#sun fact for the future: he doesn’t love jewelry (except rings) but he will later get a [REDACTED] | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pollylynn · 4 years

Text

All in the Family—Chalk Talk, Chapter 2: A Two-Shot Caskett Future Fic

Title: All in the Family—Chalk Talk, Chapter 2 WC: 1700

A/N: Can’t sleep. Sad about John Prine. And so an aimless ending.

He has been banished—absolutely banished—from the big bedroom and the surrounding areas. In fact, he is not even allowed on the second floor. The Mad One insists on Mama, no substitutes, no intruders, if anything resembling normal bed time rituals are to be observed. And he’s fine with that.

He’s mostly fine with that, except Alexis isn’t going to make it tonight, and she probably will only be able stay the afternoon tomorrow. Even his mother has, of course, gotten held up in the city, so the Official Summer in the Hamptons Kickoff Weekend is slow to get started.

He’s mostly just feeling sorry for himself for the look of it, though. He’s pleasantly tired with sun and fruity rum drinks—with having a four year old—and he’s glad of the quiet time. And, of course, he loves how entirely Madeleine worships Kate. He revels in every mannerism she picks up from her mother, and he thinks a thousand times a day how lucky he got this time around.

The only thing—the only thing—he would change about raising Alexis would be to spare her the pain of Meredith’s vagaries. And here, now, feeling sorry for himself just for the look of it, he thinks for the thousand-and-first time today how lucky he got this time.

It carries him to the French doors standing half open. He looks up at a sky that’s darkening fast. There looks to be a good summer storm rolling in over the water. He can hear Madeleine’s shrieks—happy shrieks, he’s pretty sure—echoing around the master bath, overhead, and Kate’s response to his Do you need an exit? text was a video close-up of the two of them in close-up reminding him NO BOYS ALLOWED.

It’s been a good day—a lovely day lolling on the giant, sun-baked chalkboard, then slipping into the cool water, only to hoist themselves back up a while later to press their shivering skin into the pleasant warmth of that black, black expanse.

And they have high hopes for some sleep tonight. Madeleine has to have run the equivalent of a marathon around the edge of the pool to demonstrate her cannon ball, her jackknife, her recently-invented Pony Dog, which mostly involves a kind of gallop, then a spin, then the biggest splash possible. She has done her level best to talk herself out entirely with mile-a-minute stories, each one illustrated, about her friends at school, most of whom seem to be named Mabel, except for the occasional Braden, Jaden, Caiden, or some other random consonant stapled to a long A sound and a final N.

She has his gift for character and shameless embellishment, but it’s interesting—it’s interesting—the way she’s into people lately. Heliotrope and Jacquard haven’t gone anywhere—they’re often minor players in her tales from the schoolyard—but they’re definitely more on the back burner than they were even a month ago.

She’s curious about real people, from her teachers to their neighbors to her friend’s families. She’s nosy and insightful and loves knowing things no one else knows. He hopes she’s destined to be either a writer or a cop, because otherwise she might grow up to be a super villain.

The first flash of lighting comes as he stands there thinking it would actually be pretty cool to have a super villain in the family. The swipe of its blue-white tongue over the world stirs him. He waits for the thunder and tries to recall if there’s anything out by the pool or on any of the porches that absolutely needs battening down. He’s just stepping through the doors to check when another light—another two lights—sweep across the the glass of the doors.

There’s whispering behind him, stage and otherwise. There are giggles and a general air of furtiveness infiltrates the room. He pivots toward the interior of the study and catches them—two very stealthy figures in trench coats. Madeleine apparently has a tiny, devastatingly cute little belted trench coat, and the hem of her Princess Leia nightie is peeking out beneath. To complete the look, they’re each carrying a flashlight.

“What’s all this then?” he says gruffly, dropping into character with an alacrity that would do his mother proud. “Bedtime violations? I thought we had . . . an understanding.” “It’s a mission,” Madeleine says sternly. “Me and Mama are on it.”

