#deservetoknow

[altarbov]

@deservetoknow from here

This little arrangement existed because of both of their recurring nightmares in the weeks following Foggy's death. Karen had pretty much moved in with him in his apartment in Hell's Kitchen while they wrapped up the remaining cases in their old office. Sleeping on the same bed and being there for each other after a particularly bad dream had helped both of them to the point where they decided to move in together, complete with separate bedrooms this time.

That hadn't lasted. They'd always end up in each other's bed to the point where they decided to drop the act and just make it the norm. It made sense, and it was innocent enough to justify it to their friendship code. Even when their cuddling went from being reserved to lull the other back to sleep and became their default position, both could both argue that friends did that, especially ones that care about each other so much and had just lost such an integral part of their group.

Then, as they got more comfortable, neither of them could deny that the whole thing had become slightly less innocent. They'd give each other kisses on the cheek or forehead, not only for comfort in the middle of the night, but as goodbye and hello at the start and end of their days. When they'd venture into the other's room in the middle of the night in the earlier days of their new apartment, they'd both be dressed in their usual sleeping attire rather than something more modest.

So when they started going straight to the same bed, it would be in Karen's usual thin camisoles, and Matt in only shorts or sweatpants. They'd cuddle up into each other, and Matt would spend the whole night feeling the warmth of Karen's skin against his, feel her breath against his neck.

Their well-established friendship code prevented either of them from actually making a move, but it would be a lie to say Matt hadn't wondered about, considered asking her to get rid of it entirely, even dreamt about it… that had resulted in early, long showers on occasion, though Matt wasn't happy to admit it.

"That would imply I want to kiss someone else, which I don't. There's no one I want to kiss other than you, Miss Page." He admitted, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Would you want me to kiss you?"

[worldsokayestdad]

Your pinned 🖼️ are so beautiful. I love the idea there's a "Batman" pantone 😆 eggshell, ink, chartreuse, Batman, y'know 🤷🏼‍♀️

For your viewing pleasure.

[castlle]

@deservetoknow asked: ❛ i know under all that rage is a beating heart. ❜

"—only for a few people." Frank says looking at her. "Other than that, there's nothing left in there for anyone. I told you before, I don't lose sleep over what I do. I don't feel bad about it. I only get...,"his voice trails off as he shakes his head. A look of disgust flickers quickly on his face before he looks at Karen again. "I don't like killing people, y'know, but someone has to do it. It needs to be done. Some of these scum assholes need to be in the dirt—permanently. No mercy, no forgiveness. No goddamn prison sentence like Red thinks if he puts half the town and T H A T will clean up the city and keep people safe?They got money, they get bail, they fuckin' disappear again. It's a joke. No, no." He shakes his head again. "I refuse to contribute to that lunacy."

[localwebslingers]

@deservetoknow liked for an AU starter for Earth-65!

------

Maybe he just attracted the ability to get hurt...

Peter hissed as a swab covered in alcohol went over the cut in his arm and tried to pull away before the paramedic caught him, for the third time, and held him still to finish cleaning the cuts. None were that deep, he was already told he didn't need stitches, and had been checked twice for a concussion. An officer was noting something down in the notebook and eyed him again which Peter was trying hard to ignore, eyes watching the scene as people went through the mangled bus that had been caught in the middle of...well he really didn't know who or what, just that apparently he picked the wrong bus that afternoon. Accidents weren't unheard of but major ones and gun fights that involved Spider-Woman were a little harder to come by. He wanted to ask Gwen when she saw him stumble off the bus and had settled for his best friend giving him a once over of her own before having to clear out. Right now, Peter wished she took him with her.

"-listening? Sir?" He blinked and looked back at the officer in front of him who eyed him and sighed, "Just, try to take it easy, and call us if you remember anything that stands out."

"Sure..." at least he hadn't actually been caught talking to Gwen, Peter was sure they'd try and talk to him longer for that. He just wanted to go home, and not be taken to the hospital for things like x-rays and scans and wait times and too clean hallways that he was perfectly happy to leave in the past. His eyes went back to scanning the crowd that had gathered, feeling his arm being bandaged up. At the chaos that was taking up the entire street and causing traffic to back up and get redirected as everything was cleared out. Maybe he could see if Captain Stacy had shown up and would give him a ride home, public transport wasn't really that appealing now. It was hard to wrap his mind around the bent and warped metal of the vehicles that had all been hit and how he'd been in one of them. He wanted to call Gwen and ask if she knew what happened.

Instead, Peter blinked and finally focused on the woman in front of him who apparently had come over. At some point, his arm had finally been let go, "....sorry, what?"

[altarbov-archive]

@deservetoknow because canon doesnt exist

Matt honestly had no idea how he would've survived the last three months without Karen. Ever since Foggy's funeral, they had been pretty much inseparable, to the point that it became easier to move into another apartment together. With separate rooms, of course, so they didn't violate the friendship code, which had quickly become a very rare source of laughter for them, largely due to how blurry those lines had become.

Sure, they weren't officially dating, but that didn't stop them from spending nearly every non-working hour together, wrapped up in each other's arms more often than not, even while sleeping, which rendered the second bedroom entirely useless. Yeah, the friendship code had been thrown out the window. And honestly, Matt would like to make that official, if the timing wasn't all wrong.

