#superrpowerlesshuman

[carry-the-sky]

tagged by: @redbelles and @ninzied my loves ♡

favorite color: blue

last song: dial drunk by noah kahan (i know i'm several months late to the party but stick season girlies how we doin)

currently reading: @majicmarker's latest, what's your vibe? (link here! cannot recommend maj's original work enough, please go check her stuff out!!)

last movie: barbenheimer babeyyyyy

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet

currently working on: hmm nina's onto something here

tagging! @majicmarker, @heartonfirewrites, @agentmmayy, @hangon-silvergirl, @heidiamalia, @garglyswoof, @superrpowerlesshuman, @152glasslippers and anyone else who wants to play :)

[ninzied]

trick or

for @superrpowerlesshuman.

The superheroes are out in full force tonight, and so, as such, are the villains. Frank finds himself scowling at more than one Fisk, who’s usually playing it all wrong—smiling and jovial instead of dark and imposing, helping his toddler-sized Spider-Man safely cross the street.

Red’s made a comeback this year, too. Frank doesn’t let it bother him—much—but he does do a double take when he sees a few of them walking hand-in-hand with a green woman, dressed in a purple leotard.

Every once in a while, there will be a blonde in a blouse and pencil skirt instead, leaning in to kiss Daredevil’s cheek. Frank gazes after them before walking on, pushing his way through the crowd. Ignoring another Punisher who’s trying to compliment Frank on his vest.

“It just looks so real!” the guy is yelling after him, and Frank ignores that too.

He breathes again when he’s out of the crowd, stepping into an unlit part of the street. The bar is only two blocks down, the seedy one that looks like the whole goddamn mafia might drop in for a beer at any given moment.

He still doesn’t know what she sees in the place.

She’s standing outside as he slips from the shadows. She’s a goddess—literally, in her white Grecian dress with gold accents, a wreath of small flowers weaved into her hair. Even in the half-dark, she’s glowing.

“Hey.” Frank approaches. He puts his hand on her waist, murmuring into her hair, “You look beautiful.” She winds her arms around him, smiling, and it’s the kind of smile that reminds him there is only one Karen Page, and this one smile of hers is, somehow, meant only for him. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not late,” Karen tells him, leaning in for a kiss. “The others aren’t even here yet.”

Frank drags his hands up her sides. “So,” he says, pulling her closer, “this mean we can go home, then?”

She shakes her head, biting back another smile. “Tempting,” she deadpans. Then, a little more slyly, “I saw you out there. Several of you, actually.”

“I saw you,” he says, trailing his finger down the side of her face, brushing his thumb over her chin. “Think they got a few things wrong, though.”

“Mm. Try not to look too smug,” Karen says lightly. She tilts her mouth up to kiss him again, lowering her hands to his chest. “So where did you—”

Someone whistles, and they look over to see Marci and Nelson walk toward them. Marci’s in a large gold headdress that matches Nelson’s lightning bolt, which he promptly drops as soon as he catches sight of Frank’s vest.

“Nice one, Pete,” Marci is saying, with an appreciative glance at the skull. “Also, Karen, you look hot.”

Nelson’s still staring. “I thought this was a costume party.”

“This is a costume,” Frank says to him, straight-faced.

Nelson laughs, a little nervously. “Right.” His gaze shifts from Frank to Karen then back to Frank again. “I mean—right, yeah, of course. Obviously.” He clears his throat for Marci’s benefit. “But aren’t you supposed to be dressed as, you know. God of the Underworld, if Karen’s Persephone?”

“Close enough,” says Frank with a shrug. “Toga’s not really my thing, so.”

“It’s a modern take,” Marci agrees. “It works.” She gives Nelson’s hand a tug. “Come on, Foggy Bear, let’s get a drink. Or whatever passes for one at this place.”

Nelson is still eyeing Frank’s vest. “That’s not real blood, is it?” he mouths back to Karen as Marci drags him into the bar.

Karen loops her arm through Frank’s, laughing. “Where did you find it, anyway?”

“Bottom of the closet,” says Frank. He raises an eyebrow and adds, “Underneath all the shoes you don’t wear.”

“Then they’re in good company.” She puts her hand on his chest and he takes it, lifting it to his mouth for a kiss. “It’s getting dusty,” she observes.

“Yeah?” Frank gives the vest a few swipes for good measure, smirking sideways at her as he opens the door. “What Nelson doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

[152glasslippers]

Ok every single one of those wip titles intrigues me BUT I am who I am so I must ask about the kastle kidnapping fic?

I’m actually so happy you asked about this one because it was inspired by this au gifset by @superrpowerlesshuman that I reblogged with the tags don’t write it don’t write it don’t write it. You sent me an ask that just said write it write it write it and a year later, I starting doing exactly that.

Basically, post s2, Frank’s enemies kidnap Karen to get to him. It’s still in the very early stages, but here’s a tiny sneak peek:

If he takes any of them out on the way in, they might call for reinforcements. A known quantity is better than an unknown quantity. He’ll kill them on the way out.

He stashes the van a couple miles down the road. Hides it in the tree line, hikes back. Karen’s gonna need a getaway car that can’t be tracked.

In the end, it’s simple. He walks right up to them, arms raised, hands already behind his head.

“Before you do anything else,” he tells them, “you’re gonna take me to her.”

One of them cracks a grin, eyes glinting.

“That’s the plan.”

[bottled-bliss]

tagged by: @heidiamalia

fav color: black, like my tiny, shrivelled heart

currently reading: nothing because I’ve just finished my exams and my brain refuses to focus when it comes to written text

last series: stranger things (it did NOT go well for me!)

last movie in the theater: ooh, I think it was Doctor Strange in the multiverse of madness, yup

currently working on: finding the strength to begin to approach the concept of writing one single chapter of a fic that I haven’t touched in a couple of years

tagging: @superrpowerlesshuman, @onebatch2batch, @captain-k-jones, @heartonfirewrites and pretty much anyone who sees this and feels like joining in

[mykastlenevercame]

A kiss with a fist is better than none

1.1k, fix-it. For @superrpowerlesshuman 💕

“I don’t want to.”

Karen stares at Frank in disbelief. After everything they’ve been through together, everything they’ve done for each other — after years of being brutally honest with each other, now is when he decides to lie?

He stares up at her, as if daring her to call him out, and she snaps. Her impulse control is normally pretty good, she’s had years of practice from dealing with Matt, but she’s also in the middle of getting her heart broken by an idiot, so she thinks she can be forgiven for what she does next.

Which is sucker punch Frank Castle.

Her fist flies out and his eyes widen in surprise in the split second before she hits him directly in the nose, snapping his head back into the pillow.

“Fuck!” She cradles her hand against her stomach as she turns away from Frank’s shocked stare. That fucking hurt.

