#STARTER. ( frank castle. )

[witchofthemidlands]

need a ten minute montage of frank returning & decimating every corrupt cop in nyc then beating fisk with their remains <3

[sah1x1s-archived]

[anunkindncss]

💥 PERMANENT STARTER CALL ☠️

for Frank Castle (Jon Bernthal / Marvel / Active) A study in: unfinished war, blood-stained loyalty, and the silence after the last shot is fired.

By liking or commenting on this post, you’re giving me permission to:

➤ Tag you in starters — bullet-riddled safehouses, late-night stakeouts, parking lot confessions, or the kind of silences that speak louder than words ➤ Send headcanons, war stories, quiet check-ins, and the kind of messages people only send when they’ve got no one else left to trust ➤ Build dynamics like: reluctant allies turned unshakable bonds, “you shouldn’t be here” tension, or that rare kind of loyalty that gets you killed ➤ Tag you in things that feel like Frank: cracked knuckles, dog tags buried in drawers, whiskey-fueled memories, and news clippings no one wants to talk about ➤ Explore themes of justice, vengeance, survivor’s guilt, and what happens to a man who was never built to live in peacetime ➤ Develop ships (romantic, platonic, complicated) rooted in protection, shared scars, quiet meals in empty kitchens, and the wordless understanding of what it means to lose everything ➤ Let our muses find each other in alleyways, bars, motel rooms, or any place a good man wouldn't be caught dead—but Frank always is

Frank Castle doesn’t believe in redemption. But he will fight like hell to make sure no one else has to lose what he did—even if it costs him the last pieces of himself.

If your muse needs someone who doesn't flinch, doesn't run, and doesn't ever stop— The Punisher’s already locked and loaded.

[fracturedlegacies]

( open to anyone )

"You really shouldn't be here right now." His voice was gruff (strained).

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

starter call! like this for a starter from Matt or Frank! the starters will be centered around episodes 9. they will contain spoilers. comment who you would like the starter from. multi’s please comment with your muse.

capping at 2 per muse

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

Kate is such an interesting foil to antiheroes and conflicted superheroes.

Because here's the thing. Kate is Good. She is a Good Hero. She Does Good Things. She does not do Evil Things. The general perception of her is good. Dependable. Reliable. Level-headed. Welcoming. And she is all of those things!

She wholeheartedly loves being a superhero. She doesn't worry about the morality of it, or grapple with the power that gives her, or the weight of that responsibility (usually). She just goes out and does it.

But she also canonically shoots people in the fucking throat, and unless she's hitting the ONE bone in front of your throat, that's not going to end well for you. She's effectively set fire to a mansion. She used a grenade launcher to take down part of NYC's power grid. She stabbed Wade Wilson in the chest for scaring her!!!

This woman is fucking insane.

Like. If you remove one moral block from the jenga tower of Kate's psyche, the whole thing falls. And honestly, that brick is just the Young Avengers. Best case scenario with no YA, she becomes a vapid heiress. Worst case scenario she decides she's fuckin done with the cops and becomes a very violent vigilante.

And I don't think that's a stretch because I think that's already in her! She could easily become a brooding angsty vigilante. She's physically and mentally capable of doing vast amounts of harm to others (physical and mental harm)

I think that's why I love the dynamic of her and Wade. Wade sees that about her. That she not only can do great violence but that she a. Chooses not to and b. Needs an outlet for it

And she's not scared of that part of her. I don't know how much she consciously realizes that part of her exists? But if she does I don't think she even thinks it's something to be controlled or fought. It's just a part of her that's not Nice and pretty rich girls should, above all else, be Nice.

(Kate Bishop is not nice. She's good. There's a difference.)

Maybe it's pragmatism. She sees what needs to be done and does it. It's either never acting on impulse or acting on impulse all the time. And just because she knows she shouldn't do the thing, because it's morally wrong, doesn't mean she's not capable of it.

Idk just been thinking about this lately

[bigidiotenergytm]

ok im getting my hair done rn so maybe when i get home and if i have motivation,,,,,, like for smthn from frank???

[xthedevilyouknowx]

Sanctuary || closed starter

Rain was coming down in sheets over the streets of New York. The power was still out in a city wide blackout, and for once, Matt was glad to have true darkness to his advantage. Frank followed him closely, his gun in hand as he kept his eyes on the rooftops, making sure they weren't spotted from above. "You sure you know where we're goin, Red?" He questioned, voice strained and tired. "What makes you so sure this guy is gonna help us? For all we know he could send us packin. Or worse, turn us in."

"Unlike you, Frank, I have a little faith in people. Bill is a friend. He'll help..." He had to as far as Matt was concerned because right now, with how his previous gunshot wound had opened back up under his suit, and with how Frank was limping, he didn't feel like they had many options.

