im not yours to PROTECT.

[ofhotheads-blog]

Send me a 🐤 for a Tweet my muse would make about yours.

[radiohosttrish]

Using this generator.

[tasinggs-deactivated20170303]

“You mind if I sit here?” Darcy stands in front of a blonde woman who, truthfully, doesn’t look like she’s completely present. She’s pointing at the seat across from her and has a bag tucked underneath her arm. “You’d think a library has more outlets, right? But I can only find one, coincidentally right next to you. And, between you and me–” she leans in, “–that guy next to me was totally creeping me out.”

[notadamscl-blog]

After finding her feet back on the ground, Karen’s gaze turns to the woman and then to the creeper she was referring to before looking at her once more. The guy did look like he was a ten on the creep scale, hell Karen knew well what kind of strangers this city had hiding among its cracks. 

“Hey, if it gets you away from him, have the whole table.” She offers with a friendly tone as she feels the grin pinching her lips.

[clintbartonshrp-blog]

Clint looked around, gripping the cup, wondering why the hell a coffee shop didn’t have more seating. They’d seen Friends, right? People met here. Not that Central Perk’d really had a lot of chairs, come to think of it…huh. Go figure. He stood near the counter, awkwardly letting people pass, craning his neck for an open spot. He should’ve gotten it to-go, but it was too late now. He had the real ceramic cup, which meant he had to find a real place to sit. Few more seconds, a bit of shuffling, and he finally spotted it–only empty chair left in the house. It was only as he got closer that he realized exactly why it was free…it was directly beside someone. A busy-looking someone, files and papers and everything. 

Great. His options were to stand around in the corner, sipping coffee with two hands like a pretentious weirdo, or ask the lady for the chair like a creep.

Glancing over the corner, he sighed. Aw, fuck it.

“Uh–miss? Anyone sitting here?”

[notadamscl-blog]

“Oh! Umm. Sure!” Karen responds as the stranger pulled her out of her intense thoughts. Looking around the blonde hadn’t even realized how busy the place had gotten until he’d spoken to her, she gestures to the seat in front of her as the remaining files get tucked into her purse. Taking a deep breath, Karen doesn’t stare but looks at the man before her, something about him familiar but unable to place, perhaps she’d seen him somewhere, New York was always so crowded she could have seen anyone.

“I’m Karen, sorry I was your last option.” She jokes as she realizes this was the only place left to sit.

[notadamscl-blog]

inevitable { elektra & karen }

[ironandsilk]

Elektra really wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Trouble, really, just showing up at the office Matt had spoken of - if Foggy was the only one there, she would certainly be in for a lecture. At the very least there would be a lecture, probably accompanied by scathing sarcasm ( well deserved, she left and she knew it, all of it was deserved especially if Matt wasn’t going to yell ). And yet she still showed up, she was still curious. She wanted to see the firm, what they had spoken of in college. 

It wasn’t Foggy or Matt who opened the door, though, it was a woman she hadn’t met. Karen, then, who Matt had talked about - at least, that was the only guess she had. Either that, or she potentially came across an intruder. Who answered the door politely. 

She offered a hesitant smile, “Sorry - I know it’s after hours. I’d been looking for Matthew, but I - I’m guessing he’s not in. I presume you would be Karen? Karen Page?” 

[notadamscl-blog]

There are two things that form a sense of surprise when she opens the door; One, the beauty and caliber of the woman before her, they weren’t exactly representing millionaires here at Nelson & Murdock. Two, when the elegant woman said ‘Matthew’, who not once in all her time here had anyone ever referred to Matt as Matthew. She hesitates for a minute, should she have opened the door so freely, then her very own name leaves the woman’s lips.

“Oh. Yes, hi.” Karen greets now, she figured she knew Matt and if she turned her away not knowing who she was, what would Matt say? She opens the door further now as she traces her own steps back to Frank’s files spread across her floor. Quickly hiding most of his stuff and hoping that whoever this woman was wasn’t interested in The Punisher.

“Matt isn’t here but, I can call him. Coffee?” Ever the perfect secretary, Karen offers her coffee hoping that she doesn’t mind waiting. Then again, she figures she came here for something right? Waiting couldn’t be too much trouble for her.

