in deep ship

making things write

[indeepship]

For you, Watson, I'd make adjustments. Always.

Sherlock Holmes, Elementary S06E08

[indeepship]

reprieve

The brightness of her hair blinds him more than any muzzle flash could, and it's not the echo of dying screams ringing in his ears anymore; it's the sound of her voice, barely there, the softest whisper for him to 'go, go on', and somehow he feels like although she's saying 'leave, go', she also means 'live, keep going on'.

But the way she looks at him: her gaze pierces his soul, burying itself into his skull much deeper than any bullet ever did. The touch of her skin beneath his fingers slices through him like a steel blade, and Frank wonders how he can live when he has someone to bleed for again.

[indeepship]

okay

Frank: I was thinking if you had something, you could put the flowers in the window. I'll call you.

Karen: Okay.

Frank: Okay.

Karen: Okay.

Me: NOT OKAY. KISS ALREADY!

[indeepship]

25

the number of times Frank Castle says Karen’s name in The Punisher Season 1.

I’m counting the time he said ‘Miss Page’. Plus throwing in the two times I think I heard him (his lips moved) say her name in the hotel suite, when Lewis grabbed her.

[indeepship]

can i just say

my little Kastle heart died every time Deborah Ann Woll's name didn't appear in the opening credits of The Punisher

[indeepship]

Frank Castle: *does those preciously subtle facial expressions, soft shifting gazes, puppy-eyed looks, exudes vulnerability when around Karen Page*

Me: Frank can you not? Because I need to write a fic about this and describing your heavenly expressions is going to be so difficu- ok I take it back, give me MORE.

[indeepship]

Frankly, my dear

“Attagirl.”

*shushing*

“Easy, easy…”

“Please.”

*softly*

“I will come for you.”

[indeepship]

after

Frank doesn’t just live in the present, or the past. He lives in the future, too.

What kind of a Marine would he be if he didn’t think two, three, five steps ahead? In a fight, you’re only as good as the next punch you throw, and so he keeps on moving, the words that echo in his skull driving him through blood and chaos: what’s next, what’s next, who’s next?

It’s an elaborate game of observation and anticipation condensed into an intensity of seconds. Instinct drives his body, powers his actions, allows him to improvise along the journey, but a well-laid plan charts his entire course, secures him to the objective, ensures that when he reaches into that dark space around the corner, his fingers will meet the cold steel of a fully loaded submachine gun. 

In a battle, he doesn’t look back. He makes sure there’s no need to, that the only thing he leaves behind him are bodies. Bodies he won’t have to worry will get up and shoot him in the back. Bodies that stay down - where he put them. No, he never looks behind. He looks forward, ahead. He looks for whatever next comes at him: what’s next, what’s next, who’s next?

Only this isn’t a battle anymore.

His war is over, and he’s alive.

This is the silence after the gunfire.

This is what’s next.

And when he thinks about it, really thinks about it, it scares him. Waking up in a proper bed, a clean bed, sitting down to the paper and a breakfast of eggs and toast, walks in the park, smiles and sunshine, stolen kisses beneath a streetlamp, golden hair glowing in the moonlight. It’s a world he hasn’t known for a long, long time. And he’s not ready for it. Not now. Not yet.

But one thing he knows, one thing he’s sure of, is that he cannot live in a world without Karen Page. 

Something about her draws him in. He doesn’t know how or why, nor does he even fully understand what he feels about her, and perhaps he never will, but when he looks at her, the world goes quiet, and it’s the kind of silence he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can live in.

So no, Frank doesn’t just live in the present, or the past. 

He lives for the future.

Because Frank has an after.

She’s his after.

[indeepship]

“No deals, no guarantees.”

[indeepship]

alive

“There are worse things than dying, Bill. I wake up most mornings and I want it. I hope for it.” - Frank Castle (The Punisher)

He opens his eyes, and for once he’s not sure what he’s waking up to.