“The hell was that for?” Frank demands, the bed creaking as he struggles out of it. She glares at him over her shoulder, blinking when he’s a lot closer than she expected.

“For lying,” she snaps, and feels a surge of vindication when he flinches. Still, when he touches her, gently turning her toward him and examining her already-bruising knuckles, she lets him. It’s rare that she’s this close to him. She can see the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, the sunspot under his left eye. Every bruise and cut standing out in high definition. He’s a wreck, he’s always a wreck.

“Looks like it hurts,” he murmurs, running a thumb over her knuckles and pulling her fingers out straight to test her mobility. She hisses a little, grabbing his shoulder with her free hand.

“Feels like I punched a dumbass.”

He glances up at her and away, so quick she almost misses it, and nods slowly.

“How’s your nose?” She asks dryly, and is rewarded by the slight curve of his smile. He looks up at her under his eyelashes, almost shyly.

“I’ve had worse,” he says. He’s still gently caressing her fingers, and her heart is pounding in her ears, and she doesn’t care that he lied or how mad she is, she loves him. He’s difficult and stubborn and honorable and when he walks out of here it could be the last time she ever sees him.

So she kisses him.

She leans in, slowly enough that he could stop her if he wanted to, but he stays where he is and she presses her lips to his. She feels the tremor run through him under her palm, and she pulls away slightly before kissing him again softly. He whispers her name like a prayer against her lips, and then his arm curls around her waist and his hand is cupping her jaw. He kisses the same way he does everything else: with a single-minded intensity, careful and thorough and passionate. She nearly sobs with relief, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, holding onto him as hard as she can.

The door opens and closes, but neither of them notice. Frank’s hands are hot on her skin, and his mouth fits perfectly against hers, and she doesn’t want this to end.

“Well, this is adorable,” Amy says, making them both jump.

Karen turns to look at her, and Frank drops his forehead against her temple, his breath tickling her jaw.

“We need to go,” Amy adds, and Karen nods, Frank’s arm tightening on her waist.

“I’ll be out in a minute, kid,” he says, and the girl rolls her eyes and leaves the room again — but not before Karen catches the girl’s smug smile.

Karen turns back to Frank, and he rests his forehead against hers, and this is how she knows he loves her. No matter what his mouth says, his body can’t lie.

“I gotta finish this,” he whispers. “Please. Just let me finish this.” She’s not sure what he means — the war, now, or whatever they’ve just started, later — but she knows he’s begging for her to walk away, at least for now. She opens her eyes, holding his gaze for an eternity that lasts only a moment, and nods.

His shoulders slump. “Karen... it means a lot to me that you came here, that you stayed with me.”

“So make it mean something, Frank.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods, and lets her go, and she tries not to feel like her world is ending. He doesn’t look at her while she shrugs into her jacket and gathers up her bag. He doesn’t ask her what happened to her shoes. Neither of them speaks again — they’ve said what there was to be said. She nods at Amy as they pass in the doorway, wishes Dinah good luck. She pulls the fire alarm to give them some cover, and then she goes home.

She doesn’t wait for him. She tells herself she’s not waiting for him, even as she counts the days that turn into weeks without any word from Frank.

She’s not dating, but that’s because she never dates — she’s too busy with work, and with her friends. She spends her days at the law firm or chasing down leads, and her nights with the avocados at Josie’s or in Trish’s apartment with her and Jess.

It takes him forty three days to reach out, not that she’s counting.

She’s been carefully monitoring crime in Hell’s Kitchen, and she’s pretty sure Frank has not been murdering criminals. When he shows up on her doorstep, bruise-free and holding flowers and a bag of takeout, a look on his face like he’s about to face a firing squad, she snaps again. She punches him hard enough that he rocks back on his heels, and she’d never admit it but she’s impressed that he doesn’t drop anything.

“I deserved that,” he says while she stands there, glaring at him and shaking out her sore hand. Apparently she learned nothing from the last time she punched him, because she’d forgotten how much it hurts.

“Ow,” she replies, but she lets him in. He puts the takeout on the table and digs around in her freezer for a bag of peas.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, but suddenly Karen realizes she doesn’t need to hear it.

“Are you going to ghost me again?”

“Never,” he says, that earnest Frank look on his face, and she drops the peas.

“That’s all I need to know,” she says, and kisses him.

The food has long gone cold by the time they come back to it, but it’s still the best lo mein she’s ever eaten.

—

AO3

Based on tags from this post and this ask.

[sjoongki]

boxing instructor & reporter au: Sparks fly both in and out of the ring when New York Bulletin crime reporter Karen Page signs up for boxing classes with ex-marine now professional fighter Frank Castle. 

happy holidays @superrpowerlesshuman ✨

[heidiamalia]

The happiest of birthdays to you!! Hope you have a great one, stay amazing ✨❤️

Y o u ' r e amazing! Thank you!

😙😙❤❤

[edourado]

Distance

Ok. So. @superrpowerlesshuman made a an amazing gifset (and I know that if I put a link in here it won’t appear in the tags, so help an author out and reblog it, please?) and I thought I’d write a little something to go with it, because it really did evoke soemething in me. 

I really do hope you like it, and that you don’t mind my dwelling into the scenario you created. 

Raise your hand if you need more kastle o/

Much love. Hope this pleases. 

She sees him from across the bar.

Looking… Normal. Standing there with the people watching the band, no guns no blood no bruises, just a dark button down, jeans and those boots.

He smiles at her, almost sheepish, and it is, honestly, a shock. She’s so used to seeing him angry, mad, desperate, stubbornly determined to do something she didn’t want him to do.

His smile is something, she realizes, unfamiliar to her. Karen Page can count on one hand the number of times Frank Castle actually honestly smiled in her presence.

All those times, though, it always meant something.

Foggy is rambling away, already so drunk, and she had drank more than him.

“I don’t know what to do, K”, he mumbles while Karen is distracted by the sight of Frank, trying to figure out how the hell did he know she would be here, in this particular bar. “She’s so mad at me, and I don’t even know how to fix it.”

She looks back at her friend, who had dropped his head on the wooden surface of the bar.

Really, she had been happy to accept his invitation for drinks, he needed to vent, this fight with Marci had been driving him crazy for almost a week, now.

“You wanna go get a drink?” He had asked, miserably, while they closed up the office, and she said yeah, sure, let’s get hammered.

At first, she had wished Matt wasn’t tangled up in endless meetings with Luke Cage and Danny Rand all day, he might have been able to help her with a distraught Foggy, but now she was glad he couldn’t make it. He would not be happy with Frank’s presence.

She was, though. Extremely happy.

He had skipped town after the last time she saw him, and she had been sad and angry and heartbroken, adamant on stopping this, putting an end on this thing, this thing of theirs, she had decided to cut it.

If he didn’t want her, he didn’t want her. Not like she could force him to love her back.

