#OH LOOK tumblr just hates having indented paragraphs

[skinwalkingxana]

Happy Friday! “There were always stories; people had to talk. Even if they were dying. Maybe the tongue was the last to go.”― Kathe Koja, Bad Brains, for Cassandra/Varric

~ @lordgoretash

( hey sorry tumblr is being weird with the formatting on this post) For @dadrunkwriting ! Happy friday and thank you so much for the prompt! Varric gets away from me sometimes, whoops lol

“There are always stories; people have to talk. “ Cassandra scoffs, fingers lost in the tangle of his chest hair. Despite the fires from the forge being banked long ago, the embers still cast a warm glow on her skin. “Even if they’re dying?” “Especially when they’re dying. You’ve killed enough people in your time, Seeker, you know this.” She hates it whenever he calls her Seeker. He can’t help it, the way her whole face scrunches up, how she’ll counter by calling him dwarf, as if it was some kind of insult. The next words out of Cassandra’ mouth always held a special kind of bite that she reserved only for him. They’ve been meeting up like this long enough now. Long enough for Varric to understand the difference, at least. “Or maybe the tongue is the last to go.” Ah, there it is. Right on time. He has to give her credit, sometimes Cassandra could have a way with words. Not as well as he did, of course. Not that he would ever admit if she had. She’s leaning over him now, eyes dangerous. The wooden bed creaks beneath them with the movement, causing her to pause. A month ago, Varric would have been concerned he was about to end up on the receiving end of her right hook; Maker, sometimes when his eye twitched he could still feel the pain from the black-eye Cassandra left him with. Now though? Now Varric found himself leaning up, lips hungry for something only Cassandra’s own could satisfy. When had they stopped needing cheap Fereldan whiskey to end up entangled like this? The first time had been a drunken accident, sure. Maybe even the second time. By the third it had stopped being a coincidence. Somehow they managed to put on a proper enough facade that no one had become suspicious. In fact, the Inquisitor refused to put the two of them in a party anymore, for fear they would be at each other’s throats the whole trip. It was cute, that Cassandra was so concerned they would be found out. So there were a few rumors that the two of them may be sleeping together, they were just that: rumors. Everyone in the inner circle had some kind of rumor going around about who they kept in their bed, it didn’t always mean they were true! Isabella had even been the one to start some of them! Though, Varric did have to wonder, who had started the rumor he was sleeping with Cassandra? Cassandra pulled away then, the braid that was normally pinned to her head trailing down her back. She was watching him with a scrutinizing look now. It was the same look she had used on Varric that first day in Kirkwall, back when she had ‘interviewed’ him. “What?” Varric finally asked, tired of the long beat of silence that had stretched on between them. “You are over thinking. Again.” Well, shit. She has me there. Cassandra moved off of him, settling down on the bed next to him. She placed one hand behind her head, her gaze firmly set on the ceiling above them. Varric moved into a similar position, allowing one hand to rest on his bare chest. They fell into silence again, leaving Varric reeling for something to break it. “Does it bother you?” “Does what bother me?” Varric props himself up on his side so he can face her again. He finds himself reaching out to play with Cassandra’s long braid, twirling it around and around in his hand. The first time he had touched her hair, he had been surprised by how soft and floral it was. He expected her to have a more bold woodsy scent, or to not have a scent at all, but he could only pick up the notes of floral perfume when they were this close. “The sneaking around? It isn’t your style.” “Of course it does. The sneaking is your doing. If I had it my way-“ Cassandra cuts herself off, eyes wide for a moment. She then pulls her braid out of Varric’s hands. “Forget it.” “Cassandra?“ “I said forget it. “ Cassandra turns her back on him now. “Oh come on. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.” Varric places one of his calloused hands on her bare shoulder. She doesn’t react, not even to push his hand away. “It is not worth mentioning. You may take your leave now.”

At her dismissive tone, Varric sighs. There’s no use in trying to get anything out of her now. Whatever Cassandra was about to say, it’s gone. He gets up, gathering his clothes. At one point he pauses mid-leg, catching Cassandra watching him from the corner of her eye. Once she realizes he caught her, she quickly turns away again. It happens two more times, and the last time Varric stops lacing his trousers up, allowing his eyes to linger on her bare back. When she doesn’t turn around a fourth time, he decided to do exactly as she says, and leaves.

[kinfanfiction]

Charlie Eppes x Fem!Reader - Chapter 5 - Annotations

A/N: Part of this chapter was inspired by a suggestion given by @bigbottboy. Thank you!!

THE AMOUNT OF RESEARCH I DID JUST TO FIND A COLLEGE THAT WOULD BE PERFECT FOR THE READER TO ATTEND OH MY GOD. 😭😭😭

I am going to fight Tumblr. It keeps removing my goddamn paragraph indents!

     The second time you and Charlie were apart was when you went off to college. You could only afford to go to an in-state university, but you were still six hours away which made visits to your hometown were few and far between. Charlie continued his work on The Eppes Convergence while he also worked on getting his Associates of Applied Science, and you pursued a Bachelor of Arts in English at the University of California in Berkeley.

     Your social life improved as soon as you stepped foot on campus. You made friends that supported you and your interests. You went to parties, tried new things, some of which you probably shouldn’t have. You had many new experiences that made you understand why Charlie came back from Princeton so much more confident. You still hated your math classes though, because he wasn’t there to help you work through it. This time you called him while you were away, letters were only entertaining the first time around, this time you just wanted to hear his voice. His voice sounded like home.

     While you were away, you tried to have romantic relationships a few times, but most encounters ended in a one night stand, and then you’d actively avoid anyone you’d ‘encountered’ if you saw them around campus. People tried to pursue you more than you did them, and every time someone got too close to you, you separated yourself from them. You were too scared of committing to something that could tear you apart like it had the first time.

     Charlie tried focusing on his work, but some days it was hard. He missed his brother, who was away in New Mexico, and he missed you. He enjoyed Larry’s company, though. Larry got him through the loneliness. He reminded Charlie of you sometimes, specifically when he talked about human behavior. How it was fascinating, devastating, beautiful and terrifying, and completely irrational all at once. He appreciated the deep thoughts you both offered in your own ways, as he would typically fall into the habit of reducing most humans to the statistical likelihood that they would behave one way or another, but insight like yours constantly shifted his perspective, and he was better because of it. 

     The morning after you had stayed up with Charlie to watch Little Women, he woke up first. He looked down to see you asleep on his chest, beside you there was a few tissues lying on the bed. He slowly got up and laid your head back down on the pillow behind you and cleaned up the tissues, put away the tissue box, and left the room to get himself ready for the day. He decided that, since it was Saturday, he should just let you sleep in. 

     He went down to the kitchen and started grabbing ingredients to make breakfast. One of the easiest breakfast foods his mom had ever taught him how to make was french toast. He got the eggs, the milk, and some bread and got cooking. He whisked the egg and milk in a bowl, and then soaked the bread in the mixture for a couple seconds. When he placed the soaked bread on a pan on the stove, the smell of it toasting wafted up to the guest bedroom, and it woke you up. 

     It wasn’t often that you woke up to the smell of breakfast being made, as you often made it for yourself or grabbed food at the dining hall at CalSci. The atmosphere of waking up in the Eppes guest room with the smell of breakfast cooking downstairs was incredibly comforting. Charlie made a couple pieces of toast for each of you,  he cut them diagonally, drizzled syrup on them, and put a slab of butter on top of each serving. He set down your plates on the table, and discovered your copy of Little Women sitting where you’d left it the night before. He wasn’t much of a reader, unless he was reading books on mathematical theories, but regardless he found himself picking it up and flipping through it anyways. 

      You’d written your thoughts on the book in the margins, and he smiled softly as he read the words. He knew much about how the movie made you feel, you always talked about it every time you watched the movie, but this was a far more in depth version of that. He noticed the patterns and parallels in the book, and soon he was sitting down underlining and analyzing not only the book itself, but what it made you feel. He enjoyed any opportunity he was given to know you better.

     You made your way downstairs and into the dining room to see breakfast on the table, and Charlie very invested in your favorite book. You grinned as you sat down. “Thank you for making breakfast.” You spoke softly, and he quickly turned his head to look at you. His eyes widened.

     “Sorry- I just saw the book sitting here and I-”

     “No, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re finally taking an interest in the book.” You cut him off, still smiling.

     Now that he was at ease again, he decided to ask, “Can I hold onto this for a little while?”

     You nodded, “Just take good care of it.” You took a bite of the french toast, which was still warm. “This is just what I needed.” You remarked, pointing your fork down at your plate. “Truly, thank you.”

     “I’m glad you like the food.” He smiled bashfully. He didn’t exactly see himself as a good cook, so any praise for food he cooked made him extremely happy.

     The two of you spent the rest of breakfast talking about the book, and you loved how suddenly interested he was in reading something you liked. He was focused on recognizing the patterns and parallels, but you made a point to redirect his thoughts to how the book made him feel as he read it. You wanted to know what kind of thoughts the writing invoked in him. You secretly hoped he would take more book recommendations after this. 

     After you both finished your food, you took both your plates, rinsed them off, and put them in the dishwasher. “Now that you and Don caught the killer you were after, I think I’m going to return home today.” You stated, and Charlie’s face fell. He didn’t know why, but he’d already gotten so used to you staying with him in just a few days, that he had forgotten the fact that you would eventually need to return to your own space. You turned around and saw his sunken expression, and the second you made eye contact, he changed it to a nonchalant expression and quickly shifted his attention back to your book in his hands. 

     “Alright.” He said softly, turning the page. You walked over to the table and sat down beside him before gently grabbing his hand, which made him look back towards you. His expression softened, and you gave him a reassuring smile. 

     “But I will continue to visit so often that you’ll be sick of me.”

     He chuckled, “I don’t think I could ever be sick of you.” He spoke sincerely. The two of you just sat in silence, looking into each other’s eyes. Then it happened again. As you looked into his eyes, and you felt a knot in your stomach. You still couldn’t figure out why, suddenly, your friendly demeanor faltered under his gaze, and you felt.. vulnerable.

Charlie felt it too. He knew something was changing between the two of you, in a way that was different then it had changed in the past. Before, you had been growing apart, and now it seemed you were becoming closer than you had ever been. Looking into your eyes, he felt what he could only describe as butterflies in his stomach, and he was more nervous being so close to you.

     You pulled your hand away from his, the realization of how your feelings towards him were suddenly changing was too overwhelming. “I think I’m gonna start packing.” You blurted out, before quickly going up the stairs. Charlie just sat there, processing what he knew you both felt. He closed the book, and thought about going after you, but he realized you weren’t ready.

