#or makes-you-cry-in-a-cathartic-way emotional

[captainoftheussthagomizer]

”Some people work for money, fame, whatever. I - I danced because it felt like flying, freedom in a life where that was hard to come by.”

-Benzaiton Steel, The Penumbra Podcast, S2E23

[oliversrarebooks]

I saw a post wondering why people write whump and it got me to thinking why I originally was fascinated by any whumpy content as a child.

I think for me, it was an escapist way to validate my emotional pain. Growing up, I felt awful and anxious and terrified all the time, but because I wasn't being beaten or physically neglected or abused in a way that was obviously visible to others, it didn't feel real. It didn't feel like I was "allowed" to have those awful twisted-up feelings. And when I tried to talk about them to anyone, I was always dismissed -- there's nothing to be scared of, there's nothing to cry about, what's wrong with you?

Watching characters go through awful things and imagining myself going through those awful things was cathartic. If I were caught in a snowstorm and dying of hypothermia, or rushed into emergency surgery from a burst appendix, or abducted by aliens, or kidnapped and tortured -- then these awful feelings inside me would make sense. I'd be "allowed" to feel sad and scared.

There's also the intoxicating allure of helplessness. When you're parentified as a child, it feels like everything falls on your shoulders. You're ten years old and responsible for keeping your parents happy and their marriage together on top of perfect grades and perfect behavior. Wouldn't it be nice if you were put in a situation where you didn't have to do anything? Wouldn't it be nice in an awful way to be laid up in a hospital bed with some horrible disease or tied to a chair awaiting rescue or hypnotized into a trance?

Like the only way I could imagine resting my anxious brain was being kidnapped or mind controlled!

And then if the whump includes comfort, that's even better, because not only was it totally valid for you to feel awful, other people are actually trying to make you feel better! They bring you blankets and hot drinks and medicine instead of telling you you're being dramatic and to suck it up.

So for me, that's a lot of why whump can be so comforting.

[novlr]

How do you write characters who ignore their feelings

When you write characters who ignore their feelings, you delve into a complex psychological landscape that, if done well, can resonate deeply with readers. These characters are walking contradictions, their emotions simmering just beneath the surface. This tension between their inner experiences and external expressions makes them fascinating and relatable to readers.

Behaviour

Disregard their own emotional well-being

Focus on logic and facts

Appear stoic or unfazed in stressful scenarios

Engage in compulsive behaviours as a distraction

Will take on burdens without complaining

Avoid conversations about their feelings

Can be reliable in a crisis

Immerse themselves in work or hobbies

Seen as cold or insensitive by others

Exhibit control issues, and micromanaging tendencies

Interactions

Difficulty forming deep, emotional connections

Uncomfortable with physical displays of affection

Struggle to empathise with others’ feelings

Change the subject when discussions turn emotional

Appear indifferent or detached in social settings

Perceived as blunt or straightforward in their communication

Offer practical solutions to problems, rather than emotional support

Have a small, close-knit circle of friends, if any

Inadvertently hurt others by dismissing their emotions

Often seen as the ‘rock’ or ‘anchor’ by their peers

Body language

Cross arms or create physical barriers when emotional topics arise

Maintain a steady, controlled posture

Rarely exhibit nervous ticks or fidgeting

Minimal eye contact during emotional conversations

Often have a rigid or stiff walk or stance

Avoid touch or recoil slightly from unexpected contact

Neutral or hard to read facial expressions

Look away or distance themselves from emotional displays

Rarely cry or show signs of emotional distress in public

Likely to control voice pitch and volume meticulously, even when agitated

Attitude

A practical and no-nonsense demeanour

Often skeptical of emotional reasoning or decisions

May seem dismissive or cynical about sentimentality

Value strength, self-sufficiency, and independence

Pride themselves on not ‘giving in’ to emotions

Can be incredibly self-disciplined and focused

View emotional displays as weaknesses or inconveniences

Have a strong drive to maintain composure under pressure

Sometimes accused of lacking passion or enthusiasm

Can come across as disinterested or aloof

Positive story outcomes

Learn to acknowledge and accept their emotions in a healthy way

Build stronger, more genuine relationships through vulnerability

Find themselves more at peace after emotional breakthroughs

Gain respect from others for their growth and emotional maturity

Overcome past traumas that caused them to suppress their feelings

Develop a more balanced approach to problem-solving

Become a role model for others struggling with emotional expression

Facilitate a cathartic moment that resolves a central conflict

Experience personal breakthroughs leading to unexpected joy

Discover hidden strengths through the acceptance of weakness

Negative story outcomes

Relationships may deteriorate because of emotional neglect

They could face a breakdown from accumulated stress

Might cause unintended harm to themselves or others

Risk becoming isolated because of their lack of emotional openness

Can suffer from health issues related to suppressed emotions

Might miss out on life-changing opportunities because of fear of vulnerability

Could be overtaken by their emotions in a critical moment

May lose the trust or respect of peers who crave emotional honesty

Potentially fail to resolve a major conflict because of emotional barriers

Their growth as a character might stagnate, leading to a tragic outcome

Helpful Vocabulary

Aloof

Detached

Dismissive

Stoic

Impassive

Restrained

Unflappable

Resolute

Suppressed

Guarded

Inexpressive

Dispassionate

Self-contained

Unemotional

Nonreactive

Disconnected

Inhibited

Controlled

Reticent

Reserved

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Cookie's Fic Recs

I feel like no one really does rec lists anymore! But last night I was feeling and sappy and mushy and decide to put together my own little list of fics I love. These are in no particular order, and they don't follow any real theme/tropes other than I dearly love them all, and you should definitely give them a read!

*I tried to tag everyone I could find a blog for, but if I missed anyone, please let me know I can tag them!

The Instinctual Gravitation Towards Warmth by kimkhimhant (@kimkhimhant)

This is my comfort fic. No joke, this is what I read when I want to die. It’s angsty as all hell, it’s made me cry, but it is so indescribably good. Kim is an addict going through recovery, finding love and family along the way. He hits rock bottom—arguably multiple times—but always claws his way back, always with the support of the people that love him. It’s such a beautifully written and cathartic story, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read it. But it’s almost certainly the fic I’ve reread the most. 

Error in the Code by BlackwaterVial (@blackwatervial)

Sneaking this VegasPete onto my otherwise KimChay list bc it altered me. I think most people already know what it is, but jic: it’s a sci-fi/cyberpunk/android AU, and it’s one of the best things I’ve ever read. I go feral for androids and this fic delivers in all the best ways. The world building alone makes me weep. But all of the characters interactions, the way we get such an in depth feel for everyone despite the limited PoV, and the most satisfying take I’ve seen on android artificial intelligence ever—I can’t recommend this story enough. 

Idiots & Idioms by snickerdoodlles (@snickerdoodlles)

This one is actually a series, and it's genuinely so much fun to read. For the most part it's a SocMed fic with Chay taking over Wik's twitter and making it everyone's problem, and it's fkn hysterical. This one is actually a series, and it's genuinely so much fun to read. For the most part it's a SocMed fic with Chay taking over Wik's twitter and making it everyone's problem, and it's fkn hysterical.

Silver for Truth by snickerdoodlles (@snickerdoodlles)

This fic is the Kim & Khun vs. Tawan team-up we deserve. Kim is a ruthless, demented bitch, that's too cool to beat Tawan to death bc what if he messes up his wrists right before a show?? Big, get 'im. Kim is the feral-est cat ever, leaving behind evidence and bodies for Kinn bc saying "hey bro, I still love you/look out for you" is too much emotion for him. The fic is also from Tawan's PoV which also makes it the funniest thing ever, for reason that I won't spoil <3

The Wiked Lies We Live by shubaka (@shubaka)

Oh my god, this fic. Canon divergence (technically??) where most things happen as normal... except KimChay have been bodyswaped at the start of it. The little twists Shu puts on the events of canon, given it isn't the correct characters experiencing them (such as Big being very confused about why Kim is suddenly nice to him??) are so much fun.

A Portrait of Affection by froginthesun (@froginthesun)

Kim is an artist and Chay is the part time nude model he hires. ‘Nuff said right there, except no it isn’t, this fic is beautiful. Kim’s frustration with his craft is palpable, and so is the way he rediscovers his passion through Chay. The writing is wonderfully detailed, every chapter felt like walking through a museum. And tension slowly building between them—unf. 

Sunshine in My Closet by moneskin 

This is an A/B/O AU that is so satisfying to read. Typical hilarious boundary violations (Chay stealing Kim’s clothes, a bewildered Kim handing over a freshly worn outfit, having barely any idea who this strange kid is) characteristic of the AU, but then the story also delves deeper into more serious topics. Chay has a history of abuse from a past alpha that he has to learn how to navigate with Kim, who is incredibly patient and works hard to make Chay feel safe and loved. Overall a very sweet and comforting read. Seriously, this fic makes me melt.

Your Body Feels Like Disrespect by Blue_Jay (@bluejayfiction)

This fic is so funny because it begins with Kim blurting out, in the middle of an Important Mafia MeetingTM, that he and Chay aren’t having sex, and then wanting to die about it. Followed by Kim’s family trying very hard to both support and terrorize him. It’s hilarious, sexy, and one of my favorite reads when I need a pick me up. (Bless Kinn’s determination to be a Good and Supportive Brother, and Vegas for being the Worst Person Ever.) 

In Silent Screams (In Wildest Dreams) by BelladonnaWyck and StratsWrites 

This is definitely a darker fic. There’s DubCon, Kim is generally Sketchy, but it’s very hot. And I love explorations of his character where he isn’t just outwardly psychotic and cruel. This fic shows the kind of dark that I think Kim could have been, if you just tilted his character a little to the left. He still seems very much the way he is in canon, but he’s also… a lot more calculating and cold, sometimes. I love it. 