But then again, maybe it would never be right.

That was what he was thinking about that morning as he heard her walk into the kitchen. "Hey," he greeted her, pulling himself out of his thoughts to offer her a smile "I made some coffee if you want."

After moving in together about a month ago, it finally felt like they were settled into the new place, and into somewhat of a routine. Matt was quickly realizing that he actually liked that.

"I was thinking I could cook dinner tonight. You know, give ourselves a break from all the takeout. What do you say? I'll even let you decide what we eat."

[musesforthedamned]

@deservetoknow asked:

“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.” @ Frank

Frank didn’t answer, not right away.

He just sat there, shoulders hunched like the whole world was still pressing down on his spine. Like he’d never fully stood up straight since it happened. Since any of it happened. Maybe even since he'd signed his name to the papers for the Marines, which were akin to signing his death certificate. That's for sure. It indeed signed his wife and kids without anyone knowing.

His gaze flicked to her, sharp and cold, then dropped to his hands- the scowl that was ever-present on his expression growing deeper as he took in his palms, fingers all scarred and stained like everything else he touched. When he spoke, his voice was rough and low, laced with something jagged.

“Yeah, well… some of us don’t get the luxury of sharing.” Just then, a bitter scoff escaped him. “Memories, huh? They ain’t storybooks. They’re landmines. And I ain’t about to hand someone a map just so they can step on every fuckin’ one.”

He leaned back, eyes like steel forged in the fires of hell itself. “You think holdin’ ‘em’s the worst part? Nah. Worst part’s wakin’ up every goddamn day with ‘em still there. Still yours. You can’t outrun ‘em. You can’t fix ‘em. And sure as hell can’t trade ‘em in for better ones.”

He paused, jaw tight, like he was about to spit out something crueler. But then, slowly but surely... the fight in him deflated just a little, and he looked away, being able to finally admit what he really thought, really felt, but unable to look at her as he did so. “People don’t wanna hear what I remember, Karen. Not really. They wanna pretend I’m just some broken vet with a bad temper.”

A beat resounded in time before he admitted his thoughts out loud.

“They want me to stay quiet.” Another second passed before he unconsciously opened his mouth and said, "So I do." Then came the quiet. It was the kind of quiet that wrapped around your ribs like barbed wire. He glanced at her again, and a haunted look flickered in his expression.

“You ever hold somethin’ so long it stops bein’ a memory and starts bein’ who you are?” Once more, silence enveloped the room, but this time it trembled at the edges. Then came the low confession, scraped raw with honesty tearing through his throat as the words clawed their way out of his mouth. “Guess I don’t talk about ’em ‘cause I don’t wanna share the weight. Don’t want you carryin’ it, too.”

His gaze met hers, steady and heavy, and for a breath, the bitterness eased. There was something close to an apology in it. It was almost as if he felt regret for how he had addressed her concern, only to be confronted with hostility that had developed over time due to pain and betrayal; however, that was when he realized that Karen was none of those things.

None of the bad stuff he knew followed him around, like moths to a flame. “But I hear you. I do. I'm... tryin'. Just dunno how to even start.”

And then, softer, he spoke up, almost a whisper.

“You ever wanna share yours… I’ll be here. Ghosts and all. As hypocritical as it sounds, ya ain't alone. And don't you go on about how I need to see the same thing because trust me, I've heard it.” The only difference was that he had actually started to believe it, thanks to her help.

Her, David- hell, somehow even Red managed to slip in under his armor.

[contritioned]

We see Frank reading in the Punisher show and books in his bunker but we don’t get the fun of seeing the titles. I love that they include him reading, a break from the “tough guy I shoot and fight things and that’s ALL I do” trope. He also takes a little reading time y’know, appreciates some good literature. What do you think he’s reading?

I think in that scene he was being boring and reading Moby Dick or something like that. He returned the book to Curtis? later in the episode (I need a rewatch to confirm) but he's just reading super boring older books. My man is a Silas Marner kinda dude. He needs some better shit in his life for real.

On the flip flop, I also see him as a Lord of the Rings reader, maybe even Chronicles of Narnia. Really just older books / titles. Maybe even Whirligig? Doesn't much matter the genre, though he's certainly a classical titles kind of guy. "Adventure fiction" - 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Around the World in 80 Days, A Picture of Dorian Gray, A Tale of Two Cities, Journey to the Center of the Earth, To Kill a Mockingbird, Heart of Darkness.

[justxez]

@deservetoknow

     There had been a time in Mae's life when she would have truly enjoyed the city that never slept. With its neon lights on every corner, shadows cast on the pavement - this time still wet from the rain that had stopped falling only minutes before, as well as the colorful crowd of people occupying the city. But on this day, Mae knew it was a melancholic moment, pierced by a bullet that had missed her head.

     Whether by precision or accident, she hadn't cared. What followed were automatic movements, rehearsed many times before. Instead of trying to trace where the gunman had been, Mae fled to safety. There was no need to get wounded - taedium vitae was not yet where it should have been in Mae's life.

     It was there that she met the least expected person in that place. Her blonde hair had looked like a halo in the hazy light - but she'd known it wasn't an angel. "What are you doing here?" she whispered, aghast.