There's a bit at the end of the series where the two of them are just alone in an elevator together and they're looking at each other and we didn't know what it was gonna be, we didn't know what was gonna happen, we didn't know what it was gonna mean, but it definitely means something.
The first time he kissed her, it was a question. It asked "may I" and "is this alright" and "can I still have this."
Can you give back to me.
She should have known better than to answer "yes."
But first it was his lips and then she was in his lap and then he had her laid out on the couch laying kisses on each lonely inch-by-inch of skin that she hadn't let anyone touch for so long, that maybe she'd been saving for him, and his shirt was on the floor in a pile with her dress and then, and then, and then--
He wept in her arms that night in her bed while her fingers moved in slow, consoling circles over the scar on his shoulder too neat and to linear to be a gun shot. In the morning she sat up under the covers while he slept and watched the sun come up.
"If we're going to do this," she told him when he sat up beside her, "we should really do it."
He nodded for a while before his mouth seemed able to say "yeah."
He stayed for breakfast.
He made her lunch.
They went out together for dinner. Spaghetti. An off-menu special of a hole in the wall pizza parlor. Family style.
"Should we do like Lady and the Tramp?" She said.
"Nah," he answered. "That's a mess."
But he smiled imagining it.
***
It took her some time to realize that he was never going to kiss her in public, not because he didn't want to be seen, but for the same reason he couldn't have his back to the door in a restaurant, or sleep out of reach of his pistol.
She remembered daydreaming about a handsome soldier when she was young-- Maybe a marine. Someone with an iron will and a contained, controlled way of living his life that could rub off on her fucked up world and make everything sit right. But Frank was chaos. Frank was insomnia and nightmares and pacing in the living room clutching at his own scalp like maybe he could crack his skull open and take his bullet-pierced brain out and beat it into some kind of submission. He could never sit still, whether it was the twitch in his trigger finger or the movement of his eyes in his head that took everything with it, little twitches of his nose and jerks of his chin. He tapped his foot while he sat in chairs if he didn't ebb in them, a little foreward, a little back, like the tide approaching and then re-thinking the shore. In his sleep he ground his teeth so hard his jaw locked and muffled the sounds of the nightmares.
It took her some time before she had to accept it was getting worse.
***
When Frank got more volatile, Karen told him to call Curtis. He said, "he's not the one. "
"What does that mean, Frank? The one to what?"
"Keeping me down."
"I keep you down?"
"To Earth, yeah. To something, to something real. I can't--"
She wrapped her arms around him but she said it again:
"Talk to Curtis."
Frank stopped going to group.
***
Around the time he started living like he was still in boot camp, up at four in the morning to run until dawn, sweating rivers into her living room thanks to a pull up bar mounted in place of the bedroom door, he got the tattoo. It was a relief, in a way.
It suggested he was holding on to something more than just her.
***
She'd never met "Micro" but she had her suspicions when he knocked on her door. It was the shifty-eyed way he said "uhh, is he here?" Like Frank was still a secret not to be caught talking about and not a pardoned man. Like how a person would talk about buying or selling a weapon.
"What do you want?" She asked past the door chain.
"I found something. I think it might give some closure."
"Found what?"
"A list of buyers. He, uh, seems like he almost got them all."
"Almost?"
"There's a family, a powerful family, that might have trafficked some of Blacksmith's product...can we not talk about this in the hallway?"
Karen said:
"I don't think we should talk about this at all."
Karen said:
"It's done."
Two weeks later Frank was out the door by 3 am, ready to run. His ribs had started to show.
Karen called David Lieberman.
***
The night Frank turned his pistol on himself--just for an instant--was the night she told him. She said:
"Frank, don't do this. You're not done."
"I think I gotta be--"
"I can't let you be done."
He needed something to hold onto that was stronger than her.
***
One morning she woke up and he wasn't there, as usual, but there was a box in bed beside her with a ring inside it, sitting atop a velvet insert that seemed to be swelling out of its container. Underneath was the note, the money: be safe, it said, and a phone number.
The first Gnocci died the next day.
Karen put the ring on a chain.
When he can come back, she told herself. When he can be done. Then I'll put it on.
After watching the Daredevil: Born Again Season 2 trailer… remove a doubt for me real quick.
Did we all watch the same Netflix show? The same chaotic Season 1 of DBA, with the one real spark being Frank’s return and Karen pushed right to the center of the finale?
We all heard Frank Castle’s heart pounding for her, right? Shaving, fixing himself up, desperately trying to find a way to talk to her again. Picking up the guns for her. Letting himself get captured for her.
And now, what the fuck, Karedevil is just back like someone snapped their fingers?
No Frank Castle vs the Task Force?
No Frank Castle in the rebellion?
No tangled hearts, no emotional fallout, no real questions finally being asked?
They’re about to ruin the Netflix series legacy.
It’s honestly unbearable.