"Yeah? How's that faith working out for ya?" Came the gruff retort, but Matt just set his jaw, teeth grinding a little as he held his tongue. He wasn't playing this game. Not now as they came to Bill's stoop. Matthew could hear him inside. Taking a deep, steadying breath, one hand pressed to his wound, blood starting to seep through the suit, as the other knocked on the door.

@scribedhorror

[castlle]

tag list

[goldbiz]

❛ uh huh, yeah. it's a job perk. ❜ his grin was unapologetic. and he wasn't ashamed of that either, booster wasn't fully there with the concept where doing heroic 'deeds' automatically called for acts of celebration, or in his case getting a little pampered up.

if you thought that was rough, just imagine the many hair days he went with on the fly just to make sure he was going out there in 'top-shape'. this sought out humility was as most would say--- an ongoing development. still, that didn't mean he had to abandon most luxuries. take his suit for example, stolen yes but compromised with state-of-the-art wirings that were far too advanced for any human being in present time to comprehend. ❛ listen, frank-- can i call ya frank ? i can set you up, get you in touch the with good folks here in house that'll make your day clean as a whistle. and it wouldn't cost ya nothing, just a little corporation. ❜ 

@goldbiz | starter call.

" yeah, so what is that, huh? job perk? "

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the breakfast

lilac, chapter two

a/n: when my love, @chvoswxtch, asked me to bring the horny energy of miss patty from gilmore girls, of course I fucking did it, I'm not a criminal, that's what we all deserve

summary: “well, hello stranger.” 

warnings:��lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, wholesome villagers being adorable

word count: 2373

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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masterlist | join my taglist

The Lilac Inn wasn’t just an inn to the citizens of Dunbrook. It was its beating heart, a hub for the small community to gather. 

As the town’s only culinary establishment, the residents had always made a habit of eating a fair amount of their meals in the inn’s dining room, the door to the kitchen often staying wide open so that Harvey wouldn’t have to leave the stove in order to catch all of the juicy small-town gossip that had people blabbering. 

“Dad, did you turn off my alarm?” you snapped as soon as your scurrying feet carried you into the bustling kitchen.

Not lifting his eyes from the loaf of bread he was currently slicing, your dad simply countered with a jovial, “well, good morning to you too, sleeping beauty!”

“Dad,” you sighed, jaw clenching at his usual demeanour, the paralysing dream you’d just roused from not setting you up to be in the right mood for such a level of positivity. 

“You just looked like you could use the extra hour or two,” a smile still warm on his lips, the middle-aged man defensively raised his hands.

“But I’m supposed to help you out,” your eyes followed his movements as he trotted towards the stove, “I can’t do that if I’m asleep.”

“Exactly,” your dad passed by a hook full of tangled textiles and tossed you an apron, “that’s why I let you go a little longer so that you wouldn’t doze off on me before lunchtime arrives.” 

“I wouldn’t have dozed off…” you mumbled pettily as you tied the linen around your waist. Exhaling lowly as you watched him crack two eggs into a sizzling skillet, you asked, “what can I do?”

“Well for starters,” he tossed the shells into a small scrap bowl to his side, “these were the last eggs, so if you could go get some more out by the front desk, that would be superb.”

“Why do you have eggs on the front desk?”

“Because Otto’s chickens are laying a lot right now and so he told me he’d give me some today when he swung by for breakfast.” 

“Wait, Sheriff Nilsen has chickens now?”

“Yeah, has for a long time,” the decade of you not living here grew palpable, “he usually just drops the extra ones off here, so they should already be there because I just took his order two minutes ago.”

“Alright,” you disappeared through the back door and snaked down the narrow corridor, ending up behind the messy reception area. 

Your eyes didn’t have to search for long before you noticed the petite basket, brimming with beige eggs, resting on the top of the counter right beside the small rolodex that displayed what date it was. Grasping it in your hand, your vision momentarily drifted down to the small, framed photo nuzzled behind the ever-open logbook. Sitting on the swing that still hung from one of the sturdy trees out back, head adorably posed in a tiny palm, there a 7-year-old version of you sat, forever frozen in that singular moment, beaming up at the camera. 

“Ah!” a sharp voice boomed as you heard the front door swing shut, “oh my goodness, oh my god! Y/n!”

Raising your chin, your eyes grew wide at the rotund woman beaming at you from the doormat, “miss Rays!” you hurried around the front desk, “oh my god, it’s been so long!” 

Capturing you in a hug, she pressed your form into her bosom, “darling, we’re not in bed together, call me Donna.”

Pulling back with a light chuckle, your eyes fluttered over her features, “you haven’t changed one bit,” her lipstick still a fiery shade red and hair still short and feathery framing her plump cheeks.

