“Why are your eyes so…red?” Karen

Jurassic Memes || -

Maybe it's the fact that it took him a full three minutes to work up the gumption to pull himself off the couch to answer the door, or the fact that he'd smiled with full teeth on display that he almost never does ~a habit in common with his sister~ or...a host of other hazy things he doesn't quite hold onto try as much as he does to think about them. He stands aside to let her in, closing the door behind her, then makes his way back to the couch where he half sits, half collapses under his own weight. "If you're keeping this off the record, I'm gonna have to go with...'because I'm high as fuck right now' or if you prefer....allergies."

Karen knows Riley isn't allergic to anything. The wince when he puts his leg back up on the cushions, a habit because it isn't even the one made of flesh and bone tells her more than he will about the phantom nerve pain.

"I'm...I'm sorry. Shouldn'a said that. But I'm glad to see you. What's up?"

@wxr-zxne   {{xx}}

“Your lips to God’s ear,” Beth quips and makes the sign of the cross. Like Matt Murdoch, Beth is devoutly Catholic and doesn’t take blasphemy lightly. And while she is herself from a tropical island, and is often always cold on the mainland, the weather lays a muggy blanket over New York that is sticky, heavy, and in her honest estimation... gross. Now that Karen mentions it, she can’t help but frown. Beth had thought she was just imagining it, the lack of turning colours that made all of New England an autumnal holiday spot. She makes the mental note of popping down to pay a visit to her Cousins at the Five Points caern. “You know, I nevah saw snow until I came t’ New York,” she tells Karen. “Back home, only real snow is at da very top of Mauna Kea. Which of course is on da Big Island, an’ not a place I evah got to visit. I t’ought dat firs’ snow fall was magick my braddah made for me. Seems silly now but in all fairness, I was a very sheltered sixteen year old.”

Beth smiled and murmured the words mahalo nui loa, knowing Karen would understand her gratitude. “I’d love a cup, really. An’ I got a few days off right now but I’m always on nights. It’s da most likely one t’ be short staffed so havin’ an experienced nurse is good an’ it means I get dere while da sun is still up, and leave when it’s already risen.” Beth doesn’t like the dark, is terrified of it actually. “Wha’bout you? Still babysittin’ Foggy an’ Matt at da law firm, or are you workin’ for da paper? Feels like f’ever since I seen you.”

Trick or Treat!  🎃 Karen

The stares became endless Who led the daggers to your eyes There'll be nowhere to hide With flesh falling from us Exposing just who we are Our bones will speak There'll be nowhere to hide Where ash falls The sky will follow If blood pours Our eyes will swallow it all As long as I'm able to see the sun rise I can one last time burn that vision into my mind Such a beautiful grave that you'll find lost inside

⌚ - Karen

Picture Perfect || Accepting

"Think they're real?" Riley can be unusually silent when he wants to be despite his heavy tread and his boots. He's here pulling extra shifts because the department wanted someone like him, considering the royal collection was on loan to the museum and he'd come in before the public to do his rounds. What he hadn't expected was to see Karen Page covering the beat. Taking pictures, dictating notes. Doesn't seem like her thing at all. So he finds himself walking up behind her ~not creeping, definitely not creeping~ and stopping to say hello.

Of course he asks her if she thinks they're real. The entire collection is far too much gold and gemstones, too tempting a target that he has to wonder how much of it would find a better home with the other paste gems in Madame Tussaud's.

"Better question, would there be any amount of money in the world that would make you dress up wearing nothing but the coronation robe, a tiara, and maybe a handful of those necklaces in the other hall?" He shifts from behind to beside her and flashes her a side smile to show that he's kidding. Probably. He's missed seeing her around, missed taking a shot at faux-flirting with her.

“If I were to take you somewhere would you oppose Italian?” Frank asked leaning on the door frame.

“Italian is probably my favourite haole food, so...yeah I’d totally willin’ to go wi’ ya.”  Whether she’s talking about the food or the ethnicity, she’ll leave it up to Frank to decide. She also doesn’t seem startled at all that he’s let himself into her place. Almost nothing that should bother her tremendously does any more, if it ever did. But that’s because life has been so strange for the last couple years that Frank is maybe the most normal part of it nowadays. Which if she said so aloud, she’d wonder what he would think of that. She turns to look at him with a blossoming smile on her lips. “Now, wha’dd’ya got in mind, because dependin’ on ya answer, I might need to change.”

@heartbeattemple​ picked up from your starter.

