#//lmao at first i was like ??? you mean defile a grave?

[honorhearted]

Emma's voice held the frigid chill of ice. The pointed edge of her greeting was palpable, yet Caleb mercifully said nothing while Benjamin inclined his head by way of answer. "Miss Dunster," he offered in return. "Are we truly to be so formal on this day? I would think that you and I could drop such charades, seeing how close we've grown."

It was a low blow, both to her and himself, if he was being honest, because he was still deeply ashamed by his actions. But if he could prove himself unruffled, then perhaps he could still win this game, after all.

Emma focused on greeting Caleb instead -- probably wise, all things considered -- and the whaler laughed at her demure response. "Can't say I've heard 'it's lovely to meet you' before," he teased, winking. "Is your judge of character truly so piss-poor? Then again..." Here, he gave Benjamin a friendly wallop to the shoulder. "You seem mighty taken by this here gollumpus, so I guess that answers my question."

Benjamin stiffened at the jest, irritably pushing Caleb's hand away from his arm. "It's called being polite, Finnegan. Perhaps you should try it out sometime." He once more moved to entreat Emma to allow a chaperone, but she was quite adamant in her denial.

"A burden?" he echoed. A genuine, incredulous smile touched his lips. "It's hardly a burden to accompany you on horseback. It's one of my favorite pastimes, and, as it so happens, one of my favorite animals as well."

Emma remained immovable. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.” Her cheeks grew florid within the early morning sun, and her hands tightened to the point he swore he heard the leather squeak of her riding gloves. To Caleb, she said, “I’d love to hear more about the haul, if you don’t mind sharing. Mister Bolton doesn’t seem to think women are capable of thinking of anything beyond fripperies, but you look like a clever enough man. I'm sure you don’t share the same ignorant opinion as your associate.”

Caleb bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "I do, do I? Gadso, I can see why Johnny-boy here is so smitten! You're mighty generous with the compliments -- even if they're clearly lies."

Benjamin sighed, embarrassment flooding his face as his friend gave a sound thump to his arm. "Yes, well..." Avoiding Emma's gaze, he muttered, "She's lovely, so...I'm certain anyone with eyes can see that. That hardly makes a man smitten."

Mercifully, Emma seemed intent on bringing the conversation back to commerce -- the true reason for their stay.

“I'm sure Mister Bolton forgot to mention that I am in line to inherit the family business--he doesn't seem to think me capable of such a feat--so I am intrigued to hear how things are coming along for your privateering. Do you dabble in hogs as well?"

Caleb snorted. "You must not know much about privateerin', eh? No disrespect, o' course. I 'dabble' in whatever we find as prizes. Hogs certainly do come up -- I supply some of them to Johnnyboy's farm -- but we also get varying kegs o' booze, weaponry, ammo, textiles, you name it! We have a letter of marque to legally attack and take over certain ships, so I'm just doin' my part." Here, he gave a cheeky salute. "I've gotta say: I am intrigued by a lady business partner. Do ya like your numbers?"

"She can count, if that's what you mean," Benjamin supplied, looking Emma's way with a smirk. "Are you sure you won't let us join you, Miss Dunster? You look a little peaked."

As soon as the door locked into place, Emma froze and leaned her head back against the cool wood, willing her heart to slow its rampage. How had she let herself get so flustered by him? She knew that their challenge was still ongoing, to expect the unexpected in the midst of war, but she hadn’t planned on him proposing such a ridiculous idea tonight. Tonight was supposed to be safe, a quiet night in secured by the fact that her father was playing host. None of his friends or men ever ventured farther than the parlor or his study, and she had somehow assumed John Bolton would be the same. He had used the false security against her.

That’s what it had to be. There was no other logical explanation for the way her body felt right now. She was merely caught off guard, her armor not properly secured. The next time she saw him, she would be prepared for anything he wished to hurl at her. Next time, she would not falter the way she had tonight.

...

Despite spending so much time in her room over the next few days, Emma couldn’t manage to sleep very well at all. Each time she closed her eyes, she imagined his face, standing there all smug and aggravatingly handsome. Every time her eyelids dared to flutter closed, she imagined his bare chest, the feeling of her fingers against his skin. Even in her dreams, all she wanted to do was reach out and pull him closer, to run her hands along his body until she’d explored every single inch of his being. Until she knew him better than he knew himself. In turn, she wanted his hands to touch her, to hold her, squeeze her in all the places she shouldn’t want him to. Instead of constantly fighting off the waves of shame that ebbed and flowed upon each wakening, Emma eventually resolved herself to staying conscious. If her dreams would be plagued by him, she would simply stay awake.

It wasn’t the smartest plan she'd ever made but she had no other ideas for how to rid herself of his imprint in her mind. As long as he was staying under the safe roof and ingratiating himself with her father, Emma would be at his mercy. After nearly four days locked away in her room, the hours spent desperately trying to think of anything else, she gave up and and decided on an outing. She needed to get out of her room. She needed fresh air and a new setting to refresh her mind before she went mad. Before she dared to find him and drag him into her room herself.