“You however have,” she clasped your free hand in hers, guiding your figure to give her a good view, “oh, do a little spin for me,” you bashfully obliged with a giggle, “yes! Honey, who is this woman, what have you done with the adorable little girl I used to tutor?”

To your knowledge, Dunbrook never really had a proper school, but for as long as you could recall Donna had always operated as a teacher to the handful of children that called the reclusive mountain village their home. Even though it was just run out of her living room, she had still been the best teacher you’d ever had, her patient way rivalling any of the professors you had to endure when you went off for college. As a matter of fact, she had been the person who’d pushed you to send in the application, praising that you were too clever not to go out and change the world. 

“Oh, stop it,” you sighed light-heartedly, a chuckle still bubbling out of your chest as you shifted the subject away from your own appearance, “so, you still come here for breakfast?”

“Of course, I do, you’ve tasted your father’s cooking,” readjusting her purse, she hooked her arm in yours, “a real shame that he’s never accepted any of my offers of becoming your stepmom,” she leaned in to add as you crossed over the threshold into the dinner room, “I could have been served all my meals in bed like some Egyptian queen!” 

“I’m sure you can easily find another fellow that can handle himself in the kitchen,” the click-clack of her heels came to a stop by one of the small round tables, her eyes briefly taking in the other patrons before a slight crease appeared betwixt her polished brows. 

“Oh, darn it,” her vision stayed glued to the table in the corner as she lowered herself onto her seat, “he’s not sitting at his usual table…”

“Who?”

“The eye candy over there,” she tilted her chin in the direction of the broad, muted flannel-clad back of the man sitting by the window furthest down at the bottom of the room, “you see, I asked your dear father to always reserve this spot for me just so that I can have a great view, if you know what I mean…” gulping down the rest of his coffee, the man’s head tilted enough for you to recognise whom the rugged looking visage belonged to, “oh boy, I tell you, if I was 30 years younger…”

Haven assumed that you’d never again run into the stranger who’d helped you just the day before, a warm flutter suddenly trickled down your spine, “like that’s ever stopped you before,” you pointed out, snapping your eyes out of their trance, “so, uh, do you know what you want to eat or do you just want some coffee or something while you think on it?” you took two steps towards the oblong table where mismatched teacups where stacked and the steam of a few thermoses, all containing a different hot beverage then the next, billowed out.

“Some coffee would be lovely,” she smiled as you with one hand snatched up a mug and the decanter labelled as such, “and some oatmeal if you don’t mind, sweetie.”

Promptly pouring her a cup, you then signed off with a wink, “you got it,” before your vision landed upon the latest of Donna’s abundant infatuations once more. 

Attempting to make the short journey seem spontaneous and effortless, you bounced from table to table, topping off people's cups, before reaching the final one. 

Drawing in a deep breath, your embarrassingly giddy voice then found his ears, “well, hello stranger.” 

Eyes flickering away from the newspaper sprawled out before him, a look of shock washed over his gruff features as he glanced up at you, “oh, hi.”

“Pete–, it is Pete, right?” you checked, slight mortification beginning to brew within your belly. 

“Yes, ma'am,” his head nodded ever so slightly.

“Do you want a refill, Pete?” you savoured the taste of his name on your tongue. 

“Sorry?” his brows furrowed at your offer. 

“Your coffee,” you pointed with the hand that clutched the handle of the thermos, “do you want some more?”

“Oh,” he breathed, though the puzzled look didn’t seem to fade, “yes, always.” 

Leaning in slightly over the newspaper, you filled up the drained mug, only a murky ring at the bottom indicating what it had previously contained, “and can I get you something to eat as well?” 

Eyes narrowing, he stared up at you, “is your vacation really already so boring that you got a job here or what?”

“Oh,” you couldn’t help but breathe out a light chuckle as you answered, “I’m not on vacation and I guess, kinda,” staring back into his eyes as you attempted to repeat your question, “so, do you want any–,” though before you could finish the sentence, out pranced your father, a plate of food balanced in his palm. 

“2 eggs sunny side up and some sourdough toast, as per usual,” he sang as his long arm came down to slice the air between your forms, placing the dish upon the table. 

Briefly catching his eye, Pete then offered a polite nod of gratitude, “thank you,” folding the paper up and scooting the meal closer. 

Feeling the small basket of eggs disappear from your grip, you blinked back at your father as he softly requested in your ear, “honey, could you give me a hand in the back when you’re done out here?”

“Sure, dad,” you flashed him a smile before watching him disappear once more. 

Feet still glued to the floorboards right by Pete’s table, your vision then returned to him as his deep voice washed over you, “so, you’re Harvey’s kid, then?”