[notadamscl-blog]

It isn’t until she gets a text message from Foggy that she notices how long she’s been lost in thought, the time blinking at her at the top of her phone screen. Three hours just looking over files, her own finds, trying to figure out which piece she is missing, trying to form the answers in her tired and overworked brain. 

[jesse-custer]

What is it, to be a hero? Look in the mirror and you’ll know. Look into your own eyes and tell me you are not heroic, that you have not endured, or suffered or lost the things you care about most.

[rctribution-blog]

An amusing thought flickers through a tortured mind; he almost grins. If anything, he feels a little like a puppy right now – following directly behind Karen’s heel, doing as he’s told despite the fact that he hasn’t known the woman before very long at all. ( Though perhaps that’s the infantry soldier lying dormant in him. ) The final similarity is trust; Frank trusts her. Wholeheartedly, and it’s an ALIEN feeling, it almost doesn’t sit right in his chest. It’s as if everything else ( the overwhelming negativity that resides within him ) is bursting to claw out, and snuff out the flicker of light. He won’t let it happen, though; that’s decided the second she turns to speak to him having just entered her apartment.

He sits, wary eyes flickering straight to the now discarded files upon the couch. Maybe it’s curiosity he might learn a few things about ‘ Karen ’ if he asks what the files are for, but then there’s the risk that they’re private and that asking would be overstepping a boundary. Though, if they were private she likely would have placed them somewhere OUT of sight, his mind supplies. 

Frank observes the – clearly used – kit in silence, a brow arching just slightly. “You pick beat up guys often?” He asks, a wicked ( though small ) smile flickers across his lips; cut and still slightly bloody. “Or maybe you make a habit of runnin’ into doors, I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and he takes the time rifle carefully through the first aid kit to hand, plucking out a suture and the corresponding thread. He glances up, the smile changing form and into a grin for a millisecond. “You wanna do the honours or shall I finish up?”

[notadamscl-blog]

“Something like that.” Karen’s voice is laced with a soft smile, she doesn’t pick up random beat up guys but, she sure as hell isn’t running into doors. Her dainty smile, if he knows how to decipher it, is the key to what she’s really used this kit for. There are bruises and scars along her body that she got long before she came to the city, within every hidden or covered mark is a tale of a treacherous endeavor. Karen if not for the walls she’s placed so high, would spill over like the ocean of secrets she is, or the storm of a woman she’s become over the years. After all, behind every hurricane of a woman, is a broken girl who never really healed right.

Then he smiles, its crooked smile with bright teeth that almost shine. She finds his facial expression almost foreign among his cuts and the way the crimson liquid stains his lips. How can something so beat up look so beautiful? Her mind flickers to the moments she was lying in her own blood, had she ever looked like him, probably not. He offers her task of fixing him up and it isn’t until he does that that Karen realizes her hands are shaking. They’re shaking at the brief glimpse of her past, uncontrollable in the face of her dark days.

Her eyes are wide as she looks at him, her blue orbs are storming and she hesitates for a moment. Then she closes those ocean eyes and takes one long breath, she knows how to bring herself back, she knows how to come out of the storm. Once her eyes open again and she releases the deep breath she took, her hands stop shaking and she approaches. 

“I can handle this.” Karen states like its a fact no one could dispute, her careful hand reach for the alcohol as her eyes offer an apology before she lets the liquid drip over his exposed flesh. She then proceeds to stitch him up, Karen’s skilled hands are put to work and her breath is steady. The corner of her lip is tucked between her teeth as she concentrates, she prays to the void that he doesn’t ask where she learned to do this. She isn’t ready to talk about it, she doesn’t know if she ever will be. 

“There we go.” She says once its over, his blood quickly drying on her hands as she wraps a bandage around his wound, taped and protected as she gets up from the crouched position she’d assumed. She picks up the wrappers and blood remains as she moves to her kitchen to wash her hands. She takes a minute or two longer than she should have as she steadies herself in her kitchen, it’s small and doesn’t offer much cooking space but the encasement of it makes it so she can put herself together easily. 

