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pollylynn · 10 months

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Title: Misdeem WC: 950

“I don’t see it going anywhere.” —Richard Castle, Food to Die For (2 x 22)

There are times when he’d like to be a liar. This probably does not exactly set him apart from the masses. Who is out there walking around, drawing breath and sighing it back out again who hasn’t wished they’d been a liar at one time or another? Who hasn’t had a friend solicit reactions a truly hideous new outfit and desperately tried to sell a sincere It’s fantastic! only to have their own stupid, truth-telling face nuke the little white lie from orbit? Doesn’t he—day in and day out—sit across the table from self-tattling morons who’d like nothing more than to lie their way right out of the interrogation room? He might be—he clearly is—in bad company, but he would very much like to be a liar right now.

Beckett didn’t seem to mind.

His mother thinks he’s lying. His daughter probably would think he was lying if she had any attention to spare. And it’s not even that he wants to be lying. It should be a lie. That’s the agony of it.

She should mind. That’s the way of things. This whole Richard Castle: Moral Support for Hire gambit should be one in a long line of his fool-proof plans to get her goat—to make her mind.

But she doesn’t mind. It’s not a problem. He’s telling the truth, and he’s not even getting credit for it. Not from his mother, who is pursing her lips and shaking her head as she sourly reminds him that he should be getting ready for his date.

He doesn’t want credit, though, not in this instance, and certainly not for this truth. He wants to be the rogue his mother thinks he is—the one his daughter would think he is, if she weren’t, herself, so torn between duty and desire. He wants to be the Hamptons, the seductive allure of fun in the sun that makes Beckett forget all about the microscope-requiring AP exam that is Tom Demming. But he’s not the Hamptons. Or Beckett is not tempted by the beach. Or something.

It’s a cavalcade of lousy metaphors, so he doffs his gloves and goggles. He extracts a spare watch from somewhere and he picks out a shirt in a color that she likes on him. Or a week ago he’d have said it was a color she liked on him, but apparently he’s no judge at all of what Kate Beckett likes or doesn’t like. That is the only explanation for the fact that she’ll be toting her microscope and slides all over town tonight, completely unperturbed by the thought that he will be out on the town, raconteuring his way through the celebrity chef world with one of her high school gang.

There’s a moment when she bursts on the five-star dinner scene that he thinks she’s come to make a liar out of him. He very nearly chokes on whatever it is he’s eating at the moment and weakly, hopefully demands to know: Beckett, what are you doing here?

He has the answer. He’d happily write it for her. He’d set her up with anything from cue cards to index cards to a state-of-the-art teleprompter, if she’d only read the lines with conviction: I’m here for you. I’m here because I couldn’t stand the thought of this. I’m here because it is a problem, and I do mind.

But that isn’t the answer, of course. She is not interested in cue cards, index cards, or his writing services in any medium. She is not there for him or because she minds or it’s a problem. She’s there for case-related purposes, because the only struggle for her is the one between duty and more duty.

He tries to work himself up to play the part everyone expects—the one she expects. He makes a respectable showing of it. He whines at length about the food of which she has cruelly deprived him and her good friend Madison. He accuses her of being uncivilized. He has another nanosecond’s worth of a thrill when she bans him from the interrogation. He parses the words giggling over the risotto with our suspect up, down, and sideways, searching for vindication—for the indisputable evidence that he’s been a liar after all, but it isn’t there.

She’s hissing, red-faced, and thoroughly embarrassed by Madison’s Castle baby fantasy, but it’s . . . generic embarrassment. Or worse, it’s embarrassment for his sake—that he’d play a role in such an outlandish fantasy, or maybe that he’ll get the wrong idea? She’s avoidant when he tries to get her goat with a reprise of the Castle baby fantasy, but it’s . . . impersonal. She wants to get on with the case and back to her date with duty. There isn’t a shred of evidence that she hopped in the Fun Police Wagon and drove it down to Rocco DiSpirito’s place because she’s bothered by the fact that he was out with Madison.

He wonders how it’s come to this. He wonders when, because he could have sworn that she minded when he had his ten-second fling with Ellie Monroe, when he was on the radar of Bachelorette Number 3. He would have laid money on it being a problem when Rina scrawled her digits across his palm, when Lee Waxman wanted to trade favors, and when Meredith and the Crazy-Sex Train blew through town. He’s positive that she has minded virtually every woman who has so much as given him a second glance over the last year or so.

But Madison? She doesn’t mind. It’s not a problem, because she, herself, has ‘Something’.

That’s the truth and he’d so much rather be a liar.