You quickly began putting your things back in your bag as your mind raced. You weren’t in a hurry to leave, but making yourself busy with something, anything, was a good distraction. You hated the feeling in your stomach, there was no butterflies on your end, they felt more like moths, and they were eating you alive. You didn’t want to develop feelings for anyone, ever, let alone your best friend. In your experience, romantic feelings ruin everything. Charlie was your favorite person, your best friend in the whole world, and you refused to ruin that.

Charlie didn’t know what to make of the moment, or the very similar one the night before. He knew it was possible that the letter your students had written planted a seed of possibility in your heads that made you more likely to consider something beyond friendship for the first time. He also knew that this was their plan. Maybe they were right. Maybe he had feelings for you that were buried so deep under the idea that you could only ever be close friends. Nothing less, nothing more.

At the moment, he really couldn’t be sure of anything. He didn’t know how you felt, and if you really had felt some sort of spark, or if he imagined that you had, and actually the only one who felt anything more was him. There were too many possibilities, too many variables. He decided that while you packed and did your own thing for a little while, he would consult Larry.

When you were finished packing, you decided to try and talk to Charlie again. You hoped things would return to normal between the two of you as soon as you saw him again. When you went downstairs, you found that he had left, and taken your book with him. It was initially a little disheartening, but you knew Charlie was constantly moving, especially if he had something on his mind, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise to see him gone. You knew you’d see him again soon enough, so you went back upstairs, grabbed your bag, and put it in the back of your car before driving back home.

When you got home, you parked by your apartment and went to grab your bag, and then you saw someone parked a couple spots away from you get out of their car and start walking towards you. You didn’t recognize them, and as they started walking faster you realized they were possibly going to attack you so you quickly closed your trunk and rushed to get back into your car, but the man hadn’t been too far away to begin with, so as you went to open your car door he caught up to you. He quickly covered your mouth with a cloth, and everything went black.

[wuhhluhhhwuhhh]

Thanks so for the tag @signore-whorechata!! Most of these are original works but I hope you still like them regardless dude <3 1. Eve stared at the bible she was so desperately clutching, her nails creating indents on it's fine, leather cover. (God's Watching, Put on a Show,,,,,, I'll be back for you in just a bit, my most beloved, only novel length WIP ;--; <3)

2. In one of the Philippines’ many churches, sat a girl fiddling with her fan, fair hands idling, stubby, reddened fingertips danced across the wooden paneling of her fan, feeling the fine, yellow fabric beneath her flesh. (Filo lesbians, I'm so sorry I keep writing you out of order aksdjhghjkl)

3. Lucille stood in the soft, pink light provided by the jellyfish tank, it was as if she was looking through rose-tinted glasses.

4. In the dead of night, a little girl in star clad pajamas walked carefully across the creaky, wooden floors.

5. Everything hurt. (This one gives you absolutely no clue what the WIP is about and I hate it but damn does it look good once you put it back in it's paragraph-)

6. When in the closet, one has to hide many things.

7. I dare you, step forward and let me show you how God has hurt me.

8. In a classroom, in one of the many, many classrooms in some far off Catholic school, two girls are holding hands under the table, fingers intertwined so tightly, as if they would die if they let go.

9. The end of the month was drawing near and Emilio was close to considering himself screwed and homeless in the middle of a fucking pandemic. (HWS Philippines, my beloved <3 You've existed for about a week at this point but I already love you, you fucking twink-)

10. "Gods above, my feet are killing me..." Arthur Kirkland-Jones, newlywed and coronated Queen of Spades cursed to himself as he left the ballroom, all filled with diplomats and other royals and nobles, and entered onto a balcony whose doors were partially hidden by heavy, blue curtains. (The Cardverse RusEng fic born from my desperate need for more RusEng!! I'll get back to you soon, dearest ;--; In like,,,,,, a month or so to be exact since summer is coming!!)

.....

Oh wow okay, so a common theme in most my original work is being gay and hating god!! Not a bad common theme to have if you ask me lmao-

I am also a horrible abuser of commas ;--;

Thanks again for the tag dude!! Lmao I haven't looked at my WIPs in ages because school work is murdering me and half of the word documents I have on them rn are outlines and probably don't count skdjhfghjkaksjdhghjkl I unfortunately wasn't able to make it to 20 WIPs lmao but I got halfway there!!! Some of the stuff on here is on my writing tumblr @bottleofspilledink and the very first one is also on AO3 under the same username even tho it's original fiction because yes and also formatting ;--;

Anyways, think of this as a free for all for showing off your works!! Feel free to say I tagged you and tag me back even <3

[wistfulcynic]

For the end of year asks. You’ve answered 10, 8, and 3, so I want 1, 2, 4-7, and 9... don’t shoot me please... 😘

Of course, if you’ve already answered some of the others, you can skip those too...

😲. I’m... not sure that's how you play the game?? But okay, buckle in. 

1. What’s your personal favourite thing you wrote this year?

I’ve written a lot of things I liked this year. Unlike previous years I don’t think there’s anything I don’t feel good about. I think for favourite I’d have to go with ...and held her in my arms, because it turned out pretty much exactly as I envisioned it and I like the intensity of the pining, and The Bend of the Arc, because it was such a stretch for me and I really like the end result. That and the comments on it were just so lovely. 

2. What’s your least favourite thing you wrote this year?

As I said above I’m happy with everything from this year, but I guess the one I'm least happy with is where none intrudes. I kind of feel like my head wasn’t quite in the right place and I wrote it too quickly. It could have been better if I'd taken more time. Ironically, it is my most popular Tumblr post ever. 

4. Which of your fics this year was most successful?

On Tumblr, it was where none intrudes which still continues to get random notes. On AO3 (and I'm discounting Moonlight here because that started last year) it currently stands at Error 404 by a single kudo over the stars through our souls. 

5. Which of your fics do you wish was more successful?

I guess that depends on what successful means? I wouldn’t have minded more people reading A Uniquely Portable Magic because I think it’s some of the best descriptive writing I've ever done, but the ones who did read it gave such amazing feedback I consider it a success. The Fire of the Frost had the worst reception I’ve ever experienced on Tumblr, which I kind of expected because sequels are always less popular than the original and Moonlight was also a dud on Tumblr. But I’m still disappointed, I had thought it would do a bit better than it did. Like I thought it would flop but maybe not leave behind an actual indent in the ground. 

6. What’s your favourite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

Oof. I’m sure I'm overlooking something, but one scene I really like is this one from The Bend of the Arc. There are a couple of good exchanges in that fic I think but this one is where we really see the connection between them. Putting it below a cut as it’s long!

Emma popped the last bite of soufflé into her mouth and resisted the urge to lick her fingers. Instead she sipped her champagne and looked around for another tray. One passed by bearing what looked like tiny donuts and she almost dove to grab one. Biting into it, she found that it was savoury and filled with a feather-light truffled chicken mousse. She closed her eyes on a moan of delight, and when she opened them again Killian Jones was standing in front of her, watching her with an expression she found deeply objectionable.

“Well, darling, I do hope you’re not here for me this time,” he said.

Emma sneered. “I’m not.”

“Learnt our lesson, have we?” he replied with a smirk.

She ground her teeth. “I’ve simply got bigger fish to hook,” she said.

“Indeed. Considering that I am an entirely innocent man.”

She snorted.

“That infuriates you, doesn’t it,” he observed, smirk deepening. “That I walked free.”

Nearly a year’s worth of frustration and righteous fury bubbled up inside Emma, bursting forth before she could stop it. “It’s not right!” she exclaimed. “It’s not justice!”

“No, it’s just not perfect justice. Though one certainly could argue that a decade spent under the thumb of a madman is more than enough punishment for whatever crimes I committed.”

Something in his voice troubled her, a pained sincerity that niggled at her conscience. She ignored it. “Rationalise it all you like, if it helps you sleep at night,” she retorted.  

“Oh, I have no trouble sleeping,” he said, stepping closer and leaning into her space, hips first. “Though occasionally I do forgo it voluntarily, in favour of more… enjoyable activities.”

“You’re filthy.”  

“I certainly can be,” he purred. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want nothing from you.”

“Well love, we both know that’s not true.”

“Oh do we?”

“We do. You’re something of an open book, you see.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am the opposite of that.”

“You’d like to be. But for those who know how to look, your tells are obvious.”

“Bullshit.”

He shifted, standing straighter and observing her with blue eyes that went, between one blink and the next, from flirtatious to coolly assessing, sharply analytical. She felt a flare of alarm in her chest, and the worrying suspicion that she may have underestimated him.  

“The relaxed posture,” he said. “That’s one. You’re a woman of action, rarely still. If you stop moving you start thinking, and you, Emma Swan, hate nothing more than being in your own head. You’re tense all the time unless you’re pretending not to be, as you are now. Playing the role of carefree society girl, perfectly at home in these glittering surroundings where you are in actual fact deeply uncomfortable.”

She attempted a laugh. “Maybe I’m just having a good time.”

“You’re holding that glass so tightly you’re in danger of snapping the stem, and you’re digging the heel of your shoe into the floor. It takes a lot of effort to maintain that outward calm, which is why you don’t normally bother. You hate artifice, bullshit as you would call it, and your plan tonight is to get in, get your mark and get out. After you’ve eaten your fill of the food, that is.” The corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile. “Do correct me if any of this is wrong.”

“It’s all wrong,” she snapped.  

“Now, love, don’t you start to bullshit.”

Emma’s fingers clenched tighter on the champagne glass and she deliberately forced them to relax. “Why don’t you just leave me alone,” she hissed.

His eyes softened, and heated with an expression that made her belly clench. “Because you intrigue me,” he murmured.  

“Well you disgust me.”

He laughed. “Liar.”

“How dare you—”

He brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder, his fingers close enough that she could feel the heat of them but not their touch, and when he spoke again his voice was rough. “You’ve a delightful pale pink flush all across your skin, your pupils are dilated, your breathing shallow. And your pulse—” His hand glided down her arm and wrapped around her wrist, fingertips pressing gently onto her pulse point. “It’s racing, love. I don’t require any special skills to pick up on these tells.” He caught her gaze, his own heated and intense. “Would it help if I confessed that the attraction is entirely mutual?”

“No!”  

“Pity.”

She tried to pull her arm from his grip but he held fast, leaning closer still to murmur in her ear. “He’s over by the fountain.”

She wouldn’t look, thought Emma. She wouldn’t. She closed her eyes as Killian released her and the heat and intoxicating scent of him moved away. She didn’t want his help, didn’t need it. Resented it. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking and of course there he was. Her mark, standing in front of the fountain at the centre of the room.

“How the hell did you know—” she spun around but Killian was gone.

7. What’s your favourite piece of description or narration?

Unquestionably the beginning of Portable Magic. 

He’s not sure what draws him through the door. The look of it, perhaps, the twisted grain and the knotholes, polished to a patina by centuries of wind and rain and hands upon it. Some hands much like his own and others very different. He finds comfort in that, as he places his hand on the door. His hand.