Except she knew he did. She knew it, because Frank sucks at lying, he could push her away all he wanted, but she knew it, because of the flowers and the bomb and the bullets he took, all the bullets he took to save her, his eyes and his face and his hands and his words and the way he said her name and the way he held her hand, tight and firm, like he never wanted to let go.

Karen knew he was lying. Still, she was angry.

She only found out he left town when another pot of flowers found its way to her. This time, to her front door, not from inside a backpack.

She got home from work and there they sat, with a card that read her name, a simple “Happy Birthday” and a phone number.

She had ignored the flowers, at first. Brought them in and put them on the kitchen counter, and then walked away, to take a shower. She made herself dinner, and didn’t look at the flowers.

She did the dishes and didn’t look at the white roses.

She tidied the apartment up and didn’t acknowledge the bouquet, bigger than its predecessor, not as big as the one Danny Rand has sent that morning, and not as elaborate as the one from Tower’s office.

In the end, when she was lying in bed, ready to turn in for the night, she picked the card up and typed the number in, and her thumb had been hovering above the call button for almost five minutes straight when her phone started to ring, startling her, and she dropped it.

Blocked number.

Frank.

“Happy birthday”, he said in her ear when she picked up.

“Didn’t think you knew”, she said back, almost regretting taking the call, because his voice made her miss him immediately, desperately, her lungs threatened to collapse, so much she missed him.

“Give me some credit, Kare.”

He was in Nevada, he told her, and she didn’t ask if he was there chasing the New York gangster that was tending to business in Vegas, and he didn’t volunteer that information.

They talked for maybe five minutes before saying good night, and she wondered if that was the last she was going to hear from him, if this had been his way of saying goodbye.

But he called the next night. From Utah, this time, and his voice was a bit different.

They talked for ten minutes, and he asked about work, if she was ok, but he sounded tired, so she asked if he was ok.

“Drove all day”, he said, and Karen wondered if he was getting ready to sleep, too, like she was.

He texted from Wyoming, because she was already in a call when he tried, so he sent one word, that she saw when she hung up:

“Busy?”

It was after midnight when she fell asleep, picturing him in the motel room he told her he was sleeping that night.

When he was in Iowa, he asked about Wilson Fisk, and the Bulletin, and his voice sounded harsh.

When he told her he was in Kansas, she tried not to let her voice betray her disappointment. All this time, she allowed herself to imagine he was making his way back.

To her.

But there was Kansas, and then he stayed in Louisiana for a while. From there, he called from a different number, and told her to throw away the old one, even if she was never the one to call. It was always him, and she learned to expect those calls, always after dark, always after she was tucked in bed, never on a Friday or on weekends.

Frank would always call her on Wednesdays or Thursdays.

.:.

He was in Tennessee, she thinks, when she called him, on a Tuesday, and they talked like they weren’t who they were. Light and soft and she allowed that lilt to her voice, the pointless question just to keep him speaking, the nonsensical comment and the joke that just might be a little, tiny bit, blink and you’ll miss it flirty.

Karen had the ritual, now, of getting home, eating, showering, turning off all the lights and then picking up his call, and he started to call more frequently, started to tell her a little bit about what he was doing, and she was glad to hear it was not more killing.

He was in Chicago when he said he missed her. It was almost December, and she said she missed him, too, her toes curling inside the thick socks she had on.

Every night, now, that’s how he ended their calls.

“Miss you”. Always soft, always careful, like he was afraid she would hang up on him a few seconds too early.

“Miss you, too”, she always responded.

.:.

He stayed in Chicago so long, she thought he was not gonna leave. He was there when the year ended, and she was on the phone with him while people counted down.

It was 00:01 when he said he missed her, making her wish she were in bed and not in Foggy’s apartment, surrounded by people, listening as the fireworks went off.

“Miss you, too”, she said, like always, taking a risk, really, because this time Matt was right there, with his superhearing and tendency to meddle. With an eye on her friend, just to make sure, she heard Frank take a deep breath, but he didn’t hang up, like always.

“I miss you”, he said again, low and short but firm, clear, and, again, she responded.

“I miss you, too.”

.:.

After Chicago, she lost track of both time and his location. He still told her where he was, but she made a point not to keep track anymore, because he was not coming back to her, so it was best to just let him be, and enjoy what little contact she had with him with these calls.

But even that, she knew, would have to end eventually.

But everytime her phone rang, and it was dark and quiet outside, she would hesitate for one second before picking up, sliding into bed and closing her eyes, imagining him to be there by her side.

And, every night:

“Miss you.”

.:.

This was not Josie’s, nor was it the diner they usually went to after work, it was not their usual scene. But Foggy seemed to know the guy behind the counter - like he knew everyone, apparently.

It was not better than Josie’s, but it was bigger than Josie’s. There was a small stage where a band played, and it was a little strange, seeing all these rough guys and rough women listening to what sounded like a hybrid of blues and ballads with a dash of country, soft and melodic and beautiful.

Foggy wallowed and he drank and he let it out, venting about how he didn’t really think he’d be here, because he wasn’t even sure what he had done (but he knew, he just didn’t know how to get out of it).

“What should I do, K?”

“Well, first, you’re gonna stop calling me K.”

He did that when he was drunk.

“Why is she so mad?!”

“Because, Foggy, you lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie! I just… Omitted the whole truth in order to protect both her physical integrity and her feelings!”

“Next time, maybe, instead of pulling this patronizing behavior, take it into consideration that she is also a very good professional that can help you. Marci’s a big girl, Fog, you don’t have to lie to keep her safe.”

“I know”, he said, forehead on the counter again, and Karen wondered if it was actually sticky of if she was just imagining it. “Shit, I know. But she won’t talk to me, so I have no way of apologizing. Will!”

The bartender made his way to them, looking both amused and impatient.

“More spirits, please.”

“Don’t you think a Sprite would be better?”

“No!”

Will looked at Karen, who shrugged, and then sighed, walking over to refresh Foggy’s glass.

And that’s when Karen saw him, suddenly, as if her eyes were being drawn like magnets, there he was, instead of Massachusetts or Ohio or Indiana or China, for that matter. And he looked back at her, that small, sheepish smile playing on his features, almost like he was a normal man, a normal guy coming back home to his… Whatever it was that she was to him.

“I don’t know what to do, K.” Foggy whined on after taking a sip of his fresh drink, dropping his head to the bar again right after. “She’s so mad at me, and I don’t even know how to fix it.”

She was barely comprehending him anymore, so stunned she was at the sight of Frank standing there.

Son of a bitch. First he rips her heart out of her chest just to break it, and then leaves, and then…

“You do know what to do, Foggy. You just have to… Suck it up and do it, even if sounds hard, right now.”

“But she’s so scary.”

“No, she’s not. She’s just frustrated, because you fucked up. But she loves you. You have to go there, apologize and try to fix it.”