Forget-me-always by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

I cannot sing the praises of this fic enough. I think it’s probably tied for IGTW for my most-read fics. I’ve probably read this one more often in reality, but only bc it’s shorter. But oh my god, does it hurt. Kim gets struck with amnesia post-break up, does a little light stalking, and gets Chay to help him learn/remember who he is. In the process realizes that wow his life sucks, and there’s no way he wants to go back to it. Especially if he’s the kind of person that hurt Chay. He would rather start over. (Ofc, he doesn’t get to). This fic makes me cry, it’s so good 

Coffeehouse Play by AirgodSLV

This is a canon divergence AU that I adore. The KimChay characterization is on point. I love that despite everything going on around them, they also get to be two boys that hang out and play videogames and try to shove each other off the couch while Porsche makes dinner. Given the age difference it’s so easy to make Kim Older and MatureTM, but he’s still a kid, and this story never once forgets that. It felt so honest and true to his character that Kim does have a lot of plans, and he’s very smart, but he’s also still so young, and sometimes shit just goes wrong. 

Want and Need by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

God, this fic. T h i s f i c. Post-canon Chay goes to therapy and becomes a camboy (in that order) and it’s delicious. Watching the steady breakdown of his and Porsche’s relationship is so satisfying. Everything one of them does to make things worse feels awful, but is so in character that it’s hard to be mad at them for their decisions. Kim readily giving up control if it means he can be with Chay, and Chay getting a crash course in how to dom. All of it is just. So good. This is such a good fic

Your Look, Through This Lens by WildelyDawn (@wildelydawn)

AU where Chay becomes Kim’s photographer. This fic emotionally hobbled me. Just a fair warning. You will cry. But that said, the ending isn’t nearly as sad as the tags would have you believe! At least in my opinion. I think it’s fairly open/hopeful, and beautiful either way. I love the way this fic shows how Kim balances being Wik while also being part of the mafia. And I love how temperamental he is; always hot and cold, while remaining pretty even as far as how he expresses himself. Always very aloof/detached, just out of reach, with Chay never really sure where he stands/what Kim wants. But at the same time the fic happens just before Kim gets a big break, and the subtle ways he shows his excitement and nerves as things start coming together—it’s wonderful. 

Love’s a Two-Way Dream by giraffeter (@giraffeter)

This fic is dark. Kim atticwife’s Chay and it’s not a good time. But!! It’s not just dark for the sake of it; Kim is a genuine sociopath, yes, but it unfolds slowly. You get a sense of creeping dread as he does things that are just a little bit off, until finally the Big Bad Thing happens. At first he seems normal, playing the part of good and respectful boyfriend. But it just goes downhill from there, and I love every word of it. The ending especially is very satisfying. 

In the Dark of the Night by bisexualbard (@bisexualbard-writes)

Not to recc everything Bard writes, but… This is a rape recovery fic that I feel handles the subject matter incredibly well. There’s no gratuitous rape scenes, and even with the flashbacks, I don’t remember any of them being incredibly detailed. I think Bard handled the fic with incredible respect and grace. This is another one that’ll make you cry. The way Chay handles his past trauma while trying to have a relationship with Kim is so painfully real. And so is the way Kim wants to help him, but doesn’t really know how. But they figure it out together, and it’s amazing. (Also Kim acquires a stabby child in the form of an OC that I adore.) I just love the path Chay's recovery takes in this fic, it's so visceral and relatable. It's all around just. So good. I love this fic for the same reason I love IGTW and it's because both fics show an excellent depiction of recovery.

Chains and Crowns, A Flower Can Both Make by Sweet_William (@sweet-william-writes)

Incredibly Regency AU. Historical AUs are some of my all time favorites, and this is everything I didn’t know I needed. Sweet_William captures the essence of an Austen-esque style while still making this feel like the KinnPorsche characters. Chay is wonderfully feisty, Kim is delightfully complex, and the various family interactions always had me cackling. 

Simple Little Secrets by CorvusCloudburst (@cloudburst-ink)

Chay sees the future when he touches people. Kim thinks he’s either insane, a spy, or a conman. Oh, and Chay’s visions of Kim? Always sex-related. The shenanigans are endless. What more do you need?? They’re both crazy4crazy and it’s my favorite thing ever. Their banter is snappy and fun, the writing is sexy, and it never once gave me second-hand embarrassment despite Chay’s horrible situations. 

[lunarmoves]

"do you guys ever wish you could cry?" you ask sun after one particularly exhausting day at the daycare.

he perks up slightly as he looks at you from across the room, blank white eyes inquisitively staring into your own. you take his silence as an indication to continue. "like just, fwoooosh"—you splay your hands outward with the onomatopoeia—"let it all out?"

sun's faceplate makes a sharp click as he tilts it to the side, then he goes back to sweeping up all the abandoned toys on the soft ground into his lanky arms. "now why would we want to do that, friend?"

you frown at his easy dismissal, but continue on, ever persistent in your inquiries. "you know, to make yourself feel better afterwards? ease some stress? especially after the day we've had." you add the last bit on with some dryness, thinking about all the fits and fights you had to deal with throughout your shift.

"mmmnope!" sun responds brightly. he makes his way over to the toy bin to deposit his haul for cleaning later. "can't say i see the appeal!" you're almost offended at this tone.

"come on, indulge me a little!" you complain halfheartedly and follow after him like a little duckling, stopping just a few feet away from his lithe form.

"my dear, all we ever do is indulge you," sun says not without a hint of fondness as he turns around from the bin and pats you on the head. it's not quite condescending, but you swat at his hand lightly and he pulls it back to point it up in a grand gesture. "but! very well!" he pauses, as though to prolong the moment in a dramatic fashion. then, "no. final answer."

"booo"—you give him a thumbs down and a wrinkle of your nose—"boring answer. try again."

sun laughs loudly and it doesn't quite sound like the one you are used to. a shiver crawls down your spine that you brush easily enough away for the time being. "'boring'? or is it just not what you want to hear, hm?"

yikes. he didn't need to call you out like that. you recover as quick as you can. "you can't tell me you've never wanted to cry before."

he doesn't even hesitate. "i've never wanted to cry before."

"ha ha," you say sarcastically. it makes his rays spin around once as he grins. "oh come on. doesn't it bother you that you can't express yourself like that?" you muse, more to yourself than anything, but he of course hears you anyways and settles an unreadable gaze on you.

"bother us? why would it bother us?" sun smiles widely at you, the edges of his grin taut and strained even with his eyes half-lidded and narrow. "why would it bother us that we cannot have water run from our eyes, or snot from our nose? that we cannot mimic something privy to organic beings? it is quite disgusting, frankly."

okay, now you're actually offended. even if he's right, he didn't need to say it in that way. "it can be cathartic for some people, you know!"

"ah ah ah!" sun wags a finger at you and seems to loom over your smaller form. he casts a shadow across your face. "you seem to forget one crucial detail: we are not people. therefore, it does not apply!"

"you clearly feel emotions, though!" you argue, even as you see white pupils alight in his eyes among a backdrop of hurricane grey. "you feel sad and happy and angry. why shouldn't you—"

"i think you've overstayed your welcome, friend," sun cuts across you in a whisper that makes the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. his head clicks to the left once and the sound is like a gunshot in the quiet of the daycare. his eyes squint into crescents at you, but there is no warmth in his gaze.

your jaw clicks shut. and when he speaks, something in your stomach abruptly bottoms out. "get out."

[stevenssacrab]

This Again?

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

Summary: You find out the hard way that bottling things up solves nothing and helps no one.

Rating: 18+ (minors, do not interact)

Warnings: Mean and toxic Bucky, depressed reader, arguing, miscommunications

Word Count: 1.0k

a/n: I'm totally projecting here, this was very cathartic for me, communication is key my friends, no one can read your mind, speak up! Hope this helps anyone in a similar situation.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ✧ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ*

“I’m going to hang out with Sam and Steve; I’ll be back later,” Bucky says, slightly annoyed as he walks out the door; you sigh heavily. It’s the 4th time Bucky has gone out with friends this week. There’s nothing wrong with that, but lately, you’ve been feeling like you’re always the one making all the plans, which you don’t mind doing, but it’s a two-way street; both sides need to be putting in the effort; you’ve already talked with Bucky about this, but it felt like it went nowhere, you voiced what you wanted, and Bucky said “okay,” and that was that. Still, you decided to put a little faith in Bucky and hope he’d take your words to heart.

“It’s okay, we just talked about it; give him time,” you said to yourself, absentmindedly flipping through the TV channels; nothing caught your attention; your mind was preoccupied with the situation, turning off the TV, deciding it was a lost cause.

It's been two weeks since you talked with Bucky about including you more, and it has sadly gone nowhere; you feel as if you're talking to a brick wall, you feel under-appreciated, but worse of all you feel alone, completely abandoned, like you've lost the person you cared about the most, once again Bucky is out with Sam and Steve again, you had hoped by now that Bucky would have made a change. Still, Bucky remains the same; you're staying up, crying quietly, waiting for Bucky to come home; you don't know what you're going to do, but you're not just going to sit back and continue to be treated this way, all these emotions have been building up for months, you've tried to pack it all away hoping the problems would solve themselves, assuming that everything would go back to normal.

You're so deep in thought you don't even hear the front door open, Bucky's voice breaking you from your trance.

"I'm home, Y/N," he calls out to you; you sigh, anticipating the upcoming battle.

"I'm in here," you shout back, wiping your tears away, shifting uncomfortably, nerves eating away at you.

Bucky walks in with an exhale, shedding articles of clothing, unaware of your emotional state.

"How has your night been?" He asks sweetly, back facing you. You let out a weep, and Bucky turns around swiftly, concern written across his features; he crawls across the bed towards you, gently rubbing your arm comfortably; you move away from his touch, and Bucky looks at you, confused.

"Buck, we need to talk,” you say, exhausted; you move to sit directly across from him. Bucky observes you.