His only hand.

On the other side of the door is a bookshop. He knew that of course, from the sign in the window, another thing tempting him inside. It’s far too long since he read a good book, too long since he let himself get lost in stories other than his own. He’s not quite ready for what he sees.

The shelves are made of the same wood as the door. Carved from it, it seems. Hewn might be the word. The knobbly, knothole-y wood that even his limited carpentry knowledge tells him could not form straight shelves. It doesn’t, yet they hold the books. Row upon row of them, dizzying rows. His head spins when he tries to look at them, like a kaleidoscope or a funhouse mirror, too many things, too many angles, too little space.

He blinks, and everything is fine again. It’s just a bookstore.

“It’s just a bookstore,” he tells the cat in the window, a huge grey tabby with long, silky fur and pale blue, unblinking eyes.

“Of course it is,” the cat replies. “What were you expecting?”

“I—what?”

“Meow,” says the cat.

...and this paragraph 

He sits at the table and opens the book at the top of the pile, glances into it, and is absorbed. It’s the tale of a lonely man, a wanderer without a home who finds his place in the hearts of those he meets along his travels. It grips him so entirely that he fails to notice Ruby as she sets a pot of tea before him, with a mismatched cup and saucer and a plate bearing a thick slice of cake, fragrant with lemon and dotted with plump blueberries. Absently he prepares his tea—a splash of milk, no sugar—and sips it as he reads. It has a bright, floral aroma but a rich flavour that reminds him of the Earl Grey his brother favoured, and he has to pause for a moment to allow the ache to pass. It does, faster than it once did, and so he risks another sip and sighs this time in pleasure. It’s delicious. He settles deeper into the chair and the book, sips the tea and nibbles the cake and doesn’t notice either one disappearing or the afternoon sunshine fading into twilight beyond the windows until Ruby comes to clear the table with a clatter of silver on porcelain. 

9. If you could go back and change something about one of the fics you wrote this year, what would it be?

I have a difficult relationship with all the perfect things (that I doubt) because part of me loves it and part thinks maybe I should have made some different choices. I guess it’s just that there are so many options for that scenario and I kind of want to write all of them (but also there is NO TIME, so don't get any ideas, woman!). 

-

um, I would say send me an end of year ask, but Krystal has ASKED THEM ALL

[lowkeyaesthvtic]

Evil Karma - Chapter 12

Chapter 1 - Chapter 11

Word Count: 2,180

Summary: Harry, Sofi, and Gil hunt down the beast. Basically the solo Harry Hook scene from D2 with some EXTRA EXTRA gay thrown in because why not?

Pairings: Harry Hook x OC, mentions of Jay x Carlos, mention of former!Harry x Carlos, mention of Harry x OC x Uma, oh and a Harry x Gil kiss because why not

Rating: T for language, threats of violence, and a whole lot of sexual tension

Warnings: Language, threats of violence, whole lot of sexual tension and some possible innuendos if you squint??

Tags: @descendantofthesparrow​ @hookedradge​ @batmanwearsabowtie​ @newtshairdryer​ @amityravenclawelf​ 

Author’s Note: Tumblr’s formatting is so weird and won’t let me indent my paragraphs and it’s kinda driving me crazy.

It didn’t take Gil and I very long to get to Harry. The two of us walked through the bazaar, Gil’s fire still roaring high and my hand ready on my dagger in case someone wanted to cause some unwanted trouble. We finally found him twiddling with his hook and taking a swig from his flask as he stood outside of Shenzi’s Hyena Pub. “Getting tipsy before a hunt, huh? Bad idea, Hooky.” I spoke flirtatiously as we finally came close enough for me to snake my arms around his neck.

Harry plants a quick, fiery kiss on my lips as he responds. “All of my ideas are bad, duckling, that’s what makes them so good.” He smirked as he leaned in to take the kiss further. As tempting as his lips seemed to mine, I put my finger gently on top of them to keep him from deepening his touch. 

“Not here, Harry.”

“Why not? We’ve got plenty of time to catch our beast, it’s not like Uma gave us a deadline, right?” His lustful gaze bore deep into my chest, but that gaze was changed to a look of realization as Gil tapped his shoulder, waving excitedly when Harry made eye contact with him. “Oh, that’s why not.”

“Hey, Harry! I’m helping you guys take Ben, isn’t that awesome?” Gil beamed, his disposition faintly switching back and forth between sweet and an angry fire. Harry turned me to the side and lowered his voice as he spoke.

“Since when was Gil a part of this? Did Uma say it was okay?” Harry was a combination of confused and a tad bit paranoid. His free hand gripped onto the arch of his hook, seeming worried that Uma would punish us for letting someone into this special plan of ours. 

“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, you’re strong, Harry, but Gil has the strength to drape you over his shoulder in seconds. Imagine the damage he could do to Ben before Uma ties him up. It’s fitting. The son of Gaston finally hunting down the little legacy of the Beast that made both his and his father’s life miserable. Besides, Gil was third in command before I got here. I think he should stay there.” I looked to Gil as we spoke, watching as he smiled back at me.

“Wouldn’t that knock you down a peg, duckling?”

“Not necessarily. Two people can share a certain amount of power.” I leaned in extra close to his ear, lowering my voice to a husky whisper. “Happens in the bedroom all the time, right, Hooky?” His breath makes a tiny hitch as I take a small, gentle nibble on his earlobe before backing away. Harry smiles before wrapping his arm around Gil and playfully dragging him across the trash-infested streets of the Isle. 

Not long after our walk began, we found a familiar looking crowd standing down at the end of the street, with one boy in particular trailing just a bit too far behind. “Huh, that hut at the end of the street looks like Mal’s old place..” Gil pointed at the straying group of kids. Harry quickly knocked his hand down, careful not to draw too much attention to ourselves. 

“That is Mal’s old place. And it looks like our prey is falling a bit far behind the pack.” Harry replied. I snickered as I noticed Ben’s naive dancing along the shoulders of the street. Honestly, I’m surprised that he’s lasted this long. But the time for roaming the Isle is long gone for this royal bastard. 

“Gil, you should get him now while he’s behind. That way we don’t have to worry about fighting off the entourage.” When I turned my head to gesture Gil towards the baby Beast, his demeanor seemed nervous, unsure. “Gil, what are you waiting for? Go get him, knock him out and bring him to the lower deck of the ship so Uma can tie him up!”

Gil stood still. Frozen and almost dumbfounded by the sight of his greatest enemy standing so close in his sights. “I...I don’t know, Sofi. Maybe I’m not cut out for this after all.” He mumbled, stepping back behind Harry.

“What the fuck are you talking about, not cut out for it? Just a few minutes ago, you were yelling at me with fire in your eyes about how you wanted to be included in things like this!” I gritted my teeth, wanting to yell the boy into shape but not wanting to scare off the Beast.

“I know..and I do. But I just, I’m not very good at hurting people. I don’t..I don’t really know how to do it.” Gil began to stumble on his words as his nervousness grew and grew. Was he really having second thoughts about this when he was so close? Harry grabbed Gil by his shoulders and pulled the blonde closer to him, mere inches separating their faces as their chests touched.

“Gil, sunshine, listen to me. You see that son of a bitch over there?” He asked, pointing to Ben, who didn’t seem to suspect a thing. “That boy’s father had your father nearly killed by pushing him off a cliff. That boy’s father created this hellhole Isle and had you, me, Uma and all the rest of us trapped here without even giving us a chance! Do you think he deserves to walk away from that unscathed?” Gil shook his head, slowly understand Harry’s words but more encaptured by their closeness.

“I mean...I guess hurting Ben would be hurting his dad too, right?”

“Exactly, Gil! That asshole over there made you, your father, and your crew’s life miserable from the jump. I know that pisses you off. So why don’t you get over there and beat him so black and blue his parents won’t recognize him?” Before Gil is able to playfully shout in agreement, Harry grabs Gil by his face and crashes their lips together. My eyes widen at the suddenness of it all, but from Gil’s brightened eyes and motivated smile, I could tell he wasn’t complaining. After the quick collision of their lips had subsided, Gil hastily and quietly ran to hunt his Beast. Waiting for our cue to pass Uma’s message, I look to Harry in a bit of a shock.

“Harry, what was that?” I ask, a small laugh of confusion escaping from my mouth.

“A bit of motivation. Some good luck for our brave soldier.” He joked, shrugging it off as if it was something he had done before. Was it something he had done before? Did Uma know about this? It then dawned on me the main reason Harry kissed Gil, and the main reason it worked so well.

“You know about his crush on you, don’t you?”

“Oh definitely, duckling. He makes it very obvious. Uma and I thought about letting him into the relationship at one point, but he’s just not into Uma like that. Why be with the both of us if you only have feelings for one, yeah?” I shrugged in response. It seemed so simple yet so complicated at the same time. It made sense, but yet so many questions popped into my mind.

“So, do the two of you have something going or are you just some lip service to each other?” Harry chuckled at the pun, not caring much whether or not it was intended. “Seriously. I’m sure Uma and I would like to know if you’re hooking up with someone that isn’t us.”

“He thinks of my kisses like little good luck charms. Nothing more. He told me so himself. Although, I would be lying if I told you I had never hooked up with him before. But it was long before Uma and I became an official item.” As I watched Gil carry an unconscious Ben over his shoulder and away from the entourage, I began my slow walk towards Mal’s home.

“You’ve got quite the body count, don’t you, Hooky?”

“What can I say, duckling? He’s very tender. Tender and gentle. I love taking the gentle ones and making them scream my name.” His luscious words tempted me, but we had a job to focus on. I would deal with my urges later.

“You better hope Uma doesn’t hear you saying that. The only name she wants screamed is hers.” Harry was about to spit out a response when we hear a soft, fair voice calling out Ben’s name. Harry and I were still relatively far back in the shadows. I stayed towards the back as Harry walked in front of me. His silhouette must have looked similar to the King’s because Evie still believed the shadow belonged to the royal Beast.

“Ben! Ben…don’t scare us like that.” With Evie’s words and sighs of relief from the boys around her, Harry and I emerged from the shadows and stood side by side, leaving them in shock.

“Don’t scare you? That’s my speciality.” Harry teased as I gave a conniving, quiet laugh from the side. 

“Harry…” Evie whispered in disbelief. Did she really think that someone like Ben could walk through the Isle and have nothing happen to him? Whether we had a plan or not, there are plenty of people on the Isle who would hate Ben enough to snatch him. It just so happened to be us this time around.

“What did you do with Ben?” Jay asked, seeming tempted to take a step up towards us. 

“Oh, uh, we nicked him.” Harry replied simply and nonchalantly, a small smile reminding him of our victorious mischief. I chuckled in response, remembering Gil’s smile as he walked past us with Ben passed out and draped over his shoulder.

