ilcarnefice-blog

[ilcarnefice-blog]

xhellblazing:

✡— ALL TRENCH COAT AND ARROGANCE. 

Ever since their first encounter, John couldn’t put it to rest – the man never knew when to give up, nor did he know when to stop prodding a sleeping lion. It was that last comment that managed to rub him the wrong way – that he should find bullets and do himself a favour; as though he hadn’t TRIED. Regardless, he couldn’t allow himself to falter. And he sure as hell wouldn’t let pitiful be the last impression the man had of him. It was an egotistical conquest. 

Perhaps he was a masochist, but he was also a master detective who had tracked down ‘The Punisher’ to the empty street that night. 

“’Ello luv. See, you just can’t get enough of me can ya, poppet.” 

Even though he was the one actively pursuing the man, he could always find a way of flipping the situation. 

@ilcarnefice

╳ ┈ BATTLE harden men and women gain a sixth sense for DANGER. It’s natural act of survival despite the circumstances not indicating peril. Frank knew he was being followed, from what direction he wasn’t sure. If he had a specific OBJECTIVE, he would back track his steps, lead his stalker around in circles before losing them all together. However, without a mission, Frank saw no need to lead the tail astray; after all, he could use the action. The over-confident man makes his appearance before him, the tan trench coat SHIVERING against the night wind. Frank starts at his shoes, trailing his eyes up to meet that smug look.

         “You want to make even?” Frank continues his approach to the HAUGHTY blond with firm steps. The distance narrows until the large barrel chest is mere inches from the tip of his nose. This wasn’t an act of INTIMIDATION, but offering an opening for the blond. The harder he hits, the more enthralled Frank will become. Either way, the opening is not in Constantine’s favor.

[ilcarnefice-blog]

wingheadcaptain:

★— The Words GIVING UP struck a sore spot, and Steve’s azures seemed to sharpen drastically in turn. No one was stupid enough to threaten Frank Castle, even in a place like this – and Steve was a tactician who thought about his moves carefully, so he was honest with him;

                   ❛ I’m not giving up. I NEVER give up. I’m fighting the good fight, and I’m doing so with or without a team. I’m here with a purpose, and that purpose is to ensure the SAFETY of these people – as much as they kick me down. I will find means of bringing them peace. Doing so with a team, it didn’t work – I tried, it didn’t. Because we aren’t as connected as a unit, you of all people should understand the importance of communication and loyalty, and being CLOSE to your team. These kids here, they want the name but they don’t want to work as a team. I’m used to teams being my family, willing to jump into the field and fight side by side. It’s complicated. Regardless, it’s not getting anything done. So yes– I’m looking for a more SPECIALISED team to help me with what I want to do. They have to be willing, skilled, and loyal. If I can’t find anyone for that team, then so be it, there have been times that I’ve been better off working on my own and this may be it. Does that answer your question, soldier?  ❜

╳ ┈ CAPTAIN America has always been a hero of his, since World War 2; much like every other kid on his block, they praised the soldier’s willingness to protect, indomitable power, and his sacrifice. Running around on the street from afternoon to dusk, playing WAR and took turns being the fantastic Captain America. After getting a taste of what real war is like, Frank’s admiration grew for the Captain. He faced unimaginable HORRORS back in ‘Nam, and all he could question is how the Captain didn’t break. It wasn’t for his own sake, Frank found his new calling without realizing it, yet his comrades suffered considerably because of the war. Some went crazy on the field and loss their lives meaninglessly, but most carried the weight of their SINS on the return home and took their own lives to escape the pain. What drove Captain America to live this long, Frank wonders.

         Hearing his hero’s dilemma made his teeth grind. Not out of agitation, but to reserve his cruel remarks. He knew the world was full of selfish, useless fucks people. His optimism and good natured was the Captain’s strength and his WEAKNESS. Instead of opening his mouth to humiliate the other’s core beliefs, he takes a step forward and extends a hand. “This isn’t a permanent offer, but if you will have my skills, I WILL stand behind you, Captain.” He couldn’t imagine his hero to walk solo in this war. Even the strongest of generals needs an army. This “team-up” is one majority of the original Avengers would frown upon. However, none of the original members understood what BROTHERS IN ARMS meant, or could they fathom what is at stake in war, any war. For Frank the war continues, similar for every other soldier in existence. The war CONTINUES even after you’ve put down your gun. Once you enter war, the war exists INSIDE of you.

