#frank castle wallpaper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

munsonownsmyass · 1 year ago

Text

Ghostface! Frank Castle x reader

Notes: This is what happens when I come across too many thirsty Ghostface tiktoks... And then proceed to rewatch Scream. So yeah...

Unbeta'ed, unedited. Wanted this filth out on Friday the 13th 😆👻

Warnings: Dub con/CNC. And I can't stress that enough. Dub con/CNC. Knife play, forced blowjob, tears, blood, restraints, unprotected sex, breeding, man in mask. Twist on the end. Please don't read if any of these warnings are an issue to you.

Words: 1.8 K

When you open your eyes, you can’t see a thing. The room is cold, and you have no idea where you are or how you got here. Trying to stand up, you feel the rope around your wrists, gnawing into your skin. The bag over your head leaves you short of breath. Trying not to panic, you twist your wrists, only feeling more pain.

That’s when you hear it. Someone breathing near you. The legs of a chair pushed across concrete, heavy boots walking towards you. Pulling harder at the ropes, you try to get free, but to no avail. A heavy hand lands on your head, pulling the bag off and you wince as the bright light hits your eyes.

There he was, towering over you, wearing nothing but dark pants and a Ghostface mask. In one hand a camera, the other a big knife. His exposed chest is rising slowly as he breathes, watching you from behind the mask.

Behind him another man appears, covered in black clothes with a white cracked mask, taking the camera from the masked man in front of you. As the other man backs away, you could swear you hear him chuckle.

You try to take in the scenery around you. Trying to remember any detail in case you make it out. Every little dent in the wallpaper, the sounds of cars in the distance. But the sound of heavy boots coming closer catches your attention and you look to the man. His eyes have never left you.

You know pleading for your life won’t change his mind, so you try to act strong. Not letting your eyes flicker as you stare him down. He comes closer. And closer. Playing with the knife in his hands. Staring at you. The minute he’s mere inches away, he stops.

You try to push away, work open the ropes, but you stop when a big hand lands on your shoulder. He groans in disapproval as he lays the knife down, his now free hand slowly drifting down to his belt. With one hand he opens the belt, before popping open the button and finding the zipper.

“No, please don’t.” You whimper, your resolve from earlier gone. You turn your head away, but out of the corner of your eye see him push his pants down, revealing his already hard cock. The tears wet your cheeks as you find the camera man in the darkness. “Please help me.”

But of course, he doesn’t help, just let you beg as the ghostfaced stranger takes a hold of your jaw and turn your face back to him. His grip is hard, holding you in place as he guides his cock to your lips, the head already wet with precum.

“Might as well open up, Princess. Don’t make me hurt you.” His voice is deep, raspy as he presses against your lips, the precum wetting the skin. He lets go of your jaw, taking the knife from the table and press it against your neck, just enough to puncture the skin. You feel the blood run down your throat, mixing with the wetness from your tears.

“You’re gonna open that pretty little mouth and take every inch of me.” He growls, grabbing your hair, forcing your head back so you look into the eyes of the mask. The cold blade of the knife moves from your neck to your lips, pressing down on your bottom lip. “I don’t mind cutting your mouth open. I’ll just fuck the blood down your throat, if I have to.”

His voice is demanding, yet calm. You know he’s not kidding, so reluctantly you open up for him, letting him slide his thick length past your lips and you feel every vein of him against your tongue. Soon he’s fucking into your mouth, deeper and deeper, making you cry out and gag around him. He picks up the pace, barely letting you breathe.

“You’re such a good girl for me.” He coos, his thumb caressing your jawline as he pushes his cock deep into your throat, fisting your hair. Holding you in place. He’s not gentle, just chasing his own release. He rolls his head back, groaning out in pleasure. His pace quickens again, his thrusts getting uneven until he stops, pushing his cock deep, letting you feel the hot liquid shooting down your throat.

Pulling out, you gasp for air, drool and semen dripping down your chin, down onto your neck. You sob silently as he pulls his pants up, looking down at you.

“Look at you.” He caresses your mascara-stained cheeks, his fingers sliding down your throat, playing with the mix of blood, tears and semen. “Such a pretty mess.”

He crouches down, looking at the mess he’s made, his hands resting on your thighs. Slowly he inches towards your pussy, his thumb rubbing slow circles over your panties. To his surprise and your own, there’s a wet spot.

“Would you like me to fuck you, Princess?” He smirks, continuing his slow circles on your clit.

“I’d rather die.” You say, spitting in his face. He’s on his feet immediately, his hand coming down on your cheek instantly.

“Keep acting like that and you will.” He says through gritted teeth. Taking the knife, he cuts open your shirt, the blade dancing over your delicate skin. The cold air of the basement washes over you, raising goosebumps. Playing with the knife, cutting away your bra, you moan softly as the cold blade grace your nipples.

“You might say no, but your body is screaming yes.” He chuckles, putting the blade to your panties and cutting them up, exposing you to him. He hums at the sight, the wetness visible. You’re ashamed of yourself, but you can’t deny the way your body is reacting to him.

“Help me with this.” He waves the camera man over and they loosen your ropes. You try to fight them, but they’re too strong. With ease they lift you to a bed nearby, making quick work of restraining you again. Arms and legs at every corner.

Once secured to the bed, the stranger is on you again. Spread out for him, every inch of your skin exposed, he’s free to play with you. His fingers find your soaked pussy, two digits pushing into your wet heat. It’s easy, your body inviting him in. He grins as you squirm under his touch, his fingers soaked by your arousal. It doesn’t take long before you come for him, suppressing your moan.

“I’m starting to think you like me.” He taunts you, pulling his fingers from your cunt. You almost beg him not to go, knowing how horrible that sounds. But his hands don’t leave you for long, a hand on each thigh, spreading you open for him.

Without a word, he dives between your legs, mask pushed up just enough to expose his mouth. Your breath hitches as his tongue flick over your clit. Slow, barely there touches, torturing you. He flattens his tongue and lap at your juices, bringing you closer to seeing stars. This is so wrong, but it feels so good that you can’t stop yourself and feel the orgasm wash over you.

“Please.” You whimper, not knowing anymore what you’re pleading for. More? Or that he’ll let you go?

“Please, what?” He looks up and you see him smile, his chin covered with your juices. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me. Please.” You beg, eliciting a chuckle from both the strangers. But the smile vanishes as he opens his pants, freeing his hard cock. He moans as he strokes himself, lining his cock up at your wet entrance. Teasing your lips, he wets the head before pushing into you in one, deep thrust.

Pulling out slowly, he groans at the feeling of you around him, before he pushes back in. You can’t help but moan out, pulling at the restraints. A terrifying thought goes through your head. You want to hold him, want to wrap your legs around him. You don’t care anymore that it’s wrong, you want him.

“Please free my hands. I’ll be good, I swear.” You plead and he complies. Reaching back, he releases your feet before freeing your hands. Instantly you wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. Quickening his pace, he fucks into you harder.

“Let me see your face.” You beg as his cock drives into you. You reach for the mask and he doesn’t stop you. The face beneath was not what you expected. Intense, beautiful eyes. Strong jaw covered in dark stubble. Hansome. Against your better judgement, you pull him in for a kiss, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips against yours.

A fire is lit within the both of you and he fucks you harder. Running your fingers through his dark hair, you pull it softly. Your lips claim his again in a passionate kiss, finally giving in to your desire. But just as you’re about to cum, he stops, causing you to whimper.