A/N: Oof. This was ornery; and I didn't think this was the lie that would drive the story. Blegh.

images via homeofthenutty

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peripatetic3 · 1 month

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“They look like they’re about to kiss” and it’s just Matt and Frank fighting

#daredevil #the punisher #frank castle #matt murdock #daredevil season 2 #fratt #marvel #netflix

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silverflameataraxia · 1 month

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Frank's reactions to Karen being in danger

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afewproblems · 8 months

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Season 2 Halloween AU Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

A very big thank you to @strangersteddierthings for chatting with me today and being such a great sounding board for the next update!

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

***

"So…I have to ask," Eddie blurts out, cutting through the awkward silence that has fallen between them, "how were you gonna pick up your car before you ran into me?"

"I don't think it counts as running into you, if you were waiting for me Munson," Steve side steps the question expertly, flashing him a strange smirk that seems out of place. It falls after a second and twists into something pained.

"I was hoping Nance would take me," Steve says eventually, his voice soft, "which was pretty stupid in hindsight, 'specially cuz she was counting on me to drive her this morning, which--"

Steve cuts himself, snapping his mouth shut with a harsh click of teeth, he shakes his head and lifts his hand to run roughly through his hair.

"Doesn't matter anymore".

Eddie holds his breath, feeling the conversation begin to shift. It's as though he's stepped onto a tightrope and any wrong move could potentially send him over the edge.

He settles for nodding once, turning the key in the ignition.

Steve sighs and lets himself fall back into his seat, "I know you know already, the whole fucking school does, Billy saw to that," Steve gestures to his face, "say what you really want to ask".

Eddie's fingers tighten around the wheel as he turns them out of the parking lot, fighting the immediate urge to say, 'why did Miss Priss throw it all away?'

"You think I believe the rumours that come out of that shithole?" Eddie lies, keeping his eyes on the road this time.

He can feel Steve's unimpressed stare as they continue down mainstreet.

"Right, so you had no clue I was in detention?"

Eddie chews the inside of his cheek to fight the sly grin that begins to creep over his face, "Alright smart ass".

He hazards another glance at Steve as they begin to hit the residential area, he looks so different from the night before.

His limbs are loose, tension free, if it weren't for the heavy bags under Steve's eyes and the nervous tap of his fingers on the passenger door, Eddie would think he was finally relaxed.

"I knew a fight definitely happened, it's Hargrove," Eddie says slowly, carefully weighing his words, "but I typically prefer to hear the whole sordid story from the source before I pass any judgements, ya know?"

Steve doesn't say anything as they continue driving through residential the houses getting progressively bigger as they go.

"Did you," Steve pauses and breathes out slowly before shaking his head and lifting his face to meet Eddie's gaze, "is that offer for something stronger still open?"

Eddie smiles, "I think that can be arranged".

***

Eddie pulls over beside Tina Cline's house, wincing as the right front tire rolls over the curb and bounces the van as it lands on the street once more, startling a snort out of Steve.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Harrington," Eddie huffs as Steve shoots him a grin.

"Didn't say a word," Steve hums, unbuckling himself from the seat. Eddie watches as he opens the door and hops out. For a moment Eddie worries Steve will pull the same disappearing act from last night but he simply stops beside his car door and motions for Eddie to roll down his window.

Eddie cracks his door open instead, "window's broken, what?"

Steve rolls his eyes, "whatever Munson, you know the way? It's north on 5th and--"

"Then two more rights, yeah man," Eddie says with a laugh in his voice, "I dropped you off remember?"

"Fuck off," Steve huffs out, he's grinning though.

Steve swings the Beemer’s door open and slides in. He turns on the ignition and flinches at the loud burst of music from the stereo, the volume obviously set from the mood of the previous night.

'I want to know what love is, I want you to show me--'

Steve slams his hand against the console, cutting off the song with a harsh crack.

The van is parked just behind the Beemer so Eddie can't see Steve's face, but his head drops down onto the wheel for just the briefest moment before he slowly lifts it, turns on his signal and pulls away from the curb.

***

Steve beats him to the house.

He's getting out of the car, which is parked on the long driveway as Eddie pulls up to the street.

Eddie hops out of the van, hiking his backpack higher up on his shoulders, not bothering to lock it. Who would even want his shitty van among the BMWs and Mercedes parked down this street --hell, Eddie could have sworn he saw a Jag three houses down.

Eddie stops short of the lawn. The Harrington house is so different in the light of day, the strange emptiness that seemed to ooze out of the dark windows the night before has disappeared, leaving an ordinary house in its wake.

