fly, fly away

year in review

2014-01-01T03:30:15Z

i did this last year and now i feel like it's some kind of tradition.

in 2013, i...
- graduated magna cum laude from uri
- had all of my money stolen from my bank account on the night of graduation
- went to disney world and spent time with five friends
- applied to countless jobs and got none of them
- had numerous breakdowns over not having a job
- got my hopes up just to have them crushed
- visited friends in nyc and finally met my best friend in person
- applied for my job on a thursday, got a call to come in for an interview on saturday, interviewed on monday, got the job wednesday
- worked retail for the holidays and didn't die (but did want to hurt some clients and coworkers)

here's hoping that 2014 brings me...
- a job in my field
- the ability to be confident in something again, especially writing
- read more
- the ability to stop and practice self-care when i need it

friends only.

2013-09-13T02:34:56Z

many of my entries are friends only. please message me to be friended.

i'm just so tired.

2013-06-11T03:25:20Z

i'm tired of not getting any response from the places i'm applying to for jobs. i'm tired of having to tell my parents that, yes, i am applying for jobs even though it looks like i just sit on the couch and watch cooking or diy shows all day. i'm tired of procrastinating my jump back into the weight loss wagon until next month, next week, tomorrow. i'm tired of having people not take me seriously. i'm tired of having to put on a smile and pretend that nothing is wrong. i'm tired of my family mocking me. i'm tired of feeling useless and pathetic and worthless. i'm tired of being terrified of my student loans coming due and not having the money to make even one payment. i'm tired of feeling like everyone in the world is judging me for my appearance. i'm tired of fighting back the urge to curl up into a ball and cry.

makeyourstand @ 2013-06-04T22:47:00

2013-06-05T02:47:04Z

crippling self-doubt makes me want to throw up and cry in a small ball at the same time. there's only so long i can sit here and repeat 'you are good at something' before the words start to lose their truth. and i'm reaching that point.

because, what if nothing works out?

makeyourstand @ 2013-05-08T19:19:00

2013-05-08T23:19:07Z

home for about 48 hours. already been pestered by mom to find a job and told by my dad that i should have kept my secondary education major because i might find a job that way.

no wonder i end up in tears every time i come home for any stretch of time. unfortunately i can't escape back to my campus apartment now.

edit: and had my sister ask "why are you so depressed all the time?" exactly what i needed...

makeyourstand @ 2013-04-11T22:46:00

2013-04-12T02:46:45Z

i hate that people on the internet that hide behind the mask on anonymity can so completely destroy my self-confidence and self-esteem. i hate that even after months of receiving the comment about my writing, i can't get the cruel words out of my head where they run on a constant loop. i hate that i know the story is good but can't bring myself to open the review e-mails because there's always the shadow of a chance that everyone hates it.

makeyourstand @ 2013-04-04T22:37:00

2013-04-05T02:37:15Z

the one day i kinda hold myself together and don't spend the afternoon crying off and on and a single cruel question on tumblr ruins all of it. so now, after being relatively okay, i'm back to sobbing in my room, feeling like my throat is closed up and someone is sitting on my chest.

the real world

2013-03-15T18:10:26Z

applied to two jobs this afternoon. one as a publicity assistant in children's publishing and another as a publishing assistant. both in new york city. i'm trying not to get attached and hopeful to these two positions because i know that i'm one of thousands of soon-to-be recent graduates looking for a job but damn, these would be perfect. i've got a really good friend who lives in the city and who is looking for a roommate so i wouldn't have to worry about finding a place to live.

please please please let cbs/simon&schuster like me. please.

please.

I wish...

2013-02-26T04:32:17Z

I wish I could not care. I wish I could, every once in a while, say "screw it" and relax for a day without feeling the slow dread of guilt. I wish I could go for a week without feeling so lonely that I end up crying myself to sleep. I wish being fairly smart was enough sometimes. I wish I didn't expect so much from myself. I wish I could bring myself to ask my boss about a job after graduation. I wish that orchestra rehearsal wasn't the only thing I look forward to every week, the thing I work toward because I know everything will be okay once I have my viola in my hand, even if I can't play as well as the other people in the ensemble. I wish my love and desire to write stories to escape from my own head would come back and stop leaving so often.

I wish.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

tomorrow will be kinder

2013-02-18T22:37:49Z

Title: tomorrow will be kinder
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: They say your first is always the hardest. She'd have to agree.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: All aired US episodes.
Note from Logan: Sincere thanks and oodles of grilled cheese to airbefore for prompting and reading (and re-reading and re-re-reading) this.

They say your first is always the hardest.

And now? Now she’d have to agree.

The room seems silent. She’s been here long enough now that the low buzz and soft beepings around her have faded into the background. The muffled sobs and quiet whispering blending together, their combined sounds a strange but gentle lullaby. Occasionally, a sharp alarm cuts through the air, the panic settling heavier on the shoulders of everyone in the room as nurses rush to the correct station.

Her eyes keep drifting shut, the exhaustion from the past two days weighing her lids down until she forces them back up. Her fingers tighten around her phone, letting the hard case press into her palm. The silly case he had bought her four months ago right after they found out the gender of the baby; pale purple elephant holding a little pink rattle in the curve of its trunk. She wants to send another picture to him. Just in case it’s the last time their daughter’s tiny chest rises and falls. Instead, she rolls the edge of the glove along the inside of her wrist, letting it unroll before she repeats it.

He’s late.

The last text she got from him was letting her know that he was boarding the plane in Orlando. That was almost six hours ago.

A hand touches her shoulder and she jumps, her phone falling out of her hand and onto the shiny linoleum. The elephant smiles up at her until she turns to see the pretty redhaired nurse at her side.

“You need anything?” she asks, her voice calm and quiet.

She shakes her head. “No. Thanks,” Kate lies, her voice rough from lack of use.

The nurse nods. “Okay. Here,” she says, leaning over and picking up the phone. “Cute cover.” She makes sure that Kate has a grip on it before she moves down to the couple next to her.

She does need something though.

She needs Castle and she needs their baby to be okay.

Her finger smooths over the back of the case, the latex of her glove catching on the plastic and squeaking a little. She has to turn it over, unable to look at the cartoon elephant anymore. Instead, she watches the baby’s toes curl, the smallest of movements making her heart leap.

And then she sees the door of the NICU open, the swish of the door sending a breeze down the length of the room.

The yellow of the gown makes his skin look pasty, highlighting the dark circles under his eyes. His hair is sticking up and she knows it’s because he’s been running his hands through it. Hands that look larger than normal in the white gloves holding the sleeves of the gown over his arms.

He stumbles over, the line of his throat working to form words but coming up with nothing. His fingers tremble as he reaches through the wide hole on the side of the incubator, hesitating for half of a second before he touches the tip of his forefinger to the back of the baby’s hand. So carefully, as if he were afraid that the slightest touch would break her. The baby’s fingers unfurl slowly as he strokes over the soft skin to her elbow, careful of the IV taped to her forearm.

“Kate,” he murmurs, his voice a sad rasp as he looks over at her.

A breath she didn’t know she was holding breaks free, sounding something like his name but she’s not sure. Her shoulders hunch forward as she finally lets everything fall apart. She hears his knees crack against the floor a moment before his arms pull her into his chest. The paper gown crinkles under her forehead as she turns her head into his neck, her fingers squeezing the back of his head.

“She stopped breathing,” she sobs. “She... Castle, she wasn’t...”

“It’s okay,” he breathes into her cheek. “She’s going to be okay.”

He tries to shift back but she hooks her arms around his neck, keeping him against her. He smells of dried sweat and old cologne and the sterile paper gown. He reaches behind him and loosens her arms, sitting back on his heels. Her eyes dance between his and the incubator behind him.

“I shouldn’t have gone,” he says, his thumb brushing over the heel of her palm. “I should have been here with you. My plane was delayed and then it had to go to Ohio before getting to JFK... Kate, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs brokenly, fighting back another wave of grief and panic. “You’re on the floor,” says Kate as if realizing it for the first time.