She comes back with a sandwich and a cup of coffee, she could smell the drink on his breath and figured he wouldn’t mind another cup. Karen herself clutches a mug of peppermint tea as she slides his food over to him, “Figured you could use that.”

[notadamscl-blog]

frank: oh karen is in danger

frank: i could just sit in the backseat of the car and surprise them

frank: nah i'll just play a loud tape of our song so she knows shes good

frank: then ill smash into her car

frank: good idea frank

[rctribution-blog]

He had walked off much worse than this; the pain barely even registered; there were a few scrapes, cuts and bruises - nothing out of the ordinary but somehow. Somehow it was too much. For a while it had felt like he simply couldn’t move. Like someone had glued Frank Castle to his spot on the floor in his cabin, back stuck to the wall and legs stapled to the floor. He’d been in pain since the day at Central Park but this was some kind of new level. It went deeper than skin and bones, weighed down his head and his heart like an anvil had been attached. 

It almost had him in a panic; a sensation he could only compare with drowning, or suffocating. There wasn’t any time for that, though; sure as Hell no use for it and so, after several moments of just breathing, trying to direct his thoughts into getting up, the ex-Marine manages to do just that. The moment he does so it becomes clear that the ache is all over; his limbs are heavy and his entire being aches - he realises after a few moments that he almost collapses in a heap on the floor. He can’t even hold himself up.

His thoughts go immediately to Karen. He doesn’t know why; but the next time he’s aware of himself once more he’s outside her apartment with grazed knuckles rapping on the door. She might turn him away, she might pull a gun on him ( the last thought has his heart skip a beat, not in fear but in… excitement? Frank can’t place the exact emotion. ) She answers and he’s aware that his hands ( now at his side ) hang loosely, and his fingers are twitching as if someone is sending a thousand electronic impulses down his muscles every second.

Frank swallows thickly, gaze darting and he heaves a breath ( when such a thing has required so much effort is unknown, but he has to think about it - inhaling, exhaling ) and his chest hurts. “I’m done. I can’t - I don’t want to…” Live? His mind supplies. Kill anyone else? Have to keep fighting? Hurt anymore? The possibilities are endless and he slumps, head dropping forward. 

@notadamscl

[notadamscl-blog]

Karen hadn’t seen him, it had been days. She figured it was for the best right? She knew now, knew the man she was helping was the Punisher. Though a part of her always knew, despite it she had still let him into her home. Still fed him, still helped him stitch himself up. She always had known, deep down buried in her chest, she’d known and she hadn’t held it against him. But this? His absence? It had to be for the best right? It had to be. Yet the blonde felt miserable, felt unhappy, felt like something was missing when she came home and he wasn’t there.

Of course she couldn’t talk to anyone about it, though it wasn’t like she wanted to. Whatever they had, the secret and the silence, it’s what made it possible. It was what made it good. It was theirs. She feels the sigh escape her when she thinks that, Frank Castle being part of her, he didn’t have to know it, she did. So she’s neck deep in her work, papers and a blinking computer screen, she’s curled on her couch. Wrapped up in a knitted blanket and wearing her favorite sweatpants, after all the heat this year, a chill had passed over New York City, a storm that she hadn’t even noticed until she had been freezing earlier. 

She’s trying to focus on her work, trying to forget him. She’s writing down in her legal pad, making note of everything Matt and Foggy will need, when she hears the struggled knock. Quietly, the blonde makes her way to the door, she’s tip toeing, she’s as quiet as a fox. Her hand reaches for her purse next to the door, where she keeps her gun, as she peaks her eye into the peephole. She could recognize him anywhere, she looked for him everywhere. Her hand loosens the grip on the gun and she opens her door up. 

Being greeted with a man in his state, seeing him in such a despair. God, it’s enough for Karen to want to take it all away, to do whatever she has to so he never feels any pain again. But Karen can’t work that kind of magic, Karen is no angel, Karen is helpless to his pain. So she takes him into her arms, she allows him to slump himself into her, she tries to shield him from the world as she brings him into her home. Karen doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing, she might never be able to help him but, for now all she can do is hold him.