"Well?" Steve calls out as he pulls a pair of keys from his back pocket and spins them once on his finger, "you coming or what Munson?"

Eddie rolls his eyes and jogs to catch up to Steve who turns on his heel to stride up the walk. He stuffs the key into the deadbolt and swings one of the double doors inwards before shucking off his sneakers.

No shoes? Fucking rich people man.

Steve must notice Eddie's expression because he blushes and shrugs, "I know, I know, but my parents will be home for Thanksgiving this year so…may as well…"

He gestures around the sterile foyer with a tight smile, as though it explains everything.

If anything, Eddie has more questions.

Steve cuts off the thought by clearing his throat, "we should smoke outside, last thing I need is for you to burn a hole in the couch or something".

Eddie steps over the threshold and has to stop himself from whistling, were the ceilings always this high in this place?

He lifts his foot to unlace his left chuck, snorting at the strange little table in the middle of the foyer. A giant vase sits atop it filled with a mixture of what have to be silk flowers --no way they were real. He pulls the shoe off and tosses it to the side before lifting his right foot.

Eddie never had the greatest balance so he hops back and forth with his right foot in the air before hopping as close as he can to the wall of the foyer and leaning back against it.

He finally gets the knot in his laces undone and throws the sneaker to the floor, dropping his right foot to the hardwood.

Eddie looks up to find Steve staring with a bemused expression on his face, he ignores the wide hazel eyes and removes the backpack from his shoulders -which can't have been helping the balance issue.

Eddie unzips the top and yanks out the trusty metal lunchbox, sliding a wicked grin into place.

"You said something about outside?"

***

By the time they've settled, facing one another on a couple of pool loungers, the sun has begun to dip low, painting the patio and empty pool a warm glowing copper. It catches Steve's hair, which shines like gold in the dying sunlight, like some Autumnal Fae King--

Eddie wants to slap himself, suddenly thankful for the November wind that cuts through the backyard, forcing him to chillout.

He picks up the grinder from his lunchbox, unscrewing the cap to open it.

"You good with a joint this evening my good King?"

He pours a handful of a new strain Rick let him try the other day into the grinder and starts twisting. It's not something he would typically share with anyone other than Jeff, but Steve seemed like he could use something a little more special tonight.

Eddie looks up after a beat of silence, "yo, Major Tom, you with me?"

Steve's face is pinched, tilted towards the empty pool, "please don't call me that," he says quietly.

"Major Tom?"

Steve raises his eyes to meet Eddie's gaze, his mouth cuts a hard line across his face, the typical easy grin it usually houses is gone.

"King-Steve," he runs a hand through his hair, letting the fingers linger to grip and pull, "I just, that's not who I am anymore, I don't--"

Steve swallows harshly, "that's all anyone could talk about this morning".

He drops his voice and octave, "oh, King Steve is so pussy whipped he let his girl fuck Jonathan Byers before she dumped him".

"Is that what Hargrove said?" Eddie asks quietly as he pours out a portion of weed onto a paper.

Steve shakes his head, "that was Tommy, but that wasn't why I hit him".

Eddie nods, and lifts the joint to his mouth to run his tongue along the edge of the paper. Steve watches him from the lounger, his eyes follow the movement before he blinks and continues.

"Tommy and I had been best friends since we were five, he uh, he knows a lot about me," Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and chews the nail of his thumb briefly before dropping it back into his lap.

"Stuff I don't tell anyone, stuff he knows will hurt".

Eddie nods, twisting the joint closed, he can kind of understand that, although the only person in his life that knew him like that was Wayne.

And Wayne would never hurt him.

Did Steve really not have anyone else like that in his life, someone he could tell anything to that wouldn't look at him weird or judge him. Someone safe.

"Anyway, Hargrove started in on me after that, but he's been fucking with me for awhile so," Steve shrugs again, "he saw his big opportunity here".

"Hargrove's been messing with you?" Eddie asks sharply as he pours more weed onto another paper. He lifts it and runs his tongue along the edge of the paper before twisting it into shape. When he looks up, Steve's ears have gone slightly pink and he's sitting strangely, slightly hunched and twisted.

"Yeah," Steve says after a moment, he clears his throat and straightens his back, "yeah, it's just been at practice so far, and I thought it was just because he wanted to one up me for my spot but," he shakes his head, "it's getting worse".

"You know, I have a bit of a reputation around school," Eddie says slowly, carefully, watching as Steve freezes and looks at Eddie with wide eyes.

