The Punisher - Blog Posts
Daredevil enjoyers watching Matt Murdock get beaten into a coma:
Daredevil (MCU)
Bullseye
Muse
The Punisher (Marco Checcetto)
In honor of Daredevil: Born Again, I made these MK1 Clash poses. How do they look?
i think i would choose crossing the red line and years and years of pining yet with minimal dialogue more-so screen time together and potted white roses and hugs and eyes that tell everything and make it mean something and you asked me for a favor, i did it, i would die for you, and most importantly, ma’am
thank you very much
what i love about kastle is that it’s always frank waking up in a bed like some battle-worn damsel in distress, and honestly? i hope they keep that tradition alive in the punisher special
when it comes down to it, it’s only fair (if not painfully canonical) for karen to be there—helping frank’s ass out of whatever rundown warehouse he’s been stashed in. like. of course she’ll do something when she finds out. of course she’ll find him. she will be there. that’s what they do. that’s them.
when u see your crush and u tryna act super casual
lieberman would have rolled on the floor if he saw frank fidgeting and internally losing his mind over karen’s “no, thank you” i just know it
and guess who else? Foggy. Foggy would go red trynna keep his laughter in bc he wouldn’t dare. not in front of the punisher. but he would
first his family, then the sandwich, and now the coffee
poor guy can’t have anything
s/o for noticing that Karen shone her flashlight on Frank’s case files (from the trial, DD S2) right exactly when she said “It’s just adrenaline, I’m sure” so I also rewatched the scene and it is indeed his files
now i’m gonna think about this a lot too
source from @postmurdock on x
years later and i still think about that tps2 scene with karen’s shoes. everyone’s freaking out but the guy in the morgue was just happily skipping around in those heels, and Frank—of course, of all people—just happens to notice while he’s in the middle of escaping with Madani.
in my head, after all that, frank finds out about the shoes from madani and either 1) goes on some mission to get the heels back from the guy, but is thoughtful enough to swap them out with another pair, or 2) just buys karen a new pair, way comfier and definitely expensive.
then he just casually sneaks them into her apartment with a note that says, “owed you a pair”
the red means i love you — frank castle
pairing: frank castle x fem!reader
warnings: violence! like a lot of violence.. and detailed accounts of said violence, reader goes insane, mentions of murder, trauma, reader is a past widow for the red room, Y/N usage, kidnapping, established relationship, fluff, standard the punisher warnings.
authors note: hii theree! so this one is kind of insane, i may have went just a tad bit overboard, but y’know. thank you anon for this request that this fic is based on! this story is heavily based on the song, ‘the red means i love you’ by madds buckley, so give it a listen if you’d like. much love to you all, i hope you all enjoy this !
masterlist
You panted, your hand pulling the machete out of the last man’s chest. Your vision was still hazy, and you didn’t exactly feel like you were in your body.
But, that’s how you always felt when you killed.
As you gathered your bearings, your eyes began to dart around the room— and you realized how many men you had just taken out.
“Motherfucker,” You groaned as the pain began to set in due to the knife that was currently in your thigh. One of them must of done it when you were distracted, and your adrenaline was far too high for you to register it.
You no longer had that problem, it hurt like a bitch. But, you’ve had worse— a lot worse, and you could handle it. So you did was you were trained to do: push the emotions and pain away get the damn job done.
You had to. For Frank.
You see, he was taken by God knows who. You and Frank had no shortage of enemies, so you weren’t exactly sure who you were even invading, but you didn’t care. You knew they had Frank.
You were getting him back. You didn't care how many lives you had to take, you would do it all without second thought.
One of them had his sawed-off shotgun, they tried to shoot you with it. So you knew he was here. You just didn’t know exactly where.
And you’d go through hell and back to get to him.
So with a sharp inhale, you began to walk over to one of your victims, snatching the shotgun from his cold grip. A new sense of rage washed over you when you held the cold metal in your hands— they tried to take Frank from you.
You couldn’t let that stand.