“What happened?” he repeats, cupping her face in his hands, refocusing her on him.

“The cord was wrapped around her neck. She wasn’t breathing.” He wipes a stray tear from the curve of her cheek. “I couldn’t do anything, Castle. She wasn’t breathing and I was stuck doing nothing. Everything was so fast.” She wraps her left hand around his wrist, letting her short nails dig through the gown and his wrinkled shirt to his skin. “She’s stopped breathing a few times. Usually the nurses just rock her for a bit and she starts up again. What if...? What if she just doesn’t start one time?”

Castle threads his fingers through her hair, tugging her head back into the crook of his shoulder. “She’s going to be okay,” he mutters. “She’s got to be okay.” His voice shakes in her ear and she feels the hot burn of tears on her neck, trickling down underneath the neckline of her gown along her collarbone.

She draws back just a little, enough to touch her cheek to his and feel the unshaven stubble. Her fingers smooth down the fine hairs at the back of his neck. Trying to stop the subtle trembling of her own body by pulling some of his quiet strength through her fingertips.

“Can I hold her?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

When she shakes her head, she feels him squeeze at her wrist. “We can’t. She hasn’t hit the right milestones yet,” she says. “The doctors need to monitor her lungs, keep her on oxygen just in case.”

“But...” He stands up suddenly and she sways back into the chair as he paces away a few steps. “Kate, she nearly died and we can’t even hold her?” There’s an edge of rage cutting into the grief now.

She can relate.

So she gives him a moment, watching as sure, angry steps turn into slow shuffles before he grabs one of the spare chairs at an empty station, dragging it over to her. He drops into it, his elbow jostling against hers. She slides her fingers along the inside of his arm, twining their fingers together.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs. “Just...”

She tips her head onto his shoulder. “I know,” she says gently. “I know.”

They sit in silence, watching her thin, narrow chest carefully. The baby’s mouth opens, little lips smacking against one another softly. He reaches forward with his left hand, letting it coast gently over her cheek, barely touching the corner of her mouth. “She has your cheekbones,” he tries to tease.

“She’s underweight,” Kate reminds him. “Only five pounds and seven ounces. Anyone would have my cheekbones with that weight.”

“What’s her name?” he asks, turning his head down to look at her.

“Huh?” Kate glances up at him, trying to work through the words even as fatigue fights to pull her into sleep. “Oh. She doesn’t have one.” Before he can speak again, though, she frees her hand so that she can push her thumb into his thigh. “It didn’t feel right. Not without you here too.”

His lips glance gracelessly over her temple. “Thank you,” he whispers, “for waiting.”

“Still like Elizabeth?”

“Yeah.”

“Elizabeth Nicole?”

“Really?” he says, the hint of a smile breaking across the half of his face that she can see. “After insisting that no daughter of ours would ever...”

She snakes an arm up around his head, half-heartedly twisting his ear. “Yes or no?”

“It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful.” He shifts in the seat so that he can catch her lips in a quick kiss. “You want to go home or stay here a little while longer?”

“Can we stay? Just until she gets to sleep,” she says, interrupted when the baby kicks out, the plastic of her diaper crinkling and the start of a whimper hanging in the air. Kate sighs, edging closer to the cradle. “Sometimes she has trouble dropping off.”

“I got it,” he says quickly, scooting the rocking chair closer to the holes on the side of the incubator. “I have it on good authority that my voice is soothing.”

She fumbles for her phone, having to try twice before she gets a clear picture. Castle leaning one arm on his leg, the other next to the baby’s shoulder as he weaves the tale into a soft blanket over their daughter.

makeyourstand @ 2013-02-14T23:27:00

2013-02-15T04:27:27Z

i almost think that valentine's day is easier for me. i've never known what it's like to have someone look at you like you are the most precious thing in the world. i've never had someone cuddle in behind me and wrap their arm over my waist and tickle my stomach as we watch a movie. i've never had a kiss. i've never felt someone run their fingers through my hair, gently lulling me into sleep. i've never exchanged goofy text messages with a boy when we're supposed to be doing homework instead. so it's not like i know what i'm missing.

and i know that not being in a relationship does not make me worthless. i know that i'm smart and occasionally a strong writer and sometimes clever and witty all without having a guy in my life.

but i've dreamed about it. goddamn, i've dreamed about this. i've dreamed about the guy that doesn't care that i'm chubby and that i don't ever wear make-up and am more comfortable in the world found inside of books than at a party.

and damn if it still hurts to be alone. not just on valentine's day (which is the stupidest of the holidays) but in general.

i really hate being alone.

(happy valentine's day...)

two months

2013-02-11T21:08:15Z

Title: two months
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: "What if you stayed this time?"
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: All aired US episodes.

She's gathering up her clothes from the furniture in the bedroom. Most of it managed to land on the armchair but her underwear is under the bed and her bra is mysteriously missing altogether. He watches from the bed, head propped up on his forearm and the pile of pillows. He's grinning. He knows that; can't wipe the smile off his face as she bends over to shimmy into her jeans, hair falling in tangles over her bare shoulder.

"Beckett," he mutters, voice heavy with lingering sleep and muffled by the fabric of the pillowcase. She hums in response, half-turning so he can see her fingers working to button her pants. "What if you stayed this time?"

Her eyes narrow and he's not sure if that's because she's still tired or if she's wary of the conversation. "This time? Castle, I've stayed the morning with you before. But I need to get clean clothes and -"

He pushes up so that he's sitting. He needs to be upright for this. Maybe clothes would help but he's not going to be picky. "I mean, stay for good?"

"Doesn't sound like you're too sure of yourself there," she says, searching for the arm holes of her shirt.

"Wait. Let me get my head together," he insists, rubbing a hand over his face. When he opens his eyes again, she's got her shirt on, sneakers tied, her hair twisted up into a messy, fraying bun that he knows will unravel as soon as she moves too quickly. "Move in with me. Just stay. I lov-"

He cuts himself off when he realizes what's coming out of his mouth. She's not ready to hear it again and he's honestly not sure he can watch the bright, teasing glimmer leave her eyes as she stands there near his bureau.

"You can say it," she whispers, taking a step closer. She's smiling and he suddenly can't speak past the lump stuck in his throat. Because she's still smiling and this might just be okay.

When she gets just close enough to the bed, he grabs her wrist and tugs her onto the mattress, her knees landing against his thigh. His hand skates up her arm, pressing into the back of her neck to bring her head down to rest against his. "I love you," he murmurs, his lips barely brushing hers as he speaks. "Move in. Please."

Her kiss is short and when she draws back, her nose is wrinkled. "Morning breath," she says, pushing a hand through his hair before sitting on the edge of the mattress. "I've got another two months on my lease. Maybe I can forget to renew it?"

"Can't have you homeless," he comments. "I might be able to make room here for your numerous coats."

She flicks the lobe of his ear as she gets up again. "My hero. Two months, Castle." She ducks out of sight into the bathroom and he can hear her brushing out her hair. "Need to run back to my place since you've squirrelled away my bra."

"You moving in would also solve that problem." He glances around the bedroom, trying to remember where her bra is but it escapes him. Maybe they lost that particular item of clothing out in the study. "Want coffee before you go?" he calls, swinging his legs out of bed to pull on his boxers and flannel pants.

"Uh, no," she says back, coming out of the bathroom with her hair in a neat ponytail. "But bring some to work. I've gotten spoiled on your French press." She steps into his space, her fingers hooked in the waistband of his pants so that her nails scrape along his navel. Her lips press against his unshaven cheek, dry and warm. "See you in an hour," she sighs.

He moves to catch her lips but finds her palm instead. "What?" he mumbles against her skin.

"Morning breath," she repeats, patting his cheek once before going for the door. "I'll collect my morning kiss when you show up with my coffee."

And then she's gone.

He's stuck standing in the middle of the room, looking after her at the closed door. She's going to move in. No real convincing, no begging. His first move is to the closet, starting to push back his hangers of suit jackets and dress shirts and folded pants. No. First he's got to brush his teeth and get her coffee. He can make room for her coats and shirts after.