He reaches for a gun that isn’t there; his fingers only grab onto something soft, and a second later it registers itself in his mind as an armrest.

There’s a strangeness to the whole thing that he can’t quite grasp.

Brows furrowing, he tries to put a finger on it, and when he finally does, he realises what the problem is: something’s missing.

It’s something he seems to have lost.

The heaviness in his chest.

The illusion of breathlessness.

The hand that feels like it’s squeezing his heart.

The pain that hammers in his ears and shoots all the way up to his skull.

He feels none of it.

What he feels is cool air on his skin. Slowly, he lets the sounds wash over him - a dog barking in the distance, an engine, starting and then stopping, and then starting again, the steady sound of breathing coming from somewhere. Blinking the world into focus, he sees the soft eggshell white of a ceiling above him. Through a doorway, a curtain flutters in the breeze from a window, partially opened. The morning sun streams in, illuminating the outline of a sleeping figure in a bed. 

Colour catches the light, glinting briefly. From where he sits, he sees her golden hair, spread out over a pillow. He sees the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

And in that instant, Frank knows.

He knows that everything is going to be okay.

Because he’s alive, and he wants to live.

[indeepship]

again

Some nights he dreams of smoke and fire, of a hailstorm of bullets.  The sound of bones breaking beneath his fingers, the tangy smell and the metallic taste of blood.  He hears the screams of dying men, the heavy thuds of their bodies hitting the dirt.

Other nights he doesn't dream at all. 

Once, he dreamt of her.  He buried his nose into the hollow of her throat, and her bare skin was smooth and warm.  She smelled of milk.  When he pulled back, she was smiling down at him; a lock of blond hair, soft and silky, golden like the summer sun, brushed across his face.

Frank lives for a night when he can have that dream again.

[indeepship]

the phases of Vision: I

I.

The first time he phased into her room had been an accident; he’d wanted to have a word with Stark and had opted for the most direct route to his destination.  But something stopped him in his tracks the moment he passed through the wall.  He found himself surrounded by objects suspended in midair by wispy tendrils of red energy.  A photo frame drifted past him, he could hear the crackle and pop as tiny pieces of glass broke away from its pane and drifted lazily through the air.  Then it hit him, squarely in the center of his forehead.  Pain, sorrow, grief.  He located the source: Wanda, curled up in a corner of her room, sobbing.  Above them, the ceiling lights flickered on, then off, and on again.  It had barely been a month since the death of Pietro.  He gazed down at her, and filed the mental image of her shaking form along with the waves of emotion she was emanating.  This is mourning.  He left the room as silently as he’d entered.  It was neither the time nor place for him to initiate any form of interaction with her.

This was the first time.

[indeepship]

belated Valentine’s Day poem by Vision

Roses are red 

Violets are blue

I was made by the Mind Stone

And so were you

[indeepship]

Kastle Q&A

[indeepship]

Daredevil + song lyrics   (1/?)

Right Said Fred, ‘I’m Too Sexy’ (1991)   |   Hurt Matt

Bananarama, ‘Love in the First Degree’ (1987)   |   Guilty Frank

Switchfoot, ‘Dare You To Move’ (2004)   |   Murderous Karen

[indeepship]

Daredevil epiphany of sorts

So! Matt and Karen kinda went on parallel journeys in Season 2. They each met and had a connection with a hot vigilante who's MO is kill kill kill. They tried to redeem aforementioned hot person by telling them not to kill kill kill (amongst other things). They both failed, and suffered the death (physical in Elektra Natchios' case, metaphorical in Frank Castle's case) of said hot person.

[indeepship]

two verses by Frank

My castle walls are high and strong,

They keep out those who don’t belong.

My castle moat is wide and deep;

The climb up to my gates is steep.

  But hark!  This maiden bold and fair,

Approaches with her golden hair

That shines far brighter than the sun

And crumbles my walls, one by one.