[ilcarnefice-blog]

BELLO ET JURE SENESCO

LIKE THIS FOR A SHORT STARTER

capping @ 4 castmates uncapped

[ilcarnefice-blog]

wingheadcaptain:

★— The Captain-Commander hadn’t been in a particularly good mindset since his fight with Thanos; his mind was frazzled after head trauma, and he had refused help from those closest to him. After that, he was patrolling the streets on his lonesome. Peppy, used to be the way he’d greet others, but the recent killer robot rampage had dampened his mood, somewhat. He knew he needed to take things more SERIOUSLY. 

                Azures set on the familiar figure, face serious, lips lined as he listened to the comment that he’d expected. 

               ❛ Initially, I’d set up the Avengers thinking they would act as a good reinforcement to ensure the safety of others. As well as acting like a family, which would help others cope with this sudden change in terrain and lack of family and friends – comradery, would be their new home. But this is my second attempt, and it’s failed. So no, I wouldn’t consider it necessary – but Stark begs to differ. I need a tactical, committed team, not people who register and run… My old team – I would have loved to see them here, but these aren’t my old team. These are fractured fragments that don’t quite fit together as they once did… Despite all amounts of trying. They lose faith in the leader, the team falls apart. That’s just how it is. Plain and simple, Captain. ❜

╳ ┈ WEAKENED by hardships, the Captain resorts to a cynical response. This is not the first time he has seen good men like him crumble. It takes countless of unlucky events, witnessing death for the first time, or losing a family member for force a man to give into cynicism. By the end of his reply, Frank is on the verge of saying along the lines of: I TOLD YOU SO. However, his respect for the Captain runs deep in his core, unable to mock him.

         “So that’s it,” he grumbles, eyes lowering to settle on the star insignia on his chest. “Never figured you the type to give up.” Pepping someone up isn’t his strong suit, neither is offering words of encouragement. Although, Frank idolizes the Captain, sees him as a ray of shining light. If he turns off, the world succumbs to darkness and there’s nothing left to do than swing aimlessly and hope you take down the enemy, all the while aware you’ll be taking down your allies in the process. “You solo now?”

[ilcarnefice-blog]

[ilcarnefice-blog]

ilcarnefice:

╳ ┈ FRANK has to admire the tenacity of the other. He comes to realize two things about John: A) a broken man could not be broken again and B) he’s an more aggressive (and uncouth) Henry Russo. He nearly grins at him as he sees a challenge. Testing the man’s capabilities and resistance would have to come later, much later. Sans equipment, all Frank was his environment. As creative as he could be with that alone, he receives more of a high with careful planning. Simultaneously, he wants nothing to do with him considering the image of his former partner haunts his mind. Henry would not approve killing John for the sake of spilling blood. Slowly, he lowers the man to his feet where he stands a few inches away from Frank’s barrel chest.

        One large hand rests onto the side of his face and his other hand follows in suit. Frank’s eyes are emotionless, meeting with John’s azure gaze. He allows the man to come to terms with the proceeding events, a grace period, if you will. The grip tightens and he jerks his head to the left. POP. Subluxation corrected. Frank eases his hands off of John’s head and drops them down to his sides once more. “You want to die? Go put a bullet in your brain.” 

        Years of convincing himself he has morals left him believing he does. He pretends he draws the line at a certain point and pretends to refuse crossing that line. If and when this self induced hypnotherapy suddenly stops, it’s safe to assume Frank will be committing the world’s most appalling genocide. Frank turns away from John and takes his leave, deciding the conversation ends here. As he is walking away, he thinks to himself: WHAT THE FUCK IS A BATMAN?

✡— Little did the man know how much he’d tried. He’d swallowed pills, slit his wrists, cut his neck, tried every trick in the book bar bullets. John Constantine was cursed to live in torment. 

He’d been told to go and kill himself more times than he could count, yet, it still hurt. He wondered why he was nice to people, really, if all he got was punched and kicked. Since birth, since strangling his twin in the womb, this had been his fate; the human punching bag. But he refused to look sorry for himself, instead he knew he’d go home - drink until he couldn’t stay awake, rinse and repeat. 

“Selfish cunt..” He muttered under his breath, laying his head back against the brick wall, his hand cupping his painful jaw watching the man walk away like he was some god-forsaken hero with the world on his shoulders.

[ilcarnefice-blog]

xhellblazing:

✡— The kiss of cold brick met his back as he was FORCED into it, wincing but trying to keep his eyes on the man dishing out the pain, tongue glossing over his split lip. 