“...An’ so m’ braddah proceed to break Doctah Feel-Up’s arm in t’ree places an’ had da Admiral file an official complaint wi’ state medical board. I fail t’ mention earlier dat at da time he was Chief of Medical Corps for da Navy before bein’ appointed as Surgeon General.”

Claire is so very easy to talk to. That and the three sake bombs she’s managed over the evening have loosened her tongue, more than usual. Originally, she’d only meant to make the woman laugh and to know she isn’t alone when it comes to doctors who think so little of their nurses that they shame the entire male ~and sometimes female~ species.

“Bu’ anyway, dat’s how I ended up both transferin’ from Metro-General t’ Sacred Heart. An’ why I have nevah had a real date in my entire life.”

Fuck me up: for Foggy

Another Reason || -

I. Beth loses Foggy bit by bit every day. She watches as he hollows himself out for other people; for Matt, for Karen, for Marcy, for his clients, and a firm that doesn’t even know what it has in him. She watches the spark become dimmer, his laugh more brittle, as anger replaces the wellspring of love he has for life and for everything in it. The worst part is that he doesn’t see that sublimation of self. And she’s so very afraid that one day, in the near future, she’s going to hug him and pass right through.II. Foggy Nelson is one of the best lawyers that she’s ever heard. He’s a master of manipulating the jury by telling them stories they might not know about his clients, things that will sway them, soften their hearts, and with any luck, win a favourable verdict. Beth also knows many lawyers. Her hanai uncles Harvey and Louis, named partners at Zane Specter & Litt, hanai auntie Jessica, who had been the previous managing named partner, all of the associates. Even her best friend Jay followed in her father’s footsteps, and had been a lawyer before giving it all up to save her soul by running a coffee shop. Beth knows lawyers. She understands them. So…she has to ask herself, does Foggy manipulate her, too? Tell her the stories she’s so desperate to hear?III. Would any of that even matter if Foggy knew the truth? That she was something a little less than human, or perhaps a little more? Would he be ashamed of her? Would he turn her into the authorities for defying the ridiculous laws in effect? Would he never speak to her again? Worse, what if he wasn’t? What if he was perfectly fine with it because…he didn’t care?IV. Matt Murdock isn’t the only one who gets hurt. Beth has so much of Foggy’s blood on her hands that he is indelibly stained into her scrubs. He doesn’t have any extraordinary abilities. He doesn’t have body armour. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t even have pepper spray on him at any given point in time. All Foggy has is a good heart and an incredibly unbreakable faith in other people, so he does his best by them. There is going to come a day, though. She knows this. A day when even she won’t be able to get him back up.

Foggy sat down beside Beth and slowly took her hand in his. He traced his finger over the lines of her palm, then traced each finger before lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing her palm softly. Then her wrist before pressing her palm to his cheek and smiling softly. It wasn’t anything overwhelmingly forward, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her kissing him for weeks now. And it didn’t seem fair to let it go unappreciated. “I can’t stop thinking about you”-bowtiedavocado

Smoke on the Sinday || Accepting

She’d had a legitimate reason to be down at the courthouse earlier in the afternoon, testifying as a material witness to a b&e just down the street from her clinic, but of course as soon as she’d finished being sworn in and telling the judge what she’d seen, corroborating the officer’s report, she slipped out and wandered until she found ~by pure chance~ the courtroom where Foggy had been. During the recess, as he was sorting his caseload, she’d invited him to come by after work.

A couple of pizzas and a whole Netflix queue with their name on it, if he was interested. And she’d wrapped the all too brief conversation with a tip-toed kiss that had been aimed at his cheek but had landed dangerously close to his mouth. Almost like the one weeks ago that ended in a ‘I thought you were Marcy’. A squeeze of his forearm later and she was vanishing the way she came.She hadn’t minded that he let himself in, she’d told him long ago that her house was his ~well, she’d meant to say ‘mi casa es tu casa’ but she’d ended up saying something more like my house is your soup~ but the sentiment had been understood.

And of course as soon as he came into view, she’d lit up like the sun itself. Didn’t pull away at the touch. Though when the gentle tracery became a press of lips against her palm, she tilted her head just a little, not sure if he meant it or if maybe he’d had a rough day. The question lingered there on the tip of her tongue as he did it again, and this one lingered as he let her cup his cheek. It was the smile though, sweet and a little innocent that did her in and sent armies of colour storming the hills of her cheeks.

And she self deflects, just like he does. “Well, is da fifth of Halloween. Season’ of da witch. Mebbe..cast spell on ya when ya weren’t looking.”

