PSA: because I keep seeing that shitty manipulated photo of Emma Watson on my dash. THAT PHOTO WAS PHOTOSHOPPED. The original photo (with another from the same shoot, is from 2011 with Mariano Vivanco) are pictured above. Please don’t perpetuate this error.
Deliberately spreading an altered image of Emma Watson which purports to show her breasts as a statement against threats of nude photo leaks is the height of hypocrisy and whoever did it should be ashamed. (x)
♫ “Don’t you know that I need somebody, need somebody like you.” ♫
Pot and pans.
Evolution at its finest.
"Don’t you know that I need somebody, need somebody like you?"
What have I done…
"But how hot is he?” Lanie’s voice questions in her ear. “Like, the average pretty boy kind of hot? Or the spend the entire night with him handcuffed to your bed hot?”
Kate blushes, forcing her head down so her hair will hide her cheeks, because it should not be so easy for her mind to conjure up images of this good looking stranger handcuffed to her bedposts.
"Probably the latter," she admits, wincing at her new friend’s high pitched squeal. "I don’t know, he’s got this rugged look about him, but he’s still handsome."
"You are horrible with descriptions," Lanie complains over the clinking of medical tools Kate can hear over their conversation. Lanie’s shift usually ends earlier, but the new case they’re working has Lanie working overtime while Kate was sent home by five - Montgomery’s orders - after staying late for the entire week. "Take a picture."
"No," Kate hisses, lowering her voice to a whisper when the woman sitting next to her gives her a strange look.
"Beckett, you can’t just gush about some hot guy on the subway and then refuse to share the view."
#the way he pulls her hair away #the way she’s looking at him #the way he’s looking at her #the way he slowed down a bit #to look at her#because even if he doesn’t remember #he knows he missed her #he missed her body #her smell #her #he missed her #and the look on her face #after those two months #it was even harder for her #I am in pain #lmao #crime show my ass #fuck you #and your perfect love #I hate you both #leave me alone (x)
Several weeks ago I got a little behind-the-scenes scoop on this episode from my lunch buddy. Her daughter teaches school here in LA, and one of the little boys in her class is an actor. While she was meeting with his parents, the mother mentioned that her son had just finished working on an…
'She hadn't meant to hear. And she most definitely hadn't meant to feel her stomach flip, with something like elation, something like hope, and something too much like relief.' Post 3x12, Poof! You’re Dead. For Laura. COMPLETE.
That one hit close to home.
The door clicks shut and his head falls to his hands. Groaning, he threads his fingers through his hair and pulls. He’s never had to deal with anything so aggravating as the way that they seem to hang over the ledge, ready to jump together, before one of them bails. Again. For the umpteenth time. It’s so predictable and so madding that he actually wants to pull his hair out.
He stalks up to her door, ready to knock and finally be the one to jump, but chickens out. He stalks in a circle around the room instead. Once, twice, three times, before ending up in front of her door again. This time he raises his hand, tightens his muscles into a taught fist and promptly chickens out again.
So he does five more rotations around the room, which really isn’t big enough to make him feel better. He contemplates taking a walk, but he should probably give her some kind of notice if he’s going to just take off like that, and that would require knocking on her door. So that’s out.
Sometime around the eighth rotation he ends up back in front of her door again. Third time’s the charm? Nope. He can’t do it. Can’t bring himself to start this when she is probably just going to say no anyway. She isn’t even his to have. She has Josh.
Stupid freaking Josh. What is it with women and doctors anyway? Am I missing something? It’s not like they even make more money than me.
He groans in his head and with a roll of his eyes, drops his head forward dramatically.
And smacks his forehead on her door.
He hears her answer from within the room, so before he can stop himself, he swings the door open wide.
The first thing that registers in his mind is the high pitched “Castle!”
His head swings around at the sound of her voice and his eyes bulge as he realizes that he’s staring right at a half-naked Katherine Beckett, who’s caught in the middle of the room and clutching a t-shirt to her chest while wearing nothing but a very small pair of dark green green boyshort panties.
"Castle," she hisses when he doesn’t move.
"Sorry!" he answers. Having broken from the spell, he slaps a hand over his wandering eyes and raises the other arm in surrender.
"What are you doing?" she asks incredulously.
"You said come in!"
"No, I said don’t come in. Emphasis on the don’t.”
"Didn’t here the ‘don’t’, did you?"
"No." His voice punctures the air with a whine, and she can tell that he’s probably thinking that he’s about to get slapped. He really does sound sorry.
She lets the silence hang, and he can hear the rustle of fabric.
"You can put your hand down now."
Her voice has quieted and lowered nearly an octave and he takes that as a good sign as he lowers his hand to his side.
"Yeah. I know?"
She’s dressed in one of the hotel’s fluffy robes, and he’s trying really hard not to let his imagination picture what’s under them. But he got a massive side boob peek before he put his hand to his eyes, and it’s officially burned into his brain forever.
"So…" she starts, "What did you want?"
"You knocked." She looks at him expectantly.
"Um," he starts. And then he chickens out again. "Well, that was actually kind of an accident."
Does she look disappointed? No, that can’t be right.
Silences make him nervous, so naturally he starts blabbing again.
"Well, I mean, I was going to knock and all, but I didn’t want to bother you, but then.."
"Then I knocked my head on the door on accident," he finishes sheepishly, staring at the floor.
He looks up in surprise at the sound of the noise, and her smile makes his heart melt. It’s as if they’re right back on that couch, nearing the point of no return once more.
"You’re forgiven," she adds with a nod, and her eyes bore holes into his.
He’s back to aggravated again. She can’t just look at him like that and expect him not to do anything about it. Expect him not to remove the 3 yards between them and kiss that beautiful tired smile.
He shakes his head and waves a hand to indicate that it doesn’t matter. She’s got enough on her plate, she doesn’t need to deal with him too.
But what he doesn’t know is that she wanted him to come after her tonight. She wanted him to knock, and to come in, but she had figured that after waiting for him for five minutes, that he was never going to come. And so she had begun to undress for bed. So she pushes, hoping that he’ll cave first, so that she can fall after him. Into him.
"I just," he begins, "I meant all that stuff I said, you know?"
She nods seriously, smile gone, but heart warmed.
"But Kate, I just," he pauses and she leans in.
He’s drawing this out painfully, she thinks.
But he doesn’t really know what he wants to say. His brain goes blank, and the several glasses of wine kick in suddenly and before he knows it, “Why are you with Josh?”
They both cringe. He from his idiocy and her because that was the very last thing she was expecting.
He backtracks. “I didn’t mean- I’m so sor-“
"I’m not with Josh."
She doesn’t wait for an answer, but continues, “We’re off. Again.”
It’s short and simple but he really couldn’t care less about the guy. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true.
I hope she dumped him on his pretty little leather-covered ass.
He startles with a grunt, having zoned out and left her hanging. When he meets her eyes again, there’s a certain honesty swirling there and he knows that it’s time to jump. Him first.
"I’m not sorry. And not just because I never liked him."
There’s a sort of acceptance in the air. She nods but doesn’t argue with him, and he knows that he’s been granted the permission to continue.
The hesitance leaves him now, and his hand reaches up, his fingertips just broaching into her curls, and his palm cupping her cheek as blood rushes to pinken the tissue. When she traps her lip between her teeth and her forehead tenses, he brushes a soothing thumb over her lips.
Her worry quiets with a breathy little exhale that moves over his hand and sends a shiver down his arm. There is a sudden weight of her face in his palm, and her eyes flutter closed with another exhale, deeper this time. When her eyelashes reveal to him her determined stare, he knows this is it.
Leaning in, they both surrender to the fall.