#kastle prompts

[kastlenetwork]

hello, kastle fam! i hope that you're doing well 😊 after eight thousand years of me being lazy, i present to you the next #kastleweek! (lol).

this next event will run from monday, september 2nd through friday, september 6th!

every medium of work is welcome. you can write fic. you can make edits, gifs, or art. if you'd like to make playlists of curating the vibes of karen and frank in each prompt, we'll be thrilled to listen! there's absolutely no pressure to create something for every day of the week -- there's a months' time to work, so feel free to pick and choose whatever it is you want to participate in 💕💕

monday, sept. 2 | we meet again | the day of yearning frank and karen reunions. whether that be months, years, or anything below or in-between. tuesday, sept. 3 | rom com aus | the day of fluff some actual summer fun for these two dramatic, angsty losers. (coffee shop aus, college aus, beach aus, ect.) picture bright and colorful cartoon book covers. wednesday, sept. 4 | through new eyes | the day of observations outsider, 3rd party, perspectives of frank and karen's relationship. no matter where it stands. thursday, sept. 5 | forced proximity | the day of honesty frank and karen being brought together in various situations where they can't just walk away, and are forced to confront their feelings. friday, sept. 6 | plot? what plot? | the day of desire frank and karen smut day. we know this fandom. let's be for real lol. (thank you, @goddamnitkastle, bless)

okie dokie, i hope at least one of these inspires something in you! (when we get closer to the date, i'll create a collection on ao3, for anyone who choses to write fic.)

i look forward to seeing what everyone creates!

💕, chey/ @kastlenetwork

[starkholme]

"Have you got any bright ideas?" she questions.

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking..." he's rambling, the eyes focused on the crowd circling them.

"You better think of something fast, because if he turns me into a mummy, you're the first one I'm coming after." Karen declared with her voice trembling, she turned her head to look at Frank for what it could be her last time ever looking at him.

Karen Page, a librarian and aspiring Egyptologist, and Foggy Nelson, her best friend and an excellent lawyer, usually have drinks together in one of the best — according to Foggy himself — bars in town: Josie's Place. On a friday night, the two friends found themselves in the middle of a bar fight and after hiding behind one the tables, Karen is quick to realize an intricate box fell from the pocket of one of the fighters and takes it for herself before even thinking twice.

She only got a glimpse of his face, yet she remembers him too well.

When she finds the map of Hamunaptra inside the box, Karen convinces Foggy to go along with her to find the mysterious man. They find ex-military Frank Castle in a local prison and Karen makes a deal with him to lead them to the City of the Dead if she gets him released, he agrees.

It wasn't in Frank's plan go back to Hamunaptra, although a certain blonde Egyptologist makes it hard to not go back to the place he once served alongside The French Foreign Legion. So when Karen accidentally wakes up a 3000 year old mummy who begins to wreak havoc in searching for the reincarnation of his long-lost love, Frank's got no other choice than to stop the terror and save Karen in the process.

Kastle x a different version of The Mummy 1999

[qqueenofhades]

Enjoy your time out of the office and vacation! Since you’re taking prompts, how about Kastle? I always think about reconciliations and reunions during the winter holidays. It doesn’t have to be explicitly romantic and I’d love it if it was at least a little messy. But I miss Karen and Frank so much, I’ll take anything.

The house is dark, the heating is on the fritz again so it's barely cracking sixty-five degrees in here, and despite the glow of the tree lights, it doesn't feel particularly warm or festive. Karen makes a note to call the repairman in the morning, though the sudden cold snap across New York means that they're likely to be booked solid, and pulls on the extra sweater hanging over the back of the kitchen chair. She thinks everything is ready for tomorrow, when they'll head over to Foggy and Marci's place for Christmas dinner, but if it isn't, she can't be bothered. She doesn't feel especially possessed by holiday spirit, and can't imagine that she will. At least keeping busy for other reasons has stopped her from thinking about it, but still.