If you are still doing the ship meme... all the hearts for Beth and Foggy cause I need to know :)

Heart Eyes || Accepting

❤: who is more affectionate in public? in private?

Long suffering Foggy Nelson has been the victim of ambushing by hug or sudden hand-hold, by bright and bubbly enthusiasm over probably the weirdest things, kisses on the cheek, straightening of ties, thumbs up from around corners…the laundry list gets longer with every passing year they’ve known each other. And he wears her affection with a style and grace that’s rather unmatched by nearly anyone he could care to name.

And he returns those tokens with equal aplomb, albeit differently. Musicals watched at his apartment, a tour of the office while he was still working on it. Phone calls in the middle of the night to make sure she is first…okay, and that she doesn’t forget she actually has a home to go to.“Definitely me in public, him in personal space.”

♡: who is the bigger romantic openly? secretly?

She laughs and the sound radiates warmth and kindness through out it’s duration which is brief. Not because the question is funny but because Foggy is one of the sweetest and most romantic souls she knows, more so than she is, and that’s saying a lot.“Foggy’s romantic in da very French sense of da word. I mean if I had t’ pick someone oddah dan my braddah whom I could see ridin’ resolutely into battle wi’ a token around his arm from some kine maiden fair…I couldn’t pick anyone beddah. He carries a wonder of da world, a belief dat’s deep as oceans inside. He will champion a cause because it’s da right kine to do an’ nevah really t’ink twice, no matter how much he stand to lose, how hurt he could get, how he don’t see himself dat way.

“My favourite knights were always Sir Gawain an’ Sir Galahad….an’ if Foggy isn’t a distant relative of Lancelot, den I dunno who is. So I say….he’s da bigger romantic open like.”

❥: who is more likely to plan something big for valentine’s day?

“I hones’ly t’ink dat Foggy’s idea of Valentimes is him makin’ some kine ono for someone special ~man’s a fantastic cook when he’s got da time an patience for it, an’ he gonna shower you with all of his attention. Dat’s how he let ya know he cares, ya know? Lazy conversation, great little jokes, really lissen an’ rememberin’ small details.”She smiles.“Me…mebbe is cause how I was raise but I feel like… need t’ go real big or go home ya know? Carriage t’rew da park, rentin’ out da stadium for ‘battin’ practice an’ a picnic onna pitcher’s mound. Broadway show wi’ ya name in lights. Dat kind of t’ing.”ღ: who is more likely to initiate hand-holding in public?

They walk through the park, talking about his cases, even the smallest ones bringing a sense of pride and sense of self worth in it. And it starts with walking maybe too close, so that her hand brushes his and eventually she slips her fingers between his. She’s always had a thing about touch, it’s how she navigates the world and sometimes it just makes her feel a little less lonely, a lot safer. And maybe he doesn’t mind so much, because he lets her. Sometimes carrying on through with a conversation or lifting their conjoined hands to point something out that she might have otherwise missed.💕: who is more likely to make huge declarations of love in front of other people?

“Uh. Foggy.”

She remembers it all too clearly. How strange they all looked in Josie’s, Foggy and Karen and Misty and Beth herself. And she watched how he watched their long-legged and blonde friend. And Beth wondered what it would be like to be here for just a moment, though she was jerked out of that feeling when he slammed his palms on their pool table, and ordered another round of drinks.

‘These are my friends and I love them!’The only explanation he gave. Karen doesn’t know how lucky she is. Can’t see beyond Matt or Frank. But Foggy never gives up on people, and Beth admires that, even if she can see the marks it leaves behind. Even if she knows what those marks feel like. He walked Karen home that night, and she…left a picket fence of cocktail umbrellas for her cabbie.She never really had the guts to ask what, if anything, happened that night.💘: who developed a crush on the other first?“Oh, I dunno. We’re jus’…jus’ friends.”

She doesn’t know exactly when she noticed how he lights up a room with his smile. Or how she could spend hours listening to his opening and closing statements, or talking about how he grew up and what his favourite movies are. She doesn’t know why he risked life and limb to come to her clinic the night of the Earthquake. Or when she first traced the veins on the back of his hand and gave it a squeeze. She wouldn’t even really call it a crush so much as…she just likes being around him. She thinks he’s the best cuddler and a good friend and…💝: who spends more time (possibly overthinking) what presents to get the other?

“Me. Cufflinks. Wha’ was I even t’inking?! But a’ least he took it in stride.”💓: who initiates most physical contact?