There's two months, after all.

makeyourstand @ 2013-02-08T22:48:00

2013-02-09T03:48:25Z

the storm knocked out my internet and cable an hour ago. since then, i have gotten all of my drama reading done for monday and have started in on my victorian lit stuff for tuesday.

i may hate winter and the cold and the snow that it brings and i may dislike the fact that i can no longer spend the night watching west wing but i do appreciate that i get much more schoolwork done when the internet isn't around to distract me.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

my opinion on opinions

2013-02-05T05:18:56Z

i should be writing lit responses for tomorrow or sleeping because i haven't slept well in four days and i'm starting to get loopy with the exhaustion but i've decided to address something here. (where only a few people ever visit because i kinda like having a "secret" journal where i can spill my feelings. but might post this on tumblr tomorrow morning if i'm feeling brave/the fandom has settled down a bit more.)

you are allowed to have an opinion about anything and everything.

it is allowed.

it is, in fact, smiled upon.

because it means you are thinking and coming up with ideas and working those ideas through and figuring out where you stand on issues. even if those issues are something as simple as a television show.

and that's good. great. amazing.

(seriously.)

voice that opinion. don't be afraid of people disagreeing because they are allowed their own opinions. even welcome the debate. because that makes you think more. (only time this is inappropriate is if you are going to be negative while stating an opposing opinion. don't be negative.)

but. you do not need to be validated in your opinion. you do not need someone to tell you that your opinion is correct.

yes, it is nice to know that others share your opinion but even if no one comes and stands on your side of the line when you share your idea, it's still a good idea. it's still valid if you believe it.

so stand behind your opinions. give them a backbone. believe in yourself and your beliefs.

(post made more sense in my head and before i tried to actually understand michel foucault's history of sexuality for my response paper.)

you have gone

2013-01-25T06:10:45Z

Title: you have gone
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: All she leaves is a note.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: All aired US episodes.

He keeps waiting for his phone to ring.

He keeps waiting for the knock to echo through the loft.

He keeps waiting for the door to open.

He keeps waiting.

The note she left on his desk is crumpled in a ball; folds formed as he read and re-read the words, creases from when he threw the single sheet against the wall. Some of the letters are smeared. Long black lines that look like her mascara from yesterday that streaked down over her cheeks.

He barely turns his head from where he’s got it balanced on the heels of his hands to see the note where it rests against the base of the lamp, soft light falling on the sharp edges.

If there were a time for a rewind button, now would be the time to pull the remote from among the controllers for his miniature helicopters and laser tag gear and get them back to before this thing. Before he said something so incredibly fucking stupid and set all of it into motion.

Looking back, he should find it a little ironic that he was the one to storm from his own apartment. He left her standing in the living room with the dust settling around her, catching the late afternoon sun still coming through the windows, unaware of the event it was highlighting. But he’d needed desperately to level off and he couldn’t do that knowing she was in the apartment trying to pull her guts back into her body after he sliced her open.

And when he got back from the very long, cold walk, shivering with the chill and the icy thread of regret running through his body and found half of the closet empty, the four drawers in his bureau cleaned out, the absence of her make-up and shampoo and razor in the bathroom. And the single piece of paper left on the corner of his desk where she always leaned her hip after getting back from work and finding him writing, running her fingers through his hair until he was too distracted by Beckett to think about Nikki.

His fingers itch to grab his phone and call her. His feet want to get out the door, into a cab, and to the precinct. He needs to see her, to make sure she’s okay.

Because he’s not.

It’s been a week and he’s not okay.

So he snags his keys and wallet, stuffs the note into the pocket of the jeans he’s been wearing for days, and gets into his car. It takes some adjusting to park outside of the precinct without her being able to see the car as soon as she walks out.

She looks good. Make-up done, leather jacket over fitted jeans with low-heeled boots. She’s listing to the side and he knows it’s because her bag is filled with files for the case they must be working. Ryan and Esposito are a few steps behind her and he knows that they’ll split at the subway station; she’s going downtown while they head to the outer boroughs.

Suddenly, he can’t stay still and watch her take the stairs down to the station. He stumbles from the car, the keys falling onto the ground with a jingle before he grabs them.

“Beckett!” he shouts across the street, jogging in front of a cab and nearly getting clipped before he dodges. “Kate!”

She turns, scanning the lines of cruisers until she sees him. “What?” she snaps but he doesn’t care because she stopped moving toward the subway entrance.

He’s out of breath when he gets to the corner, just feet from her. Close enough to reach out and touch the soft skin on the back of her hand that’s braced on her hip. “I just needed to...”

“You’re a bestseller. If you say ‘see you’ next...”

“Make sure you’re okay,” he finishes lamely.

She takes a deep breath, her eyes closing as she gathers herself. “I’m... Castle...”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, taking a step forward. “I’m a bastard and an idiot and I understand why you left but I needed to tell you that I’m truly sorry.”

He pivots to leave, the note crinkling in his pocket with the movement. If he stays a minute longer, he’ll do something he’ll regret again.

But she follows, her fingers snatching at the sleeve of his jacket. “Wait,” she says quietly. He doesn’t look back. “I really hate you sometimes, you know? You piss me off and seriously make me considering shooting you on a daily basis. You pry and dig and you don’t stop when I ask you to.” He hears her breathing, shallow and soft, and the brush of her leather jacket against the strap of her bag. “But, Castle.”

He chances a look back and finds her shoulders hunched over, her ponytail falling over her neck.

“I love you more than all that. Most of the time. Except for when you do shit like this.”

“I’ll change-”

“No,” she says quickly, glancing up and stepping into his space for the first time since a week ago. “No, I don’t want you to change who you are.”

“Then tell me what to do, Beckett.”

“Come back here. We need you. I need you,” she sighs, her fingertips cool against his hand.

He waits for her to make the first move. To make the slide of her hand against his become her arms around his neck as she lifts herself up onto her toes to bury her nose into his neck before he pulls her as close as possible. Her heavy bag bumps against his thigh and the zipper of her jacket scrapes against the soft fabric of his t-shirt.

“Move back in,” he begs into her temple, his lips dry at her hairline. “Please.”

Her laugh is one spark of brightness in the dark, the soft exhale along his neck that has him shivering. “Never really left.” She pulls back and he sees the amusement on her face mixing with the lingering anger and frustration and it’s oh so welcome. “Didn’t you check the guest room?”

“What?”

She steps back, shifting the bag up further onto her shoulder as she takes the keys from his hand. “Moved most of my stuff up there and took what I needed to survive at Lanie’s for a few weeks.”

“You’re a sneak,” he mutters, walking after her to snag the keys from her fingers. He slides into the drivers seat, letting the muffled sounds of the city stay in the car with them for a moment. “I am sorry.”

“I know,” she says, pushing her fingers through his hair, curling over his ear. “Sometimes I need space to work through the issues alone, without you.”

“Wanna slide me a note to let me know that next time?” he asks, backing out of the spot. “A post-it on the fridge or the kitchen counter or my forehead?”

She braces her left forearm on the center console, leaning just far enough that her lips touch his jaw. “I think I can manage that.”

makeyourstand @ 2013-01-21T23:55:00

2013-01-22T04:55:28Z

back at school. i already feel more emotionally stable. and i cannot wait to sleep in my bed here because it's warm and comfortable and a full-sized bed instead of my twin at home. plus, i brought my suffed bo and chaucer, my bear from borders who wears a scarf and is basically me in teddy bear form, so i'll have someone to cuddle with when i'm having meltdowns over novels about 9/11, jane eyre, and various plays.

also, 'yelled' at the castle fandom and got a message that i'm terming as 'dislike mail' which i think makes me an official tumblr-ian. because don't you need to get some sort of dislike mail in order to belong there? don't care. i'm done writing out my thoughts on things and then deleting them because i don't want to offend people. new year, new slate.

met one of the new roommates. she's from korea and seems nice. there was also a large, flying bug in the living room earlier and i've not emerged from my room since. i've also stuffed a spare towel along the bottom of my door for safety. i hate bugs.

also also, my shift key has been wonky since i got to school so i've basically given up on capitalization for tonight.

going back under my blanket to try and write this short story contest entry.

in which Logan rambles

2013-01-21T03:20:01Z

I'm feeling better. Therapist e-mailed back with a list of breathing exercises and a few other suggestions to fight my anxiety attacks. I have the best friends in the entire internet who make me cry with lovely messages of support and make me feel less alone. I've accepted that my brain is taking a break in writing and am trying not to let that completely stress me out. The words will come back. I'll find a job. Maybe not right out of college but I will find one that I love and actually applies to my major.

