fruit clutch

i say “i’m seeing a therapist” and he takes a step backwards. why he wants to know. what happened. what made me like this, basically. what was the final step that pushed me safely into the side of scary people like them.

there’s a lot i think about. like how my illnesses effect me outside of the actual symptoms. like beyond the weight there’s a second river to drown in.

i mean we don’t talk about having to stare at employment papers where they ask you to self-identify your problems. that little bead of sweat that forms when you worry - what if i don’t tell them and i need help? what if i tell them and they think i’m a risk factor? what if they won’t give me the job?

we don’t talk about the way some people act when they find out. the ones who are rude about it are one thing. but then there’s those people you thought were your friends who act like you just told them you’re infectious. who become weird and distant and suspicious like a switch flipped. like if they get to close to you, you’ll give it to them.

we learn to be okay with things we overhear on the bus but we never get used to it coming out of the mouth of the people we love. we carry this secret with us like a rotted fruit, clutching it to our bodies. we’re ashamed of our scars in front of our boss. we don’t talk about our panic attacks during lunch breaks. when the cop pulls you over “i’m disassociating” isn’t an excuse we can open the page on. when you watch people make these ranting posts about how real friends always text back, how if someone loves you, they’ll find the time to spend. success stories make other people cry with inspiration while some part of your brain is saying you can’t do that, you’re not like them. things are uglier at the bottom. you can’t explain why you can’t just make friends. you can’t write because you’re depressed but when you’re depressed you write best. you can’t eat today and no don’t ask why please. nevermind taking the train. never mind trying to be happy. never mind reading books and watching movies and wondering where exactly are people like you in hero stories. i watch a video where a man tells me that being depressed is just a mindset. when i wear all black someone remarks i look particularly emo today. it’s 2017 does anyone say emo anymore, i ask her, and she laughs, “you just look like one of those fake-depressed girls.” okay.  

i don’t tell him my therapist is actually why things don’t happen anymore. why i’m getting a handle on it. my tongue feels swollen. i feel embarrassed talking about it. in the highest twist of irony, i think of how many people know my problems anonymously on the internet. i almost spill out all my troubles onto him. instead i tell him it’s just a precaution. that i think everyone should really see a therapist, they’re brain mechanics and we all need a tune-up now and then. he relaxes.

okay. okay. i’m sorry i’m one of them.

Beauty and The Beast: Chapter 8

Author’s Note: Okay, so at least this isn’t coming out months later… Whoops. But with summer coming up, I’ve been working more, so I haven’t had the time to come on. And if you guys are up for this, please let me know what ya thought, cause it’s still very hard to get this out here when I think no one likes it. BUT I do really hope you all enjoy this chapter.

Also, this tugged at my heart a bit, ow.

Gif Credit: @nocturnal—mistress 

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 2,433

Bucky opens his mouth to respond but quickly closes it when found at a loss for words. You roll your eyes, knowing you won and he is giving up with the argument.

“Just please hold still Bucky, it might sting a bit…” You move the rag towards the wound once more, you feel his body jolt slightly from the stinging. Continuing your actions, you move to press the rag on another part of the gash. “I, I am sorry though for looking at your journal…”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you, you didn’t dare look up at him, there was just too much more to say to him.

“They, those pigs what we sadly call men…” You could feel your heart beating slightly faster when thinking of them, “I just,” you pause for a second before finally looking up at him, “thank you for saving me, Bucky.”

His face was stoic but his eyes showed every emotion he felt, mainly the mere shock of you thanking him had shown itself.

“Anytime, Y/N.”  

It’s been weeks now ever since that incident at the gas station, since you last stepped foot in his room, and ever since then, Bucky has become more soft spoken towards you.

You thought he was making progress before the ‘wolves’. Yet now you can clearly see the difference with him. May that he doesn’t smile, the look in his eyes tells you that he is now not as haunted.

‘Although he still looks pretty spooked to me… God progress doesn’t have to be drastic, get it together,Y/N.’