It’s not exactly initiation, but Beth usually starts it. Whether it’s running her fingers through his hair at the end of a rough day, or letting him doze in her lap when he’s sick, or rubbing his shoulders during the middle of the night and he’s still burning midnight oil at his desk. It is the only real way she knows of telling him that she cares about him, his well being, and all the other things that go along with it. That and the hand holding. Or resting her head on his shoulders while they’re going through their Star Wars marathon.

“Some day, I’m gonna be really sad when I’ve got to force-choke him for being rebel scum dat he is.”💌: who is more likely to send cutesy texts to the other?

“I wouldn’t call dem cutesy, really. But sometimes it’s nice t’ get a random tex so ya know someone out dere tinkin’ about ya. An’ he ~said~ he liked cute animal videos, so reliably no can hold dat against me, jus’ sayin.”💟: who spends time reading their zodiac incompatibilities?

“No idea wha’ ya talkin’ about, incompatibilities. We’re both Cancers, born t’irteen days apart and a couple years, give or take, which means we bot’ got a lot in common if ya don’ count generational kine. An’ so wha’ if his venus is in his sixth… I mean I’m sure I could sit down an’ draw out his chart if I wan too but why? I don’ t’ink it maddah t’ him wha’ da stars say, because it’s slander and heresay, at best.”💙: who is more protective?

Beth absolutely believes Foggy is the more physically protective of the two of them, where as she’s more emotionally protective of him, and in a way it creates a really beautiful synergy. And it’s also extremely endearing though the idea that he could get hurt because of her absolutely kills her. “I say we’re pretty even matched here.”💚: who tends to get sick more often? who is better at taking care of the other?

Beth is convinced that he’s never noticed that she doesn’t get sick. Despite working in an emergency room and running a health clinic in the Kitchen. That whenever things go really side ways {or she spends time with people like Frank Castle}, she has the remarkable good luck not to come away with a single scratch. And she really hopes he doesn’t ever catch on because that is the one secret she can’t share with him.Likewise, Foggy’s worst habit is his lack of self-care and the fact that he’ll run himself into the ground if he’s allowed to. So of course she tries to make sure he doesn’t without seeming weird about it.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I can say I’m mo’ beddah taking care of him, and oddah people, because dat’s ya know…what I do for a living. An’ I guess den dat makes him da one gets more sick.”💜: who said “i love you” first? or, if neither has said it yet, who is more likely to say it first?

“Objection!” She almost chokes on her cup of coffee at the question. Obviously flustered she seems to drop back behind her personal shell over the matter. Arms hunched inward and face turned away so her hair falls into it. Beth…can’t bring herself to say those words. Even if she meant them, even if they scratched at the back of her mind. Because when she does? The person leaves. She’s watched it happen time after time after time, and she can’t bear the idea of not having Foggy in her life.Besides, she’s a thousand percent sure that he doesn’t see her that way. And that’s okay too. He deserves someone he loves. He deserves the world.“Dis seem really unfair. Wha’s dat called? Leadin’ da witness?”💛: who believes in soulmates?

She’s absolutely sure they both do, but it’s surprisingly not something that’s come up in casual conversation. And if she were honest with herself, she’d admit he’s already found that person. And she absolutely has no remorse punching a certain blind-man dead in the face if he ever breaks Foggy’s heart.Again.

How hot is Matt Murdock?

Heat Wave || Accepting

Not My Type | Alright | Cute | Adorable | Pretty | Gorgeous | LORD MERCY

~*~

Everything about Matt Murdock on paper is perfect.Tall. Dark. Athletic. Lawyer. Single. Catholic. But when she tries to put it all together, as objectively as she can…the mathematics of the situation doesn’t really bear out. He’s a very nice man…most of the time. He’s got a conscience, from what she’s seen and heard second hand. 

But.

But.

Well, that’s not really her place, and she shouldn’t spend time thinking about it or expressing her personal feelings aloud. If she did though, if she could get passed the fact that she’s not interested in him in any shape or form, she’d have a lot to say. Things like he could be the most aesthetically pleasing person on the planet and something about him would still be abhorrent to her, something deep and ugly and ultimately unbearable. She’s not sure he knows that. She’s not sure he’s aware of how he hurts people Beth cares about and who love him.

And there’s nothing she can do about it.So she doesn’t.She keeps it all to herself, and only smiles when he’s brought up in conversation. Beth might be naive, but she knows… if you can’t say something nice, you don’t say anything at all.