“How do I fix it?”

“I don’t know! You’ll have to figure this one out by yourself. Or, better yet, ask her for help, I doubt she’s gonna deny it. Can you excuse me for one minute, please?”

“Are you gonna leave me, too?” he asked, big eyes on her, so drunk, poor thing.

“No, Fog, relax. I’m just gonna go to the restroom, that’s all.”

“Oh, ok”, he said, but she was already moving, walking towards the direction she had seen him, and when she turned a corner, there he was, almost hidden, waiting for her.

A million things, she wanted to say to him. A million and one, but she started with the basics while he leaned off the wall and took a step towards her.

“What are you doing here?”

His finger pushing a lock of her hair away from her face felt like a mild current, something charged but soft, creating a wave of pleasantness to pass through her.

“Wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me. Jesus Christ, Frank, I should shoot you where you stand!”, she let out, slapping a hand on his chest when he lifted both his hands to catch her face. And she might as well have tickled him, because he smiled.

“Please don’t.”

Karen looked at him, trying to tell herself that this was not what she thought it was. Maybe he needed her help again, and this was just another stunt he pulled to get her attention.

But he had never looked at her like this, not quite like this, he had never held her face between his hands like this, he had never stood this close, never like this, never when it’s not dangerous, never…

“I miss you”, he whispered, forehead touching hers, nose touching her cheek, breathing quietly against her. “Everyday, Kare, I miss you.”

She had her eyes closed already, a part of her enjoying, ready to jump, begging to surrender, to latch on, to believe him, she wanted to believe him so bad, she did believe him, but-

“Where have you been, then?”

“Making sure. Trying to… Get better, to figure out some things.”

He kissed her cheek and she got a hold of his shirt, honestly and sincerely unintentionally pulling, and he got closer, chest to chest toe to toe and her knees were about to give.

“Mainly missing you, though.”

Karen angled her head when he moved his hand to the back of her neck, opening her mouth to say something, to take a breath in, to let a breath out or to scream, who knows, but he kissed her, lips over hers, making a noise from his throat that made her arch her back slightly, just a tiny bit, towards him, which in turn made him move, open his mouth, swipe his tongue against her lip and then against hers, and there it was again, that cotton electricity, that feeling of finally, this is what you’ve been waiting for, this is it, that’s why you fought so hard that’s why you cried so much that’s why you miss him so much-

He kissed her like he had done it before, like he knew her, like he knew them, and it felt new but it felt… God, it felt…

It felt like them. Like Frank and Karen, like their thing that she could never explain to anybody, “why do you care so much about Frank Castle?” and “you two have a connection”.

That’s what it felt like. Obvious but private, particular and unexplainable, his kisses and his hands around her, her arms around him, her back against a wall, suddenly.

“Wait wait wait”, she said against his mouth, and he touched his forehead to hers yet one more time - just like they do - and hummed his question.

“Foggy, uh… Foggy’s gonna come looking for me. He tends to wander when he’s drunk, I should… I should get back.”

“Ok.”

And a nibble on her lower lip, chest pressed tight against hers, Lord almighty, she’ll fight the world for him-

“Ok, let me go.”

It was difficult, giving that up. Peeling herself away from him and that little corner he had backed them up against. She had repressed those kind of thoughts for so long, trying to get used to the fact that there is no Frank and Karen, but yes, there is, he’s here, he’s-

She pushed him away delicately, and he went easily enough, letting go of her lips last.

“Where, um…” Her thoughts, all over the place. “You’re not, you’re… Where are you going, now?”

“No plans”, and another little one, tiny one, just a little one kiss, to the very corner of her mouth. “So wherever you tell me to go, I guess.”

It seemed impossible, to stop kissing him, but then the image of Foggy wandering after her and catching her all tangled up in Frank Castle entered her mind, and she pushed him away again.

“Ok. Ok. Um… Go to my apartment. Ok? Can you wait for me there?”

He nodded, looking at her full of something that was almost completely foreign. Like that other time he was at her place offering her flowers, or when he met her by the water, before it turned dark and sour and difficult.

“Right. I’ll put Foggy in a cab, and then I’ll meet you there.”

“Ok.”

Looking at his face, she tried to put herself right, to go back to Foggy, the tip of her fingers roaming Frank’s face.

“Please be there when I arrive. Ok?”

“Ok.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Go.”

Her arms around his neck, just one more time, just one more, just so she didn’t walk away and started wondering if she imagined him, and his were firm enough around her waist to reassure her.

“Right”, she said, pushing him off and walking away.

Before she actually let go of his hand, though, she turned back.

“How did you know I was here?”

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Um… Lieberman.”

“Lieber- You hacked my phone?”

“Not your phone, just your GPS.”

“That-” She interrupted herself, and took a short breath. “We’re gonna talk about that.”

“I’m sure we are.”

And then she walked away, feeling like she just had been in another dimension and then back.

“I drank your drink” Foggy informed her when she sat by his side again. “It was getting cold.”

“That’s fine, Fog. What do you say we head home? Hmm? Sleep this booze off so you can go and talk to Marci tomorrow?”

“But I…” He sighed, and Karen tried not to look at where Frank had been. “But we haven’t found the worm, yet.”

“I think it’s better if we don’t find it this time. Come on.”

He still made her sit down to finish another drink - “last call, come on” - and she had to hear him mumbling about Marci and some nonsensical thing about Matt and the Nelson deli and Punjabi lessons before he accepted it was time to go.

She took care of their tab while he drank from the bottle of water she got for him and tried to put his jacket back on.

After what seemed like a lifetime, she was able to put him in a cab and then hail one for herself.

Karen had just turned the kew on her lock a second time when she heard the bolt unlock from inside, and then the door knob was yanked away from her hand when the door swung open, and Frank pulled her inside, slamming it closed the second he was in, his arms around her, his mouth on hers, lips and teeth and tongue and that noise from his throat, hands pulling her shirt from inside her skirt, she kicked her shoes off, put her arms around his neck, opened her mouth to his kiss, made a noise of her own.

She had missed him, too. Much, much more than even she realized.

[karenpage]

You mean like the fact that at the end of P2 Frank genuinely thinks that he doesn’t deserve anything that makes him happy and that he has to be all alone without any friends and people that care abt him? That kind of sad feelings?

It was WRITTEN as the MIDDLE of his story so regardless of the cancellation I take that with a grain of salt. He’s on a hero’s journey and the halfway point is usually marked with the whole ‘I can’t be with anyone I’ll ruin them’ or ‘I dont’ deserve happiness’ or ‘This is all I am now’ type spiel bullshit. And quite Frankly (ha) I know that in the third act/season 3, there would’ve been a come to jesus moment about him realizing he CAN have his cake and eat it too. (so to speak)

[hipsterfrankcastle]

i'm obsessed with that minific you wrote in the tags about karen and frank meeting in her hometown. you should absolutely write it out as a fic!

sjfjskdj THANK YOU I am incapable of not going feral in the tags of every single @superrpowerlesshuman post

maybe I will! I’ve not written fic in a while (esp now that I have a new job bluhhhh) but I’ve always loved the idea of Karen and Frank meeting at the diner in Vermont so maybe one day it’ll stop rattling in my brain and actually become a fic..... maybe!

