Remember when the Calculator made Barbara dream to get into her head and discover all Oracle’s secret and in her perfect dream she’s with Dick and they call each other honey and they’re literally mom and dad with proud Grandpa!Jim and Tim and Damian being adorable to the side?
Also her subconscious is hilarious.
- I don’t think [Bruce] is gonna make it.
- Have a little faith, huh?
aka Red Robin: a summary
Damian pls, no birds pun while we eat the turkey.
(I’m just gonna ignore that neither are you because I’m trying not to cry here)
Jim and Damian are about to start a food fight, don’t even try convince me otherwise.
“Now, you’re sure you don’t
mind staying with her tonight?” Kate asks for probably the eighth time
since opening the door just a few minutes earlier.
Alexis grins, nodding again. She
sets her bag on the table behind the couch, but thinks better of leaving it
within reach of curious hands and moves it to the breakfast bar. Her baby
sister is too inquisitive for her own good; it’s best to remove things from
“I’m sure, Kate. You and Dad
haven’t been out without Lily in forever. You need to leave the house for
something other than work and doctor’s appointments.”
Kate Beckett huffs, but doesn’t
refute her claims. Everybody knows they’ve been sticking close to home, and
everyone knows why, but they still deserve a night to let their worries go and
“So,” Alexis continues,
“you’re going to go and have fun that doesn’t involve blocks, plastic
playsets, or cartoon singalongs, and Lily and I will see you in the
“Fine, fine. Try to make sure
we’re not imposing and you mock me. See if I’m considerate of your schedule
next time,” she grumbles, tongue in her cheek. “And we go out plenty,
“Sure you do,” Alexis
says, looking around the room. “Where is Lily anyway? And Dad?”
Kate’s eyes lift toward the
ceiling. “The dynamic duo is working on getting hardened chunks of
homemade playdough out of your sister’s hair.”
“Oh yes,” Beckett drawls.
“Turns out that, while it is safe and natural, the stuff also effectively
becomes plaster if you tweak the mixture enough. And tweak the mixture your
father and sister did. And then your sister decided to slather it over her
head. They’ve been up there a while.”
Thankfully, Kate doesn’t seem
bothered by her laughter.
“Why don’t I go help
them?” Alexis suggests. “That way maybe Dad can come down and get
ready, and you guys can get out of here sooner.”
Kate chuckles. “Thanks,
She grins over her shoulder, making
her way upstairs. Her father’s low voice guides her down the hall toward the
bathroom, and her giggling sister’s splashes are enough to tell her they’re
still working on cleaning up.
You realize that racism still exists, right? The history of black people have been erased and degraded for centuries it directly impacts the world black people live in today. Black Grandmas and Grandpas can still remember Jim Crow laws and being affected every single day by skin color. Seeing your grandpa cower in the presence of a white man because of the way he was treated, you don't think that doesn't make their black children angry? That anger can be irrational but be more sympathetic.
Yes I realize racism still exists. Yes you have every right to be angry about it. No that’s not a reason to spout racism towards white people. There’s a difference between the idea of “white people have done bad things to black people because they’re black and we need to change society so that this doesn’t keep happening,” and “White people are all racists and they should feel bad for even existing as a white person, and even by existing they are automatically racist.”
Remember, making blanket judgments about a group of people because of their skin color is racism, regardless of the race of the speaker or target. That’s what the word racism means. Not all racism is institutional.
I’m not going to unleash a righteous fury upon a black person for being mad at white people because of what white people have done historically, because white people HAVE historically done bad things to black people. But if they’re being racist, I’m going to call them out on it. I’m pretty sure we’ve all decided racism is bad.
@mkjerez: Could you write a casket fic with this picture from Stana’s IG??? ❤️❤️❤️
Castle follows the glow of light that had coaxed him awake into the office, scrubbing the sleep from his eyes and squinting past the shine of the lamp to see his wife at her desk across the room.
“Kate?” he murmurs, shuffling closer and taking notice of the lack of files that usually accumulate in neat stacks across the surface of her desk. In their place, an assortment of paint colors and a handful of different sized paintbrushes consume her workplace. “Sweetheart, what’re you doing?”
Kate quirks one of her eyebrows upwards, amusement simmering in her gaze as she meets his. “We promised to contribute an art piece for Jack’s fundraiser tomorrow, remember?”
