress rising panic. Dammit, dammit, bad idea…

“Need some help?”

It’s only Alex’s training that keeps them from jumping a foot in the air. Nevertheless they startle and jerkily half turn to see the owner of the voice.

“Vasquez,” Alex sighs in relief. “You scared me half to death.”

“Breathe, Danvers,” Vasquez says. “I’ll help you get unstuck, okay?”

Alex nods, and Vasquez makes quick work of the binder, pulling expertly down on the hem. Once they are done Alex tugs the straps a little, to settle them, then shrugs on their shirt and starts to button it. “You’re a lifesaver, Vasquez.”

“Not a problem,” Vasquez says. “Now get going, you don’t wanna be late meeting your girl.”

Alex laughs, relaxing a little. “Yeah, I promised Maggie I’d get her at 7:30.”

As Alex shoulders their bag and starts towards the door, Vasquez catches them gently.

“I don’t think anyone really saw, but if someone does start asking questions you can always tell them to fuck off. You aren’t obligated to tell them anything, okay?” they say, squeezing Alex’s shoulder firmly.

Alex nods, straightening their back and smiling just a little. “Yeah, got it.”

dailydoseofscenarios  asked:

I finally had some time to read today and decided to read through 101 Kisses so far and omg my heart! I thought they were great, especially how simple yet wonderfully written they were. I was smiling so hard by the time I got to the first one. Loved it!!!😁 (And on a random side note: I could have sworn up, down, left, and right that I was following you because I definitely read your work but apparently I wasn't. Or maybe I am on my main but I am now here too lol 😂)

i’ve been gushing hardcore since i saw the notification earlier today bc not only is one of my favorite writers reading my work but is following my scenario blog too ??!! (๑→‿←๑) thank you so much for this kind message sweetie~ yes i was definitely going for the sweet and simple vibe for those kisses drabbles so yay~  (・◡・) 

Originally posted by defsouljb


You look down at your phone as it vibrates again forgotten at the bottom of your dance bag. 


The fifth message that’s gone unanswered.

You sigh and grab a quick sip from your water bottle before lining back up behind the curtain, preparing to run this bit of the piece for what feels like the hundredth time today.

When all you really want to do is go home and watch tv with your wife.


You’re heading towards the subway when you open up her messages, the last one stealing all of your attention and making your mouth go dry. 

Candlelit surprise waiting for you.

Santana has a habit of surprising you when rehearsals run long and she’s home. It’s…. one of the best perks about being married to her. She’s always waiting for you in the apartment you share.

You descend the cement stairs to the muggy underground and turn up the volume in your earbuds praying that the train will be quick.


You can’t keep the giddy smile off your face when you step off the elevator and pull the keys out of your pocket. The apartment is completely dark around you save for clumps of candles lit all around. Your stomach flips because even though you’ve been together forever, and even though you’ve been married for two years… it’s Santana. 

No one will ever make you feel the way she does.

No one has ever come close.

A strange yet familiar song echoes down the hall from the bedroom and you strip off your coat and shoes, throwing your dance bag down at the door.

As you get closer you think you understand the words to the song but you’re not sure. The door to the bedroom is propped open and light spills out from the small crack. You reach out and open it, your eyes landing on even more candles inside. 

It’s then that you understand the words to the song, remembering how many times Santana played it over and over again swooning every time.

When you turn you find her standing there. The familiar markings on her face. 


She nods, solemn. 

“Where did you get a sword, baby?”

Her brow furrows, “I am fully grown… why do you call me baby?” The seriousness of her tone makes your hands tingle.

You smile, thinking you know her game. “Santana… it’s dangerous to have all these candles lit, you know this building is just barely up to code.”

“I would ask you to address me by my title.”

“My apologies, Heda.”

“You are forgiven, Ambassador.” She clutches at the sword at her side, the dark lace and armor turning you on. 

“So, is this the part where I spit on your face?”

“I’d rather you do something else on my face.”

“I believe that’s… how you say wanky, Commander.”

“Bow before me and I’ll show you wanky.” Santana can’t keep the familiar purr out of her voice, no matter how much she wants to play along with her own game. 