[kastlenetwork]

my messy gifs, pre and post coloring 💜✌🏽 -- tagged by the awesome and talented @ninzied 

[i’m doing this sixty years later, because i am very forgetful. but, here i am and lolol i’m stealing your format, nina.]

daredevil and punisher are definitely towards the top of my “dear god, why are you lighting this so dark? don’t you want us to actually see the episode???” list. they don’t pass game of thrones or anything, because that’s the absolute worst. but, they sure come close. i used to be into heavy blacks to hide grain, but awhile back i decided to just embrace it. i love grain, now, embrace the grain.

i’m not certain who’s done this, soooo i’ll blindly tag @neatmonsterr, @superrpowerlesshuman, and anyone else who feels the itch to take part 😊

[carry-the-sky]

you were a kindness when i was a stranger

summary

“Sleep on it,” Karen tells him. “If you’re still not feeling it by tomorrow, just shoot me a text and let me know.” She cracks a grin. “Don’t worry, there’s a pile of headline-making material sitting on my desk if this falls through.”

Curtis takes her advice and really thinks it over. Ultimately, it comes down to fear—his. And he refuses to let it drag him down. If he can’t practice what he’s preaching, he shouldn’t be running a group at all.

He texts her first thing in the morning: Hi Karen, it’s Curtis. I’m in.

chapter one | chapter two

Curtis got a concussion once as a kid—went headfirst over his bike’s handlebars after taking a corner too fast. Got his bell rung pretty good, even with a helmet. He remembers feeling more dazed than anything, like someone had stuffed his skull with packing peanuts.

Frank Castle showing up out of the blue for the first time in six months has a similar effect.

Curtis got a concussion once as a kid—went headfirst over his bike’s handlebars after taking a corner too fast. Got his bell rung pretty good, even with a helmet. He remembers feeling more dazed than anything, like someone had stuffed his skull with packing peanuts.

Frank Castle showing up out of the blue for the first time in months has a similar effect.

Curtis knows he should probably say something, but his head is empty, nothing but static. The words just aren’t there.

Frank pushes to his feet. He looks a hell of a lot calmer than Curtis feels, but then Curtis sees his trigger finger tap-tap-tapping away at his side, and he can’t help but feel a small pinch of satisfaction. Let the bastard sweat a bit—Curtis is the furthest thing from inclined to make this any easier on him.

“How’s it goin’?” Frank says, like they’re just casually catching up over lunch, and Curtis almost laughs aloud. This whole thing is surreal; Frank, here, in one piece. His voice even sounds normal again.

That’s not the only thing that’s different. Curtis can tell that Frank’s face is a little fuller, free of those purple-blue shadows that seem to permanently lurk under his eyes. He’s gone full Pete-beard again, and he’s traded in the black hoodie for a flannel and jeans. He looks—ordinary. If Curtis didn’t know him, he wouldn’t look twice if he passed Frank on the street.

Curtis breathes deep, lets it out nice and slow. “What the hell are you doing here, Frank?”

“Wanted to say hello,” the other man answers, hiking his shoulders slightly. “Figured you wouldn’t shoot me in a church.”

Curtis does laugh at that, clipped and hollow. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that, man. You’re definitely testing my resolve.”

“I know I’m a jackass showin’ up here, Curt—”

“Got that right,” Curtis mutters.

“Hey,” Frank says, voice going a little rough. “Five minutes, yeah? Give me five minutes, and if you wanna throw my ass out after that, you be my guest.”

Curtis shakes his head. “As much as I’d enjoy that, your timing is shit, Frank. I got a reporter from the Bulletin who’s gonna be here any second—”

Frank’s eyes sharpen. “Reporter?”

“Yeah, so if you don’t want your face plastered all over the front page, I suggest you get the hell out of here.”

“Who—”

“Hey, Curtis, sorry I’m a little late. Traffic was terrible—”

Curtis’ eyes snap up. Karen stands in the doorway, frozen as a statue. She’s staring straight at Frank.

Shit. She might recognize him. The beard and flannel are a flimsy smokescreen at best; Frank’s face has graced the front page of that paper of hers more than once. Curtis can almost feel the wheels spinning as his brain kicks into high gear, already working out how to get Frank out of this, how to explain away the fuckin’ Punisher standing here talking to him in the middle of the afternoon. Karen’s a good person, decent, but she’s also good at her job. There’s no way she turns a blind eye to this. He has to think of something—

“Frank,” she breathes.

Curtis’ thoughts grind to a halt.

Because—she clearly does know him, but not in the way Curtis was expecting. The way she says his name, soft with disbelief—

For the second time today, Curtis feels like he’s walked into a fever dream.

He glances at Frank, and the man’s got a busted up expression on his face, like one of those abstract paintings that looks like something and nothing all at once.

“Karen,” he says, voice grating over the word, and shit, he sounds more torn up than he looks. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, choke-off like the words are stuck there—then his jaw locks and his gaze ricochets to the ground, the wall, the ground again. Curtis can see his hands shaking from here.

Whatever the hell this is, it’s way above his pay grade. Curtis shakes his head again and starts unstacking chairs from where they hang against the wall. “You should leave before everyone gets here,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Karen. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.

He knows the fuckin’ feeling.

“Hey,” Curtis says, and her head snaps in his direction. “We still good?” 

Her gaze wobbles, darts to Frank and then back. “Yeah, of course. We’re good.” Slowly, she moves from the doorway, brushing past Frank like he’s not even there.

“Jesus christ,” Frank curses under his breath. He reaches for her. “Karen, this isn’t—”

But whatever he was going to say is lost as voices filter in from the hallway, growing steadily louder. Curtis swallows the bubble of hysterical laughter that’s rising in his throat. This day has already gone sideways; might as well let go and let God, as his pop always used to say.

No one notices Frank, at first. A couple people—Lydia included—greet Karen enthusiastically as they enter the room; the rest settle into the regular routine of milling about at the coffee table.

Rahul is the one who finally spots him. “Pete?” he gapes. “Shit, man, it’s good to see you! Where you been?”

That gets everyone’s attention. Within the span of a few seconds, Frank has about half a dozen people crowding around him, clapping him on the back and peppering him with questions about how he’s doing, what he’s been up to. Frank pastes on a shaky smile and gives the small talk a good effort, but his eyes keep skittering to where Karen’s arranging the chairs in a wide circle. Curtis can’t remember the last time he saw Frank look so uncomfortable; he’s wound tense as a coil, all potential energy with nowhere to go.