He slaps his palm to his forehead. “I’m a horrible parent.”
“No, we both are,” she chuckles, continuing to stroke her slim brush along the right side of the canvas, still mostly blank. “Or else, we would have done this last week.”
“Did Alexis already-”
“Yep,” Kate sighs, dipping the bristles into a cup of mustard colored paint. “She sent me a picture of hers while I was at work. Sean did one too.”
He groans, but bites back his grumbling about Alexis’s perfect boyfriend, who their son happened to adore. Stupid Sean.
“What about the boys, Lanie?” he asks instead, pathetically hopeful that he and his wife had not been the only ones to forget their artistic responsibilities for their son’s latest attempt at giving back taking place in the morning. But judging by the wry look he earns from his wife… “Dammit.”
“Just help me finish mine and we’ll call it a collaboration,” Kate placates him, rising from her chair to snag his from behind his desk and tugging it towards her work station.
“Is that even allowed?” Castle huffs, stumbling after her. It’s nearly one in the morning and Kate’s painting is nearly complete.
“All Jack asked everyone to do was submit a painting to auction off tomorrow, it’ll be fine,” Kate assures him, but the frown fails to fall from his lips.
While he had slept, his wife had returned home from her high stress job with a mission in mind, rummaged through Jack’s arts and crafts stash upstairs, and dedicated time he knows she should have spent catching up on sleep painting what appeared to be a quirky round face with a slash of a smile, animated eyes, and slightly bushy brows.
His wife made quite the adorable artist, and he made quite the terrible parent.
“Stop beating yourself up, Rick. Promotion for the new book has hardly left you with enough time to think straight,” she reasons, holding out a fresh brush to him.
“Yeah, but you still managed to-”
“Castle. You picked up our son from school today,” she murmurs, staring up at him in the soft light of the study with something gentle and proud shimmering in her eyes. Something he hardly feels worthy of in that moment. “You brought him to the Twelfth to have dinner with me during my break because you knew I had to work late and wouldn’t get to make it home for bedtime tonight. You’re a wonderful father. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Castle’s heart swells with gratitude, with affection and her proffered reassurances, and he cups his wife’s cheek in his palm before she can sit back down, leans in to smear a kiss to the grin of her mouth.
“We’re a good team,” he mumbles, his lips quirking with the lovely sound of her laughter.
“Always have been. Now, help me finish painting this guy,” she says, scooting her chair over to make room and handing Castle a cup of black paint.
“Jack’s going to love this,” he chuckles after Kate has shared her vision for how to continue the rounded white face smiling up at him while she completes the last of the yellow background.
“I wanted to do something that was kind of his style.”
“Should’ve painted Spiderman,” he muses.
“Uncle Espo already did,” Kate grumbles, her lips curling while he muffles his laughter and dips his brush in the paint.
Their painting is done within half an hour, just in time.
“Jack,” Kate chastises softly, her eyes narrowing on the seven year old standing in the doorway, a stuffed dinosaur, a well-loved gift from Grandpa Jim, hanging from the crook of his elbow. “What are you doing awake, bud?”
“I woke up and thought it was morning,” Jack yawns, rubbing at one of his eyes. “Are you guys down here doing arts and crafts without me?”
“Are you kidding?” Castle scoffs, standing from his chair to bend to his knees in front of their son. “We’d never do that without you. We were just getting our painting ready for tomorrow.”
“Really?” Jack whispers, craning his neck over Castle’s shoulder in hopes of catching a glimpse of the canvas on the desk. “Can I see?’
“No way, it’s going to be a surprise just like everyone else’s,” Kate reminds him, joining Castle to run her fingers through the thick locks of Jack’s hair, failing to tame the unruly bed head. “But I think you’re going to like it.”
“I can’t wait!” Jack exclaims, already tugging on his father’s hand, reaching for Kate’s as well and dragging them out of the office. “Can you guys tuck me in again so I can go back to sleep?”
Kate chuckles and snags Jack’s fallen prehistoric companion from the floor. “Lead the way.”
They return their son to his bed and Rick watches his wife linger a little, making up for lost time and pressing a kiss to Jack’s forehead.
“You’re a wonderful mother too, you know,” Castle murmurs once they’re back in their bedroom and Kate is slipping out of the sweatshirt she must have stolen from his side of the closet to paint in, replacing it with a tank top as she climbs into her side of the bed.