@bowtiedavocado​ {xx}

He makes her grin because he’s being particularly sweet, in the way that only Foggy can be, and it’s both endearing and heartbreaking. Mostly because she’s not on the same page and she thinks he’s teasing her. Just because she was a certified genius didn’t mean that Beth was smart, or quick on the uptake sometimes. He drags her hand away and takes hold of it as though it's a damaged bird, and there’s that weird flutter in her belly when she lets him hold it in his lap. This moment has big red letters stamped all over it that scream SERIOUS, IMPORTANT, and she responds to that realisation with a spike of anxiety. She knows what comes next and she doesn’t want to hear it. Not again. Not after the first three times. Or was it four? She’s lost count.

She’s going to be physically sick if he says it’s not you Apps, it’s me. If he says you’re very sweet and all but...and fills in whatever reason they can’t even be friends any more. At least Foggy isn’t going to leave without a word. Or pretend he doesn’t know her. At least that’s what she hopes and tells herself that she’s not going to cry and she’s not going to throw herself in Quentin’s lap and she’s not going to die inside like it feels she’s going to.

And there’s the start, isn’t it. The thing is. The thing is that he doesn’t feel about her anything more than a close friendship. The thing is she isn’t his type and never would be. That he’s in love with someone else and maybe for the sake of friendship, she can help him find a way to express that. But even as the world seems to be catching fire all around her and her hopes are starting to smoke at the edges, he still makes her laugh. It’s a soft kind of chuckle that squeezes her eyes and comes out like a little huff but he’s moving mountains. One of the things she loves best about Foggy, and there’s so much to choose from. But when she sobers up? There’s a kind of flutter to her lashes at the behest of the eye twitch. The one that usually happens when she has a hard time processing something said. Because he doesn’t make sense to her. She can’t imagine anyone not noticing him. Even in her own context of things she experiences and the ones she doesn’t...there’ s always been something magnetic about him. And while Matt can be, on occasion, a very nice person… “For reals?” She interrupts, unable not to.

But he keeps talking and suddenly it’s very abstract and suffocating in the room and she can’t quite sit still, shifting in her seat but not wanting to break his hold on her. Mottled green rise up and touch blue as she furrows her brows. “I..I don’...I don’t...feel things like other people,” she says slowly, best English. “I know what I’m s’posed to. I know what biological impulses I should have, at least on a...uh...evolutionary scale, an’ pheromones and stuff but for me, specifically… it just doesn’t work. So when...when I say...I have...feelings. That I like you… it’s because...I feel connected to you. Like we have this whole thing. That you’re one of my best friends. That you’re funny and you’re smart and you’re considerate and just. You’re so many things, Foggy.  I’ve been mesmerised by your openings and closings. And I… I have felt safe curled up with you not really watching TV. I don’t have pretty analogies...language isn’t my skill set.”

She’s making a mess of this and can’t figure out how to dig herself out of it. So instead she uses the leverage of him gripping his hand to lean forward and plants a kiss on his cheek in an unusual display of bravery. 

“Guess wha’ I’m tryin’ t’ say is I t’ink ya kinda wonderful.”

🍓

Fruit Basket || Accepting

Strawberry: What things entice my muse? 

Should Beth be concerned about having Frank Castle… the infamous Punisher…himself sitting on her couch? 

Probably.Is she? 

Not even a little. 

In fact what she’s doing is pouring him another cup of coffee. The man needed a home-cooked meal and about ten thousand years of sleep and he has never once whispered the threat of real violence against her. And while he is technically a convicted criminal and on the run…well, she can think of worse things for him to be. A politician. Her father. The guy down the street who spends way too much time watching kids gather at the bus-stop and she might have to look very carefully into that.

And he’s being engaging though he never struck her as the type to whom conversation came easy to. The question itself makes her smile. Not the over-bright, full teeth showing kind, but no less warm, no less generous.

“I’ve nevah turn down a good full bodied Italian.” Okay, so hopefully the wink tells him she’s teasing. “Wine. I mean wine. Merlot. Burgundy. Something warm and bloody on the tongue. Just goddah be careful with dat unless ya want it stickin’ with ya in da morning.”

She’s trying to speak better Ha….English, so he doesn’t struggle with the way she talks but little bits of the islands linger.

“Dancing. My…hearing…is a little…da kine. Weird? But like, the feel of skin on skin. Dat sweat and heat and music throbbing all around ya. Not something ya have t’ overthink, ya know? Makes me feel…little less lonely. Little less…disconnected.”

Colour steals its way into her cheeks and she glances at her cup rather than his face.