It was a kneejerk reaction of his, developed since childhood when his father would kick him around. And then throughout his teens where he became the rebellious boy constantly getting himself into trouble. He had no regard for life because for the longest time, he WANTED to die. Not that the mentality had changed any throughout his aging, it was just that now he had more to live for – Zed, Chas, his wives in the past, his daughter, Astrid, Zee. Not that any of them gave a flying fuck about whether he’d live or die. 

“I think I’m welling up. What a sad story.” He hissed. “Listen, yeah you’ve clearly been through shit but ain’t we all. And now you stick yourself under an alias, a name, to strike fear into those who ‘av harmed ya. I’ve seen the schtick before, I’ve met Batman. You blokes would get along… Both wear too much black, both think that they’re doing the world a service by dealing out justice. Yer no different… So don’t consider yourself different, just because ye can knock out a man ‘alf yer size. You’re a tyrant, maybe I ‘ad you wrong. But trust me mate, I fucked a man who vowed ‘is soul to satan, we can make it work.” Bonus points for resilience, all said with that disgusting smirk on his face that he couldn’t shake. “Big, tough, scary. Getting a rise out of bloodshed. I know your type… Go ahead, snap my neck, I don’t give a toss. If it’ll give you a stiffy, then I’m sure it’ll be worth it”

╳ ┈ FRANK has to admire the tenacity of the other. He comes to realize two things about John: A) a broken man could not be broken again and B) he’s an more aggressive (and uncouth) Henry Russo. He nearly grins at him as he sees a challenge. Testing the man’s capabilities and resistance would have to come later, much later. Sans equipment, all Frank was his environment. As creative as he could be with that alone, he receives more of a high with careful planning. Simultaneously, he wants nothing to do with him considering the image of his former partner haunts his mind. Henry would not approve killing John for the sake of spilling blood. Slowly, he lowers the man to his feet where he stands a few inches away from Frank’s barrel chest.

        One large hand rests onto the side of his face and his other hand follows in suit. Frank’s eyes are emotionless, meeting with John’s azure gaze. He allows the man to come to terms with the proceeding events, a grace period, if you will. The grip tightens and he jerks his head to the left. POP. Subluxation corrected. Frank eases his hands off of John’s head and drops them down to his sides once more. “You want to die? Go put a bullet in your brain.” 

        Years of convincing himself he has morals left him believing he does. He pretends he draws the line at a certain point and pretends to refuse crossing that line. If and when this self induced hypnotherapy suddenly stops, it’s safe to assume Frank will be committing the world’s most appalling genocide. Frank turns away from John and takes his leave, deciding the conversation ends here. As he is walking away, he thinks to himself: WHAT THE FUCK IS A BATMAN?

[ilcarnefice-blog]

xhellblazing:

✡— Truth be told, he was expecting a slap across the face - which is the norm - or a grab to the throat - again.. strangely normal for Constantine. But the kick made him gasp and stumble down and then — of course, there was the punch. It reminded him how much he hated hand to hand combat. 

“Prick…” He spat the blood from his mouth. “So, what is it that pissed you off the most, the arse jokes or the fact that you’re a pig thinking you’re the law? Or is it those dead children that are followin’ ye… Not givin’ you sleep… Or that pretty lady, ey?” He glared up at him, a glutton for punishment. His ex boyfriend(s) had treated him worse, really, so as winded as he was – he should’ve seen it coming, the smarmy bastard. “Or is it simply the fact ye want me on my knees. Could’a asked, mate.” 

╳ ┈ THE fact that the blond reels from a “light” punch ensures Frank that he will be relatively easy to handle. He can put this man six feet under if he so wishes; would he stay there, unfortunately no, but Frank is starting to see the respawn law in a new light. He won’t get bored anytime soon.

          His first insult does nothing to waver his stance. He looms over his staggered form, large fists at his side, ready to launch again. Frank wouldn’t say he’s angry, he is a tad frustrated, yes, but nothing to warrant rage. At least... not until he brings up his past. It does surprise Frank, considering this man is not from his world-- at least, he’s positive he isn’t. His chin lifts up, a snarling scowl appears and his large hands [nearly the size of John’s head] grip at the collar of his trench coat. He eases him off the ground like he weighs nothing and holds him far above his head. 