“You still-no, it feels like you haven’t put in any effort to include me,” you play with your fingers, avoiding Bucky’s eyes; he sighs and stands up, rolling his eyes, annoyance radiating off him.

“Not this again? Why can’t I go out with my friends? Why do I have to bring you every time?” He grits his teeth, angrily kicking his shoes off.

“Bucky, I’m not asking you to invite me every time, just every once in a while; your friends are my friends, too,” you defend; you pick yourself up and stand in front of Bucky.

“You wanna go out? Fine, let’s go out right now,” he says sharply, reaching for his coat.

“That’s not what I mean, Bucky,” you say bitterly, taking his coat out of his hands.

“I don’t know what you want from me?!” He thunders, throwing his hands in the air. “First, you want me to take you out, and then when I offer to, you don’t want to?!” He booms, running his hands through his hair frustratedly.

“Bucky, I don’t want to ask you to invite me; I want you to come up with it on your own!” You shout back, the argument and tensions escalating.

“Do you even hear yourself?” He yells, pacing back and forth, “If you want to come with me, just do it!”

“I want you to want me there, Buck; I don’t want to invite myself, then it feels like no one actually wants me there,” you cry, voice cracking slightly; you hope Bucky doesn’t pick up on it.

“Want me to want you there? Now you’re telling me what I want?” He says in disbelief, laughing at the absurdity.

“No, I just want my presence to be appreciated; I feel like I’m the only one making plans, like I’m the only one trying,” you cry out, tears running down your cheeks, all the pent-up emotion pouring out of you.

“Y/N, every time I invite you somewhere, and someone does one thing to upset you, you completely shut down! You don’t say anything; you just sit there and make everyone uncomfortable! Why would I want to keep inviting someone who clearly doesn’t want to be there?” Bucky roars. “Have you ever considered that maybe I don’t want you there, and that’s why I don’t ask you to come?” He barks.

“You don’t want me there?” You say quietly; time freezes; has he never wanted you there? How long has he felt this way? You stare at Bucky, waiting for an answer, but he says nothing; he stares back at you.

“Y/N, every day something has upset you so much that you just shut everyone out; you don’t talk to me or anyone; you sit in your own misery all alone. How am I supposed to be there for you when you don’t let me in, baby?” He says calmly, slowly stepping closer to you, cautiously pulling you into a hug; you break at the embrace, falling to your knees, sobs ripping from your throat; to keep the peace, you bottle everything up and hope everything will fix itself, without realizing you’ve barricaded yourself in your own tower of isolation and heartache, completely locking out everyone who’s ever cared for you.

“I’m so sorry, Buck,” you whimper out, gripping Bucky’s arms as if your life depended on it. Bucky softly shushes you, gently rocking you back and forth, caressing your head as you let out all the suppressed emotion.

“It’s okay, baby, I gotcha,” he says gently.

[theladyfulcrum]

Come here children. Come here. Sit down. Take my hands. Listen.

Here’s what we are not going to do. We are not going to let them unravel us and leave us in a heap of bawling bodies. They want us to sob until our eyes fall out and we rupture our abdominal organs because they’re heartless and sadistic and part of STAR WARS—shhh, steady—but we are going to remain CALM. Call it denial, call it call it bargaining, call it what you will, but he’s not gone.

Deep breaths, all together now. Crying is cathartic and necessary for coping with the emotional abuse we endure at the hands of Filoni et al., but don’t cry from lost hope. I’m serious. Was it among the worst things we could have possibly been forced to watch? Has a good majority of the fandom been mulling where the hell we are supposed to find the will to go on after that? Of course. But they’ll be back. And Tech will be, too.

Hush, child. Listen to me.

There was a reason he fell into cloud-cover. He could have been falling into anything. Water can be lethal from that height, yes, but let’s all just remember what Hunter pulled in War-Mantle with falling OUT OF A SHIP and down a LITERAL MOUNTAIN and surviving that with JUST HIS KNIFE. HIS KNIFE, KIDS. Tech accepted what he was doing, and he was okay with dying if that was what this meant, but he’s Tech. Once he fell from view he did whatever he could to increase his odds of getting out of it alive. Trust.

Speaking of falling from view— we know the Clone Wars rules. No body, no confirmed death. Forget that— we know the STAR WARS rules. Even if someone gets SLICED IN HALF before your VERY EYES and FALLS AN INDETERMINABLE-BUT-DEFINITELY-NOT-SURVIVABLE DISTANCE, they STILL aren’t dead. Further still, if you had put the two scenes in front of me with no context, I would have said Echo’s death in an EXPLOSION of FIRE seemed more final and certain that Tech falling away from us. And no, I don’t care about the argument that it’s a kId’S ShOW so they wouldn’t show us the body. Go watch Colt’s death and get back to me. Or you know, pretty much any Clone Wars episode.

BUT THE GOGGLES, you wail. I know, dear heart, I know. I see the cracks in them every time I close my eyes. But Hemlock getting his hands on those isn’t confirmation of anything other than what we already know— no matter where he wound up, Tech is having a Very Bad Time™️. Whether he lost them on the extremely unpleasant way down or whether he’s being experimented on in critical condition is hardly a nicer thing to know, but we’ll take just about anything right now if it means we’ll see our boy again, won’t we?

Shhh, I’m not through. We also have that scene with Phee. If it had been a true goodbye, if Tech had shown an ounce of the development he had with Omega about differences in emotional processing and communication, you’d have seen my soul depart through the atmosphere. But no. That scene’s entire purpose was to be unresolved. Was it just to make us incurably sad in retrospect? Maybe. But my gut says no— there’s more he needs to say to her.

On that note, the same goes for Tech and Crosshair. I refuse to believe we’ll never see them together again. I don’t have anything stronger than my refusal, but my feelings on this are rock solid. There’s also the important issue of THE Bad Batch theme— you know how they’ve established a precedent of not using it unless the whole Batch is together? Collectively, we’re going to refuse to believe they’re going to break that now. And there’s too much love for that theme to never hear it again.

Finally, beloveds, we come to our old favorite: story analysis. You know I’m insufferable about this, but listen. If we look at screenwriting, if we look at story structure, if we look at BEATS, this is the old “DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL” for the Batch (and us obviously). It’s the ALL IS LOST. The EVERYTHING IS AWFUL AND THE HEROES ARE AT THEIR LOWEST LOW. It’s the classic “oh my god this second installment is EMOTIONAL TORTURE HOW COULD THEY DO THIS TO ME” that we can point to in novels, shows, and film series again and again. It’s the ESB ending, it’s the Catching Fire ending, it’s the Rebels S2 AHSOKA IS D E A D AND ANAKIN KILLED HER ending. S3 will open as they enter Act III, where they use what they’ve learned to move upwards toward the finale of this particular story arc. Doesn’t that sound like something nice to cling to?

There now. If I’m wrong, I’ll give you all the choice of k!lling me first or tossing me alive out of a plane with no *hard swallow* parachute, jet pack, or functional grappling gun. But I truly believe you won’t have to.

In the year or two we have to wait, cry for his absence, cry for the Batch being more fractured and farther apart than they ever have been, cry for Hunter feeling like he’s failed everyone he loves, cry for all of it, but not because you’ve lost hope that all might not be lost.

Tech will be back.

[ninadove]

As a (very niche portion of the) fandom, our collective attention has been captured by how much Felix adores Kagami — which is true and good and beautiful and pure. But we’ve been sleeping on how much she loves him, and today, I want to shine a spotlight on her side of the most beautiful love story ever written.

Before we begin, let me get the obvious out of the way: yes, she did try to crush his skull with a chair in Pretension, and she was iconic for that.

HOWEVER.

This is only how their relationship started. What truly matters is how the story unfolds from then on.

And boy does it unfold fast. By the end of the episode, Felix has shaken Kagami’s worldview so much that she:

Stands up to her own friends and fellow heroes in an effort to not only protect him, but also ensure that he can keep the Peacock Miraculous;

Actively challenges her mother’s teaching that emotions (in this context, romantic love) are a weakness that should be eradicated from the face of the Earth;

Is planning secret dates with Felix, even though as far as she knows Tomoe has her amok (because you can’t tell me this little genius didn’t figure out the entire Sentilore in the sewers);

Trusts Felix with said amok despite his extensive criminal record, as illustrated by how quickly and firmly she takes his hand — with a little sigh if happiness, might I add. This is especially significant compared to previous instances of hand holding between the two, when he had to make all the effort while she remained completely limp.

And then Representation rolls around. And oh, boy.

Kagami instantly calms down from her TV-induced rage upon seeing her boyfriend on her balcony — a major improvement when you consider how big of a role anger and frustration play in her akumatisations.

Tangent 1:

Something similar happened in Ikari Gozen, when Mari protected Kagami from her mother, causing her to narrowly escape Hawkmoth’s influence. More on the Marigami-to-Feligami pipeline in another post, coming to your dash someday in the not-so-distant future.

Not only does Kagami instantly relax in Felix’s presence, but she laughs — something that previously only happened in the context of Adrigaminette, and we all know how that ended. Felix is the one to mend her heart and make her laugh again, for the second time since the dance.

Our two lovebirds proceed to straight up RUN AWAY INTO THE SUNSET. Kagami presumably spent the following 350 km (300 miles) cuddled up in Argos’ arms, admiring how handsome he looks in his glittery cosmic suit which we don’t get to see because budget.

Later on, they casually discuss Ladybug’s identity, while fireworks go off in the background. Let me rephrase this: Kagami trusted the person who stole the Miraculous with her best friend’s most burning secret, not because she wants to defeat Hawkmoth per say, but because Gabriel has been getting in the way of their make out sessions and she can’t have that.

Tangent 2:

Also coming to your dash in the not-so-distant future: an analysis of Kagami’s relationship to the concepts of truth and lies, and how dependent it is on what serves her and her loved ones in the moment.