“And we’ve got a wonderful kid who wants to spend his Saturday partaking in a fundraiser for a children’s hospital,” Kate adds on a soft sigh. “Pretty wonderful all around.”
“Sickeningly wonderful,” Castle confirms with a nod, pressing his smile to the top of Kate’s head when she lays her head to his chest, hums with laughter against his throat. It isn’t always like this, their life, their family; it isn’t always this easy, can’t be. But when it is, it’s… too good for words to describe.
The next morning, when his and Kate’s painting is unveiled at the auction and Jack cheers with pride, he can’t help being the highest bidder.
ournorthstars: I don’t know if your accepting prompts right now but if you are, could you write something based off of this picture? Maybe Castle took their daughter to buy flowers for Kate for some reason…(bonus points if he did her hair :)) thank you!!
The sky is growing dark outside, the light grey shifting to a smokey charcoal, but Emily is bubbling with anticipation from between his knees, swaying back and forth, so anxious to go already.
“Hold still, bug,” Castle murmurs, gathering the last strand of hair into the french braid and securing the ponytail on the left side of her head with a hairband that had transferred from Kate’s wrist to his a couple of months ago.
“Daddy,” Emily groans, knotting her fingers together. “We’re going to be late.”
“We are not,” he scoffs, patting the top of her head, admiring the perfectly symmetrical french braids that he thinks Kate would be proud of. “Mommy doesn’t mind waiting for us.”
Emily springs up from her seat on the floor once Castle is finished with her hair and races to the front door to slip into her silver sandals that Alexis had bought her last month for her younger sister’s sixth birthday.
Castle rises from the edge of the sofa, wincing at the pop of his knees, his joints tired and protesting. He’s never had good knees, especially not since the skiing incident nearly nine years ago, but his age is starting to catch up with him these days, evidence in the form of achy bones and stiff muscles accumulating with the grey hairs.
Kate would tell him it’s sexy, that the silver fox look he’s growing into suits him, that he functions amazingly well for a man in his fifties.
“Daddy, c’mon! I want to pick the prettiest flowers for Mommy,” Emily prompts, squealing when he strides forward and scoops her into his arm, ensuring he has his keys, his phone, and his wallet before unlocking the door and exiting the loft with Emily propped against his chest.
His youngest daughter doesn’t often liked to be carried, too independent for the coddling, much like her mother, but Emily is growing up so fast, maturing with each passing day. The option of carrying her won’t be probable for much longer.
“Sad, Daddy?” Emily asks as they walk down the hall to the elevator.
“Not at all, honey,” he lies, craning his neck to smack a kiss to her cheek. “Just a little tired. I should have taken a nap with you today.”
“I hate naps,” Emily scowls, hooking an arm around his neck and dropping her head to rest against his temple when the elevator doors slide shut.
“I know, but now you have lots of energy for Mommy,” he reminds her, leaning forward to allow Emily to press the button for the lobby.
“Is Grandpa Jim coming too?” Emily inquires, squirming in the cradle of his arm once the lift has descended the five floors down to the lobby and the doors are parting for them.
Castle bends to allow their daughter her freedom, keeping up behind her as she trots towards the exit.
“Not today. He went to the cabin for the week, remember?”
Emily shoots her small hand out for Castle’s once they’re on the sidewalk, curling her fingers around his as they start down Broome street.
“Can we go to the cabin again this summer? I want to swim in the lake again.”
“Sure,” Rick smiles, chuckling when a skip of joy accompanies Emily’s next step.
“Yay! Mommy will love that,” she states with relish, hastening her pace at the sight of their favorite flower stand.
“Go ahead,” Castle grins once they’re standing before the vendor and a multitude of beautiful bouquets on display, allowing Emily to step up the table while he remains at her back.
The florist recognizes them, his most loyal customers, and offers Emily a wave that she returns with her brightest smile. Picking out flowers for Kate has become one of Emily’s favorite activities, always so excited to surprise her mother with a new arrangement of roses or daisies. Today his daughter points to a powdery pink bouquet of tulips that the smiling young florist passes down to her without a moment of hesitation.
Castle pays the man and murmurs his thanks after Emily expresses her gratitude in a soft sigh of joy, cradling the flowers in her arms as if they’re something precious, priceless.
It breaks his heart.