"The Hellfire club is more than just the game we're playing, it's also kind of a sanctuary for kids that don't have anyone to lean on, we look after each other," Eddie continues, ignoring the way Steve relaxes slightly, "you wouldn't need to play or anything but if you need somewhere to sit at lunch now…"

Steve looks at Eddie for a long time, his expression blank, guarded, "really? Just like that?"

"Yeah man, besides I get to use my 'Mean and Scary Guy' persona on these fuckers so it's a win-win for me".

Steve grins, raising one skeptical eyebrow, "mean and scary?"

Eddie bristles a little bit at the questioning tone in Steve's voice and can't quite swallow the urge to snarl, "yeah I mean you looked plenty scared of the town freak yesterday".

Steve winces and immediately starts to shake his head, inching forward in his seat so he's even closer to Eddie, their knees are almost touching.

"That's not, I wasn't," he stops and takes a deep breath, "I was upset about Nancy and it was so dark outside, the trees--"

"You afraid of the dark Harrington?" Eddie cuts him off, the lingering irritation still simmers in his voice as he coos.

Steve just looks at him, there's something strange about the haunted expression on his face that makes the hair on the back of Eddie's arms stand on end.

"Things happen in the dark, in the woods," Steve says softly, his eyes drift to the empty pool again.

Eddie opens his mouth to ask Steve what the hell he means by that, when a voice shouts across the yard.

"Steve? STEVE?!"

The sound of someone running through the grass has them both of their feet, the joints forgotten on the pool loungers.

"Dustin?"

A kid, he can't be more than twelve or thirteen, skids into the porchlight that has replaced the last copper rays of evening light, the sun fully set by now. The kid's blue eyes are wide underneath a mop of curly hair and hat, he's breathing hard.

"I need your help".

Tag List: @eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @airconditioning123 @steveshairspray @hellfireone @sunswathe @eddielives1986 @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson

Part Five

and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @outpastthebrakers @henderdads @stevesbipanic

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useragarfield · 1 month

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9K MAKE ME CHOOSE:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ @fionagallaqher ASKED: Caskett in Season 2 or Season 3?

Why is it that the thing that attracts you to a person always ends up being that thing that just drives you crazy? I just wish that…I wish that I had someone who would be there for me, and I could be there for him, and we could just dive into it together.

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katherinehoughtoncastle47 · 25 days

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2.04 - FOOL ME ONCE...

"He is not in the CIA." "I'll bet you a dollar?" "Okay, you're on."

#castle #beckett #caskett #stana katic #nathan fillion #kate beckett #richard castle #season 2 #2x04

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gifscastle · 1 year

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#castleedit #castle #kate beckett #stana katic #richard castle #nathan fillion #kevin ryan #seamus dever #javier esposito #jon huertas #season 2 #2.14 #*#lmao

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renegadesstuff · 1 month

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“My father's watch. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” 🥹

S2E18, “Boom!” aired 14 years ago (March 29, 2010) ❤️‍🩹

#castle #kate beckett #caskett #richard castle #beckett and castle #beckett x castle #castle and beckett #castle x beckett #castle series #castle rewatch #castle edit #castle season 2 #2x18 #boom!#14 years of boom #castle anniversary

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ride-thedragon · 11 days

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Team Green First Promo Gifset (we're in fact back)

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd season 2 #hotd promotion #team green #tom glynn carney #ewan mitchell #fabien frankel #olivia cooke #parents looking great #where is phia?#id like to see phia #rhys is also missing #and mathew but whats new #“we have bigger dragons” i might have to change sides with that arguement #she cooked no last name #“i have my name on the lease of the castle” i may change sides #and ewan is lamenting on Aemond’s origin story #fabien looks great but whats new

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giganonyx · 1 year

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There’s just something so personal about Sith! Hunter

Villain arc fr fr

OK SO after seeing Hunter in Dooku’s castle thing, my brain was like BRO SITH HUNTER YK?? and so I did the unthinkable and made him emo

I hope he looks kinda sad because he is 💔(maybe he went evil bc smth happened to his squad and Omega??idk I just work here)

I also have this up on my Instagram! The account is under the same name as here 🤸‍♀️

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sunchipss · 3 months

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au where all the Rae versions show up is very silly. Au where they show up after Shards of His Mind. Y’know what’s even more silly, having like, seven of them, they’re all confused but Season 1 Rae, like day one season one Rae being A) the only one to not remember his trauma bc I assume this multiple-alternate-past-selves shenanigans don’t fix memory problems. B) ‘Hi Athena, Hi Jamie… who the fuck are these people?’

