R.I.P Lee Thompson Young (1984-2013)
You will be missed.

(via cosimascormiers)


"I really loved how he made me laugh." Goodbye Barry Frost.

(via coffeeintheirveins)



Stana: I think every woman has a bit of it all, truly. I think every woman is a little spicy and a little sweet.

Stana: I think every woman has a bit of it all, truly. I think every woman is a little spicy and a little sweet.

(via ijustwantcastle)


wickedlycaskett:

beckett-always-castle:

random-ship:

In words
By E

OMG…This is going to  my next wallpaper!! AWESOME!! :)

Martha and Alexis are worried about her. She can hear them, sometimes, through the door. 
They’ve all had a hellish couple of days to say the least. A father, a son, a fiance, they all lost one of the ones they held most dear. But it seems her form of grief has them worried. Guess they would be- they don’t know her in grief. You see, her and grief are old buddies. Old buddies who still drink together sometimes. And get wasted together. And get angry at themselves for getting as drunk as they did in college with the other, and angry at the other for encouraging them to get so drunk again.
She might not be literally hungover- they made sure to get rid of all alcohol in the place (her father helped clear it out. He knew better than anyone), but she felt as emotionally drained and as remorseful as if she was. But this wasn’t just one day. This was lots of days. This was day after day of crying, of holing herself up, of crying some more. Of curling up in his too-big clothes and grasping at the last traces of his scent. Of never leaving the room, not really. Of trying to count the winds as they whistle through the too-empty loft instead of the days since. Of anger, of wishing for something that could never be, of numbing sadness, of crippling melancholy. Of sadness that now had her holding Heat Wave in her trembling hands and getting hit by wave after wave of memories, the page stained with her too-frequent tears. 
It was the dedication, really, that did her in. She had picked up the book just fine. She had opened it just fine. But barely a page in and there were all the tears. 
"To the extraordinary KB and all my friends at the 12th."
She’s just assaulted by images. She remembers her initial rage over the cover art- the same day he’d gotten her a coffee for the first time. She’d been amazed that he knew her order, and furious about the cover. They were such babies then. Before the bombs, before the tigers, before the Hudson Rivers and the traitors, the corrupt and the crazy. Hadn’t been through anything but yet he’d already saved her life once. He’d saved her from the beginning though really, his words at least. They’d been what got her through her mom’s murder. In books, murders made sense. Murders had answers. And though she had closure now for her mom’s case maybe… maybe she could still be saved by his words. That had been her reasoning. 
She remembers that first book party. That time she thought it’d all be over, that this man she was warming up to was going to leave. She’d worn that blue dress that she definitely had not spent hours looking for because she wanted to impress someone. Who was definitely not that someone. No. 
Hell, it had been. What use pretending now? 
And she remembers how much she had been shocked and awed that that man had written that as his dedication, and that he thought her extraordinary. Those words. His words. How many words he had used since, how many words they should’ve yet been able to share. The words she had prepared for that day. The words written, the words said. The words whispered, the words argued. So many words. But it was words that had saved her.
And she reads on and on, drawn back into Nikki’s world, perhaps they’ll save her again. She still cries, don’t get her wrong. The ink smudges in some places due to the excess of tears. 
Nothing will replace him. But perhaps his words can save her. 

wickedlycaskett:

beckett-always-castle:

random-ship:

In words

By E

OMG…This is going to  my next wallpaper!! AWESOME!! :)

Martha and Alexis are worried about her. She can hear them, sometimes, through the door. 

They’ve all had a hellish couple of days to say the least. A father, a son, a fiance, they all lost one of the ones they held most dear. But it seems her form of grief has them worried. Guess they would be- they don’t know her in grief. You see, her and grief are old buddies. Old buddies who still drink together sometimes. And get wasted together. And get angry at themselves for getting as drunk as they did in college with the other, and angry at the other for encouraging them to get so drunk again.

She might not be literally hungover- they made sure to get rid of all alcohol in the place (her father helped clear it out. He knew better than anyone), but she felt as emotionally drained and as remorseful as if she was. But this wasn’t just one day. This was lots of days. This was day after day of crying, of holing herself up, of crying some more. Of curling up in his too-big clothes and grasping at the last traces of his scent. Of never leaving the room, not really. Of trying to count the winds as they whistle through the too-empty loft instead of the days since. Of anger, of wishing for something that could never be, of numbing sadness, of crippling melancholy. Of sadness that now had her holding Heat Wave in her trembling hands and getting hit by wave after wave of memories, the page stained with her too-frequent tears. 

It was the dedication, really, that did her in. She had picked up the book just fine. She had opened it just fine. But barely a page in and there were all the tears. 

"To the extraordinary KB and all my friends at the 12th."

She’s just assaulted by images. She remembers her initial rage over the cover art- the same day he’d gotten her a coffee for the first time. She’d been amazed that he knew her order, and furious about the cover. They were such babies then. Before the bombs, before the tigers, before the Hudson Rivers and the traitors, the corrupt and the crazy. Hadn’t been through anything but yet he’d already saved her life once. He’d saved her from the beginning though really, his words at least. They’d been what got her through her mom’s murder. In books, murders made sense. Murders had answers. And though she had closure now for her mom’s case maybe… maybe she could still be saved by his words. That had been her reasoning. 

She remembers that first book party. That time she thought it’d all be over, that this man she was warming up to was going to leave. She’d worn that blue dress that she definitely had not spent hours looking for because she wanted to impress someone. Who was definitely not that someone. No. 

Hell, it had been. What use pretending now? 

And she remembers how much she had been shocked and awed that that man had written that as his dedication, and that he thought her extraordinary. Those words. His words. How many words he had used since, how many words they should’ve yet been able to share. The words she had prepared for that day. The words written, the words said. The words whispered, the words argued. So many words. But it was words that had saved her.

And she reads on and on, drawn back into Nikki’s world, perhaps they’ll save her again. She still cries, don’t get her wrong. The ink smudges in some places due to the excess of tears. 

Nothing will replace him. But perhaps his words can save her. 

(via alwayslove47)


Where do you think he is? I don’t know.

When I spoke to him last, he said he was twenty minutes away.

(via katherinbecketts)




cassidyswan:

It was supposed to be our perfect day, and now it’s just… falling apart.

(via babycastle09)


Martha: I believe you are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen.

(via babycastle09)