I'm starting to budget my money so that my tour guide paychecks go to something other than chips and nail polish. Like to my Disney trip.

I need to start running/exercising again; Mom said I was "getting squishy again" and I jumped on the scale for the first time in at least a year and I've gained back most of the fifty pounds I had lost. If that's not a sign to start back on the healthy eating/running three times a week wagon, I don't know what is.

My stuff is still not packed for the return to school tomorrow but I do finally have a list of groceries to pick up. I still don't care for the attitudes of my siblings so it's a good thing I'm not going to see them until March. I get to sleep on my full sized bed at school that is actually the most comfortable bed I've ever had and I cannot wait.

Sometimes I feel like the least loved kid in this family. My sister sits on the couch and gets everything brought to her as if she were the queen of the house. My brother is able to take the TV whenever he likes, whether I'm using it or not. My other brother in DC is constantly being called and talked to, is always getting care packages, and is being worried over when we all know he's nearly twenty-one and has a job in the Marines and is a big boy.

I'm taking three lit classes next semester (The Novel, Sex and the Victorian Novel, and Drama) and need nineteen books. I already want to throw myself out of my fourth floor window. I now have four roommates. I've managed to convince myself that they all hate me. I've never met three of them.

I have an idea for a story to submit to the English department's short story contest which is pretty exciting because I haven't had a solid idea for weeks.

Oh dear heavens I do not want to walk to class in the cold...

(This was one big paragraph then I couldn't stand how grossly huge it looks so I made normal sentences/paragraphs out of it.)

magic

2013-01-09T02:01:23Z

I might be going to Disney in May. With internet friends. Not all of the ones I consistently hang out with (one can't make the dates, the other doesn't have the money) but still pretty excited. Because WDW is basically my second home without a single lie. I've been incredibly blessed to have been born into a family of Disney fanatics. We've been Disney Vacation Club members since 1992 and we've gone down pretty much every year since I was born. Luckiest of luckies.

But we haven't gone in a while and I mentioned to the internet friends that we should go spend a few days down there since with my DVC points, I basically get rooms on DVC resorts for free. And we're running with it. Spending four days at the Boardwalk with me dragging them around the parks that I know like the back of my hand. I actually have the days planned out, where we're doing dinner, which rides. Everything. Because I'm obsessive when it comes to trip planning and Disney. I've met two of these girls in NYC back in December and the fourth we're going to meet for the first time. Annnnd turns out another two Castle fans are headed to Disney during the same days so we're planning on meeting up for dinner or to just wander Downtown Disney for a night.

Planned this whole thing in about two days. Talked to Mom about it and she seemed fine. Dad is usually super paranoid about meeting people from the internet but when I asked for his help with the details (since he's always planned our family trips) and said it was me and three friends from online, he just breezed over it. Which is cool. So this trip is going to be my graduation present from the family, paying for airfare, food, and the park tickets.

Over-the-moon excited but trying to contain it because this all happened sophomore year with a bunch of friends and it never worked out. But this looks pretty solid and everyone is down as long as two girls can get the days off of work. So aishdflasdfjksahdkf.

(not bothering to read this post over but I think it makes zero sense in the order it is. whatever.)

there should be stars - epilogue (30/30)

2013-01-04T18:52:20Z

Title: there should be stars - epilogue (30/30)
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.

There’s a gentle weight on her chest, compressing the air out of her lungs. Something pulls at her hair, not quite hard enough to hurt. Still, she reaches up and untangles the little fingers from her ponytail, letting the tiny digits curl around her pointer finger instead.

They’re both tucked under the blanket, keeping the late autumn breeze from chilling them. He said he’d be right back, just running to the store to get more stuff for the dinner party tonight. So she had picked up the baby and the soft fleece blanket he had bought them once they got home from the hospital and headed out to her couch.

She can hear the others in the living room, chatting with glasses of wine and the plates of hors d’oeuvres set out on side tables. She should go back instead and socialize but she’s tired and her daughter is sleeping on her chest, finally quiet.

The girl was noisy, crying as she was passed from arms to arms as people arrived. Normally she’s a happy baby, so like her father while around people. Thriving on the attention and smiling at all of the faces, familiar or otherwise. But this afternoon was different. She was fussy and unhappy and not even Esposito could make her smile.

“Daddy will be home soon,” she murmurs, brushing a hand over the girl’s thin head of dark, dark brown hair.

“Home now, actually.”

She looks up from their daughter’s head as he sits on the end of the couch. “Hi. You get the sauce and more crackers?”

“Lanie and Jenny are setting them out now. I think Mother has commandeered the kitchen and won’t let anyone else in so she has the chicken,” he says, leaning a hand next to her stomach to press a kiss to her cheek. “She said Sam was unhappy.”

“Think she was just a little colicky,” Beckett admits, her free hand sneaking from under the blanket to wrap around Castle’s wrist. “She’s asleep now, though.”

“Want me to take her, put her in bed?”

“I’ll come,” she says, swinging her legs off of the couch. “I need to get up anyway. My feet are falling asleep.”

He untucks the blanket, folding it over the arm of the couch to give her a chance to work feeling back into her feet. She brushes her fingers over the silk of his tie, giving it a gentle tug toward the wide French doors.

Castle holds a finger to his lips as they go into the living room. The people go silent as Beckett walks in, the sleeping baby cradled against her chest. She smiles at them, keeping Sam’s head tucked under hers, supporting her neck. His hand is warm at the small of her back on the way up the stairs, keeping her balanced and close to him. Her head tilts against his shoulder, tugging him to a stop just outside of the baby’s room.

“What’s wro -?”

Her lips are soft as she presses up on her toes, Sam cuddled between them. “Nothing,” she sighs, using her free hand to cup her cheek. Her wedding band is cool against his skin, the diamond setting off subtle sparkles onto the wall. “Everything is wonderful. Thank you.”

“For what?”

She leans back against the doorframe, shifting the sleeping baby so that little Sam smacks her lips against her neck, fingers grabbing the strap of Beckett’s tanktop. “For waiting all of these years -”

“Fourteen years, but who’s counting?” he teases as she shoves at his shoulder.

“And for giving me back that happiness that I had before. For staying with me during the trial. For Sam.” She takes a deep breath, smelling baby lotion mixed with Castle’s cologne, and turns a quiet smile up at him. “I can’t thank you enough for everything.”

“You don’t need to.” His fingers wrap around her wrist as he steps between her feet. His head falls onto her forehead, their noses sliding across one another gently. “You’re both worth waiting for,” he whispers. “I’d do all fourteen years over again.”

“I love you,” she says, voice heavy with emotion.

“So glad we can say that now,” he replies, breathing the words into her mouth. “I love you.”

Once they have Sam in her crib, that silly stuffed monkey that Alexis passed down to her little sister snuggled into the infant’s side, Castle drags her back out onto the porch. She hears Lanie calling her to come have a glass of wine but Castle begs another minute from their friends.

As they sit on their couch, over the Atlantic, the stars are out.

the real world sucks

2013-01-04T03:13:31Z

Mom's work friend has a cousin (or something) who lives in NYC and has contacts in the publishing industry. He's apparently willing to drop my name to some of those friends. But I'm too afraid to even message this guy to start the ball rolling. Which sucks because publishing is what I want to do and I can't even tug this little string to get started.