Karen sits on the couch, rubbing her tired eyes and thinking that she should go up to bed, not least since she's going to be woken disagreeably early. But then, just as she's about to do so, there's a creak on the front steps as if someone is climbing them, she sits up and tenses -- it's been a long time since open trouble, but she's never quite lost the instinct -- and then, after what feels like forever, a knock on the front door. Why a knock? She isn't expecting anyone. Is this a trap? Her gun is locked in the safe upstairs; she can't leave it lying around for obvious reasons. She wishes that paranoia wasn't her first instinct even on Christmas Eve -- the night of welcoming in strangers, all that -- but she can't help it. She waits tensely, pretending she's not home, to see if they'll try to break in. Nothing.

Karen sighs, reminds herself to call a therapist along with the repairman, and goes to the front door. Unhooks the deadbolt, pulls it open a crack, and then --

Her hindbrain catches up to the realization faster than her conscious mind, like the white blaze in the very instant before a lightning strike. She goes stiff all over, and then she jerks the door open. "What the fuck," she hisses, "are you doing here?"

Frank Castle looks back at her with a very Frank Castle expression, a black beanie crunched low on his head and an old parka zipped up to the chin, grazed with two or three days of unshaven stubble. Karen can't tell if the dark stains on it are blood, but the wise individual would wager so. "Hey," he says gruffly, after a long pause. "Karen."

No, no, no. Karen rubs her fingers under her eyes, contemplates whether to strangle him or just slam the door in his face. Tempting though it is to leave him to freeze to death on her porch, she finally decides otherwise. "Fine," she snaps. "Come in. But you'd better be quick about it. And you aren't staying."

Frank opens his mouth, decides he can't dispute that, and steps over the threshold, his heavy boots clumping on the wooden floorboards. He glances around the house, raises an eyebrow. "Nice place."

"Shut up," Karen says again, short and tight, arms folded over her midriff like armor. "Say what you came to say, then get out."

There's another crackling pause. Frank looks wrong-footed -- which, good, he can't just think he can turn up out of the blue whenever he needs her help in one of his demented murder crusades, then vanish again. At last, he spreads his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey. I'm not comin' to make trouble, Karen. Swear. I just -- I was back in town, and I heard that you'd moved here, and I -- I was gonna see if, you know." He pauses. Shuffles. "You needed anything."

The barely-working central heat suggests that maybe he could, in fact, do something, but Karen isn't going to ask that of him. She doesn't want his pity or his charity or whatever years-too-late realization he's finally had about her, about them. "I'm fine."

"Karen -- " Frank hisses in frustration, takes another step. "I'm sorry, all right? I'm sorry for being a fuckup, for what's happened. You were right, as usual. I want -- " He stops, chokes. "I want -- "

"You want what?" Karen's voice rises. She can't help it. "What do you want, Frank? Because you've had plenty of chances, and -- "

"Jesus Christ, Karen -- "

They're forgetting themselves, they're making too much noise, and then in the living room hallway, there's another voice, small and tremulous. "Mommy," it says. "Mommy, what's wrong?"

Taken totally off guard, Karen and Frank spin around at the same moment, thus to behold the small, tousled four-year-old girl in her pajamas. Karen briefly goes very still. Then she flashes over and scoops her up. "Katie. Katie, it's fine. Go back to bed. Mommy just has to deal with this. You don't -- you don't need to see this, all right?"

Katherine Francesca Page looks unconvinced. She stares over Karen's shoulder at Frank, and Frank, staring back, looks as if all the breath has been driven out of his body. After all, the resemblance is unmistakable: the smaller and daintier version of his own crag of a nose, the fine brown hair, the stubborn set of the chin. He is staggered, shaken, stripped down to nothing, and Karen wants to enjoy it, but she's still too bitter. Frank looks wildly between them, can barely seem to breathe or form a thought, stand up or remember his name. "Karen -- " he starts at last, a hoarse stammer. "Karen -- "

"Go back to bed, Katie," Karen orders her daughter, puts her down and turns her sharply back toward the stairs. "Now."