Curtis almost feels bad for him. Almost.

“You’re staying for group, right?” someone asks, and this time Frank locks eyes with Curtis.

Curtis shrugs as if to say your call. It’s not like he can throw him out in front of everyone. Beyond that—honestly, he’s relieved. Beneath the layers of hurt and anger is the one thing Curtis has shied away from acknowledging: his fear that maybe this time, Frank stayed dead.

Thankfully, the man seems to have nine lives. And right now, he looks like he’d like nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear.

Against his better judgment, Curtis throws him a bone.

“Pete just dropped by to say hello. You were on your way out, right?” he asks, fixing Frank with a look that he hopes conveys what he’s thinking: take the hint, man.

There’s a ripple of disappointment, but everyone seems to buy it. Frank threads his way over the Curtis, and his relief is almost palpable.

“Thanks, Curt,” he says.

“You’re running up a hell of a tab, Frank.” Curtis pinches the bridge of his nose, already regretting what he’s about to say. “You remember that bar over on 12th? After group—I’ll give you one hour. And you’re buying.”

Frank smirks. “Fair enough.” 

His eyes flick across the room; Karen’s been carefully avoiding looking over here, but it’s like she can feel the weight of his gaze. Curtis sees it, the moment their eyes meet.

Frank’s face opens up like a book, eyes wide and bright. Curtis has never seen him look this vulnerable; even as long as they’ve been friends, he’s always kept the softest parts of himself tucked away. It makes Curtis feel like he’s intruding on something intimate.

Then someone’s saying Karen’s name, and the moment splinters. Frank ducks his head, already sliding the mask back on, and slips out the door.

.

Group passes uneventfully. The conversation picks up from where they left things last week, and aside from injecting a few questions here and there, Curtis is mostly an observer. If he’s being honest, he really enjoys the weeks he can just sit back and let the group carry itself. Makes him feel like it’s bigger than any one person, like it can go on without him being in the driver’s seat.

Karen is quiet through most of the meeting, definitely more reserved than last week. When the hour is up, she tells Curtis she’ll be in touch, thanks him again for having her, and then manages to duck out before anyone notices she’s gone. 

Curtis knows it’s none of his business, but he can’t help wondering who she is to Frank. She’s more than an acquaintance, that much is for damn sure. And Frank clearly cares for her. Curtis lets his curiosity simmer, carrying him all the way from the church to Sal’s dive bar.

Frank’s already there when he arrives. True to his word, he’s ordered the first round; he raises his beer up in greeting as Curtis slides onto the bar stool next to him.

“Got you somethin’ a bit stronger,” Frank says, nodding at Curtis’ glass.

Curtis takes a swig and tastes jack and coke. He glances down at his watch. “You’re on the clock, Frank. One hour.”

Frank huffs out a laugh. “Shit, where do I start?”

“How about Karen?” Curtis says. “What was that back at the church?”

Even in the dim bar light, Frank’s eyes flint over. “Long story.”

“Give me the spark notes version.”

Frank taps his thumb against his beer, pointedly avoiding Curtis’ eyes. Then he pushes back in his seat slightly. “Alright, you win. You remember my trial? Karen was on my legal team. She was the one who started digging into what happened to Maria and the kids. All the shit that’s gone down since then—she got caught up in some of it.”

Curtis takes another drink, processing. “And let me guess, you”—he holds his fingers up as air quotes—“pushed her away to keep her safe.”

Frank tips his beer back, hiding a grin. “Guess I deserved that, huh?”

“You’re one predictable son of a bitch, Frank.” He glances sidelong at his friend. “You gonna apologize to her for whatever it is you did?”

The way Frank’s face falls is answer enough. Curtis knows that expression well; whatever happened between the two of them is eating him up inside.

“I’m tired, Curt,” he finally says, each word ragged. “I’m so goddamn tired. All the blood and bullshit—” Frank’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Woke up one morning just sick of all of it. Started thinking about the kids, about Maria—if they could see me, Curt—”

“Don’t do that to yourself, man,” Curtis cuts in. He knows how fiercely Frank loved his family; hearing him tear himself up wondering what they’d think of him now sits a little funny in his gut.

Frank meets his gaze head on. “I’m sorry, Curtis. I know that might not mean shit anymore, not coming from me, but there it is. All the shit I put you through—I never meant for it to go as far as it did. You gotta know that.”

It’s Curtis’ turn to laugh. “I don’t know that. Hell, sometimes—sometimes it seems like you like it when shit hits the fan. You like being backed into a corner, fighting your way out.”

“Yeah, you might be right about that. Still sorry I dragged you into it.”

They drink in silence for a few minutes. It’s a weeknight, so the bar is mostly quiet, just the low thrum of conversation and a thin crackle of music leaking from the radio behind the bar. Curtis can almost pretend that they’re just two friends catching up over a drink, talking about trivial shit like work and the weather and who’s going to the playoffs.

The thing is, Curtis isn’t quite ready to forgive Frank. It’s gonna take more than one night at Sal’s to mend the rift between them. But maybe Frank’s not looking for forgiveness; maybe what he needs tonight is a friend, a brother. Someone who loves him even when they’re pissed as hell at him.

Curtis thinks he can do that.

“So,” he says, eyeing Frank knowingly. “When’re you gonna call her?”

Frank flicks his eyes over, mouth pinching into a line. “Not too sure Karen wants to hear from me, especially after today.”

Curtis shakes his head. “Thought your wallowing asshole days were behind you, man. It’s time to gather your rosebuds.”

Frank snorts. “Quoting old English poetry at me now, huh?”

“You bet your ass. I live for all that carpe diem shit. You say you hung up the vest, right? You’re done with that? Then prove it. You got one life, Frank, so go live it.”

Frank dips his head to the floor. When he looks up again, his eyes are a little wet. “I’m scared, Curt.”

“Shit, Frank, that’s all anyone is. We’re all scared. The hardest thing to do in this world is live in it.” Curtis reaches over and clasps Frank’s shoulder. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Frank bobs his head, but Curtis can tell he still can’t quite see it. The man’s been punishing himself for so long; it’s all he thinks he deserves. Curtis has seen enough war and trauma to know that sometimes there’s no coming back from that ledge. Frank has to make that choice himself. He might not be ready yet, but he’s here in this bar instead of out on the streets, and that’s not nothing.

Frank blinks, then tilts his head to squint at Curt’s watch. “Hour’s almost up. Deal’s a deal, yeah?” He slaps a few bills down on the bar and starts to stand.

Curtis holds his almost-empty glass up. “I could go for one more round.”

“Yeah?” Frank asks, and the word cracks a bit.

Curtis feels something loosen up in his chest. “Yeah, man.”

Frank sits back down, and it feels like a step forward.

.