Then, of course, the core of the episode: Kagami actively participates in the play, helping Felix tell his story in a way he feels comfortable with.

Tangent 3 (lots of ‘em today):

This part is extremely important to me, because I’ve seen So. Many. People. complain that the play could have been boiled down to two lines of conversation.

And like.

No???

Firstly, this is a show, not real life: we as an audience needed the confirmation to be as climactic as possible. If it hadn’t been, I can guarantee the exact same salters would be crying about the story’s “WaStEd PoTeNtIaL”.

But let’s delve into the real life implications of the Sentiplot for a second.

Abuse survivors do not owe you a brief, comfortable explanation of what they went through, neatly wrapped up with a pretty little bow.

The play is a beautiful illustration of how art can be cathartic and therapeutic, and I need you guys to understand that this sequence means something to many, many viewers — most of them children in similarly terrible situations. If I were to bet, I would say it very likely speaks to one or more members of the writing team on a personal level as well.

So you can pry these scenes from my cold, dead hands.

The kisses… All of them… During the firework show. As the sun rises to signify a new beginning. Disguised as Adrien’s parents. For context, this is the same girl who previously found a hand kiss to be too much for her broken heart to bear.

And of course, there’s the way she looks at him like he is her entire world, like she cannot understand how anyone could ever call him monstruous. Because Felix doesn’t get the monopoly of heart eyes.

Finally, in Recreation:

THE LIES CALLBACK. THE MIRACULOUS TEAM TOOK THE TIME AND MADE THE EFFORT TO PUT A LIES CALLBACK IN THE FREAKING FINALE. You guys know I’m insane about this scene already.

So what’s my point.

Because yes, I do have a point, apart from “KSSGDJDKSS Feligami SGDHDKLS 🥰🥰🥰🥰” (which, by the way, is a completely valid meta post in itself).

While we joke that Kagami is so far out of Felix’s league in every aspect — she doesn’t perceive him that way in the slightest. As far as she’s concerned, she has achieved every fourteen year old’s dream: dating the perfect cursed prince, tortured artist, evil-genius-on-a-redemption-arc combo.

She is just as enamoured with him as he is with her, and I think it’s beautiful. 🦚🐉

[prince-liest]

Unrelated to any of my fandom stuff, I would like to just enthusiastically recommend the movie Damsel (currently on Netflix) if you're looking for something moderately traumatizing that makes you go, "Wait, this is allowed to be PG-13??" If you're here because you enjoy my writing style, aka. "The plot isn't very complex but the emotions are here to gut you open," then you are likely to enjoy this.

The main character is a princess who is invited to marry a prince in a distant kingdom in exchange for a bride price that her family needs to feed their people for the winter. She is then promptly sacrificed to a dragon.

Current Objective: Survive.

It's like one part psychological thriller, one part angry, terrified justice seeking, and two parts fucked up survival horror. It made me cry aggressively at one point before scaring me shitless about 8 seconds after I burst into tears, and around 60% of the way through I decided that it was deeply sad fucking movie and I hope she kills everyone at the end.

This movie does not pull the vivid emotional or gruesome physical punches at literally any point that it possibly could have, and furthermore refuses to add any that cheapen the story. The ending was both cathartic and satisfying, but also I think I'm going to be residual upset for, uh, a while. Holy fuck.

(Also the dragon is voiced by Shohreh Aghdashloo.)

[momobani]

&TEAM when you cry while watching movies

ot9 reaction | fluff | 0.4k

a/n: i'm one of those people that gets invested in films and dramas, so here's a little something

K - isn’t sure he heard the sniffle right the first time, but definitely did the second. When he notices he gets a little concerned because it was just a movie. Teases you gently, trying to make you laugh but still wipes your tears with a light thumb and finds you adorable of course. 

Fuma - instantly heartbroken, just complete sadness in his eyes. His baby? Crying? Who hurt you? He was going to make it go away if he could. Hugs you tightly to his chest and kisses your hair, rubbing your back, trying to calm you down.

Nicholas - really surprised and can’t believe his eyes. You hadn’t really cried in front of him before so it’s a bit of a shock and he freezes for a sec before pulling you closer and giving you a hug so you can just cry on his shoulder and let it out for a bit. Gets teary eyed and wants to cry too when he feels your body shaking </3 

EJ - is super sweet about it and adapts to the situation quickly. In a split second, there are tissues, some water and a fuzzy blanket he can just wrap you up in and then hug you. Asks if there’s anything else he can do for you or if you wanna stop watching the movie and see something else. 

Yuma - would be confused at first but then he’d try to calm you down and stop crying - gets you snacks to distract you. Probably would fail and then he might start to feel like crying too but stoically try and keep it together for your sake.

Jo - panicked, there’s fear in his eyes, deer in the headlights type of panic. Doesn’t know what to do, poor thing, so he gently (awkwardly) strokes your head/hair and tries to be supportive and patient, giving you some space to process. Hugs you if you want him to but mostly lets you do your thing.     

Harua - also a little freaked out but he tries to think of a way to distract you and cheer you up; ends up doing his (questionable) cat meowing impression and you end up laughing so hard while you’re still crying, but at least it’s happy tears now so he feels like he did a good job.

Taki - might laugh a tiny bit but not in a mean way! He just finds you so cute and how invested you are in the movie. If you keep crying, he might start crying with you tbh. Definitely hugs you as an emotional support pillow and lets you pinch his cheeks to feel better <3.

Maki - would start crying with you if he wasn’t already crying tbh. He’s an emotional baby omg and the two of you just cling together crying while the movie keeps playing, hands full of tissues and even though you’re crying, it’s a very cathartic experience - definitely makes you closer and relieves stress.  

thanks for reading <3

momobani masterlist

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

M6 after seeing a sad play/reading a sad book?

The Arcana HCs: M6 when MC cries over a sad story

~ I hope you don't mind my take on the prompt, anon, but I couldn't pass up the chance to have the M6 comfort a sad fiction-loving MC. This is for anyone who's read a reversed ending XD enjoy! - brainrot ~

Julian

Initially thrown into a slight panic. You're crying. Are you hurt? Where does it hurt? Tell him, he wants to help fix it!

Once he knows the tears are from emotional pain, his priority is on comforting you. Immediately pulls you into his chest and gives you one of his famous hugs

But also, why are you crying? Is the story really that gut-wrenching?

Morbidly intrigued, because it seems like a strangely cathartic way to wallow in grief and despair that doesn't involve drinking himself under the table, all alone in the corner of the Rowdy Raven while Barth counts his drinks and looks annoyingly concerned for him

Hesitantly asks if he could read it too

Devours the entire thing in one sitting, somehow gets even more invested than you do and turns into a sniffling mess when the angst hits. It hurts so good, and not even in the way he's used to!

Somehow listening to him wax poetic about the tragedy of the characters makes your own pain feel a little sweeter

Now you've got him in your arms while he works out his feelings, and you two are definitely doing this again, this is amazing

Asra

Drops everything as soon as they hear the first sniffles from your direction

He can tell from your bond that you're experiencing some serious grief, and he's so sweetly worried about you that he's not asking any questions, he's just curling up with you and wiping your tears

They do piece it together after a few minutes though - either by noticing the story in your hands or because you straight up told them

So relieved when he finds out it was just a story (he was starting to worry that somebody had died) that he starts to laugh

Which of course lands them in so much hot water, because it's not just a story, those characters were real in your heart and they won't stop giggling while they pet you and seriously Asra, it's not funny while you struggle not to join in

You both know that he hasn't actually done anything wrong, but he still feels bad for laughing so he tries to earn your forgiveness by cheering you up

Dropping little trinkets in your lap, telling you the cheesiest jokes, tickling you with kisses until they see that smile again and all is right with the world

Nadia

Goes straight into problem-solving mode as soon as she sees your tear-streaked face

Something's happened to hurt you. What is it?

Will not take silence for an answer, she'll treat you gently but she won't let up until you tell her why you're crying (even if you feel a little foolish about it - she takes you very seriously)

And it's because she takes you so seriously that she's very torn on how to react when the truth comes out: you read a sad story

It's cuteness overload for her. It doesn't matter how pretty or ugly of a crier you are, the sheer amount of empathy you're displaying right now is going straight to her heart and she is struggling

Will pull you straight into her chest to cuddle you and let you cry it out so you can't see the amused grin on her face

She is biting her lip to keep from fawning over you, because the last thing she wants to do is to make you feel small or foolish but oh my goodness you're adorable like this and it's taking all of her self restraint not to squeeze you to death right now

If there are suddenly more tragedies lying around in the library, no there aren't

Muriel

Very concerned

It doesn't matter to him how big or small the issue is that's causing you so much pain, you're clearly hurting and he's sad to see it

Will approach you very gently and quietly ask if there's anything he can do to help you feel better, or if you just want some space for a while to process whatever it is that's making you cry

Perfectly fine with letting you snuggle up to him. Hey, he has a whole big cloak that makes for excellent tear-wiping material

He's the kind of guy who will sit quietly and give you the most nonjudgmental attention, for as long as you need it to feel seen and heard and validated

Cue you breaking down and giving him the most teary, disjointed version of the story you've read while his big, calloused thumbs brush away whatever's left of your tears

Because there was this character, right? And you really, really liked him, ok? And then this terrible thing happened, and it sounds pretty bad, but when you add the backstory to it it only gets worse -

He's having a little difficulty following you, but he's listening to you and he's holding you and he's definitely hiding that book

Portia

Oh, you found a tear-jerker

She's read a few of those. You should have seen her back when she was practicing her reading while Nadia was in a coma, she had this tragedy phase and went through so many handkerchiefs

Easily the best-prepared for this. She knows how cathartic it is to cry it out, so she sets you up on her sofa with some tea and snacks and a fluffy blanket and the cat until you feel better

Now that you've recovered, and she's buttered you up ...