Anger flooded your bloodstream as you began to stalk over to the hallway in front of you, cocking the shotgun along the way. You looked damn insane—you were covered in blood, a knife sticking out your thigh, your machete in one hand and Frank’s shotgun in the other.
One thing was for sure: you were out for fuckin’ blood.
You kicked open the first door you saw with your good leg, and inside were 3 men. Before they could even get a chance to react, you let the first round of bullets fly at one of them, the man dead instantly.
You narrowed your eyes at the two remaining men, putting the machete in your belt, you cocked the shotgun and aimed directly towards them. “Where the fuck is Frank.”
“I–I don’t know what you’re talking about,” One of the men stuttered out.
You scoffed, shooting that same man in the shin. “You think I’m fuckin’ playin’ around? I said, where the fuck is he?! What did you do with Frank?!” You shouted angrily, cocking the gun once more.
The man cried out, falling to his knees as his partner put his hands up in surrender. “He’s in the building..” He murmured, but you could see the man you shot reaching for the gun that the other had so obviously in the back of his pants.
Rolling your eyes, you shot the man who was still unharmed in the head. “Fuckin’ useless. I’ll find him myself.” You muttered to mainly yourself before grabbing your machete once more and stomping over to the last one.
“No, no, no!” He begged, backing away as far as he could from you. “Killing me won’t do anything. You’ll never get through all of us. You and Castle are as good as dead,” He spat and you only gave a sinister smile in return before you dove the machete into his chest.
After he was dead, you took your machete and wiped it clean of the blood before storing it back in your belt. You walked out the room without another thought as you continued your walk down the hallway, Frank’s shotgun tight in your grasp as you pointed it for precaution.
The next room you walked into contained 5 men, and then 3 after you let your itchy trigger finger take over.
3 guns were pointed at you in a instant, and you smirked in delight. "Drop them now!" He nodded towards your weapons. With a smirk still on your face, you let your machete clattered to the ground, but still kept Frank's shotgun in your hand. If you were going to die, you wanted it to happen with at least something that tied to Frank.
Staring them all down, you tried to wait for one of them to make the first strike— but eventually you got bored.
You hit one of the men over the head with the shotgun as you kicked one of the other one’s knee in. Without thinking, you grabbed the knife that was still painfully lodged in your thigh and pulled it out-- causing a sharp roar of pain to leave your lips. And with a menacing stare, you used that very same knife to slash the third man's throat.
In a flash of motions you turned to the next man and shoved the knife into his throat, causing him to stumble back with fearful eyes before dropping dead.
That left the last one that you practically bitch-slapped with the gun. He stared at you with wide, rage filled eyes before he grabbed you by your neck, throwing you into the table next to you. Your now open wound on your thigh got caught on a nail on the way, only tearing it open further. A cry of pure pain left your lips at the act, but you recovered quickly, turning to the man with a evil glare.
You let out a yell as you tackled him to the floor, letting all of your anger out as you brutally laid punch after punch to his face until he was unrecognizable. You let out another broken cry as you left one last hit to his bloodied face.
Ragged breaths left your lips as came back down to reality, shakily standing up. Your knuckles were bruised and cracked, and you knew it would hurt like a bitch later, but as of now, you really didn't care. It would all be worth it in the end. So, without another thought you grabbed your machete and the shotgun and headed out the room.
There was only one room left. It was at the very end of the hallway, and you silently prayed Frank was in there. At this point, after all the people you had just killed and fought— you were fucking tired, and quite frankly; fed the fuck up.
You cocked the gun with nothing in your brain other than bloodlust and kicked open the door harshly. “Where the fuck is he?!” You bellowed as you stormed in, gun raised. You had tunnel vision, seeing nothing over than the targets before you.
8 or 9 men were scattered around the room, and before you knew it bullets were flying everywhere. With wide eyes you dove down for cover behind a fallen table, and on the way down you were grazed by several bullets. Your hand flew up to the blood you felt trickling down your ribs, a low groan leaving your lips. You fought tears of pain as you pulled yourself together, reminding yourself of the goal: Get to Frank.