“Like candy from a baby.” I taunted, peering into every pair of eyes I could find in front of me.

“And if you ever want to see him again, have Mal come to the Chip Shoppe tonight. Alone.” He glared as he let his finger roam to Evie, then Jay, then Carlos. “Uma wants a little visit.” He side eyed towards me, excited for what was in store for us.

“No weapons, either.” 

“Weapons? Why would Mal need to worry about weapons?” Evie asked.

“Aw, Evie darling, seems like you’ve been in Auradon a bit too long, haven’t you?” Harry taunted, eyeing her up and down like a piece of meat.

“I saw Mal at Curl Up and Dye not too long ago. The blushing Queen to be had a knife in her back pocket. If she even tries to think about pulling something on Uma…” I let my fingers trace on the arch of Harry’s hook, wandering until they decided to grip the middle. “She’ll get hooked right where she stands.” I’m slightly taken aback as Carlos takes a confronting step in front of Jay and Evie, attempting to defend them.

“Why are you even a part of this? There’s no way you grew up on the Isle.” Carlos bit back aggressively. Given his small stature and some juicy bits of information I had learned about him from Harry, it was nearly impossible to take his defense seriously. I let an evil, mocking laugh roar from my chest as I looked over to Harry, pretending to be frightened.

“Well, well! Looks like Doggy Boy over here has got some brains after all. I had no idea someone so small could have so much bark in them, did you, Harry?” He tsked and shook his head as he eyed his old flame up and down.

“Oh, I know about his bark, duckling. But his biggest weakness is one..little..bite.” Harry lowered his voice to an alluring growl as he yipped directly to Carlos’ face. Jay immediately pushed his boyfriend behind him, ready to fight Harry by any means necessary. But, to his dismay, Evie held him back. “Aw, Jay...it seems like you’ve lost your touch. First you let your bike get snatched up, now it seems you can’t even keep your boyfriend from being stolen. It’s a good thing we’re not interested in him, ain’t it, Sofi?”

I chuckled as I eyed the flustered and angry kids in front of us. “Damn straight, it is. Seriously, Doggy Boy, you’re gonna go from someone like Harry..to someone like Jay? Talk about a major downgrade.” Evie continued to hold the two boys back behind her as she stepped forward and looked at me. There wasn’t any kind of glare or sneer. Quite frankly, she didn’t even look afraid. It seemed that all she wanted to do was take in the girl in front of her: me. 

“Who are you? We saw you at Yzma’s egg stand. You could’ve killed Ben right then and there. Why didn’t you?” She asked, attempting to scare the truth out of me using interrogation. However, her skills weren’t that strong.

“Oh, Evie. That’s for me to know and for you to find out later. Ciao.” I gave a small wave as I locked my fingers into Harry’s hand and walked away from the entourage.

[david-lynch-ate-my-son]

Kastle College Professors AU Part 3

           (A/N: IDK why Tumblr wouldn’t let me indent some paragraphs, so sorry for the wonky formatting. Let me know what you think! Also I am unbeta’d, so sorry for any dumb editing mistakes I missed.)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue 

READ ON AO3 HERE

 The first phone call had come three days after the staff mixer. Frank had assumed it was a wrong number—a squirrely kid calling to thank him for volunteering to be interviewed for some kind of project, and asking for the best time to set up a meeting. He’d politely responded that he had no idea what the kid was talking about, and hung up.

            The second call had come while he was sitting in the office across from Karen. Ostensibly, he was meant to be focusing on his work, though in reality he had spent the better part of his afternoon distracted by the way his officemate kept tying her hair up and letting it down again—a nervous habit she took up whenever she was stuck with her writing. He’d observed Karen gather up all that golden hair in a bun, only to release it to drape down her back again, ten times in a row. Watching her, he’d felt the pull of something deep and warm in his stomach—it was the pale and delicate arch of her neck, the way her top button gaped to reveal the dip of her collarbone every time she lifted her arms, the little sigh that left her lips every time she brought them down again. It was heady stuff.

            When the phone had rung, he’d been almost embarrassingly jostled out of his contemplation of her. His brow had furrowed when he’d heard a different voice giving him the same spiel as the first caller—“thank you for volunteering to sit for an interview with a student from Journalism 101; I am calling to set up a time to meet for a brief get-to-know-you session.” Again—albeit a little more gruffly this time—he’d responded that he had no idea what the hell the kid was talking about, and hung up.

            He should have known, from the way Karen watched the exchange with such interest—her eyes alight with something akin to mischief (which Frank mistook for her standard curiosity). He should have known when she tilted her head, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth, and asked, with all the innocence in the world, what the phone call was about. He should have known. But he didn’t, because he was too busy thinking about how damn nice it felt when she looked at him that way—with that intense and penetrating attention.

            No—it didn’t dawn on him until the fifteenth phone call, when he stopped himself from hanging up the second he heard the beginning of the pitch (it was obvious all these callers were reading from the same script). Instead, he’d finally just come out and asked “what the fuck are you going on about?”

            As soon as the freshman on the other end of the line—Randy, apparently—had explained that Frank’s name and number were listed on a spreadsheet of volunteers to be interviewed for a project by beginning journalism students, Frank knew exactly how it had ended up there.

Karen.

He would have laughed out loud, but didn’t want to give Randy the impression that he found any part of their conversation entertaining.

Randy had also explained that the volunteer spreadsheet had been sent out to all of the participating students. And after the second time Frank had hung up on a kid, the students had made it into a little challenge, seeing who could call and actually get him to sit for an interview. They even had a sizable pool going to see how many seconds they could keep him on the line before he hung up. So far, Randy told him, their conversation had everyone else beat by miles.

Frank had sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in annoyance at what he was about to do. Cutting off a jittery-sounding Randy, who had been rambling about supporting growing students in their quest for knowledge, Frank agreed to the interview. In some strange way, it was his idea of being noble; of being a good sport. His prank had wasted two hours of Karen’s life, so he’d let hers waste two hours of his.

It had been painful, sitting in an overcrowded coffee shop and leaning forward into the mic to answer stupid, personal questions about his life that nobody wanted to know the answers to. Standard things, like “where were you born?”, “did you always have an interest in physics?”, and “does your family understand what it is you do?” But also some really fucking invasive questions, like “do you regret choosing a job that takes so much time away from being with your family?” and “do you ever worry that you’re wasting all of your potential to do real good in the world by locking yourself up in the Ivory Tower of academia?” The questions like those, which Frank assumed the kid had intended to be clever and incisive, he’d skirted around with vague and unsatisfying answers. He’d downed four cups of coffee just to get through the whole ordeal (which he wouldn’t tell Karen, as he was always riding her about cutting down on her caffeine intake).

Afterwards, he’d written the whole thing off as a shitty, awkward experience the he would never have to think about again, and made a mental note to congratulate Karen on her clever little prank. But early the next morning, he’d received another call from Randy, who was so excited he could barely get a complete word out. The interview, apparently, had gone so well (Frank scoffed at that), that his professor had convinced the school newspaper to print a condensed version in their next edition. Randy just needed Frank’s permission to write it up.

The school newspaper. Frank had felt the familiar shiver of divine inspiration crawl up his spine at Randy’s pronouncement. Karen read every copy of the school paper religiously—because of course she did. Which meant that she would read every word he said…

Frank grinned. “You know, Randy? I think publishing the piece is a great idea. I was just wondering, could I add some last minute comments…?”

Which was how he found himself a week later, a copy of the latest school newspaper folded neatly on his desk, waiting eagerly for Karen to breeze through the doorway.

He barely twitched when she threw the door open with gusto, stomping into the office, annoyance smeared across her face.

“Ugh, I’m going to kill that man, Frank, I swear I am,” she spared a glance in Frank’s direction as she shrugged out of her coat. He noticed, with some amount of pride, that she actually took the time to hang it up on the coat rack (he’d been bothering her enough about using it). As she unwound her scarf from her neck, he took a minute to study her—cheeks reddened (and not in that wonderful, blushing way they looked whenever he caught her staring at him just a hair too long), mouth screwed up in a grimace, hands trembling slightly in what he assumed to be rage. She was glorious.

“Who are we murdering today, Kare?” Frank leaned back in his chair, templing his fingers under his chin as Karen pulled off her gloves with more violence than necessary. (These she threw on the ground under her desk—he’d have to work with her on that later).

“There’s no we, Frank,” Karen dropped her briefcase with a resounding thud. “This is personal. I’m not sharing this kill with anybody.”

“I see. So who are you murdering today, all by yourself, with no help whatsoever?” Frank amended the question with a quirk of the lips.

Karen shot him an irritated look, rolling her eyes.

“Who do you think?” She sunk into her chair with a groan, scrubbing her hands over her face. “Danny Fucking Rand, that’s who.”

“Ha,” Frank snorted a bitter sound, “It’s only 8 in the morning. How could he have done something worthy of the death sentence already?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you what he’s done,” Karen shifted forward, planting both her hands on the desk in front of her, face ablaze. “Apparently it’s not enough that he’s poached my research project out from under me, but now he’s actually trying to steal my fucking graduate students too!” She balled her hands into fists, pressing them into the dark-finished wood beneath them. “Trish emailed me this morning that he’d approached her about joining his research team. He’s willing to offer her a $5,500 stipend per semester for her help.”

Frank jerked in surprise. He knew Trish—had been introduced to her a few times. She was a former radio show host who’d recently returned to school to pursue her PhD. in journalism. Karen had taken her under her wing almost immediately, acting as her academic adviser.

“Trish said no, right?” Frank didn’t know Trish all that well, but he knew Karen. And she tended to inspire all kinds of loyalty in people.

“Well of course she said no,” Karen released a large breath of air, making a conscious effort to de-tense her shoulders. “But he shouldn’t have even asked her in the first place. He’s just doing it to get a fucking rise out of me.”

“Well, I hate to point it out,” Frank tilted his head conciliatorily, “but it seems like he’s succeeded.”

“Ugh,” Karen let her head fall to the desk with a gentle whack. “I know,” she grumbled, and Frank had to strain to hear her speaking with her face pressed against wood. “That’s the worst part, Frank. I keep playing right into his hand. Always will—because I’m an emotional creature. An easily-riled-up, reactive, emotional creature.” She shook her head, and her forehead made a little squeaky noise as it dragged across the polished wood of the desk.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t have you any other way,” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop to think. And he would have felt embarrassed—would have tried to take them back or amend them—but the soft, warm little smile on Karen’s face when she lifted her head in response was pretty damn great. So maybe it had been the right thing to say.

“You know, Frank,” she was looking at him with something gentle behind her eyes, “that actually does make me feel better.”