“A mission,” he nods gravely. “And here I thought this was nothing more than a very tired little girl up past her bed time.”

“Special circumstances,” Kate’s whisper is conspiratorial. It’s for Madeleine’s benefit, but the look she gives him over the girl’s head suggests there’s something afoot. “The storm—“

“Thunderstorm,” Madeleine interjects.

“Right, baby.” Kate gets a heavy look from her daughter, who is not a baby. He gets a look in turn when he can’t quite stifle a laugh. “We’re going to say goodnight to our friends so they’re not scared about the the thunderstorm.”

“Our chalk friends,” he says, thinking he begins to see the trouble. It’s one thing for the Mad One herself to happily slop pails of pool water on to one chalk scenario and begin anew; it’s quite another for any of the Mabels, any of the long A, final N crowd to disappear in the rain. “Yes.That’s a good plan,” he finishes, hoping Kate actually has a plan.

She has a plan, of course, because he’s struck it lucky. He’s allowed to join the mission—after he finds a coat to put on, of course. It’s an old, army green rain poncho he finds in a closet he can’t actually remember ever opening before. Madeleine is disdainful until he produces a heavy Maglite she badly wants to carry. She’s on the verge of another nervous breakdown, but Kate pulls the situation out of the fire.

“He’s our minion, Mad One.” She drops to one knee and pulls Madeleine into a side bar. “That means he has to carry all our stuff.”

“Mission minion,” she crows, delighted by the internal alliteration.

The two of them creep through the doors first. Madeleine tiptoes with about as much stealth as Inspector Clouseau. Kate follows her lead, biting down hard on her lip to keep from laughing. He brings up the rear, lighting a wide arc at their bare feet.

They flatten their backs to the high wooden gate, then dart from column to column. Madeleine keeps an exaggerated lookout for sneak thieves and curious bunnies and a host of other old friends and foes of Heliotrope and Jacquard. Kate takes her hand as they reach the edge of the chalkboard paint.

“Are we ready to say goodnight?” she asks gamely, though they hardly need the flashlights to see the girl’s lip quivering and the tears shimmering in her eyes.

“I don’t want my friends to go,” Madeleine wails. She presses her face into the silvery grey skirts of Kate’s trench coats. “I don’t want my story to go.”

He steps tentatively into the fray, poncho flapping noisily as the wind gets serious about kicking up. He weighs his options and sets the Maglite on its heavy end, pointing up at the three of them.

“Hey.” He reaches gently for her shoulder, persisting when she clings tighter to her mother. “Can I tell you a story about stories?”

“NO!” The word rings out. Mere fabric is no match for the Mad One’s lung capacity.

“Okay, then. I’ll tell Mama a story about stories.”

Kate gives him a wry look that conveys a wealth of feelings about this prospect. But lightning jolts the sky, and this is where they are. Kate gives him a Go on shrug, so he does.

“Mama, do you know how when we go to work—”

“Daddy doesn’t go to work,” Madeleine can’t resist the tearful interjection. “Daddy stays in jammy pants.”

Kate’s shoulders shake with laughter. He sticks out his tongue at her and begins again.

“Mama, you know how when I sometimes go to your work—”

“Not in jammy pants,” she interjects.

“Not in jammy pants, because Mama is a mean Captain,” he adds, even though it’s guaranteed to set Madeleine off again. It does. She howls that Mama is not mean. Her chest heaves, and he relents. “Not because Mama is mean. Because Mama’s work has uniforms. And we tell stories on a big board just like this one.”

“We do,” Kate picks up the thread. She gives him a look that’s a little sad, because the Board is an infrequent indulgence for both of them these days. “We write and we write and we have pictures.”

“What kinda pictures?” She tugs at Kate’s coat. “Mama, what kinda?”

“Oh . . . people and places and . . . pretty jewelry sometimes,” she improvises, looking a little desperate. He sympathizes. All he can think of is bloody implements and scar-faced criminals at the moment.