“I’m still in control. Don’t forget that.” His eyes darken as his hand wraps around your throat, pining you to the mattress. Painfully slow, he begins fucking you again. You feel every ridge of his cock, but need more. Want more.

“Please. I want more.” You beg again, looking into his dark eyes. In that moment, you don’t care what he might do to you, you just want to come and feel his cum inside you. “Please, I’ll be a good girl for you. Just please cum in me.”

“Fuck!” He groans as he starts driving his cock into you again. Faster. Harder. Whispering in your ear how he’ll fill you up with his cum, how good you’re making him feel. His pace quickens as you both get closer. “Come for me!”

And you do. You come harder than you’ve ever done before, your walls clenching around his cock, taking every single drop of his cum. His movements slow, the only sound remaining is your shared breathing as you both come down.

After a while, he sits up on the bed, his touch now gentle as he caresses your thigh. His eyes have softened as he looks you over, the worry clear when he looks at the cut on your neck. “Was it too much?”

“No, Frank. That was exactly what I had in mind.” You giggle, still high from everything that went down. You sit up beside Frank and give him a soft kiss. The sound of a camera being placed on the table, makes you both look over to the camera man.

“I guess my work here is done.” Billy says with a grin as he pulls of his mask.

Tagging: @e-dubbc11 @mindidjarin @itwasthereaminuteago @theradioactivespidergwen @lucy-sky @chvoswxtch @murdock-and-the-sea @darlingshane @idrinkcoffeeandobsess @mattmurdocksscars @boliv-jenta @saintmurd0ck @pedrito-friskito

“Actually,” Frank smiles at Billy before turning to you. “There’s one thing I’ve always wanted us to try.”

#ghostface frank castle #frank castle x reader #ghostface fanfiction #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle

142 notes · View notes

sugarwithsarcasm · 2 months ago

Text

“He’d uh, he’d tell me that the Titan doesn’t favor those who are gluttonous. And that well, basically eating outside of the small portions of food that he permitted me to eat, maybe twice a week, was a way of not only showing devotion to Titan, but…also to him.” Darius grabbed his tea so hard he was surprised when the porcelain handle didn’t crack, “Good Titan, only twice a week?! I remember you always looking a bit malnourished but, well, to be quite frank with the amount of energy your job demanded, I’m surprised you didn’t pass out after an hour running on such little food, let alone…” He trailed off, exasperated.

Vomit had a sour taste to it, regardless of what was being regurgitated, Hunter thought, hunched over the toilet, trying to distract himself from the now routine uncomfortability of throwing up. He tried not to focus on the world spinning around him, the dark shadows of the bathroom crevices taunting him, the harsh cold air scraping against his cold skin. A small stream of sunlight snuck past the purple bathroom curtain, dancing over the left side of Hunter’s face. He was convinced that it was that small sliver of sunlight that tethered him to the realm of consciousness despite his mind drifting farther and farther away from the comfortable, safe reality he had been ever so slowly adjusted to and instead into the terrifying, traumatic memory of Emperor Belos and the castle.

Just as abruptly as the stream of vomit had started, it ended. The bitter, unpleasant aftertaste of dessert lingering in Hunter’s mouth. As he began brushing his teeth, his body froze. The sound of creaking floorboards, the all too familiar confident yet careful footsteps. Hunter rolled his dark, tired looking eyes, scoffing at his sickly looking reflection in the mirror. It isn’t Emperor Belos, you boneheaded gnat, he chastised to himself, it’s Darius.

A firm knock came from the other side of the door, “Little Prince? Is everything alright? You’ve been in there for quite some time– wait, please don’t tell me I have influenced you into picking an extensive skincare routine, we only have one bathroom.”

“Out in a minute.” Hunter slurred, pulling his limp body off the freezing tile floor, wincing at the exuberantly minty toothpaste flavor in his mouth. He groaned as he held his head with one hand, his other hand shaking, clutching the much too cold doorknob.

Darius was leaning against the beige and royal purple wallpaper in the hallway, inspecting his nails carefully, muttering something as Hunter walked out, his head whipping up when he heard the soft click of the door being pushed into the door frame, letting out a surprised and soft “ oh.”

Hunter sharply inhaled the frigid, spring air. “I uh, I threw up again.” He squirmed under the pitiful gaze of Darius, sincerely regretting everything that had come in and out of his mouth that day.

Darius walked close to Hunter and placed a warm hand on his forehead, Hunter closed his eyes and tried to ignore the mumblings and mutterings of Darius and the cold, disappointed gaze he could feel prickling at his frigid skin.

“You feel warm.” Darius sighed, Hunter opened his eyes, peering curiously at Darius’s worried, confused demeanor. “Hunter, this is the third time this week, is there anything you can think of that might be causing these,” He gagged, his eyes darting over to the clay colored chunks in the toilet, “illnesses?”

Hunter wanted to laugh. There wasn't any food he thought was causing it, only his gluttony. He grimaced as he remembered how he had been stuffing his face with food, his stomach screaming at him to stop but his wounded heart demanding more. The way he ate and ate, shoving the fairy cake he had made in hopes to surprise Darius down his throat, thick tears mixing with crumbs and jams as he ate, hating how he relished in temporary happiness and relief it gave him.

“No.” Hunter bit his lip, feeling guilty for lying as he saw Darius’s face deflate.

“Well, no need to fuss about that now I suppose. We’ll figure it out soon enough, I’ll clean the bathroom, get ready for a shower.” Darius gave Hunter a weak smile, clearly disgusted at the thought of having to clean the rancid smelling toilet.

Hunter paused for a moment, debating if he should confess to being the ‘wild gnome who had eaten all the produce’ last week and ‘the Ashwinder who dropped his lunch in a pond’ the day prior. Instead, the fear of losing the loving, caring safety of Darius and the pure exhaustion that weighed down on him propelled him to grunt and turn towards his room.

His heavy feet dragged across the clean, wooden floors. His body slumped forward, the soldier’s posture he had been conditioned to maintain by Emperor Belos long forgotten. There seemed to be a particularly cruel breeze following Hunter, practically rubbing ice against his shivering frame. Hunter didn’t mind though, it distracted him from the cries and screams coming from his stomach.

---

“Hunter,” Hunter’s eyes darted up from his broth, looking up at Darius who took as deep sighed, guilt knotting in his stomach as he noticed the dark, deep circles etched under his clearly frightened eyes, “I know.” Darius took a sip from a cup of his tea.

Hunter sighed, wrapping himself in the warm, purple blanket Darius had given him after he showered. (and quickly thereafter, Darius, pretending to have benefited from having to shower after rinsing out the vomit stained towels by hand, telling Hunter, “Now I can lounge around all day just like you little prince. This is a great excuse to do an all day intensive skincare routine!”, his eyes twitching as he tried desperately to not make it obvious that he was trying to avoid the growing mountain of paperwork in the table corner.)

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.” Hunter replied dryly, staring down at the brown broth, spinning it with his spoon.

Darius bit his lip, before making a gagging noise as the acidic tasting face mask he was wearing dripped into his mouth. He was grateful for the distraction from the implications Hunter’s response had. “I got off the phone with the Owl Lady while you were in the shower,” Darius used a napkin, meticulously wiping off the purple goop from his lips, “she…mentioned some similarities between you and an eating behavior of Luz’s.” He set down the napkin, hesitating to speak as he stared at Hunter’s tired, pale face. “There is no food allergy, you’ve been making yourself throw up haven’t you?”