So I revised my resume then got distracted by making hot chocolate in my new Once mug and now I don't want to start looking for a job again.

But apparently it helps to have money to pay rent for an apartment in NYC, sooo... Anyone looking to hire a soon-to-be unemployed English major with a pretty rocking GPA and the ability to walk backwards?

(Okay, so maybe it's me that sucks and not just the real world.)

there should be stars (29/30)

2013-01-02T21:13:45Z

Title: there should be stars (29/30)
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.

The salt air washes over her. She can hear the waves crashing against the rocks down on the right side of his private beach. Her eyes are closed, drifting somewhere between awake and her constant desire lately for a nap. The sun is warm, almost too hot, on her bare legs. She can feel the thin sheen of sweat on her collarbones and shoulders.

But she doesn't want to move.

Every day since they've come out to his beach house, she's only ever gone from the bedroom out to the living room. That is, until he bought another couch and put it out on the porch. And now that's her resting place for the day. At first, it took her an hour to get from the bed to the couch, every step sending sharp pain along her left side. She had refused help even though he winced every time she stumbled into furniture or cried out. Now she can get to her couch in about ten minutes. It's an accomplishment.

He's been at her side since she woke up in the hospital. When she could say all of a single word in a minute. When every breath hurt and she couldn't move for the pain that shot through her body. He slept in the rickety chair at the side of her bed, his head pillowed on the mattress, his hand resting under hers. He hardly moved when Dr. Davidson, a handsome man with a charming smile, came to check on her over the course of the month she spent in the hospital.

Once they had the all-clear, Castle drove them out to the Hamptons.

She shifts her legs on the warmed cushions, pressing her toes up against the opposite arm of the couch. Her toenails flash bright purple, a color he picked out a few days ago when she mentioned wanting to paint her nails. It had taken him a good half an hour to get the hang of it, her foot balanced on his thigh as he swiped the brush over her toenails.

"Brought lunch." He's waving one of the reusable bags as he sits on one of the Adirondack chairs across from her. "How're you feeling?"

She smiles, reaching out to brush her fingertips along his knee. "Tired. What'd you bring me?"

He braces an arm on the couch, touching his lips lightly to hers. "You should sleep," he murmurs. "Doesn't the sun make you sleepy?"

"Kinda, yeah. But what's for lunch? I'm hungry too."

"Got some pulled chicken with this really tasty barbecue sauce. I think that if you take small bites, you might be okay with it. If not, there's always the milkshakes and the leftover ice cream from last time."

She takes the plastic to-go container from his lap and pops the top. The smell of the food, still warm from the restaurant, makes her mouth water. She groans, already picking up a bit of the shredded chicken and eating it. "Get me a fork," she demands with a grin.

He disappears back into the house once he takes the other container of food from the bag along with the two Styrofoam cups. When he returns, handing her over the fork as he sits down, he watches her carefully as she eats a bite of the chicken and barbecue sauce.

"This is good," she says. "Really good."

"I'm glad." But he hesitates as he raises his own fork to his mouth. It gives her pause, makes her narrow her eyes because he's been hovering since she woke up that morning until she sent him to get food.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says quickly. "Nothing. Eat your lunch."

It's off, though. She eats slowly, savoring each bite and making sure that it won't stick in her throat. That happened last week and she had coughed so hard that she lost her voice for the day. Her calves stick to the seat as she shifts to put the empty box on the deck. She takes the lid off of the cup with the milkshake. "This one yours?" she asks, holding out the strange yellow-ish brown milkshake.

"Banana chocolate," he clarifies, taking it from her and trading her a spoon.

"Hope you stuck with just strawberry for me," she teases, dipping her spoon into the milkshake. The shake is cold, a nice contrast to the noontime sun. She lets her head tip onto the cushioned arm, the cup cradled against her chest. She could drop into sleep, fed and tired in the hot sun.

"You still with me?"

Her eyes slit open, find his outline against the brilliant blue over the ocean. All she can do is hum, contented and warm and happy, before closing her eyes again.

"Hey?"

This time she opens her eyes all of the way and nearly drops the strawberry shake.

There, sitting on his knee, is a ring box. The diamond catches the sunlight, sending bright rainbows onto the wood panels of the house.

"Castle…"

"You said years ago that if I was going to do this, it should be just the two of us. That it should be quiet despite the fact that you know I love loud and over-the-top. But I love you, not the spectacle. So," he says gently, shifting forward as he takes the ring out of the little box. "Beckett. Will you marry me?"

Her chest hurts. For the first time in over a month, it's not because of the still-healing bullet wound. When she looks up from the square diamond with its rounded corners in the shining platinum setting, he looks more nervous than she's ever seen him. There's a sweet, hesitating smile that falters every few seconds but behind that is love, pure and simple and honest.

She reaches out with her free hand and touches her fingertips to his jaw. Her own smile is sure and strong. She takes a deep breath, her palm against the stubble of his cheek, and answers with one word.

new years

2013-01-01T03:48:02Z

2012 has been wonderful.
2012 has been tough.

I turned 21.
I self-published a novel.
I made some of the best friends I've ever had.
I met three of those friends and had the most amazing day in NYC with them.
I had a great summer with eleven other over-the-top tour guides.
I had multiple meltdowns from stress.
I survived the Mayan apocalypse.
I wrote 65 Castle fanfictions.
I discovered my true passion.
I remained single.
I fell off the running wagon.
I fell off the Weight Watches wagon.
I saw two Broadway shows.
I discovered a true appreciation for naps at any time of day.
I submitted a story to a writing contest.

I'm not one for resolutions for the new year but I'm going to try:
...to write another novel.
...to get all of my internet friends together in one place in real life.
...to get a real life job after graduating in May with my Bachelors of Arts in English.
...to get back on the running wagon.
...to get back on the Weight Watchers wagon and re-lose those fifty pounds.
...to submit more works to writing contests.
...to be brave, fearless, and kind.

So here's to 2013. May 13 continue to be my lucky number and may the coming year bring joy and happiness to you all.

with a bang

2013-01-01T00:43:27Z

Title: with a bang
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Beckett and Castle ring in the New Year.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: All aired episodes in US.
Note from Logan: Not going to apologize for the shameless double innuendo with that title. Nor will I apologize for New Year's Eve sex. Happy New Year, darlings!

The party has cleared out. It’s been half an hour since the ball dropped, since New Years kisses flavored by the sparkle of champagne were exchanged. The music is still playing from the stereo system, quieter now that it isn’t fighting to be heard over the conversation.

She’s sitting on the couch, her feet stretched out in front of her so that she can see the wink of her gold toenails. A half-empty glass of champagne is loosely held in her right hand as she listens to Castle clean up the dishes from the kitchen counter and dining room table. He’s chattering about the party, about how Lanie and Esposito kept pretending like they weren’t glancing at one another when everyone could see that their looks lingered.

“When’re they going to stop being so thick-headed?” he grumbles.

She can’t hold back the snort of laughter. “I think most people thought the same thing about us,” she admits, taking another sip of the champagne. “They’ll come around.”

He drops the last bowl into the sink before coming over to the living room. The back cushions dip under his forearms as he leans next to her. “Just like we did?”

“Mhm. But 2012 was a good year for us. Maybe 2013 will be theirs.” She sighs, her eyes closing as she drops her head back against the seat. “We alone for the night?”

His palm smoothes over the cap sleeve of her dress, his nose nuzzled behind her ear. “Yeah. Alexis is going to some party with friends from school and Mother is… well, she said not to wait up.” His fingers drift down over the curve of her breast. “Which is good because I have January First plans for you.”

“Yeah?” she asks just a little breathlessly. She wants to hate that he can do that to her after eight months, that he can steal her air with a touch of his hand. Instead, she arches up into his palm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of her dress. “Want to share?”

“Don’t you like the surprise? The not knowing?” He tugs on her knee, lifting it up so that her foot rests on the edge of the cushion. His fingers trail up, tickling the inside of her thigh. “The antici-” he nips lightly at her jaw as his forefinger dips between her legs. “-pation?”