You smirk, stepping forward, “As you wish, Heda.”

Lust fills her eyes as you step down to your knees, pulling at the belt around her waist.


Everyone enters this life with a backpack filled with everything you need to be able to live. Things like happiness, the color of your eyes and the way your laughter sounds. But also what you need to survive the harder parts of living; how do you deal with sadness, loss and empty and worthless feelings. No one is the same, no one is perfect. and neither are our backpacks. We will have to deal with things for which we couldn’t prepare, our backpacks might have no supplies for every situation we’ll experience. And sometimes, someone comes down from heaven to live the amazing life that’s given with an almost empty backpack. A lot of things are forgotten and the bottom is already visable. And when you reach the bottom and the backpack is completely empty you have to return home, which is called heaven. Some of us stay for a really long time and others return home soon because they feel homesick or have reached the bottom of the backpack. And they might never come back to us.
—  my aunt is a therapist and a few years ago she told me that she had to tell a four-year-old girl that her favorite family member committed suicide. she told the girl this little poem and I think there isn’t a prettier way to tell a kid her second mom is dead because of something she isn’t able to understand yet.


On Bended Knee by lacking. 7k. post-botfa everyone lives/nobody dies erebor au. if for some bizarre reason you only ever read one bottom!thorin, dom/sub fic, let it be this one. it’s literally perfect.  

Like the Sun by  moonyloonylupin. 3k. post-botfa everyone lives/nobody dies erebor au, drunk!thorin. unf so cute, i’m in love with this fic.

My Fair Hobbit by Erinye. WIP. middle earth au, erebor never fell, in the style of My Fair Lady. 

And in the Darkness Bind Them by Cinderstrato. WIP. canon-compliant to a point, stuff-is-happening-in-the-afterlife au. read it, it’s so amazing.

if this is to end in fire by asthiathien. WIP. very original time travel au. after failing to destroy the one ring, thorin is sent back to the night he met bilbo.

more of my fic recs

he only comes in golden
shards and silver shafts
only in the evening when
the light slants off the
empty canvas and the
unmade bed, and he only
comes with a sad ‘hmm’
and a bottle of pills that
once lay forgotten at the
bottom of the sock drawer
the shower gets used for
the first time in a week
when he gives a firm nudge
and there’s a list next to
the phone which used to
loom like the raging furies
his shards stab aching hands
when they stray from the
laundry basket in the corner
or the bursting dishwasher
and when muscles tense just a
touch too tightly, he is there with
dry hands to soothe that ache
with arrows meant to purge
he pins together the scraps
and sets you on your feet again

-31.7.15 [to apollon, who aids the mentally ill]

It’s been a year since he died, and I’m still not over it. I’m not over the feeling of terrible loss, or the knowledge that there will be no one else like him, at least not in my lifetime. I’m not over the fact that there was a man who could write so profoundly, with such beautiful poignancy and visceral accuracy of the human condition, but could still work in three different puns to one sentence and make you cry in the next.

I’m not over his rage, his kindness, his love for the world and everything in it. I’m not over how he took the tropes of fantasy fiction and spun them around and turned them inside out and made lumps of cheese into relatable characters and made standard trope heroes apparent as the villains that they are.

I’m not over the alacrity with which he delved into the depths of the human psyche, the lowest of the low points, and found heroes at the bottom—the forgotten, the abused, the criminal and the downright grubby. 

And a year later and I’m still not over it. Like losing that favorite uncle who used to show up at family reunions and tell you something interesting he’d read in a book and it’d change your whole perspective on life. He certainly changed mine, over and over until the world started to hurt a little less and shone a little more.

I’m not over it. But I’m so incredibly thankful for all of it.

GNU Terry Pratchett, let the ripples never fade.

Learning curve

TITLE: Learning curve


AUTHOR : tomcuddlesfic


GENRE: fluff / romance / angst

FIC SUMMARY: OC and Tom broke things off abruptly but when trouble comes in OC’s way, will Tom still help? 


AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: Hello. I am back with another one shot. I hope you like this one and please tell me what you think!

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