Hunter sighed, slouching further down, staring at the beige, tile floors. “Yeah,” he bitterly laughed, tightening the blanket around his shoulders, “I was starting to think you’d never catch on.”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Darius started cautiously, not continuing until he noticed Hunter jerk his chin up, a mannerism that Darius knew was Hunter’s nonverbal way of communicating that he could go on, he was alright, “is it a body image thing or a he who shall not be named thing?”

Hunter squirmed in his seat, a pounding feeling in his head making him dizzy. He reached for a cup of water, relishing in how refreshing it felt going down his dry throat. “Belos.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Darius asked, already expecting a certain answer.

Hunter furrowed his brow, pausing to think for a moment, “Yeah actually.”

Darius tried his best not to look surprised, masking a smile at evidence of Hunter’s progress by sipping on his tea. “Whenever you're ready, little prince. Don’t worry, there is nothing you can say to me that will make me stop caring for you.” Darius said, attempting to quell one of the biggest anxieties that he knew often held Hunter from communicating his problems with him.

“The Golden Guard had to be disciplined, and maintain a certain strong physique and well, he thought one of the ways to achieve this was through..well, not letting me eat for most of the time.” Hunter spoke, swirling the vegetable in his broth around with his spoon. “He’d uh, he’d tell me that the Titan doesn’t favor those who are gluttonous. And that well, basically eating outside of the small portions of food that he permitted me to eat, maybe twice a week, was a way of not only showing devotion to Titan, but…also to him.”

Darius grabbed his tea so hard he was surprised when the porcelain handle didn’t crack, “Good Titan, only twice a week?! I remember you always looking a bit malnourished but, well, to be quite frank with the amount of energy your job demanded, I’m surprised you didn’t pass out after an hour running on such little food, let alone…” He trailed off, exasperated.

“Well, I uh, I didn’t run on just that.” Hunter smiled, though Darius could immediately tell it was forced, “The kitchen, it was down stairs from my room in the castle, and in the dead of night, when I thought I was going to die of starvation after going such long days without food,” Hunter reasoned as if Darius would’ve been disappointed with him if he didn’t stress his hunger, “I used to sneak down there and…feast. I used to eat. And eat. And eat. The food was so good . The sweet stuff, the salty stuff, the oily stuff, when I was stuffing myself with them I used to feel so– I don’t even know how to describe it uh, in control? Strong? It was just this sense of…comfort, even if it only lasted when I was stuffing my face.”

“Ah, I see.” Darius muttered to himself, after a moment of awkward silence, “Bingeing.”

Hunter waited for a moment and against his wishes for the emotional control and discipline that he had from all those years in the castles to stop them, tears dripped down Hunter’s face. “And purging.” Darius’s mouth formed a little ‘oh’. “When I’d come up, I don’t know I was so paranoid that he’d find out. I’d feel so guilty, and disgusted with myself for not being disciplined enough to stop myself. It was so frustrating. This guilt and shame kind of would bubble up in me and make me sick to the point of throwing everything up. And, y’know I know, I know I’m not in the castle anymore and I’m supposed to be safe-”

“-you are safe.”

“..right.” Hunter shook his head, “but, I just- I just can’t take my stupid brain off of survival mode. Like, logically, I know! It’s been a long enough time and enough people have told me that Belos, he was wrong about a lot of things! And that I don’t need to starve myself, and then force myself to eat, and then throw it all up! Logically I know, you aren’t Belos, and I don’t need to be so paranoid anymore! And I know all this but…but,” Sobs began overcoming him, snot forming in his nose, “I just can’t. I know, I know it all, I know I’m safe but I just can’t, no matter how hard I try. It’s just- sometimes this whole ‘work on yourself and surround yourself with loved ones to make yourself better’ shtick is just, so hopeless, so worthless. And- and you're trying. I know you are! You’re trying so hard, I- I- know it! Everyone’s trying to help me, but- but I can’t! It’s not you, it’s not anything anyone else did, it’s me.” Hunter sniffled, staring guiltily at Darius' shocked expression, “Maybe I’m not ready to be okay yet. Maybe..maybe I’ll never be.”

Darius walked around the table, close to Hunter so he could hold him in his arms, “Oh Hunter,” Hunter leaned into his soft shirt, sobbing into it, his shivering frame melting in Darius’s firm one, “first and foremost, I am so proud of you for talking to me. It’s a good step, let’s focus on the good steps okay? You say you can’t, but look at you Hunter, one year ago if I were to ask you if anything was wrong you would either A, get defensive or B, downplay your feelings. But look at you know, you're admitting your feelings, and I know it isn’t easy, but you did it, you can, and I am so proud of you!” Darius cradled the side of Hunter’s face, making sure he could make eye contact with him, “I must be honest with you,” Darius laughed, although Hunter noted it seemed almost unhinged, “I’m- I’m not a therapist, I- I don’t know the right words to say that could inspire you and- and help you realize that you are an incredibly strong, kind, courageous, perfectly imperfect kid who’s gone through some horrible things, and you didn’t deserve any of it, I don’t know if there are any words. Sometimes, I worry if I’m not, a good enough parent, if- if maybe you’d be better off with Camila or, or the Owl Lady as a parent.” Hunter’s eyes widened in fear. Darius, whose own eyes were starting to spill with tears, quickly rambled on “No! I’m not going to abandon you, nothing could tear you from me little prince, not my own insecurities, not yours, not even death itself. I just, you were open with me and I wanted to be open with you. Little Prince, I love you, with more strength and conviction than the Titan.”

Hunter seemed to smile at Darius’s rambling, “Yeesh don’t wear yourself out old man,” he gave Darius a toothy grin, his eyes, red rimmed due to crying softening, “I get it, sorry, don’t let my abandonment issues intercept you, it’s just a reflex I swear. You’re a great parent,” He raised a finger and pointed at himself, “it’s me, that’s the problem.”

“We’re going in circles here now,” Hunter let out a small laugh, Darius chuckling along with him, his purple, gloopy, face stained with tears, “Little prince, what I was meaning to get at, is that I don’t know how to turn off your ‘survival mode’. Some of the scars that Belo- sorry, he left on you will stay for months, years, Titan, there might be some that will be with you on your deathbed, but together, maybe with a bit of communication, maybe I can get some professional help for you and maybe with some more, I don’t know transparency? We can find a way to tend to them, so I can see you happy and living your best life. Will it be easy? No. But hey, I will always try my best to do what’s best to help support you, but I need you to be there with me on this, can you do that?”

Hunter paused for a moment, thinking. “Yeah, yeah I think I can.”

“That’s the spirit kid,” Darius squeezed him tightly, “Words cannot convey how proud I am of you right now.”

“Yeah yeah, get off of me, your weird face mask stuff is getting all over me.” Hunter swatted Darius’s arm.

Darius rolled his eyes, “Please, I’ve seen the way you get around that Willow child when I drop you off at school, you’ll be thanking you for having such a beauty savvy guardian in like, a week.”

Hunter’s face reddened, “Shut up! You're so embarrassing.”

“Yes well, as much as I would love to be reminded of the painful embarrassment of adolescent love, I’d rather we not discuss it, thank you very much.” Darius smiled playfully at Hunter, getting up and walking back over to grab his cup of tea. His expression softened as he took a sip, “How are you feeling? Do you want medicine? Is the broth too much right now?”

Hunter’s flustered expression fell to a more solemn one. “I mean, you're a really good chef! Like, it tastes good in general.”