- “Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s see what’s going on in that head. Fair’s fair, considering you’re reading mine like a damn open book.”.
And he began to read.
What does it feel like to question yourself?
Does it hurt?
It does, because doubt sits with you in the dark and asks who you really are.
Because growth is never gentle.
Tell me you never wanted to quit.
Tell me you never felt fear tighten around your chest.
Tell me you never thought : I can’t do this anymore.
And yet, you did.
You kept reaching out.
You kept carrying weight that was never fully yours.
You kept protecting what mattered, even when you felt empty.
Even when no one was watching.
You survived your pain.
You earned your joy.
Last night, I lost mine.
I once believed love and courage could smooth the rough edges of life.
They couldn’t.
They helped for a moment, but they never repaired the cracks in my heart.
At best, they quieted them.
A dear friend once told me I needed to write my truth.
To write the story because stories never end. They only change.
So this is my part.
I don’t want to let grief make my choices.
I want to face my ghosts.
I want to speak to them.
And ask them not to turn me into someone they would hate.
So,
Thank you, Mom, for loving me even when you were too weak to live.
Thank you, David, my sweet little brother.
For guiding me. For being the best part of me.
I ended your life. Not on purpose.
But by my hand all the same.
That sound, the glass breaking, the car flipping over.
That’s when my heart did too.
It’s followed me ever since.
Dad, thank you.
I took from you your own flesh, your son.
And every night, I can still hear your scream
when you realized he wasn’t breathing anymore.
Still, you gave me one thing : a chance to run free.
Thank you, Ben, for caring. For giving me purpose.
For protecting me from the darkest monsters in this city.
I know it cost you your life.
Thank you, Foggy for being my home.
For being my best friend.
For being the new light in my life.
Thank you, Matt for saving my life more times than I can count.
For giving me a place in your world.
For being honest about who you really are.
For loving me, even when your heart belonged to someone else.
Thank you, Frank Castle for letting me hold you.
For showing me the man beneath the skull.
Knowing you was a challenge like no other.
It changed me.
Before you, I was just a child.
Now I know the truth about this world’s darkness,
And I know you were trying to protect me from it.
Loving you all.
Losing you all.
That’s what made me stronger.
And I hope this strength won’t be the end of me but my rebirth.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Hi guys ! Here, my new fanfiction centered on Karen Page, blending the dark streets of Daredevil’s Hell’s Kitchen with the mutant powers of the X-Men. Hoe you like it =)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"After the tragedy of Foggy Nelson’s death and Matt Murdock’s disappearance, Karen Page is left alone, haunted by grief and nightmares. But something ancient stirs within her : a latent X-gene that awakens powers she cannot fully control : telepathy, telekinesis and a consuming darkness.
Captured by Wilson Fisk, Karen faces a psychological war, as he tempts her with ultimate power and vengeance, seeking to turn her into a weapon to control New York.
Only one person refuses to abandon her : Frank Castle, the Punisher, determined to save her from herself, from Fisk, and from the destructive entity rising inside her."
Hi guys ! Here, my new fanfiction centered on Karen Page, blending the dark streets of Daredevil’s Hell’s Kitchen with the mutant powers of the X-Men. Hoe you like it =)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"After the tragedy of Foggy Nelson’s death and Matt Murdock’s disappearance, Karen Page is left alone, haunted by grief and nightmares. But something ancient stirs within her : a latent X-gene that awakens powers she cannot fully control : telepathy, telekinesis and a consuming darkness.
Captured by Wilson Fisk, Karen faces a psychological war, as he tempts her with ultimate power and vengeance, seeking to turn her into a weapon to control New York.
Only one person refuses to abandon her : Frank Castle, the Punisher, determined to save her from herself, from Fisk, and from the destructive entity rising inside her."
Hey fandom…It’s beginning to look a lot like…
#Kastle_Christmas25
@elen-tari2 and I teamed up to deliver some holiday cheer to the fandom from Christmas to New Year’s. Fanfics, art, mood boards, playlists, all mediums are welcome!
Dec 23 - Dog Days of December - Adopting a dog, rescuing a cat, catching an animal in Karen’s apartment…anything animal related.
Dec 24 - The Longest Night - Longing, love confessions, interpretations of DDBA.
Dec 25 - Christmas in California - Christmas in San Francisco, Frank showing up to check on Karen, can be canon with DDBA or an AU of her life out west.
Dec 26 - Season of Giving - Volunteering, charity work, helping those in need, healing, hope.
Dec 27 - Warm Hugs and Coffee Mugs – Love confessions over in coffee shops or over a homemade brew, cozy sweaters, ginger snaps, pancakes/Karen cakes, sharing Maria’s holiday traditions, Penny’s Place memories.
Dec 29 - Unwrap Your Present - Getting dressed up and taking things off. Karen’s necklace. Frank’s combat boots. Kastle spice this fam luvs.