“What ‘bout you? What’s yer temptation, ah?”

@sheeradrenaline  {{ xx }}

She could feel the vibrations surging through him and was reminded of the faint tremor just before Kilauea spouted some of its fire down its slopes. She didn’t know what his fire was from, but it was very real. And he was very damp, which pulled a frown out of her lips. When she finally let go, she brushed her fingers across his brow, through the slick strands plastered there. The frown remained when she got a more up-close look at his lip. And the sound of his voice is so small in her ears, something both terrified and trusting of her that makes her cringe inwardly. Whatever had happened, and she’s going to have to ask when she gets him settled, it’s bad. It’s really bad. “Okay, so...we won’t take you home,” she says carefully, full haole for his benefit. She also murmurs some kind of apology for keeping one arm around his shoulders while the other and its attached hand pat him down delicately. When she finds her prize, she pulls out the keys and lets a sense of luck choose the right one for the door. “Let’s at least get you inside, and warmed up and then I’ll take a look at you. Luck, I always have my medkit with me. If you still don’t wanna go home after that, maybe...maybe you can come to mine. How’s that sound?”

@sheeradrenaline {{xx}}

If there was one thing that she had to pick about Foggy that was her favourite, maybe the laugh was it. The laugh that didn’t apologise for existence, that came from maybe the most honest place inside of him. And because the sound was so warm and welcoming she couldn’t even be bothered to be upset that he was, more or less, laughing at her. And her smile deepened then. “I’m glad we can agree, then.”

She watched the way his expression changed, twisting her lip and biting at the corner of it. Was it too much? Not enough? She couldn’t quite tell and so that relative ease blossomed into a tiny knot of anxiety in her belly.

“Oh, no, no ya don’, Nelson.” She reached for and took hold his last name, one she never used on him, not since they’d met, in hopes of catching his attention. “Thing is...is this. Some people ya never realise how much you care for, how much you miss, until they’re not part of ya every day. But that doesn’t mean ya stop believing in them. That they stop giving you hope. People like that are special, Foggy, and I very much believe in you.”

She leaned over and pecked his cheek, paint and all. “Whether your a lawyer or a butcher or a rock-star. I’ll always believe in you. But now you have something to remember that with.”

@sheeradrenaline {{xx}}

{Text: Keao} Well, yeah? I mean beautiful women dancing is beautiful women dancing and who doesn’t like that? {Text: Keao} Plus, sweets, you wouldn’t judge me for it, would you? {this is where you say no}

{Text: Keao} Plus if I have to listen one more stuck up rich person brag about how humble they are, it’s either drown myself in martinis or jump out a fifteen story window just to get away.

{Text: Keao} love you, ur the best!

how hot is Frank Castle?

Heat Wave || Accepting

Not My Type | Alright | Cute | Adorable | Pretty | Gorgeous | LORD MERCY

~*~

If she’s completely honest, the first time Beth saw Frank Castle…it wasn’t in the hospital room. It wasn’t in the case file. It wasn’t…a lot of other places. She saw him on the news, the way the rest of New York had.

She’d been sitting down to dinner at eight o’ clock in the morning, after her shift and had just taken a sip of wine. A few seconds later she was coughing it back up into her hand, because only most of it went down the right pipe, and she’s not yet learned how to breathe a robust merlot.

And she’s pretty sure…if she met Frank in a dark alley, even after meeting him and discovering that appearances can be somewhat deceiving, she’d probably wet her pants then and there. Not just because she’s afraid of the dark. When she saw him in person though…her first impression was pain. Every ounce of her body shrieked at what they’d done to him. No matter what the reason no one deserved to have that kind of suffering put on them. And while his bark was pretty terrible, his bite was less so. He never once tried to hurt her. He never was anything less polite. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was doing Foggy and Matt a favour.

Healed up, Frank Castle is as terrifying as he is magnetic. He’s a soldier down to his very soul {and he has one, no matter what he says otherwise}. He’s not a traditionally handsome man but that doesn’t really matter.

He’s beautiful to her, because…she respects him. That doesn’t mean she condones his actions or excuses him in any way, but that’s between him and whatever god he stopped believing in. He’s beautiful because he doesn’t flinch from his truth. He doesn’t make any apologies for being the man he is. And the man he is…is pretty spectacular, even she can admit that.

And beneath all of that, there’s a tenderness and a softness that can only be glimpsed in those rare smiles or the quiet conversation when he allows you to see past a few of his many layers. And maybe those are the moments she waits for.