do not fall in new york city.

“maybe these heels weren’t the best choice i made this morning,” she says, voice a little hoarse from talking so much today at the office; her legs are sore from walking to and fro from the archives and back to her office, and she’s none too keen about taking the subway when there’s been talk of parts of the ceiling falling at any given moment. plus, it’s stifling down there and she’s not going to stand there and wait for over an hour. / open, mutuals only.

      “yeah.  they look pretty killer,  lady.”  today’s one of those aimless days in which frank doesn’t quite know what he’s doing,  where he’s going.  he knows karen’s route home by now like the back of his hand,  in the months they’ve been together,  knows the subway routes even more.  but there’s no denying that he,  at the very least,  knew he’d find her here,  at this hour.  

       don’t believe in your own invincibility.   everyone’s weak for something.

   frank’s getting blood on the crisp white couch and the freshly waxed floor beneath him  --  knows that and knows the smell of gunpowder and smoke will be a bitch to get out of the sofa.  knows it,  doesn’t care.   

 thanks for coming to my (pointless) ted talk

❛ you have a mouth that bites quite a bit, castle. ❜ his reply is not without mirth — alas, it is what’s keeping them sane among this pile of ruins that they try catapulting towards them. the fights have been wearing them down, but he’s not about to give up now, even with the weight of concern over frank’s wellbeing dragging him down. ❛ i do not mind facing all of them, but i do not recommend it for your wellbeing. we need to understand our limits, and theirs. exploit the latter, specifically. ❜ looks away into the depth of the night from the window of this rundown motel, they’re narrowly escaping their opponents’ attention. but not for long, as always.

    “y’got that right,”  frank smirks,  though the expression quickly turns taciturn at the sharp pain behind his knee.  he steels himself in,  hears the crunch of gravel of car tires outside the closed curtains of the motel room and knows innately that they have little time,  even without sparing a glance outside.  he sighs,  heavy  --  hates cowardice more than anything,  hates running away from a fight,  but this isn’t the time to strike.  let them think they’re in control then sweep that out from under them  --  for now,  go on the down-low.  he isn’t so good at that either,  but he doesn’t anticipate that t’challa is either,  being  --  who he is.  so publicly. 

they have that in common,  at least.