“Come out, now!” One of them yelled, and it only fueled your anger further.
“Fine.” You growled, standing up and shooting the first two men in front of you. Standing up, you ran to the side of the wall where their bullets couldn’t hit you. You let out a small laugh to yourself— you had to admit, you kind of missed this.
The chaos of it all.
You were raised in the chaos of this— you were brought up in the Red Room, killing people all around the globe. Yelena Belova, one of your fellow past widows, had broken you out some time ago and you tried to give the life up, but it seemed it was in your DNA.
Who were you to fight that?
You shook the thought away just as quickly as it arrived— you had more pressing issues right now.
You pulled the pistol out of your boot, peaking around the corner and picking off 3 men, leaving now 4.
“You fuckin’ crazy bitch!” One of them roared, running at you with a dagger.
“Fuck off!” You screamed back, blocking his attempted strike by grabbing his wrist and twisting his arm, the man now yelling out in pain. He dropped the dagger that was clutched in his hand, while you caught with your free hand, not hesitating to plunge it into his heart.
“Y/N?!” You heard that familiar voice yell, causing you freeze. His call made a soft smile spread across your features, but at the same time ignited that dedication to get to him now.
You grabbed Frank’s shotgun, cocking it and getting your pistol in your other hand. And with a devilish glare, you turned the corner and proceeded to pick off the rest of the men that remained.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you realized they were all dead. Turning on your heel, you ran to room in the back that was connected to the room you had been in, throwing open the door urgently.
“Frank,” You practically whispered. He was bound a chair by chains, his face bruised and bloodied.
“Holy shit.” He murmured, taking in your current state. You didn’t know what you looked like, but you were sure it was nothing short of horrific. You were covered head to toe in a mixture of your own blood and your victim's, wounds and bruises littering your entire body. "Christ, woman, what the fuck happened out there?" He asked with a worried tone.
You aimed your pistol at his chains. “Don’t move.” You spoke gently, yet firm. He nodded, giving you the okay to take the shot. Once you did, he was up and bringing you into his arms almost immediately.
The weapons in your hands clattered to the ground in an instant as you let yourself melt in his arms. You were exhausted. Due to your search for Frank and also just your pure anxiety in being away from him, you had barely slept in the past couple days. That definitely came back to bite you in the ass, and on top of it all, you were in a lot of pain. The kisses Frank was leaving to the side of your head made you feel a lot better, though.
You pulled back just a bit to cup his jaw, your eyes scanning his injuries. “Are you okay?”
He let out a dry chuckle before turning his hand slightly to leave a kiss to your palm. “Baby, you are in no position to be askin’ me that right now.” His hands came up to cradle to your face, and you nestled your face into his palm. "Are you okay?"
You managed to give him a smile. “I'm better now.” You let out a shaky breath. Now that you had found Frank, the pain really began to set in. You wouldn’t let yourself feel all of the pain until you knew you were safe— and you now knew that Frank had you. “They’re all dead.” You told him. "I killed them all."
“Damn,” He licked his lips, staring down at you. “And here I was thinkin’ no one was comin’ for me.”
“You should know by now I’ll always come for you.” You expressed, leaning up to connect your lips. You didn’t care if you were covered in blood, or that Frank had been tied to a chair for 2 days— you missed him.
You loved him. And you would set the world on fire for him.
Once you two pulled apart, he stared into your eyes. “I fuckin’ love you.”
You giggled softly, gazing up at him lovingly. “I love you, Frank.”
frank castle with a reader that’s just as fucked in the head as him. like CRAZY AS HELL (but in love)
girl. this might be my fav request in a MOMENTTT yes yes yesssss i love this idea !!!!!! writing immediately thank you sm anon
update: its posted here!
sooo im rewatching daredevil rn … if you’d like pls send me matt murdock or frank castle requests 🙏
Frank Castle is the type of person who would die for Karen Page
Karen Page is the type of person who would live for Frank Castle
I love them
I just hope that Netflix ships Kastle as much as we do so they won't cancel The Punisher
SAVE THEM NETFLIX!!!!! PLEASE?!?!?!?