Tell her which book it was

Because she's read so many at this point, and she's halfway hoping it's one that she knows so she can commiserate with you and gush over the characters

And if it's one that she hasn't read yet, she still wants to know because it's been way too long since she's read something that really tugged at her heart strings and she misses the angst!

Either way, now that she knows you enjoy that she's starting a book club with you

Fictional angst sessions are so much livelier when she's sitting across from you, punching a throw pillow while she rants

Lucio

Upset on your behalf as soon as he sees your state. Why is his MC crying? Nobody makes his MC cry!

He's a little disheartened when you tell him it was just a story you read and the ending was sadder than you expected it to be and now you just need to cry about it a little

Wraps his cloak around you first and then both his arms (he doesn't want the cold metal to shock or pinch you) and asks what happened. What went wrong? Who did this to you, MC? Who does he need to fight?

Takes a moment to offer you a manly shoulder to cry on while he tries to figure out his next move

Can he read? Yes. Does he spend a lot of time reading? Not really. Can he relate to what you're going through right now? Nope

Starts listing off suggestions for how he can make you feel better. Do you want to pet the dogs? Do some magic? Eat some food?

Spots the book you were reading at one point and grabs it right out of your hands. He would shred it if you didn't ask him to be careful with it, so he settles for scolding the inanimate object that made you cry

Very self-satisfied at the giggle that gets out of you

[mirrorballtales]

Barbie 🩷

Let’s get this out of the way. It is not anti-men like the right wants to paint this movie. It wasn’t made for men. And that’s okay. This was a love letter to girls and women and the experience of girlhood and womanhood.

Do you know how cathartic it was to be amongst women, and girls, wearing pink, unapologetically, ready to watch something that speaks to our nostalgia. We all sat there with our feet flailing, giddiness, tumultuous excitement, waiting to see something made for US!

See Barbie represents dreams. Not women but the dreams of little girls who become women. Women who are told to fit the mold so they are chosen. And in that journey we begin to lose or more accurately, we are stripped of our identity and told exactly what we have to be and do to be loved, liked, accepted, invited, left alone, admired, respected, and protected.

I forgot how to be happy. It’s something I thought i couldn’t do. I was waiting to be made for it. As if I should pay the price for the violence men brought upon me. And not just the physical and emotional violence. But the violence of the patriarchy that allowed these men to exist and live. Why is it that women, women like me, have to live in shame, feel dirty for hands that were stained? Why must I feel like I’m not real, like something they paid for? I still don’t know how to be happy. But I am trying. And I don’t know how that looks like.

And I sit here sad, telling myself I can’t tell anyone that I want to cry. Salt streams that go into my ears. That I am mourning the little girl I could have been while celebrating the woman I am becoming. How do I do that? How do I look in the mirror when behind me stand the choices of men who tore things from me I cannot get back? Do I scream into a microphone and beg for my girlhood to return? Do I knock on their door and beg them to apologize? Do I ask them to look me in the eye and ask every single person that partook in this to tell the little girl that she isn’t worthy of peace?

What about all the woman who experience a different kind of violence? The kind of violence that leaves no physical marks. The kind that begins when we’re children. The kind where they tell us to smile because that’s what pretty girls do. The ones that say wear dresses and skirts. The kind of violence that tells you to be extraordinary but not so much that you outshine them. To be thin but don’t make anyone else feel bad. Be pretty but don’t admit it. Have long hair. Or don’t because then you’re supporting the patriarchy. Be funny but not so funny that you threaten men. Be loud but not too loud so their voice isn’t silenced. Be smart but not too smart. Be strong but not aggressive. Be nice but not too nice or you’re weak. Support women but just the ones that fit the normative description. Be soft but not too soft that you cry. Be independent but not so independent that men feel inadequate. Be sexy but not too sexy. Be a mom but don’t get stretch marks or get fat or talk about your kids because then you’re no longer a woman but a vessel for children. It all circles back to a society that tells us how to act so we don’t make men feel small while we begin to lose ourselves.

AND I AM DONE!

I want to be sad. And I want to be angry. But I want to be happy. I want to be emotional. And I want to have no emotions. I want to order a fucking steak at a restaurant. I want to do my nails. And I don’t. I want to sing. And I want to stay quiet. I want to laugh at what I find funny. I want to be intelligent regardless of how that might make anyone feel. I want to take up space and let it remain my space. I want to be wanted and not be considered a whore for it. I want to be loved and not let it become my identity. I want to be a mom and not let it define me. I want to love the things I loved as a little girl because that makes ME happy. I don’t care if it’s childish. If a man can play video games, if he can build things, and destroy them, and be immature so can I.

Women are the strongest beings. Not because we stand against things or people but because we are who we are. We are a creation of life. We are the very definition of life. And we are beautiful in whatever form that comes in. The enjoyment shouldn’t end because we grew up. Turning 30 isn’t a death sentence. Turning 18 doesn’t make me prime for the taking. Turning 50 doesn’t make me less of a woman. If I want to wear pink and glitter I can still walk into a board room and out do every man in there, or not. And that’s okay. I can cry and not be happy. Or I can smile and laugh and be okay with letting it all go. I am made to be happy.

I’m not here to fit into anything anyone wants me to be let alone a man. If I want to smile I’ll fucking smile. If I want to laugh I’ll laugh. If I want to tell you that you did something wrong then I will. And if you don’t like it, it’s not my problem.

The hardest thing was the scene with the mothers. I look at it with an anguish in my heart. To feel like I’ve lost my own mother. In all the pain she’s caused me I see now how she didn’t get her happy ending. The little girl she could never be will be one I mourn as well. Because she needed to be loved too. And maybe had she been loved she might have been able to be gentle with me. She might have loved me enough for the both of us. It breaks my heart and something I keep waiting for, but I see that the violence she endured too, is all a result of a patriarchy that continues to tear us up. I wish she could have had the life she wanted. One that didn’t include me. One that gave her, her true love. She was taken advantage of at such a young age and I don’t know how to feel. Because their choices follow me. Someday I might figure it out. But today, I forgive her. Not for myself but for the little girl she once was, she would have never hurt anyone, especially her own daughter, and one day I’ll reconcile that.

As to the patriarchy. FUCK YOU.

I love every woman. And I love being a woman. Not because things are good because because I am good. I may have lost my innocence but that doesn’t define me nor does it stop me from living my infinite endings. Barbie is the dreams of little girls that we hold on to. Black hair. Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Blue eyes. Tall. Short. Thin. Fat. Boring. Fun. Extraordinary. Regular. They’re all beautiful. They all are a part of a world that represents the good in this world.

It is not my job to explain a movie to you. It is not my job to make you feel good as a man. It is not my job to reassure you. Look in the mirror. Today I think I can look in the mirror and smile. Because the reflection looking back at me is not what others made up of me, but because it’s me looking at who I am. Brown eyes. Black hair. Brown skin. A mole. A smile. A nose. Lips. And a hint of teeth. This is who I am. Take it or leave it.

[saintmurd0ck]

if the tide takes california

masterlist

pairing: frank castle + mentions of reader

summary: frank spends time contemplating if he's deserving of your love

warnings: angst, hurt (with comfort), mentions of grief and loss, frank being a little sad

a/n: i wrote this in one cathartic hour, please cry with me. ok love you

song pairing: til forever falls apart (ashe ft finneas)

And that's a wrap! Thank you for tuning in today to 6NEWS Radio, late night edition. The time is currently 9 PM and we hope you have a good night, wherever you are.

"Damn interference," Frank mutters. He grits his teeth, cursing as he bends forwards to twist the volume knob down. He knows he should be minutely grateful for any service at all, considering that he's out in the middle of nowhere, forty miles from the nearest backwater town, but his tolerance still wanes to a sliver.

Sighing, Frank goes to rub his temples, remembering why it is he has the radio on in the first place. It's because he'd rather the distraction than to be alone with his thoughts.

For now.

Pushing the reminder aside, he tightens his grip on the pair of binoculars in his lap, bringing them up to his eyes. He's done a good job choosing this location. From where he is, the van is completely hidden --- concealed in a copse of trees right opposite the compound. It's a cloudless, starry night; beautiful, if it weren't for the assholes across the way. He'd run out of fingers before he'd get halfway through the gang leader's rap sheet.

He's been casing them for a week. And very soon --- Frank glances at the time on his phone --- the lights would turn on, girls and gang members arriving in hordes, and maybe, just maybe, he'd finally get to meet the head of this operation. Then, they'd have a little exchange, man-to-man.

That, of course, involves Frank being the only one of them to get out of the compound alive.

He inhales sharply, licking his lips as he continues to survey the area.

When he measures the situation in his head, taking every decision and every course of action required to execute his plan, it's simple. Easy. It's all he knows, and it makes sense.

So why is it so difficult when it comes to you?

Frank scoffs at himself, as if to say, "No, not again." Not tonight. There's a dangerous edge to his behaviour, one he continues to sharpen with every passing minute he's in this van. He purses his lips, casting aside the hollowness in his chest, the void worming its way into his heart.

The radio crackles, and a small noise sounds from the back of his throat. Thank fuck it's music now playing. He couldn't bear a single second more of that aimless, idiotic talk show.

There's a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalls that anger, the sheer turmoil within, just from listening to those people talk. He digs his boots into the footwell, his knuckles going white as the radio presenter's voice echoes in his head. He narrows his eyes, because how can people be so… carefree? How could they laugh about concert tickets and the best pie in town and harmless pranks when he has to do this?

He could've turned the radio off, and let silence fill the cracks in his environment, but some small part of him wanted to listen. Not just for a desperate glimpse into a "normal" life, but at the sweet, gut-wrenching agony it caused --- knowing he can't be a part of it, and pain is a healthy reminder he's alive.