Dressing herself in a suitable riding outfit, Emma grumbled as she stalked her way down the hall and past a handful of servants. If they noticed her agitation, they didn't comment on it and she found herself eternally grateful for the fact. The less she had to explain herself, the better. All she needed to do was reach the barn.

But instead of being welcomed by the pleasant, solitary company of her horses, Emma was met with the absolute last person she wished to see. And another stranger.

Great, she silently grumbled. Another man to present to pine for her father's attentions, she assumed. Without sparing a glance to the new face, Emma gave a curt nod, hoping her cheeks didn't betray her attempt at remaining composed.

“Mister Bolton.” His name escaped her in an exasperated tone, her heart beginning to race as though she'd sprinted all the way here. How did he manage to be everywhere? Why was he haunting her like this? In her own house, she couldn't go anywhere without seeing him in some capacity and it was maddening. Her thoughts were so tangled and jumbled by seeing his countenance that it took her an embarrassingly long moment to finally take in the presence of the other man.

“Mister Finnegan,” Emma dipped into a halfhearted bow, less formal than what would’ve been expected from her, but she wasn't in the right state of mind to care. As long as John Bolton was in her presence, nothing mattered except leaving. “It’s lovely to meet you, sir.”

She tried to keep her gaze on the new face, but her attention kept being drawn to John, her violet-blue eyes drinking in every ounce of him that she could. It had only been a few days and yet she felt like it had been an eternity since she'd last seen him. It felt as though he’d gone to war and she was seeing him for the first time in years. It was a ridiculous sentiment, and even more foolishly, she couldn’t help but imagine herself running into his arms and kissing him again. Even more so, it struck her as mortifying that her mind even dared to admit she missed him.

“Hm?” Her reply was delayed, the thoughts of their previous encounter still vivid in her mind. Her dreams had been plagued by the feeling of his lips and, despite her insistence that she didn’t like him, his face was all she could envision when she slipped her hand between her legs and released her built up frustration.

“No.” She replied too firmly for her own liking, wincing at the harshness of her tone. “No,” She tried again, but the lingering effects of the first no couldn’t be ignored. "Thank you. I wouldn't wish to place such a burden upon you."

Emma didn’t wish to make a scene in front of someone else, but she also didn’t wish to make a fool of herself in front of her worst enemy. Or at least that’s what she tried to remind herself that he was. The enemy, the villain, the man who she could not fall for at any cost.

Though the idea of having him nearby was tempting, Emma knew it was better for the both of them if she kept her distance. Her resilience was not as strong as she had thought it to be and if she spent too long around him, she wasn't entirely sure what she would be tempted to do. No, it was safer to stay alone. The farther she stayed from him, the less she would imagine the feeling of his hands on her hips and the taste of his lips on her own.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to interrupt your conversation.” A blush crept onto her cheeks and she all at once felt incredibly out of place in her own family’s barn. He was the guest here and yet she felt like the outsider, as though she were the one trespassing. Turning her attention back to Mister Finnegan, Emma forced a smile.

“I’d love to hear more about the haul, if you don’t mind sharing. Mister Bolton doesn’t seem to think women are capable of thinking of anything beyond fripperies, but you look like a clever enough man. I'm sure you don’t share the same ignorant opinion as your associate.” Fluttering her lashes, she tried to act demure. It was the same tactic she had used in her youth to convince her father to let her do things a young lady ought not do, but it always seemed to work. And perhaps appearing so sweet and devilishly kind to someone else would be enough to rattle the enemy. Or at least make him jealous. “I'm sure Mister Bolton forgot to mention that I am in line to inherit the family business--he doesn't seem to think me capable of such a feat--so I am intrigued to hear how things are coming along for your privateering. Do you dabble in hogs as well?"

[wholemeasure-a]

@chaoswillneverend

My apologies for not reblogging directly from you, but this post you made is pretty long and image heavy, and I’d rather not stretch people’s dashes. 

I wasn’t going to do this, because I don’t enjoy fandom discourse. It’s exhausting-- but it’s REALLY irritating me the suggestion that I haven’t done my character work. I don’t want to have an argument, I don’t want to have a debate, but I do not love going into the Frank tag and having someone be like ‘lmao read more comics you guys have no idea what you’re talking about you haven’t done any research’.