Katie backs up, stares fearfully at this big strange scruffy man come in out of the cold on Christmas Eve and arguing angrily with her mother, and then runs for it. When she's sure that Katie's gone, Karen turns vengefully back to Frank, who's halfway sat, halfway-collapsed on the couch, rubbing both hands over his face. "Jesus Christ," he manages, choked. "Jesus Christ, you didn't -- you never told -- "

"No, I didn't." Karen's voice comes out like a whip. "If you weren't going to stay for me, then I certainly wasn't going to make you stay for her. What was it you said -- you and Maria dated for three months, she got pregnant with Lisa, you proposed the same day? I wasn't doing that. I wasn't going to try to hold onto you the same way. I asked you for me, and you turned me down. When I realized that I was -- that I was going to -- it was too late. You were already gone."

Frank is white as a sheet. He still can't muster a single word. Karen wants to feel bad for him, but she doesn't, not yet. At last, she points at the door. "Go."

"Karen. Jesus Christ. Fucking -- fucking hell, Karen -- "

"You decide." Karen marches to the door, holds it open against the swirling chill. "You decide what you want, Frank. And then don't come back here until you do. Got it?"

He looks at her, wild and raw, ragged and yearning. She almost cracks, but still doesn't. He opens his mouth. He shuts it.

"Her name's Katherine," Karen says, very softly. "Katie."

Frank looks at her again. His eyes flick up the stairs, as if it's taking all his wherewithal not to run up there right now. But at last, he obeys, and nods as if his head is something stiff and clumsy, unfired clay. "All right," he says, barely more than a whisper. "I, uh. I'll go. Merry Christmas, Karen."

Karen looks back at him, fierce and vengeful as a valkyrie, not wanting to break down, not wanting it -- because if she opens her mouth, she'll invite him to come back yet again, and this time, stupid and shallow and useless as it might be, she can almost delude herself that he'll stay. She just nods in turn. "Merry Christmas, Frank."

[zushigirl]

I Take My Coffee Black

For Day 2 of @kastleexchange Come What May💛💀First two parts are up on AO3 😊

“Please tell me you brought real coffee.”

Karen tries to keep her voice calm, tries to laugh, but the swell of emotions makes her voice crack.

Frank Castle is standing in front of her, looking more like a lost puppy than the fierce Punisher she’d seen aiming his semi-automatic. Offering her cover fire. Letting her get that shot at Bullseye.

Foggy…Matt…

Her best friend is gone.

Truthfully both her best friends are gone…because there’s no way Matt is coming back from this the same person…she’s alone now.

And yet…

Yet Frank is here.

[kanerallels]

Kastle, Bodyguard AU?

Posting this one a little earlier in the morning before I head into work! Also please know I had to struggle between deciding on like four different ideas, but I went with this one in the end. (consider it set in a universe where Frank did not murder a bunch of people. Or if he did, he at least didn't get caught)

Karen was far too used to the sound of gunfire at this point. Taking a deep breath, she started to reach for her purse, but the man pointed his weapon at her. “Ah, ah. None of that.”

“Okay,” she said, raising her hands above the table. “I won’t. Just— tell me why you’re here. You don’t have to hurt anyone.”

She could all but hear the rest of the coffee shop holding their breaths as the man let out a scoff. “I don’t, huh? Unfortunately for you, that is why I’m here. You’ve been a thorn in my boss's side for too long, Karen Page, and that’s about to end.”

Lifting the gun, he pointed it directly at her head and cocked it.

Before he could pull the trigger, something— or someone, Karen realized— smashed into him, knocking the gun flying and tackling him to the floor. In a heartbeat or two, it was over. The man was on the floor, spitting curses, and the person— another man, this one wearing a black jacket— who’d tackled him had him efficiently pinned.

He turned to Karen, and she caught an impression of a crooked nose, a military short hair cut, and dark eyes that held her gaze calmly. “If someone could call the cops, I’d appreciate that.”

“I’ll do it,” the barista at the front immediately as the rest of the coffee shop burst into applause. The man didn’t seem particularly affected by the applause, just gave Karen a nod. “Ma’am. You okay?”

“Fine,” Karen said, curiosity tugging at the inside of her chest. “I appreciate the help— who are you, exactly?”