The article runs a few days later. Karen calls to give him a heads up, but the anticipation still jolts down his spine as he thumbs through the paper to find it. Curtis reads it through once, his throat going a little tight as he reads quotes from the vets about how group feels like a family, how it’s helped them find their way back to normal after coming home. Karen’s writing is the backbone of the whole thing, capturing the group’s essence without bleeding into the melodramatic.

He reads it again, then gives her a call.

“Anything interesting in the paper today?” she says when she answers.

Curtis huffs. “Funny.”

“What did you think?”

“I’m a little overwhelmed,” Curtis admits. “But mostly thrilled that it’s out there. These guys deserve it.”

“Agreed,” Karen says. “And so do you.”

Curtis doesn’t know what to say to that. Group always felt like something he needed to do, a way to reclaim his trauma instead of succumbing to it. He’s never needed or wanted any recognition for it.

“Thanks, Karen,” he finally manages. “And hey, if you ever need something to do on Thursdays, you know where to find us.”

“Even after last week?” She says it lightly enough, but even over the phone Curtis hears the slight strain in her voice. “I felt awful for leaving so quickly.”

“Hey, I get it. Bit of an exciting day.”

She laughs dryly. “You could say that.” A pause, and then— “Do you and Frank keep in touch, or—” she cuts off, and for a second Curtis wonders if the call dropped. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was completely unprofessional. Forget I said anything.”

Curtis knows he should leave it at that, but the tinge of resignation in her words is all too familiar. He remembers what he told Frank all those months ago, hoping this time it might sink in. Disappointed but unsurprised when it didn’t.

People are gonna care about you whether you want them to or not, Frank.

Karen’s one of the good ones. He knows that Frank knows it, too—and maybe that’s what pushes him to say something now, his better judgment be damned.

“Look, Karen, if I’m overstepping, you tell me to shove it, but—until last week, I hadn’t seen or heard from Frank in months. I know what it’s like to worry about the guy—hell, I wanted him to come back so I could kick his ass myself.”

That pulls a small laugh from the other end of the phone. “Get in line.”

“Yeah, so you get it,” Curtis says through a grin. “I love Frank like a brother, but the man drives me batshit more often than not.”

Karen sighs softly. “I want more for him, you know? More than—whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing out there.”

“I think, deep down, below all the bullshit—I think he wants that, too.”

Silence stretches over the line. “You’re a good friend,” Karen finally says. “It’s nice to know that Frank has one of those.”

“Hey, likewise,” Curtis replies, and he means it. He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive Frank if he lets this woman slip through his grasp.

“I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely. I’m serious about group—don’t be a stranger.”

Curtis hangs up feeling lighter than he has in weeks. He’s still tempering his expectations for Frank—they’ve been down this road before—but maybe there’s a way out of the woods. Maybe they can both get back to the business of living.

He doesn’t put much stock in new-age bullshit like manifestation or destiny, but it does feel a little prophetic when Frank texts him later that afternoon: Nice article.

Yeah, I thought so, Curtis types back, followed up with a rose emoji just to see if Frank will take the bait.

He doesn’t have to wait long. His phone buzzes after a few seconds, and Curtis laughs when he reads Frank’s response, knowing the hit landed.

Shut up, Curt.

.

“—telling you, man, it’s a classic.”

“Yeah, maybe if you’re a middle-aged white lady.”

“Excuse me?” Lydia counters, spreading her arms. “Do I look middle-aged or white to you?” 

Rahul just shrugs and leans back in his seat. The conversation tonight had started simply enough before quickly devolving into an argument about books, of all things. Lydia had offered up a few that resonate with her, one of them being Pride and Prejudice. Rahul had looked at her like she was an alien, and now here they are.

“If it helps, I’ve read it too,” Curt cuts in. “I’ll admit it’s a little dense at first, but it’s a classic for a reason. Ultimately, it’s about acceptance. Not judging someone before you’ve gotten a chance to know them. That’s something all of us in this room can relate to, right?”

There are some begrudging nods, but Rahul shakes his head. “Nah, man. No way some English lady who lived, like, a hundred years ago knows anything about my life.”

Lydia scowls, but Curtis holds up a hand. “That’s a valid opinion. But I bet if you gave it a chance, you’d be surprised.”

��You talking about Jane Austen again, Curt?”

Heads swivel toward the source of the sound, and Curtis looks up to see Frank walking through the door. He pulls a chair off the rack and slides between Rahul and Lydia. “Sorry I’m late. And uh, for the record—her novels are the good shit.”

“Not you too, man,” Rahul groans. 

“Got me through one of my first tours,” Frank replies. He gestures at Curtis. “This guy wouldn’t stop talking my ear off about it, so I finally took the damn thing just to shut him up. Stayed up half the night reading it. Curtis knows his shit.”

Curtis feels himself smiling. “Good to have you back, Pete.”

It is. It really is.

Frank makes the rounds after group, catching up with all the vets he knew from before and even chatting with some of the newer members. Curtis catches Lydia fist-bumping him, and he almost shakes his head in disbelief. If someone had told him two weeks ago that Frank would be here, in this room, smiling and making small talk, he would’ve laughed right in their face.  

“Hey, man,” Rahul says, walking up to him. His face goes a little sheepish. “So, uh, if you have that book on you—”   

Curtis blinks. “You’re really gonna give it a shot?”

Rahul shrugs. “Yeah, I mean—you and Pete both think it’s, like, God’s gift to literature, or whatever, so how bad can it be?” He glances over his shoulder surreptitiously. “Just don’t tell Lydia, yeah?”

Curt claps him on the back. “Deal. I’ll bring it next week.” 

Rahul nods, then jerks his head in the direction of the door. “Hey, did you see who’s here?” 

Curtis frowns, peering over Rahul’s head in that direction—

Karen is standing beside Frank, her head thrown back in laughter at something that Lydia has said. She’s in her work clothes, but her hair looks a little glossier, and she’s definitely wearing lipstick. Curtis watches as Frank brings his hand to the small of her back in a gesture that’s effortless, like this isn’t the first time he’s done it.

Gather your rosebuds, Frank.

The bastard really did it. Curtis hadn’t realized how badly he wanted this for him—something to live for after the war was over. Now it’s happening right in front of him, unfolding in real time. It makes his chest ache a little. 

Karen catches Curtis’ eye and gently peels herself away. “Long time no see,” she says, coming up to him. “I would’ve been here tonight, but Ellison’s got us working overtime on this city councilman thing.”

Curtis nods. He’s heard a few things through the grapevine—embezzlement in the councilman’s office, real original—and he wondered if Karen would be following it. “Back to making headlines?” he quips. 

“Maybe just one more,” Karen laughs. 

Curtis tips his head in Frank’s direction. “So, guess he finally pulled his head out of his ass.”