It's a fair assumption to say that most people would run from his burden, or at least try to bury it with the rest of their closeted skeletons, but Frank can't. And he never will.

Because he can't count on anyone else. If it isn't for him, then the scum of the earth walk free.

Emotions are messy. Futile. At least guns served a purpose, no matter what that asshole in red told him. It was uncomplicated this way --- put one bad guy down, then the next. Put 'em where they belong, and they wouldn't reoffend.

Sometimes, Frank feels almost insulted that no-one sees it this way.

He puts the binoculars down, wringing his hands as he checks the time again. He allows himself to breathe in deeply, to fill his lungs with air, before turning up the volume on the radio. It's crackly, but better than before, and instead of overlapping voices, it's a mindless, endless drone of music.

He's not fussed about what comes on, as long as he can concentrate on the mission. At the end of the day, that's all that matters. Or so he convinces himself.

He rubs his eyes, listening to the words of the next song. He doesn't care for the melody, or that the singer has the kind of voice that'd smooth over the bumps in his soul, but something about the lyrics perks his ears.

…Dreaming in a world that we both know is out of our control

A muscle feathers in his jaw as he contemplates turning the radio off completely, but he stays his hand. He can't tell if it's a matter of internal torture again --- a yearning for something he, as the Punisher, could never have --- or that just this once, it's a song worth listening to.

But if shit hits the fan we're not alone, 'cause you've got me and you know That I've got you and I know

The thought of you hits him like a blow to the stomach, a twisting, red-hot knife in the embers of his fury.

If he's right about emotions, then why does your presence make him feel whole? Why is he thinking about you, three states away, before another life-threatening mission?

Frank grimaces, feeling his face contort into something that'd scare him if he looked in a mirror. He knows what he'll see, and it won't just be the husk of the man he used to be. He doesn't know if he could stand to see himself longing for yet another person who'd be better off without him.

If the tide takes California, I'm so glad I got to hold 'ya And if the sky falls from heaven above, oh, I know I had the best time falling into love

He swallows, blowing out a shaky breath, not knowing what to do next.

But it seems that you do.

'Your voice was the only thing that got me out of bed today.'

Frank looks down at your text, torment lining every heartbeat.

'Please come back to me.'

He keeps staring, frozen in place, unsure if he's worthy of your concern. Of your love.

His shoulders tense at the image of you, staying up late with him on your mind. These are feelings he's associated with danger, with grief and loss, and he's unsure if he'd be willing to go through it again. Frank hasn't allowed himself to feel in years, and for so long, he's been better off being that way.

We've been living on a fault line, and for a while, you were all mine I've spent a lifetime giving you my heart, I swear that I'll be yours forever 'Til forever falls apart

"'Til forever falls apart," Frank murmurs to himself, thinking back to the last time he made that commitment to someone, just before his world imploded before his eyes.

"Stupid fuckin' song," he says, shaking his head, but he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

He opens your messages, feeling his gaze tentatively soften, and taps on your contact information. He's presented with options to reply, to call you, or to delete your number and move on, just so he can spare one more innocent soul.

His finger hovers over the screen, hesitating, and his eyes glaze over, trancelike from the song.

His instincts scream that it's a mistake to get involved, but maybe, just this once…

You pick up after the first ring, a sudden flood of relief calming your firing nerves.

Frank clears his throat. "Your voice is the only thing gettin' me through today."

[vanwritesfan-fiction]

Let Me Go

This was cathartic for me. Hope you enjoy

"I don't know what you want from me." You were scared to make eye contact with Jack, your gaze dropping to the floor. It had been weeks since the two of you had seen each other. You didn't like to make a habit out of seeing your ex-boyfriends, especially ones that were engaged to other people, but when he showed up your apartment late that night, against your better judgement, you let him in.

Now the two of you were standing in your kitchen, your cheeks stained with tears, Jack's eyes red and swollen from crying as well, and the scene felt eerily similar to the night you broke up. Like the two of you were stuck in a perpetual loop, always doomed to end up in the same place, suffering the same outcome.

"I don't know." Jack sounded exhausted, his breaths uneven as he tried to control his beating heart. He didn't know why he showed up here. He was a couple of days from his wedding; he should be home with his fiancé, preparing for what should be the greatest day of his life, but instead, he's here with you, begging you to make a decision he was too cowardly to make himself.

"That's not good enough, Jack. Why did you come here? What if she finds out?". You had a million questions, and none of them were going to provide you with any semblance of comfort in the moment. "I don't know! I don't know!", Jack cried out, roughly pulling at the curls atop his head. He pounded his fist against the counter, making you jump, your breath catching in your throat. "I just couldn't be there anymore. I had to come see you."

"No, you don't have any right to be here." Sadness was quickly replaced with anger. "We're not together, there is no running to me when you're upset anymore. That's why you have her. You chose her." You could see Jack physically recoil at your words, like you had struck him across the face. He was frantically wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, as if he could hide the tears. "What if I made the wrong choice?"

"This has to be some sick joke", you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "What wrong choice?" Once again, you ignored your gut to get more information out of him. There was nothing that Jack could say that would change the last couple of weeks, or the last couple of years. The damage was done, and it was irreparable.

Jack let out a shaky breath, finally looking at you for the first time in minutes. "Everything. Us breaking up, meeting her, getting engaged. All of it. I think it was a mistake." He winced with pain, his expression contorted. "I know it was a mistake." He pinched his inner arm to remind himself that this was real, he was really here, shaking up your life because he couldn't live with the choices he had made. The irony of it all wasn't lost on him. He was the one to end it with you, and he was right back here trying to erase the past.

"I'm sorry", you let out a curt laugh, waving your hand through the air between the two of you. "What were you expecting me to do? Take you back and pretend like none of it happened? Like you didn't break up with me and go running into someone else's arms because you couldn't deal with your own heartbreak."

"No, no, that's not what I want at all." He shook his head.

"Then what, Jack?! What do you want from me!?", you choked out between sobs, stabbing a finger into your chest. You could feel your anger starting to boil over, and there was no way you could stop it, like you'd lost all control over your emotions.

"I want you to tell me not to do it! I want you tell me that I'm making a mistake! That I shouldn't marry her! That we should be together!" The force with which Jack spoke left him breathless. His words hung in the air for a minute. "What difference would that make?", you finally admitted. You felt defeated; there was no use in entering a battle you knew you couldn't win.

"So that I wouldn't feel crazy for a fuckin' second!" The dam broke and Jack didn't even try to hide his tears, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed in front of you. You wanted to hold him, tell him how much you still loved him, and that everything would be okay, but you resisted. He dropped to his knees, sliding to the ground with his back pressed against the cabinets, his head hanging in his head. You followed suit, pulling your knees into your chest.

"I've made mistakes, a lot of them." He raked his hands through his hair. "I'm desperate to fix them, and I know that I want to be with you, but I need to know you feel the same. You tell me you want me back, and I'll call it all off." His stomach was in knots as he spoke, knowing he was putting all of his cards on the table with you. "I need you, please."

You bit at your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. Everything was telling you, no screaming at you, to take him back. If you tried hard enough, maybe you could erase the past, or at least pretend it didn't happen for your own sanity. You deserved at least that, didn't you?

"Don't do it, Jack." Your tone was monotone and robotic as if you were reading out a script. "You're making a mistake. You shouldn't marry her. We should be together." You repeated his words back to him verbatim. "Do you feel better now?" You didn't dare to drop eye contact with him. You would always love him, and there wouldn't be a day where you didn't regret what happened between the two of you, but you would also regret not standing up for yourself and protecting your heart.

"What are you doing?" Jack's face was incredulous.

"I'm sorry that you feel like you made a mistake, I really am, but for you to come here and want me to justify your actions for you, its not fair." You let out a shaky breath. "I wanted you to choose me, I wanted to be with you, to have the things you gave to her, but I wanted those things when we were together, not now that you can't live with yourself." You stood, Jack watching you as you walked to the door, letting it slam against the wall as you forcefully pulled it open. "I need you to leave."

Jack was quick to his feet, rushing over to you. "Baby, please, think about this." He tried to pull you into his chest, but you backed away, knowing this would make everything harder. "Jack, just go." You could feel the tears threatening to fall again. "I love you. Don't do this." You let him cup your face in his hands, desperate to feel his touch one more time.

"I love you too. I always will." You meant every word. Jack could feel his stomach drop to his feet. It wasn't a declaration of love, it was you waving the proverbial white flag, your way of letting him know you were bowing out. There was nothing else to beg you for if he knew there was no chance of you changing your mind.

He left, even though his limbs felt like they were made of lead, and every step away from you was excruciating. Letting you go was a mistake he was going to have to live with for the rest of his life.

[milgram-tournament]

MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 2, Match 1 WEAKNESS vs. THE PURGE MARCH

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for WEAKNESS:

"This is definitely more of a personal anecdote. However, I’m neurodivergent (like Haruka) and struggle with knowing it causes quite a bit of disappointment for my mother. I cry about it a lot. But I find that putting on Weakness is soothing for me. Knowing that there’s a character out there with the same issues…. I don’t know. Just my experience."

---

"why weakness should win over umbilical: - THE SINGING THE HIGH NOTES - this song set the tone to what to expect for the trial songs to come (or what we expected) - the part where the song gets all slow paced and then picks up louder at the end it just done beautifully - it's haruka. - the singing sounds like a mix between of course singing and crying. the 'AHahA' sounds like manic laughing until the end when he's crying and it almost feels like he's sobbing while laughing. - the guitar and the drums complement his soft/sad-ish voice perfectly, especially at the beginning - very emotional, even if you didn't see the music video you can tell he's crying and mentally unwell I'm bad a propaganda, but vote for WEAKNESS!!!!"

Propaganda for THE PURGE MARCH:

"Despite the shorter length, the Purge March has several distinct sections in its structure.