“Yeah, well,” Frank cleared his throat, shifting in his seat and reaching for the nearest paper to busy himself, “if you weren’t so easy to rile up, I wouldn’t be able to get my kicks picking on you either.”

“Yeah, yeah, Frank,” Karen waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “Try to cover it up all you want, but that was very sweet.” She bit her lip, watching him try to distract her from the way the tips of his ears reddened ever-so-slightly by looking down and futzing with the papers in front of him.

She took the moment to admire him while he was preoccupied—allowing her eyes to drift over the hunter green sweater that fit so snugly around his broad shoulders, darting down to appreciate the way his rolled-up sleeves left his forearms bare.  He was wearing a pair of glasses at the moment—a rare sight, as he only wore them when he couldn’t be bothered with his contacts in the morning—and they only worked to accentuate the handsome lines of his face. She notice that he’d shaved his stubble the night before, leaving his sharp, square jaw clean and smooth. She wondered, not for the first time, what it would feel like to ghost her fingers over the edge of that jaw—tilt his head up to kiss those lips.

Karen shook her head, clearing the thought from her mind. She’d long ago come to terms with the fact that she had a crush on Frank, but that didn’t mean she would let it distract her at work. She was a professional, god dammit, and not even a man as stupidly attractive as Frank Castle could make her lose her focus.

Crush—it was such a girlish term; made Karen think of hearts doodled all over notebooks and love notes shoved into lockers. But what else was she supposed to call it when she couldn’t stop thinking about him? When she couldn’t stop daydreaming about his wry little smiles, or his laughter (both the booming kind that came out when taken by surprise, and the dark, deep little chuckles that slipped when he found something funny he definitely shouldn’t)? Or when she kept drifting off, imagining what it would be like to feel his body pressed against her own, hard and warm and comforting?

Yep, Karen pursed her lips grimly, that’s a crush alright.

She was right about to turn away to boot up her computer when she noticed the newspaper folded on the corner of Frank’s desk. She frowned. Frank didn’t read the newspaper, and certainly not—she craned forward to read the headline—the school newspaper.

“Uh, Frank…” she trailed off, waiting for him to pop his head up to look at her. She gestured toward the paper with a nod of her head. “I didn’t know you read the school newspaper?”

Oh shit, Frank’s eyes darted toward the edition on his desk. He’d completely forgotten about it. His plan had been to watch her read it in front of him, so that he could savor her reaction to his interview. But after the morning Karen had had, he’d changed his mind. He didn’t want to add on to the ever-increasing pile of things that were ticking her off. No—he’d save it for another time.

“That’s—uh—well I picked it up for—” Frank grabbed the paper to shove it into his desk drawer, but Karen was already up from her chair and walking toward him.

“Did you pick up a copy for me?” She asked, sounding touched. It was the only explanation she could think of—she’d tried to get Frank to read articles written by her students numerous times, but he always complained that university publications were painful to read. So if it wasn’t for him, and he knew she liked to read every copy the day it came out, then it must have been for her. “That’s so nice. I completely forgot the new edition came out today—I was so distracted by the Danny thing.” She reached out to grab the paper from his hands. Reluctantly, Frank let her have it.

She perched herself on the edge of his desk and shook the paper open (Frank’s eyes, completely of their own volition, flitted to the way her skirt rose on her thigh as she sat).

“Oh,” Karen made a surprised little noise, “it says there’s an interview with Dr. Frank Castle on page 5!” She looked over her shoulder at him incredulously, and he groaned inwardly, dropping his chin into the palm of his hand. “You didn’t tell me you were going to be in the newspaper!”

“Yeah, well,” Frank shrugged, a little helplessly. There was no point in fighting it now—she was going to read the interview.

“I can’t believe you! Keeping something like this from me,” she muttered to herself, turning the pages quickly to find his piece. She cleared her throat, making a big show of wiggling on his desk, hunkering down and getting comfortable to read. “The only reason I’m not reading this out loud is because I’m afraid you’d get up and walk out the door if I did.”

“Damn right I would,” Frank mumbled, and contemplated doing so even now.

He watched her face carefully as she read, tracking the movement of her eyes back and forth across the paper. It was quiet for a good minute, Karen’s breathing filling up the space as she read with a little smile on her face.

He could tell the exact moment she got to the part he was anticipating, because her smile began to slowly slip into a frown, edges turning down by degrees. Her eyes narrowed into half slits, her nostrils flaring.

“Frank Fucking Castle,” she muttered darkly under her breath, though Frank (thankfully) sensed a current of amusement buried deep in the timbre of her voice. “You prick.”

There are, however, some drawbacks to working at the university level, Castle confided over the phone.

“You’d think that university professors would make for mature, professional colleagues, wouldn’t you? But sometimes that’s not the case. Not even close.” When asked to expand, Castle chuckled, “Some of the people I work with most closely are as childish as my undergraduates—messy, dramatic, juvenile. Prone to playing ridiculous pranks on one another. Always starting little rivalries. It can be a major headache.”

Castle refused to name the colleagues in question, but left us with the following comment: “They know who they are.”

Karen re-read the paragraph again, just to be sure her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her. When the words were still there—clear as day—she growled. Closing the paper with particular violence, she whipped around and smacked Frank on the head with it.

He barely had time to throw up his arms in defense before she was whacking him again.

“’Messy, dramatic, and juvenile?’” She screeched, but the effect was severely undercut by the laughter in her voice. “I’ll show you ‘messy, dramatic, and juvenile’!” She whacked him again.

“I think you already are, sweetheart,” Frank chuckled, dodging her blows.

“Ooh,” she shook her head, eye twitching. Hopping off the desk, she eased up, shaking her rolled-up paper at him in a manner reminiscent of an old man yelling at kids to get off of his lawn, “I’ll get you back for this.”

Frank couldn’t help it—she looked like a caricature with a hand on her hip, newspaper/weapon in one hand, foot tapping on the floor—he burst out laughing.

“Frank!” Karen threw her hands up in exasperation, “Don’t fucking laugh while I’m trying to threaten you, you big oaf!”

“Can’t help it,” Frank covered up his mouth with a hand in an attempt to stem off the laughter. It didn’t work.

Karen opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the loud beeping of her cellphone. It was the alarm she set to remind herself that she needed to leave STAT if she wanted to make it to class on time.

“Time to go to class, Karen,” Frank got out through his bout of laughter, looking far too delighted for Karen’s liking.

She stood rooted in her spot for a moment, looking back and forth between the phone on her desk and Frank (who was studiously looking away). Clicking her tongue in annoyance, she turned her back to Frank to turn off the alarm and grab her briefcase. No matter how much she wanted to keep laying into him, she couldn’t be late to class.

Whipping around with her bag over her shoulder, she pointed the newspaper at Frank once again.

“This isn’t over, Castle. But I’ve got to be a responsible, mature adult and teach a fucking class.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder imperiously and stomped out of the office. Frank waited until he could no longer hear her heels clicking down the hallway before dissolve back into laughter.

Karen glanced down at her watch as she pulled open the door to the coffee shop. She had exactly 30 minutes between classes to refuel, which wasn’t a whole lot of time, but luckily the line didn’t look too long. She was in desperate need of caffeine—she’d been so upset about the Danny-Trish thing that morning, she had forgotten to stop in at the usual place by her apartment for coffee. And at 3:30 in the afternoon, she was flagging something awful. If she wanted to make it through her next lecture without passing out, she’d need something strong.

As she grabbed her large, black coffee from the barista, she noticed Matt sitting by the window nursing his own cup. His hands were roving back and forth on the table in front of him—reading. It was odd to see Matt back on campus—sitting in the usual coffee shop, drinking his usual drink—after he’d been gone for so long. A little disorienting. Shoving her change into her purse, Karen made her way over.

“Hey, stranger, mind if I sit?” The question was perfunctory, as she was already sitting by the time he responded.

“Karen! Of course,” he moved to shove some of his notes out of the way to make room for her.

“So,” Karen grabbed a handful of sugar packets, ripping them open one-by-one, “haven’t seen you in a while.” Karen was again struck by the strangeness of it all. Before Matt had left, she and Foggy had spent all of their free time with him. Barely a day went by that they hadn’t seen each other—met up for lunch of drinks at Josie’s. And all of the sudden, she was in the position where she hadn’t seen Matt in over a week.

“Yeah, I—” Matt made a vague gesture with his hands. “Uh, been busy. Trying to get all the notes from my sabbatical into some kind of order. Figure out what I’m doing and all that.”

“Ah,” Karen bobbed her head, “thought you might be avoiding me, Murdock.” She intended it as a joke, but from the way Matt’s head jerked forward, she could tell that he hadn’t taken it that way.

“No way, Kare, I’ve really just been—”

“I know, I know,” Karen cut him off, placing a hand on his arm, “Kidding, Matt. I know you’re busy.”

Matt nodded joltingly, and Karen thought about how things had never been this awkward before the whole Elektra-sabbatical incident. Apparently, without Foggy there to act as a buffer, things were a little more than slightly weird between her and Matt.

There was a beat of silence, in which Karen took a loud sip of her coffee. Matt winced slightly.

“Uh, actually, Karen. I was wondering if we could talk about something,” Matt was suddenly wearing his serious face.

“Uh-oh,” Karen’s voice grew wary, “that doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s about Frank Castle,” Matt folded his hands on the table, like he was getting ready to deliver a lecture. The gesture did not bode well for the direction of the conversation.

“Frank?” Karen was confused, “What about Frank?”

“Look, I’ve been asking around about him, and I don’t know if he’s someone you really want to be getting close to, Kare,” Matt shifted in his seat. “He’s got a reputation for being a bit of an asshole. For being rude and unfriendly; to students and colleagues both. Associating yourself with him won’t do you any favors. Plus, didn’t you hear what he said the other night about how much he gets around? Clearly, the man’s a prick.”

There was a tense beat of silence, in which Karen tried to wrap her mind around what Matt had just said. He sat there expectantly, a mild expression on his face, like he hadn’t just spewed the most ridiculous bullshit Karen had ever heard.

“What the fuck, Matt?” Karen hissed lowly, leaning forward. She had to take several steadying breaths to calm herself. Matt could be painfully sanctimonious—she’d always known this about him. And she’d heard him pass judgment on others of her acquaintances in a similar manner before, but there was something about Frank that was just off-limits for Karen. Something that made her hackles rise.

“There are—” Karen’s voice was shaking slightly, and she paused a moment before trying again. “There are so many problems with what you just said, I’m not even sure where to start with you.”

Matt had the gall to look surprised.

“First of all, don’t speak about Frank to me. Don’t ever speak about Frank to me. You don’t know him. And if you don’t know him, then you don’t have the right to speak about him, understand?” Karen didn’t pause for an affirmation. “Secondly, you were the one that said he got around the other night, not him. Frank would never speak about women that way. Which, again, you would know if you actually knew Frank.”