The nurses all greet them with the same sympathetic smiles, nodding to him with pity but forcing smiles for Emily as they walk down the hall to Kate’s room together. He hates it. Hates that they all pity him and his daughter. He doesn’t want their sympathy, doesn’t need it.
They may have all lost hope, but Emily hasn’t and neither has he. There’s still a chance, still that one in ten chance that she could still-
“Aunt Lanie!” Emily shrieks in delight when Castle eases Kate’s hospital room door open, rushing across the room to embrace Lanie in a one armed hug, the flowers secured in the other. “Look at the new bouquet we got for Mommy today.”
“Oh look at those,” Lanie cooes, rising from her seat near Kate’s hospital bed, placing the magazine she had been reading off to the side to peer at the tulips. “Almost as pretty as you, sweetpea.”
Emily beams at the compliment and turns her attention towards Kate, but Lanie glances up over his daughter’s head, meets his hopeful gaze with an apologetic shake of her head.
“Daddy, will you help me?”
Castle squeezes Lanie’s arm as he passes and lifts Emily from the floor so she can replace the oldest bouquet of flowers in one of the multiple vases decorating Kate’s room with her newest addition.
“They look beautiful,” Lanie comments while Castle removes the last of the paper wrapping and allows Emily to neatly arrange the flowers, ensuring they won’t tip over the vase.
“Almost as pretty as you, Mommy,” Emily steals Lanie’s words with a grin, glancing towards her sleeping mother.
Castle sits Emily down on the side of the hospital bed near Kate’s hip, watches his daughter encompass Kate’s hand between both of her tiny palms.
“Hi Mommy, I hope you wake up today.”
Lanie bites her lip, but Castle shoots her a warning glare. They’ve all had plenty of time to cry over the last six weeks, but not in front of Emily. Not in front of the little girl who is still hoping for her mother to awaken from a coma.
“Hey sweetpea,” Lanie calls, stepping past Castle to take a seat beside Emily. “I’ve been here a couple of hours and haven’t had anything to eat. Did you want to run to the cafeteria with me?”
“Sure!” Emily chirps. “Can we get one of those strawberry smoothies too?”
“Of course,” Lanie grins, extending her hand for his daughter, but Emily turns at the last second to lean forward and peck a kiss to Kate’s cheek.
“Be right back, Momma.”
Emily accepts Lanie’s hand and hops down from the hospital bed, leaving Castle alone with the same promise. The door snicks shut behind them and Rick releases a deep breath, drifts forward to occupy the place Emily had claimed near Kate’s hip, savoring the warmth of his wife’s body heat as he shifts in close, close enough to brush the limp strand of hair from her face, to caress the pale skin of her cheek and skim his thumb over the chapped flesh of her lips.
“Kate,” he breathes, his voice already cracking with it. He could never keep it together, could never handle seeing her like this, so unresponsive, all while knowing her chances of waking ever again were practically nonexistent. But it’s only been six weeks, almost seven, forty-seven days, to be exact. And he won’t give up on her. Not yet. “I know I say it every day, and if you can hear me, you’re probably sick of hearing it, but it’s not - I can’t do this without you. I can’t - I need my partner.”
On the days he comes to visit his wife alone, he’ll tentatively crawl into the cramped bed alongside her, careful not to disturb any of the wiring or machines hooked up to her lifeless body, but needing the press of her shoulder against his, the weight of her against his chest when he’s allowed to maneuver her to rest in his embrace. The nurses don’t mind him anymore. They had hated him in the early days, exasperated with his persistence to remain past visiting hours and his audacity to hunker down in the hospital bed next to Kate.
Now, they just felt sorry for him and fail to reprimand him when he breaks a rule.
He wants to lie by her side today, but he can’t. Not with Emily here and needing her father to wear a brave face, not with Lanie lingering in the halls with eyes that had lost any expectation long ago. They had a system - Lanie, Jim, Emily and Rick - a schedule, and someone always had to be here for her, to ensure she never woke alone.
If she ever woke at all.
Rick settles for leaning forward, pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead, and remaining there for a few long seconds.
“I love you,” he whispers into her skin, skin that still smells of her and of home beneath the medications and disinfectants that fill the air. Something twitches near his thigh, where her hand rests, but he’s hoped for so long now for signs of recovery, of wakefulness. He’s imagined the flickers of life in her fingertips before, swore he caught a swivel of movement beneath her eyelids, but that’s all it’s ever been. Hope and desperation, so he chalks the imagined touch up to his overactive mind, doesn’t even glance towards her limp fingers. “Please come back to me. To Emily. We need you, Kate.”
