Chapters Filthy Frank: Fractured Facade
A somber shade had enveloped Filthy Frank's heart. He tossed and turned like a baby, crusty with rooster sauce against his underwear from public fapping sessions. Filthy Frank pocketed his android, wounded by RobCakeran's My Little Dashie. Cyrstalline tears glossed his glorious and chiseled jawline. It all felt so familiar: the loss of a loved one, irreplaceable salience in the smile of another.
It'd been years since he'd lost his waifu, Derpy Hooves, or, Muffin; because Hasbro was too pussy to use her fan alias. The collapse of his channel only spiralled him deeper. Just yesterday, it was nuked with false flags from swagtards and weaboos. He slept beneath a tree near an elementary school. Twas the only place he could loiter in and exploit for shelter, since the rest of Ponyville thought he was disgusting and cancerous.
He'd burst into tears not minutes ago. And some shitty preschool kids had showed up to laugh at him for it. He stood his ground in shaky lips and wobbly, coin slot eyes pouring from every mascara-laden corner. Filthy Frank stomped his foot and tossed a garbage can in their direction.
"Shut up, you kids! Y-you don't know nothing! You've never read My Little Dashie, okay?!"
They mocked him harder, cackling wildly. He was so butthurt. The sheer tenacity of their insults, ranging from 'faggot' to 'buttface' to 'monkey licker' only crushed him further. His face was seething with red, all his anger rearing it's ugly and malformed malice in crinkles beneath his eyes. Frank had had enough. He was done listening to bullies and internet trolls, but most of all, he was done being an internet meme.
"Don't chu know who I am-!" He screamed, presenting his special edition Bizarre Jerry Lightsaber, which he masqueraded as a robot dildo all his life.
"Filthy Frank: anime hunter!"
A smooth, perfect battousai slash halved the tree behind them.
"Aaaaah! A robot penis!" Shrieked Silver Spoon, attracting the local security guards.
They poured in like ants, ten to thirty to twenty in that order, or so Frank had calculated. He never doubted his school of Hard Knocks basic math course. No, he'd learned all sorts of math, from unit conversion to scientific notation and tax evasion savings.
He'd trained himself with years of punching numbers into calculators. So really, he didn't learned a thing, but that was okay. Instead, he remembered his weaboo katana training from high school in Sydney's School for Special Children.
"Memories of stroking this sword are ingrained in my fists...!" He shouted, keeping them at bay with a masterful overhead blade stance.
"I've stroked my sword a thousand times! You can't beat me, because you've never trained like me! I ran everyday since I joined Kamogawa Fapping Gym, everyday to boost my stamina so I didn't cum every five minutes like... every other guy I knew!"
They fell upon him with flying kicks and dangerous wire fu maneuvers, doing what most ponies in their thirties could never even dream of. Jet Lag, the captain of Kindergarten Security, led the overly dramatic and exhuasting attack. He was the only survivor. Five of his men were side-strafed till Filfthy Frank fished for backstabs and abused the R1 button over and over till it wasn't even combat anymore. Jet Lag spoke with lag between lip movements and words.
"Sushi! Terriyaki sumo! Futanari bukkake! You might've killed my men, but you'll never take my freedom!" He barked, striking a violent pose.
A record scratch rattled his ears. Vinyl Scratch apologized, hauling her disk jockey gear all the way to central Ponyville.
"Hold on, what the fuck did you just say? Dude, that's racist as fuck- you're not even japanese, and I'm japanese and I'm really fucking offended by that gibberish shit people think is funny; like do you have no decency or something because wow what are the odds a kung fuxploitation reference was going to have Breakfast at Tiffany's levels of prejudice and arrogance, I mean really-"
Jet Lag uncapped a sharpie wakizashi from his gear belt and commited sudoku, writhing in pain and agony from the many numbers and squares he'd etched into his gut. Live by the sword, die by the sword, he grunted, barely piercing the first inch of his skin, but A for effort in theatrics, right.
"Dude what the fuck, I was just addressing your lack of morals and family values-"
"No...!" Jet Lag cursed, hacking away the ketchup and prop blood pouring out his mouth.
"There must be no... intelligent self-awareness. You must keep the masses stupid, Filthy Franku... You must keep them ignorant- only you can popularize such ashitty humah."
He died with his pants down. Because Filthy Frank pulled them down after he died.
"Haha- I love dick-"
A random schoolpony passed his way and cringed.
"No, I-I love jokes! I love dick jokes !"
Frank left his back toward the corpse. And a low, vibrant sunset settled in over the horizon. It exploded into fireworks and he almost turned around in complete panic, but he realized it was just that Trickseed bitch or whatever showing off her pyrotechnics. He sat down like a good samurai and realized a package had dropped into his pants. Frank gingerly unzipped his trousers to inspect the second biggest package he'd ever seen, the first being Prometheus's-s-s-s....
s-s-s-s...
He got a letter. The name on the envelope said... 'Derpy.'
His ex's name. It was ridiculous and couldn't possibly be true. That was what he kept telling himself. A retard couldn't write a letter. Oh and Derpy died of ass cancer three years ago. So why was he looking for her. 'Their special place', he pondered, suddenly climbing a mountain.