Matt opened his mouth to speak, but Karen cut him off.

“Not done, Matt.” She shook her head. “Thirdly, who do you think you are, telling me who I do and don’t want to associate with, Matthew Murdock? What gives you the right?”

There was a strained pause.

“Now I’m done,” Karen tapped a finger against the Formica table top.

“Karen,” Matt reached forward, looking to grab one of her hands, but she removed them from the table quickly. “I’m just trying to look out for you. I come back from Tibet and hear that you are spending all of your time with some strange man—of course I’m going to look into him.”

“What do you mean of course?” Karen’s anger was beginning to give way to frustration. “Matt, you’re not my father. And you’re not my boyfriend. I don’t need you ‘looking out for me’ or doing background checks on everyone I choose to spend my time with. I’m a grown woman.”

“I know that, Karen,” Matt was aiming for conciliatory, but instead he just sounded patronizing. “But I can’t help it. I care about you.”

“Oh,” Karen scoffed. “You care about me? Just like you cared about me enough to run off with your ex-girlfriend at the first opportunity? Is that how much you care about me, Matty?”

“Is that what you’re really upset about? The Elektra thing?” Matt tilted his head, “Because I can explain if you would let me.”

“No, Matt. I’m not upset about the Elektra thing.” And she really wasn’t. “I couldn’t care less if you ran off with a bevy of women. What upsets me is that you don’t see how hypocritical you’re being right now. You can’t be the kind of guy who cares so much about me that he feels compelled to check up on everyone I spend my time with, and also be the guy who disappears for months with another woman and doesn’t even check-in with a ‘hey, how are you?’”

Matt sighed, shaking his head.

“How did this conversation get so far off the rails?” He muttered darkly.

“I don’t know, Matt, you tell me,” Karen crossed her arms, feeling defensive.

“Kare, I just wanted things to go back to the way they were before,” Matt ran a hand through his hair. “I just wanted it to be you, Foggy, and me. Just like old times. And I come back, and this—this Frank is now your entire social calendar?”

“So you decided to disparage him to me out of jealousy? In the hopes that I would—what? That I would terminate my friendship with him because you think he might be a bad guy? Because you want us to all go back to pretending you didn’t leave for months? Act like you didn’t wait until you’d been in Tibet for 3 months before even dropping Foggy and me a line letting us know where you were?” Karen’s head was starting to hurt.

“I don’t know, Karen. I don’t know what I wanted,” Matt sighed. “Not this.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want this either.” Karen glanced at her watch. “And we’re out of time.”

Matt didn’t even try to stop her as she gathered all of her things. He just sat there, hands in his lap, feeling foolish.

“Bye, Matt,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked away.

 Later that evening, as Frank sat in the office answering an endless stream of emails, he smiled when he saw a text from Karen come through.

Just because I’ve been teaching class all day doesn’t mean I didn’t carve out some time to plot my revenge, Castle.

He’d snorted and typed back a response.

Well your last attempt at revenge ended up working out for me quite well, so do your worst.

Scrubbing a hand over his face and adjusting the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, Frank stared across the dimly-lit office to Karen’s empty desk. It was strange to think how, a little over two months ago, sitting in the office alone had been the norm for Frank. He had actually enjoyed it—the respite from the masses of students complaining about how he didn’t curve the test, and from the incessant pressure from the dean to publish more, and faster. His office had been his sanctuary—where he could think, uninterrupted. Alone.

But now, he just felt lonely. Without Karen clacking away at her keyboard, humming music under her breath (she’d been on a ridiculous R. Kelly streak lately), or pulling him into long and winding conversations, the space felt empty. Like it was waiting for something—suspended in time, waiting for Karen to return. And Frank felt like he was, too.

It was strange, the extent to which Karen had burrowed herself into his life. Or maybe not so strange. Frank did the math in his head quickly: they’d been working together for two and a half months, so about 50 days (not including weekends, and they spent an average of 5 hours in the office together per day (early mornings and late nights included). So, over the course of their friendship, they’d spent about 250 hours together, in a confined space, talking.

That was a lot of time. More than Frank would have guessed.

But time always tended to fly by when he was with Karen. She had a way about her that set him at ease; there was never an awkward moment of silence when she was around.

After all their time together, Frank could certainly see what it was that made Karen such a fantastic reporter. She was honest and genuine—interested in everything. Her curiosity was boundless; she could listen to him go on, ad infinitum, about his research, and though she didn’t understand everything he was saying, she made an attempt. If someone else was excited about their work, well then Karen could get excited about their excitement.

And she was so incredibly non-judgmental. He’d heard her tell her students, multiple times, “the things I don’t know, and don’t understand, far outweigh the things I do.” How—Karen always seemed to be asking—could she pass judgement on someone else when she, herself, was just a blind creature grappling for answers? He’d seen her practice empathy in the most incredible ways. Once, when a class she taught was studying the coverage of one of the most famous murder trials of the century—a war vet convicted of over 30 homicides—she’d convinced them to stow away their initial biases and see him as a human being. Students had been in the office for days discussing that trial, with Karen gently reminding them, every so often, that they should always seek to understand before reaching for fear and hate.

But above all, Karen was vulnerable. She was open and generous with her own life. She shared of herself so freely—laughed with abandon, cried without shame, felt everything down to her core. It was beautiful. It was inspiring. It made Frank feel less like vulnerability were something to be ashamed of, and instead something borne out of the kind of strength he could never fathom.

Karen was a million flawed, beautiful, precious things. And how could you not want to get close to that? How could you not want to huddle closer, sharing in that kind of light?

So when Karen asked him a question—when she reached out toward him—he was always powerless to deny her. Which is how she’d turned the notoriously-laconic Frank Castle into the kind of guy who felt lonely sitting in his office without her.

He glanced at the clock—6 PM. Normally by this time Karen would have made it back to the office for a few extra hours of work before heading home. They would have done the usual—banter back and forth about nothing in particular, or else complain about deadlines and grading, or maybe share something ridiculous or strange one of their students had said in class—then they would have said goodnight. But the sun was slowly sinking and she was nowhere to be seen.

            Frank stretched, shuffling through the papers on his desk listlessly. He was contemplating calling it a night when his phone started to ring. It was Karen’s ringtone—“You Don’t Own Me” by Lesley Gore (the perfect song for a woman like Karen).

            “Page,” he said, by way of greeting.

            “Uh, hey Frank,” there was something tight in Karen’s voice as she spoke. Something that sounded an awful lot like pain. Frank sat up straighter in his seat, on alert. “You still at the office?”

            “Yeah—yes. Karen, are you okay? You sound kind of—”

            “Actually,” Karen cut him off. He heard some kind of movement, followed by choking noise. Then a “fuck” muttered quietly under her breath. “I was walking back from class and I think I sprained my ankle. Stupid fucking heels on the stupid fucking cobblestones. Why the fuck do we still have cobblestones?”

            “Karen, where are you? Can you walk?” Frank was out of his seat already, shrugging on his coat and reaching for his keys.

            “I’m on the corner between the deli and the co-op. I can kind of hobble, but there’s no way I can make it home on this foot.” She made a soft grunt of pain, and Frank was out the door.

            “Okay. Stay where you are. I’m coming in the car.”

            She was leaning against the wall of the deli, a black shoe with the heel dangling off in one hand, when Frank pulled up to the curb.

            She sighed in relief as he hopped out the car and jogged over to her.

            “Shit, Karen. That doesn’t look good.” As he got closer, Frank could already see the swelling begin to turn slightly purple.

            “And I had a gig ankle modelling tonight. Just my luck,” Karen said through gritted teeth as Frank sunk to his knees at her feet and took the foot in hand.

            She tried to cover up her sharp intake of breath as his fingers gently probed at her ankle. Staring down at his head, she concentrated on the way his hair was growing long enough that you could just see it begin to curl, and ignored the throbbing of her ankle.

            “Hmmm,” Frank pronounced after a moment, standing up, “Looks like it’s not fractured or broken. Just a bad sprain.”

“Jesus. Haven’t sprained an ankle since the summer my mom enrolled me in overnight cheer camp and I got kicked out for sneaking in candy.” Karen tucked her broken shoe into her bag, pushing herself off of the wall.

“You’ll have to tell me that story later.” Frank caught Karen as she listed forward, reaching out to slip one arm under her shoulder, pulling her close to the side of his body. “But for now let’s get you in the car, huh?”

            “Thanks, Frank,” Karen panted out, hobbling forward. Despite the circumstances, Karen couldn’t help but appreciate the situation. She’d never really touched Frank like this before, with so much of her body. Leaning against him, she let the heat of him sink into her side—let herself melt ever-so-slightly into the hard planes of his chest. His hand, which had steadied itself on her hip, gripped her tightly, and she knew she’d be feeling the burning impression of his palm on her skin for days.

            “Here we go,” Frank shifted, helping her climb into the car before jogging back around to his side. Karen buckled herself in, taking a steadying breath before Frank reappeared.

            “Home?” Frank asked, and Karen nodded. Fortunately, Frank had picked her up for various work functions at her apartment before, so he didn’t require directions. She only lived about a ten minute walk from campus.

            As he pulled away from the curb, he shot a sidelong glance at Karen. Her face, flashing in and out of the beams of streetlights as they passed underneath, was contorted.

            “You know, this is exactly why I don’t wear heels to work anymore,” Frank quipped. Karen barked out a surprised laugh, which sounded quite a bit more like a snort.

            “Ooh,” she grabbed the handle on the side of the car in a tight grip, “Don’t make me laugh when I’m in pain, Castle.”

            “Sorry,” Frank said, but he didn’t sound it.

            “Just so you know, this act of kindness doesn’t make up for the whole interview debacle,” Karen shot Frank a dark look as she shifted in her seat.

            “Obviously,” Frank conceded with a nod of his head. “I’d need to save you from a burning building to make up for that.”

            “Two burning buildings,” Karen shot back.

            “You know, nobody who reads that paper is going to know I was talking about you,” Frank pointed out, taking an extra-cautious right turn so as not to jostle Karen’s ankle.

            “But I’ll know, Frank. And I have my pride.”

            “More than your fair share of it, I’d say.”

            “Hey, buck-o. You’re on real thin ice,” Karen jabbed Frank’s arm, which was resting on the gearshift between them. “I’ve got the absolutely perfect amount of pride.”

            “It’s just like someone with too much pride to think they have the prefect amount of pride,” Frank shook his head sadly.

            Karen almost replied with something snotty, but realized that Frank kind of had a point.

            “Whatever,” she grumbled, and Frank shot her a confused look.

            “You must really be in pain if you don’t have a snarky comeback for that,” he sounded more than a touch concerned.

            “Give me a minute, and I’ll come up with something,” Karen said through a grimace.