She draws her other foot up, wiggling forward so that her dress rides up. “I guess it’s nice,” she gasps as his fingers slide over her clit. Her hips push up, looking for more friction than he’s giving. “Castle, please,” she groans.

He removes his fingers, using both of his hands to yank the dress over her head, careful of the glass of champagne still in her hand. Her hair falls in tangled, messy waves, slipping free from her bobby pins. His head rests on her shoulder as his fingers walk down over the top of her breast until he can circle over her nipple. She tips her head against his, her teeth digging into her lower lip to stop the moan from escaping. Just before she can protest, he moves, his forearm snaking down over her torso. The fine hairs of his arm tickle at her breast.

Her breath catches in her throat when he presses two fingers into her. She whimpers as he twists so that the heel of his hand is barely touching her clit, brushing over the sensitive nerves with every quick thrust of his fingers. His name is two broken syllables on her tongue.

“Look,” he says, his lips at her ear.

It takes a few seconds for her to open her eyes, to glance down. His cheek is against hers so when she turns, her lips skitter across his jaw. “God, Castle,” she groans. She tries to put the champagne glass on the coffee table but her fingers are trembling and it tips onto the ground. “Castle, I -”

“Leave it.”

So she braces her right hand on the cushions, her left hand going to cover his, keeping it against her even as her hips move up, forcing him a little deeper. His free hand cups the back of her neck, turning to face her. “Come for me,” he whispers into the corner of her mouth.

His arm keeps her down even as her body tenses while the orgasm rolls through her.

Her fingers are weak and shaky when she reaches back, finds his tie. “Get down here.”

He tumbles over the back of the couch, his legs nearly clipping her head. She’s crawling over him, working at the button and zipper of his pants as he pulls his shirt off. She wiggles them down, taking his boxers and socks at the same time. Her fingers tickle at his navel, circling and dipping into the shallow pool while her other hand lightly gripping his erection.

“Beckett,” he groans as her breath washes over him and his hips unconsciously buck up just as her lips cover the tip of his cock.

The hand wrapped around the base strokes up until it meets her mouth, giving a sharp twist before pulling down some of the wetness to coat the rest of his shaft. His hands thread through her hair and she can feel his deep, vibrating moan along with the sharp pricks of pain on her scalp as she takes him into her mouth. He’s hot, heavy on her tongue as she works him slowly, drawing the ragged groans from his chest.

She keeps him on edge, his hands tightening in her hair as she smiles around him, her left hand still rotating at his base until her fingers dance down over the sensitive skin of his balls, tickling him with teasing touches that never quite become something.

“I need you,” he manages, voice shaking as he yanks on the fistfuls of hair still clenched in his hands. “Beckett, please. Now.”

Instead, she braces on her elbows, right hand tracing patterns over his stomach. His hips are jerking up as her left thumb slides through the sheen of moisture on his cock, circling over his tip. “What do you want?”

“I need to be inside you,” he babbles, the words blending together. “Fuck, Beckett... Please!”

he inches up his body, her lips leaving a trail of wet kisses mixed with little nips along the journey up. Her knees are on either side of his hips, her palms on his shoulders as she dips down to catch his mouth. Still, her fingers guide him so that his tip is just barely inside of her despite his thrusts upward. “Gonna send 2012 off with a bang, Castle?”

His hands abandon her hair, gripping her hips almost hard enough to bruise as he pulls her down onto him. She tries to muffle her moan in the crook of his shoulder but one hand catches her chin, dragging her to his mouth. The other hand presses to the small of her back. She’s rolling her hips down with each longer thrust that he gives. His are uneven and she knows he’s close, especially after she left him just teetering on the razor edge of release.

“Happy New Year,” she murmurs, pressing down so that he’s deep inside of her, rocking forward so that her breasts slide along his chest.

His orgasm pushes her over a few seconds later. She continues to clench her muscles around him, drawing it out as the TV shows the strike of midnight in the Central time zone until she collapses bonelessly atop him. He smoothes a hand down over her back, sticking to the sheen of sweat.

“With a bang indeed.” He turns his head, his lips skating over her jaw until they reach the corner of her mouth. “Happy New Year.”

there should be stars (28/30)

2012-12-31T16:37:41Z

Title: there should be stars (28/30)
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.

He’s up before she is on the day of the funeral; she’s been sleeping in late, her own exhaustion and grief making her body heavier than usual, making up for the bad dreams all night. Her hand swipes out and feels the cool sheets on his side of the bed though her face stays buried in her pillow. She doesn’t want to get up. Maybe if she stays in bed, hidden under the covers and surrounded by the comforting scent of Castle, everything will turn out to be a really bad dream. She’ll go into work and Montgomery will be sitting at his desk and her mother’s case will still be quiet.

Her phone is ringing somewhere, muffled. And then it’s not. She can hear Castle talking to whoever is on the other end of the line.

She rolls over, pushing her hair off of her face even as it sticks from her sleeping on it. Her body is tight and sore when she stretches. She’s about to get out of bed, go face reality, when he breaks the light coming in from the study.

“Morning,” he rasps, sitting on the edge of the bed so that his fingers can trail over her knee, hidden by the sheets. He holds up her phone, his smile sad. “Esposito. He said to meet at the Twelfth before going to the cemetery.”

“Okay,” she sighs, leaning forward so that her forehead hits his chest.

His mouth brushes her hairline, not quite a kiss. “You slept well last night. First time since…”

“This is a nightmare,” she groans, pushing the fresh wave of tears back. She needs to hold it together. Get through the day. “You make breakfast?”

“Thought we might just stop at that coffee shop on the way to the precinct. I know you like their bear claws.”

“Good idea.” She swings her legs off the bed, ducking down to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “Thank you.”

They shower together, their touches limited to nothing more than brushes along wet skin as they pass shampoo and soap back and forth. He hands her one of the deep rusty orange towels as she wrings her hair out over the drain. She passes him, the towel wrapped around her torso to pick out underwear from her drawer. It’s a little thing but she pulls on the coral underwear. Something bright in a day that’s sure to be dark.

Her uniform is heavy and scratches at her skin as she buttons the stiff top. Her palms smooth over the enamel on the row of commendations, the cool metal of her badge and nameplate. She has to dig into the pocket of the dress pants for the Velcro ribbon of black to attach over the middle of her badge. Her fingers shake but she presses them to her thighs before sitting on the edge of the mattress to tie up the black shoes, kept to a mirror shine.

Castle is dressed in black, pulling a comb through his hair. “I wish you were wearing that for a different reason,” he mutters, handing over the comb and the ring of hair elastics for her to tie her hair up in a bun.

“You still find this sexy?” she asks, brow raised as she fights to pin down all of the flyaway hairs. “Thought you’d grow out of that once I was out of uniform.”

“Oh, never,” he replies, tugging her forward with just his fingertips on her back. Her hips bump into his and her hand flies out to catch herself on his arm. “But I do love you out of uniform too,” he adds with a waggle of his brow.

Beckett reaches around him and sets the comb on the bathroom counter. “You’re ridiculous.” She wants to stay there, his arm looped around her waist, her head tucked under his chin. But after a minute, she eases back, her fingers running over the creases in his shirt. “Come on. I need coffee if I’m going to get through…”

She drives, knows the way to their favorite coffee shop that’s just a few blocks from the precinct. It should worry her, that she hasn’t been able to really talk about what happened in the hangar or that they’re going to be burying their captain today or that her mother’s case is raging loudly in the back of her head, ready to suck her back under. If the man at her side wasn’t there, it just might do that. But he’s here, taking the cash out from the fold in his wallet to pay for breakfast as she gets napkins from the little counter to the side.

He hasn’t let her drown yet. She’d bet her life that he wouldn’t ever let her go.

The precinct is quiet. Glances are thrown at Montgomery’s empty office, the lights off and door locked. The four of them are gathered in the conference room.

She commands the room, sitting straight up in her chair with her hand loosely curled around the coffee cup. “Do we know who is taking his place?”