Darius raised an eyebrow, “But?”

“Well, to me, right now? He shifted in his seat. “It kind of tastes like bile.”

Darius furrowed his eyebrows, trying to think of the right words to say as he took a sip of his tea, which kind of tasted like bile too.

#the owl house #tw: eating issues #dadrius #ao3 #fanfic #hunter toh #darius deamonne #darius toh #found family #Darius is trying #How successful he is #is up to reader interpretation lmao #platonic relationships

11 notes · View notes

saintedcooper · 2 years ago

Text

It's Dangerous Business Walking Out Your Front Door (Francis Ch2 | Frank Castle x Reader 1940s AU)

New York, 1949. You’re a waitress trying to find your place in the world and get your footing at your new job. That is, when you’re not being very distracted by the handsome, mysterious writer who frequents the diner.

Chapter Summary: It’s your day off from the diner and you’re still trying to process what Francis said to you last night. Luckily, you’ve got your free-spirited roommate and your museum job to keep your mind busy. That is, until your night takes a turn for the worst.

Previous Chapters: 1

Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader

Content Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, attempted sexual assault, mention of an under-fed (not by choice) character

Length: 4,324 words

Author's Note: Switched up the tense for this chapter. I find it flows better and I love the idea of this being a dynamic creation experience. I'd love to hear any feedback in the notes, replies, or asks!

Heed the warnings!

It’s almost fully light out when you step onto the landing of the fourth floor apartment you rent in Hell’s Kitchen. You know that Maggie, your roommate, will still be dead to the world but you still grip your keys tight to your palm to keep from making unnecessary noise.

As the door opens and your nose fills with the warmth of the pot roast you started before leaving for work last night. God, do you love working at the diner but you hate the food. There’s just something about city food nowadays, it doesn’t stick to you like a good meal should.

You pull the keys out and quietly maneuver the door shut. As you start toward the kitchen, a young man slinks out of Maggie’s room, tiptoeing with his shoes in his hand and his hat pressed to his chest. He’s so focused on making a soundless exit that he doesn’t notice you behind him.

“Hello there.”

He freezes and spins his head around to look at you over his shoulder. He makes a shocked face so silly it’d make a Marx Brother proud. The surprise doesn’t stop him from keeping mouse-quiet as a he closes Maggie’s door all the way.

“That’s not very nice, you know, sneaking out on a girl like that. She might get the wrong impression.”

He throws on a big, sugary smile and does a mock bow.

“It’s nothing like that, ma’am,” he says with an accent so phony he’s got to be an actor like Maggie. “Maggie and I were up late rehearsing, that’s all, ma’am. I respect your daughter as a colleague, ma’am. I swear, nothing unsavory happened here.”

Your face sets into a frown, suddenly very aware of how hateable his pinched little face is.

You decide you can’t stand him and your feet hurt too much to waste more time talking to him. You spin on your heels toward the kitchen and call back to him over your shoulder.

“You know she’s not my daughter and you don’t live here. Good morning.”

Truth be told, this kitchen is your favorite place in the world. You adore the entire apartment (more so when you lived in it on your own), but the kitchen is a sanctuary. It’s open and bright with a nice big window over the sink. The trim is a pastel green and the walls are covered in a fruit themed wallpaper you hand-painted.

It’s heaven.

With a tired groan, you set your gloves and purse on the counter.

It was a long night of overthinking about what Francis said to you before he slipped out into the night.

I don’t come here for the food.

Just the thought makes you flush again but you temper it. Sure, he’s gorgeous and funny and kind but…there’s also something mysterious about him.

You never quite got the story about his wife but you know he doesn’t wear a ring. Then again, it wouldn’t be unheard of for a married man to forgo it to get what he wanted, would it?

With a shake of your head, you chastise yourself. He’s not like that, right?

You hop into the chair beside the counter and pull the top off of the slower cooker. The scene of the post roast you’ve been daydreaming about all day permeates your senses as you lean in close and take a deep, indulgent breath. Thank god Maggie’s not around to tease you about the pleased sound that comes out of your mouth as the thick cloud of steam fills up your nostrils.

“That smells delicious, ma’am.”

Your head whips around and there he is again, Maggie’s annoying blond paramour, leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m sure as an actor you’re extremely unfamiliar with the concept of rejection, but that ‘good morning’ meant ‘get lost.’”

He holds up his hands but laughs. When he speaks, his accent is less put-on.

“I understand. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I offended you with my assumption. And also that Maggie is a lovely girl but she’s under no illusions about our relationship.”

You shrug. “Alright, sure. Just stop calling me ma’am.”

He nods as you turn back to the cooker to make a plate. When you turn back toward the table, he’s still there, picking at the skin around his nails and shuffling about with uncertainty.

You allow yourself a moment to really take him in. He’s handsome and well-dressed, but skinny. It was easy to miss at first glance, but his skin has a surprising dullness to it and his suit doesn’t quite fit him. But the tell is the way his gaze is fixed on the slow cooker like a wolf’s eyes on a lone, fat lamb.

A true starving artist.

“What’s your name?”

“James, ma’—miss. I’m James Downing, miss.”

“Pleased to meet you, James Downing, now sit.”

He shakes his head eagerly as he all but runs to the kitchen table. “Yes, ma’am!”

You sigh and make him a plate anyway.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

You awaken hours later to the noise of the city and the smell of coffee drifting under your door. The sun bathing your room in warm light tells you it’s just after 1 o’clock in the afternoon.

You stretch out your limbs with a drawn-out grunt and bounce out of bed.

Today’s your day off from the diner but it’s the start of the week for your favorite job. A few months back when you’d been looking to make extra cash to visit your sister, a friend connected you with a job. She knew you painted and loved history and art. The job was for an assistant to the head restorer at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The restorer is a sweet man in his sixties with a horrible comb over and case of the sweats so bad his shirts constantly appear visibly wet. He’s also unfathomably kind of sees within you what others have always overlooked.

You’ve never considered yourself much of an artist, more of a hobbyist. But that man, with all of his experience and worldliness, seeing in you something worth growing gives you just about all the confidence in the world.

You work three days a week, Thursday through Saturday, alongside him. The job was supposed to be to help with filing, organizing tools, and cleaning up when needed. But he’d been so thrilled to have a painter apply that you hardly ever did any of those things. The office has ended up looking like a disaster more often than not but neither of you care. The work is the reward.

Well, the work is certainly a reward, but the job pays well. Well enough that you don’t really need a roommate anymore. But the city seems big and lonelier lately. Besides, Maggie’s a sweet, overly friendly girl and who knows what trouble she’d get into if you kicked her out.

Speaking of Maggie, her life as an actress is…flexible. She’s sure to make coffee whenever she knows you need to be up for the museum.

When you leave your room, Maggie’s at the table reading the paper. Her eyes are glued to the paper, shifting quickly as she reads a story headlined, “Masked vigilante strikes again! Four mobsters slain.” She absentmindedly jabs a piece of toast at her face, just missing her mouth.

“Well, well, well, Margaret. Late night, you see.”

Maggie flushes and hides her face behind the paper for a moment.

She has a way of inspiring the big sister urges in you, what with her button nose and freckled face framed by a curly mess of red hair.

“Honey, I’m so embarrassed. I heard you two talking in the hall, you know. I was just too ashamed to come out.”

She looks at you over the table and you lift the coffee pot as a question. She nods her head and you pour two mugs.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. I almost socked that James of yours, though, until I realized he was just a silly little puppy.”