I will agree that with the advent of the Netflix series, yeah, people jumped right into shipping. Of course they did-- shipping is huge in any fandom. Do I think it’s out of character and silly when people turn Frank into a big romantic shmush and turn Karen into a pure, delicate little lamb that Frank has to protect? Abso-fucking-lutely. In any fandom, characters will be portrayed in an fanciful light by some people, you can’t change it, and it isn’t really hurting anyone. Karen’s a stone cold killer who will lie and hustle her way to the truth if it kills her, who keeps secrets from her friends and whose only regret is that she had to kill someone at all. Frank is a tortured, grieving man who is addicted to violence and war, and all those qualities were things that existed and then were brought to the forefront when his family died. But my main issue is the idea that Punisher fans who think Frank loved war more than his family are somehow not as well-read as fans who think the opposite.

I’ve never been much for homework, but character examination and exploration is what I do, so sorry if I’m a little irritated at the suggestion that I ain’t done it. 

Here’s my issue. You cite Garth Ennis as your major point of reference, but the only Ennis stuff you talk about in that post, is Born. Everything else is from the Jason Aaron run.

So I’m going to breeze past Aaron’s run, because you can’t tell us Ennis is the man who made Frank Castle as he is known today, and then throw Jason Aaron’s stuff at us. The two aren’t comparable, because Ennis makes it clear in EVERY SINGLE ARC of Punisher MAX that Frank is still affected by the loss of his family. Who loved his family. Aaron tells us the exact opposite. 

‘Whenever I get careless, that yearning in her eyes creeps up and brings me to my knees.’

Those are the first pages of Ennis’ Punisher MAX run.  He visits their graves and it eats at him. It gnaws at him. And not a few pages later...

He’s at peace. Or, not even real peace, is it? It’s SOMETHING like peace. I won’t deny he’s in love with war, that’s true. He wouldn’t have gone back to Vietnam so many times if he didn’t love war. But I will not accept that he loved it more than his family, not when Ennis portrays Frank as being a war addict. He kills because he can’t forgive. He was never able to forgive, even before they died. He can’t forgive because Frank has always had the capacity for great hatred, but it wasn’t all he was, it wasn’t his core, and with the loss of his family, all that’s left is the hate.

This is ISSUE ONE! 

So how about Kitchen Irish, is there anything in there that tells us Frank is still FUBAR over his family?

Yeah, the entire finale is Ennis saying ‘Frank Castle has been at war for 30 years and it hasn’t made him feel any different, he’s still a miserable bastard with nothing that he loves in his life except for killing, because the things he loved are dead.’ 

How aboouuuut Mother Russia- a personal favorite.

It’s his daughter’s memory that brings him back to his feet. It’s little Lisa Castle dying on the green where her daddy couldn’t help her that pulls him up and gives him the strength to fuck that guy up for hurting Galina. 

And he loved War more than them?

Let’s not even talk about how Up is Down, Black is White has a huge chunk of it dedicated to Frank not being able to think clearly because he’s so furious about Nicky Cavella defiling his family’s grave, let’s not talk about how his entire relationship with Kathryn O’Brien is about two people forging an emotional connection based on mutual respect, consent, empathy, and shared experiences. (Actually, let’s talk about how O’Brien is a beautiful woman, a strong woman, someone who, if she’d survived, would likely have cemented herself in a place in Frank’s life and he would have been totally on board with it. Had she lived, Frank likely would have had someone to finally team up with and have a bond with that wouldn’t fuck him over.) 

Let’s not talk about how his arc with O’Brien ends in Long Cold Dark, which is literally an arc about Frank still having powerful paternal feelings, feelings that spur him to protect, care for, and fear for the wellbeing of a child. How he admits he isn’t sure if he actually liked O’Brien or if he was kidding himself. Which is basically all the explanation you need for Ennis to be saying ‘Look, look Frank is still human. He’s still a man who experiences life when he forgets to stay away from people who work their way inside his walls.’

I don’t mean to alarm anyone.

But it's starting to look like Frank Castle has feelings.

You claim that Ennis is the definitive, the man who made Punisher comics popular again, but you keep giving us Jason Aaron, when Ennis himself directly contradicts Aaron’s story that Frank was going to leave his family.

He would have never left them. He loved them. 

And yes, Born is all about Frank admitting that he has an attraction to violence, that it’s a part of him, that he feels alive in it-- but that doesn’t mean he’s excited about the prospect of ditching his loved ones in favor of a lifetime of war. There’s an interview with Ennis where he says he thinks it’s Frank just admitting to himself what exists inside him, and that being honest about his aptitude for violence is what allows him to go home to his family. And you know, not for nothing? This doesn’t look like a man anticipating his family’s death to me. It looks like a man who has no idea what’s coming next. Who might even be a little afraid.

Jason Aaron is the only Punisher writer to tell the world Frank wanted to get away from his family. He’s the ONLY one that treats Frank like he didn’t love them.

Ennis says Frank loved them in every single arc. In one way or another, he makes sure we know where Frank stands.

Have I done my homework? Did I get an A? Is your opinion maybe not the only valid one? 

You are not the gatekeeper of the Punisher comics. Don’t treat other fans like they’re idiots just because they don’t share your opinions.