“But when Mama solves the case—and Mama always solves it—” he reaches down and retrieves the Maglite, “Whoosh!” He sweeps the beam across the black surface, lighting up the purples and pinks and vivid greens for just an instant. Lighting up the curly hair and the triangle dresses, and the lopsided globe on the six-legged desk. “Whoosh! We say goodbye so we can start a new story.”

“I wanna new story,” she says uncertainly. “For tomorrow. New story.”

“That’s what we’ll do then.” Kate reaches a hand down to stroke the tear-stained cheek. “Tomorrow—all day—we’ll do all new stories.”

“But we have to say goodnight to this one.” He steps closer to the two of them. “We can get your pail and Whoosh! Or the thunderstorm can go Whoosh!” He slides an arm around Kate’s waist and makes Madeleine wriggle by tickling under her chin. “Which one, Mad One?”

She thinks about it long enough that the rain starts to fall in big fat drops. Kate leans against him, her fingers clutching his where they rest on her hip.

“Flashlight Whoosh!” Madeleine says at last, as she tilts the beam of her own flashlight crazily across her canvas. “Flashlight and thunderstorm. Whoosh!”

A/N: Aimless.

#Castle #Caskett #Castle: Future Fic #All in the Family #Kate Beckett #Richard Castle #Madeleine James Castle #Fic #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Fan Fic #Fan Fiction #Writing #Feh #Sad

10 notes · View notes

azozzoni · 5 years

Note

After this Clip, could you maybe write something about Nico getting the matching piercing to Marti’s? That would be so cute!

(Two other people asked for the same prompt so here you go)

———-

“Nervous?”

Nico glanced over his shoulder at Martino, who tore his gaze from the photos of tattoos on the wall to grin at Nico.

“Of course not,” he said, though it might have been a tiny bit of a lie when the shop girl reappeared and nodded him to the back.

The shop was nestled in a narrow alley, hidden away from the bustle of the main streets, away from the tourists looking to get a souvenir of their trip. The red-painted walls were covered in photos of tattoos, a book of piercing pictures sat on the counter, above the cases of jewelry, gleaming in the tiny lights.

Martino only laughed as they entered a back room, much brighter lit than the rest of the shop, a mirror on the wall, a storage case by the door.

“He’ll be back in a minute,” the girl said as she left and Nico glanced at the chair, just like the kind doctors had in their offices.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Martino said after a second, doubt in his voice, as though he was worried Nico was doing this for the wrong reasons.

“I do want to,” he assured Marti, pulling him in by his face and laughing at Martino’s doubtful look. “I just, how much is it going to hurt?”

“Not that bad,” Martino said after a second, expression softening. “Though I’m pretty sure I saw a tear in Elia’s eyes when we went.”

“I always knew he wasn’t as tough as he pretends to be,” he said, ruffling Martino’s hair. He was nervous, excited. It seemed like such an insignificant thing to be nervous about, getting his ear pierced.

He’d had the thought a few weeks ago, one morning, lying in bed next to Marti. Martino hadn’t been awake yet but the sun had woken Nico up, falling into his eyes in an unpleasant wake-up call. He’d let Martino sleep, though, brushing his fingers along Martino’s curls, ghosting over the shell of his ear and Martino’s little ring there.

Martino had shifted away from the touch, making a noise of protest, and Nico couldn’t help smiling. After everything they’d gone through, sometimes he still couldn’t believe they’d made it this far. In the moment, he’d wanted to do something, to show the world how happy he was, show Martino. His first thought had been a tattoo, but when he’d mentioned it to Marti later, Marti rightfully talked him out of getting his name anywhere on his body.

“Let’s give that idea a few years.”

A few years. Even that made Nico smile and plant a kiss on Martino’s lips. Just the fact that Martino was thinking that far ahead, was considering that future made him happy. He’d thought of the piercing next, one to match Martino’s, something not quite as permanent.