#He’d be the only one not actively suffering #The others would though #We got: current Rae #Mom just got taken Rae #Early season 1 rae #Late season one rae #Early season 2 and three Rae #And castle arc Rae to make me sad #fablesmp #rae morningstar

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pollylynn · 1 year

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Title: Bound and Determined WC: 900

"There’s nothing going on between Beckett and me.”

— Richard Castle, Tick, Tick, Tick . . . (2 x 17)

She is wide awake with a gun under her pillow. Metaphorically under her pillow. A gun literally under her pillow would be unsafe. She flops from her back to her stomach, punching said pillow as she lands, silently cursing his name. It’s his fault she’s wide awake, policing her own internal thoughts for literary correctness.

It’s his fault that she is not, in fact, too tired to argue. She has, in fact, been having a deeply satisfying, one-sided argument this whole time since she stalked off, wine-less and all too aware of the smug smile he was, no doubt, leveling at her back. Or she had been having it right up until the literary policing started. She has been lying here, staring up at the ceiling, at one wall, then the other, at the door with its stubbornly non-moving knob, her mind whirring its way through every jab and cut and devastating blow she could have, should have, would have landed if only she’d taken him up on that glass of wine. Maybe she should have taken him up on that glass of wine. Maybe she should have taken the whole damned bottle to bed with her.

“Not really,” she tells the ceiling as she groans and flops on to her back again. Her history—her dad’s history—will not really allow her to be a going-to-bed-with-a-bottle-of-wine kind of person. “Which you should know.” She sticks her tongue out at the door and adds another unforgivable sin to his already substantial total. She scowls hard at the painted white brick the bedroom shares with the living room. She grips the blankets tight in her fists and wills herself not to throw them back, not to tear open the door and stomp back down the hall for the sheer pleasure of sharing with him the highlight reel of insults her brain has spent the last few hours coming up with.

She grips the blankets tight in her fists and wills herself not to throw them back, not to slip soundlessly from the bed, not to slink back down the hall to pour herself a soundless, clandestine glass of wine. It’s a dual, white-knuckle truth. She forces her fingers to loosen their hold just a little, but the blankets make their cautious way to her chin. Her shoulders hunch. She’s burrowing deeper into the pillows. She’s making herself small, and what’s that about? What is any of this about?

She is wide a wake, despite the fact that she is exhausted in every possible way. That is his fault. She tries to right herself by returning to this central fact, but the secret hour has struck in which exhaustion wakes up the whole damned internal house and insists on some middle-of-the-night introspection.

Why is it his fault that she is wide awake? There’s the obvious. She really does want a chance to deliver some hindsight-curated shots about his schoolboy crush on Jordan Shaw. She wants go gloriously off script and rip him a new one for his crack about the sexlessness of their relationship, although now that she thinks about it, that particular theme could use some curation, because what exactly is the problem with him, for once, confirming the sexlessness of their relationship, rather than responding to Jordan Shaw’s shockingly unprofessional commentary with his usual—a sly, maddeningly confident, Not yet?

Relationship.

That’s the crux of it. She wants, childishly, to rush out there, startle him badly enough that he rolls off the couch, waking at the exact moment that his head connects with the hardwood floor. She wants to shout at the top of her lungs that—oh, by the way—they do not have a relationship, they just have . . . sexlessness.

That’s what she wants to do, and yeah, it’s a line of argument that definitely needs some work. But more important, even in her current state of exhaustion, her mind won’t allow it, any more than it will allow her to abuse the word literally.

He is on her couch, and she suspects that if she were to rush or stomp or creep or slink down the hallway and out into the living room, she’d find he’s wide awake, too. He’s probably polishing his own comebacks and stockpiling riffs about her “ridiculous” jealousy, because he is ever himself, just as she is ever herself.

He is on her couch, because he is not leaving her alone. Because he feels responsible, and even if he has nothing to offer in the way of protection against a crazed wanna-be serial killer, save his rapier wit and a heart-stoppingly expensive bottle of wine, he is still there when it would have been easier for him to not still be there. It would have been easier for him never to have come at all—to have stayed home making sure his Agent Jordan Shaw in The Recapitator poster is hanging level on the wall of his bedroom. It would have been easier for him to have gone when she started scolding him for his breaches of imaginary protocol.

There are so many things in the world that would have been easier than him lying on her couch, almost certainly awake—than her lying here with the covers up to her chin, very definitely awake.

There are so many things in the world that must be easier than this thing—this relationship—they’re in.

A/N: I am ashamed to admit that I have cracked myself up with the image of Castle's bedroom papered with Jordan Shaw posters. J/K. I clearly have no shame.

images via homeofthenutty

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