#Is there anyone in the Kastle fam that can help me out? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ninzied · 3 years

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that which we call a rose

based on the prompt: a hello/goodbye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

happy valentine’s day, kastle fam!

On the second Thursday of every month, Karen can’t help the extra spring in her step. There’s no point in trying to hide it—she does have an office adjacent to Matt’s, after all—but until she knows what it even is, she’ll let her friends draw their own conclusions.

This month is no exception.

“So…hot date tonight?” asks Foggy, precisely ten minutes after Matt’s said goodbye. Though Foggy’s doing his best to sound nonchalant, he’s clearly been waiting all day to spring the question on her. “You haven’t stopped smiling since you walked in this morning. And that was before we even had coffee. What gives?”

“Not a date,” says Karen lightly. “But a something.”

“Wait.” Foggy looks up from his briefcase, dropping every pretense now. “Yeah? That’s great! I’m so happy for you, Karen.”

She looks a little bemusedly at him. “Thanks, Foggy, but it’s not a big deal. Just takeout and whatever’s on TV tonight, probably.”

“Hey,” says Foggy. “Not gonna lie, but that sounds pretty appealing right now.”

Karen lets out a laugh. “Why? What’s stopping you and Marci?”

“You know how she gets about this kind of thing.” Foggy glances at his watch, and groans. “Shoot. I still have to pick up flowers. I can’t afford to be late—literally. This place had like a five-month wait list for tonight, and I think there’s a surcharge if we hold up one of their tables.” He throws her a rueful smile. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” says Karen, in a tone that she hopes will come across as commiserating rather than slightly confused. Was there some memo about today that she missed?

“And you have a good ‘not a date but a something,’” says Foggy, practically beaming at her. “You can”—he gives a comical wag of his eyebrow—”not tell me all about it tomorrow, sound good?”

“Sure,” says Karen, smiling distractedly. She waits until Foggy has gone, the door closed securely behind him. And then she picks up her tiny desk calendar, which she’d forgotten to flip over to February, and looks down at today’s date.

Oh. God.

…

The signs are everywhere, on her walk home from the subway.

For the life of her, Karen doesn’t know how she could’ve missed them before. Paper hearts plastered on storefront windows. Floral shops spilling out onto the sidewalks. Restaurants boasting their two-for-one specials. And the couples. All the couples, wherever she turns.

By the time she’s at her apartment, Karen is nearing levels of genuine panic.

She hangs up her work clothes as if on autopilot. She pulls on a worn pair of leggings and a soft, oversized sweater before pausing to reconsider, and then she changes out of that too. This isn’t just any second Thursday of the month anymore.

She checks her phone, in case Frank has canceled.

She does have a text from him, but all it says is that he’s running about a half hour late—his latest demolition site is all the way up in the Bronx, and traffic is a bitch right now—but how does she feel about Vietnamese for dinner?

There’s no doubt in her mind that the day has not occurred to him either.

Perfect. I’ll be ready with the wine, she sends back, and immediately wonders what has come over her. Beer would’ve been the more appropriate choice for this very much not-a-date, and besides that, they never drink wine together. Whiskey, sometimes, but they’d finished off her last bottle of Maker’s the last time he was here.

Wine is different. Wine means something. Right?

What was she thinking?

And what on earth is she supposed to wear?

…

Karen answers the door an hour later, back in her sweater and leggings. She breathes a small sigh of relief to find Frank there in his typical attire—jeans, with a faded black henley, and a crooked half-grin as he steps over the threshold into her apartment.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he says back, like it’s just another day. Like this is just another dinner for them to catch up. He holds up a bag and says, “Hungry?”

“Starving.” She reaches for the food so he can get out of his coat, but he waves her gently off.

“’S’okay, I got it.” He looks at her, his gaze going warm. “Think you said there’d be wine?”

And just like that, the rest of her anxiety melts away. There’s still a light flutter of nerves in her stomach, but that’s something else.

Something that she’s always going to feel whenever she’s around him, whether it’s Valentine’s Day or not.

…

Despite how casually Frank is dressed, there’s always a sense of formality to the way he moves around in her place. Like he’s not quite sure whether he’s intruding or not.

He carefully folds his jacket over the back of her couch before taking the food to her kitchen, unpacking each dish as she pulls out the wine.

She tells him about work—minus Foggy’s theories on how she planned to spend her evening—and Frank doesn’t say much, but she knows that he’s listening, attentive to her as ever.

Somewhere between the first and second glass of wine is when he starts to loosen a little, leaning his elbows onto the counter, swiping the last bite of spring roll from her plate.

He tells her small stories about how work has been going for him, and each time she laughs he ducks his head down, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

They end up eating half the food before realizing they’re still standing in her kitchen.