            “Okay.”

            The car grew quiet, and Karen focused on breathing through the aching pain. She was by no means a whimp when it came to pain, but she’d already been on her feet all day—in heels no less—so the sprain was just the cherry on top of that. Plus, the whole confrontation with Matt was still weighing on her. And though that fell more in the category of psychological pain than physical pain, Karen still figured that pain was pain. A few more beats of silenced passed, then Frank spoke up.

            “It’s been a minute, Kare.”

            Karen made an annoyed little grunt, then opened her mouth to speak, but Frank was already rolling to a stop in front of her building. Shifting the car into park, he turned to her.

            “Wait here.”

            Karen had unbuckled her seatbelt and swung her briefcase over her shoulder by the time Frank made it around to her side.

            “You know, you don’t have to walk me all the way up,” Karen said, as Frank helped her down from the car. “The staircase has a perfectly-functioning railing for me to hold onto. I can make it myself.”

            Frank shot her a disbelieving look.

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” was all he said, wrapping his arm around her.

            Together, they hobbled up the stairs of the complex, and Frank waited patiently while Karen punched in the code to the outer door.

            As they made their way to the elevator, it became increasingly obvious to Karen that Frank didn’t plan on leaving until she was perfectly settled in her apartment. In a slight panic, she began to scan her memory—trying to recall what kind of state her apartment was in. She couldn’t for the life of her remember how recently she’d tidied up, and if the clean laundry she’d taken out of the dryer last night was still on the couch in the living room.

            Too late to do anything about it now, she thought, as they approached her door. Frank stood patiently as Karen fumbled to find her keys.

            It was with great relief, as Karen threw open the door, that she took in a relatively clean apartment.

            Frank, who had never actually been up to Karen’s place before, took it all in with great curiosity. As he walked Karen over to the couch, he noticed that—surprisingly—he place was quite tidy. From the way she treated their office, he was expecting piles of dirty dishes and papers scattered everywhere. But the place looked put-together—cared for. The clutter that did fill up the apartment was all rather cozy—books stacked on the coffee table, a basket of yarn and knitting needles next to the couch, eclectic throw pillows piled up everywhere, an afghan draped over a chair at the breakfast table.

            The place was warm. Inviting.

            Depositing Karen on the couch, Frank moved to collect some pillows to prop under her leg.

            “You really don’t have to do that, Frank. I can take it from here,” Karen tried to wave him away as he approached with the afghan tossed over his shoulder.

            “Nope,” was all Frank had to say in response, as he gently covered her with the blanket. “Got any tea?” He asked over his shoulder, as he wandered into her kitchen.

            Karen sighed. There was clearly no room for argument here, so she gave in.

            “Yeah. In the cabinet above the sink,” she sighed. “I like the green tea.”

            Frank nodded, filling up the electric kettle before reaching for the tea packets. Karen watched with interest as he moved around the kitchen gathering mugs and sugar packets. He looked so domestic—suddenly, Karen could picture him as the husband he once was. Making tea for his wife after a long day at work. The thought grew warm in the pit of her stomach.

            “Karen?” Frank’s stern voice broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to see him leaning down with his head in the fridge.

            “Hmm?” Karen hummed in response.

            “Why do you only have—” he paused, sticking his head further into the fridge. “A jar of pickles, some yogurt, and a case of beer in here?” His head popped up over the door to shoot her a bemused look.

            “Why are you snooping around in my fridge?” Karen crossed her arms over her chest and scowled.

            “Because I want to make sure you won’t starve tonight while you’re recovering on the couch,” Frank began opening and closing a series of drawers in her kitchen, clearly searching for something in particular. Karen watched his face light up in triumph when he found where she stored her takeout menus. “I’m going to order pizza. What do you want?”

            Karen would have made a comment about how he was being particularly pushy this evening, but she was feeling quite hungry herself—and thankful for the company. She was never a good patient, and secretly adored the attention when she was hurt. Sliding down further on the couch, she yawned.

            “Get the supreme. With everything on it.”

            “Girl after my own heart,” Frank smiled at her as he dialed the number. While he ordered, he snooped around until he found Ziploc bags, then began filling one with ice from the freezer.

            He approached with the make-shift ice-pack wrapped in towel, hanging up the phone as he handed it to her. She gingerly placed it on her swollen ankle, hissing at the contact. Frank frowned, sitting down at the far end of the couch, careful to avoid her foot.

            “Pizza will be here in about half an hour,” he peered down at her ankle, inspecting the increased swelling.

            “Does that mean you’re staying for dinner, then?” Karen reached for the end table behind her, grabbing a bottle of pain meds she kept on hand for her migraines.

            “If that’s alright with you,” Frank shrugged.

            “Don’t you have other things to do? I don’t want to keep you from anything,” Karen said, before dry swallowing a couple of pills.

            “Nope,” Frank shook his head. “Kids are with Maria tonight, and my weekly cult meeting isn’t until tomorrow. Why, want me out of your hair?” He suddenly felt a little self-conscious—a little presumptuous—sitting there on Karen’s couch like he owned the place. He was so used to their dynamic at the office, comfortable and easy, that he didn’t stop to think it might be different with him in her home. In her territory. For a quick moment, he became strangely aware of his own body—how it moved throughout her space, bulky and graceless.

            Seeing the look of uncertainty flit across Frank’s face, Karen was quick to speak.

            “No, no. Just didn’t want to inconvenience you will my clumsiness.” She gestured at her injured foot.

            Frank shot her an unreadable look, frowning.

            “You’re not an inconvenience.”

            The electric kettle dinged, and Frank popped up to finishing making the tea.

            On the couch, Karen was the one who was beginning to grow a tad self-conscious. She and Frank had spent an abundant amount of time together, it was true—but never like this. Never in so intimate a setting. There was something so different about having Frank wander around her kitchen, among all of her things. Something that made her brain go a little fuzzy as she watched him stirring sugar into her mug (one packet, just like she liked it)—made her insides clench in interesting and confusing ways.

            He padded back to the couch to hand her the mug, and she noticed that he’d shed his shoes at some point. There was something endearing in the fact that he wore argyle socks.

            Frank noticed the direction of her gaze, and wiggled his toes

            Karen chuckled, taking the mug with a ‘thank you.’ Blowing the steam from her tea, she noted Frank’s line of sight drift to the wall next to the bookcase, where all of her most impressive articles hung side-by-side in matching frames.

            “Wow,” Frank whispered, as he walked closer to inspect. There was the article she’d written about child soldiers in Yemen, the one about illegal gender-assignment surgery and the rights of Intersex children, and even the piece she’d published about the man in South Korea who’d fathered over a hundred children through anonymous sperm donation. “These all yours?” Frank asked, even though he could clearly see her name written in the byline.

            “Yep,” Karen popped her ‘p,’ studying the broad expanse of Frank’s back as he leaned closer to skim through one of the articles.

            “These are amazing.” His voice was soft.

            “They were all gifts from my brother, Kevin,” Karen sunk further into the couch, feeling the pain meds starting to take effect and dull the throbbing of her ankle. “Every year, he used to send me one on my birthday. Said the greatest gift he could give me was reminding me of my own accomplishments.”

            Frank hummed. “So he’s the one responsible for your inflated sense of pride?”

            Karen snorted a laugh. “Was,” she corrected, “He passed away last year. But I think he’d be happy to take the blame.”

            “I’m sorry,” Frank shot Karen a concerned look, brow furrowed. “About your brother.”

            “’S alright,” Karen shrugged. “You didn’t know. And he had been sick for a while—cystic fibrosis. We had been prepared for a long time when it happened.”

            “Doesn’t make it any easier, does it?” Frank turned back to the articles,

            “No, it doesn’t.” Karen shook her head.

            There was a beat of silence, and Karen took a sip of her tea, wincing at the loud slurping noise it caused. Frank glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.

            “Why’d you quit?” He asked, gesturing at her wall of accomplishments. She’d never really mentioned her change in career, and he never asked. But it seemed like the appropriate time. “This stuff is remarkable—what you got to see, the places you got to go.”

            Karen threw her arm over the back of the couch, cupping her jaw in her hand and scanning her own articles.

            “Well…I guess I didn’t want it to change me, y’know? Didn’t want the job making me someone I wasn’t. And I could kind of see that it was,” she looked thoughtful.

Frank stared at her in silence, waiting for her to expound.

Karen pulled her mug to her chest, letting the heat of it warm her through her shirt.

“I mean, I became a journalist because I wanted to humanize. I wanted to connect. To talk to people who were so vitally different from myself; to understand ways of life fundamentally unlike my own. To just…I don’t know. Write articles that made people understand that everywhere—through everything—there’s this common thread of humanity that unites us all.” Karen took a sip of her tea, her face drawn in thought.

            “And it wasn’t what you hoped it would be?” Frank prompted.

            “No—yes—I mean, in some ways,” Karen shook her head. “At the beginning, it was everything. The travelling, the learning, meeting people living lives I could never image. You know, just getting to touch the whole worlds that exist inside other people. Soaking in the culture,” Karen smiled wistfully. “I saw some…amazing things,” her voice took on a breathy, dreamy quality. “I saw a Chinese mother reunited with her son, 30 years after he’d been adopted and taken to the US. And that moment of joy when they first embraced each other—that moment of reconnection—of love made tangible. A broken chain being remade. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. As long as I live, Frank.”

            Frank moved away from the wall of frames, sitting back down at the end of the couch. Gingerly, he lifted Karen’s ankle and placed it into his lap on top of a throw pillow.

            “But I also saw some—some truly horrible things.” She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking about the article she’d written on female genital mutilation. “I know that it’s important that atrocities have witnesses. That someone has to be there to see the trauma and the horror. To understand it. To make it known. But it’s hard being a witness, you know? Being the one who can’t look away, because it’s your duty to watch.” Frank heard the catch in Karen’s voice. Her eyes looked so far away.

            “And the dark just go too much? Outweighed the light?” His voice was quiet. He threw his arm over the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the ends of Karen’s hair.

            “No—I don’t think that was it,” Karen shook her head. “In the beginning, the beautiful moments were stunning. Took my breath away. Made me feel so fucking human. And the horrible moments—they broke my goddamn heart. Tore me apart. But, in a way, that was good. I was feeling things—I was present,” Karen ran a hand through her hair. “After a few years, though, everything kind of started to numb a bit. Just became…less. The beautiful and the ugly—they just made me feel numb.”

            “It’s hard to see these stories as human when your job is to reduce them down to a thousand word article, to be consumed by an audience over breakfast. I think I started looking at people and seeing them as quotes and word limits and bylines. Gets to the point where you hear about the latest national tragedy on the news and you think ‘I better publish a think piece on this before someone else does.’”