Maggie laughs airily. “That’s one way of putting it.”

You slide into the seat across the table from her. “It’s nothing, really. I just fed him and sent him on his way. Think nothing of it.”

Maggie nods to you and goes back to reading her paper. You look at her, uncertain for a few moments.

“I’d like to ask you a question. I asked that boy of yours, too. But you think it’s the sort of thing that requires a woman’s intuition.”

“He is decidedly not my boy,” she giggles while setting the paper down. “But yes, please, go on.”

You fidget in your seat for a moment.

“Well, you know that guy I’ve mentioned from the diner? Francis?”

Maggie grins. “I know.”

“Well, last night he was later than usual and Tom wouldn’t hold open the kitchen. So, when Francis got there, I apologized so much and he eventually told me that– Well, I think he said that maybe I’m the reason he goes to the diner away.”

Maggie coos and claps her hands, bouncing excitedly in her chair. “Ooh, yes! Yes. I never told you but I stopped by once to get a look at him, you know, after you told me. And I swear, he’s just about the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. So, then what happened?”

“That’s just it,” you frown. “He said that and then he just left. How do I know he was serious? Maybe it was just a joke. I mean, he does jest somethings. Why else say something like that and then leave?”

“Honey,” Maggie says, leaning into me. “This is the game. Men and women have been doing this for centuries. Ever hear of cat and mouse? Well, he’s seeing if you wanna play.”

You stare blankly at her.

“What?”

“Sure,” Maggie says. “Tell me exactly what happened and don’t leave anything out.”

You take last night from the top, telling her how upset you were with your sister, how Francis had shown up in a state, and how after everything, he’s said that he doesn’t visit the dinner for the food.

Maggie bites her lip and grins. “My goodness. He’s good.”

“So, what do you do?”

Maggie tilts her head and fiddles with the ends of her hair.

“You don’t date much, huh?”

“Maybe not,” you bristle. “There was never much time for it growing up, taking care of everyone. Now it’s…difficult. People assume things and it seems like every guy I meet wants something from me.”

“Everybody wants to be wanted,” Maggie grins as her gaze softens into the distance. Her voice has that dreamy quality it sometimes takes on when you two talk love and romance.

“Sure,” you say before downing the rest of your coffee in a gulp. “But it’d be nice to be seen.”

She looks back at you and the grin gets bigger, “Francis sees you. He likes you. Maybe he just wants to know you see him, too.”

“Yeah,” you rub at a scuff on the floor with your socked toe. “Maybe. I’m going to get ready for work, okay? You wanna walk through the park with me?”

Maggie lets out a wistful sigh, her eyes soft and full of dreams again. “I’d love to. The park is so lovely this time of year.”

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

Balmy air caresses your bare skin as Maggie and you take your time walking through the park. You each have an Italian ice cup in your hands as you wander through the paths. An outsider might think you had no destination in mind.

“Have you ever been in love?” Maggie asks.

“Depends on who you ask. I say no but there was a boy back home I was supposed to be married to. Our families had it all planned out from the time we were small, but my heart wasn’t in it. Everyone kept saying we were meant to be, they’d call me by his last name. But I never felt it.”

“He like you?”

“Oh yeah,” you scoff. “A little too much if you ask me.”

Maggie nods. “He try to get fresh with you?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you say with a shrug. “The real problem was that when I did actually meet someone, he’d scare them off. It kept on like that until I moved to the city.”

“At least you had a suitor,” Maggie says quietly. “Even if you didn’t want him, it’s more than I’ve ever had.”

“Margaret, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m completely sure that’s not true,” you laugh.

She whines your name and stomps off to dramatically drape herself across an empty bench.

“Oh, those aren’t suitors they’re boys to play with like a cat playing with the fat rat it killed. I mean I’ve never had a real prospect of love or marriage or any of it. I just fill my time with those boys because they’re everywhere.”

She tosses her empty cup toward the trash and misses. “Throw a rock and hit one, they’re nothing special.”

Maggie stands abruptly, gliding in to the center of the path. She raises her arms above her head and drawls loudly, “I want a man, not a boy. Lord, I desire a man who can sweep me off my feet, show me the world, and save me from the absolute horror of dating one more New York City boy!”

The female half of an elderly couple walking past glares daggers at Maggie. She pulls her grayed, hunchbacked husband in tighter while eyeing Maggie.

“Oh sure, honey! He’s a real catch, keep him close now!” Maggie shouts as the woman drags her husband down the path.

“Margaret!” you laugh as you run over to her. She locks her arm in mine and kisses you on the cheek.

“Yes dear?” she grins.

You two run off in the direction of the museum with your wild laughter lingering briefly in the spaces you leave behind.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

When Maggie walks you to the door, you realize you’re almost 10 minutes late. You sprint up the stairs and around back, shouting “hi there!” and “hello!” to the museum employees you see along the way.

“So sorry, Mister Cranston!” you shout as you burst through the door. You hang your purse and jacket on the door as you look around for Mister Cranston.

His desk is a mess per usual but empty. You glance around the room for his mess of white-gray hair.

You find a tuft of it moving under a table in the far corner of the room. There’s a gentle sound of shuffling papers as he slowly sifts through something.

“Mister Cranston?”

He pops a hand up over the table, “Over here, dearie!”

You walk around the table to find Mister Cranston sitting with at least a dozen piles of paper, shuffling them between piles and muttering to himself. The hand he raised to you lowers to scratch his head.

“I just don’t get it.”

“Do you need help?”

He gives you a warm, friendly smile. “No, sweetheart. I just wanted to find something so I looked for it in the papers and now I’m just amazed. You know these are the artist’s actual letters? He wrote his sister about this very work we’re restoring. He talked about everything: his technique, his motivations, the muse, his hopes for the piece, regrets about it.”

Mister Cranston sighs and lowers the piece of paper in his hand back into the pile.

“It’s a treasure trove,” he frowns. “Beautiful stuff.”

“Why is that sad, sir?”

“Because. I don’t know that I can do this one. In all of my years I’ve never come across such intricate work. To try and replicate it is…” he sighs again and slowly raises from his seated position.

He shakes his head as he walks away.

“I don’t think I have it in me, dearie.”

“Nonsense. Even if you’ve never done it, everything you’ve done ‘til now has been for this.”

He smiles sadly.

“Besides,” you grin. “You’ve got me. I’m no Rembrandt but I can imitate with the best of them.”

“That you can,” he pats you on the shoulder before making his way to his work station. “Ah, the optimism of youth.”

You scoff. “I don’t know about youth but I am optimistic.”

You pull up your stool next to his table. “So. What are we doing today?”

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

Every Thursday, Mister Cranston begins to pack up his tools at 8:15pm precisely. He relishes the extra time working alongside you when you don’t have the diner to rush off to.

When you’d been referred for the assistant role, half the appeal was that you could do what you loved into the night sometimes. Most people still hire women for day shift office work, assuming they must have children and husbands to hurry home to.

But Mister Cranston has never treated you any differently than anyone else at the museum. Well, aside from trying to set you up with his handsome son, Buck, about once a quarter. And today you were due.

“He’s a handsome devil but handy, that’s hard to come by! Attended university. And get this, he cooks! His ma wouldn’t stand for sending a boy out into the world so helpless he couldn’t cook himself a meal if need be. My mother on the other hand…” he trails off as he wipes at a bit of sweat on his receded hairline.