Esposito shakes his head as Ryan shrugs. “Haven’t heard anything from One PP,” says the latter. “I think they’re waiting until after the funeral to pick a replacement.”

“Okay,” she murmurs, looking down at the scarred tabletop. “About his connection to my mother’s case. It doesn’t leave this room. No one outside of this family needs to know about it. As far as the world is concerned, Roy Montgomery died a hero.”

Castle’s hand slides over Beckett’s knee, squeezing it tightly. They all nod in agreement.

“Good. They haven’t connected the two yet, have they?”

“Not yet.” Esposito waves to one of the uniforms outside, holding up a finger. “And we’ll keep it quiet, Beckett. They won’t be able to tie him to the case. No one else outside this room knows how he was involved.”

She smiles, a tiny, sad thing as her fingers run over the back of Castle’s hand. “Thank you. All of you.”

They crowd into her Crown Victoria for the ride to the cemetery. It’s in Queens, near Montgomery’s childhood home. The noises of the city fade until only the mournful rhythm of the drums remain. She can’t look at Evelyn and the children, his daughters crying into their mother’s shoulders while his son tries to stay brave.

The sun is bright in her eyes when she steps behind the podium, flipping open the binder of speeches that had been prepared for the service. Her breath shudders out when she sees his name, the first things on the page. It had taken her hours to write the eulogy, stopping every few sentences to pace the loft or sit with Castle or nap.

She turns, finds Castle at her side. It’s enough to settle her.

“Captain Roy Montgomery taught me what it meant to be a cop,” she starts. Esposito is folding up the flag, handing it to Evelyn’s trembling hands. She looks away, back to the page. “He taught me that we are bound by our choices but that we are more than our mistakes. Captain Montgomery believed that, for us, there is no victory. There are only battles. And that in the end, the best that we can hope for is to find a place to make your stand. And if you’re very lucky, you find someone willing to stand with you. Our captain would want us to carry on the fight. Even if there is no victory, he would want us to stand together. He was a believer that a good -”

“Kate, get down!” Castle shouts. She doesn’t have a chance to look over at him before something hits her.

She stumbles backwards until Castle tackles her.

Something burns, a fire running along her nerves even as he presses her into the soft, green grass. She feels his hand course over her body, watches as his eyes widen over her.

“Kate,” he whispers, a hand cupping her cheek. A thumb smeared with blood wipes away an escaped tear. “Stay with me, okay?”

It’s chaos behind him, around them. She can hear the sounds of screams, cops yelling orders, her father yelling to let him through.

But she focuses on him, her hand shaking as she tries to grab the tail of his jacket. Darkness, maybe the same darkness that has always tried to pull her under, nips at her heels. Maybe if she can just keep her eyes on his face, watch as he pleads for her to stay awake for just a little longer, that the ambulance is on its way, then she’ll be okay. But she can’t feel her fingers and her eyes are so very heavy.

“Cas…”

“No. No goodbyes,” he insists. “Okay? You’re going to be fine.”

Except she’s not.

She closes her eyes and his voice fades out into the darkness.

there should be stars (27/30)

2012-12-27T18:19:46Z

Title: there should be stars (27/30)
Characters/Pairings: Castle/Beckett
Summary: Four years can make a world of difference. AU.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Up to Season Four finale.

He’s really good at distractions.

Eventually, she forgets – as much as she can ever – that she relinquished control over her mother’s case to her co-workers. They don’t ever mention new leads over the next few months. She’s thankful for that, not sure she’d be able to handle hearing and seeing possible leads and do absolutely nothing about it.

And it’s good. She feels a little lighter. Even when they brush death twice in two days, nearly freezing to death in each other’s arms but escaping with mild cases of hypothermia to holding hands and praying in front of a dirty bomb set to go off in seconds.

But then Royce shows up dead and she feels some of that weight come back. Not just because Royce was the first to catch her as she buried herself in her mother’s case, hiding out in the archives with a Maglite after her shift was over, hoping that no one would come down to that corner of the concrete room but because he was one of the first to trust her gut while on the job. Instead of hovering like most of the other training officers, Royce let her take lead on some of their cases, let her make mistakes and learn from them.

The trip to Los Angeles is a heady mixture of going rogue with three days of sex interrupted by phone calls from Ryan and Esposito as they ran interference with the Twelfth or Seager butting in from the LAPD.

Now the murder board is covered with information about the Baron’s All-American Beauty Pageant and she’s having vivid memories of freshmen year at Stanford while rooming with Debbie. The boys are acting a little cagey but she’s too concerned with matching that damn black sequin to one of the dresses of the contestants to corner Ryan and get him to spill.

The phone is cradled in her shoulder as she tries to get the costume director for the pageant to tell her who was wearing black sequins the night before the murder.

“You having flashbacks?” Castle asks from his seat, head tilted to the side as he studies her grimace.

She tucks the mouthpiece against her chest, still able to hear if the costume director takes her off hold. “It was my own private Vietnam. Our place smelled of hairspray, perfume, and cigarettes.” She laughs, shaking her head as if to wave away the lingering scent. “I’m surprised we didn’t spontaneously combust one night.”

Then the costume director is back, telling her to come on down to the ballroom and she can match the sequin to the hangers of clothes from that night. She takes the evidence bag with the single black sequin off the murder board, clipping it into her leather folder of notes.

“Come on, Castle,” she says, tapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s talk to the costume lady and then we can go home.”

Castle is on his phone the entire ride down to Victor Baron’s tower. He keeps sending her quick looks that he thinks she doesn’t catch. He actually looks worried, bordering on frightened. She tries to focus on the case instead, tracking down the costume director in the back dressing rooms. He stays outside, his voice low and quiet as he talks to someone.

By the time she gets out of the room full of way too many costumes for one pageant but finding that the black sequin matches the sparkling blazer worn by Victor Baron the night before, Castle is fidgeting in the hall.

“What’s going on?” she asks, practically boxing him in against the wall, her hands coasting up his sides.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head as he ducks down to brush a kiss over her cheek. “Let’s go home.”

But then her phone rings and she shoves her folder into his hand as she digs for her phone in her pocket. “Sir?”

Next to her, she hears Castle mutter “Shit” as he keeps walking around to the other side of the car.

“We need to meet Montgomery for a few minutes,” she says, hanging up and turning the key in the ignition. “He’s got something to show us. Castle, what’s going on?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t huh me. You’ve been acting weird all afternoon. What do you know about this?”

“Nothing.”

She doesn’t believe him. He keeps twisting his hands in his lap on the drive into the outer borough, following the GPS directions on her phone to the address that Montgomery gave her. She wants to pull over to the shoulder of the highway, push him against the seat, and demand to know what has made him so damn nervous but she doesn’t. She keeps driving, both hands steady on the steering wheel.

The parking lot for the airport hangar is nearly empty as she parks in one of the spots next to Montgomery’s crossover, switching the car off. The place is silent as soon as the engine cuts out.

“You coming in with me?”

He’s already out of the car, closing the door quietly behind him. Beckett clears her gun as she strides to catch up to him, feeling tension in the air before he even has a chance to open the door to the hangar. There’s a helicopter taking up one of the spaces, the night lights setting the place in a bluish glow.

“Captain?” she calls, her heels echoing off the walls. “Sir?”

“Over here.” He’s in the shadows until he steps out to meet them halfway. His hands are held out at his sides

“What’s this about, Roy?”

“Your mother’s case,” Montgomery rasps, reaching back for the revolver that catches the light when he holds it out. “I need to wrap up loose ends.”

She feels Castle shift behind her, his arm bumping hers as if he’s prepared to jump in front of her. “What?”