A look of brief surprise flashed across the man’s face, but only for a moment. “Frank Castle, ma’am. Your editor hired me as your bodyguard. Said I should meet you here.”

Karen’s jaw dropped. “Ellison did what?”

“I take it you didn’t know about this?”

Dragging a hand through her hair, Karen let out an irritated sigh. “He said he’d do it if I got into much more trouble in my latest stories, but I didn’t actually think he was serious.”

“Apparently, he was,” Frank said gravely. Glancing down at the assailant, a foot still planted in his back, he added, “I can see why.”

“I appreciate it, but I take care of myself,” Karen told him, making a mental note to go straight to the office and give Ellison a piece of her mind. If he thought she was going to agree under duress like this, he had another thing coming. 

As the wail of police sirens started to approach, Frank said, “Understandable, ma’am, but I’m not about to walk out in the middle of a job. Until your boss fires me or I quit, you’re stuck with me.”

“Fantastic,” Karen muttered. Despite herself, however, she couldn’t help but think, On the other hand, this could be helpful— but I’m definitely not giving Ellison the satisfaction, let alone Matt and Foggy. I can take care of myself. I’ll just have to put up with this guy until I can get him to quit.

Looking over at the man, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be easy.

[goddamnitkastle]

Two Hearts - Dermot Kennedy

How could our farewell mean as much as our time?

[zushigirl]

I’m ready for some more Kastle vibes!

Check out the winter exchange works if you haven't already, and vote on what kastle content you'd like to see next! Whatever gets the highest vote will be organized sometime in April, maybe May (aside from ao3 exchange)

[elen-tari2]

Down Bad

For @kastleexchange

***My contribution to the Kastle Exchange: Born Again Week. Prompt 3 "Who We Are" is to think of lines and scenes that define the characters and consider how they may be revisited in the upcoming DDBA. This is what happens when my brain decided to throw in a bunch of Taylor Swift lyrics into my fic, predominantly from the song "Down Bad" but other references abound. But don't be off-put if you're not a Swiftie-- hopefully it is tastefully done!***

Teaser:

Sometimes it made her heart clench with loneliness. Other times, it pissed her off. That he had saved her life so many times and then abandoned her. Supposedly for her own safety. Despite the fact that she had never felt more safe than when she was with him.

Today was one of those days. She was pissed off. Not just at Frank, but at herself because she just couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t give him up. That her body still screamed that she needed to be in his presence. She knew what Foggy and Matt would say. Hell, even Dinah, who was probably the closest to being able to read her heart, would think she was nuts.

Karen Page was down bad in love with Frank Castle. She turned up the volume on her playlist and ran faster on the treadmill.

Please enjoy the rest on AO3:

[karenpage]

I might fuck around and start writing fanfic again, specifically kastle 👀👀👀 anyone got any ideas they wanna see, or fun prompts to get the ball rolling?

[pomegranate-belle]

Trick or treat!

Happy Halloween! I present to you a discarded snip from when I was trying to figure out what to write for the "Medieval AU Kastle" prompt in the DD fandom prompt fest:

The cell door explodes off its hinges. With Frank's luck it's some goddamn wizard trying to assassinate him before he can face this fuckin' kangaroo court trial for some guy that looks just like him. But it ain't a wizard. It's Karen Page in fuckin' plate mail. Frank rubs his eyes in case he's lost it, but she's still there. All that long blonde hair flowing like a banner as she rushes into the cell. When the cold metal of her gauntlet closes around his wrist he figures it's not a dream. "You sure make a hell of an entrance," he says, since there ain't much else to say.

Also, gummy worms for Wormsie, heheh

Come trick or treat in my ask box!

[discoverywriter]

20 Questions For Writers

Didn’t actually get tagged on this, but it looked like a fun one. 🤣

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

AO3 says I have 24. Huh.