“Frank. It’s okay, it’s gonna....” She can’t even say the common phrase, she doesn’t know what she can say as she wraps her arms around him. As she tries to lend him her strength, tries to give him something he doesn’t have inside of him anymore.

[rctribution-blog]

His gaze remains fixed upon her; much to Frank’s surprise it’s his turn to be transfixed. It’s nothing that happens often - usually he’s too busy, too one track minded to pay anyone other than his ‘ work ’ any form of attention but she has him caught, and he can’t figure out why. Not any further than there’s as sure as hell some kind of reason for her nonchalance in the face of implied violence and injuries.  A beat after her gesture, he tilts his head up and away ( forcing his eyes in the same direction ) to glance over the building.

There’s a moment of hesitation; he’s playing as many potential scenarios, concerning how this could end over and over again, as he can think up. Some of them end well - maybe he’ll get a cup of coffee out of it - some of them… not so much, simply. ‘ Just Karen ’ though, that has his attention brought right back to her and without another word he’s up on his feet. Frank takes a moment to pull his sleeve down, fixing it over the sticky gash stubbornly. 

“Frank.” He replies simply, another smile gracing battered, tired features, his eyes crinkling just slightly at the side. “Lead the way then, Karen.” There’s a familiar unsettling feeling in his stomach, a voice in his head that says it’s an awful idea but he’s feeling something. Something other than rage, and hurt, like the fatigue has drained away to be replaced with something… alive, maybe even positive. He doesn’t want to let go of that. Not yet.

[notadamscl-blog]

She leads the way and for a moment all you can hear are her heels on the dirty streets of Hell’s kitchen. The blonde doesn’t say anything but, not out of fear. No. She doesn’t say anything because she gets this feeling that doesn’t need to say anything. Like he doesn’t exactly need her to fill the empty space with words or talks of the weather, he’s comfortable in the silence. Karen has always been surrounded by so much loud, so much screaming in her mind, she assumed it was because she liked it, liked the loud. As they walk up her steps, Karen realizes no she didn’t like it, she just didn’t know anything else, didn’t no the silence, didn’t know any better. 

Once her key has turned the lock and they’ve made it across the hallway, Karen recording the difference of her heeled taps upon the floor to his heavy boots stomp. Opening her home up to him, Karen swallows any of the hesitation she had reserved, she’s doing this. She can not take it back. She doesn’t want to take it back. As soon as she’s in her apartment, Karen turns to him speaking as she rushes to clear her small kitchen table of the files scattered there.

“You can sit, I’ll grab the first aid kit.” Her voice is soft but certain, she drops her new files on the couch on her way to the bathroom, along with her purse. She takes a minute to look at her reflection, did she look like a crazy person? No? Then this couldn’t possibly be as crazy she thought. Once she finds the kit, Karen comes back to him, she’s removed her shoes and washed her hands clean of any germs she could possibly spread to his wound. 

“I hope there’s something in here that can help.” Karen says, she opens the kit in front of him. Some of the things having been used, she had her own share of runs ins and injuries. She didn’t talk about them. No one saw the scars anyway. 

[notadamscl-blog]

😉 Where do you hide your wings?

“Because I’m an angel?” She questions before she bursts out laughing, that had to be the worst of them all. “Come on Castle, you can do better than that!”

[notadamscl-blog]

😉 Would you like Gin and platonic, or do you prefer Scotch and sofa?

“Is Vodka and Bed an option?” She suggests though his drink play is clearly not something she matches. 

[notadamscl-blog]

😉 Are you French? 'Cause Eiffel for you.

“Is that serious? Karen asked truly hoping it wasn’t, “Oh! Oh you’re being serious?”

[notadamscl-blog]

↱ = being lost with them

↱ = being lost with them.

Searching these cities for anything and everything she could uncover came with a price, that price being losing yourself in the worst of the worst. The darkest parts of hell’s kitchen and not having anyone to call. Matt would scold her, Foggy would probably get hurt coming down here. So she’s frantically trying to retrace her steps, it doesn’t help that her phone died so not only can she not call for help, she can’t even look up where she is. That of course not even being the worse part, she entered this shady dark building and had no way of getting out, or at least not one that didn’t face her with 20+ gangsters and thugs.