“I was a rookie, Kate. McAllister and Raglan? They were heroes to me. So when they said that what we were doing, abducting mobsters for ransom, was right, I didn’t question it. I started to believe in it. That night, we were supposed to just snatch Joe Pulgatti. Bob Armen, this undercover FBI agent, wasn’t supposed to be there.” His exhale is heavy, the hand holding his revolver waving against his thigh in a way that has Beckett reaching for her own weapon. “Armen reached for my gun and that’s when I heard the shot. Didn’t even know it was my gun that went off until Armen went down. McAllister pulled me into the van, kept telling me that it was okay, that it wasn’t my fault. ‘Happens in this town every day.’ McAllister and Raglan tried to drown it but I put it all back into the job. I became the best cop I could be.

“And then when you walked into the Twelfth, Kate,” he continues, looking up at the ceiling. “I felt the hand of God and I knew he was giving me a second chance. I thought, if I could protect you the way I should have protected her, then maybe…”

She sways, dangerously close to falling to her knees under the press of knowledge. Castle’s hand is at her elbow, trying to support her until she knocks him away. “Did you kill my mother?” she whispers, sheer will making sure that her voice doesn’t crack.

“No.” His answer comes quickly, accompanied by a shake of his head. “That came years later but she died because of what we did that night.”

“And now you’re going to finish the job? Get rid of anyone who knows anything about what you’ve done?”

“No,” Montgomery insists, stepping forward. She holds her ground. “But somehow, the man who did kill her found out what we had done and he could have turned all of us in. Instead, he demanded the ransom money. He took that money to become what he is and, God forgive me, that may be my greatest sin.”

“Give me a name,” she grinds out. “You owe me that much.”

“I can’t. I give you a name and you’ll run straight at him. You don’t stand a chance against him. But I brought you here to lure them.”

This time, she does falter, letting Castle’s solid strength behind her catch her. “You baited them?”

Montgomery nods. “They’re coming,” he says, gesturing toward the set of headlights making their way down the runway of the small airport. “You need to leave, Kate. They’re coming to kill you and I’m not going to let them. I’m ending this now.”

“I’m not leaving, sir,” she says, flipping the lock off of her gun.

“Yes, you are. Castle, get her out of here.”

She spins on her heel, her mouth open. “You’re in on this?”

“Kate, just -”

“No, Castle,” she hisses, turning back to Montgomery. “Sir, you don’t have to do this.” She shrugs Castle’s hand off of her shoulder. “Sir, I forgive you, okay? I forgive you.”

“This is where I’m making my stand. I’m not leaving.”

Tears push at her eyes but she refuses to let them fall. Instead, she grabs for her captain’s hand even though he jerks away. “No, Roy. Please. You don’t have to do this.”

“Castle, get her out of here. Now!”

Before she can stop him, Castle’s arms band around her upper arms, trapping them against her sides. Her fingers dig into his thighs as he runs from the hangar even as tires squeal behind them. She’s babbling, the protests falling from her lips ignored by Castle until he gets outside of the hangar. He drops her to her feet, turning and pressing her back against the side of her vehicle.

She slumps down, all of the fight gone as he cups her cheeks, his lower half keeping her in place even as his mouth ghosts over her face. He’s breathing apologies into her tear-stained skin, quieting her with soft touches across her lips.

When the first gunshot rings out, she jerks under him, a harsh sob escaping that she muffles in the fabric of his jacket. “Castle, please… Let me go,” she begs as a second and third shot echoes. She knows her nails are scoring his neck and collarbone as she tries to force his weight off of her but can’t bring herself to care. Not now.

It is only when the last of the eight gunshots die down and silence settles over the area that Castle steps back. Her legs give out and he catches her.

“Kate, you don’t need to see -”

But she dashes away the tears as she runs back to the hangar. Her voice is thin and broken as she calls out for Montgomery, searching the fallen men for her captain. Her knees ache as she drops to them at his side, her hands hesitating before she curves over his body, her forehead pressed lightly to his. She hears the door open and shut behind her, hears the low whispers.

“Beckett, we need to secure the scene and get statements.” It’s not the man she thought she would hear. It’s Ryan who lays a hand gently on her shoulder, pulling her back.

He helps her up, giving her the tiniest of pushes toward the back of the hangar and away from the bodies. Esposito passes her, nodding tightly, his jaw set.

Castle dips his fingers into her pocket, taking the keys out before she can really react. “I’m driving,” he says simply, nudging her toward the door even as she turns to look back.

Neither of them speak on the ride back to Manhattan. She breaks off from him once he unlocks the front door of the loft, going to the liquor cabinet and taking down the bottle of whiskey and a tumbler. Her hands are steady as she pours the amber liquid. The bottle comes with her as she sits on the couch, taking a deep sip of the whiskey.

She can already feel the nightmares tugging at her. The alcohol is making her already exhausted body drop closer and closer to the darkness of unconsciousness and she just wants the image of her mentor bleeding out on the hangar floor gone. She wants to rewind, to go back and fight Castle just a little harder. To save Roy.

And that’s when her body starts to shake. Some of the whiskey sloshes over the rim of the crystal, droplets hitting the rug under the couch as Castle takes the tumbler from her.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says softly.

She lets him tug her up to her feet and she sees the flash of panic as it goes across the surface of his eyes when she stumbles against his side, the grace she carries so naturally shed back on the hangar floor with her captain. When they get into the study, the moon providing the only illumination, she shoves him up against the bookshelves.

“What’re you doi -” is all he manages before she practically climbs his body, her right leg hooking as high around his knee as possible. Her lips blaze a heated trail along his jaw, teeth biting down sharply at the day’s worth of stubble. Even then, the motion is slower than usual, her feet dragging as she pushes herself closer to him.

“I want to forget,” she whispers into the corner of his mouth. “I can’t sleep yet. I just need you.”

He’s tense, far too still against her when he turns his head. “This first and then bed?”

Her fingers are between them, trying to yank his shirt over his head. “Yes,” she pleads as his lips brush lightly over the arch of her nose. “Please.”

His hand loops under her thigh, helping her hop up so that both legs circle his waist. Her shoes drop to the floor as she rolls her body against his, her head tucked into the crook of his shoulder in an attempt to keep the tears at bay for just a little while longer.

“We do this my way then,” he bites into her neck, his fingers pushing under the hem of her shirt to squeeze at her bare back. “In bed.”

She wants to protest, to demand that he just help her right here and right now because she needs to get her mind away from the darkness lingering right there but he’s already spinning off of the bookshelves and moving into the bedroom. Her breath huffs out of her when he drops her onto the bed. Still standing, he works at the button of her dress pants, sliding them and her underwear off so that they fall onto the ground. Her fingers fumble with the zipper of his jeans, giving up and resorting to pulling his shirt over his head. As he gets his pants off, his belt buckle clatters against her badge, still clipped to the waistband of her pants on the floor.

He goes for her shirt, tangling her hands in the fabric at her wrists, pinning her hands over her head. She arches up when his free hand skims down along her side, his thumb lingering over her breast where his short nail scrapes over the nipple through the cotton of her bra. His mouth captures her whimper when he abandons her breast and continues down to tease at the sensitive skin just below her navel. Her hips jerk up, her eyes slamming shut.

His knee pushes her thigh out so that her foot falls off of the bed, toes barely touching the rug. She wants to touch him, to feel the ripple of muscle as he teases her clit. Her hands twist helplessly in her shirt when he pushes deep into her, a little roughly.

“Oh, God,” she chokes as he thrusts fast and hard until she comes on a short, sharp cry. His release follows on the heels of hers, his body heavy and hot over her as she tries to free her hands before she completely breaks down, the distractions worn out and gone.

She fails.

Her arms relax and she turns her head into his shoulder just as the sobs wrack her body.

He only murmurs acknowledgements as he unhooks her bra, sliding it down her arms and tossing it with the rest of their clothes. She hears him padding over to the bureau then he sits her up to pull on the soft t-shirt. The mattress dips as he gets in behind her, tugging the covers up and over them.

She buries her head into the crook of his neck, her mouth open at his collarbone as she forces the tears to stop. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she admits finally as his fingers trace patterns over her back.

“One day at a time,” he tells her, his voice as rough as hers, touching a soft kiss to the corner of her eye. “Sleep now.”

She doesn’t sleep.

Neither does he.