It starts with a rolloff, and then… they don’t follow it. Amane isn’t here to follow the beat.

There’s the spoken-word intro and the upbeat first verse listing the tenets. The prechorus (“dou shiyou mo nai…”) has an amen break. The most-sampled four-bar drum beat. Well, there’s half of it. Is it supposed to mean something? Can I get an amen?

The chorus is so, so cheerful… unless you’re actually listening to the lyrics (“I’ll crush your throat too”) or watching the video. And it’s super catchy. 

The second part of the verse dials things back. Now we’re in reality. This is how Amane breaks her tenets. All the while, those tenets are spoken into both ears over the singing. Get some good headphones. She sounds different in each ear.

The music picks up again with the amen break as Amane happily strolls back home, and then-

Oh.

The somber second chorus, with Amane’s lower singing voice and mournful spoken words, leads into the final chorus, with new lyrics and a more forceful tone. The once-meaningless chanting now has real words. “You’re sorry? I don’t care! Please go ahead and die already.” You can hear Amane’s anger despite the cheerful melody. She harmonizes in the final phrase, as if to say “we’re in this together, me and my little color guard troop.” And finally, it’s just her. Speaking. "Oboetemasuka?" Accompanied by only a single drum.

She is both Amane Momose and not. She upholds the doctrines that she was raised with, but she can’t."

---

"Purge March is geniunaly one of my favorite pieces of fiction both in and out of the context of trauma. Its fantastically directed and composed. The batton twirling is spetacular and energetic, the set and character design of Amane conveys a lot about the world she’s in and the story she’s telling. Purge March contextulizes a lot of Magic in both expected and unexpected ways (insert the entire cat symbolism thesis here) Purge March casts Amane in the role of a scary child. The glowing eyes, the framing of Amane as Above the viewer, the brutality and catharsis of it all. It seems tailored made to make you Scared of her. It’s a continuation of the cycle of abuse that we the audience repeated in T1 when we gave her that verdict. A red flashing warning sign about the Inhumanity and Monsterous qualities of Amane Momose. But Amane as a monster is fufilling and freeing. Again, its deeply cathartic. I would write more if I wasnt so sleepy at the moment but its just some Fantastic work overall. Purge March is also just fantasitic vocally and also hids electricity sounds in the instrumental which I think is evil and awesome."

---

-Amane’s vocals and how they slowly get more and more off the deep end is both really sad and cool to watch.

-The symbolism of the marching band and the flags. Ifykyk

-The beginning where it sounds like a propaganda TV show… really shows just how far Amane’s thinking is rooted in her cult and how that’s shaped her perception.

-The LYRICS. They work so well but it’s also creepy AF considering it’s a child who’s singing it.

-“So there is no second time, I’ll give back the judgment that you gave to me!”

-The overlapping part… gives me chills everytime.

-Building off the last point, the last “I’ll crush your throat too.” Ouch.

-“Remember MY cries, MY repents, MY words of “I’m sorry” that I said to you?”

-The song also does a great job of showing how much the guilty verdict messed with her.

[proxima-writes]

title: my tears and my beers and my candles

pairing: francisco morales/female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 3,515

chapters: 1/1

summary:

It’s been a bad week and you just need to have a good cry.

You didn’t expect Frankie Morales, best friend and your unrequited crush, to crash your pity party.

He’s got some interesting ways of making you feel better. Maybe it’s not so unrequited after all.

read on ao3 | masterlist

author’s note: my first foray into frankie morales! if you enjoyed this one, please consider leaving a comment or an unhinged series of tags if you reblog 💕

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+), mutual pining, friends to lovers, allusions to depression, crying, platonic cuddling (until it’s not), fingering, un protected p in v, mild breeding kink, praise kink, dirty talk, rough sex, choking. let me know if any are missing!

There’s something to be said about having a good cry. The release of too many emotions that have no other choice than to physically manifest, the exhaustion that inevitably comes after, the way your eyes ache and burn and your throat feels raw.

It’s all very cathartic.

At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself as you lay on the couch, a bottle of beer held loosely in your hand as the tears stream down your cheeks. There’s a bowl of popcorn on the floor and the TV screen flashes images of some action movie you’re not interested in. The only other light in the room is the flicker of a candle you lit, some fucked up way of making this feel more like self-care than self-sabotage.

There’s no one thing to blame for your little pity party. It’s just been a hell of a week. Between a call from your mom that ended in a heated argument and the constant bullshit at your bartending job, only to come home to a broken pipe and a shitty fucking landlord who won’t do anything about it until Monday because he doesn’t want to pay the premium weekend price, your emotions are at an all time high and you’re done trying to keep them bottled up.

Your phone keeps lighting up with texts on the coffee table but you can’t bring yourself to check it. You know it’s probably one of the guys.

The boys of Delta Force waltzed into the bar one Friday evening a year ago and you haven’t been able to shake them since. Not that you’d want to. Your life has definitely improved since their chaotic entrance.

Especially where Francisco Morales was involved.

With his stupid boyish charm and his stupid handsome face and his stupid kind smile. God. He drives you insane. He’s the quiet observer of the group of men, his keen brown eyes always assessing the room around him. The feel of them is like fire across your skin when he turns his attention to you.

The tears keep flowing at the thought of him, of how a year of close friendship has only made you crave the man more with no respite in sight. Sometimes you’ll wake up with his name on your lips and an ache in your core that your fingers can’t satisfy.

It’s pathetic, really. Perhaps that’s why you continue to cry.

Between the explosions on the screen and the muffled whimpering, you don’t hear the knocking at your door. Or the turn of the lock and quiet click of the door to your apartment opening.

“Querida?”

________

After waiting a few minutes for you to answer the door, he decides to use the key you had given him when he looked after your plants one weekend to let himself in.

No wonder you couldn’t hear him knocking. The TV is so loud it almost hurts Frankie’s ears, which is saying a lot given his time spent in gun ranges and helicopters and war zones.

“Querida?” He calls. When you don’t answer, he wanders further into your apartment.

He’s surprised to find you curled up on the couch, knees drawn up to your chest, eyes squeezed shut and shoulders shaking with your soft cries.

“Shit,” he murmurs, picking his hat up to run a hand through his hair. This would explain why you haven’t been answering his texts.

He sets his hat on the coffee table beside your phone and grabs the remote while he’s at it to turn the volume down, which finally gets your attention.

Your eyes pop open, bloodshot with tears still clinging to your lashes. “Fish?”

“Shh,” Frankie shushes, grabbing onto the back of the couch and climbing in carefully behind you.

“Wha—“

“It’s okay, baby, I’ve got you,” he whispers. He wraps his arms around your waist. He presses his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent as you continue to shake against him. “You’re okay.”

It takes a moment for your cries to subside, but Frankie’s got all the time in the world where you’re concerned. The shaking of your shoulders turns into the rise and fall of deep, even breaths. The tension in your muscles eases and you relax back into the cradle of his body at your back.

Frankie lifts his head to peek at you over your shoulder. Your face has gone soft with sleep, eyelashes casting shadows on your cheeks and lips parted slightly. He brings a hand to your forehead to smooth your hair back, fingers lingering on the soft skin of your cheek.

His heart constricts in his chest. The same painfully tight feeling he gets anytime he so much as looks at you.

The first time he met you was after one of Benny’s fights. Having won, the younger man was feeling particularly obnoxious by the time they’d all made it to the bar for his celebration.

“Tequila shots!” Benny shouted, slamming his palm on the bar. “I’m buyin’!”

You raised an eyebrow at him, head tilted as you said, “You wanna try that again, buddy?”

“With lime?” Benny asked. You smirked.

Santi smacked Benny on the back of the head. “Cabrón. Forgive him. He’s been hit in the head too many times. Tequila shots, please.”

Frankie watched you line up the shot glasses with practiced ease. How you picked a top shelf bottle and shot a withering stare at Benny when he’d started to protest. You placed the shots in front of them, along with a plate of limes and two salt shakers. A shot glass remained with you.

“Cheers, boys,” you said, tossing back the extra shot before you wrapped your lips around a lime wedge.

Frankie remembers the way your eyes caught his as you sucked on the fruit. He also vividly remembers wanting to know what your lips would look like wrapped around his cock.

Your take-no-shit attitude worked for the group of army vets. They adopted the bar as their own and Frankie looked forward to seeing you after Benny’s fights.

Then fight nights turned into barbecues at Will’s house. Then movie nights at Santi’s. Or football at Frankie’s. And each time you burrowed yourself deeper and deeper into Frankie’s heart.

But Frankie valued your friendship above all else. He appreciated the way you would sit quietly beside him when he was feeling overwhelmed. How you would squeeze his hand when it got a little shaky. Or when you would tell him some stupid joke when he got too far into his own head.

It’s only right that he returns the favor.

________

The first thing you notice when you wake up is how dark your apartment is. The TV is off and your candle has burnt itself down in the glass, a struggling ember in a pool of wax.

You try to sit up, only to encounter an unfamiliar weight around your waist. When you look down, you can just make out a familiar tan arm nestled just beneath your breasts.

It’s then that you realize the overwhelming warmth at your back isn’t a blanket, it’s Frankie. He’s wedged himself between the couch and your body, his long frame curled around yours, his other arm stretched above his head and acting as his pillow.

You blink the sleep and the ache away from your eyes, but he’s still there. He’s asleep, quiet snores rumbling from his throat. You turn slowly in his arms to face him.

His eyes flutter open as you settle back against him, your movement having jostled him awake. His arm tightens on your waist.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice rough with sleep. You swallow nervously and as he assesses you, eyes roving your face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Your eyes flick to his lips. “Not really.”

There’s a moment of stillness as he appears to consider your words. His hand on your back slides up, broad palm settling between your shoulder blades and pushing you slightly closer.

His eyes search yours for any sign of doubt. You lean your forehead to his, lips so close now you’re sharing the same breath.