2. What is your total AO3 word count?

288,626 since I started in 2021, which seemed like a lot to me until I realized 179,551 of those belong to the second thing I ever wrote, a massive 4 part series covering from Rio’s resurrection to their inevitable HEA.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Veronica Mars brought me to AO3. The Punisher (Kastle) made me think for the first time about writing prompts, but it was the Good Girls (Brio) fandom that finally got me to put the proverbial pen to paper.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Even If It Hurts (Part 3 of Walk Through The Fire series)

2. Sanctuary (Part 2 of Walk Through The Fire series)

3. Get Your House In Order (Part 1 of Walk Through The Fire series)

4. By My Side (Part 4 of Walk Through The Fire series)

5. What Would Elizabeth Do?

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! I try to, at least. Sorry if I’ve missed any, sometimes I lose track of the notification emails.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooh, definitely Enemy of My Enemy. Hardest fic for me to finish. Not fluffy. No HEA. Rio is aaaaaangry.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Hmm… there’s a lot to choose from cause I looooove a soft, fluffy Brio. If you can slog through the 4 part series, it covers the most ground, ending years after the show. It’s loosely based on canon to start, but veers off.

8. Do you get hate on your fics?

Hmm… Not really. Luckily just one I can think of. A vague accusation that all my ideas were suspiciously like a lot of other ones on AO3… except those other writers did it way better. 🤷🏻‍♀️ I blocked them and figured if anything, it meant I’d finally ��made it”. 😂

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I try to. I aim for the kind I think people will enjoy reading, but I often alternate between worrying it’s either a little too cheesy, or over the top.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don’t, but I would never say never. There are some I would *love* for other people to write, though. Karen Page (Punisher) and Steve Rogers (Captain America)… Intrepid reporter interviews national hero after the Battle of New York. Neither are looking for anything, but sparks fly. Anyone? Anyone??? 🤣

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but wouldn’t it be awesome if AO3 had a button that would do that automatically?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Again, no. I won’t say it would never happen, but I’m a bit of a lone wolf writer. Strict deadlines, etc are tough for me, so I think I’d find a co-writing situation very stressful.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

It has to be Brio. 🥰

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

This is a tough one. I don’t tend to release fics until they’re finished, so I don’t have any orphaned stories out there crying out for a happy ending. I do have a dozen or so ideas that are in various stages of completion. Some are almost done(ish), so I suspect the ones that are less likely to get finished are the ones that are literally a sentence fragment… barely a complete idea. I mean, they’re great random scattered thoughts, but… Yeah.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’ve been told my Brio characterizations are good.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Hmmm… Dialogue and smut. My descriptions aren’t bad, but my writing style isn’t as “flowy” as I’d sometimes like.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I’m not bilingual, so if I include another language in a fic I tend to keep it fairly short and straightforward to lessen the chance of getting it wrong.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Good Girls. First and only.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I don’t mind rereading (most of) my own stuff. I have a special soft spot for ones where Brio interacts with the kids, like Smarter Than Your Average Gang Friend (Rio gets shown up by the Jane), and In Sickness (Jane’s sick and Rio shows Beth an uncharacteristic kindness).

Not tagging anyone in particular. Please, jump in!

[kastlenetwork]

hello kastle fam! for everyone who's come back to the tag (or are in the tag for the first time, welcome 💕), please feel free to join us for the next kastle week!

this next event will run from monday, september 2nd through friday, september 6th!

every medium of work is welcome. you can write fic. you can make edits, gifs, art. playlists curating the vibes of the frank and karen in the prompts, are great, as well! there's no pressure to create something for every day of the week -- feel free to pick and choose what you want to participate in 💕

monday, sept. 2 | we meet again | the day of yearning frank and karen reunions. whether that be months, years, or anything below or in-between.

tuesday, sept. 3 | rom com aus | the day of fluff some actual summer fun for these two dramatic, angsty losers. (coffee shop aus, college aus, beach aus, ect.) picture bright and colorful cartoon book covers lol.

wednesday, sept. 4 | through new eyes | the day of observations outsider, 3rd party perspectives of frank and karen's relationship. no matter where it stands.

thursday, sept. 5 | forced proximity | the day of honesty frank and karen being brought together in various situations where they can't just walk away and are forced to confront their feelings.

friday, sept. 6 | plot? what plot? | the day of desire frank and karen smut day. we know this fandom, let's be for real lol

okie dokie! i hope that anyone who wants to join up can do so! and that something up there inspires you in some way 😊

💕, chey / @kastlenetwork

[starkholme]

Frank Castle lost his family long before Day One, so the loneliness stayed even after the apocalypse happened.