So... The Punisher 2 trailer....
Where the hell are
- Karen??
- Micro??
- A puppy???
- Kastle??
- Is Deborah Ann Woll still in the show??
Frank Castle is a good man
He is always soft to women and children
Even softer to Karen
Brings flowers when he visits a women's house
Play with kids
Loyal to his friends
KAREN
In Cold Blood (pt 1)
Synopsis: A slew of murders have you and the other detectives scratching their heads, but the killer himself seems beyond fascinated with you.
Warnings: This is probably my most warning heavy story- mentions and graphic descriptions of blood/gore, death, murder (serial killer!billy is a giveaway), weapons including gun/knives, home invasion mentions, eventual smut lets just say EVERYTHING IS 18+- read at your own discretion
Tag list: @vermillionwinter , @nerdyreaderpapi
You turned a corner, feet hitting the pavement as fast as they could. Water splashed up from a puddle but it didn’t slow you down. The buzz of traffic didn’t calm your racing heart as you skidded to a stop down a corner alley.
How had this happened? You were so sure of yourself. So careful. At least that’s how it felt.
It had started innocently enough, well maybe innocent wasn’t the correct choice of words.
It had started with the death of a local businessman. He’d been found in an alleyway, shoved between trash bins. Multiple knife wounds scattered across his torso and neck. You’d been called to investigate the scene with the other officers.
It had left your mouth dry, the other officers you worked with were rarely left speechless but this….this did it. The brutality of it was unmatched from anything you’d investigated before.
Then a few weeks later there was a woman found murdered in a similar fashion, body left in Central Park for anyone to find. Then there was another and another. It made your stomach turn.
Then you found yourself volunteering to be on the case. To figure out who the bastard was. Why they were doing this. And to put them away for as long as possible.
The longer you researched and devoted your time and energy to figuring out how to catch the murderer the less it made sense. There was no rhyme or reason or outright motives that stood out to you. Just a building body count.
That’s when you got the first call.
You’d been working from the office late one night, pouring over the latest crumb of evidence you’d been able to scrounge up. A blurry cctv blip of footage capturing a large figure in a black hoodie up over their head leaving the building where the last victim was found.
The noise jolted you from your seat, the blinds drawn in your office and the steady hum of the fluorescent lights overhead wearing away at your eyes. It was late. Very late. No one you knew would be up at this hour. Not unless it was an emergency.
You didn’t recognize the number. So not a friend or relative popping up on caller ID. You let it ring another few times before sighing, with a roll of your eyes and sliding to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Detective Archer.” You felt your body freeze at your name being used. The voice crackled on the other end. Deep. Male. But it was edited somewhat, like he was speaking through some sort of device to conceal his voice.
“Who is this?”
“Ah ah ah that’s on a need to know basis.”
“And I don’t need to know?” You pushed away from your desk standing to walk over to your closed office door. Peeking through the blinds to see the still empty office.
“I’m not in your office if that’s what you think.” Your blood ran cold as you froze in place, fingers just pulling away from the door.
“Are you…watching me?” Your eyes flitted to the windows on the right side of your office, rushing over and drawing the blinds closed.
“Always.”
The word hung on the phone line, heavy silence.
“You’re him.”
“There’s a lot of “hims” out there, I’m going to need you to be more specific.” He was taunting you.
“The killer.” Laughter rang out in the other end.
“It took you a little while there, detective. Here I was thinking you were the top of your class.”
“Why are you calling me?” You moved back to your desk wondering if there was some way you could trace the call from your cell phone.
“To ask what your favorite scary movie is.”
“Fuck off.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re gonna get.”
“Come on Detective, play a little game with me.”