Frank takes their wine to the couch, and she turns the TV on at low volume, flipping aimlessly through the channels.

They settle on a cooking show, which would’ve surprised her one year ago, before these Thursday night dinners. Before he teased her for the one frying pan that she owned and resigned himself to eating takeout from then on. Before they learned to laugh about things like what Matt said at work that day, or the fact that Frank hasn’t had to kill anyone with a sledgehammer. Not recently, anyway.

“All right,” he says, pointing at the pasta on her TV screen. “Next month, we’re doing this at my place for a change, and I’m making you that.”

She doesn’t know why she does it.

Maybe it’s his casual reference to next times. Maybe it’s how closely they’ve wound up sitting together, with her thigh snug against his, the arm he’s draped warmly over the back of the couch right behind her.

Maybe it’s the way this not-so-random Thursday in February feels as though it could become something like every day, for them.

“Deal.” She puts a hand on his knee without even thinking about it, smiling as she tells him, “All right, I’m going to go to the bathroom real quick.”

“Okay,” says Frank, turning to smile back at her.

It happens so fast, so instinctively that before she knows what she’s doing, she’s leaning in, and pressing her mouth briefly to his as she stands from the couch.

Like this is an everyday kind of thing for them too, kissing each other before one of them’s about to leave the room.

Karen makes it down the hall without any memory of how her legs have carried her there. Oh God. Oh God.

Her cheeks are flaming when she shuts the bathroom door behind her.

…

After splashing water on her face, and dabbing it dry with shaky hands, she looks in the mirror and wills every last part of her being to get a freaking grip. This is Frank, and she can be honest with him. Even if it means being honest with herself.

She knows what this is. She knows what she wants it to be. And she’s done letting either of them think that anything less is going to be enough for her.

Karen takes a deep breath and steps out of the bathroom.

…

She hadn’t been gone long, but apparently it was long enough.

The TV’s shut off, their wine glasses cleared from the coffee table. He’s not on the couch.

He’s not—anywhere in her living room.

But as she moves closer, she sees his coat still folded there, and then she hears the sound of movement in the kitchen. She doesn’t know whether she’s more relieved or apprehensive at the prospect of facing him right now, but she supposes she’s grateful she even has the option to decide between the two.

Frank’s clearing the counter, so she can’t get a good read on his face. He’s quiet, though, brows creased together even more somberly than usual, and the fact that he won’t meet her eye should tell her everything he’s not saying out loud.

Their leftovers are stacked neatly next to the takeout bag. He slides the bag out of her way as she picks up the food containers, storing them in her fridge. There’s a six-pack of beer on one of the lower shelves, the bottles clinking together as she closes the door.

“Frank,” she says, careful not to look over at him, “I think we should talk about what we’re doing here.”

He swallows audibly. And then he says, “Yeah. I know.”

She glances at him, wishing she weren’t as surprised as she feels. She’d expected more resistance from him, if not outright denial. It’s unfair of her, she knows; Frank’s abysmal track record notwithstanding, he’s still here, despite the fact that she’d just snuck a kiss out of him without his permission. That has to mean something.

Right?

God love him, though, but he can’t seem to keep his hands still. He grips the edge of the counter, and then reaches into the takeout bag, a rustle of paper and plastic that echoes overloudly in the silence between them.

Karen presses her lips together, biting back a refrain about how now is probably not the time for dessert.

Instead, Frank pulls out a small bouquet of white roses.

She stares as he sets them down on the counter. When he looks up at her, it’s with an intensity that nearly knocks her off her feet, and she grips the counter edge too in order to steady herself.

His gaze is unwavering on hers. “I’ve been thinking about this day for a while.”

She blinks at him, a part of her still wondering if it’s wrong of her to hope. “You have?”

“More than anything.” He shifts closer, and now she can see the last of the fear in him too, how he’s finally reached past it for something—for more. The edge of her own fear starts to soften, giving way to that fluttering lightness only Frank can make her feel.

Karen steps forward, marveling at the shared heat between them without their bodies actually touching. “And what, exactly, have you been thinking?”

Frank brings his hand up to the back of her neck, and she closes her eyes as he pulls her in.

He kisses her, and it’s everything Karen has wanted, everything she could only pretend that she hadn’t been waiting for all this time. He kisses her, and she knows how long he’s been wanting, and how hard he’s been waiting for this too.

He draws in a hoarse breath when they part. “I wanted to get this right,” he murmurs.

“Well,” says Karen, trying—failing—not to smile, “you want to know what I think?”

He tightens his arms around her. “What?”

“I think this is a good place to start,” she says, and leans in to kiss him again.