“Frankie,” you murmur. You can feel the tiny shiver that wracks his body. Pressed this close, there’s nowhere to hide. “Please kiss me.”

His lips press to yours, slightly chapped but so warm. His hand leaves your back to grip your thigh, hitching your leg up over his hip to bring you closer. Your tongue traces his bottom lip, seeking entrance and having it granted with fervor.

Frankie groans, hips pressing against yours, as your tongue slides against his. You can feel him start to harden as your pussy drags against him, the sensation better each time.

The kiss is messy, your movements uncoordinated in your desperation. His hand traces over any inch of your body it can reach, from your thighs and ass to your waist and tits.

“Are you sure?” Frankie asks as he draws back for air. His brows are pinched together with worry and that just won’t do.

“I’m so fucking sure, Francisco.”

______

Never before has his name sounded as fucking good as it does falling from your lips tonight. He leans in to lick it from your mouth, swallowing the little moan he pulls from you.

He slides a hand between your bodies to cup your pussy, the heat of you palpable through your thin leggings. You tilt your head back with a sigh and Frankie takes the invitation to lick and kiss and bite up your neck.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you whine, fingers clenching into the fabric of his t-shirt. “Touch me.”

“Am touchin’,” he bites back. “You want more, pretty girl?”

You nod your head so fast he can’t help but chuckle. He works his fingers past the elastic of your leggings and panties, circling your clit with slow broad swipes.

“Christ, you’re so wet. All this just for me?” He dips a finger lower, barely breaching you. You react with a high pitched whine, hips flexing in his grip.

He slides a finger into your tight heat, groaning at the squeeze of you around the digit. He pumps it slowly, watching your face as he does. Your eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted on breathy little sighs.

He’s never seen a more gorgeous sight.

Frankie adds another finger, crooking them as he drags them out of you. His thumb continues to swirl around your clit and he dips his head to your neck to lick and suck and bite the perfect skin calling out to be marked as his.

“Come on, baby, ride my fingers, yeah? You wanna use ‘em?” He says, the flexing and rolling of your hips against his hand picking up speed.

“Please, Frankie, I wanna cum,” you whine. The flush in your cheeks is the prettiest color.

“Then come for me,” he all but begs.

He can feel it when you finally reach your peak. The fluttering of your cunt around his fingers, the desperate way your body tries to keep him drawn into your warmth. He’s never felt anything better.

Frankie withdraws his fingers and you grab his hand, sucking them into your mouth. He groans, hips flexing involuntarily.

“Baby, you can’t do shit like that,” he says, pulling his fingers from your mouth and wrapping his hand behind your neck to tug your lips to his.

“Will you fuck me now?” You ask between breaths. “Please? Want your cock so bad.”

“It’s all yours, sweetheart.”

_______

You roll off the couch with little grace, flopping heavily to the floor. Frankie’s deep laughter settles over you like a warm blanket, the sound abruptly cutting off when you’ve stood and ripped your sweatshirt over your head.

Your nipples tighten in the cool air of your apartment. You can barely see Frankie in the darkness but you can feel his eyes running over your body, hot like a brand. He shifts on the couch, sitting up with his legs splayed wide.

You hook your thumbs into your leggings, tugging them down your legs and leaving you standing in front of him in your black thong. His hand reaches for you, fingers digging into your hip to drag you between his legs.

“Hermosa,” he whispers reverently. He kisses your tummy, right above where the elastic of your panties. You can see the glimmer of his eyes in the dark as he looks up at you.

You wrap your hands over his, drawing them up your body until his thumbs graze the underside of your breast. You’re obsessed with the gentle way he holds you, knowing the power he has simmering beneath an unassuming surface.

The guys have shared a number of stories with you about their time serving during your year of friendship. Mostly the funnier ones, like the time Benny fly was busted on his pants and he had to run drills constantly picking them up from around his ankles. Or the time Santi got left behind on a mission because he got his dick wet and didn’t get up on time for the convoy.

But sometimes you would get the grittier stories. They’re spec ops, after all. They got called in when no other team would suffice. You know Frankie has killed men, scope locked on a target and the kickback of a rifle bruising his shoulder. The same hands gliding across your skin have wrapped around throats until their final breath eases from their lungs.

But as they trail over you, all you feel is your Frankie. The man who buys your favorite candy for movie nights and makes sure there’s a pack of your favorite turkey burgers at the cook outs.

He pinches a nipple, tugging gently as your back arches to the touch. His lips wrap around the other, tongue flicking over the hard peak. Your breath stutters, coming in harsh pants as he switches sides. Your fingers tangle in his messy brown curls, tugging lightly and making him groan.

You’re running out of patience. You tug your panties down your legs and kick them to the side, leaving yourself completely nude between Frankie’s legs.

“Pants off, Morales,” you demand. You notice the well loved cap he always wears on the table. You pick it up and settle it on your head, giving him a cheeky grin. “Shirt, too.”

Frankie pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it behind the couch. He undoes his fly with uncoordinated hands, lifting his hips from the cushions to pull them down, along with his boxers. His cock bobs against his stomach, hard and flushed and leaking at the tip. You climb into his lap, dragging your wet slit over the hot length of him.

“Fuck,” he growls. You feel that coiled strength in him in the way his fingertips press bruises into your hips as you grind against him. He digs a hand into your hair and uses the leverage to drag your lips to his, the kiss a messy meeting of lips and tongues and teeth that lights up every nerve ending. “You ready to take me? Ready for my cock?”

“So fucking ready,” you moan.

“Then take it, baby, come on,” he says, reaching down to hold his cock steady. You position yourself over the thick head, beginning a slow slide down his length, the stretch of him making you groan even with the prep his fingers afforded you. “That’s it, baby, good girl. Take your time, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than right here in your pretty pussy.”

Your cheeks heat with his words, the praise settling over you like a blanket, making everything soft and cloudy in your head. You finally settle against his lap, his cock buried so deep you have to catch your breath at the sensation.

Frankie’s hands smooth across your back soothingly as you adjust. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to the spot in his beard that never grows despite all his efforts. You let your lips trail down his neck, teeth nipping the soft skin as you flex your hips experimentally.

It’s just a little movement, but it’s enough to grind your sensitive clit against the coarse hair at the base of his cock. One of his broad palms holds the back of your head tenderly while the other grips your ass tightly, urging you to move again.

You start off with a slow grind, Frankie’s head dropping to the back of the couch with a moan as you build up to a rhythm that has you seeing stars and has a litany of filth falling from Frankie’s lips.

“God, just like that. Riding my cock like such a good fucking girl for me.”

“Look at you, making a mess in my lap. Prettiest girl, just a puddle for me, huh?”

“Your body was made for me, wasn’t it, princesa?”

Each one filthier than the last, your own responses reduced to slurred words and moans of appreciation. You’re bouncing on his lap with fervor now, so close to the edge that your muscles are painfully tight in anticipation of your release.

“Come for me. Please, baby? Wanna see you come on my cock, been dreaming of it forever,” Frankie moans as he leans forward, both arms wrapped around your back as he sinks his teeth into the plush skin of your breast.

That’s all it takes. Frankie asking so sweetly for you to come for him, like every fantasy you’ve had about the man only better. You keep still on his lap with him buried as deep as he can be, pussy pulsing rhythmically around him as your orgasm washes over you.

You collapse against his chest and his hips flex beneath you, working you through the aftershocks. When your breathing has returned to something closer to normal, he urges you off his lap and onto your knees on the cushions, your elbows propping you up on an arm rest.

You look back at the man over your shoulder as he keeps a knee on the couch but plants a foot on the ground for leverage before thrusting back inside of you, punching the air from your lungs as your sensitive walls accept his length once more.

“Do you know how many times you’ve teased me with this ass?” He asks, gripping one cheek roughly as he continues to thrust into you. “Those goddamn jeans you wear to work, where anyone can see you, hugging your ass so pretty I just wanted to rip ‘em off.”

“Frankie,” you moan, fingers curling against the upholstery. “Harder, please. Don’t hold back, I can take it.”

His fingers flex on your hips. “Are you sure, baby? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please,” you beg.

________

That tether of control Frankie’s been trying to keep snaps. He fists your hair roughly, tugging you up until your bowed back presses to his chest. He slips a hand around the base of your throat, holding you to him with the possessive grip as he thrusts his hips roughly against yours.

It’s not going to take him long to come, not when he’s got your pliant body at his mercy and your desperate moans by his ear. He grits his teeth, slamming into you with all the force he can muster, with all the power he wants as you just take it like you were made to.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groans. “Where—“

“Inside, inside, please,” you beg, reaching a hand back and digging your fingers into his ass as it flexes with his frenzied thrusts. “Want you to fill me up, mark me up, ruin me. Please, Frankie?”

His release hits him like a goddamn freight train and he comes with a shout, holding your hips tight to his as he finishes inside you, the wet heat of him slipping out as he thrusts shallowly inside of you as his orgasm subsides.

Frankie releases you gently, pulling out and helping you lay on your back, your head propped up near the armrest. He collapses on top of you, pillowing his head against your breasts and nuzzling the sweat slick skin.

You run your fingers through his hair, the two of you quiet as you catch your breath. Part of him is waiting for the fall out, waiting for your muscles to go tense beneath him with uncertainty.

But it doesn’t come. You just keep carding your fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp and the cadence of your heartbeat beneath his ear easing his worries.

“You feeling better?” He asks.

Your chest shakes with laughter beneath him. When he lifts his head to look at you, you flash him a bright smile.

“I don’t even remember what I was upset about anymore. I think you fucked the sadness right out of me,” you say with a giggle.

“Anything for you,” he replies easily.

Your eyes go all soft as your eyes search his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a beat of comfortable silence before you speak up again.

“Hey, Frankie?” You ask.

“Yes?”

“What do you know about plumbing?”

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