You shake your head to rid yourself any thoughts of him, or the progress he was making. There was a goal you wanted to accomplish that evening before Bucky came back from his walk in the forest. The new hobby of his allowed you time for yourself and frankly you didn’t mind him being gone. You knew you weren’t going to go anywhere, for the safety of yourself and your father.

It was a risk thinking about your father. How you’ve missed him; the way he’d cook your favorite dinners, how he would sing awfully to your favorite songs, and even when he’d make impromptu trips to anywhere and everywhere. You missed him dearly… but you were learning to enjoy the life you were living with Bucky.

‘If that doesn’t scream Stockholm Syndrome, I don’t know what does.’

A small chuckle leaves your lips, as much as you didn’t want to believe it, you really were starting to enjoy your utterly fucked up situation you were in. Bucky was hilarious when he didn’t even mean to be, sometimes you would forget he is suppose to be an ex-assassin for an evil organization. More so he seemed like the cute old guy who was always marveled at those ‘fancy gadgets’ the younglings played with this day and age.

More chuckles left your lips as you remembered the first time when he encountered one of the infamous gadgets of the new age.

It was beginning to get colder as the days passed by, you remember asking Bucky what day it was, he said something along the lines of late September to early October.

He and yourself traveled to town, set on getting some new clothes for the upcoming seasonal change. Along with the clothes, you convinced Bucky to get some autumnal foods from George and Ann.

“You promised, Bucky.” You walked side by side with him as the two of you made your way to George and Ann’s store.

Bucky scoffed, “I know I promised, it doesn’t mean we have to go there every time we go into town to get supplies.”

A grin made its way onto your face, you knew for a fact he didn’t mind visiting the old couple. He just loved to gripe about it and make it seem that he actually did mind going.

“Come on, I heard from Ann a while ago that she made peach cobbler from the last bit of fresh peaches in the area!” You tried to wiggle your eyebrows at him before he scoffed under his breath, choosing to ignore you.

He takes the lead and walks to the door, putting on the act once more of being the perfect boyfriend.

“Thank you, babe.” You chuckle when seeing his scowl return to his face when hearing you call him that. Before he could retort back with a snide comment, the two of you see the lovely couple emerge from the back room, arms full of boxes yet faces brimmed with smiles. “Good afternoon, George, Ann!”

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ahumanlady  asked:

Hey! Hope the writing is going well. I saw prompts and requests are open? I'm a total sucker badass Yuuri (I was searching that tag when I first found you) so if you were up to it..a short Drabble of Badass Yuuri and confused, very concerned, scared, impressed, slightly turned on Viktor? Good luck!

*finger guns* you got it

here’s a buffy the vampire slayer inspired vampire hunter au that.. actually has almost nothing to do with buffy. it’s also a lot longer than i intended!! sorry for taking so long with it!

All Yuuri wants to do is pick up groceries for his mom, go home, and ignore his calculus homework until the blissful oblivion of sleep claims him.

So, when he hears the telltale sounds of a fight in the vegetable aisle, he almost crushes a cereal box in frustration.

“Please, no,” he says, begging whatever deity that may be listening. “C’mon, just this once. Just let me buy the groceries.”

There’s another crash and the rows of cereal in front of him topple off the shelves.

Fine,” Yuuri sighs. He puts down his shopping basket and reaches down into his boot, pulling out his back-up wooden stake. He curses himself for leaving all his weapons in his car, like a rookie. Whatever, it’s pointy and wooden. It’ll have to do.

He rushes towards the sounds of a struggle and finds three vampires huddled around a panicking cashier. They have their claws fisted in his apron and their fangs are bared, ready to slash open his jugular. Oh no. It’s been awhile since Yuuri’s had to fight more than two at a time. He was having a fairly quiet week, in terms of vampire activity.

“H-Hey!” he shouts, grimacing when when his voice cracks. He tries again, “Hey! Undead assholes!”

The three vampires whip their heads around, hissing. They start to laugh when they see Yuuri there, standing in between the tomatoes and the lettuce, wielding a stake that is, essentially, as deadly as a pencil.

“Aw,” the middle one coos. “Are you lost, kiddo?”