         “LISA... FRANK JR.... MARIA,” with each name that rolls off his tongue, this tone becomes deeper. “You know them... you can see them.” It wasn’t hard to deduce, he’s been around witch doctors and sorcerers who dig into his mind, his past without much of as a dinner. It’s a fair tactic, find his weakness and exploit it. However, Frank wasn’t going to allow this CHEEKY bastard to use it against him. “They’re dead. The Costa family murdered them because my family witnessed a hit, and a fucker and his fuckin’ men shot them into Swiss cheese. They made a mistake. They let me LIVE. You’re right about one thing: the law is shit. Months I waited for them to bring in the fucks that took my wife’s life, my children’s lives and they sat on their asses and wanked off-- guess who they jerked off too: the Costa family. Naturally, I did the right thing.” Slowly, he proceeds to carry John to the nearest wall and rams his back against the solid brick. “I did what they couldn’t: located those fucks and punished them. It dawned on me then. No judge, no jury, no police will change the system. They were going to allow the corruption that seeped in since the twenties and let it twist the just law. The law has been violated and raped, it’s a victim now and it’s suffering. Don’t confuse ME with the law. I’m not the law.” Frank leans in close, eyes dead center on John’s. “I am the PUNISHER”

[ilcarnefice-blog]

xhellblazing:

✡— “Oh, really?”

His inner anarchist was all lit up. He removes his cigarette from between his teeth, time to get serious - even if it involves a smack in the face, which would probably hurt - at least it’d be after speaking his mind to this wall of muscle. If Chas were here, he’d probably have saved him, but alas; the exorcist was on his lonesome, and wasn’t exactly the most social of creatures. 

Inches away, he makes the most grotesque snort – which was supposed to resemble a scoff. 

“Scoffed. There ye ‘av it. The law ain’t done shit, I’ll say it now, and I’ll say it again. What are you gonna do mate? Go ahead, choke me so I can get off on it before I pass out, will ya.” 

╳ ┈ THIS cheeky Brit seems to confuse his perception of the law with the men in blue. His ideal law is no judge, no jury, only straight execution. Frank had little care of due process. If you’re guilty, you face punishment. He didn’t find it necessary to spew his views on his version of the law, it’s a waste of breath. He does wish he had his shotgun on him. A shot to the knee would be a nice conclusion to their conversation.

        In his arsenal he has an array of martial arts. It’s been a long time since he’s actually used one aside from KRAV MAGA. A swift low kick to his leg severs his balance and he uses that brief second of waving arms to throw a brain rattling punch to his cheek bone. The strength behind each hit is 40% less than usual. He has no intentions of killing the sassy mofo man, only to rattle him, make him pay attention. If he was going to receive an enemy because of this, so be it, Frank needs something to preoccupy his time after all.

[ilcarnefice-blog]

Do you what’s funny? Everyone seems to call Daken “Logan’s bastard” but in reality, he’s probably the only one, of Logan’s children, where Logan was actually married to his mother.

[ilcarnefice-blog]

ELEKTRA AND THE PUNISHER

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[ilcarnefice-blog]

galactikkiller replied to your post: galactikkiller replied to your post: ...

its not as much as chasing gamora as more of why would he be worthy. but yeah they wouldnt get far AT ALL

frank isnt worthy. period.

[ilcarnefice-blog]

galactikkiller replied to your post: ��

lord. he would have to win her over somehow and i dont think thats something he would care to do.

NAH. 

[ilcarnefice-blog]

‘ this is not something to be proud of. this is a tragedy. ’

╳ ┈ FRANK stands in the center of the gory scene. Corpses lay at his feet, their warm, red blood leaking from every opening. Blood, their blood, cakes Punisher’s body and clothes, he is covered from head to toe with it. His unemotional expression informs the witness that he is indifferent to the whole scene.

        Actually, that’s a lie. Adrenaline pumps through his veins, heart racing at an incredibly fast pace and he feels ALIVE. Nothing can bring him the same pleasure the way snuffing out a life does. This is what he lives for, this is the reason he gets up in the morning. He masks his thirst for blood, his psychotic tendencies with the drive to make the world a better place. Frank refuses to face it on a regular basis, but there are the rare occasions where it hits him: he’s a BUTCHER.

       “Hn, the Rwandan Genocide is a tragedy.” Frank takes a moment to soak in his work. “This... this is PUNISHMENT.”

[ilcarnefice-blog]

💕

Dr. Love thinks that a relationship between Gamora and Frank Castle has a reasonable chance of working out, but on the other hand, it might not. Your relationship may suffer good and bad times. If things might not be working out as you would like them to, do not hesitate to talk about it with the person involved. Spend time together, talk with each other.