Karen follows his gaze. The look on her face is in direct contrast to the one Frank was wearing last week, love and hope and so much warmth. It’s all the answer Curtis needs.

“About damn time,” he says.

Karen’s mouth curves into a soft smile. “No argument there. Hey, we were going to grab dinner at that new Thai place on 7th—you’re welcome to come with, if you’re not busy.”

Curtis considers it for a second, but the last thing he wants to be for either of them is a third wheel. They deserve some time for themselves. He has all the time in the world to give Frank shit about this; he’ll let him have one night of peace.

“Let me take a raincheck,” he says. “Next week sometime?”

“Next week is perfect,” Karen replies. “See you then.”

The other vets are trickling out now, waving and calling out goodbyes over their shoulder. Karen makes her way back over to Frank, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. She leans in to say something in his ear, and he casts a glance back at Curtis. 

Curtis bobs his head once, and Frank returns the gesture, mouth creasing into a smile; then he turns and follows Karen out the door.

Curtis watches him leave, thinking he’s never been more happy to do so.

[ninzied]

tagged by: @garglyswoof ♥

fav color: dusty rose, for the time being. when it gets colder probably something more like burgundy

currently reading: just finished convenience store woman by sayaka murata and how high we go in the dark by sequoia nagamatsu. starting a thousand ships by natalie haynes and contemplating a re-read of the night circus by erin morgenstern. always side-eying middlemarch by george eliot

last series: does stranger things count if i’m putting off the final ep for possibly forever -_-

last movie in the theater: everything everywhere all at once

currently working on: not fic-related—a gallery wall for my living room but i don’t know what to draw yet. maybe some very tiny flowers to start. fic-related—about a thousand and five finished kastle fics that i haven’t edited yet, including a coffeeshop au, baby driver au, bar au, there’s only one bed fic, and a foggy goes looking for frank fic for lena hehhee

tagging: @edourado @carry-the-sky @heidiamalia @heartonfirewrites @redbelles @fortysevenswrites @myletternevercame @the-restless-brook @superrpowerlesshuman @onebatch2batch @ejunkiet @devilbunnyking @darlingshane @c-sand and anyone else who would like to play

[152glasslippers]

rules: we’re snooping in your playlist. put your entire music library on shuffle and list the first 10 songs and then choose 10 victims.

tagged by: @megfox, an icon 💅

1. Long Day - Matchbox Twenty

2. Do I Make It Look Easy - Sara Jackson-Holman

3. World of Chances - Demi Lovato

4. Remember My Name - Mitski

5. BTSK - Ms Mr

6. Sour Candy - Lady Gaga & BLACKPINK

7. In a Week - Hozier feat. Karen Crowley

8. Beggin For Thread - Banks

9. The Sea Change - Turin Brakes

10. Wrecking Ball - Miley Cyrus

tagging: @agentmmayy @noblecharley @myletternevercame @talisablackfyre @superrpowerlesshuman @glycerineclown @captain-k-jones @onebatch2batch @fortysevenswrites @carry-the-sky

[bottled-bliss]

whence, whither, why - chapter 4

It had to happen today of all days, didn’t it?

Only two parts of Frank are still moving—his bottom lip that twitches, though imperceptibly, keeping the swearing to himself, and his thumb, traveling over Lisa’s mark again and again like he could wipe it clean off her skin. The rest of him is still, absolutely motionless. Even his chest. He’s going to suffocate in his drama if she lets him.

“It’s a very pretty name,” Karen says, hoping to draw Lisa’s attention away from her father until he’s in a condition to speak.

In turn, Lisa lets out a slight giggle; as explicit an agreement as such a small sound can convey, even though she expresses some concern about them being made fun of for their names right after. Sure, because that’s the peak of human cruelty.

“No one will dare,” Karen tells her. “But if they do, I will personally punch each and every one in the throat.”

Suddenly reminded of her presence, Frank turns to her, searching for God knows what kind of support. All she can give him is a stare and a modest nod as she lays her palm flat on his thigh. The tightness in his muscles doesn’t melt away with her touch, but something comes loose and he seems to remember how to breathe.

It’s going to be a long day.

(more on ao3)

[fortysevenswrites]

Rules: Tag 9 people who you ant to know better/catch up with and then answer these questions

Tagged by: @myletternevercame, who just KNEW I needed a distraction this sunny (and way too hot) afternoon

3 ships:

Kastle (Uhhh….obviously….*looks guiltily at all 800 of my WIPs*)

Kate Fuller/Seth Gecko (I’ve fallen down the From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series rabbit hole and I cannot get up. Nor do I want to. Cranky tall thief and sunshiny smol who takes no shit is just…I can’t even, even if some of the vampire of it all is kind of absurd)

Ginny Baker/Mike Lawson (I finally got around to re-watching Pitch recently and like…I need a million more seasons including a World Series, and MORE of that 15-second video Hulu posted a few weeks ago that TOTALLY implies that Mike and Ginny are quarantining together)

Last song: I have betty from Taylor Swift’s folklore on repeat when I’m not listening to the entire album on loop.

Last movie: Does Hamilton count? Because I watched that last night, as a palate cleanser for my socially-distanced drunk-watch of the 2019 Kim Possible live-action remake (which was SO boring. Give me a 90-minute movie of Mama Possible and Nana Possible next time. They were amazing)

Currently reading: Re-reading my favorite Kastle/FDTD/Power Rangers in Space fics these days, mostly. Probably going to crack Agnes and The Hitman back open at some point soon, probably (thanks for that one Emily).

Currently watching:

I re-started the West Wing the other day. Still trying to get through all 7 seasons, but like…1-4 are just a whole other animal of perfection. Last time around, I got stalled somewhere early season 6, so maybe this time around I’ll actually muscle my way through all 7

Re-watching the first 2 seasons of Selling Sunset (my trash y’all) in preparation for season 3 premiering next month. If you want pretty houses (near where I grew up), pretty people, and some really great fashion, this is for you. It’s like Million Dollar Listing, but the ladies (catty as they may be) aren’t complete and total assholes.

MLB baseball. MLB may not be my first choice of sport, but holy shit it’s better than football game reruns from 1989. Go Dodgers!

I WAS watching The Bold Type season 4, but the last few episodes were an utter trash heap, and until that gets fixed (if they even get a season 5), I’m pretending the show ended after Richard and Sutton got married in the mid-season finale and everyone lived happily (if absurdly) ever after.

Currently consuming: just water. It’s a boring Sunday in Casa Kathryn

Currently craving: I had to run out and pick up more cat food this morning, and there’s a specialty grocery store that sells my favorite sandwich cookies, so I picked those up on the way home. I am set.

Tagging: @neatmonsterr @heidiamalia @the-restless-brook @thevampirecat @152glasslippers @tuntematonkorppi @theputterer @captain-k-jones @superrpowerlesshuman (no pressure, obviously)