There’s a man that appears just before she’s just about to give up, he looks as puzzled as her. This building is old and abandoned and large, of course she couldn’t be the only one lost here. She tip toes over, her heels making like clicks that she winces at. Karen can’t take off her shoes here, she doesn’t know what’s on these floors. Once she’s close enough, Karen looks at him with determination in her eyes.

“So what’s the game plan?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, it’s laced with hope that maybe he had been a little brighter coming in here than she had been. “Because if we’re both counting on me, it’s not looking so good.” She admits with a shake of her head.

[randomroleplaymemes-blog]

My muse needs a good laugh. Send "😉" + the most awkward pickup line your muse can come up with and your muse might just score if it is funny enough.

[notadamscl-blog]

回 = patching a wound

回 = patching a wound.

Since the first night she helped Frank patch himself up, she’s learned a lot about the basics of first aid. She wasn’t a professional, she wasn’t qualified to do this but, she also wasn’t going to walk away and not help someone. Karen had acted quickly she saw him, she offered herself up not taking a minute to actually think about whether or not this was a good idea. She needs to work on that, the not thinking, her damn impulsivity would catch up to her one day. 

“Don’t ask.” Karen says in a strangely calm tone as she pulls out the first aid kit from her bag, it is small but packed with the essentials. She’s been leaving her home with this city for weeks now, she never knew when Frank would need her, or anyone for the matter. That and the work she was doing, the places a pretty little thing like she or as they called her, shouldn’t be sticking her nose in. Karen was prepared for the worse.

Soon enough, the blonde has cleaned and stitched up the wound. Her hands don’t shake as much as when she first started and as she smooths the bandage around the man’s now stitched wound, she looks up at him. Sweat makes some of her hair stick to forward but, she offers a warm smile. She doesn’t want to scare him, then again she doesn’t think he scares easily.

“My name is Karen.” She offers him a friendly introduction. She had his blood on her hands, he should at least know her name.

[notadamscl-blog]

❃ ( bet u thought u'd seen the last of me )

❃ = dancing with them .

Two plates. Two forks. Two cups. All of these things rest in the sink, Karen’s sink. They’ve been having dinner together for a while now, Karen remembers when it started but, she has no intention of ever finding out when it will stop. The blonde makes it home early enough to catch him before he goes into the night, her evening dinner becomes his morning breakfast. Sometimes he cooks, it’s always something simple, most of the time it is actual breakfast food. Sometimes she cooks and she frets over it, tries to make it look perfect, tries out new recipes. She always gets the same response though, a response she cherishes more than she thought was possible, a simple ‘thank you, ma’am’ is more than enough for her.

As the plates rest in the sink and Karen feels her head pounding with a mixture of work stress, the heat that has plagued the city, uncovering the truth behind what happened to Frank’s family and her own thoughts. She rubs at her temples, a sigh leaves her and she buries her head into her small hands. She doesn’t look up until a song gently pulls her out of her hands, she looks up and her shinning blues meet dark yet somehow warm gaze. He offers her that grin, a grin that tells her he’s noticed her pain. She shakes her head and he frowns, almost like his questioning if he’s done something wrong. It’s enough to get her up, up and taking his hand.

Karen doesn’t say anything as he holds her closer to his body, their builds could not be more different. Her thin waist and long legs contrast his large chest and stocky features. But the blonde would swear it, if only ever to herself, that she fits perfectly against him. She doesn’t say that though, no of course she doesn’t. Instead she finds laugh that she buries into his chest once the song picks up, always the same song, Shining Star. 

Soon enough the pair are both grinning like idiots as they match each other’s steps, her headache left her skull and all she knows is the funky beat that echoes throughout her apartment. He spins her and she compliments his dancing, who knew Frank Castle could dance?

Before he leaves her that night, he traces a star into her palm and promises to be home before she leaves for work. She holds him to that as she places her hand into her chest, making sure where he traced rest right above her heart.