“Careful,” one of the other vampires says. It flicks its long hair over its shoulder, an ebony curtain that drapes down to its lower back. “That’s sharp. You might hurt yourself, sweetheart.”

Yuuri grits his teeth, dropping his weight back and widening his stance. He wracks his brain for something cool to say.

“Uh, the only thing I’m gonna hurt today is, um, you!” he shouts.

“Is that the best you’ve got?”

“Honestly, yeah.”  

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Prompt #165

“Anonymous said: What rhymes with Orange?”

She clutched the fruit in her hand. She loved the smell and the colour, but had always refused to eat them. Her sister raised an eyebrow accusingly, “Are you going to eat that?” She asked, she shook her head in response, her sister letting out a rather exaggerated sigh. It was the one last piece of food they had left in their stash, it reminded her of the Bible story of The Last Supper, one of the many riddles and rhymes that’d been drilled into their minds. She didn’t remember all that much from the story now, only that someone betrayed another and got their friend killed.

// Oh Anon, you are evil XD I stared at this ask for about 20 minutes before having any ideas! //

anonymous asked:

Three word prompt: Ellery Mother's Day

#305 (Dash Universe) May 13, 2018


Kate wakes to the smell of coffee and bacon, nose wrinkling at the heavy grease sizzle that she always hates. Always stinks up the loft, soaks into towels and furniture. Ug. Castle knows better. Why the hell-


She freezes.

“Mommy up?”

“Shh, baby girl, come on back. Let’s finish making her breakfast.”

“But coffee.”

“In a minute, hush.”

Damn, she could really use that coffee, but apparently her kid has other plans.

Kate plays at sleep for another second, then opens her eyes and sits up, drawing her knees towards her chest. Dashiell is at his grandmother’s for the weekend, they’ll head over at lunch, but Kate has a million things to do before work on Monday, and breakfast in bed isn’t really one of them.

With bacon. Ug. Fine. Ellery likes bacon; Kate can withstand the smell for her sake.

She scoots up to the headboard and reaches for her phone, texts Rick How long do I have? Shower?

His response isn’t immediate, though the dots show up to indicate he’s working on it. Probably trying to avoid Ellery’s notice. 

Kate leans back against the headboard, scrapes her hand through her hair. Saturday night was rough at the precinct, ever since Captain Montgomery…

She’s been acting captain for the last few months and it hasn’t been pretty. She’s not cut out for the job; she doesn’t want the job, doesn’t like being stuck behind the desk and justifying her case closure rate to a bunch of budget-conscious bureaucrats who have never walked the beat.

It hasn’t been a good month for her. Montgomery… 

Her phone vibrates in her hand and she reads the alert. Plenty of time.

Good. Save some time, get this show on the road. She needs at least two hours in the office before lunch with Martha and Dash (she can’t, for the life of her, remember why Castle made such a big deal about this lunch date, but she knows better than to cancel on them). At least if she gets in her shower now, she can be that much closer to getting out of here.

Kate hops up and heads for the bathroom, making quick work of it, flushing the toilet and washing her hands. She twists on the shower, strips off her pajamas, throwing them towards the open closet door.

Kate jumps into the shower and squeaks as the hot water scalds her. She has to arch out of the way and adjust the temperature, but then it’s instantly exactly right.

God bless Castle’s shower.

One of the biggest reasons she kept coming back here when she was pregnant with Dashiell, this shower. The luxuries Rick kept - ha - showering on her. She didn’t want to be spoiled, no, but there has always been something about the way he gives

Gives of himself, his resources, his energy, his love. She couldn’t stay away.

Kate bites her lip and tilts her head under the spray, closing her eyes.

But she doesn’t have time to wool-gather, not even to moon after her husband. She doesn’t have time period.

She quickly shampoos, rinses, goes back for the cleansing conditioner. She runs her fingers through her hair carefully, rinses that too, and then soaps up. Shaving takes a matter of fifteen seconds and then she’s shutting off the water and stepping out.

Towels are on the heated rack and actually warm - Rick must have turned it on before he left the bedroom. Sweet man. The tile floor is still cool, and the difference between the warm towel and her chilled toes is lovely.

