#and rodger would be like “Of course not. ill make sure of it.” in order to comfort her

[ratzhatz14]

I am dying for the update tomorrow

ITS SO CLOSE

TWEAKING OT

anyways uhrmmmmmmmmm Sprout's World snack

I was forced to watch an anime with a friend, which left me to die with stinging eyes since it's SO LATE

[pollylynn]

Title: Bespeak  WC: 1100

Today, she remembers to do her mirror check before she exits her unmarked and ducks her way under the crime scene tape. She doesn’t always remember. That’s a problem because, number one, the Castle–Rodgers clan should come with a hard on the wardrobe warning label, and number two, her dangerously observant co-workers think it’s the height of hilarity to scan her from head to toe each day to see—and/or to fabricate, as necessary—what’s been happening lately on the Family Circus, as they like to call it. 

They tell her this new form of abuse is because she’s an old married lady now. They tell her that this is the only fun she brings to the table. But the truth is they miss him. The boys do, Lanie does. 

They all socialize more. They make a point of the Old Haunt and poker nights when they can, all of it early so Ryan can be home for what he swears is Sarah Grace’s bedtime, but they all know is his designated honey milk date with Jenny. But they all miss him tagging along on cases, and she, unfortunately, finds herself a the intersection of the nosiness that translates into and the constant assault on her work clothes by the Castle–Rodgers clan. 

Martha’s specialty is the drive-by swipe of lipstick on the cheek, and it’s not like Kate owns an untoward amount of white, cream, or otherwise light-colored clothing. Too much at that end of the spectrum is an invitation to blood spatter and other undesirable substances a cop is likely to encounter regularly. But even with her penchant for blacks, greys, and darker neutrals, Martha favors a very bold, very persistent lip color. So on any given day  Kate might find it’s her collar, the placket of her coat or blouse, her sleeve that bears the imprint of her mother-in-law’s flamboyant affection.  

Martha stories are Ryan’s area of expertise, and he mostly deals in factual or close enough guesses. He is uncannily good at guessing what Martha might have been wearing from the shade. From the location of the smear—from whether Kate has been successful or unsuccessful at scrubbing it entirely from her cheek—he’s damned good at extrapolating Martha’s mood, at guessing whether she was rushing out or sleeping in. He’d actually stolen Kate’s thunder the morning she’d emerged from the elevator with a wide smile on her face. 

Martha got that part? That’s great!

Castle’s brand of havoc doesn’t really bear examination. He is hell on buttons, zippers, and any other kind of fastener. Each and every morning he acts as though it is his life’s work to immediately remove whatever item of clothing she has just tried to put on. And hands as large as his—as reliably clumsy in almost every other respect—really should not also be so devilishly fast and dextrous in this. For her part, she shouldn’t fall for his feints and misdirections as often as she does. He’ll go for her cuffs as though they are his sole concern and by the time she moves to slap his hand away, he has her whole top unbuttoned to the waist. 

It’s practically a full-time job dressing and re-dressing herself to get out the damned door in the morning, and when she finally makes it to a scene, it’s Esposito’s awkward purview to point out that she’s managed to zip up part of an errant shirt tail, she’s missing a button here, there, and everywhere, or the she’s managed, in her distraction, to misalign every last fastener on her blouse, her blazer, her coat. 

He’s not usually big on crafting a story to go with the day’s wardrobe malfunction. She’d be more grateful for that if she didn’t have the distinct impression that he stores them up and tries to make Castle’s ears burn when the boys have their no-girls-allowed video game nights. 

Castle’s clothing-related disruptions, of course, require the investigative skills of no fewer than two people, of course. Lanie is on turtleneck, high collar, and unseasonal scarf duty. On the days when she’s feeling generous—or maybe on the days the boys have annoyed her enough that she’s not inclined to join in the games—she’ll simply toss a knowing smirk Kate’s way. On Kate’s less lucky days, there’s all manner of commentary on exactly how married life must be treating Detective Beckett. 

She hadn’t thought about staying off Lanie’s radar today. She sighs at her reflection in the visor’s flip down mirror. She���s not even hiding anything. The white turtleneck she’d pulled on is perfectly weather appropriate, and it’s still going to bring her all manner of grief. She swipes on the flash light on her phone to at least do a lipstick check. A strategic smear might even be in order to jump start Ryan, who’ll want to know absolutely everything about Martha’s rehearsals. If Kate is lucky, he’ll refuse to yield the stage to Lanie’s Love Bite Theater. 