What could she have meant, telling him to go to their special place in the letter that wasn't written in due to a specific respect for the series that entire paragraph was referencing in the first place. The whole town could've been their special place. Frank had stumbled into Griffonstone mid-walk, between the ruined archways of a decrepit kingdom. He paced about, sullen and wordless, admiring the mediocrity of the architecture. It really was the shittiest kingdom he'd ever laid eyes on, right next to the animal kingdom, which was mostly comprised of bronies and furries.
Frank stood over a vantage point by climbing a column near the entrance. He sat against the right flat of the apex, his legs over the edge in soft, dangling limpness. He'd never been afraid of heights. He'd never been afraid of dying. But holy shit was he scared of black people.
"Did she mean the shitty lake bed covered in trash and baking powder canisters...? We spent the whole day there," He murmured, rubbing his chin with the region between his thumb and pointer finger.
"calling griffons faggots... Just the two of us, throwing trash in the water."
Frank slumped over and covered his face. He wasn't crying, he assured the readers; his eyes were just allergic to fanfiction.
Could she really be there. Could Derpy really be alive, waiting for him?
Filthy Frank: Fractured Facade
Sometimes, Frank had rather enjoyed Equestria. It was less shitty than the Earth he knew. It was less cramped and populated with swaglords up the wazoo. So one thing Frank always enjoyed was the peace and quiet in the mountains.
But, alas, his thinking space was occupied by feathered pussy. Her name was 'Grillda' or something. Frank grew tired of her hollering and bitching about how good her furry scones were. Why would furries make scones. And why would Grillda push a cart all the way out of Griffonstone to some lake bed layered in garbage.
"Hey, bird slut. Are you my forced romance." He asked, undoing his zipper.
"W-woah what the hell are you doing, dweeb? Are you some kind of retard or somethin'?" Gilda gasped, leaping backwards and shielding her eyes.
"I dunno, I just thought you were poorly-written and didn't serve any purpose but empty sex appeal and bad dialogue. Isn't that usually how pony porn works?"
Gilda smacked him backwards with her firm, beating griffon wings. Dirt, feathers and scone crumbs filled his mouth. He gagged and spit the debris away, tense and sour in every part of his body, even his AIDS-ridden ass.
"No it's not, you jackass... Just because it's fanfiction doesn't mean it's complete shit. I mean, have you even read My Little Dashie?! Or Bittersweet!? I bet you don't even know who Hotsauce is!"
Gilda pressed her talons down and pinned him against the mountainous terrain.
"Ow, fuck! That shit is sharp, Gryffindor! Can't you like pin me down on some grass or something?!"
"No! Because I don't like jackasses like you!" Gilda roared, bright crimson and fumbling atop his chest.
Frank rolled his eyes and ignored Silver Spoon holding up a white 'fuck her' sign behind some bushes. Clearly, he was supposed to come to terms with Derpy's death and have sex to nullify the pain. But holy shit, he thought; that was shallow as fuck. People didn't magically heal from bumping cocks and pussies. Grief was a strong, lasting impression. Sure there was usually romance in clopfics, at least the self-aware ones; but Frank had never read those.
"Yo, Gilldoor, or whatever your name is, let's fuck." He said, gripping her hips and drawing a cry of heat.
Filthy Frank undid his pants already and flicked her lips apart with his cock. His crown would slide between her and lick the entrance with pre-cum. Frank was barely erect, but all her moaning and growling warmed him up. A squirt of tension shot out her slit as Frank pierced her. Gilda was wobbling and collapsed densely against his sternum. A hot, oily clap had started be tween her legs and she shut her eyes to ignore it.
"F-fuck... Are humans always this hung...?" She squawked, tensing with every thrust.
Gilda curled into herself, trembling desperately against Frank. Filthy Frank was in her womb. Because wow if anyone could reach that it was an Asian comedian, because those were notorious for dick size, weren't they. Despite her empty mind, or the heat between her hindlegs melting it away, she couldn't believe she was satisfied. Frank was thick enough to make her pussy lips cling. Her lips were stuck around him and folded awkwardly when he pounded her balls-deep. Deep, sweeping strokes kissed her womb. And she screamed in hot, anxious pleasure. He was in her womb. He was melting her and thrusting while she came.
"Aaaaah! Fuckfuckfuck!"
"What's the matter, Gilda? Are you enjoying this more than you should be?" He teased, reading the cue card Silver Poon was flashing.
Hard, gutteral grunts slipped her throat. Gilda clutched his shoulders and groaned over and over. Every thrust earned one, wet clap and a squirt of girlcum. It was Gilda's first full-body orgasm. The sheer weight of every plunge shoved the juice out her snatch.
Frank clasped her rich, velvet griffon hips, intoxicated by all her squawking. Gilda would alternate between shrill bird noise and gruff tomboy groans. Gilda's will to fight had broken. She shut her eyes and clamped down on Frank's prick. A trembling, constricting tunnel forced his cream from leaving his cock. He cursed and tore his meat out her girlpocket.
"What are you-" Gilda panicked, squawking harshly as he had his way with her ass.