            Karen shifted, moving to put her uninjured foot in Frank’s lap as well. He absent-mindedly began to rub his thumb up and down the arch.

            “You know, I once saw an old colleague of mine harass this poor woman outside of a court house, moments after her husband had been sentenced to life in prison.” Karen’s voice grew hard, and Frank saw the ripple of anger in her eyes. “Just kept badgering her and pushing her until he got the quote he wanted. This woman was sobbing on his jacket, but he was smiling because—fuck it—he got a great quote out of her.” Karen lifted a hand to her mouth, distractedly biting at her thumbnail.

            Frank was silent for a moment, as his thumb continued to stroke her foot. He tried to envision it in his mind—to imagine a Karen who was numb and callous to the world around her. Who could look at suffering and feel nothing. And he found that he couldn’t do it—the Karen he knew had a direct line to the beating heart of her humanity.

            “So you left because you didn’t like being numb?” Frank’s deep, rumbling voice drew Karen’s eyes up to his own. He was looking at her with a kind of tenderness that made her feel weak.

            “Uh,” she cleared her throat, “yeah. Yes.”

            “Was it hard? Leaving it all behind?”

            “No. I’ve never had a hard time making the decision that’s best for my mental health. You have to be kind to yourself above all—and this was the decision that was kind to Karen,” she smiled weakly. “The only difficult part was dealing with all the rumors. The gossip.”

            “Rumors?” Frank tiled his head.

            “Oh, you know,” Karen shrugged. “That I’d quit because I couldn’t handle the pressure, that I couldn’t cut in a male-dominated business, that I was too weak and emotional to be a good journalist.”

            “Bullshit.”

            Karen was a little surprised at how forceful Frank’s voice sounded, and her eyes shot to him with curiosity.

            “You’re the strongest person I know, Page. And the very fact that you were able to leave when you needed to leave proves it.” Frank’s stare was intense, and Karen felt the well of affection for him in her chest damn-near overflow. She bit her bottom lip to keep helpless tears from welling up in her eyes.

            “Thanks, Frank,” she whispered.

            He was about to open his mouth to speak, but the buzzer rang. Karen cleared her throat, and Frank moved to stand up.

            “Pizza guy,” he said, removing her feet from his lap. Standing up, Frank paused for a moment, his back to Karen. She watched his shoulders move as he took a deep breath.

            “You know, Karen,” he said, turning slightly to look at her over his shoulder, “I’m really glad you ended up here. However you got here—I’m glad you did.”

            Karen didn’t have a chance to respond before Frank was out the door.

            Frank ended up staying until around midnight, at which point Karen passed out on the couch, unable to fight her exhaustion any longer. They’d talked almost the entire night away, over pizza and tea (Karen would have offered the beer in the fridge, but knew that Frank wouldn’t drink as long as she couldn’t). The topics of conversation were considerably lighter than their before-dinner chat.

Frank told stories about his kids, Frankie Jr. and Lisa. How Frankie Jr. was learning to skateboard, which mostly seemed to involve wrapping himself up in various layers of padding and standing on the skateboard with his arms spread, looking like a terrified, baby deer learning to walk. Or about how Lisa was trying out for her school baseball team—they didn’t offer softball—and how she’d petitioned the school using Title IX for the right. Frank had been spending most weekends at the park with her, teaching her to throw. Karen noticed, with some interest, that he didn’t really talk about Maria, despite the fact that she knew there was no bad blood between the two of them. (Frank would later admit that David had told him never to talk about his ex-wife with a girl he liked).

            He talked about his friends, Curtis and David. Karen had laughed until her stomach hurt when he relayed the fact that David’s wife, Sarah, had actually been on a date at Coney Island with Frank, when he’d introduced her to David. She’d dumped Frank mid-date to go off somewhere with the other man. Frank had been upset, until he’d seen how incredibly besotted the two were.

            Frank did little things throughout the evening that set Karen’s heart to thundering wildly in her chest. He’d brushed a stray strand of hair off of her face at one point, tucking it behind her ear; he’d gently squeezed her calf when she’d told him about the way she and Kevin used to get their father to film homemade James Bond movies with them (in which Kevin was James Bond and Karen was Q—not Moneypenny); he’d even wiped a dab of pizza sauce off of her lip with his thumb.

            As Karen had watched Frank do an impression of his mother, complete with the high-pitched voice and all, a strange—though not entirely unwelcome—truth dawned on her.

            She didn’t just have a crush on Frank Castle. No. Nothing that simple.

            She was fucking in love with Frank Castle.

            If someone had asked Karen to describe exactly what had shifted in her relationship with Frank after the night of the sprained ankle, she wasn’t entirely sure she could pinpoint it. All she knew was that something had shifted.

            There was a new kind of comfort between the two of them. A cozy sort of warmth that seemed to grow whenever they were in the same room.

            (Trish, who had popped in one evening to get Karen’s advice on her dissertation proposal, described it to her buddy Jessica as a sense of gravity between them. The way that Karen could ask Frank to close the blinds with merely a tilt of her head; the way that she seemed to know that Frank was hungry before he even spoke—reaching into her desk drawer for a protein bar and tossing it his way. Like they were doing a choreographed dance. She’d sighed dreamily, ignoring Jessica’s rolled eyes, going on about romantic tension and undisclosed desires).

            Both Frank’s and Karen’s students had picked up on it, too. These days, it seemed that any time they saw Dr. Page walking (hobbling on crutches) around campus, Dr. Castle wasn’t far behind. Her senior seminar class, unbeknownst to her, almost had a collective meltdown the day that Karen walked into class one day wearing what was clearly one of Dr. Castle’s sweaters with the sleeves rolled up. (She’d spilled coffee down her white silk shirt, effectively making it see-through, and didn’t have time to go home and change before class. Frank, who always had an extra dress shirt in his desk drawer, had offered her his sweater).

            Karen, with her newfound knowledge that she Capital L loved Frank Castle, had decided to keep that little tidbit of information to herself. She wasn’t ready to let all those soft, confusing thoughts that lived inside of her, in the box marked “Frank Castle,” out into the real world just yet.

            So instead, she reminded him constantly of her plans to get back at him for his interview stunt. Because, apparently, like an elementary-aged boy, her idea of letting someone know you liked them involved low-key bullying.

            She’d dropped hints about having contacts in the psychology department who could get their hands on lab mice, but Frank had just grunted a laugh and replied, “You’d be more scared of the mice than I would, sweetheart.”

            She’d also been toying around with the idea of doing something to his car—maybe getting it towed or having some of her students help her fill it with packing peanuts. But it seemed sacrilegious to deface his car when it had saved her so much pain the other night when she’d sprained her ankle. The car didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.

            Limping back to the office from her final class of the day—two weeks after the incident, and Karen had just gone off her crutches—Karen had an epiphany. She knew exactly what she’d do to get Frank back—and it would bug the piss out of her hyper-organized office mate. It would take a lot of time, and a lot of man power, but she was sure she could get Foggy to help her out (she still wasn’t on speaking terms with Matt after their coffee house showdown, or she would have recruited him too).

            Walking into the Physics building, Karen contemplated the logistics of completely flipping their two sides of the room. They’d have to move the desks, the bookshelves…have the move all Frank’s degrees to her wall, and move her paintings to take their place. It would be a full evening’s work, so she’d have to wait until next Thursday, when Frank left the office early to pick Lisa up from baseball practice. Then they’d have all night to do the swap.

            A devious smile worked its way to Karen’s face as she hobbled down the hallway to their office. She was just about to open the door, when she heard some odd noises from inside. It sounded like yipping, as strange and out-of-place as it may have been. Like little puppies barking. For a moment, Karen wondered if Frank had brought a puppy to work. But no—he would have told her if he had.

            Pushing the door open, Karen saw Frank’s head shoot up, eyes wide, as he immediately clicked a button on his computer, making the noises stop.

            “Frank,” Karen asked, drawing out his name as she limped her way over to his desk. “What were you watching?”

            “I was—” Frank thought about lying, covering up the fact that he was watching a live puppy feed from the local pit bull shelter when he should have been working, but gave up on it. Karen was a journalist—she’d get it out of him eventually. With a sigh, he turned his screen around to Karen could see. “Just, puppies.” He said, shrugging.

            “Oh my God,” Karen whispered, watching the live feed as a pile of little pit bulls crawled all over each other. She looked from the computer screen to Frank—who was sporting a rather sheepish look—and felt her heart squeeze in her chest.

            Fuck the prank, she thought. I’ve got to find a way to tell this ridiculous man that I’m in love with him.

[mandaloriandy]

Fanfic Ask Meme: 6, 15, 31, 51

6. List your OTP from each fandom you’ve been involved in.

Oh, man. Okay. In no particular order, just the order I happen to remember them in, and I am grouping together large things because otherwise there would be too many. (shield is within MCU, tolkien is LOTR, Silm, and Hobbit, etc. tortall and emelan are split because they’re actually different universes.)

Harry Potter: Harry/Luna

Tolkien: Gimli/Legolas

Star Wars: any of the possible OT3s, to be honest

Tortall: Beka/Farmer

Emelan: Sandry/Being the Duchess of Emelan

ATLA: unrequited and eventually heartbroken ty lee/azula because apparently I like doing awful things to my heart

Doctor Who: honestly Rose/Jack/Nine was so pure I miss that first season so much

Marvel: Melinda May

Homestuck: I do not really want to express my opinion about Homestuck here, on tumblr, in late 2017 of all years, but to be completely and entirely honest I still cannot get past Terezi(/

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love?

I mean pick one of the above?? but if you want another...

okay fuck I wasn’t going to talk about Homestuck any more but I still can’t get past this one fic I saw that inspired me to write my still-incomplete fic that partially had that ship, which was RoseThe Grand Highblood

31. What’s the nicest thing someone has ever said about your writing?

Oh, gosh. So many??? people??? have said so many surprisingly nice things about my writing? I’m honestly still surprised that people read it, but...

“The language used is beautiful and carries an emotional resonance that just sings out as it’s read. The details included about the elves of Aman and their varied cultures is incredibly well done. And the original characters feel just as read as Nerdanel does.” (via)

That’s gotta be the best. Man. Wow.

51. Rant or Gush about one thing you love or hate in the world of fanfiction! Go!

fucking FORMATTING

like, man, I get it, it’s tough doing it on AO3, and I’m not asking for some sort of fancy shaped nonsense, I’m just asking for basic. fucking. paragraphs. And I mean. following the standard conventions!! in some formats, indentation is fine! necessary even! but on ao3 it just looks like crap because I’m so used to the standard fic format that whenever anyone messes with it, makes the paragraphs closer together or w/e, or indents them, it looks. wrong. that’s just... gaaaah. like I totally respect that people have a right to format fic the way they want but it bugs me so much. so fucking much. wow that is longer than I thought it would be