You nod politely, still engrossed in the painting in front of you. You’d spent ages stripping down the old, discolored painting and now was the truly fun part, getting to rebuild it back to its former glory. It almost felt like you were a real artist.

“I’ve told you before, sir, I enjoy Buck, he’s lovely,” you shrug. “But he’s looking for a wife and I’m not looking to be one.”

“Yeah, well. Can’t blame me for asking.”

He finishes cleaning the last of his tools and tosses them into the supply trunk. He grunts with the effort of closing the heavy old container before turning back to me.

“You almost ready, dear?”

“Hm?” you fight to tear your attention from the section on front of you. “Oh no, don’t worry about me, I’ll just finish this bit up and head on home.”

Mister Cranston frowns.

He says your name with a note of concern, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I know occasionally you’ll stay behind. But the city these days,” he shakes his head woefully. “I don’t like it.”

He moves over to your station and tries to pull the brush out of your hands. “Come along now.”

You giggle and retake control of your hand on the painting, “Mister Cranston, I swear, I’ll be just fine. Hell’s Kitchen is nowhere from where, it’s just a walk through the park and right down–”

“Oh honey, no,” he waves a hand to get your attention. “Please not through the park. At least stick to the streets. Promise me.”

You smile at him, “I promise. Down 5th, across to 45th, no park.”

He sighs and nods, “You’re a strong willed one.”

“S’what mama always said.”

“Right, right,” he walks away mumbling to himself.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

You lean back in your chair with a satisfied sigh. The painting is turning out better than you expected.

You move around the space, looking at it from different angles.

“Looks damn good,” you smile to yourself.

It’s only in the lull of satisfaction that you realize how much quieter it is. You check your watch, 11:09pm.

“Oh god, Mister C. would kill me!”

You make quick work of your cleanup and put things in their proper place before grabbing your coat and running out the door.

The night security guards know you by now and probably haven’t thought anything as they made their rounds.

Your footsteps echo throughout the silent space.

“Night, Gordon!” you yell out as you hurry for the employee exit.

In the distance, you hear Gordon yelling a good night to you.

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

The city is never silent but it’s quieter as you rush down the streets. Your strides are long and quick as you make your way home. You take 5th and avoid the park as promised, already feeling guilty enough about lying to Mister Cranston about how late you’d stay.

His worry lives through you as you move, unbothered, through the streets of the city.

You finally relax a bit when you make it to 45th.

A block away from the apartment, you come across a construction site. The ground is dug up and water seems to flow freely down the street. Near the mess is a short man sitting in front of a “No Entry” sign and reading a book under the light of his hand lantern. He looks up as you approach.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“Sorry, detour,” he points at the sign, then at the street that leads away from your apartment.

He goes back to his book.

It’s no big deal, having to go around the back and come in through the alley. You did it plenty that month when money was tight and you were avoiding your landlord like the plague. It’s a well-used shortcut during the day.

But as you stand at the mouth of the alleyway, it’s eerie and deserted. It feels different at night.

You stand there staring into a dark space only partially illuminated by two dim torch lamps over the service entry of a store.

You hesitate and start to turn back but there’s no other way in without going a block and a half around. After the trek home, you don’t think your feet could stand it.

With a deep breath, you enter the alleyway moving at breakneck pace.

The sound of your rapid footsteps echoing in the space is a little unsettling but it’s fine. You keep your eyes focused on the light at the end, rapidly expanding in your vision.

You’ve just passed the dumpster less than halfway through the alley when you hear a loud thud against the metal. With a start, you turn around to find a man in dark clothes slinking out of the shadows.

He smiles and a gold tooth catches a faint gleam of light from the lamp. The knife in his hand, shines, too.

“You don’t want any trouble,” he says, stalking toward you. “Just be a good girl and toss me that bag of yours.”

Your brain screams at you to just do what he says but you’re frozen in place, shaking too hard to think or comply with his request. When you open your mouth, a wordless stutter comes out.

As you struggle to form your words or move, another man steps out from the darkness. He’s further back and you can’t make out his form, but the sound of his gun cocking is unmistakable.

“Unless you ain’t got no money,” the second man says, slinking closer gold tooth. “Then…well, what if she ain’t got no money, mack?”

Gold tooth’s smile gets wider. “I don’t know, mack. S’pose we could compromise, bet she’s got something else worth our while.”

His words jolt you, sinking in quickly. You take off toward the end of the alley, screaming your head off.

“Help!” you shout into the quiet night over and over again.

The laughter of the men chasing you echoes through the alley.

You’re almost to the end of the alley when you hear and feel the warm air of a bullet narrowly missing you.

The shock of it seizes your body, you trip and fall across the threshold of the alley, your ribs and chin smashing into the damp concrete.

“Ah,” you groan. You wipe a hand across your chin. When you flip it over, it’s streaked with thin lines of blood. As you stare at your streaked palm, your vision blurs and the lines double.

You’ve almost forgotten where you are when a hand wraps around one of your ankles and yanks you backward into the alley. His other hand starts to pull at your tights. Remembering your surroundings, you scream so hard you can feel a twinge of blood gurgling with the spit in your throat.

Behind you, you hear one of the men shout. As the hand on your leg disappears, a gunshot is fired. You the man who’d grabbed you stand up and then the sound of blows landing. There’s the sharp sound of a blade hitting the ground and the meaty sound of fist pummeling face.

The man collapses back, falling partially on your body with a deflated grunt.

You let out a whimpering cry of pain as you begin to weep. The sobs rack your body as you become aware of the breeze hitting where your tights were slightly ripped. Your arms and face burn where they were scrapped across the ground.

You hear a gruff grunt above you as the man’s weight shifts off of you.

A gentle hand rests on your back. You squeeze your eyes closed and the cries come harder as you weakly kick your legs and hands back.

“Sweetheart, sweetheart, s’alright,” a soft voice calls out as you continue kicking and hitting the man behind you.

Then man lies down on his stomach and gets his face to your eye level. He gently holds your arms in place and calls your name.

“S’alright. You’re safe.”

As the crying subsides, you recognize the voice. You open your eyes to see Francis. He looks worried as he scans over your injuries. You look him over, too. His knuckles are red. He's as scraped up as when you saw him at the diner but he’s otherwise intact.

“You're safe sweetheart.”

You believe him and it makes you cry harder.

He rests a hand on your cheek.

“S’alright now, I promise.”

He cradles your head to his chest.

—–

Oof, I know, poor thing went through it. Thank goodness Francis was there...but why was Francis there 🤔

Let me know how you feel about this chapter in the replies! Reblogs + asks welcome, too.

If you’re experienced as a beta or editor, feel free to drop me an ask if you’d be interested in helping me edit future chapters.