He closes his eyes, curses himself for allowing a tear to escape and freefall onto her cheek. Lanie will be back with Emily at any minute and he can’t just let himself lose it-
The twitch at his thigh, stronger now, insistent. The flutter of lashes at his cheek, where hers could reach if she were to open her-
Rick jerks backwards, finds her eyes open and hazy and staring up at him.
“Kate,” he whispers, chokes on her name, and her fingers clutch at his pant leg. “Oh Kate, please stay.”
He doesn’t hear the door swing open, hardly catches the scamper of small feet sprinting across the room to crawl onto the opposite side of the bed, almost misses the gasp of Mommy’s awake and Lanie’s shout about getting a doctor.
Her lashes flutter, her eyes trailing slowly around the room, but there’s fight in the dimmed hazel of her irises, golden flickers of awareness bleeding through.
“Opening - flower shop?” she gets out, her breath nothing more than a whisper, gravelly and rough and the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.
Castle chokes on the broken, watery excuse for a laugh caught in his throat and cups the side of her face in his palm, traces his thumb over the seam of her lips when she attempts a smile.
Kate scratches her thumbnail at his thigh, where her fingers still tremble to hold onto him, in return. Her other hand flickers to life beside their daughter, the tips of her fingers graze Emily’s hand, the closest thing she can reach.
“I knew Mommy would love all the flowers!” Emily exclaims, curling all five of her tiny fingers around the single digit of Kate’s still brushing over Emily’s knuckles. “If you stay awake, we’ll buy you even more. We’ll decorate the entire loft in all the flowers you want, Mom.”
His wife’s eyes fill with tears, the liquid salt that has likely become foreign after so long in drought probably searing her corneas as she squeezes her eyes shut for a brief moment.
“Don’t cry, Mommy. It’s okay. Daddy and I are good flower pickers, we’ll get the best ones I promise-”
“Mommy’s not crying because she’s upset,” Castle assures her, tearing his eyes away from Kate to give Emily a soft smile, one he hopes doesn’t quiver in time with his heart. “I think she’s just happy. So happy to be awake and to get to come home to lots of flowers someday.”
“Soon,” Kate rasps, blinking up at him with so much need in her eyes, so many apologies he doesn’t want and a lifetime of love he yearns to reclaim.
Kate’s neurologist is charging through the door, but Emily refuses to move, draping herself over Kate’s waist, hugging her mother. And despite the fact Castle has to help her lift her arm, for the first time in nearly two months, Kate is able to hug her daughter back.
“Staying,” she gets out before he can make way for the swarm of medical professionals entering her room, her fingers sweeping clumsily over the braids of Emily’s hair. “Staying with you. Emily.” Her eyes drift towards the fresh tulips on her bedside table and that struggling smile returns to grace her lips. “In the flowers.”
Peter Parker’s Uncle Ben was a firefighter. He liked to say “with great power, comes great responsibility” because it was something he learned from old Grandpa Jim’s war stories. Grandpa Jim had served with a super soldier who had never lost sight of the fact that he joined the war not to kill Nazis but to fight against bullies and never forgot that he was just a kid from Brooklyn.
So Uncle Ben passed on those Captain America stories to his nephew Peter and when Pete was just a little kid, his favorite game with his uncle was “the great quest to find Captain America." To Peter, Uncle Ben was his hero and if anyone had a chance to find the Captain, it would be the two of them.
There will always be a part of him that will carry a torch for Melinda May, even though things didn’t work out for the two of them.
Prior to his own heroic death, Uncle Ben had already made contact with Steve Rogers and there had been plans for a meet up with him, Sgt. Barnes and the other Howling Commando legacies that Ben Parker considers part of his extended family.
What it’s like when a new family enters the system and you and your supervisor try to get everyone’s names straight:
“Jim Bob is the grandpa?”
“No, Jim Bob is bio mom’s boyfriend. Joe Bob is the Grandpa who is not appropriate for placement and Bobby Joe is the uncle that we want approval to place with.”
“Well then who’s John Boy?”
“That’s a guy from a 1970s TV show called the Waltons.”