Kate dries off, finds clean pajamas, and slides back into bed. Her hair is damp, but she twists it into a bun and plucks a rubber band from the bedside table, keeps it off her neck. 

Her phone is calling, alerts stacking up, and she scowls but dutifully checks. The Twelfth often feels like it’s running at breakneck speed down a mountain, and she’s the one in charge of this thing. Disasters averted at every turn.

One of these days the disaster will be fully formed, and she has no idea what she’ll do.

Kate is deep into another emergency when the tap-tap comes on the door. She lifts her head just in time to see little Ella sneaking inside, a bowl of fruit clutched in her hands.

“Oh,” Ella says, pausing at the foot of the bed. “You ‘wake.”

“I am, but hey, did you make me something?” 

Ella beams and glances back to Castle, who has come in behind her, and Kate hurriedly slides the phone under the pillows. “Make breakfast!” Ellery turns back around and comes running, a mad dash towards Kate, heedless of the cut strawberries and blueberries bouncing around in the bowl.

Kate jerks forward, catching Ella under the arms and hoisting her up onto the bed. Whew. “Wow, baby girl, what did you bring me?”

“Make it! I make it!”

“You did? Oh, how lovely.” She kisses Ella’s cheek hard, hugging her against her side. “Sit with me, baby. Show me what you made.” She lifts her head and winks at Rick, and he follows Ellery down, sitting close at Kate’s other side.

Ellery squirms and drapes herself over Kate’s lap in an effort to reach all the food. She points to everything at least twice, naming off Kate’s breakfast. ‘Cakes, dem strawberries for ‘cakes Mommy, hmm, what this Daddy, oh I know, not say, not say it, I know, sammied eggs!

Her daughter is three and half and still speaks like a toddler, but she speaks. Kate can be okay with any and all of it, even as she has to elbow Castle into silence before he can correct the child’s grammar.

“Mm,” Kate hums, dipping two fingers into the bowl for a blueberry. She pops it into her mouth and makes an elaborate display of loving it. “So good, my sweet girl. Making me breakfast in bed.” She leans over and kisses her daughter’s cheek. “What’s the occasion?”

Ellery and Castle both stare at a her a second, and then Rick scrapes a hand down his face, chuckling in a way that sounds… hollow.

She swallows, feels that dread of knowing she’s missed something big.

But Ellery comes up on her knees and hangs on her shoulder, nudging Kate’s hair to one side for a little kiss.

“It’s a happy mommy’s day,” Ella whispers in her ear. “You be happy?”

Oh, God.

Kate turns, abruptly encircling Ellery in her arms. “Oh, baby, I’m so happy. This is the best job in the world, being your mommy.” How true that is, how entirely true. “And this is the only job I’m doing today.”

She glances over her shoulder, burning a hole into Rick until he lowers his hand and meets her eyes.

I promise, she mouths.

He nods, and then he hauls Ellery out of her arms and tucks the girl between them. 

Kate puts her phone in the bedside drawer and closes it.


Loki's Labyrinth

TITLE: Loki’s Labyrinth

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 3 of ?

AUTHOR: MrsWinxerSoldier (prev. SassyShoulderAngel319)

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine being in an alternate universe where Loki is the Prince Jareth to your Sarah.


NOTES/WARNINGS: No warnings. I’m definitely getting carried away with this - this chapter ended up 300 words longer than my initial intention.


“Well, what do we have here?” a creature asked, looming suddenly from the path ahead. I halted in my tracks and looked at the thing. It was hideous—with a beak and warts and fur and feathers. I’d never seen anything like it.

I glanced behind me at Thor and Fandral. They looked just as shocked as I was. I shrugged nonchalantly and turned back to the creature. “Nothing,” I answered.

“Nothing?” the creature demanded. “Nothing? Nothing, nothing, tra-la-la?!” As it spoke, a goldish green shimmer passed over it—revealing Loki. I gulped silently, trying to swallow the sudden fear that swept over me, accompanied by a surge of adrenaline. I wanted to take a step back—away—but I felt Thor take a step forward from behind me, helping me find some bravery.

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