He felt a rush of excitement as they stood in the room, waiting for the piercer, unable to stop grinning at Martino, who held onto his hand tightly, as if keeping him grounded.

Martino dropped his hand as the door opened, though, and a tall guy came in, nodding at them both.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” he asked, and Nico moved over to the chair.

“That would be him,” Martino said fondly as Nico settled in. He could feel his heart thrumming in his throat, nervous again. “I told him it won’t bleed much.”

“He’s joking,” Nico said, smacking Martino in the stomach, but he hesitated. “I think.”

“It usually doesn’t bleed too much,” the guy said simply, pulling on a pair of gloves and taking out a brand new needle, laying everything out on a tray.

Nico looked away. He’d been trying not to think of the needle part. Instead, he met Martino’s gaze, the way Martino smiled down at him, calming, and he took a breath.

The piercer uncapped a pen and turned to Nico. “I’m going to mark the spot and you tell me if you like it. Which side?”

“Right,” Nico said, swallowing carefully as the guy nodded and he felt the tiny press of the pen tip against his ear.

The guy handed him a mirror. “That look good?”

“Looks fine,” he said, examining the spot. “Marti?”

Marti smiled, shaking his head. “It’s good.”

Nico took another breath as the piercer picked up the needle. He wanted to reach for Martino’s hand, but he wasn’t sure if he should with a stranger in the room. Martino took the seat next to him, reaching for his shoulder instead, squeezing gently. “I promise it’s not going to hurt too much.”

“It’ll be quick,” the piercer agreed. “I just need you to take a deep breath.”

Nico inhale deeply, meeting Martino’s gaze, a swell of warmth in his chest as Martino’s lips curled into a smile.

“And exhale for three seconds—one, two, three,” the guy said and Nico felt the sharp punch into his ear, a sudden pressure as the needle pierced the cartilage, but even though Nico grimaced, it didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected, and he relaxed for a second until the piercer pushed the ring through the hole.

He was glad for Martino’s hand on his shoulder, a comforting weight.

“That wasn’t too bad, right?” Martino asked as the guy handed over the mirror again.

“Take a look.”

Nico smiled as he stared in the mirror at the shiny new ring in his ear. His skin was red around it, but there it was, an exact mirror of Martino’s. “It’s perfect,” he said, handing back the mirror, grinning up at Martino.

The guy pulled a paper out of a file and handed it over as Nico stood up. It had been a lot faster than he’d expected, and despite the dull throb in his ear, he couldn’t stop grinning.

“Care instruction,” the guy said. “Use a saline wash a couple times a day and try not to touch it except when cleaning or in the shower.”

Nico nodded along, taking everything he gave him, the nerves gone, replaced by excitement. He just wanted to stare at it, but he couldn’t as Martino led the way out of the shop. In the alley, Nico grabbed Martino’s arm, pulling him back. There was no one in either direction.

“So what do you think?” he asked, voice quiet, stepping into Martino’s space, and Martino took the opportunity to brush his hair back.

“I think it looks good,” he replied, admiring the piercing, eyes sliding to Nico’s. “I think you look good.”

“Yeah?” Nico asked, hand sliding to Martino’s back. “We match now.”

“Mhm,” Martino hummed, smiling when Nico let his free hand finger his piercing, leaning into Nico’s forehead. “I love you, Ni.”

“I love you too,” Nico replied, closing the distance for a kiss, laughing when Martino pressed in closer. “My parents won’t be home for a few hours. How about we go to my place instead of making out in an alley?”

“You got a piercing,” Martino reminded him, taking his hand as he stepped back. “You’re already a rebel. When’s the tattoo coming?”

Nico smiled at him as they headed for the street. “Let’s give that a few years.”

After all, they had plenty more years ahead of them.

#skamit #skam italia #nicotino #skamit fic #my fic

104 notes · View notes