[ilcarnefice-blog]

hawktrye:

{ ➼ } » — Frank lifts his boot up once more and for a moment, he feels like he may very well be sick to his stomach. This is wrong. Everything about this is wrong, and he had just allowed it to happen. Another death on his hands because he didn’t do anything to prevent it. At least Deadpool had offered some semblance of condolences in the aftermath of the prior incident, the one he continues to carry with him. But this time…? He’s not even sure what he had been expecting.

                  Almost immediately do eyes narrow when he’s spoken to. Though, he can hardly consider it being spoken to, so much as commanded. Calm down? CALM DOWN?! How the hell is he supposed to calm down when…huh? Hands clenched at his side relax, his expression softening to follow suit. Those hand signal; they’re sign language. Clint would recognize them anywhere, yet it still takes a moment for it to register. Is it strange for him to admit that he’s shocked, and maybe the slightest bit touched by the notion? It’s not exactly a detail most people recognize, let alone know how to handle. And while, in most cases, it was okay because of his hearing aids, he’d never been fond of being reliant on them. But reading lips wasn’t exactly effective when fighting alongside masked teammates.

                  “It’s alright, Lucky. Easy boy…” he finally says, motioning for his dog to sit and stay put. His line of sight doesn’t dare stray from the Punisher. “You can sign, huh? Okay, you’ve got my attention.”

                  He’s not sure what exactly to make of the newfound information, but he does his best to listen first, ask questions after. But it still does little to keep his brow from furrowing and lips pursing.

                  “What are you talking about, Frank? I haven’t received any sort of intel like that.” Initially, Clint wants to ask how he would know something like that, only to remind himself that the answer is rather obvious. Just because the Avengers won’t take a life doesn’t mean others share their values. “People…people don’t just come back from the dead. That shouldn’t be possible.” He wants to argue that it’s impossible, but his own experiences with death and resurrection force him to bite his tongue.

                  It doesn’t make sense, but then again, what does in this place? He hates to admit it, but this is unknown territory to him. His knowledge is too limited here.

                  “Even if that is the case, you still…shouldn’t just go around stomping peoples’ heads in. This isn’t a game of whack-a-mole.” he mumbles then. Just because people don’t die if they are killed doesn’t mean he can turn a blind eye to the act. “…And I’d like to point out that I was the one working here, bud. That was MY guy you just squashed like a grape.”

╳ ┈ GOOD, he’s calmed down. Frank knew his ASL would be an effective way to ease off the anger. Little details like that catch people’s attention. It forces them to think and shuts off primal emotions. Frank knew better than anyone else about primal emotion. 

         Of course Clint doesn’t swallow the pill easily. If it weren’t for his two-time resurrection, he’d be questioning it himself. Fortunately for him, he had the experience of dying and breathing again not a day later. Coming back to life isn’t the easiest task, it puts a mental and emotional strain on the being. MEMORIES of the moments before your death flood your mind. All the emotions and sensations that came with it haunts your nightmares. For Frank, it wasn’t the fact that he died that tormented him, but the fact he lived did. He should have died with his family. Every single day he regrets not putting a BULLET in his brain to join them.

        “ ‘People don’t come back,’ huh? Wish you were right.”

        Frank wasn’t about to open story time for Clint. His death is his own personal story. Only one person knows of his return and that’d be a scrawny young adult who evoked fatherhood out of him after years of losing his own children.

       Clint makes a fair point, however. If he orders him to stay out of his way, then he should return the favor. Frank’s eyes turn up, actually considering on obeying the unwritten law. He decides he doesn’t want Hawkeye to be one of his enemies. Heroes like him, like the Avengers, while overrated and goodie-goodie they deserve to LIVE. Their jobs were inline with his, minus the killing, the torture, and the cruel and unusual punishments. Finally, Frank’s eyes return to meet Clint’s and he nods his head carefully.

       “Had an ITCH that needed to be scratched. It won’t happen again.” He turns his head over his shoulder to look at the caved in face, blood pooling around his cranium. He wants to stay and see with his own eyes how the dead return in this city. It’s not out of interest, however, he wants to be able to kill whoever is behind the task. If only he could murder ANGELS. “Let’s move out, leave the city to do its job.” He takes a glance over Clint’s form and gives a half shrug. “You’ve been here longer than I have. Tell me what you know about this city.”