“Yep, that’s my dad,” your balance briefly shifted as you rocked on the balls of your feet, “thank you, by the way, for yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” his fork punctured one of the golden yokes, “how’s your car looking?” 

“I don’t really know yet. The local mechanic is taking a look today, so fingers crossed it’s not anything too catastrophic,” you felt your palms begin to sweat as he simply stared up at you in silence, “anyhow,” you averted your gaze nervously, “I’ll stop bothering you, let eat in peace,” you nearly bumped into the chair behind you as you backed up towards the kitchen, the near accident not managing to draw any words out of him, only the hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his lips, “see you around, I guess…” 

“Hey, dad?” 

Briefly raising his eyes from the logbook cracked open on the wooden counter, he glanced up at you as you bounced down the wide staircase, “yeah, pumpkin?”

Hand tracing the railing, with the aid of the grip, you swung your form around the last post as you ascended the final step, “did you know that the hot water doesn’t work? Like at all.”

“Yeah, that and about a million other things around here,” he sighed, vision returning to the ledger as you rested your folded-up arms upon the top of the reception, “this is a beautiful historic building… and what I mean by that is that there are too many things that either don’t work the way they should or at all. I am not a millionaire, honey. If I was, then the issues wouldn’t be piling up the way that they are…”

Bottom lip snug between your teeth, your mind raced a moment before you quietly theorised, “exactly how long is that list?”

Eyes racing to find your eyes, your father joked, “why? Did you become a contractor while living in New York or something?”

“No, but I was always the handy one out of the two of us,” you noted before your shoulders raised in an innocent shrug, “how hard could it be?”

“Let me get this right,” he raised a palm up between you as his eyes crinkled even further, “you’re telling me you wanna try and patch this place up?”

“Well, it couldn’t hurt the business side of things. When was the last time you booked out more than two rooms at a time here?”

“Oh, no, no,” the moustachioed man then began to shake his head, “you’re not turning this place into some fake, glossy tourist attraction.”

Swinging around to his side of the counter, you assured him, “hey, I’m not saying let's flood this place with tourists, but maybe just a handful more?” tilting your head in an attempt to catch his gaze that had now returned to the open book, “just enough to make ends meet, perhaps also enough to at some point hire someone else so that you won’t work yourself to death…” 

Eyes frozen on the page before him, a long exhale then flowed from his lungs as he deliberated. 

“Alright, fine, yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be that bad…” he tried to downplay the smile that blossomed upon his lips.

Spine pressed against the edge of the front desk, you then braced with your palms and hauled yourself up onto the spot that was just clear enough for you to sit there without knocking any knickknacks over. 

“So,” you drew out, searching for a new topic to explore, “Donna seems to be quite set on that guy Pete to be her new husband, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harvey chortled, “but you know her, she’s like a dog spotting a pheasant every time she sees a new man. I think genuinely I might be the only person in town who isn’t either terrified of him or has some desire to sleep with him.”

“How long has he been here anyway?”

“Eh,” he glanced up at the stained glass adorning the front door as he thought, “maybe a year or two? He mostly keeps to himself, lives up in a cabin in the woods and only really comes down here to either provide some firewood to whoever needs it or have some coffee,” vision landing on you, he then noted, “you however seemed to have broken through to him quite quickly. Took me like 5 months to get anything more than a grunt of recognition out of him.”

“Oh,” you couldn’t stop your eyebrows as they promptly rose up, “well, he kinda helped me the day that I got here. He was the guy I caught a ride with…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[sah1x1s-archived]

Kay so you may all thank @thesongbiird Mia but these men are the ones awake until someone sprays water in the face of other muses.

[infinityvault]

;;Starter Call

Teensy lil call to get me back in the groove here

Comment an emoji for a starter from that muse!

💙 - Steve Rogers { @brooklyncapsicle } 🦾 - Bucky Barnes { @wintrd } 👨🏻‍🔧 - Tony Stark { @nanostark } 🕸️ - Peter Parker { @spideysnaps } 💀 - Frank Castle { @franklylethal } 🌼 - May Parker { @softlymay }

Or if you can't see the emojis feel free to just comment a name ❤️

Length will vary - Mutuals only

[fracturedlegacies]

tag drop: Frank Castle

[alwaysxinxtrouble]

starter call! like this for a starter from Frank! the starters will be centered around episodes 4 and will contain spoilers. Multi’s please comment with your muse.

capping at 3

[s-unfleur]

gonna be in new mexico for a few days but…FUCK IT WE BALL. like this for a starter from one of the following muses:

frank castle

david lieberman

shane walsh

john constantine

john wick

bruce banner

bruce wayne

specify or i’ll randomize it. no promises on how long these will be or how long they’ll take to get done xoxo