Living in his farm upstate New York, he realized quite a few tried to get near the farm. The ones who came close, messed up on their own and got caught by the creatures, but other than him, no living thing was inside the fences.

Although his mind often wanders about the people he loves, David might had made it and he hopes Sarah and the kids did it too, Curtis' location was unknown — he doesn't even know if his best friend was alive —, Frank is conscious that he's in fact alone.

As the days go by, he can't grasp reality the way others did before the creatures came. Living in the constant silence he had learned how to be with his own thoughts, how live with his demons, how to silence all of them.

Until she appeared.

Alone, with her head bleading, a knife in one hand, an old radio in the other one and a single note pressed in front of her t-shirt:

"I know how to end them"

Suddenly, all of his silence is overcome by the presence of a fierce woman named Karen Page.

In other words, Kastle in "A Quiet Place" scenario

[qqueenofhades]

I know you haven’t written for Kastle in a long time but something with 18 and/or 39 pls?

The wet grass crunches and squeaks under Karen's shoes as she crosses the lawn, slick enough that she's almost tempted to grab at the nearby tombstones for balance. She doesn't; it feels vaguely disrespectful, even if the occupants are dead and long past caring. The night is cold enough to see her breath, dew beading and freezing on the branches of the old oak trees, and if she had any sense, she'd be at home, tucked up warmly with the window shut and the heating cranked. But when it comes to this -- when it comes to him -- well. She has proved that she very much fucking does not.

"Frank?" Her voice comes out as a hissing whisper, taut with anger and fear. "Goddamn it, Frank! Are you here?"

No answer, no sound, except the distant rumble of traffic from the Long Island Expressway and the hooting of an owl on the branch above. It's almost midnight, the moon is full, and it peers then and odd from the thick scrim of clouds, casting ghostly shadows over the well-manicured cemetery greens. It sends a portentous chill down Karen's back, but she can't be sure if that's from the setting or just the usual thing that comes of dealing with Frank Castle: the awareness of prompt and inevitable impending doom. Fuck, this is stupid. He's either gone, or wreaking havoc elsewhere, or possibly just dead in a ditch, which seems convenient for already being in a cemetery. She's almost about to raise her voice, to call and summon God knows what, when she sees a dark silhouette slumped against the wall of an old mausoleum, some prominent Gilded Age New York family. Something that is, however tenuously, alive and not dead. Then, wet grass or not, she runs.

"Frank!" Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ it is indeed him, and he looks even worse than usual. His black hoodie is stained with drying blood, his nose looks broken (again), and he's holding a torn-up piece of rag to his eye in a futile attempt to nurse down the swelling there. Fortunately, Karen has come prepared for this eventuality, and she throws herself to her knees, digging in her backpack for the first-aid kit. "Asshole," she hisses at him, hands already moving to tear open a sterile wipe and find some clean gauze. "Asshole!"

Frank grunts, not bothering to deny it. One corner of his mouth twists in a very wry smile. "Good to see you too, Karen."

"Shut up." Karen reaches out by reflex, running her hands up and down Frank's torso to check for especially serious wounds. Nothing's gushing blood, so he's probably not dying, but she's long lost her ability to tell in regard to him. "I really am going to kill you."

"Uh-huh." She hears him grunt a laugh against her ear, the warmth of his breath shockingly intimate in the chilly evening. "Sure you are."

Karen is tempted to smack him or something, just to make a point, but he does look bad, and while she gives him a withering glare, she restrains from further remonstrance. When she's sort-of patched up the worst, decides she really doesn't want to know what the fuck he's been doing (Frank stuff, as usual), she digs in the backpack, pulls out a thermos, and pours him a cup of black coffee. "I'm not going to do this again," she warns him. "I'm not your paramedic, or your nurse, or even your girlfriend."