#frank castle x reader #c: frank castle #s: the punisher #u: mcu #a: jon bernthal #frank castle x female reader #the punisher au #au: 40s #1940s au #brit writes #Francis series

32 notes · View notes

spprtstaff · 1 year ago

Text

𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍.

what’s your phone wallpaper? noel fisher.

last song you listened to? cold hard bitch by jet.

currently reading? i struggle to read books since my eye operations, so it’s honestly been a few years.

last movie? the ice princess.

last show? i just finished a buffy & angel rewatch, and now i’m catching up with power book ii.

craving? sweet and sour chicken.

what are you wearing right now? a grey jersey - style dress.

how tall are you? just under 5 “ 8

piercings / tattoos? ears pierced and nose ring. i used to have my tongue pierced after 14 year old me watched the film thirteen, but removed it as an adult. tattoo wise . . . i have the double infinity of my left wrist, the word believe with a dove flying & the pink breast cancer ribbon on my right wrist, a symbol on my left hip, the word hope and a ribbon on my ribcage which is getting covered soon because it’s terrible, a memorial rose on my shoulder which will soon be expanded to three, a crescent & star on my back of my neck, half a sun behind my ear and my friend has the other half behind hers and that’s it for now.

glasses / contacts? i’m actually partially sighted. i have specialised contacts, but they’re complicated & my eyes are usually too sore to wear, so i technically revert to glasses, but they’re mostly ineffective & thank god for specialist equipment / zoom software. i’ve had two procedures on them so far and i’m just waiting for my next one.

last thing you ate? cheese. i am in fact always eating cheese.

favourite color/s? pink and black.

current obsession? i love casting npcs / worldbuilding character’s families or connections.

any pets? one dog called rusty.

do you have a crush right now? on multiple celebrities, yes.

favourite fictional character? it’s denny duquette always and my girl sierra has my heart. there’s also mickey milkovich, frank castle, haymitch abernathy, honestly i could be here all day.

last place you traveled? in country, i went to east grinstead last summer. out of country, turkey in 2019.

TAGGED BY: @astarborn tysm! TAGGING: you!

#out of character. ⸻ dash games.

2 notes · View notes

pleinsdemuses · 2 years ago

Text

get to know the mun!

What’s your phone wallpaper: My cat

last song you listened to: RunRunRun by Dutch Melrose

currently reading: About to start Haunting Adeline

craving: all the ships, French fries, sleep

what are you wearing right now: a black North Face sweat and black jeans

how tall are you?: 172cm

piercings/tattoos ?: ear piercings (regular one) and a tattoo on my shoulder blade

glasses? contacts?: Both

last thing you ate?: Bread lol

favorite color(s): blue

current obsession: Dark romance, Pedro Pascal (because yes), Dutch Melrose, a few of my ships... 😍

any pets: a cat and a horse

do you have a crush right now?: yep, my man

favorite fictional character: so many! Haha Bucky Barnes, Sinthea Schmidt, Frank Castle, John Wick, Lagertha Lothbrok, Ivar The Boneless, Rollo of Normandy, Rebekah Mikaelson, Klaus Mikaelson, Joel Miller, Soldier Boy, Castiel, Aleksander Morozova, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Rhysand, Cassian, Sirius Black and the list goes on haha

last place you traveled: Ionian Coast, South Italy.

tagged by: @detnu-a-h (Thank youuuu 😍)

tagging: @skyler-bane @scarsmasked @grimmusings @luposcainus @scnnersandsaints @bcrntortured @thewxnderer anyone else who sees this! Do it and tag me!

3 notes · View notes

vilisus · 2 years ago

Text

GET TO KNOW THE MUN !!

TAGGED BY: @lebutterfly-effect

TAGGING: Anyone who wants to do it?

𝐃𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

★ ⸻ WHAT'S YOUR PHONE WALLPAPER?: Spider One from Powerman 5000, more specifically, a pic I took of him at the concert I went to..

★ ⸻ LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO?: California - The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus

★ ⸻ CURRENTLY READING?: Nothing?..... Uh... Replies? I have books I should read.

★ ⸻ LAST MOVIE?: Guardians Of The Galaxy Vol. 3

★ ⸻ LAST SHOW?: Nailed It

★ ⸻ WHAT ARE YOU WEARING RIGHT NOW?: A The Expanse shirt with all the characters names on it and some Simpson sleep shorts.

★ ⸻ HOW TALL ARE YOU? 5 foot 3 inches.

★ ⸻ PIERCINGS / TATTOOS? Each lobe is pierced.

★ ⸻ GLASSES / CONTACTS?: Glasses.

★ ⸻ LAST THING YOU ATE?: Ube wafer cookies.

★ ⸻ FAVORITE COLOR(S)?: pastel yellow, pastel minty teal, and maroon.

★ ⸻ CURRENT OBSESSION?: Sweet Tooth. The dumb fae idiots Michael and Errol being dumb fae idiots in love.

★ ⸻ DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH RIGHT NOW?: No?

★ ⸻ FAVORITE FICTIONAL CHARACTER?: I have too many. Axel from Kingdom Hearts is always up there. So is Frank Castle (John Bernthal's rendition) from The Punisher. Gigolo Joe from A.i.... Chappie... Robot and Don West from Lost In Space (netflix reboot.)

★ ⸻ LAST PLACE YOU VISITED? A build a bear!

#dash games #ooc

2 notes · View notes

castle-dominion · 1 year ago

Text

castle 6x20 that 70s show

the 70s episode liveblog

I made my big bro watch this w me bc he's 70s obsessed.

Cement? mob hit? They would have had to weigh him down bc humans float in concrete. Also yeah what do you do? the one u call is the foreman. They deal with it not you. Reminds me of the ep where the police chief constable was gay & buried a body under the station & they found it while

KATE BECKETT I’ll make the coffee. CASTLE I’ll make the omelets. MARTHA RODGERS And I am going to make your day.

Love how the bells kind of slow down & go low & get weird. I mean at least the arch was nice.

MR: Richard, I am simply trying to bring a little pageantry into your wedding. But it seems that the only role you want me to play is that of guest. Fine. I can do that. I LOVE her

You can't make ANYTHING in a wedding a not-over the top disaster.

78 just like my brother's no wait falsettos was '79. disco era my beloved. RC: And a testament to the truly indestructible nature of polyester.

Milt Boyle: Vince Bianchi. Before he turned into the pile of bones you guys found. Love his VOICE

OH OH YEA DET. SANDVICH. OR SANOVICH I CAN'T TELL. HE'S THE ONE WHO SITS ACROSS FROM BECKS. I WAS TRYING TO REMEMBER THAT THIS MORNING. also under esposito's feet, he's at Det veiss(something) or messer's desk I can't tell what it says bc it is grainy & under shadow

Love the music too. Is it black or is it a dark colour? obv not powder blue... RC: It’s like being transported to a bygone era. Mickey the Blade? Louie the Lip? Where are these guys now?

Hey Frank Russo REALLY looks like the guy in the picture who, yk, went through second puberty. Love their accents. 4ksqft is a lot wow. Broke bread, shot the breeze, I love phrases. Harold Leone, as in lee-ohwn, not lee-ohwn-ee like brad leone from bon appetit Love how Becks calls Boyle on her own desk phone bc, well, yeah. Also set design my beloved, we have a pic of sanovich's kid on his desk

He knew things? Yeah ofc, he was the advisor!

Big bro thought that maybe this gal was just wearing Black fashion. Yvonne my beloved Frozen in time? Dumbass clothes? I thought it was cute. Wow it HAS been 40 years almost...

Beckett def not 70s enough.

YVONNE: Harold? You have guests. HAROLD LEONE: Huh? (he comes from the kitchen) Whoa!!! Well, this hot mama can be my guest all night long. He approaches KB and she holds out her hand. KB: Uh, sir, I’m Detective Beckett and this is Mr. Castle. HL: Captain. HL shakes RC’S hand. RC: (corrects) Castle. HL: Oh, Captain Castle. I bet you’re showing this little lady the ropes, huh? Breaking her in, huh? KB glares at RC. RC: Well, actually, um … HL: I mean, have you ever seen a cop with an ass that fine? If this is women’s lib, I’m all for it. KB: Excuse me? RC: To be fair, you do have a very fine … (off her look) never mind.