Dec 30 - Snow Angels - Honoring loved ones, angels watching over them, memories of Kevin, Maria, the kids.
Dec 31 - Midnight Magic - Too much champagne, stopping late night crime, a kiss at midnight, New Year’s resolutions for the Punisher and Page.
Tag your works #Kastle_Christmas25 and let’s have some fun 🎅🏼💀🎄
Frank Castle Monologue - Just her eyes, listening.
There’s a taste in my mouth tonight.
Burnt. Bitter. Like black coffee gone cold because you got lost thinking about what could’ve been.
Funny how life circles back. Same streets. Same shadows. Same feeling like I’ve already been here, died here, just to walk it again. It’s just the universe laughing while you step into the same wound twice.
And then… there you are.
Blue eyes, clear enough to drown in, steady enough to damn a man.
I swear, every time you look at me like that, something in my chest tries to breathe again and that’s the worst pain there is. The kind that hopes. The kind that remembers.
I don’t talk much. Lost the habit. Words never saved anyone. Bullets did. Rage did. But looking at you, hell, I’d trade every weapon I ever touched just to have one honest sentence with you that didn’t taste like blood and regret.
So listen, just this once.
Don’t say a word.
Let me fall apart without trying to catch me.
I was made for war. That’s the truth. I burn better than I heal. And every day I wake up wondering if I’ve become the thing I was fighting. If all I ever did was prove that monsters come in the shape of men trying to do right.
But you…
You saw a man under the ruin. Even when I forgot he was there.
I never earned that.
I never knew what to do with it.
That’s my sin, not yours.
And still, here we are.
Coffee bitterness on my tongue, memory like a knife inside my ribs, and your eyes, Christ, those eyes, quiet, patient, tearing me open without touching a damn thing.
I’m tired, Karen. Bone-tired.
The kind of tired you don’t sleep off.
Sometimes I think peace isn’t a place. It’s a person. And I walked away from mine because I was afraid I’d burn her too.
You think I don’t know what I lost? I know. I feel it every time I point a gun, every time I see a sunrise that looks better than I deserve. I feel it now, when the city’s finally breathing free and all I can taste is loneliness and what-ifs.
You listen like you always did.
Quiet. Honest. No pity.
That’s the cruelest mercy you ever gave me.
Here’s the truth, plain and ugly :
I was never scared of dying.
I was scared of living in a world where you loved me because then I’d have something left to lose.
And I lost it anyway.
So keep looking at me like that.
Let me feel human for one more breath.
Let the ghost of who we could’ve been sit with us in this damn silence.
Then I’ll walk away.
Because loving you was the only thing I never survived.
And the only thing I’d do again if this world were kinder, and I were less of a weapon.
But it ain’t.
And I’m not.
So take this moment.
It’s the only one I get.
A man admitting, just once,
that he wasn’t made to be alone.
He just chose to be because you deserved something living.
And me?
I’ll keep the hope rotting quietly in my chest.
Because it came from you.
And that means it’s the only pure thing I’ve ever carried.
Because sometimes the greatest love is the one you never get to live.
After the teaser for Daredevil Born Again Season 2, which didn’t exactly promise anything good for fans of Frank and Karen... I couldn’t resist writing a story about our favorite pair, using the elements we currently have. Spoilers ahead if you haven’t seen the DBA S2 teaser.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Frank & Karen | COLD | Daredevil Born Again (Full video)
Frank and Karen, the perfect balance between shadow and light, the heart and soul of Daredevil and Punisher. No matter what comes next, fans know the road ahead will be hard… but the most beautiful stories live on through us.
Keep believing, keep loving them, because theirs is a story where love, light still shine, even when darkness falls.
Frank & Karen | COLD | Daredevil Born Again (Full video)
Frank and Karen, the perfect balance between shadow and light, the heart and soul of Daredevil and Punisher. No matter what comes next, fans know the road ahead will be hard… but the most beautiful stories live on through us.
Keep believing, keep loving them, because theirs is a story where love, light still shine, even when darkness falls.
“I love you,” she said, “From the start. Entirely. Completely.”
And Frank didn’t speak. He just pulled her against him, his arms closing around her like he could keep her there, like he could stop time from moving. His breath shook against her hair.
He didn’t say it, but she could feel it : the way his silence screamed that he loved her too, in every fractured way a broken man can.
Because Frank Castle knew, with terrifying clarity, that he would never love like this again.
Not after Maria.
Not after Karen.
These were the ghosts that defined him : the only women who had ever seen the man beneath the ruin.
He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing her in, memorizing her like she was the last light he’d ever see.
“You keep the light, Karen,” he murmured to himself. “I’ll take the dark.”
And with that, Frank Castle, a man who had already died once — disappeared again into the night.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Frank caught up to Karen, his heart a battlefield of regret and desire. She had chosen another path — but he wouldn’t let the shadows of his past dictate the end of this fight.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
2087
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