"Noted." Frank sips at the coffee, winces when it stings his broken lip. There's a long pause. Then he adds, "Thanks for this, yeah?"

"Yeah." Karen sits back on her heels, wondering (as ever) what on earth she's going to do with this giant idiot. The moon comes out again, casting his face in rugged shadows, and she clenches her fists to avoid doing something stupid. "You're the worst, Frank."

He huffs something that might be a laugh, but doesn't want to commit too hard for fear of jostling a broken rib. She pauses, then settles next to him in the lee of the mausoleum, close enough to brush their shoulders. Almost wishes she'd brought a blanket, like they're two teenagers sneaking away to the cemetery at midnight to make out and doubtless fall victim to some lurid urban legend. But Frank is more than terrifying enough to chase away the Hook-Handed Man or whatever boogeyman is lurking around Long Island at midnight, and for a moment, she half lets herself relax. They sit there together, staring out at the neat rows of the dead. Then she says softly, "You scared the shit out of me."

Frank grunts again, this one in the tenor of an apology. She's very good at reading his wordless noises, the shift of his body against hers, the soft moments and unspoken meanings, and yet again, she debates whether to let that be enough for her, to pretend it is, even if it isn't. He passes her the thermos cup, their hands brush, and Karen can feel herself teetering on the verge of something she's very much going to regret. But that, unfortunately, isn't enough to stop her. She turns toward him, sees the silhouette of his face in the moonlight, his mouth opening in a question, and just fucking does it. Grabs the front of his filthy sweatshirt in both hands, crowds him roughly back against the stone, and kisses him like a fist to the face.

Frank jerks, makes a strangled sound, and briefly she thinks he'll wrench free like a sea serpent and sprint for the hills (or whatever passes as such in the New York suburbs) and never be seen again. But then he grunts, gasps, mutters, "Fuck, Karen," and doesn't manage, regardless of any feeble efforts to the contrary, to pull away. Instead he swings her around and presses her against the mausoleum, the two of them the only living things here and kissing, breathing, moving raggedly, clutching at each other, his callused soldier's fingers roughing and tangling in her hair, and she makes short jerking gulps like she's drowning and can't get enough air, enough of him. It goes on for five, ten, twenty seconds -- it might as well be forever, it feels that way. Then with an agonizing struggle -- she's not above noticing that and enjoying the pain it's clearly causing him to pull apart from her, as much as it does for her with him -- Frank breaks away. "Not now," he says hoarsely. "I just -- please, Karen. Okay?"

It's clearly meant to convince himself as much as her, and she manages a stiff little nod. Not now at least implies a someday, though she still likes to think that she's done wasting her time by hoping for him to come around. The coffee has spilled in the crush of their embrace, steaming gently where it soaks into the chilly earth, and she imagines the sleeping dead tasting a sip. She looks at her hands, since she can't look at Frank's face. Maybe it will never end. Maybe it will never let her be free. Maybe there will only ever be him.

"All right." Her voice sounds thin, artificial. "Fine. See you around, I guess, Frank. Whenever you turn up half-dead again."

"Karen -- " He reaches for her halfway, drops his hand. "I am -- for this -- tonight. Thanks. Thanks. You take care of yourself, okay?"

You too. Asshole.

"Sure." Karen stoops, picks up the fallen thermos cup, puts it back into her bag. "See you around, Frank."

She doesn't look back. She doesn't let herself.

[onebatch2batch]

@sarma requested kastle with: “Casual smooches! It dawns on Karen at some point that Frank touches her as much as he can get away with and she didn't even realize, because it felt so right” and this kind of got away from me. thank you for the prompt 😊

— [ao3 link]

Foggy is looking at her like she’s got a second head and for a moment, she’s tempted to check for another neck sprouting from her shoulders. They’d been sitting here celebrating the end of exams, huddled up at a corner table at Josie’s like normal. They’d all been laughing until Frank got up to get another round and when Karen turned back to Foggy, he’d been staring at her like this. Like she shape-shifted right in front of him. Karen lowers her beer glass back to the table and blinks at him.

“What?”

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, bewildered. It feels rhetorical, but at this point they’ve been drinking for going on four hours and she figures she should check.