So humorous I love this man I love everything (but how does he look in the mirror w/o freaking out? it's like 50 first dates) Big bro LOOOVED the house & colours & wallpaper & stuff.

I love Harold & BECKETT SHUT UP YOU NEED TO MEET HIM ON HIS LEVEL. I know ppl who had to chase away spoon-wielding monsters every night for dementia patients, you do it & move on. It's ok.

No body no talkie. he IS delusional! "cupcake"

clipping clipping clipping I love I love I love snookie & ray the red car the absolute mess esposito pulling over ryan (giffing that) it's just... so good I'm insane

YOU MADE A CAST OF THE BODY!? Lanie just there like "what are you talking about?" unless caslte already asked her if she had any bodies to spare offscreen. LP: I’ve seen them do more with a lot less. But I don’t want to be a part of some crazy plan – RC: You have to. Because for this to work, this place has to look like the 70s. (he looks LANIE up and down) And so do you.

I love how the wife is there & he's smoking with the oxygen & I love this. Carcano: What, I’m going to bury a body in my own backyard? Plus, if I had someone disappear they’d stay that way. MC: If you boys have any more questions you can talk to my attorney. (he moves to leave) You know, after this long the truth is hard to find. If I was you I’d quit looking for it. Sometimes what’s in the past should stay there. (THIS MAN IS TELLING THEM TO STOP LOOKING. REMEMBER WHO HE IS: HEAD OF THE FAMILY, HE WAS TRYING TO MERGE FAMILIES WITH BIANCHI.)

OH SHE IS HOT Oh LANIE IS HOT TOO. (clipping) What if he touches him?

No wallet on him? or gun?

My poor harold. Hit you he's really gone? so will you come to the 2010a now? HOLY CRAP THAT'S-- STUFF IS HAPPENING. (castle flailing when the body hand was there lol. also how does that offer ANY protection from the gun?)

JE: *walks in* So I've got-- WOAH. *seeing Lanie* LP: Not a word KR: *talking abt the case* Right Javi? JE: I'm sorry what? *was staring at lanie* LP: !! *rolls eyes* & then that last little "nice dress" to her lil bro said not to clip but OOF I kind of wish I did

Tory my beloved.

Hm, ryan's pants don't match his jacket...

RC: It won’t burst his bubble... if it...looks like the 70s. Ooh she's ranking officer rn lol. WAIT CASTLE ALREADY OPENED A COSTUME ACCOUNT BEFORE ASKING BECKETT IF HE COULD DO THIS?

"let him dig on this 70s vibe" love the music coming in there the morgue was only one room? what about the drive there or the walk into the morgue? HIS MOTHER!!!??? A little bit, yes. YEAH FOR OUR WEDDING! RC: Let’s face it. We cannot let that woman anywhere near our wedding. But … she will love this. And then we get to solve the greatest mystery of the disco era. Besides the popularity of disco itself. It’s a win-win.

his little groove back Abysmal talent pool? Martha my beloved. Rick & his mom are like beckett & castle. Beckett: castle no. Castle: castle yes. Rick: mom no. Martha: YES YES OVER THE TOP YES!

Oh & the music! & I watched an abba parody production the other day before I watched this too.

LMGDAO A HIPPIE WOULD NOT BE HERE WITH THE COPS. Ooh it's a chalkboard! (So they made the photos black & white but... didn't remove them?)

Oh no snookie & ray Martha <3 ALEXIS (wearing that /gen tho)

Why would they need scripts? if they were pretending to be snookie & ray for real they'd need the mannerisms & backstory down, but ryan & esposito have interviewed ppl before. "super groovy" *ryan couching at the cigarette* Esposito frozen with his hands up p& ryan comes in to save him Righteous is in this context, not nec 80s, besides the 70s were from like 74 to 84 yk?

jive turkey again "my god who wrote this?" I love/hate the feathered chief in there

Glitterati? Do they have pagers? REACH BEHIND YOU & TURN OFF YOUR PHONE RLY QUICK, SAY IT WAS AN ALARM CLOCK IN THE OTHER ROOM. the deets? the details?

KR: Actually, it’s been though a lot of different incarnations, but guess what? It’s back to being a 70s club again! Me: WHAT LUCK

I like his nod. "take him to glitterati-- go! go!" *gates*

RC: Captain Gates! I thought you were at a terrorism seminar? VG: It was canceled due to a bomb threat. & did he? Yes! He did! Ryan & Esposito are taking him there now!

Girl your apb thing was not FROM this charade tho "especially you" CASTLE NO DON'T SAY IT LIKE THAT THEY TOOK HIM TO A DISCO!

Love the car, love the raming, love the fall, love how esposito was the one who talked ryan into this but now ryan is the one who likes it

Love the dancing & the lights & the fun & the everything! HL: *dancing really well, having fun* Dancing fellow: *also having fun dancing "with" him* HL: Hey, baby. How’re you doing, hon? That’s a nice dress. Can I talk you out of it? (kind of good, all compliments, but wow v forward.)

Yay beckett is normal now. *castle on his phone* they would SO not get his that easy with the gun & stuff. *castle banging on the door*

Always wearing the same suit, it's his club outfit! does frank STILL own it?

*esposito dancing on the clock* he does still own it. maybe that's how it connects to the murder.

HL: Oh no sweat. *SMASH* (not clipping)

I like how he doesn't want to say the year. Also he KNOWS it is not '78 but he might not know the REAL year. "It is whatever year I need it to be" that was a GOOD answer!

"The private event was frank killing him" You figured it out from the time that you got shot at.

rysposito normal looking now "we DO think you killed him?"

Last dance was on the turntable <3 <3

"someone special" we KNOW who that someone special is babes. *lunchbag of evidence*

I think I assumed he stole evidence. Ah the 70s. Gay lovers in the mob in the 70s & this is beautiful. I mean the trauma of killing someone it could totally make you think it's '78 forever. I mean, Harold was also flirting with every woman around. (Maybe that was their thing. You can sleep with any woman, but you only LOVE me) Beard, lavender marriage, his number two...

REMEMBER THE MERGER? MICHAEL CARCANO! He kept it a secret from you that you were going to propose?

for a sec I thought becks was pantsless but it was just a light brown colour.

RC: You couldn’t handle the rejection. So as he left you shot him in the back, then again in the face. You know, because it was personal. Where did she get the gun tho?

It would NOT have stayed that way, these cops would have still solved it.

CASTLE BRINGING HIM OUT TO THE CLUB

YES YES YES THIS IS THE BEST EPISODE she CAN'T disco dance tho. Yay martha & alexis! RC: I’m just glad it covers more this time. Ryan & esposito chilling having fun I love it. (Tho if esposito was born in the 70s he might remember like,, kindergarten outfits. I only remember a few that are attatched to specific memories, like that striped early 00s (or really early 2010s except it was probably a handmedown) shirt I wore during geology in elementary. Lanie is back! & her hair is normal *ryan dancing* Gates I love her I love her (reminds me of that one fic I read, it was good, I want to dance with YOU, not any of these other people who might be prettier than you, because I want you.)

Harold my beloved <3 Last Dance is def going on my playlist.

ldjsklsdfkfjsdkljf GREAT EPISODE PEOPLE

#the 70s episode #castle 6x20 #castle 6x20 spoilers #castle 6x20 quote

1 note · View note