But there’s nothing on her cheek or anywhere else she can see that would have a name in the jungle cat family or be mistaken for the title of long-forgotten erotica. And now that she thinks of it, Martha was too caught up in the prospect of her wardrobe fitting to give either her or Castle so much as an air kiss this morning. 

But there’s a shimmer of something on the peach side of pink, just below her right cheekbone. Alexis, she remembers, and her hand halts in the act of swiping away the sweep of color. It was a sweet, sudden thing. A little thing for a member of the unrelentingly affectionate Castle–Rodgers clan, she’s sure. But for her, it was unexpectedly touching in the moment. It’s unexpectedly touching now.  

She almost wants to leave it. She almost wants one of them to guess—all of them to guess—that this morning on the Family Circus, she got a spur-of-the-moment Bye, Kate kiss from her stepdaughter. It’s a little thing, something she’d be too embarrassed to say out loud, even to Lanie, but it means something to her. 

She doesn’t leave it, of course, that shimmer of something on the peach side of pink. She finds a napkin and wipes her cheek clean. She looks at the transfer of color on to the white. She folds it in half and tucks it into her pocket for safe keeping. It’s a silly, sentimental gesture, but it means something to her.  A/N: Hmm. This was going to be more about the “thinking about . . .  it” conversation. And then it was about lipstick. The grandmother I knew best was very much about leaving lipstick smooches. My other grandmother was ill—in a nursing home—for the short time I knew her. She didn’t wear lipstick. I wonder if she would have—if she did—in life before Parkinson’s struck. Double Hmm. images via homeofthenutty

[repulsivepangolin7]

Fic: 31 days of whump (15/31)

Word count: 2 295

It wasn’t often that anything caused Robert Hicks to flinch, but when Luca slammed one of his massive fists into the concrete wall, his knees almost escaped from under him.

“HEY!” Hondo barked, “Don’t break the wall. -Or your hand.”

“HE’S BEEN MISSING FOR THREE DAYS!” Luca pretty much yelled.

“We know…” Hicks nodded.

“It’s getting WORSE by the hour!” Luca growled, gingerly rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, “It’s already INCREDIBLY BAD!”

Hicks nodded and glanced down at the hand Luca held by his hip. Blood was trickling from a gashes running across two of his knuckles and dripping onto the floor.

“We’ll find him.” Hondo took a slow breath, “But only if we all keep our heads on our shoulders. Panicking or hitting walls won’t help any of us, least of all Deacon.”

Luca nodded, obviously grinding his teeth to keep a lid on everything.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 The room was pitch black. The guys who held him hostage obviously knew a thing or two about how to break someone mentally.

There weren’t any obvious sounds from the outside coming in. It was almost silent enough for him to hear his own heart beating.

He had been sitting in darkness for hours, or days. He wasn’t sure. He had lost all track of time, if it was Thursday or Monday, he had no way of knowing.

His capturers had to have some sort of infrared camera set on him, because every time he was about to doze off, the room filled with the most intruding works of Mozart and Beethoven, and the like, at an alarmingly high volume.

Being jerked out of almost falling asleep by the most aggressive part of an already aggressive classical piece didn’t have any charm. Especially since it caused him to jostle his leg every time he bolted awake.

It was like standing in the pit of an AC/DC concert, only the music was from Strauss, Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky, Verdi and Orff. And only with the obnoxious loud and screaming parts, whoever was holding him there was skipping all the mellow and mild parts in between.

If he ever made it out of whatever dungeon he was in, he would never even consider listening to another classical piece ever again.

-Of course he would make it out. He had the best cops in town looking for him. Just because they hadn’t found him yet, didn’t mean they wouldn’t. And he was willing to bet that he hadn’t been away as long as it felt like anyway.

He reached up to check the stubble on his face, and hung his head. The area where he usually trimmed off his facial hair was sporting enough fresh stubbles to let him assume he had been gone about three days, maybe even four. Not that far away from what it felt like.

Oh, how he missed Annie and the kids. Being away from them for long stretches of time due to work was hard enough. This, this was torture.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 “Please, please tell me he’s going to be alright!” Annie muttered into her hands. Years of being a SWAT-wife was the only thing that kept her from losing it all completely, “Please…”

Chris sat next to her, one hand rubbing circles on her shoulder.

“Sorry. I know you can’t do that.” Annie shook her head.

“You’re right.” Chris offered up an apologetic look, “But we’re doing everything we can to locate him. And Deacon’s one tough guy.”