“What’s wrong?”

“Karen Gretchen Page—“

“That,” she says in a burst of laughter, surprise momentarily overtaking her confusion, “is not my middle name.”

Foggy barrels on without stopping, waving a hand like the words are a personal offense. He leans forward to stare her down. His eyes are wild and glassy, but even close to drunk Foggy is alert and observant. “Frank just kissed you.”

He’s so convinced of this that she wonders if he really did and she blacked out through it. Because no way would she forgot that if she was ever actually conscious. And then she realizes—

“Foggy, he kissed my cheek.”

Her friend stares at her, mouth agape. “I cannot belie—….Karen. He sat there with his arm around your chair for last hour, and then kissed you on the way back to the bar.”

“On the cheek!” Karen argues for a second time. It’s not unusual—even when Frank is completely sober he’s pretty tactile. He’s usually within reaching distance, or even touching her somehow, and she him. That’s how they’ve always been even in the beginning of their friendship, back in freshman year. It’s nothing to freak out over, and she tells Foggy as such with a roll of her eyes.

Frank appears with another round of drinks and sets them down with a small grin. He’s just as tipsy as the rest of them and why not? They’ve made it through their final semester of college. They’re a month from walking the stage to graduation. They’re celebrating.

“So you’re not bothered,” Foggy says pointedly, staring at her. She stares back, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. Why should she be bothered by something like a kiss on the cheek? Between friends? Strictly platonic friends? Strictly platonic friends who sometimes kiss…and cuddle during movies and…hold hands and…

“Bothered by what?” Frank’s head swivels like he’s looking for whatever annoyance is ruining her night, like he’ll toss a punch the moment she points out this unknown offender.

Karen’s got a half cocked realization forming in her alcohol soaked brain, but Foggy only raises his brows and gestures with his beer as if to say, you tell it, then. She looks to Frank, to the adorably concerned expression on his face. “He thinks I’m bothered by you kissing me.”

His face instantly screws up in surprise. “Oh.” He looks between them uneasily, then turns both shoulders towards her, giving them a modicum of privacy from the crowded bar and Foggy’s watchful gaze. In his semi-drunk state he sways further into her space than normal—or is she just noticing now because of what Foggy said? “…are you? Uh, bothered?”

Her eyes widen. “No, Frank—“

“Prove it,” Foggy interrupts, leaning forward once again. There’s a devious twist to his smile. She suddenly realizes they have stepped into a trap that was set long before she even realized the possibility of one. “Frank, kiss her again. If you’re both so unbothered. Just on the cheek.”

Karen looks at Frank, and he looks back. They both laugh in tandem—a stuttered, nervous chuckle, and then he shrugs. He leans forward and presses his lips to her cheekbone, like he’s done countless times before, but this time it feels different. Drawn out, almost. Lingering. He stays there for several heartbeats, until warmth rises on her face. Karen stares past his ear, past his wayward curls, and meets his eyes when he finally pulls away from her. Without looking, she knows his arm is across the back of her chair just like her foot is balanced on the bottom ring of his. Just like they are inexplicably always drawn together, circling orbits.

“Yeah, you look unbothered,” Foggy says dryly.

She would retort back, something witty and sarcastic, but before she can do much but blink Frank is back in her space, hands cupping her jaw lightly, and he’s kissing her.

Actually kissing her.

On the mouth kissing her.

Not a cheek kiss, not a peck, but kissing kissing her.

And while Foggy’s matchmaking methods leave a lot to be desired, Karen decides his bar tab is going to miraculously disappear. Because apparently she had been bothered by the amount of time spent touching Frank, in whatever capacity they found themselves, and it hadn’t been until Foggy’s stupidly smug dare that she realized she was bothered by it after all.

And it seems, so was Frank.

Yeah, she’s going to have to eat that bar tab. But, she thinks as Foggy raises their glass to them from the corner of her eye, the price isn’t that steep. Not even a little.

And she would pay it again. Any time, over and over, as long as she ended up right back here: in the palms of Frank’s hands with his lips on hers and his breath filling her lungs.