“Is that what you think this is?” You hissed into the phone. “A fuckin game?” Your heart pounded in your chest. Rage bubbling up and leeching into your voice.
“It is to me.”
Then with that the line went dead. You swore, tossing your phone onto your desk falling back into your seat.
Hands scratching your head, fingers twining furiously through your hair. Eyes squeezed shut as you’re cursed once more before calling your boss and the rest of your team to alert them to this new development.
Another victim was found a few weeks later, a single stab wound to the chest right over the heart. A Large Bowie knife was left in the body, with a swath of paper folded and held in place by the weapon.
You talked with witnesses and scribbled into your notes after consulting with another officer before turning on your heel to head back to the office.
Knowing tonight you’d drink a pot of coffee and review how out of character this kill was from the previous victims. Was this even done by the same person? Did you have another murderer out there to watch out for? It made your head spin.
“Detective, I think you need to see this.” A cop named Thomas motioned you over to him holding out the piece of paper just removed from the victim.
You took the now unfolded paper from him eyes roving the page. A large red heart was drawn on it with blood. Whether it was the victims or someone else’s you couldn’t be sure, but that wasn’t the thing that worried you most.
Inside the heart was writing, scratchy red ballpoint pen spelling out in large letters, “Archer.” A gift, a love letter, a taunt, you weren’t sure which one it was but it made your blood run cold.
Hot water poured over your skin in the shower, hoping the scalding heat would strip away the knot in your stomach. Whenever you closed your eyes all you could see was the heart, teasing you.
The paper had been placed in an evidence bag and was now being tested but you couldn’t shake the visual from your head. Turning the water off and reveling in the steam before you wrapped a towel around yourself stepping into the bedroom.
All your scattered notes and random photographs littered your home desk and you were starting to feel pathetic at your lack of purchase on this slippery case. How many people needed to end up dead because you couldn’t do your fucking job?
Then the phone rang. A million thoughts ran through your head before you said fuck it and answered.
“Hello?”
“Did you get my gift?”
“You’re sick you know that?” You flipped on the tracer you’d installed on your phone after your last call.
“Detective, I’m wounded. I gave you a lovely gesture of our relationship.”
“The only relationship we have is going to be when I arrest your ass and put you away for the rest of your life.”
“I love when you flirt back with me.”
You rubbed your brow absentmindedly, hating how limited you felt. How you felt like back in training being ridiculed by higher ups.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I enjoy talking to you, Detective.”
“No. Killing people. Innocent people.”
“Who said they were innocent?”
“Who says you get to be judge, jury and executioner?”
If you stalled long enough it’d give your tracer a better chance of locking onto where the call was coming from. Giving you a shred of further evidence.
“You look very nice tonight.”
Your fist subconsciously gripped your towel tighter to your chest. The curtains in your apartment were drawn, and you had checked the lock over four times out of habit.
“How do you know how I look?” You wedged your phone into the crook of you neck, holding it in place as you reached into the end table pulling out your gun and checking the chamber was full.
“Are you close to catching me, Detective? Have I been occupying as much space in your mind as you do mine?”
You padded slowly down the hall, weapon held firm, pointing into each room as you passed. The heat from the bathroom emanated into the kitchen and you swiveled around the corner poised for an attack.
It never came.
He was toying with you. He wasn’t here.
“Why would I be in your head?”
You heard a thump back in your bedroom and the hair on the back of your neck stood up at the sound. The line was silent as you waited for a response, slowly inching back towards your room, gun held aloft.
The only sound you could hear was your own heart thundering in your chest as you eased into the doorway, ears straining to hear any other movement. In a rush if adrenaline you tossed the phone onto the bed throwing open the closet door.
It was empty.
Keeping with your agitated pace, falling to the floor and checking under the bed only to see it bare as well. Angrily snatching the phone back and biting into the mouthpiece.
“Where the fuck are you?!”
At that you heard footsteps back from the bathroom, thumping through your apartment and your front door being thrown open, the alarm blaring.