Annie nodded, choking a sob. “I’m scared. What if I lose him?”

Just the thought of that was like a punch in the gut. Chris almost felt ill just thinking about it like a hypothetical situation. “I don’t think he’d like to know that you’re thinking like that, but I get it.”

Annie sniffled hard, “You’re right. He wouldn’t.”

“We’re doing everything we can to bring him back home safely. And you can bet he’s doing the same.”

Annie nodded.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 Sitting directly on a concrete floor for a prolonged time wasn’t comfortable for anyone. Sitting directly on a concrete floor, with a broken thigh or knee, was definitely NOT comfortable.

And laying down would only cause the music to start up again.

He was tired. He was in pain. He was hungry.

He got food, just not enough to feel satisfied.

All in all, he had been pretty lucky. He had been tossed down a flight of stairs as they came to the room he was in right now. He could just as easily have broken his neck in the fall. He wasn’t able to overpower anyone, or run away, but he was alive.

He was tired enough to pass out. He had to get some sleep one way or another. He tried adjusting his position a bit, only to have his lower thigh and knee protest loudly.

He managed to shift enough to lean his head back against the wall though.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 The speakers started blaring, but he had gotten a good couple of minutes worth of rest at least. Nowhere near enough to be well rested, but at least he wasn’t tired enough to wonder if he’d start hallucinating at least.

He folded forward and tried to protect his injured leg, which was searing with pain.

Suddenly the door at the top of the stairs was opened, and one of the guys with a ski-mask came in with a paper plate with two dry pieces of bread and some stale marmalade.

“Here. Food.” He said as he pretty much tossed the plate towards Deacon, who had to squint his eyes so that he wouldn’t be blended from the light upstairs. He had been in a really dark place, for a really long time.

He also placed an empty bottle next to Deacon, “You know what that’s for.”

Deacon knew. He had already filled up a couple of bottles just like it.

“My leg’s broken. I need a doctor.” He made a point out of making his voice sound frail and wounded. Hopefully playing on the guy’s feelings.

It certainly didn’t work out the way he hoped for, as the guy gave the outside of his knee a good kick, causing Deacon to double over in pain screaming, before he nodded, “Yeah, broken.”

Deacon made a mental note of not mentioning it again, not before his team came to his rescue. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too long.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 “Guys, I think we just caught a break!” Street declared as he jogged into the room the others were in.

“Yeah?” Hondo looked up expectantly.

“Tan and Chris were out questioning people around where Deacon was grabbed.”

“That’s already been done.”

“Yeah, but no!” Street shook his head, “There were a couple of workers who didn’t work during the weekend. Tan got the idea that maybe since the officers who went on a questioning round there went at Saturday, maybe someone got overlooked.”

“Yeah?” a hopeful smile decorated Luca’s face, “Did they get any new information?”

“Yeah. A barista saw a black van squeal away, but didn’t think enough of it to call it in. But she wrote down the registration number.”

“They probably ditched the car as soon as they got a few blocks away…” Luca frowned.

Street nodded, “But there’s more!”

“Well, don’t hold it back then!”

“A regular at the bakery further down the street saw the whole deal.” Street grinned, “Deacon managed to pull the ski-mask off one of his assailants. The regular said the guy looked like a modernized mix of Frank Sinatra and Aaron Rodgers. He’s sitting down with a sketch artist.”

“Okay, so if we’re lucky, some of that might help us, right?” Luca nodded, “Mix between Sinatra and Aaron Rodgers? Dude must be pretty weird looking.”

 SWATSWATSWAT

 “Damn, that guy looks exactly like what the witness said.” Hondo said tilting his head.

Luca nodded energetically, now rubbing at his bandaged right hand. “Sure does.”

“And he lives less than three blocks from where the van was stolen.” Hondo added.

“Let’s learn a bit more about this guy…” Luca nodded, “What he does for a living, if he has any other property… Motives?”

Street nodded.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 He didn’t know how much time had passed in total when he actually heard something from upstairs. Some kind of stun grenade going off. Followed by a few sets of yells, before a few pops from something that could be anything between a handgun and a semiautomatic rifle.

He had now idea how soundproof the room was in reality. He just knew that he hadn’t heard anything from the outside in a long time.

Not long after the door at the top of the stairs opened again.

“DEKE! You in here?” He had never been happier to hear Luca’s voice, never.

“YEAH!” he yelled back, “Yeah, I’m down here!”