#kastle #kastle ff #kastlenetwork

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mcgills · 6 years

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I would just like to say: KASTLE FAM THAT YEAR AND EIGHT MONTH WAIT WAS SO WORTH IT. WHO DO I HAVE TO GIVE MY FIRST BORN TO FOR ANOTHER SERIES OF FRANK AND KAREN? I WILL DO IT.

As you can tell:

Yes, I finished TP Thursday night.

Yes, I am writing from the grave as previously foretold.

Yes, I am absolutely ecstatic with the storyline/writing etc. for Frank/Karen AND Frank and Karen. SO, SO PLEASED

There is so much between them SO MUCH. And it’s all so wonderfully beautiful and heart breaking and angsty and moving and undefinable and perfect. I CANNOT BELIEVE OUR BLESSINGS. A hug (for a bit too long), heart to hearts, Karen is family, he brought her flowers, cheek kisses, Karen calling bullshit, their mutual worry for the other, TEAMWORK, the white wire, Karen’s handbag and her hand cannon, KAREN DEFENDER OF FRANK, FRANK DEFENDER OF KAREN (aka stfu everyone if you can’t say/do anything nice don’t say/do anything at all bc Karen and Frank are like one unit k), did I mention TEAMWORK, respect and HONESTY, he was legit going to go out and meet the police and she stopped him and helped him get away, “I WILL COME FOR YOU,” AND THEN THEY GOT INTO THAT ELEVATOR AND COMPLETELY LET THEIR GUARDS DOWN. All that terror at losing Karen come to life after the adrenaline rush...LIKE HE HAS NEVER LOOKED THAT TERRIFIED?? and the fact that she’s safe just bleeds out of him with those tears in his eyes; and the tears in hers for all she feels-the heartbreak, the loneliness, the care; and her touching his shoulder and lingering and looking at him until he looks at her and him completely unable to resist leaning his forehead against hers (for a moment I legit thought they just might kiss but I am SO much more happy with this. It was like 1000000% more intimate and fitting for where they are I want a slow burn an TTC stuff so yes - and man oh man, the things to build on from this...bc Deb and Jon filmed multiple versions of varying “romantic” degrees from 1-10 apparently so the show runners/editors could choose the route they wanted to go and it’s hard for me to believe there was a take more simultaneously angsty and romantic than this one aka PERFECT aka I could def see the writers going there in a way that fits how unconventional and undefinable their relationship is eventually just by this one take, which is ALL I could wish for them I CAN’T), closing their eyes, and just finding a moment’s peace and comfort and safety and trust and LOVE in one another away from their loneliness and in the one place they feel safe and calm and RIGHT. She helps him remember those things. Then, Karen waking them up from the moment knowing he has to go and him kind of really not wanting to, but then trying to sober up and telling her to take care. OH LORD AND HER TEARS. Again, the mutual heartbreak and loneliness and the wish for something AFTER (whatever that currently means for her and him). And all I can think is “The people that can hurt you, the ones that can really hurt you are the ones that are close enough to do it.” IT WAS SO PERFECT CHRISTMAS CAME EARLY FOR US, FAM.

I basically loved and adored the entire show, tbh. I mean, every show has tweaks that can be made. Pacing towards the middle-I get that argument, but that’s also an argument for like 99% of the shows out there, so w/e w/e. I was enthralled the entire time. I thought Karen was amazing and wonderful and I adore her sfm (please keep building on this D@redevil s3) and while OFC her in every episode would have been gr9 I actually never thought that was going to happen anyway. The end product was everything I could have hoped for in total over any small things which could have been changed, so I have like a zero negativity tolerance right now for Karen or Frank or Karen/Frank or the show in general. Butthurt fanboys can swerve. Like I just don’t care and am kind of blocking it from my sphere of happy. Not sorry. That said I’ve not seen much negativity (and what I have I honestly can’t take seriously tbh again butthurt fanboys) it’s mostly praise and constructive crit + praise overall which is just gr9.

So, yes. My blog for the next infinity is going to be all about Frank and Karen and this show (((and the elevator scene have mercy))).

Again, not sorry.

All I can coherently provide before I go rewatch the entire series again (lol as if this was ever not going to happen) and surf through everyone’s thoughts and all the pretty gifs is this:

J0NNY BERNT@L IS AN ABSOLUTE STAR. The end. He is so, so great and I love him dearly. I watched the first ep the second it came out and knew I was done-though I kind of suspected this would be the case. Bless.

SAME TO DEB. So. Much. Love. For these talented mofos and the love and discussion and THOUGHT and respect they give to these characters and the Kastle dynamic, plus their sweetest rl friendship and all of the ace that it is. Honestly, I agree w/ Deb. Why can’t they just work together all the time?

Does anyone have any icons of the elevator bc REASONS

Lastly,

I LOVE YOU KASTLE FAM. WE DID IT.

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