Scrambling to catch up you stumbled into your living room and were greeted by the open door leading into the hallway of your apartment complex broken open, the chain lock busted and scraping back and forth as it hung limply.
The line went dead and you immediately dialed 911, waiting for a familiar operator to answer as you relayed your predicament. When you heard confirmation they were on the way you rushed back into the bathroom to grab your robe.
There on the mirror was drawn a heart, like that from the note found on the victim. The condensation beaded up as it bled in various water droplets from the remaining steam from the shower.
The months continued on, all leads turning up nil. The tracer you had used only led you to a discarded burner phone in a trash bin by soho. The murders had briefly slowed down.
The phone calls however had not.
Their length and timing varied but it was always the same voice. Slightly skewed but a man’s voice all the same. It had helped you rule out a female suspect.
The continued goading wasn’t the main thing grating on your nerves. No it would be much simpler if that was it. The true horror was how you began to wait for the calls.
You refused to use the term, enjoy. But they no longer caused your blood to run cold in the same way. One day to your absolute dismay after a long stressful meeting you actually felt your shoulders unclench when your phone rang.
“Long day Archer?”
“How can you ask me that when you’re the source of my stress?”
“Am I?”
Besides the phone calls there was the disturbing hints of affection. A bouquet had appeared at your desk at work one day. No note, but you didn’t need one to know who it was from.
Then a bottle of expensive wine was left on the steps of the precinct with another card bearing only a simplistically drawn heart inside.
The bottle was immediately taken in as evidence and dusted for prints. There obviously were none. No matter what you did he was always ten steps ahead. 5D chess in the most infuriating way.
“How was the wine?”
“If you’re so aware of my every move you’d know I didn’t drink it.”
“Shame, 1913 was supposedly a good year for that merlot.”
“I’m growing tired of our Hannibal Lecter and Clarice dynamic.”
“Who says that’s what we are?”
“WE are nothing.”
A tsk’ing crackled over the line.
“You and I both know that’s not true.”
“Then what are we?”
You put the phone on speaker as you pulled out a container of chinese food leftovers from your fridge. Popping the lid off and shoveling it into a bowl before sliding it into the microwave.
A chuckle came from the other end. You hated how it didn’t feel gross and malicious like it should.
You continued on, mind listing a slew of options as you watched your food rotate in the microwave.
“Phantom and Christine. Michael Myers and Laurie strode. Billy Loomis and Sidney Prescott.”
“You never did tell me your favorite scary movie.”
you sighed dramatically as the oven dinged and you removed your food, returning it to the counter, pulling your hair into a messy bun.
“You do look stunning Detective. I’m shocked someone of your caliber went into law enforcement.”
“I think it’s unfair you know what I look like and yet Ive never seen you before.”
“Nice try Archer.” You couldn’t suppress the small laugh that shook your shoulders a tad.
“It was worth a try.”
Walking into work the next morning you were immediately greeted by another detective, John Lawson. His cheeks were ruddy and he seemed to be out of breath.
“What’s going on?”
“We have a photo of our killer.”
You felt your stomach flip, either from excitement or nerves.
“What?”
He took out a printed sheet of paper, it showed a dim alleyway and a victim from the other night slumped in the background.
Sure enough there in the foreground was a man, in a black hoodie, black pants and military boots. The hood pulled up over his head and underneath the hood a stark white mask, covered in a multitude of scratches and cracks that seemed to be painted on.
He was staring straight at the camera, knife glinting in one hand, the other raised in a mock wave.
“Smug bastard.”
the way my respect for an actor skyrockets when i hear that they actually research their character and reference the original source material, especially when explaining why they're unhappy with what the director/script is doing with said character
Karen “sniped a bitch with no hesitation” Paige x Frank “I respect women but also kill people” Castle is my fav season 2 ship.
that raw disbelief in frank’s voice tho when he got all WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DONT HAVE TO KEEP YOU SAFE still makes me shiver just thinking about it
II main II
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