The lights came on, and he flinched from the sudden sensory overload. Which was followed by a second sensory overload, signed his leg. Which again caused him to cry out.

“Are you hurt?” Luca asked as he pretty much ran down the stairs.

He nodded, “My leg. Can’t move it without causing myself pain.”

“Broken?”

“Think so…” Deacon nodded, keeping his eyes closed.

“Is your head hurt? Or does your eyes hurt? Why are you keeping them closed?”

“Light has been off since I got here.” Deacon winced, “Light hurts.”

“Alright. Alright…” Luca nodded and called his findings through over the radio, before he returned his attention to Deacon, “Do you want to try to hobble out of here now, or wait for the ambulance?”

“No, get me out of this torture chamber.” Deacon gritted out as he tried to get up to no avail. Only thing he accomplished was to cause himself more pain.

“Hey, sit tight. I’m going to get one of the others to come down here and help…”

Deacon nodded.

Luca left the same way he had come in, and Deacon was left trying to get used to the light.

A few minutes later he came back with Tan.

“Good to see you, Deke!” Tan grinned as he reached Deacon.

“Right back at you guys.” Deacon winced, “Now, can you help me up?”

“Alrigh, yeah.” Tan nodded, squatting down ready to help.

“His leg is really painful.” Luca warned, “We might have to abort mission.”

“No. I can take it.” Deacon gritted out.

Luca rolled his eyes a little towards Tan, hoping that he would catch on that Deacon might be wrong about that.

“Alright, on three?” Tan prompted, the two others nodded, “One, two, THREE!”

Luca had been right, and Deacon went limp in their arms.

“Down.” Luca ordered, and Tan followed.

“He literally passed out.” Tan frowned.

Luca nodded, “He’s been gone since Friday, and judging by the paper plates here, he’s only eaten two times in three days. And we’re not sure if he’s gotten anything to drink.”

Tan nodded,

“You should’ve seen how bad it seemed to be hurting when he flinched earlier, and then again when he tried to shift his position to get up.” Luca shook his head, “We can try to splint his legs together and carry him out if he doesn’t come around straight away.”

Tan nodded. “We can use a rifle and a few belts.”

Luca looked around quickly, “OR, we could beat apart that shelf over there.”

Tan nodded, “That’s probably better than splinting anything with a rifle.”

Luca nodded.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 He woke up once inside the ambulance, on his way to the hospital, but fatigue got the better of him and the lights went out once more.

 SWATSWATSWAT

 The next time he actually noticed that he was awake, he was in a hospital bed with EVERYONE he loved around him.

Annie, the kids, the team. They were all there.

They all greeted him when they noticed he was awake. The youngest kids tried to climb into his bed to get proper hugs, and ended up being helped into the bed by Annie and Luca. The two oldest managed to hug him from outside the bed.

“How are you feeling?” Annie asked, not long after he had woken up.

“Like I could sleep for a month.” he yawned.

“Dude, you’ve already slept since Monday…” Luca chuckled and worked his hands against each other, wincing as the swollen knuckles on his right hand disagreed under the wrap he had over it.

“Which day is it?”

“Tuesday. Evening.” Luca explained, “You almost slept through being prepped for surgery as well.”

“What happened to your hand?” Deacon frowned.

“He punched a wall.” Hicks filled in, his expression the exact opposite of amused.

“Yeah, and then I punched…” Luca bit his lip, “Then I collapsed the nose of one of those guys.”

Deacon almost laughed, “Well, thanks for getting my revenge in.”

“Pleasure was all mine.” Luca winked.

“Yeah, and… Can you move the fingers of that hand, or…?” Chris asked as she gave him a side-eyed glance.

“I’m pulling at the stitches if I do…” Luca tried to shrug it off.

“I’m blaming the wall.” Hicks smirked this time around.

Deacon chuckled a little, “Yeah, I’d blame the wall as well.”

“How does your leg feel?” Hondo asked.

Deacon glanced down at the cast on his lower leg. Then he shifted the covers to reveal that it spanned all the way up his thigh as well.

“It’s not good. But…” he shrugged, “It’s way better than it was.”

“That’s good.” Hondo nodded.

Deacon nodded and looked over at Annie apologetically, “Going to be a proper couch potato for a while though.”

“As long as you’re at home and safe…” she winked back, “You really had us all scared.”

“I’m sorry, there was nothing I could do…”

“I know…” Annie nodded, “I know.”