Frank pounded her with wide, storming claps that jiggled her everywhere. Even her wings had fluttered desparately for something to cling against, to brace against. Gilda could only lay on her stomach when Frank had slipped away to work her ass from behind. She winced as he yanked her tail up. And she fought the urge to whimper when Frank forced her balls-deep. A hot, coiling tension struck her loins. Being held in-place and fucked against the wall, she was hopeless to pretend to hate it. Frank had shattered her vaginal nerves.
Gilda was struggling to stay upright. And eventually, all his hammering forced her legs to give way. Instead of doggystyle, or ponystyle, Gilda was mounted with her heart-shaped ass straight in the air. It occurred to her that, in the midst of drooling and glancing back, her insides were pumped with cum. Warm, resplendant fucking had deadened her cognition. So all she did was babble on about how good his dick was.
Gilda fell asleep using her beak, milking his frosting stick.
Filthy Frank: Fractured Facade
Frank and Gilda actually decided on a proper dinner date. They'd picked a special spot in Griffonstone, specifically, within the castle ruins. She'd set a table for them, salvaging one from the wreckage of an old fart and his useless dining hall. No one in Griffonstone gave a shit about the old king, whatever his name was. She placed some griffon scones down on their plates and some blood pudding with fish fingers.
Filthy Frank scrunched his face in raw, uninhibited shock. The olaeginous texture of his forehead said 'I'm not fucking comfortable.' So his dinner date wiped his brow with a random sock lying about. Why a sock?
Because why the fuck would Griffonstone have napkins and towelettes. Griffons didn't need to use cups and shit. The most tablemanners they had were not eating a zebra ass-first, because nobody wanted that kind of chocolate.
"Did you just wipe my forehead with a sock. Where the fuck did you get a sock? Is that a human sock?"
"Yeah, but that's not important. Cause we don't need towels here. We don't sweat. And we don't use water outside of drinking fountains. So, what's wrong? Why you all sweaty like that?"
A pensive grimace crept over his lips. It wasn't unhappiness. Frank was plenty happy, he reasoned with her. It was all the suddenness, all the gravity of their situation. At first, he'd loved the rampant sex and multiple orgasms. But, sitting down and eating her scones, which really tasted like her pussy, he identified the problem.
"Hey, real talk, Gilda. Real talk... I'm nervous, okay. This is... this is my first real relationship since Derpy, alright. I'm older. I'm more jaded and cynical- and holy shit I don't know how to feel."
He barely had air to breathe. The end of his ranting explanation knocked the wind out of him. Frank had stammered all his life. But Gilda... Gilda and his late Derpy, they made it easier to talk. His words were jumbling beneath the precipice of speech. To his surprise, Gilda flicked her head feathers and glanced away.
"So...?" She scoffed, furrowing her brow in that cutesy, gruff manner he always loved.
"'So?' Whaddyou mean 'so?' Gilda, this is a huge problem. I mean, what is the state of our relationship. I barely know you okay, this isn't some dumb visual novel where we talk once and we fuck happily ever after. You're still a person to me, you know...? This is some scary shit. What if you don't even want me outside of sex? What if I'm... too much of a jerk for you?"
His furtive compassion had finally revealed itself. It broke her grimace and sculpted a smile, a smile not for her, or him... but them.
"What kind of jerk thinks like that? Cause I haven't seen a jerk like that before, Frank... You might be a spastic faggot. And you might be rude. Or anxious. But, here's the truth, ya dweeb..."
Gilda cleared the table and splayed herself all over it. She held her hindlegs open and batted her eyelashes.
"So am I."
They locked eyes. Gilda was a deep pinot noir. And though he fumbled with undoing his zipper, she did it with her hindlegs, graceful and timid beneath her bully exterior. Before he could say a word, before he could tremble an apology or words of love, she took a talon to his lips and pulled him down...
They stayed together and soon, held hands.
"Frank... who cares if we aren't perfect for each other. Nobody's perfect for each other. Everyone fights. Everyone has their doubts. Love isn't about tellin' who feels what and why that is.
It's about bein' together and caring for each other. The first time we met, I thought you were a jackass. I thought you were self-centered. But... Frank, look at how scared you sound. Look at how... hard it is to talk about leaving..."
He closed his eyes and listened to Gilda, his most recent and last betrothed.
"Now quit talkin'. Just love me as much as you can. Kiss me, want me... and never look back."
That night, they were hailed by all the stars in the sky. And all the stars, from red dwarf, to supernova, to shooting stars, wept in awe of their promise. Frank held her talons between his fingers and begged her 'don't ever let me go.' Till the day she died, Gilda had never looked back. For the rest of his life, he said goodbye to the pain of loneliness and kept a picture of Her in his locket. Pictured within was someone special... his very own, very beloved Gilda Gruff. The years were kind to him, Frank reminisced, pulling a chair up to sit there one last time. It happened to be the table their first date took place. A rigid acid ate away at his heart and he knew it was time. Filthy Frank set his head down and held hands with the image of Her, the love of his life.
He sat alone on his deathbed slipping away, lost in phantom lullabies of griffon kisses.
Author's Note
The End.
